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pathologicalreid · 5 months

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Dude I love ur writing sm!! It’s literally so good and Buried Alive was amazing! If ur down for it (totally no pressure at all) I was wondering if u would eventually write a second part where Spencer helps the reader with the aftermath? Like maybe they struggle with PTSD or severe claustrophobia after that? Idk ur literally amazing enough I’m sure u have great ideas and again, it’s completely up to u, I was just wondering

above ground | S.R.

part one part three

in which spencer helps you cope with the aftermath of your abduction, and you reciprocate

who? spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader

category: hurt/comfort, angst

content warnings: claustrophobia, being buried alive, nightmares/night terrors, ptsd, death, cpr, use of pet names, mentions of drugs, therapy, suffocation

word count: 2.2k

a/n: hello anon! i am absolutely always down for spencer reid hurt/comfort!! thank you so much for asking!!! i've been super overwhelmed with all of the support i've received on buried alive and i'm so so grateful for all of the kind things people have said.

Standing in a dark room, you looked around your surroundings. There was nothing around you that told you where you were. The walls were all blank, the ground was cement, and it was too dark for you to even see the ceiling.

Hesitantly, you reached out your palm, touching the wall just for it to be met with something… damp? You pulled your hand away, and your skin came back dirty. Your stomach churned as you observed the soil that had settled in the creases of your fingerprints. “No,” you breathed, quickly moving to dig at the walls.

You felt it on your elbow next, like the dirt walls were encroaching on you. You turned around to see the dark room was just getting darker, and the walls started to deteriorate. Like an avalanche, the dirt of the walls falls to the ground, covering your feet, “No,” you cried out this time.

Digging at the walls just made your earthly prison bury you faster, so instead, you tried to climb toward the ceiling. You whimpered in defeat as you reached the previously unseen ceiling. The loose earth reached your chest, constricting your breathing. You tilted your head back in an attempt to keep the dirt out of your mouth.

Your face felt cool like a gentle breeze was being blown on it. You choked, but to your surprise, you didn’t choke on dirt.

There were hands on you, one hand on your shoulder and another on your waist. That didn’t make sense to you, someone hauled you into a sitting position, patting your back in an attempt to help you clear your throat.

The choking turned to coughing, which then turned to dry heaving off the edge of your bed. Very rarely did anything ever come out, but you kept a trash can there just in case. You blinked as someone reached over and turned on the lamp on your bedside table, the comforting hand remained on your back.

Desperately, you tried to catch your breath, tilting your head back as you tried to open your airway. “You’re safe. I’m right here, angel,” Spencer whispered from behind you, he leaned his forehead between your shoulder blades and drew hearts on your back with his index finger.

You took a deep, shuddering breath as you finally filled your lungs, visualizing the air going in and out of your body. Breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth.

Spencer continued whispering to you, not once did he tell you that your dream wasn’t real because it was real. To you, being buried alive was very real. The suffocation was real, it had happened to you.

Two months ago, you had been abducted and buried alive by a family, a mother and her two sons. All of whom were in jail awaiting trial. The two agents from the Omaha field office who had left you alone in the funeral home apologized profusely, you had a private meeting with the director of the FBI, and the BAU rallied behind you, it was nice, but none of it made the fear go away.

The first nightmare came the same night you were back in Virginia, and you had screamed so loud that your neighbors called the police. Spencer handled everything, and when the officers insisted that they needed to speak to you directly, he flashed his FBI credentials, something he really wasn’t supposed to do.

Your response was to avoid sleeping, at least at night. You stayed awake at night, reading, or watching TV with headphones on, and you slept during the day so that when you opened your eyes, you could feel the sun on your face. The problem was when you needed to go somewhere, you didn’t sleep, or when it rained, you didn’t sleep.

The exhaustion just made your anxiety worse, and Spencer caught on to it. He sat you down on the couch and held your hands, telling you that he understood that you didn’t want to feel like you were burdening anyone with your nightmares, but he needed you to understand that you were killing yourself at the same time.

He didn’t do it for everyone, but for you, Spencer took over the role of protector. He found you a therapist in the district that specialized in patients with PTSD and claustrophobia. It was an hour round trip, but Spencer was more than willing to take you the first few times.

Dr. Montgomery quickly diagnosed you with PTSD and claustrophobia. You hadn’t realized that claustrophobia was something you could be clinically diagnosed with, but the doctor told you that there’s a difference between a fear of enclosed spaces and what you had. He was straightforward, which you liked, and he told you that your claustrophobia was a response to the traumatic event that you had experienced.

A steady course of treatment that included medication and exposure therapy had slowly been giving you your life back.

But then there was Spencer.

Spencer had Morgan help him take the inside doors of your apartment off the hinges so air would flow, and you wouldn’t be afraid of suffocating. He left the ceiling fan in your bedroom on even as the weather cooled so the air never got stale.

Six weeks ago, you had mentioned offhandedly that you were having a hard time sleeping in total silence, and Spencer had come home later with a white noise machine.

When you apologized to him for needing the lights on to sleep, he responded by stringing lights around the entire apartment, telling you he read that warm light can help prepare the mind and body for sleep.

He turned in all of his PTO, even accepting some from David Rossi, who didn’t use his anyway, so he could stay home with you while you were on mandatory medical leave. He tagged along to therapy appointments, to the neurologist, and even to the FBI physician who needed to clear your physical injuries to your ribs before you could return to the field.

On his nightstand, there was a stack of books all about claustrophobia and loving someone with PTSD.

Not once through this whole endeavor did you question your relationship with Spencer, he made himself perfectly clear through his actions. He wasn’t going anywhere.

The FBI physician cleared you two weeks ago, your neurologist faxed Hotch paperwork stating you were without any deficits, and your psychiatrist told you that as long as you felt like you could avoid your triggers, you should be able to go back to work. In fact, Dr. Montgomery thought going back to work could be beneficial.

You were supposed to go back tomorrow.

Spencer was now sitting in front of you, and he offered you a small smile as you blinked yourself out of your nightmare-induced stupor and met his eyes, “There’s my girl,” he whispered. For a moment, you focused on his movements, smoothing your hair back with one hand and leaving the other hand resting on your waist. “I love you. You’re safe, you’re at home with me,” he reassured you.

You narrowed your eyebrows, “It was- I was in the ground again.” Hesitantly, you looked down at your hands, they were perfectly clean, not a speck of dirt to be seen.

“It was a night terror, angel,” he said, speaking gently to you as he reached over and pulled the strap of your tank top up and over your shoulder from where it had fallen. A night terror, not a nightmare.

Tears dropped down your face when you closed your eyes. “I couldn’t breathe,” you whimpered. Taking a gasping breath, you looked at Spencer as you tried to draw air into your lungs, “I couldn’t breathe, Spence. I couldn’t breathe.”

Quickly, Spencer pulled you into his lap and held you, “Shh,” he cooed. “I’ve got you, my love. I’m right here,” he murmured as you set your chin on his shoulder and cried.

“I suffocated,” you whispered, it was a fact of your life, that you had stopped breathing for a period of time. The doctors estimated you had been down for almost ten minutes.

His hold on you tightened, “I know,” his voice broke slightly. “I know, baby,” he pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of your head. “What do you need?” He asked, watching you intently as he reached up and used the pads of his thumbs to wipe away your tears.

You blinked the last of your tears from your eyes before meeting his, “Can we go outside?” You asked him, placing your hands on both of his shoulders.

Spencer nodded, leaning over to grab his glasses off of his nightstand before standing up and picking you up as he went.

Instinctively, you yelped, but a laugh escaped your lips. It was a foreign feeling sometimes, but Spencer always knew how to elicit a smile from you. “Put me down,” you said, but your tone was light.

Once your feet were touching the ground, Spencer looked at you, “I just wanted to see you smile.” He said earnestly.

Despite yourself, the corner of your mouth quirked up, “Thank you.” You reached over to grab your phone off the charger and slide it into your pocket before you led Spencer out to your apartment’s balcony. He sat down on one of the chairs and pulled you down onto his lap.

You let him hold you, not moving and just letting your body settle on top of his. The cool autumn air filled your lungs as Spencer held you. You let him hold you because you knew that his fear was just as valid as yours. While you were afraid of confinement because you had been confined, he was afraid of you dying because you had died.

“I can hear you thinking, honey,” you whispered, leaning your head on his shoulder. “What’s on your mind?” You asked him, taking his hand and intertwining your fingers together.

He sighed, “I’m worried about you,” he admitted. “I want to tell you not to go back to work yet, even though I know that logically it’s the next step for you,” Spencer said, you watched his honey-colored eyes as they studied your face. “And I know that you need it, you need to return to something dependable.”

You move your head so you can look him in the eyes better, “But?”

“But,” he continued, “the BAU isn’t dependable. You have this great routine that we’ve very nearly perfected and I’m so worried about you straying from it. The long hours at work could very well cause you to lose all of the progress you’ve made in the last two months,” he tells you candidly. “What happens when you need to get on an elevator, or when you need to get on the jet, and you can’t? What about when you-“ He cut himself off, swallowing thickly before he said something he couldn’t take back.

You shifted so you were facing him, shoulder to shoulder, “What is it, Spence?”

He took a deep breath and cupped your cheek with his hand, “The last case you worked on, you died. I pulled your dead body out of a casket. Fuck, Y/N,” his curse took you aback, he usually strayed from swearing. “I did CPR on you before Morgan took over,” he finished, voice growing hoarse.

Your lips parted; you couldn’t answer him. You didn’t know how to answer him, but you took his hand and selected his third and index finger before pressing them to the pulse point on your wrist. In response, he sighed and leaned his forehead to yours. You watched his lips move as he silently counted the beats per minute.

The both of you jumped when your phone went off, and dread filled your stomach when you checked your phone.

Penelope Garcia: Local case. Round table room in thirty if you’re up for it.

“If you ask me to stay home, I will,” you told Spencer, sweeping his curls behind his ears. “I won’t hold it against you, I’ll tell Hotch I need more time.”

Spencer shook his head, “You know I can’t do that. I can’t make that decision for you, and I don’t want you to make the decision for me, you need to choose what you want.”

You both went, Spencer distracted you for the entire elevator ride up to the BAU, but he was still tense. Even though he insisted he was fine, you knew him better than that.

Spencer followed you up to Hotch’s office and when you told Hotch you wanted to work but you didn’t feel ready to be in the field, your unit chief nodded and told you that you were welcome to stay in the local precinct and work on a geographical profile with Spencer.

You watched the tension leave Spencer’s body. He tried to tell you that you didn’t need to do that, but you just rolled your eyes and dragged him to the roundtable room.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid whump #spencer reid hurt/comfort #david rossi #derek morgan #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #spencer reid angst #written by margot #margot's asks #criminal minds angst

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bunbunbl0gs · 6 months

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in love with spencer reid

masterlist

criminal minds masterlist

join my tag list here :)

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reiderwriter · 7 months

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Unlovable

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reider Warnings: angst, canon death, cheating, implied infidelity, whump, angst, spoilers for Season 8 of Criminal Minds, mentions of shooting/ murder/ suicide/ general case facts. Summary: A stalking case brings back some bad memories for the BAU, but as the newbie, you're not sure why until you start recalling past case files you've read through. A/N: I wrote this as part of @tobias-hankel 's Pre-Whumptober Challenge, so it's short and sweet because I'm not great at angst, but it was a great challenge! I think this will probably be my last fic that mentions Maeve for at least a while because I'm getting a bit bored of writing around her lol, but let me know what you think with a like, comment, reblog, or message in my inbox!

It had been a few months since you’d joined the team, and you’d really thought you’d settled in well. After all, you’d worked on enough of their paperwork in your prior desk job to think you had a good grasp of everyone on the team’s working styles.

Until this case. They’d all been tense since the stalking case was called in, and you couldn’t figure out why. A girl had been taken captive by her stalker, whose identity had been so far unknown to the police department. As you sat talking through the possible suspects, you’d realized suddenly that you were the newcomer, an outsider in the team.

“Why is everyone so tense, we’ve worked cases like this one before, we can do this and save her.” You were hopeful of course, looking around the room to see if anyone else would agree.

“Each case is different, Y/N, you know that.” Morgan was the only one to reply, the others shooting careful glances around the room.

“But everyone is so tense for this one specifically, and I just don’t get it.”

“You read our case files, right?” Reid spoke up from the other side of the room. He’d been particularly tense on this one, and it was really his attitude that was worrying you the most. You’d become fast friends with him when you joined the team, and he was always happy and engaging with you. But there was something about this case that made him cold and distant and it was really rubbing you the wrong way.

“Yeah, I read all of them, but I don’t have an eidetic memory, so please, catch me up.”

“Maeve Donovan, does that ring a bell?” He almost spat the words out, but you were so thankful that he was even talking to you that you responded enthusiastically.

“Oh, of course, I read that case file. She was killed by her stalker, right? But we can’t base every case off our bad experiences, especially since that case had unforeseen circumstances.”

“Y/N,” Morgan gently warned you, but you were deaf to him as your eyes locked on Reid.

“Unforeseen circumstances?”

“She engaged in a relationship with an FBI Agent to help prioritize her case despite the fiance she had, which made her hard to track down to help. And her stalker was experiencing some serious delusions so you couldn’t stop her from killing both of them, but that’s a single case, and you’ve all worked at least ten other stalking cases in the past.

The air was sucked out of the room as Spencer stormed out, not bothering to tell you where you’d gone wrong. JJ trailed behind after him, going to pick up the pieces as the rest of them stared at you pityingly.

“Did I- Did I say something wrong?” You asked, but most of them just shook their heads and walked out.

“The agent she was dating was Reid. He offered to die instead of her, but that set her stalker off and that’s why she killed the both of them.” With each of Morgan’s words, you felt your heart drop.

“I didn’t-” You started but he cut you off with a pat on your shoulder.

“None of us were the greatest fans of Maeve after our investigation, but you weren’t here after she died. The kid was in pieces, and he still can’t really talk about it without some of those emotions creeping back in. Just… be a bit more understanding.”

You spend the rest of the case trying to apologize to Reid, but he avoids you like the plague, frustrating you to no end. You corner him one night on the way to his room, but he snaps at you with such violence you have to turn and run away before you let yourself cry in front of him.

Your resentment for Maeve grows as you watch him work though, seeing him become an empty shell of a man as he gets lost in his memory trying to save the new victim. You’re angry that she died, angry that she put him in that position, angry that no one forced him off the case, that no one foresaw the negative effect that this would have on him when it ended badly. You’re angry that she loved him first because your heart aches without his company.

Thankfully, the case ends well, and you manage to save the girl who has been abducted. You don’t even want to think about what that would mean for Reid, having to see the dead body of another girl knowing he couldn’t save them either. He practically runs off the jet when you land back at Quantico as you try, once again, to apologize.

Penelope comforts you at your desk as you cry, desperate to make things right. She’s the one who slips you his address, and not even an hour later, you feel like a shell of a person driving directly there, not stopping to worry about whether he’ll even see you.

When he opens the door, he doesn’t look surprised to see you. He doesn’t look anything at all, emotionally drained from the last week. You thought you would apologize right then and there, and leave, but he turns back into his apartment and you have to follow him in, saying nothing as he sets himself beside a chessboard again.

“Spencer…” you start, but you have to stop to swallow the lump forming in your throat. “I didn’t know you were the agent. I wouldn’t have said what I did had I known.”

“Would you still think it?” He asked sharply, and you can feel the anger in his voice. He’s trying to control it, but he’s never been the best at masking his emotions with his team members.

“Spencer, please, I’m trying to apologize.”

“Would you have looked at me with pitying eyes? The FBI Agent who couldn’t even save his girlfriend from a stalker. The girlfriend who probably didn’t even love him either because what is there to love about-”

“Spencer! Stop putting words in my mouth.” Your tone is harsh but it gets him to finally look up at you. His tone was angry, but his eyes were all despair, shining with tears as he tried, so hard, to pull himself together. He’s failing.

“Why am I so unlovable? What about me is so difficult to love?” Your heart breaks at his words. The way he says it sounds like he is genuinely searching for an answer, his eyes darting between your own as his body sinks in on itself, and you sink with him, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him into you.

“Nothing. Nothing, Spencer, you are so loved. You need to know that I love you, that we all love you, Spencer.” Your voice breaks a little at your confession, as you suddenly realize how true those words are.

“But she still died. I had to have done something wrong, but I play it back again in my head, every conversation and-” he breaks down in sobs then, his entire body shaking with the weight of his grief. The wound isn’t new but it runs deep, and you quietly sob beside him, knowing no matter how much you love him it won’t be enough to replace the love he lost with her.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x y/n #maeve donovan #spencer reid x you #spencer reid angst #criminal minds angst #whump prompt #spencer reid whump #criminal minds whump

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artcake · 1 year

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Congrats on 500 followers!!!! Could you draw Hotch comforting Spencer after he self harms. Thank you!

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reidsaurora · 2 years

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"Midnight Muffins" ~ S. Reid

Summary: When Spencer and Reader find themselves pulling an all-nighter for a case and Spencer accidentally reveals that midnight marks his birthday, Reader has the perfect way to celebrate—chocolate muffins at midnight.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader (no use of Y/N, Reader carries a purse tho)

Word Count: 1,888

Content Warning: food consumption, very mild swearing, honestly i think that's it? lmk if i missed anything though!

Genre: chocolatey, sugary Fluff 🥰

Extra Notes: none that i can think of!

Based On the Prompt: "What Doesn't Kill Me" - sleep deprivation (from 2022 Whumptober Prompts)

Originally Written: between 10/11/2022 and 10/12/2022

Beta Read By: @dungeons-are-too-cold 🫶🏻

Criminal Minds masterlist can be found here!

Whumptober masterlist/schedule can be found here!

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Hotch wiped the sleep from his eyes as he let out a loud yawn. "Alright, everyone, it's been a long day. Head back to the hotel and get some rest. We'll meet back here in the morning," he instructed, followed by another yawn.

Everyone headed toward the door sluggishly, being hit with a whiff of night air as Derek opened the door.

"Shoot," Spencer exhaled as his foot hit the second stair.

"What is it?" I managed to ask through a yawn of my own.

"I forgot my bag," he explained, heading back toward the door.

"I can wait here."

A crimson color flushed over his cheeks. "No, that's OK. You go ahead with everyone else. I'll be right behind you guys."

I shrugged my shoulders in response, watching as he disappeared back into the police station. Little did he know I wasn't taking no for an answer, promptly sitting down on the brick steps and pulling my windbreaker tighter to my arms to shield them from the coldness of the October night air.

I nearly fell asleep on the steps as I waited for him, checking my watch just to see how long I'd been waiting. "Twenty minutes is a long time to search for a bag," I thought, pushing myself up.

I wandered through the precinct, eventually pacing into the office we'd been previously working in. I immediately spotted Spencer, who was writing something on the whiteboard and Hotch, who was looking over some files at the desk.

"What are you two doing in here?" I asked, one of my eyebrows cocking upward.

"I'm working," Hotch answered, "He's supposed to be searching for his bag but apparently he's decided to work as well."

My hands flew to my hips. "I thought you were right behind us," I mentioned, directed at Spencer.

He had the face of a child with their hand caught in the cookie jar. "I was…" his voice dragged off.

"Then what are you doing in here?"

"Well, I figured if Hotch was staying all night that he might need some help," he answered, his puppy-dog eyes prominent. "Honestly, I didn't think anyone would notice if I stayed behind."

A pang stung my heart as I listened to his answer. "Of course I'd notice. I promised I'd wait for you."

His brows furrowed as he asked, "You've been waiting out in the cold for me for almost a half hour?"

"Yes, I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me," I answered deadpan.

"Never," he chuckled, "I honestly thought you'd gone with everyone else."

Hotch walked toward the doorway, fist tight around the files he carried. "Well, if the two of you are going to stay, could you actually work and stop gabbing?" he sassed, stalking out the door.

Spencer's cheeks blushed red as he turned back to the board in front of him. He quickly put his attention back on the geographical profile.

I couldn't help but giggle as I placed my bag down and promptly got back to work.

A couple hours came and went, I wasn't sure how long it had been exactly. I found myself combing through the suspect list, my eyes growing heavy as I scanned over each page.

I let out a long yawn as I glanced at my watch. "How is there only a half an hour 'til midnight?" I grumbled, looking up at Spencer from my spot in the office chair.

"This is not how I imagined I'd be spending my birthday this year," Spencer commented nonchalantly.

My mouth fell agape in disbelief. "Tomorrow's your birthday and you didn't remind me?"

He shrugged his shoulders before turning to face me. "I didn't think it was all that important."

"We have to celebrate!" I told him. "I'm not quite sure where I could get a birthday cake at this time of night but I'm sure I could find something."

"You aren't going anywhere," he insisted. "If you leave, I swear my ghost will haunt you forever."

I pouted, the same pout a kid would give their parent when they told them "no" to eating sweets before dinner. "But I wanna celebrate you!"

He rolled his eyes, turning back around. "You act like a child when you're sleep deprived," he commented.

"How about this? I won't leave, but I will treat you to whatever snack you want from the vending machine."

He mumbled something under his breath, just loud enough for me to understand his aggravation. "You aren't going to let this go, are you?" he commented at full volume.

"Nope," I answered, the p popping loudly.

"OK, fine," he muttered, "but you aren't allowed to celebrate until after midnight."

"I'll have my alarm set."

And with that, I turned my attention back to the files in front of me, most of my strength being put into the act of holding my eyes open.

I wasn't quite sure how it happened, but just as soon as I'd closed my eyes to blink, I was awakening from a short slumber.

Or what I thought was a short slumber.

I frantically rubbed the sleep from my eyes as I pushed myself up from my previous position of resting my head on the hard, wooden desk. I looked down at my watch, registering that the clock had somehow magically skipped from 11:45 to 2:15.

"You let me sleep for two and a half hours? And miss your birthday?" I whined, sleep heavily coating my throat.

"To be fair," he answered, pausing for a yawn, "I wasn't born until the afternoon so technically you didn't miss it."

I pushed myself up from the office chair, stretching out my arms as I plodded toward him. "What would you like from the machine?" I asked, pulling my wallet out of my purse.

His mouth scrunched as he thought, presumably attempting to figure out his answer. "What's your favorite?"

"No," I argued, "it's your birthday. I wanna buy you a snack."

"Buy something we can share," he instructed.

And with that, I trudged out of the office and over to the vending machine. My eyes scanned all the options, contemplating what he'd like most.

My eyes landed on a bag of those mini chocolate muffins. Bingo. Sure, it wasn't a traditional cake or cupcake, but Spencer liked chocolate more than anyone I'd ever met.

I punched in the number, watching eagerly as the bag slid down to the bottom of the machine. After marching back to the meeting room, I held out the muffins in front of the birthday boy himself.

"You like these?" he inquired, his eyebrows ruffling.

"Why? Do you not like them?" I fretted, my eyes darting away from him.

"No, they're my favorite," he answered reassuringly. "I just wanted to make sure you didn't buy them just for me."

I shook my head. "They're for us to share. If you want to share them, that is."

"Of course."

And with that, he ripped open the package, placing a muffin in my hand before popping one into his mouth.

I tossed the muffin into my mouth, savoring the taste of chocolate and sugar. I watched as Spencer turned his attention away from the muffins and back to the files in his hand, mentally deciding that he worked himself too hard.

"Coffee delivery," Hotch said as he paced through the door with a drink carrier, three steaming hot cups of coffee being held in place.

"Where the hell did you find coffee at this hour of the night?" I asked, taking the cup marked pumpkin spice latte from the cardboard carrier.

"You'd be surprised how many twenty-four-hour coffee shops New York City has to offer," he chuckled, taking his presumably plain black coffee from the container and pressing it to his lips.

Spencer took the last drink, looking over the label on the side. I assumed it was most likely a caramel latte—Spencer's favorite—my suspicions being confirmed when he commented, "Thank you for remembering my order. Morgan and JJ usually get it wrong."

My heart felt heavy when I considered Spencer's comments throughout the night—his comment about nobody caring if he stayed behind, his comment about how his birthday wasn't important, and now his comment about everyone forgetting his coffee order. If it hadn't been considered weird, I might've given him a reassuring kiss just to let him know that even if no one else did, I cared.

I pushed my feelings to the back of my mind, placing them in the "to figure out later" box in my mind. One good thing that came from this job was learning how to be good at compartmentalization.

One hour turned into two, two turned into three, and before we knew it, the sun was on the brink of rising, light orange colors painting the sky outside the slightly ajar window (Spencer had claimed the fresh air from the window helped him think better).

"You two head back to the hotel," Hotch instructed.

"What about this?" Spencer fretted, motioning to the stack of files that sat on the edge of the desk.

"I've got this. The others will be here in about an hour. You two go rest up. Enjoy your day off."

"Day off?" I questioned. "Hotch, we don't-"

"Go," he commanded, "you two have worked harder than I've seen anyone work in a long time. If I see you come back within the next twenty-four hours, I'll have to write you up and then Strauss will get involved. Do you guys really want that?"

The two of us shook our heads, managed a quick, "Thank you," before heading out into the coolness of the morning air.

Luckily, our hotel was only a ten-minute walk from the precinct, prompting us to not drive in our exhausted state.

I watched as the sunrise glistened over Spencer's skin, the rays practically sparkling on the dark freckles of his arms. The oranges and pinks in the sky nearly illuminated his lips, making them look even more plump and pink than they did before. He looked pretty like this.

"What?" he said, a chuckle sitting at the edge of his tongue.

"Nothing," I answered, internally embarrassed that he'd caught me staring.

We walked a few more feet in silence, a comfortable kind of silence that I'd probably only enjoy with Spencer.

He ended up being the one to break the silence, initially letting out a verbal yawn before saying, "Thank you, by the way."

"You're welcome," I replied, lightly nudging his shoulder with mine, "It's the least I could do. I'm sorry you had to spend your birthday pulling an all-nighter and sifting through suspect files."

"Eh, it's OK. At least I got to do it with you."

For a second, I thought he might kiss me. To be honest, I was hoping he would. Instead, he just looked down at my hand for a moment before looking back up so as to ask for permission.

I nodded in approval, a half-smile finding its way to my lips as he wrapped his fingers around mine. He caressed the back of my hand with his thumb, his silent way of saying, "Thank you again."

I lay my head against his shoulder as we continued our trek, my silent way of replying, "You didn't even have to ask."

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Happy birthday, my favorite libra boy!! You really have completed 41 trips around the sun!

Alright, I know you aren't real in this universe 🥲 but someday, I'm gonna shift and get to tell you all this in person.

I love you so much Spencer Reid, happy birthday my chocolate-loving genius 🫶🏻

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strawbeerossi · 7 months

Text

Salt In Open Wounds

This is for @tobias-hankel’s pre-whumptober collection!

Bad Thing: Torture

Bad Person: Ex-Partner

Content/Warnings: Cursing, unnamed abusive ex. bounces between therapy appointment and past abduction, past trauma, mention of guns and knives, mentions of Tobias Hankel, physical abuse, torture, branding (with a cattle iron), hopelessness, general angst, PTSD, depression, murder, blood, psychological torture, mild gore.

Word Count: 5.5K

Find it on AO3 || Masterlist || Requests

I’m no better than the CM writers for this. Also I got a little carried away with writing this.

“Spencer, I’d like to talk about what you’ve been through, if that’s alright.” The woman across from Spencer spoke up. This was his sixth session since the incident, however it was like he could never fully open up. Traumatic events were capable of taking someone’s voice, in his case it was severe. He’d been digging his nails into his hands just discussing the outer details, not wanting to dive straight into the cesspool of darkness he’d been exposed to. He wanted to avoid it for as long as he could. It wouldn’t be that easy though, he had nothing else to use as a shield. He’d explained all the details surrounding his pain, now he had to talk about it.

“I know it’s going to be very hard.” Marianne, his therapist, spoke. “I just want you to know that we can take this as slow as you’d like. There will be future sessions.” She gently reminded me. The once bright and cheerful doctor had been chipped away over his fifteen year career with the BAU, his year of hell broke him further. “No, no.. I uh, I need to talk about it at some point.” Therapy was mandatory, so it wasn’t like he’d gotten any other choice but to sit there. “I just, I uh, I don’t know how to begin..”

“Why don’t you start with the first night?”

***

Spencer was excited, taking a much needed break from his job at the FBI to go on sabbatical.There was a lecture circuit for Criminal Justice related classes, he was excited to take over the course for Criminology. Marbury University had recommended him for the job due to his exceeding pass rate for his class. He didn’t have the confidence to tell them it was because of the fact he was an attractive older male and he captured attention from young women and men alike.

It was silly, really. As a younger man, he was more used to people looking at him like he was an alien. He was socially awkward, his demeanor being one like a skittish cat. The years passed and he gained confidence, little by little. With that confidence, he began to lose the innocence that he once had. Tobias Hankel chipped away at him, getting him addicted to dilaudid as well as subjecting him to torture. After him, Spencer’s life was never the same.

Prison was the boiling point. Even being there for a few months, it began to eat away at him. He’d watched a friend die who he worked so hard to protect, he’d been subjected to beatings, as well as stabbing himself with a shiv to get himself locked into solitary confinement due to the fact the inmates knew of his status of a federal agent. The day JJ told him he was going home, he was relieved.

Until he had to deal with Cat Adams yet again, the woman using Lindsey Vaughn to abduct his mother, which sent them on a wild goose chase. It ended with Diana safe and sound, yet he never thought that he could experience that much anger and hatred. He’d planned on choking Cat to death in the interrogation room. Thank God for JJ, the one who managed to bring him out of his intense fit of rage.

He was trying to fix his life again, bring back the past version of himself that he yearned to be. A young man in the world who had so much promise, so much dedication. Now he was older, he was aware that he had so much to lose.

It was Friday morning when he left the office after giving Emily his paperwork for sabbatical, requesting a year of leave to pour himself into his passion of teaching the future of the bureau as well as law enforcement as a whole. The drive was gonna be an hour, so he felt like he’d been prepared enough, not being someone who was particularly fond of driving.

The convention center reminded him of the places that he and Penelope would go to for their numerous conventions. Just the memories made him smile, enjoying the parts of his past that he loved to relive in his mind. Eidetic memory was a blessing and a curse, that was the bottom line of it all. Grabbing his suitcases from the trunk of his car, he was heading into the hotel where he’d be staying for the time being. The circuit was only for a few weeks, however he was preparing to go back to Marbury for the rest of his time off.

Spencer had checked into his room, going up the stairs to the second floor to get settled in. “Excuse me,” A familiar voice was causing Spencer’s attention to turn towards the sound. “Wait what are you-” There was no way he could’ve predicted the way he was feeling something heavy hitting the back of his head, his body crashing onto the ground.

***

“Do you know how they brought you back to where you ended up?” Marianne asked, keeping a calm demeanor even though Spencer had been digging his nails into his palm, eyes squeezed shut from the fear of the vivid memories coming back to haunt him, almost smelling the hotel hallway. “I, uh, no. I can’t remember. I woke up there, I uh, I remembered the pain in my head. It was a headache that felt like it gave me a brain hemorrhage. Obviously it didn’t.” He spoke softly, eyes now opening as his gaze was fixed down at his lap.

“There’s no logical way that she got me out by herself, it makes no sense. I just can’t figure out who was there to help her and I don’t know why anyone would help her.” Unbeknownst to Spencer, his hands were tangling in his tousled curls as he roughly pulled at the roots from frustration. Pain was a way he could kickstart his hell, knowing that the familiarity of his wincing would bring back something. It had to. The sounds of Marianne trying to snap Spencer out of his actions had fallen on deaf ears, tears now streaming down Spencer’s face as he was fully throwing himself back into a world he so desperately wanted to get away from.

***

He placed himself back in the dank basement, the smell of mildew and mold assaulting Spencer’s nose. He could feel the sweat pouring down his face and back, the panic setting in from the coarse and rough rope cutting into the flesh of his wrists, daring to cut his skin from his thrashing.

Due to being abducted before by the likes of Tobias Hankel, he knew to examine his surroundings, that was how he got himself out the first time, how he saved himself and began to slip away into a never ending pit of trauma and despair. The dim light in the room revealed a cement floor, droplets of a crimson substance covering the floor. Blood. There was an overwhelming sense of hopelessness. He shouldn’t have been here, he should’ve been getting ready for his lecture delving into the psychology of serial killers. Instead, he was locked away in a kill room, a place where he could be reduced to nothing but a pile of flesh and bone.

His ears were ringing, the head injury from before causing a migraine that made him want to slam his head onto the cement floor, to put an end to the splitting headache. It was good he was tied up, the idea of ending this suffering so early on and robbing whoever this person was of their chance to kill him was so satisfying. Eidetic memory didn’t serve him any purpose here though, each time he tried to remember the face of the woman in the hallway, he was left with a blurry outline. This was all too reminiscent of when he was arrested in Mexico. Maybe he was drugged again? That would explain how he couldn’t bring himself to remember his captor. The trauma response of the brain would surely be shutting things out, as if it were any help shielding him of the pure hell he was going to face.

His thoughts stopped entirely when he heard the heavy sound of the metal door being pushed open, his head snapping over immediately. With double vision from the concussion, he felt even more hopeless. “W-why am I here?” He asked slowly, blinking his eyes slowly to try and focus them on the face of the person in front of him. The pain of a sharp slap to his face had his head flying to the side, a groan of pain falling from his lips.

“You’re here because this is the place you need to be.” The voice was soft, almost sickeningly sweet. It was also very familiar. The woman from the hallway, the woman who haunted his thoughts from her unknown, blurred face. There was a burn in Spencer’s throat. He felt ill.

Her.

“Why are you doing this?” He asked immediately after, the woman sighing as she brought a hand to gently stroke his cheek. It was a complete 180. “You’re here because we never got to talk about our relationship, honey. You decided that you were better off alone, I’m showing you that you’re safer here with me.” She offered a smile. “You will not leave me this time, Spencer. We can be happy!”

Despite his survival instincts telling him to play along, he couldn’t. “W-we broke up for a reason.” There was a waiver to his voice, fear. “Right. Then I got arrested for domestic abuse. I just think you’re dramatic.” She stated in a simple tone, her hand dropping from his cheek. Obsessive Love Disorder was a dangerous thing, something that if left untreated, would cause nothing but pain.

“I mean, what kind of man lets his girlfriend hit him without fighting back? A weak man. It’s sad. Don’t worry though, we are gonna have a lot of fun!” She mused while moving to brush her hair back from her face. Her nonchalant behavior was chilling, how heartless she could be.

Spencer was young when they’d initially gotten together, that being his first serious relationship. Things started normal, they got along and went on dates. She essentially love bombed him from the beginning, he was just too naive to notice what was going on. It was a year of joy and peace, the two enjoying each other's presence enough to the point where Spencer felt prepared to take the next step. He moved in with her.

That was when the hell started. The psychological torment, the physical abuse, and emotional manipulation was that of a cinder block tied to his ankles, ready to be thrown overboard and left without a trace. The weight of the relationship almost killed him. She would put loaded guns to his head, sadistically laughing and taunting him by acting as if she would really shoot him. There were some nights where he wished that she did. It would be his only shot at peace.

When he left the first time, he got extremely lucky. He got to use the excuse that the BAU needed him after he’d spent so much time planning for his escape. He elicited in JJ’s help, his best friend at work who he’d broken down to on a particularly stressful case. He thought that getting arrested would set her straight, get her checked out by a psychologist or something and calmed down with proper medication.

Naivety. He knew that someone couldn’t be helped unless they wanted it.

That was abundantly clear now that he was in this predicament.

All he could think of was that he’d never go home, nor would he ever be able to see his mom, JJ, Emily, or any of his beloved team again. It brought tears to his eyes, thinking that nobody knew where he was. He was supposed to be in a classroom with promising students that would change the world. What if they didn’t even notice that he was gone? By the time his year's sabbatical was over, it would be far too late. He’d be a rotting corpse buried in a random backyard.

“You’re crying.. Oh, sweetheart..” The sudden movement of her body inching closer caused the man to flinch, eyes widening as he leaned back against the chair he was bound to. “You really don’t trust me?” She had the audacity to sound hurt, as if she didn’t have him tied to a chair. “This is ridiculous, Spencer. You are just as weak as I could remember. I thought being in your forties, you would be stronger.” She sighed while her hand was roughly grabbing his hair to pull it back, the male being forced to meet her gaze.

“We are going to fix that. I’m going to train you into being better.” She spat as a frown spread across her face. Spencer knew his body was tense, his heart was threatening to burst out of his chest. “Since you don’t listen..” She began, a sad sigh falling from her lips. “I need to go through our first lesson.” She stated as she walked away. For a moment, Spencer could feel a blind hope that things would be okay. That her punishment would just be her leaving.

Spencer could only hear the rapid beat of his heart, the blood in his veins running cold. There was no way out. When she came back over, he inspected the object in her hand. The shiny metal of the scissors had his body shuddering in fear, eyes trained on her every movement. He made an effort to try and weasel away from her touch, however the rough hold on his shirt was keeping him in place. Was she going to plunge the tool deep into his chest cavity? She could stab him in the heart with enough force or a lung even. She caught him by surprise.

The blade ran over the shirt covering the male’s lanky torso before she offered a smile. “Relax. I’m not gonna stab you with scissors, that would be too easy.” She giggled, as if the idea was humorous. Instead of stabbing him, she was using the utensil to cut off the sweater from his torso, her idea of taking away his dignity seemed to be undressing him. Of course, she wanted him to be uncomfortable, embarrassed. It was the only way to break him and force him into submission. She would feed off of fear and he felt like he sustained her enough.

Like an eagle stalking its next prey, Spencer kept his eyes on her, watching every movement she made while mentally preparing himself for the worst. When she’d reached on a nearby table and picked up what looked to be a taser, it was enough for Spencer to let his eyes fall shut tightly. She was planning on torturing him by shocking him, that had to be it.

The crackle of electricity coming from the device had her smiling, holding it up to proudly display it. “First rule, you need to learn how to take everything the world will give you. Let’s see if that old man's heart can handle a few shocks, hmm?” It looked like a law enforcement level weapon, one that had stronger shockwaves than the typical ones that could be purchased in a store. Before Spencer could try to plead, he was feeling the watts of electricity surge through his veins, the violence of it causing his body to thrash. With his eyes rolled to the back of his head, he tried thinking of his mom. How happy she’d be when he got home, how excited she’d be to tell him about how her life was going.

His body was convulsing as the taser was pulled away from his neck, the male breathing hard as he was doing his damndest to keep himself together. A deep groan emerged from his throat as he slowly lifted his tired head, glossed over eyes facing the woman who was planning on making him miserable. “I’m.. Really shocked that you went through that without passing out. I mean, I had it pressed there for three minutes. The pain typically would elicit more reaction. At least, that’s what I’ve learned from other friends down here..” She was letting her head tilt to the side, reminiscent of a puppy who had so much curiosity. “Let’s see if you can last longer! This will be great research!”

The lesson went on for an hour, off and on subjecting the male to enough electricity to make his heart burst in his chest. By the grace of God and fighting for his life, he made it. The devil reincarnate was satisfied, feeding off the pure agony displayed in Spencer’s pupils. He could hide fear but he couldn’t hide excruciating pain. The way his eyes were tightly squeezed shut, he was shaking slightly in his spot. There was amusement in her eyes, a grin on her face as she was bringing her hands to his cheeks.

In his weak state, he didn’t flinch.

“So that’s where the scars come from. Oh, Spencer..” Marianne was frowning while looking at the male, the man looking visibly distressed by having to tap into those memories that he so desperately tried to forget. The pain and torture he’d went through was enough to break even the strongest of people.

“That’s where those scars come from, right. She repeatedly used the taser against my neck and chest.” His voice was shaky as he was giving an explanation, the purple scarf draped around his neck slowly being removed to show off the marks the prongs left behind.

“There was more. She burned my skin with the taser but she had something else. She called it a toy, something she had joy in using on me. She claimed.. She claimed it marked me as hers.” He explained, fingers slowly messing with a loose thread on his cardigan.

“Would you like to discuss it or should we hold off until another session?” The woman asked, a sympathetic look etched on her face as she studied Spencer’s mannerisms. “Because I don’t expect to know about it today if you aren’t ready. You’ve opened up a lot today.”

“No, I can, uh, explain it to you. I just.. I’m a little nervous to relive it.”

Anyone would be.

Spencer was sitting in the chair, his back in an unbelievable amount of pain for sitting upright for six days now. The lessons that they had in that basement consisted of a taser being pushed roughly into flesh, Spencer’s body weak and exhausted after what felt like hours of being shocked. His body could only take so much more before he was rendered fully weak, unable to help himself. His eyelids were heavy, so tired yet he couldn’t sleep.

The sleep deprivation had been settling in, sanity slowly beginning to disappear while the male fought the urge to sleep. He had to be awake, aware. However in his delirious state, he was going down the path of madness.

“Gideon, I just wanna get out of here but I’m slowly losing faith.” The genius’ voice slurred, looking over at the man who was standing in front of him. The man who he knew was dead, yet.. Here he was, right in front of him. “You’re going to get out of here, Reid. Just put yourself in her shoes. What is she gaining?”

The words had the male slowly letting his head lull to the side, heavy eyes slowly closing. “She wants to break me psychologically. To make me a slave.” He responded to the ghost of his mentor. “Right. Do not let her break you. Fight. Your team will be here. Garcia has always known where to find people. Between you and I, I’m pretty sure she has a tracker inside everyone on earth.” The words made Spencer laugh tiredly, keeping his eyes shut. “She probably does.. I could see it.” He spoke softly, shifting in his chair.

The lighter ceased as soon as he could hear the heavy door being shoved open, the metal door hitting the wall was enough to make his head shoot up. Jason was gone, yet she was here.

“You’re awake! That’s so good. We have spent so much time together that I’ve been thinking of something special to give you.” She offered a wide smile as she was going to the wall behind him, a furnace being there this whole time that he just couldn’t see. “I got this whenever I had the farm. Do you remember that?” The words made his heart nearly stop as she stepped in front of him while holding the object to show off. A cattle iron. “I figured that I’d show you my most prized toy. Not many people have ever seen it!” She offered a wide smile.

“Since we have been having so much fun together, I want to give you something to definitely remember. You’ll never forget.” She cooed, finger tapping his nose while she hummed in satisfaction. The fear in his eyes thoroughly satisfied her. “Alright. Let’s get this heated up, shall we?” As it was placed in the flame across the room though, the male was quiet while trying to keep himself calm and collected. The tears running down his face didn’t quite get the memo.

“Don’t look so scared. I promise that it’s not that big, it’s just got my name and a nice little heart. It’ll be like a tattoo!” He offered a wide smile while taking the metal out of the fire while approaching the shirtless mail. “W-wait! Let’s talk about this! You don’t need to do this!” The burn would be severe enough to never heal, to haunt him forever.

His body was shaking the minute she spared no mercy, the burning metal being pushed into his skin with force. It was enough to make Spencer scream in pain, the sickening sound of his skin sizzling and the putrid smell of burning flesh and hair filling the small room. His hands were shaking, the rope now cutting deep into the skin to draw blood as he tried to thrash in place to make it stop.

The movements made the chair give way, the man falling back and his head roughly slamming into the cement floor. The pain was enough to make it feel like his brain had fallen from his head, the brain matter decorating the floor and this being his last few minutes. It wasn’t physically possible and he knew that.

His head was bleeding, the blood pooling on the floor behind his head. Thankfully not a cracked skull. She’d pulled him to sit up in the chair once more before she was using her first aid knowledge to stop the bleeding and patch him up.

“You definitely have a concussion.” She scolded, noticing his blown out pupils and his general dizziness.

“She burned you?”

“She branded me.”

The words came out slowly as Spencer’s shaking hands were slowly pulling up the top he had on while showing off the scarred skin that was scabbed over, the man having a horrible habit of picking at it. Even if it was a year old, he felt like it was fresh. He could remember the way his skin bubbled, the way he could feel the indention singe into his chest.The woman’s eyes were wide, seeing the damage done. In addition to the branded flesh, there were numerous puncture-like wounds. She assumed it came from more ‘toys’ that this sick bitch collected.

“Do you feel comfortable talking about after?” Her words were soft, ignoring the clock on the wall signaling their session was over and she could go home for the day. She’d never had Spencer open up like this in this capacity. He explained in such graphic and gory detail that she could understand the dark descent of madness that he felt himself slipping into. The depression of knowing that there was always someone just like her out there. Some other helpless victim being trapped and not being lucky enough to get help like he did.

“Everything was pretty much a repeat after that night, honestly Up until I made her think that she broke me completely.”

It had been nearly a year, Spencer being subjected to being damn near electrocuted on a daily basis, the sharp blade of a steak knife puncturing his skin in non-fatal areas, even the times where she would hold a gun to his head, making him promise that he was hers. That he wasn’t leaving her again.

Spencer felt no pain anymore. His body was numb, even the deep cuts puncturing his flesh feeling like the average bee-sting from him having it done so much. He had no tears left to cry, his emotions disappearing about a month after his captivation. He was brutally beaten, stabbed, scratched, even burned with lighters to a point where he couldn’t feel.

The wounds would heal over then be reopened for more sadistic pleasure of rubbing things like salt, dirt, lemon juice, among other things.

Infection hadn’t killed him yet, so he took it as some sign of faith that he wasn’t meant to die here.

“You know, kid. I’m really worried about you.” Derek was talking to him today, the male looking up at the ceiling while sucking in a breath. “I know. I’m starting to worry about myself too.. What if the team isn't looking for me? They surely expect me to be completely radio silent to work on my life outside of the team.” His throat was sore, surely from the nights where he’d just scream, scream to get every ounce of pain and hurt built up over the year out.

“They are looking. You think Garcia would ever give up on you? Come on, kid.” The scolding made Spencer offer a small smile. “You’re right. I mean, P-Penelope would never give up on me.”

Spencer had faced death about a million times before, however this was different. After a year of conditioning and brutality, he never felt so close to death. It seemed inviting, the thought of just.. Maybe drifting off and ending all the suffering there.

“Kid. I know you are weak but don’t you die on me. On us. What will Hank do without his favorite uncle? Or what about Henry and Michael? Do you really want to make them face losing you? Or your mama, man. Think about her!” Not-Derek was probably the last piece of rationality that Spencer had left.

“Look. It’s self defense if you kill her now. Think about it, you have proof she subjected you to pain and suffering. Why not get her back? You haven’t slept in weeks, man. Weeks.” The sleep came in small doses, mainly because he had no idea what would happen when he was asleep, unconscious to the vile nature of what she did to him. Best to be awake when a knife is shoved so deep in his shoulder, it hits the bone.

“W-what?” Was he telling himself to kill her? No, no. Spencer couldn’t do that! He was a good man, just troubled. However the more he thought about it, the more the festering rage built inside of him. Why should he die here?

That was when the plan was in motion. The next time she came down was a full day later, having water and food along with the knife that she loved to use all too much on the helpless man. “Have you actually gotten sleep?! Spence!” The woman smiled widely while clasping her hands together, eventually grabbing the glass to let him sip from the straw. Spencer was weak, his head slowly bobbing as he looked up at her through his tired eyes. Even with the exhaustion, he knew that he was going to get out of there. Alive or dead, he’d leave that god damn basement. He’d contemplated all his options. If he was weak enough, she’d untie him to accompany him to the bathroom. “Can I uh, go pee?” He asked, voice still hoarse and low.

Seemingly, his plan was working because she was grabbing the knife. “I trust you, Spence, so I’ll let you up.” She mused while offering a smile. “Do you think that you will be good enough to be let up permanently? You’re honestly such a good boy now, I have to grant you some sort of luxury.”

Yeah. Fucking luxury. So much luxury that he would be able to feel her blood seep into his bruised and battered skin, akin to a hand moisturizer. She made him like this. She created the monster inside of him that was bursting from its confinements. Prison hurt him in ways indescribable but this experience completely ripped out any form of compassion or empathy. There was rage, the burning inside of his chest from the overwhelming emotion.

The minute the ropes were cut, Spencer examined his wrists briefly, waiting for her to cut the ropes on his ankles. The rope burn was deep, dried blood from his violent thrashing decorating the tan restraint and leaving deep marks on his flesh.

The freedom to move felt so fucking good. However his legs were dreadfully asleep. He didn’t realize that until he tried to stand to ambush his captor, only falling directly on top of her while letting out a yelp. The blade had gone deep into his side from the fall, however the adrenaline coursing through his veins made it tolerable. Rolling off of her body, he was taking in a deep breath before the blade was being torn from his side by his right hand, rolling on top of the stunned woman.

There was darkness in his eyes, an unfathomable amount of rage that made him look no better than the likes of George Foyet. “Lesson one, don’t trust people.” His words were low, his pupils being blown out as he brought the blade down to slam into her chest. The sounds of agonizing screams filling the room brought a twisted smile to his face. “What? You’re too weak to handle it?! It’s okay! We will fix that!” The past year of pain and suffering was being unleashed back onto the woman who came far too close to killing him. The knife plunged deep into her chest cavity a whopping total of sixty times. There was crimson red all over his hands, face and chest along with the pool on the floor. He’d stabbed her lungs first, making her last few moments agonizing as she drowned in her own blood from the inside. The cries and gurgles had Spencer laughing with glee, continuing to mumble the same twisted phrases he’d heard after being shocked, burned, stabbed, and threatened with a firearm.

By the time the team had actually gotten there, he’d continued stabbing the lifeless corpse while muttering and laughing. Emily couldn’t even go near him from the fear he’d turn on her. With Luke and Matt pulling him off of her, the male was spitting up blood, the wound from earlier worsening the more the adrenaline wore off. “We need a medic!” Luke was the one yelling, him and Matt carrying Spencer out.

The final pieces of the story had Marianne in shock. She’d heard bits and pieces but seeing Spencer smile while retelling the end of his journey, it was chilling. This wasn’t the sweet man who had entered the room two hours ago. This was a man who lived in perpetual darkness. A man who let a monster consume him in that basement.

“Is that all? Do I need to tell you more details?” The male asked, sitting up straighter.This part he had no problem discussing, making the woman slowly reach under her desk to hit a button. That was when the doors were opening and one of the nurses were coming in. “Alright Dr. Reid, let’s take you back to your room!” She said in a cheery voice, hand gently grabbing his arm to urge him to stand. He didn’t fight back. “I’ll be seeing you next week, Marianne. Maybe we can talk about Cat there too. Wouldn’t you like to know the last victim?”

“Dr. Reid.” The nurse scolded while leading him out.

“It’s obvious that Mr. Reid is not well, a year full of torture has left him mentally unstable to the point he is lashing out on everyone he sees. We can’t have this behavior continue. I’m sending him to the Western State Psychiatric Hospital indefinitely.” The judge’s decision had the BAU team gasping from their seats, Penelope’s eyes welling up with tears at the thought of the team losing their best agents and closest friends.

Spencer however had no feelings, instead stone faced as he stared at the woman giving her verdict.

They’d lost him a long time ago. So long that he had no desire to look back at his team. If they loved him, they would have found him sooner, they would have fought harder to find him.

He was alone.

He’d always be alone.

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spencermyangel · 1 year

Note

Could you write something with Spencer communicating with echolalia so the team hast first a hard time understanding him?

Thank you in advance 💞

CW - ableism and the team being mean

I write Gideon as mean to often, so here's some nice, fatherly Gideon :)

I know Garcia joined after Spencer but I wanted to include her.

Morgan hesitantly walked up to Spencer with a file in his hands. He couldn't help but feel nervous about talking to the new agent. Spencer was odd, and Morgan didn’t really know how to deal with him.

Morgan placed his hand on Spencer’s shoulder, but quickly pulled it away when Spencer flinched and whined.

“Um, sorry about that,” Morgan apologized, before handing Spencer the file, “Hotch wanted you to take a look at this.”

“Hotch wanted you to take a look at this,” Spencer repeated. He then nodded and opened the file, eyes quickly scanning the page.

Morgan gave Spencer a look of disbelief, was the kid mocking him? He shook his head in annoyance, but decided to leave it for now.

JJ followed Spencer into the precinct they were working at. She nervously glanced around, it had only been a few cases since Spencer had joined their team, but he seemed intent on making her job as difficult as possible.

Part of JJ’s job was, of course, to help the team work with the local police. This involved making sure they were respectful. And Spencer wasn’t mean ever, but he could be rude, JJ had noticed. He wouldn’t shake peoples hands and rarely spoke to them. He also had this habit of mocking people. JJ didn’t know why he did it, she knew he was a genius, but did he really need to mock people?

Today was no different, Spencer walked straight over to the map that was out for them to use. JJ winced to herself when one of the detectives gave Spencer a judgemental look. Great. Now she would have to deal with this.

“Hello, I’m Detective Everson,” the older man introduced himself. He then turned and gestured to Spencer, “guess the kid isn’t super friendly?”

JJ grimaced, “Uh, sorry about that. He’s just eager to get started,” she quickly made up an excuse.

The detective nodded and after discussing with JJ for a few more moments he went to deal with some other things.

JJ marched over to where Spencer was intently studying the map, a marker in his hand. JJ was done with having to deal with him and explaining his behaviour.

“Reid,” she called his name in a stern voice, her arms crossed. When he didn’t answer, JJ rolled her eyes and called his name again. But, yet again, Spencer didn’t respond. He didn’t even look up.

JJ tried to keep her annoyance in check as she made her way over to him. She reached her hand out, and pretty harshly shook him.

This snapped Spencer out of whatever daze he was in. He squeaked and jolted away, before looking at JJ with questioning eyes.

“Listen Reid, you can’t just be rude to people like that.”

“Rude?” Spencer said in a questioning tone.

“Yes, not talking to people, or not shaking people’s hands. Ignoring people when they are trying to talk to you.”

Spencer softly started rocking on his feet, “ignoring people,” he simply repeated as his eyes glanced around in thought.

JJ huffed in frustration, “Stop it! You’re acting like a child, mocking everyone.” and with that JJ spun around and stormed away.

Spencer stood confused for a moment, he hadn’t meant to be rude.

A few days after the case, during a break, Morgan, JJ, and Garcia had gathered in the conference room to have lunch together.

“Do you think we should ask Reid if he wants to eat with us?” Garcia hesitantly asked.

Morgan groaned, “please, baby girl, don’t make us invite him.”

“I know he’s a bit strange, but I don’t want him to feel left out.”

“Well, personally, I don’t care how he feels,” JJ stated, “he’s incredibly rude and full of himself. He treats everyone like they're stupid. The only times I have ever heard him speak is when he is mocking someone or when he goes on a ramble, that sounds like he’s reading out of a textbook. It’s annoying.”

“I don’t know why he does that, he just makes himself look stupid,” Morgan let out a humorless chuckle.

Garcia fiddled with her salad, she didn’t like to talk bad about people. But, she had to admit the way Spencer acted was off putting.

What none of the three realized though, was that Spencer had been walking by and heard their entire conversation. He was standing in the hallway, silent tears streaming down his face, feeling as though his heart had broken in two.

“Are you okay, Spencer?” Gideon asked as the two played chess after one of their dinners together. Gideon wanted to make sure that Spencer at least got a decent meal on a somewhat regular basis.

Spencer bit his lip, resisting the urge to repeat after Gideon, and simply shrugged his shoulders.

Gideon raised an eyebrow at the young genius’ silence. He had been quiet all night, usually he would repeat some of what Gideon said or would happily ramble about whatever thing interested him recently.

“You seem upset, did something happen?”

Spencer thought about whether he should tell Gideon what the others had said, but he didn’t want his teammates to get in trouble. It would make them dislike him even more. So, he had taken to trying to stay out of people’s way and remaining silent, as to not annoy anyone.

Gideon picked up his rook and moved it, “I might be able to help, if you tell me what’s bothering you.”

Spencer rocked in his chair until he softly muttered something, “annoying.”

Gideon’s eyes flashed to look at Spencer, who was staring down and was tense.

“Who said that?”

Spencer shrugged and wiped away a tear that was falling down his cheeks.

“Tell me, Spencer?” Gideon gently nudged him on.

“Morgan, and JJ,” Spencer finally whispered.

Gideon sadly sighed and placed his hand on top of Spencer’s. “I’m so sorry, Spencer. I’ll talk to them and explain things if you want me too.”

Spencer shrugged again, keeping his head down.

“It might help them to understand you better if they know you’re autistic. But, if you don’t want me to tell them, I won’t. I need to know if you want me too,” Gideon asked Spencer.

Spencer fiddled with his fingers as he thought. Maybe they would be more understanding, and what’s the worst that can happen? They just continue treating him the same as now. Spencer studied Gideon’s kind face and nodded.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re all here,” Hotch addressed the team, minus Spencer, as Gideon leaned back in his chair, watching the team.

“I am wondering that,” Morgan said as he glanced around “where's Reid?”

“I’m surprised you even care he’s not here,” Gideon interrupted, unable to contain the disgust in his voice.

“Excuse me?” Morgan turned to Gideon with an offended look on his face.

“You know how you’ve been treating him. You and JJ,” Gideon nodded towards JJ as he spoke.

Morgan snorted, “how we’ve been treating him? How about how he treats us? The only time he ever speaks to us is to mock us or share facts no one asked for!”

Sadness filled Gideon’s eyes and he turned to JJ and Garcia, “well?”

JJ nodded in agreement, “it’s true, Gideon.”

Garcia bit her lip but also expressed her agreement.

“Spencer repeats what you say and facts he reads because he struggles to put his own thoughts into words,” Gideon quietly explained, “he doesn’t do it on purpose. He is not meaning to be rude or to upset you. He has autism.”

JJ, Morgan, and Garcia sat in silence, until Garcia broke it, “we didn’t know,” she whispered, a tear making its way down her cheek at the thought of how horrible they might have made Spencer feel. Well she had never said anything rude about Spencer, she had treated him coldly and silently agreed with her two teammates.

“I know you didn't,” Gideon replied.

“But, that’s not an excuse,” Hotch continued, “I know it can be hard, but try not to always assume the worst in people. It’s okay to ask, if someone acts in a way you don’t understand. We don’t expect you to just know things, but we also will not tolerate gossiping behind a teammate's back.”

“I want you to apologise to Spencer,” Gideon added, “and if any of you have a problem with him, say so now.” When all Gideon received was silence he nodded, “good.”

Gideon stood up and left the room, leaving Hotch and the other three teammates wondering how they could make things up to Spencer.

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#criminal minds #spencer reid #derek morgan #aaron hotchner #spencer reid fanfiction #bau team #criminal minds fanfiction #autistic spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid whump #jason gideon

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spencer-reids-adventures · 1 year

Note

Sorry if this is a little overly specific but if you are okay with it, would you mind writing about after Gideon leaves, Spencer blames himself for it and the blame gradually spirals into a restriction eating disorder because he feels like he needs to better himself in any way possible. Eventually though, it becomes pretty noticeable that something is wrong as he hasn't gone out for drinks with the team in a few months and so they have an intervention with him about it.

tw: disordered eating

It starts slowly.

Gideon leaves, and Spencer is overwhelmed with guilt, certain that Gideon left because of something he did. Of course, the trauma of losing Sarah was also a factor, and Spencer knows that, believes it, but he still thinks if he had been better, if he had reached out to Gideon, if he had done something, Gideon would still be here.

At first it’s just breakfast.

He realizes that when he wakes up he has no appetite, and so instead of forcing down a bowl of oatmeal, he just…doesn’t eat. Later, when he does start to get hungry, he just deals with it. Maybe he deserves to be hungry. Maybe it’ll help him focus more. Maybe his lack of focus is why Gideon left.

It gets worse.

Spencer doesn’t stop eating entirely, but he stops eating in front of other people. He can’t bear the thought of him gorging himself when he’s the reason the team is down a member. He feels disgusting when he eats, grotesque. The whole process of putting food into his mouth and then chewing it up and swallowing makes him shudder.

He eats in secret, at his apartment where no one can see him, but even there, it all feels wrong. The sensations are just as bad. Somewhere deep in his brain he knows what he’s doing isn’t okay, and he does his best to nibble on nuts and fruits when he can, but it’s so, so hard.

He’s at the office one evening when JJ invites him out with the rest of the team for dinner and drinks. A hundred thousand thoughts run through his mind all at once. I can’t eat in front of them. I can’t be in front of them at all. They’re going to judge me. They’re going to hate me. I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I cant…

“Sorry,” he says. “Believe it or not, I’ve got other plans.”

That’s the first time he declines an invitation from his friends—his family—but it’s not the last. Over the next few months he continues to say no when they invite him out, and he continues to eat only at home, now convinced that if he could just be better, more disciplined, no one else will leave him. This is the only way to keep his friends close.

He doesn’t even realize that he’s pushing them away.

Spencer is at his desk getting ready to head home when Emily comes to tell him they’re needed in the conference room.

“Do we have a case?” Spencer asks, surprised and yet also not surprised at all.

“I guess we’ll see when we get there,” Emily shrugs, and they walk together, Emily’s hand hovering over Spencer’s back.

Once everyone is gathered at the table, Hotch clears his throat.

“Spencer,” he says. “We’re here because we’re worried about you.”

Spencer blinks and frowns. “Why?”

“You never want to go out with us anymore,” says Penelope. “And you—”

“You’re so skinny, pretty boy,” Morgan says, his voice dripping with concern. “More than usual. You… you look sick.”

“I’m fine,” Spencer says quickly. “Please, I— Don’t worry— Please, I’m fine.”

Even he can hear that he doesn’t sound fine.

“No one’s seen you eat in months,” Hotch points out gently. “Look at you, you’re shaking right now.”

Spencer glances down to see that his hands are trembling. He’s gotten so used to it, he didn’t even notice.

“It’s nothing,” he tries again. “I’ve been a little sick. I’m feeling better now. It’s fine.”

“Spence,” JJ begs. “Please tell us what’s going on.”

Spencer puts his head in his hands so he can’t see anyone. He sits perfectly still for a long time before he finally swallows back a sob and takes a deep breath.

“It started when Gideon left,” he murmurs. “I just… I just want to be better.”

“And better means you can’t eat?” JJ asks softly.

“Eating is hard.”

“Why do you want to be better?” Emily asks.

“So no one else leaves…”

Spencer leans forward until his head is on the table, and after a moment, he feels a hand press gently onto his back. A moment later he feels another, and another, until the whole team is standing behind him, touching him. They know he doesn’t like group hugs, so this is their compromise, their way of showing that they’re here for him.

For the first time in months, Spencer lets them in.

#cw ed #cw eating disorder #maya writes more than 5 sentences #maya's spencer whump collection #spencer reid #criminal mind fanfiction #spencer reid whump

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reid-whump · 2 months

Text

Send me whump/spencer Reid prompts please!!

#whump prompts #caretaker x whumpee #whumpee spencer reid #captive whump #whump fic #whump #whump prompt #spencer reid whump #sad spencer reid #spencer reid smut #based off a spencer reid whump story i’m writing haha #single father spencer reid #dad spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds

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pathologicalreid · 5 months

Note

could you do a third part to buried alive where the reader finally gets a bit better and goes out into the field for the first time and then the team goes and gets drinks after bc they are so proud of her :) -🌱

back again | S.R.

part one | part two

in which you go back into the field (and kick ass)

who? spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader

category? angst and then fluff

content warnings: established relationship. PTSD undertones. guns and physical fighting. reader is paired with morgan and kicks ass. usual cm case stuff. going to a bar and alcohol consumption. use of 'ass'. reader is referred to as a girl.

word count: 1.8k

a/n: hey anon i love you!!! i never expected people to like this story so much, but im so grateful i hope you enjoy!! thanks for reading <3 don't forget to like and reblog <3333333333

It felt good. Standing outside of a suspect's house with Morgan felt normal to you, having your firearm holstered, felt right.

He was trying to get ahold of the team, but the two of you were far from the town and, apparently, cell service. “The call keeps dropping, but they know where we are. They should be on their way,” he told you, getting out of the car. “If you’re uncomfortable going in, you don’t have to.”

You rolled your eyes and got out of the SUV. “I’ve got your back,” you responded self-assuredly. It was your first case back in the field, and besides, you weren’t about to let Derek walk into the lion's den alone.

Despite your attempt at confidence, you hadn’t planned on going to a suspect's house. The two of you had been on your way back from talking to a victim’s family, meaning you didn’t have vests. “I know you do,” Morgan confirmed, removing his sunglasses and snapping the temples down. “Go around back, I’ll take the front,” he said.

Nodding, you unholstered your weapon and kept it pointed toward the ground, you took a deep breath before wrapping around the white farmhouse.

Paranoid thoughts pelted your brain. Did you remember to shut off your phone’s ringer? What if the suspect had a gun? What if the information you were given was wrong and you didn’t have probable cause?

You shook your head, peeking in through the open blinds, you saw the kitchen. The town you were in was on the smaller side, and the only thing that surrounded you was farmland. You saw movement out of the corner of your eye and wished you had been given more time to prepare, having comms right now would be remarkably helpful.

Approaching the back door, you leaned against the siding before reaching over and turning the doorknob. It was already unlocked, which could either be a good thing or a bad thing. You swung the door open and stepped inside the house, pointing your Glock around the kitchen, you saw Morgan entering the living room in your peripheral vision. “Clear!” You called out, and shortly after, Morgan called the same.

Once you had cleared the main floor, Morgan moved upstairs and you moved downstairs, pulling your flashlight from your belt, you pointed it down the steps.

“Jackson Fike this is the FBI,” you called, making yourself known. You reached the bottom of the stairs, just to see another door, wide open. “Damn it,” you cursed, “Morgan, he’s running!” You shouted, hoping your voice would be able to carry up two flights of stairs.

You pocketed your flashlight and took off running out the door. Distantly, you saw a man fitting the suspect's description sprinting towards the woods. Without a second thought, you followed, expecting Derek to be not far behind you.

Thankfully, it was still light outside, the scent of the damp earth filled your senses, but it didn’t overwhelm you. You wouldn’t let it.

You skidded to a halt in the forest, keeping your back to a tree so you could be attacked from behind, “Jackson Fike, you can’t keep running like this. You know as well as I do that the road ends here.” You spoke loudly, hoping he heard you from wherever he had disappeared into the woods.

His choices here boiled down to giving himself up or being on the run for the rest of his life. Based on the profile the team had put together, he would never be able to leave this town. Not by choice, at least.

The snap of a twig gave his location away, you twisted your body in the direction of the noise. Your ears perked up like a bloodhound. “Jackson, if you come with me and tell me where the girls are, maybe I could see about keeping you close to home. Close to your house, that’s what’s important, right?” You tried to negotiate with him. You didn’t know if he was armed, but you did know that suicide by cop wasn’t in his profile. It was also less paperwork if you cuffed him without a fight.

“You can’t make me that promise, agent,” he responded. His voice was gravelly despite only being in his late thirties. “Why would I negotiate with a fed when I could just kill one instead?” He asked.

His question sent a chill down your spine all the way down to where your handcuffs rested on your back. “You’re right,” you ceded, “You’d be worshipped in prison for killing a fed, but why take that chance?”

In a flash, the UnSub smacked your wrist, causing a misfire into the trees, and making your weapon hit the ground.

That was fine, your marksmanship was good enough to pass your qualifications, but hand-to-hand was where you really excelled. He charged at you, but you jumped out of the way.

Closer to the farmhouse you heard voices, but you didn’t let yourself get distracted. Instead, you used your one boxing lesson with JJ and kicked. The inside of your foot provided enough surface to daze your opponent, he stumbled around, and you made sure to keep both of your feet firmly planted to the ground.

He swung back, but you ducked just in time to feel the breeze of his swing against your face. In response, you swung back, hitting him across the face.

Jackson retaliated, using both hands to push you into a tree, crushing your shoulder but not doing anything to stop you from throwing another hit, striking him on the head, and causing him to fall to the ground. He groaned as you crouched down and pulled your cuffs out, fastening them around his wrists.

As you read him his rights, the local police and the rest of your team approached you. Emily looked at you warily, Spencer was searching for injuries, but Morgan was grinning. He was like a giddy little kid who had heard the ice cream truck turn on his street.

Handing off the UnSub to a local, you eyed Morgan suspiciously, “What are you smiling at?” You asked, rotating your shoulder in a failed attempt to make it feel better.

“You took that guy down,” Derek said, gesturing to where the police officer was now taking the UnSub.

Confused, you shrugged, “Yeah, and?”

He laughed again, “Oh, you are so back, pretty girl.”

A flight later, you were hunched over takedown paperwork, something you certainly hadn’t missed during your time away from the field. At the desk adjacent to yours, Spencer was flipping through a book, waiting for you so you could go home.

After initialing each page and signing the last one, you placed the papers into the confidential file. Going up the stairs to Hotch’s office, you knocked on the door, “Come in.”

You stepped into the office and reached over to hand him the file, “My takedown paperwork for Jackson Fike.”

He nodded, the stern look on his face fading as he looked at you, “You did impressive work today, Y/L/N. By taking the initiative to arrest Fike, you saved the three girls he had captive.”

Shrugging, you fiddled with his nameplate, “I just did what felt right.”

“Other agents would’ve shot him, and it would’ve been justified, but you didn’t,” Hotch said, raising his eyebrows. “It’s good to see you out in the field again,” he told you in that fatherly, parental tone of his.

You looked out the window of his office, “It’s good to be back out, sir.” Watching as the rest of the team gathered back into the bullpen, “I thought everyone had already left?”

Hotch set your file down and stood from his desk, “I believe they were all waiting for you in Garcia’s office.”

Confused, you walked outside of the office and down the steps, “Hey?” You said cautiously, looking around at everyone, “What’s going on?” You looked at Spencer, but he just shrugged like he didn’t know any more than you did.

“We,” Derek said, “are going to O’Keefe’s,” he said, grinning as you reached over your desk to grab your bag and your coat.

Shoving your arms through the sleeves of your coat, you looked at the team curiously, “I’m getting the sense that I don’t have much of a choice in this outing.”

Grinning, Penelope excitedly walked towards you, looping her arm through yours and leading you out of the bullpen, “you don’t!”

You laughed, looking back at Spencer, who was just smiling at you. It wasn’t in your nature to turn down what Emily called ‘team bonding’, so the lot of you went to the familiar bar, a place you hadn’t been in nearly four months.

At the same table as always, standing room only with the eight of you, Rossi paid for all of your preferred drinks. Something you had learned to not protest over the years, as long as he was there, he’d never let you pay for your drinks.

Casually, Spencer had his arm around your waist, the two of you were more affectionate outside of the office. “How’s your shoulder?” He asked, gently skimming the pad of his thumb over the sensitive skin. Naturally, Spencer didn’t say anything in front of the team when you mentioned being shoved into a tree, but behind closed doors, he had asked to take a look at it.

You hummed in response, leaning into his touch, “Better, just bruised a bit.”

He dropped his hand back down to your waist, “good,” he whispered, ducking his head, and pressing a kiss to your cheek, causing you to smile.

Grabbing your attention, Derek cleared his throat and raised his glass in your general direction. “Tonight is about you, pretty girl,” he said, causing everyone else to turn to you. Your cheeks burned, “not only did you kick some UnSub ass, but you threw yourself back into the field after months on the sidelines.”

At your side, Spencer squeezed your hip, you were grinning like a fool.

“It has been an honor to be able to watch you reclaim yourself. I, for one, am proud of that accomplishment,” Morgan continued. “I hope you’re proud of yourself, too.”

You nodded enthusiastically, “Thank you. All of you, really.” You reached forward where everyone was clinking their glasses before taking a sip. Setting your glass down, you turned and looked at Spencer, “I love you,” you whispered to him.

He dropped a kiss to your lips, earning a whoop from Garcia. When he pulled away, he smiled at you softly, “I love you too.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid whump #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid angst #david rossi #derek morgan #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #written by margot #margot's asks #criminal minds angst

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ohdearlordspencerreid · 4 months

Text

SPENCER REID IS DEAD.

My first Criminal Minds Fanfiction!!

Summary:

What would have happened if Spencer had relapsed after Maeve's death? How would he have coped with his new reality? How would the team pull him back from the brink?

'He knew that his one lifeline was getting shorter, as the immeasurably holy and extensively evil vials of poison that sat on his coffee table, atop a mocking copy of Great Expectations, ran out.'

I put this on Ao3 and didn't get much interaction, so here I am, desperate for validation. Please don't repost anywhere, I'm really proud of this ❤️

Warning:

This is a big sad. Please don't read this if you are not in the mood or in safe headspace to see our baby boy and the rest of the team suffer.

This work does not contain any graphic descriptions of drug use, it is all implied, however it does contain a lot of dark and sad ideas including multiple references to suicide and death. Please be careful and maybe read something happy after this <3

Notes:

In my fanon, as in real life, relapse is a part of recovery, I respect MGG not wanting to continue with Reid’s addiction storyline but it feels unrealistic for Spencer to have stayed sober through all his trauma and stress especially with Maeve's death.

Please be kind, this is my first piece of Criminal Minds fanfiction ever and my first time writing anything in several year, nevermind posting it.

Spencer Reid is Dead- OhDearLordSpencerReid

‐--------------------------------REID-------------------------

He felt like he might melt into the floor, a puddle of pain, anger and suicidal ideation. The world stood still but simultaneously ran past him, leaving him alone, bitter and inconsequential. She was dead.

Spencer’s vision swam as he knelt on the hard wooden floor of his apartment, his week old pajamas sticking to him uncomfortably, personal hygiene had become a thing of the past, so had sleep. The dark circles under his eyes made his face look like a skull, he had torn large chunks of his once soft, honey brown curls from his scalp, he didn’t remember doing it. His mouth was dry, he felt like he had been drinking bleach, maybe the misfiring synapses in his previously exceptional brain were on to something, was that a good idea? He just needed everything to stop.

He barely heard the knocking on his door, the rhythmic sound blending in with the constant and overwhelming pounding of his head. He heard voices outside his apartment, but he couldn't bring himself to care, nevermind open the door. He knew his friends would be worrying about him, he knew they loved him, or at least the part of his brain which wasn't currently tripping on a deadly combination of gut wrenching, life ending grief and dilaudid knew that. The active part of his brain however wanted to be left alone, wanted to sit here as he had for days and rot.

‐--------------------------------REID-------------------------

He didn't know what day it was anymore, he was only aware of two things, that the only person who had ever truly understood him, the woman he loved, was dead. And that his one lifeline was getting shorter, as the immeasurably holy and extensively evil vials of poison that sat on his coffee table, atop a mocking copy of great expectations, ran out. Eventually, he would hit withdrawal. He had two choices, his brain fought to use even a fraction of his usually infinite space and exceptional speed to process his options, feeling increasingly dizzy and hopeless.

Option one, call someone and ask for help.

Pros:

You won't have a seizure from withdrawals and choke on your own vomit and die.

Cons:

You won't have a seizure from withdrawals and choke on your own vomit and die. Let it end.

The team will know you’re being weak again, fucking weak!

You’ll lose your job! Who cares honestly..

Spencer shook his head, feeling his slowly frying brain slosh against his skull.

Option two, go outside and buy more dilaudid.

Pros:

More dilaudid.

No more feelings.

No more thoughts.

Cons:

Going outside.

Being a weak, drug addicted loser.

Spencer began to sob, crying so hard he began to wretch, wretching so hard he had to drag himself off of the floor, running as fast as his shaking legs could carry him to the bathroom and throwing up bile. When was the last time he had eaten? Did it matter? He’d always been too skinny, said his mother. His mother, who had put a goddamn genetic time bomb in his brain. Maybe schizophrenia would be easier than this.

After vomiting bile for several minutes, his nose burnt by the acid, his lungs burning with the effort it took him to keep breathing when he saw no point. He looked back up at the vials, they mocked him.

He couldn't go outside. Not like this. But going outside sober was an even more terrifying prospect, primarily due to the fact that he would be sober.

But he wasn't going to call anyone. As he lay down where he was on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor he made peace with the idea that what would be would be.

‐--------------------------------REID-------------------------

He must have fallen asleep or passed out because the next moment he heard a frantic banging on his front door, it sounded like someone was trying to break it down. He laughed bitterly, thinking of Derek, constantly having to use funding the FBI could use on better things instead, on reimbursing people for unnecessarily kicking down doors. The thought made Spencer laugh, high and manic, it made him cringe, the sounds coming from his own mouth. He hadn't used his voice in days, weeks? How long had he truly laid on the teak effect floor in front of his front door?

The pounding continued, it frustrated Spencer, scared him that he couldnt tell if the noise was real, or if it was a fiction created by his self destructive, drug addled, fucking Intolerable, all remembering, overdue for a bullet, genius brain. He stormed over to the door, on unstable legs, his knees covered in dark bruises from hours of kneeling, he looked through the peephole. And who did he see but said insufferable prick. Best friend? Unfeeling bastard? Brother?

All of the air was knocked out of Spencer's fragile body as he saw it was really him. It was Derek Morgan.

‐-----------------------------MORGAN---------------------

Derek Morgan paced the bullpen, his phone clasped to his ear, he sighed in frustration as Spencer’s phone went to voicemail, yet again. He resisted the urge to scream, to throw something. He knew Penelope was going to Spencer’s house this morning, to drop off her usual gift basket, she would surely call him if something was really wrong.

If she smelt the all too familiar stench of rotting flesh wafting from under the young genius's door.. Derek shook himself, trying to push away the dreadful thought. Spencer knew he was there, knew he loved him like a kid brother, an annoyingly smart and unsettlingly traumatised kid brother.. Oh god.

Were they going to carry the tall, spindly, blood splattered body of Spencer Reid out of his apartment on a gurney, would he have to see his ‘Pretty Boy’ in a body bag, would he be asked to identify him? Was he still Spencer’s emergency contact? The mental image was vivid, horrifying. Should he have taken Spencer’s gun? ‘No, because this was the ‘Boy Wonder’ he wouldn't need something as barbaric and neanderthal as a gun to end his painfully short and difficult life’, a voice that sounded distressingly like Spencer’s echoed in Derek’s mind. Derek began to lose control of his breathing, began to gulp air like he was trapped in the desert and he wanted to drown in the oasis he found there, mirage or no.

Derek’s head span as his breathing became erratic, he hadn't noticed before that his cheeks were wet with tears, his hands shook as he struggled to regain control of himself. He needed to be strong, he needed to continue to hold this team together. It was his job to chase away the monsters, it was his job to protect the little guy, to keep JJ and Penelope and Spencer safe. He’d failed in his big brother capacity before and he’d never forgive himself if he did it again. Derek desperately tried to center himself, but it was no use, the world was cracking like a Chicago sidewalk taken over by tree roots, his brain screamed like a gunshot heard from the footwell of a police car, his heart ached like it had that day and Spencer wasn't even dead, yet.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned, eyes wide to see Hotch.. Hotch, Aaron Hotchner, surely he would know what to do, what to say.

‐-----------------------------GARCIA------------------------

Penelope Garcia knocked on the door, softly at first as if worried the shock of a sudden noise alone would stop the broken heart of the cowering young man, unbeknownst to her, laying half unconscious behind the door. She waited a few moments and knocked again, this time louder. She heard a pitiful noise from inside, it broke her heart but as sad as it felt to think, at least it meant Spencer was still breathing in there. She called out, her lips inches from the door, when she was met with only a phrase she would not repeat in polite company, telling her to ‘go away’ she put down her basket of blueberries. ‘They are high in antioxidants and serotonin vitamins’ her internal Reid said, somewhat inaccurately as Penelope didn't know all the facts, as though trying desperately to drown out the broken and unpleasant memory of the real Reid only inches away.

Penelope wanted to help, she needed to be able to do something. This was Reid, this was the soft young man who brought her baked goods when she had a bad day. Here was Spencer, who could be surprisingly hilarious, even if it hadn’t been his intention. He was the ‘Pretty Boy’ to her ‘Babygirl’ and he was suffering, in a way Penelope couldn't fathom. There was no system she could hack, no phone to trace, no dirt to dig up, that would get Reid to let her in. Only the echoing distance between them, as extensive as the time, space and regenerations between the fourth and eleventh doctors…

Penelope didn’t want to leave, she was so scared for him, it was so hard to turn off her instinctual empathy and intrinsic sense of duty to fix things and make them all sunshine and rainbows… but she knew she couldn't fix this. Especially if Spencer wouldn't even open the door

‐------------------------------HOTCH------------------------

Aaron Hotchner has seen agents in distress. He had seen it many times. Hell he’d seen Reid in distress many times. The thought made him sad. He felt like a bad boss. A bad friend. A bad father? It was true he did see Spencer as a surrogate son, partially because he knew Spencer needed a father figure, desperately. But if he was being honest it was in large part to that fact that the kid was just so easy to fall in love with. He had endeared Aaron from the get go, the way he walked around as if everything and everyone was a potential threat, made him want to protect the young agent in the beginning. The way he lit up when he got to share a piece of extremely niche knowledge, the pride he felt when they solved a particularly difficult case.

Spencer was easy to fall in love with.

But now, that fear, that anxiety and self doubt Hotch had found endearing in the beginning when Spencer looked like a very tall child in a cardigan and obscenely large glasses, had transformed into something terrible. He had seen it, the ugliness that lingered inside Spencer Reid, he had seen it when he had returned from his break after the Tobias Hankel case, seen the anger and animalistic fear in the usually sweet mans eyes, he had seen the metaphorical foaming of the rabid dogs mouth.

He’d known he’d never have the strength to put that dog down.

It had eased and the dog had become a sweet little puppy again, following Gideon around, playing chess, devouring books, opening up emotionally. Hotch had been proud, in the years since he had only seen glimpses of that pain, of the Spencer that could go feral and rip out his throat, they had always faded. But this time, this time Spencer hadn’t screamed or lashed out or cursed the world. No, Spencer had seen the woman he loved murdered in front of him and shut himself away. Shut himself in a cage, biting and clawing only at himself, wounded and content to tear himself apart, by brain or by vein. Aaron’s dark train of thought was suddenly broken by Anderson, who knocked on his door and told him that he thought Derek Morgan was having a mental breakdown. ‘No, no more’ Aaron thought ‘Oh God please, let them be, let me take their pain’

‐---------------------------------JJ--------------------------

Jennifer Jareau walked into the bullpen and found a commotion unlike anything she had ever seen before. A small crowd was gathered seemingly centered around someone, a crying child? Who was sitting on the floor, JJ approached cautiously, not wanting to intrude if this was a family member of a victim. Her blood ran cold as she saw the shaking, sobbing form of Derek Morgan, the strongest man she knew, curled in a ball on the carpeted floor, clinging to Aaron Hotchner’s shirt like it was his last tether to this mortal plane. She stepped forward, the crowd parting slowly as she approached. She got immediately to her knees, gently placing her hands on either side of Derek’s face, trying to ask him what had happened. When she heard the name Spencer amongst Morgan’s apoplectic ramblings, she felt suddenly faint, the images she had been desperately repressing came crashing down, pinning her to her spot, to this singular breath with their gravity.

Spencer Reid was dead.

Her best friend wouldn’t make it to thirty, he would remain forever young. His photo would join the other ghostly faces lining the corridor outside the BAU office, the wall of those who had died because of this god awful job. He would join Roslyn in her mind as the cold corpse of a sibling, of a soulmate. Spencer Reid would never get his fourth doctorate, never see the return of David Blaine, never tell her another fact about enucleation, never be a father, the one job beyond behavioral profiler or exceptionally overqualified college lecturer, that he would be truly exceptional at.

Spencer Reid was dead…

Until he wasn't, a bright pink blur ripped through the room as Penelope Garcia descended on Derek, her face a mask of supposed ‘eternal and infallible optimism’.

Spencer was alive.

He wouldn't open the door and she’d barely gotten a word out of him. But Spencer Walter Reid was still breathing and suddenly, Jennifer could too.

‐--------------------------------ROSSI-----------------------

David Rossi, didn’t have any children, hell he wasn’t sure if he would even want any. But he enjoyed his role as the fun uncle to Aaron Hotchner’s strict father immensely. He loved seeing the program he and Jason Gideon had built flourish into an exceptional team, a life saving and justice affording safe haven, a real family. Family had always been complicated for Dave, he hadn't felt this close to a group of people, trusted anyone so much since leaving the marines. He knew that he could give his still beating heart to any one of the BAU members and they would treasure it, nurture it, protect it at any cost. That was why he felt so helpless as he sent lavish gifts to Spencer Reid’s apartment, sent him texts offering to pay for him to take time off, to pay for therapy, they all felt like hollow gestures. The fickle attempts at support by a man who was yet to realise that money doesn't buy you happiness. Dave knew this practically of course, but he felt trapped, paralised by his inability to read Reid, the way he had encouraged him to pursue his relationship with the woman who was now being prepared for her funeral, a woman Spencer had loved with such intensity and innocence, far beyond Rossi’s comprehension.

It was then as he stood in the lobby of Spencer’s apartment, trying to gather the courage to go up and see him that Dave realised one thing Spencer had that he had never been able to grasp, besides a comprehensive knowledge of string theory, quantum theory and the difference therein, vulnerability. Spencer was able to be truly vulnerable with those he loved.. That vulnerability usually lent itself to him as compassion, as a strong sense of justice and as an infinite capacity to love others, to fight for them. But right now? That vulnerability was slowly sucking every happy memory in his seemingly limitless mind, right now that vulnerability was a weakness. And so, too, David was weak. He walked back to his car, silently begging any god or holy being that would listen to give him even a tenth of the strength Spencer had, even a moment to be truly vulnerable, to show the kid he loved him that he would fight for him.

For the first time in many years, Rossi doubted the existence of god.

The strength didn't come.

‐------------------------------BLAKE------------------------

Alex Blake was new. It had taken a while for the team to warm up to her. But not Spencer. He had met her where she lived, where she was comfortable, in a joining of intellects, a tête-à-tête, a friendly competition of defining obscure words. She had instantly felt a kinship with the boy, she knew he hated being called a boy, a kid, but she couldn't bring herself to care. Not out of malice, but out of a motherly instinct, that had laid dormant for several years. He was sweet and smart, she had often wondered what Ethan would be like, she hoped he would be like Spencer.

She had greatly enjoyed seeing him sneaking around, making mysterious phone calls, after learning that he was calling a girl he liked and not under the thumb of some kind of MENSA mafia that is. Alex smiled at the memory of Reid’s blushing face when he had talked about her, the memory tasted sour now, given the dreadful results of Spencer’s first meeting with his mystery woman. She was dead, and Spencer it seemed was content to let himself be buried with her. She knew that pain, the feeling of wanting to drop dead when the person you love is gone…

Alex slowly sipped her coffee, trying to focus on her morning crossword, dreading the phone ringing, signaling another case, but also desperately wanting a distraction. She felt like an intruder, watching Spencer and his loved ones, his REAL family, grieve and worry. She felt like an aunt's new exceptionally dull boyfriend that you have to endure attending your wedding because he's a plus one. She felt she had no right to be as sad as she was, no right to compound her grief for her son with her newfound worry for Spencer. He never asked for that. But she cared, god she cared. She wanted to help him, to help them all, but she feared she would just be a hindrance, an ill fitting cog, ‘the new guy’. She visited Spencer’s house several times, leaving sudoku and crossword puzzles.

She never knocked.

He never opened the door, even if he saw her.

It was like they had a silent agreement, no one was entitled to their pain.

They simply remained, lonely parallels. Broken hearts.

‐-----------------------------SPENCER--------------------

Spencer reeled as he saw Derek Morgan, the real Derek Morgan outside his door, kicking, flailing desperately trying to break down his front door. Derek’s eyes looked hollow, he looked like he hadn't been sleeping. Derek Morgan, the man who could practically sleep standing up during a fire drill. Spencer felt awful, the slimy self loathing he had been feeling since that fateful night, since his teens honestly, slithered up his throat like a giant, blood filled leach. Full of his friends worry, full of wasted potential, full of things that would never be.

Things he had wanted so desperately with Maeve.

Maeve.

It was as if her name broke through to him, he hadn't even allowed himself to think the word, scared he would completely lose his mind. With shaking hands Spencer removed the chain from his door, unlocking it just as Derek kicked it again. Tears streaming down his face, the door hit Spencer hard in the chest, knocking him sprawling to the floor. A small, sweaty, pale, skeleton-esque mess, his arm littered with needle marks, his aura exuding pure shame and grief.

It was then as Derek stood in the doorway, his heart slowly shattering that Spencer noticed he wasn't alone.

The whole team stood behind him in the corridor, full of love and full of fear.

Penelope looked drained of all hope, her skin grey, her pink glasses doing nothing to hide her red rimmed eyes.

Aaron Hotchner’s face was blank, not in the usual serious way he had. In a way that scared him.

Jennifer was shaking clutching a soft purple cashmere scarf, the one from Spencer's desk. It was wrapped around her neck, right next to her sister's locket.

Rossi hovered near the back, clutching his rosary, caught in a muffled prayer, tears freely falling down his face.

Blake was smiling softly, trying to keep it together, physically supporting JJ.

“Help me” Spencer sobbed, falling as he tried to stand, his voice breaking harshly “please, please help me. I need you”

-------------------------FIN------------------------

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artcake · 1 year

Note

Can we have angsty Ralvez with Luke comforting Spencer? Like in Touch Therapy when he's hiding in the closet which reminds him of SHU :)

Touch Therapy is the penultimate ralvez fic and nothing can change my mind

#ralvez #luke alvez #spencer reid #luke x spencer #criminal minds #criminal minds fanart #spencer reid whump #angst #look you cant have a ralvez fic without the Angst and the Connection and the Absolute Trust #thank you for the ask im going to go reread it #sketch #sketch asks #500 followers #500 celebration #prompts #fan art #my art

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reidsaurora · 2 years

Text

"Kisses Make Everything Better" ~ S. Reid

Summary: Spencer and Y/N get taken hostage, he goes into sensory overload and they have to help him through it.

Pairing: Autistic!Spencer Reid x GN!Reader (i'm p sure no pronouns are used)

Word Count: 1,195

Content Warning: Y/N and Spencer do be kidnapped, mentions of guns, minor character death, mentions of hospitals, sensory overload/overstimulation, very mild swearing, lmk if i missed anything!

Genre: Angst to Fluff, Hurt/Comfort

Extra Notes: another crappy summary but i promise the imagine is written much better

Based On the Prompt: "Hair's Breadth from Death" - gun to temple (from 2022 Whumptober Prompts)

Originally Written: 10/07/2022

Beta Read By: @dungeons-are-too-cold and @theghouligan

Criminal Minds masterlist can be found here!

Whumptober masterlist/schedule can be found here!

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"Where did you take him?" she growled, grip tight around the gun in her hand.

"For the last time, Ruby, we don't know where your son is," I huffed. "Oliver was placed in foster care after your arrest. We don't know where he went or if he even has the same name."

My eyes darted over to Spencer. His chest heaved, tears brimmed his eyes, and his leg bounced as best it could through the restraints around his ankles.

I could tell Spencer was headed toward sensory overload, most likely caused by both the flex cuffs around his wrists and ankles and the volume of her shouting. One of Spencer's many sensory triggers was plastic, the texture he hated most. He had a couple sensory overload tells, but his most dominant tell was his fidgeting leg.

My face softened as I looked over him. I craved Spencer's touch constantly, but when I saw him in situations like this, I wanted to wrap him up tight and prove to him that things would be OK.

Ruby must've noticed my look of sympathy, prompting her to shout, "Hey, don't look at him! Look at me!"

My eyes flickered over to her, watching as she paced. Her face contorted from a look of anger to a look of curiosity as she paced over to Spencer.

"If you won't tell me where Ollie is," she said, sliding a singular bullet into the chamber, "then I'll just have to make you tell me."

Click!

"Ruby, don't do this," I pleaded. "What will Oliver think of his mother when he finds out she killed a federal agent?"

Spencer's chest heaved five times harder than it already was. "Please," he managed weakly, tears sliding down his cheeks.

"Tell me where he is."

I couldn’t take it anymore. "Ruby, I already told you a hundred times-"

Click!

"Y/N, please make her stop!" Spencer begged.

My mind raced as I attempted to find some way to calm them both. I thought through my options, trying to find something to give me leverage over her.

I knew I shouldn't, it was the one thing Spencer hated telling people about himself, but I knew it might work. I knew it might make Ruby take a step back and consider her son. "Ruby, he has autism."

She pressed the barrel to his skin, surely hard enough to cause an imprint. "No, he doesn't. You're lying."

"I'm not lying. He has autism, just like Oliver," I told her. "He’s going into sensory overload. You wouldn't do that to Oliver, would you? So please don’t do it to Spencer either."

She scoffed, her eyes rolling sarcastically. "You're just saying that so I'll feel bad."

"It's true," Spencer whimpered, "I got diagnosed last year, not long after you lost Oliver."

Click!

"Tell me where Ollie is," she demanded once more, still holding the gun close to Spencer's forehead.

"I already told you a million times, Ruby. We don't-"

"'Know where he is.' Yeah, I know. We've been over that song and dance before," she antagonized. "I'll put the gun down when you tell me where my son is."

I rolled my eyes at her, throwing my head back in frustration. "You wanna know where he is, Ruby?"

Her eyes lit up, her expression filled with sarcasm. "I was wondering when you'd get the message."

My eyes narrowed as she walked closer to me. I leaned up close to her face once she was close enough. "He's living with a nice family who could take way better care of him than your sorry ass ever could," I spat. "He's living with a nice family where the mom isn't a hit woman and the dad is actually in the picture."

BOOM!!!

My ears rang as a gunshot sounded off throughout the room. My eyes screwed shut as tears slid down my face.

"Are you two OK?" I heard a familiar voice ask from across the room.

I slowly opened my eyes, spotting Rossi and Morgan as they walked over to untie us. My mouth fell agape as I registered the fact that Spencer was still alive and breathing. "You're OK," I managed through shallow breaths.

"I'm OK," he confirmed. "What about you?"

Once Rossi had successfully untied me and Morgan had untied Spencer, we rushed over to each other, falling into each other's arms. "I'm OK now," I answered.

Spencer kept his distance during the ambulance ride to the hospital. Luckily, I was able to plead with the driver to keep the siren turned off for Spencer's sake, though I could tell the flashing of the light did nothing to ease his overstimulation.

Once we reached the hospital, I stayed close enough to Spencer to let him know I wasn't leaving his side. The nurse allowed me to share an exam room with him too after I explained our situation.

The room stayed mostly silent, save for us answering the doctors' questions. Spencer's heart rate was still extremely high, probably the result of him having difficulties with calming down after such high stakes situations.

Slowly, I stood from my seat, sitting down beside him on the exam table. "Are you OK?" I whispered.

He nodded slowly, avoiding eye contact with me. "Hey, do you think Rossi and Morgan heard what you said? A-about my diagnosis, I mean."

I exhaled, attempting to figure out how to answer his question. "I'm not sure."

"You don't think they'll make fun of me, do you?" he asked, his volume matching that of mine. "I don't want them to think I'm less capable in the field now that everyone's suspicions have been confirmed."

I held my hand close to his face, not touching him quite yet. "May I?"

He swallowed hard, but nodded nonetheless.

I pressed my hand to his cheek, wiping the remnants of his tears. "No one is going to think you're less capable. And if they did, I'd beat their ass for being ableist."

He cracked a small smile, his eyes finally fluttering up to meet mine. "Thank you."

"I love you, Spencer. I would've never said that if I hadn't thought it would help the situation. I thought telling her about your diagnosis might make her take a step back and think about her actions," I explained. "I'm sorry it didn't work as well as I'd hoped."

"I love you too," he whispered, leaning into my touch.

The room stayed silent for a moment, a comfortable silence I'd craved ever since we'd been taken hostage in the first place. I listened to his breathing, feeling a sense of serenity wash over me as I heard shallow breaths turn into deeper, calmer breaths.

"Y/N?" he spoke again after a couple minutes.

"Hmm?" I hummed, still running my thumb across the soft skin of his cheek.

"Can you kiss me?" he asked, his eyes immediately darting away. "I think it might help distract me."

I gave him a soft smile before leaning in, placing my lips on his. His lips were slightly cracked and dry, but I didn't care.

"Thank you," he whispered as he broke away.

"Of course," I smiled. "Kisses make everything better."

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i don't wanna talk about how much i hate the title of this aldjslshsksgajs

you know what i do wanna talk about tho? how much i love georgia and gracie 🫶🏻

bc they both saw the potential in this fic and gave me so many pointers on making this better for you guys. i just wanna give them both a lil shoutout. love u guys 🥰

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