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reidingandallthat · 8 days ago

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cranberry juice

spencer isn't sure what to do in his days of addiction but there's one familiar stranger that's present to help him forget, if only for one night, or maybe more.

words: 3.6k spencer reid x undercover!reader tags: well, dilaudid addiction, dark inner thoughts, nausea, mentions of withdrawal symptoms, alcohol, talks of a bar that's commonplace for criminals ig lmao, all for the plot, metaphors using space time continuum, some other nerd talk, yk the usual. reader is supposed to be an undercover agent, but here there's not much mention of it because this is very heavily spencer's pov. very much apologize if there's any inaccuracies with anything.

a/n: EXTREMELY nervous to post this hahaha. this comes from that one post i made, and i have too many ideas for undercover!reader if this even works out, this is purely to quench my need for this idea to happen.

The music in the club- though Spencer thinks it deserves a more modest name- was soft and slow, almost jazz, as the only couple on the dance floor clung to each other, swaying slightly to the music, the other part of the club which isn't so quiet is riddled with people surrounding tables and gambling rich men. It's not a common sight to see him drinking, less so to see him slurring through his words as he orders another one. His head hung low, leaning on the bar on his elbow, his eyes barely opening, a blinding headache obstructing his vision and line of thoughts. Possibly why he was out drinking.

The bartender gives him a look, obviously sensing that this isn't a common occurrence for the gentleman in front of her, but she obliges.

“If you wanted to get shit-faced drunk, this ain't the place for it,” She says in quiet contempt as she slides the glass over to him, but wears a smile as she composes herself again.

Spencer already knew that, but this was where his car had taken him, and he really didn't wanna be home.

Truth was, Spencer hadn't had much to drink, all his symptoms were of withdrawal.

Insomnia, dilated pupils, nausea, lightheadedness etc etc. he could list a few more. Spencer laughs as all the things he has read about addiction appear like check marks in his brain. None of the papers ever tell how agonizing it is to just exist, how the drug becomes the only thing you need, but the only thing you also don't want. How it feels to want to rip away your own skin, to bash your head against a wall until you feel the familiar pinch of the needle being injected.

He should have known this would happen.

When the hours of the night felt too long he thought of driving away, maybe his home was the problem. It reminded him too much of that night. Even in the car he felt like he needed to be out, his thoughts immediately thinking where he could get a dose, how he needed to buy another empty injection, he's used the other one more than twice. He should have known it was his own brain, the one thing he can never escape, it's always been too ahead of him, too fast.

He should have known the need would not go away just because he's away, the goosebumps, the torture would not stop, that he would need something to satiate himself. Even the warnings of driving while under the influence wasn't enough to stop him.

So here he was, barely aware of where he was walking in, sitting on a chair, his head down, pressed to the wooden table. It's his second drink (that he isn't even halfway through), but sleep hasn't greeted him.

Spencer thinks of things to distract him, entropy, a measure of disorderliness of a system and he wonders how much he would measure on that scale. The world is leaning towards entropy every day, and maybe his callousness today has contributed to that metric, however illogical that thought might be.

It's when he feels the air surrounding him change when he thinks of gravity. Gravity isn't a force, according to Einstein, something people always find fascinating when he randomly rambles about it. It's a “force” caused by the curvature in space time, this is where he loses most people, often ending with someone stopping him as he tries to explain what is a space time continuum.

He lifts his head to see a blurry figure, his eyes adjusting to the light. He'd been sitting in a corner so as to not be noticed, so he's sure his company knows they're not welcome.

But he's suddenly unsure about his previous claim when he sees you, your head looking at him sideways, chin resting on your shoulder, your body turned towards the bar. You have a curious look on your face, but if he's being honest, it's more amused than concerned.

“Tough night?” You ask, averting your head towards the bar as the bartender comes over to ask your order, a smirk on her face as if she knows something he doesn't.

“What's your poison?” You ask again as you hand tell the bartender your order quietly enough that he can't make it out.

Spencer doesn't bother to answer, his brain too foggy to be polite, his tongue too heavy to retort.

“Oh, c’mon, talk to me. I'm bored.”

You say again, the amusement laced through every word which makes him more annoyed.

“Please.” He mutters, not feeling the need to clarify his request, he has no interest in putting up an act with a stranger, it's hard enough to socialise when he's sober, this is hell.

You don't budge, though he feels the glass he's been clutching lightly being taken from his hands. That catches his attention.

He sits up, head still heavy as his eyes squint to let his pupils contract, light dilates your pupils to let as much light as it can into your eyes when there's darkness, a fact running through his brain, a common occurrence.

The glass is returned to his hand, well, another glass but it holds a clear liquid. He takes a sip and grimaces, it's water.

Drink the water, alcohol dehydrates you-

He pushes the water away, not keen on listening to himself anymore.

“What's your problem with water?” The stranger asks again, and he hates it. Her voice is nice, too nice for his self- destructive mind right now, and he wants her gone.

“What's your problem in general?” He snaps as he takes the water and gulps it down and extends it again for a refill. He's not very aware of his decisions tonight.

From his periphery, he thinks he sees you smirk, taking a bite out of the cherry in your drink, hiding it as much as you can. He can't tell why the action seems familiar, but it is.

The bartender and you share a look as she takes the shorter whiskey glass and exchanges it with a tall glass of water, and leaves to attend to the other customers.

He thinks of starting a conversation, but he glances at you again and hides another frown. You were pretty, he thinks, and he hides a frown. The day I choose to wallow in my sadness.

“I didn't know they let pretty people in here.” You speak again, addressing him directly as you drink from a straw. He notices the drink to be magenta, too similar to cranberry juice. She's not drinking, he notes.

He frowns at your comment, genuinely confused, for two reasons. Firstly, he looks like hell, he knows that. Eyes bagged into his sockets, his clothes unwashed for days. And secondly,

“How would you be here then?” He asks, his head tilted in confusion.

You're caught off guard, though he can't seem to figure out why.

There's no hint of teasing, or amusement in his question, and it feels like a stab in the gut (in the best way possible) when you realise it,

“I can't figure out whether or not you're flirting or you just genuinely asked me that. And I don't know which would be better for my mental health.”

He's confused again, “How would my flirting affect your mental health?” He asks and he hears a laugh.

Again, it's a nice sound and he hates it. He hates that it's nice.

“Oh, you're adorable.” You say, your hand reaching up to remove a piece of hair hanging over his eyes. He doesn't move away, he usually would, but his actions are a bit delayed and before he can register it, you're getting up and leaving.

He discovers he's disappointed, which surprises him. He hadn't spoken much to you, maybe that's why. Or maybe he liked nice, even in the midst of his self loathing spiral.

He's turning away to call to the bartender again, to bring him a glass of- who knows what.

He might know all about alcohol, how they're made, their advantages, and disadvantages but he doesn't have much experience with many of them. Nor is he familiar with any of the names. What even is there in a Daiquiri?

But he feels that same dip in his space again, space time continuum, and he looks to see you there again, holding now what looks to just be an orange liquid in a martini glass.

“First cranberry, now orange. You do know you're in a bar?” He retorts with too much sass than he would usually, but he sensed you welcome the spar.

“What am I supposed to do? Take body shots off of you or drown myself in my own misery?” You say casually and it makes him want to laugh a little.

“Not off of me.” He mumbles, taking another sip of his lukewarm water, though he didn't complain. He can hear Morgan say, “Oh, you've got jokes now?”

“Too many germs?” He only nods and continues drinking his water when he jumps at a sudden loud sipping noise, he sees the orange liquid coming to an end in your glass as you sip loudly through the straw.

He composes himself and answers properly, some semblance of manners peeking through,

“Not particularly off of me. Buy you shouldn't do that off of anybody. Did you know kissing is more sanitary than handshakes?”

He asks and you have that incredulous look again, followed by an amused one,

“I can't tell again. If you're just talking or flirting.”

He frowns, “No, well- I just told you something factual.” Another sip.

You laugh again and he leans in slightly, not consciously, trying to get closer to the sound.

“You're a rare breed, Mr….” The sentence hangs as a question, you're asking his name.

He's suddenly aware again of his surroundings. He's at an unknown place, and if he's a good profiler he knows this isn't an honest bar. Not that the neighborhood was known for its safety.

He stays quiet but you quickly say, “That's alright. You don't tell me, I don't tell you.”

The bartender is back again, now pouring a yellow liquid into your martini glass and he must not have realised he was looking so intently because the bartender raises her eyebrows at him, as if asking if he wants some too. He nods, quite shyly, and brings his glass forward.

He takes a sip, mango.

“But you shouldn't come in here with that gun so,” you gesture, “up front in here. You're an outsider, and you look like hell. No offense.”

He glances down at his holster and sees the gun, and thinks back to when Penelope had said,

“It's like they gave Bambi a gun. Said with love, of course.”

He knew it was said with love, but the feeling felt more pronounced as you gave your warnings.

“They don't like cops here?” he asks, fully aware he would never actually introduce himself as one, but he thought the title to be hidden enough for the place he was in.

“So he reveals his profession, I wonder what’s next…” another exaggerated sip, this time he laughs, getting familiar with the strangers’ antics.

He thinks back to why he's here in the first place as his conscious mind slowly comes back. Spencer had felt the urge again, he was angry at himself. Genius with an eidetic memory, and a few molecules of a carbon compound take over him. He threw the vial on the couch, still too afraid to break the bottle, and stormed out of the house. It was as if he knew he should come here, the bar was not on his way to work, or on his usual roads. But he was still here, and he felt too comfortable for this to be his first time here.

He retches over nothing and immediately sees a bucket being handed to him, and the feeling of mortification washes over him.

“I've been here before, haven't I?” He asks before retching into the bucket again, throwing up the mango juice he had just drank. More shame and guilt accompany his embarrassment but his head hurts too much for him to get up.

“It's good you chose the corner,” he only now registers your hand on his shoulder, rubbing circles to provide comfort, and it is comforting.

“We've met before, yesterday?” he asks again, and she smiles.

“It's alright. It was a short visit. I only asked you your name and you well… you don't need to know. We went to the nearby park. I got you an uber home.” she laughs and this time he does say it,

“It's nice. Your laugh. You have a nice laugh.” his head is hung low, thinking over his circumstances.

He didn't see your reaction, but he wasn't too eager to know anyway.

You were pretty, he was too aware of that, he likes your laugh and the first two times you've met him, he was once too out of it, and the second time he threw up. Great.

“I'm really sorry to inconvenience you, I didn't mean to bother you. I'm sorry-”

“No, no- thats alright. Its good to have some entertainment. I just feel bored here.”

This time he laughs, “Me throwing up is entertainment for you?”

“Tch. you really are bad at this flirting thing.” Her lips curl into a smile, and he returns the gesture as much as he can.

Spencer excuses himself to the washroom to clean up, and god it is not a sight to see.

He thinks back to your previous comment, didnt know they let pretty people in here.

They do let them in, but that wouldnt be a problem for him today. He washes his face, another wave of nausea passing through and he tries to think of things that would distract him.

Space time continuum, more commonly known as space-time, the mathematical model where three dimensions of space and one dimension of time fuse together to make a four dimensional model. Large masses, like earth bend space time, “gravity” is felt strongest when spacetime is curved the most. There's no force of gravity, matter tells spacetime how to curve, and curved space time leads matter to an end point.

Two people could walk the same distance in parallel lines with no intention of ever seeing each other, to just follow a straight path, but the curved space time will cause their meet. It's inevitable.

You sit cross legged, well- your ankle resting on the other thigh as you scribble away on a lone piece of paper, and Spencer recognises it as a crossword as he takes the seat next to you. You're not at the bar anymore, you've moved to a booth. He had come by to say good-bye, but he couldn't help but comment,

“adjudge, across 10 will be deem.” He says and for the first time, he sees a questionable look, you don't say anything and just hand the puzzle back to him and say,

“I'll time you.”

Spencer wasn't one to boast about his intelligence, but at the moment, he felt like the cockiest bastard in town.

Halfway through the puzzle, his mind coming up with answers faster than he can write them, he hears a quiet ‘what the fuck’ being muttered right next to him and he chuckles. He pushes his pen down hard enough to make a sound against the wooden table as he finishes the last word and slides the paper to you.

The look on your face is laughable, so he does laugh, after god knows how long.

You take the paper and check it over and after a few minutes you look over at him again and he's laughing again.

“What the fuck?” you ask, but you don't give him time to answer through his giggles,”Dude, it's been like 7 minutes. that one took me 25 minutes.” You look back at the paper again, as if that would quest your curiosity, “and I thought I was fast.” You lean back, your mouth still open in surprise.

“25 minutes isn't bad, pretty quick for this puzzle. Don't judge yourself by my standard, I have an eidetic memory. Sorry.”

“No, no. Never be sorry for being too smart. Atleast you're not a dick about it.” You thank the bartender as she gives you yet another drink, this time it's pink.

“I’d say what I just did was a dick move, I was flaunting.” He reasons as he observes your drink for a second,

“No, what you did was cool. As annoyed as I am about it.” You defend him, and take a look at your watch.

“People are usually just annoyed. I haven't been described as cool by many people,” he takes a pause, “actually by no one.” Spencer notices your actions and senses some suspicion, but he shakes it off. You must have ordered again when he wasn't paying attention.

“I'd beg to differ,” you take a sip of your drink and say, “I have more if you have time…” The end of the sentence was meant as a question and Spencer nodded his head. He has three weeks worth of personal time. All he has now is time. you rummage through your bag for more unfinished crossword puzzles. Most of them are 90% done, just two or three empty spaces.

“Chemist lab equipment, 10 words. That's easy, you can do that.” He points out,

“I've tried!! I literally can't figure it out. The only clue I have is that there's an e in it. A vowel.”

“Think about it.” He pushes.

“I asked for your help.” You complain but he still doesn't relent,

“I am helping!” He snaps back but quickly says, “Alright, I'll give you a clue, it starts with a C.”

Your head tilts as you go into deep thought and Spencer suppresses a chuckle when he sees recognition pass over your face,

“Centrifuge?” You ask tentatively,

“YES!” He claps his hand and you both laugh again and this goes on for a while.

You ask him answers to empty crossword clues and he gives you a few more hints to get it right. There were some that even he couldn't figure out quickly, which were met with teasing from your end. He welcomed it, he was used to friendly teasing, he worked with Morgan for god's sake. A significant amount of time must have passed because you glanced at the clock again and this time, the same cranberry drink was in your hands and he couldn't help but ask,

“Why are you drinking so many juices?”

“We’re in a bar, genius. You're the weird one who's not drinking.”

“I was drinking. You stopped me.” You did stop him. And you didn't once ask him what was going on with him. No concerned questions, no I can help you.

“No, you were drowning in your misery.” And as if you could read his mind, “And I don't think you'd appreciate alcohol addiction too.”

Too.

Spencer couldn't understand why you weren't telling him that he should stop, that what he's doing is wrong, why you weren't warning him or shaming him but you speak up again,

“I assume you came here for a reprieve. I don't need to know the specifics to figure it out. Though you shouldn't use alcohol for your reprieves. Not a good alternative.”

You shake your head in mock disappointment, and take another exaggerated sip. Spencer notes that you do that whenever you're worried you won't get a response, as a way to fill the silence. Profiler.

“What do you suggest? Juice?” He asks, gesturing to your glass and you laugh again, and he again thinks it's nice. But this time he doesn't say it out loud.

“So, what other things are you annoyingly good at?” You ask and he lists out too many things in his head, things people tell him he's the expert at. He doesn't agree with them all the time, but there is one thing he knows he's good at.

“Chess” He answers.

You chuckle, “Figures.” You think this is probably the fifth time he's missed the cue of flirting but then you rethink how this is probably how he flirts, or just talks. Genuine earnestness. No twisted words to mask his intentions and a strange warmth fills your chest.

Maybe a little company for a while everyday won't hurt.

“So, same time tomorrow?” You ask as you gather your things above the table and put them in your bag and he's startled by the question to answer it immediately. But he registers it and says,

“Uhh, for what? Chess?”

“Yes. You're gonna teach me. Because right now, I have to go.” You say hurriedly and pat his cheek before leaving and he thinks of all the things he had to say

I don't know if I'll be here tomorrow.

Where would we find a chess set?

What if he's too out of it to make it here?

What should he wear?

He doesn't even know what time it was.

What's your name?

How would I find you?

Gravity, Spencer thinks.

All those questions are unanswered as you become impossible to find in the nearly empty bar, but he thinks

I'll ask later.

Same time, tomorrow.

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evevevevevbetv · 5 months ago

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#health #medicine #Buy Dilaudid online

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noparadiseinthis · 5 months ago

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This is the first time I've posted here and it's also the first time I've written in English. Bear with me, Grammarly helps, but it doesn't work miracles.

How I feel when I see you right in front of me

Spencer Reid/fem!reader

Warnings: mention of previous drug addiction, mention of suicidal thoughts, mention of the reader's mother's cancer (sorry, it's for the plot), angst (I think)

Summary: Spencer has a new girlfriend. You're everything he could wish for. Unfortunately, you doesn't know about his previous "habit" and leaves something in plain sight. Is Spencer strong enough?

Words: 614

For Spencer, you're more than he deserves at any time in his life, but especially at times like this. Staring at the small tablet in front of him, Spencer knows he should have told you when things started to get serious, but he couldn't. He couldn't see the look in your eyes. He couldn't see the look in your eyes. He couldn't see the look of disappointment on your face when you found out you were seeing an addict - a former addict.

At least that would have avoided the situation. When you told him you'd buy your mother's medication and leave it at his house until you picked it up later, he didn't take much notice. He didn't think to ask what medicine she was taking. It seemed so obvious now. What else could a woman with cancer be prescribed?

Now Spencer looked at the morphine tablets as if they were his salvation or his worst enemy. Remembered all too well the feeling, the lethargy, the anxiety that itched under his skin when the effect wore off and he had to inject again. Morphine and Dilaudid weren't exactly the same thing, but they were close enough for her mind to flood with memories. For his skin to itch again. His arm was red and scratched, with perfect marks from the path his nails had traveled.

It's been so hard, Spence, you cried into his chest one night. Caring for a sick mother was enough to bring anyone down, he knew that more than anyone, which was why he resisted that tug on his flesh that led him to pick up a tablet. Just one, she won't notice. You didn't need him to become a burden in your life. You deserved someone better, someone worthy. Someone who didn't look at your mother's medicines as if they were a feast.

Getting sober was a long and arduous process, which he thought about interrupting several times. Now and then, when it got too hard, he thought about stopping something else too. His life. He never wanted to enter that spiral again. He couldn't throw it all away.

Spencer couldn't do many things, but it was still so easy. Reach out, take one of them, and put it in. Would such a small dose still have an effect after so long? Maybe he could try.

He grabbed his hair, forcing himself to think of you, of your proud smile every time he started telling you random facts about the least interesting subjects, but you listened anyway, with love in your eyes. A love he didn't deserve.

Sitting on the sofa, Spencer's hands drummed on his thighs. He didn't even blink anymore, staring at the morphine in front of him. The moment his fingers moved of their own accord, testing the texture of the table next to his enemy of the moment, the door to the living room opened.

"Spence, are you home? I've come for the medicine"

He had never felt so relieved to hear your voice, and immediately withdrew his hand, still horrified at the fact that he had almost reached her. Almost destroyed everything.

When you approached him, Spencer forced himself to form the most genuine smile he could manage, hugging you tightly.

"I love you," he whispered against your temple.

I love you and I'm not strong enough. Over his shoulder, Spencer was still looking at the pills. Wondering if he'd be able to hold back next time. Wondering what you'd say if you knew.

"I love you too," you said when you came out of his embrace, smiling fondly as you held your boyfriend's face in your hands.

That didn't help him.

#spencer reid angst #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x you #angst

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crazyintheeast · 1 year ago

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Ava: Ok I know what you guys are going to say but listen why don’t we try some drugs ?

Mary : I am game . I could use some relaxation

Camilla: Oh I always wanted to try

Beatrice : No thank you

Lilith: Yeah I will pass

Mary : Of course the the goody two shoes will pass

Ava : I know it’s scary Beatrice and you don’t have to do it but I have done a lot of research and …

Beatrice : Ava you misunderstand. I have done drugs . I simply find them boring

Lilith : Me too . The novelty wears off quickly

Mary : Really ? You two have done drugs ? I don’t buy it . What drugs would those be ? Extra strength coffee ?

Beatrice : Ketamine, MDMA, Adderall, Bromo-Dragonfly, heroin, coke, crack, codeine…

Lilith : oxys, percs, vikes, PCP, LSD, Dilaudid, mescaline, mushrooms, bath salts,

Beatrice : cortisone, Toradol, molly

Lilith : her sister Sandra

Beatrice : Big Frank

Lilith : Big Frank

Mary : What the actual fuck?!

Camilla: … how are you both still alive ?

Ava : …. What ?

Beatrice : I believe you forgot that we both come from rich families

Lilith: What do you think rich kids do in boarding schools ?

#warrior nun #incorrect warrior nun #Avatrice #inspired by John Cena in Sisters

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supercriminalbean · 2 years ago

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NO SECRETS WITHOUT LIES

A/N: Okay guys here it is, chapter one of my Aaron Hotchner x Reader series. Reader is gender neutral, uses they/them pronouns but is AFAB. This series is going to contain spoilers from season 6&7. This is going to be based around Emily death, and how Reader and Hotch become close due to her death and soon start a Dom/sub relationship. But what’s going to happen when Emily returns, how is Hotch and Reader going to get through it all.

This is series is most likely going to be at least 15 chapters at this point. nothing happens between Aaron and reader until chapter 5 I believe. I will be posting one chapter ever 7 to 10 days, depending on how much works takes up my life and if I have time to edit and write a new chapter thank you.

Words: 4.5k

Warnings: Death. Depression. Death. Fake death. Drug addiction. Drugs. Crying. Emotions. Swearing. (If I have missing anything let me know)

Chapter one:

Grieving.

It's been four months. Four months without hearing her voice. Four months since you felt her touch. Four months now that she has left you, all alone in this world. Having to continue life all by yourself, without her holding your hand, anymore. Four months ago her body was lowered into the ground, and no one has been the same since.

~~~

Every Morning since Emily's death, you grab a cup of coffee and stop at her grave on the way to work. Making sure that even in death, you always have time for her, not wanting her to be all alone. For the first few weeks it helped you grieve, and then it just became a part of your routine. Her grave became a safe place to go, a place where you can just stop for some peace and quiet. An area to go so you can clear your mind, one that has no distractions within. Emily was your best friend for so many years, you had joined the team a couple months after her. She was so happy to no longer be the newbie, which also meant she understood exactly how you felt. She took you under her wing, showing you everything you needed to know about working in the Bau. You grew even closer with Emily when you two realised you lived in the same apartment building. Arriving to work together and some days you would even crash at each other's places, after having a bit too much to drink. Morgan used to joke that you two were actually dating. You two would always just laugh at him, but he was on the right track. Emily Prentiss is your platonic soulmate, and now you have no one.

~~~

The first 10 weeks after her death. When you went home from work, you would have possibly a couple hours to yourself. Before someone would text you asking for company, normally it would be Reid or Garcia. They needed someone to be there while they grieved for their best friend. It took Morgan awhile before he reached out to you for help, you always had to keep reminding him you were there if he needed to talk. You never told anyone it was because you liked to be distracted from your own pain, because they already knew that. Most nights when Reid texted you it was because he was terrified he would go out and buy Dilaudid. You would go over to his place and stay with him until the morning. Other nights you would get a phone call from Garcia or Morgan saying they were having a nightmare and needed someone. You would go over to see them whenever they needed you, it never matters what time or whatever the reason was.

~~~

On the weekend, if there was no case, you were normally helping Morgan with renovations for one of his houses. Other times you were having a movie marathon with Reid or Garcia, sometimes both. You hated the idea of them being alone for long times, knowing where their minds can go.

The last couple of weeks, no one seemed to be reaching out. They all seem to be healing without you, and now you’re left alone with nothing but your own thoughts. That's when you started realising a few things about Emily's death, that never seemed to make sense. You first noticed it at the hospital, after JJ had just broken the news to everyone. Hotch didn't seem surprised, he just looked, emptied. At first you thought it was his way of taking in the news. Reid was crying in JJ arms, but when she pulled away, you saw her and Hotch walking into a room alone. You never thought anything of it at first, your heart having just been crushed. Feeling as if the tears were never going to stop, like your heart could never be whole again. Rossi was holding you closely as you broke apart in his arms, you knew he was crying as well, but he was trying his hardest to be strong for you. There have now been a few times since then, that you have noticed looks between Hotch and JJ. Even catching them whispering together, it always seemed tense and sective. Feeling as if they are hiding something, especially JJ. She was only around for a week after Emily died and then she was away all the time. She tried to say it was for work, but the first time she left, it felt like she was hiding something. A couple weeks ago, during a case the unsub we were hunting had faked his death. When Reid had announced it to the team, Hotch only seemed to tenses up a lot. It took you a week after that to put it all together.

Emily Prentiss is alive, and JJ and Hotch knows.

~~~

The team has just gotten back from a difficult long case. Still down a profiler and Hotch and Garcia trying their best to cover the communications liaison position together. Once the team is finally able to go home. You manage to have a shower, before your phone starts ringing. Only picking it up after seeing its Reid.

“Hey Spence, is everything okay?” Answering the phone quickly.

“(Y/n)” Spencer's cry seeps through the phone. Panic suddenly floods through your body, knowing this isn't like him, something’s wrong.

“Reid, are you okay, where are you?” Gulping thickly as you fear for his answer.

“Home.. I bought, I bought Dilaudid” His voice cuts into your heart, hearing as he stutters through his tears.

“Have you taken it?” Jumping to your feet as you grab your keys.

“No.. but I want to please help me” His words are close to making you break, wishing you could just take away his pain.

“Okay I'm on my way I'll be there in 10 minutes alright, just hold on okay?” Begging him as you pull on your shoes.

“Okay” Is all you hear as the line goes dead. Running out the door fast, forgetting to even lock your apartment.

~~~

You manage to get to his place in under 5 minutes, breaking every road code there is. Running into his apartment building and climbing the stairs two at a time. Fiddling with the key he gave you a couple months ago, trying to unlock his door as quickly as you can. Rushing into his apartment, you could hear his heavy shaking breathing coming from the bathroom. You slow yourself down, taking a calm breath before approaching, not wanting to startle him.

“Spencer, I'm here” Calling out to him as you walk towards the bathroom. Spotting him on the ground leaning against the sink. A small bottle of dilaudid beside him, a package of needles thrown across the room. You reach him, getting down on your knees in front of him. His arms covering his face, his body shaking as he cries. The noises he makes pierce sharply into your heart. He doesn't deserve to be in this pain.

“Hey.. Spence I'm here, I'm right here” Your whisper is full of care and concern. Gently you move his arms out of his face, letting them rest down by his side. Now you're able to see his face, that's pale and stained with tears. Looking completely broken and lost, as he tries to look at you.

“Im sorry, Im so weak Im sorry” He cries out, you pull him into your arms, holding him firmly against you.

“It's okay, I got you spence, you're safe now, I'm here I got you” you whisper softly, as he cries on your shoulder. Rubbing his back comfortingly repeating those words as he calms down.

~~~

Reid slowly calms down, listening to your heart beat. His eyes closed, feeling safe in your arms. Gradually he pulls away, looking up at you, noticing the worry and concern in your eyes.

“I'm sorry (Y/n) I don't want you to see me like this” His voice breaking, sounding raw due to the crying.

“Spencer, I want you to reach out to me when you're like this okay, I’m here so I can help you okay? I'm never going to stop caring for you, okay?” Trying to keep your tone, calm and light, not needing to overwhelm him. You felt so terrified at that moment that he was going to take the drugs before you could get there. Scared that at any moment he could stop reaching out when he really needs you.

“I want to get better, I just don't know how” The hopelessness in his voice cuts straight to your heart. You wish you could tell him the truth about Emily, but you can’t, not yet. Not until you could get Hotch to confirm it. You can not risk getting his hopes up just to get crushed again.

“Let's get you some help, maybe it's time you go back to your AA meetings, I can come with you if you like”

“You're right, I'll start back next week” He sending you a weak, but meaningful smile. You stand up, offering out a hand to help pull him up to his feet.

“Why don't you clean yourself up, and I'll make us some dinner, then we can watch Doctor Who, yeah?” Smiling softly, watching him carefully as he nods walking out, towards his room. You grab the needles and the bottle of dilaudid, shoving them into the bottom of your handbag before heading to the kitchen.

~~~

Reid has a long shower, as you pull out a frozen pizza, placing it in the oven. You've been at his place a lot in the last few months and you know where everything is in his apartment. You're sitting on the couch, with the pizza, getting ready to push play for Doctor Who. As Reid walks out in his pyjamas, sitting down beside you looking more relaxed, more like himself. He takes a piece of pizza as he settles down, stealing the remote from you. Laughing as he puts his favourite episode on.

“Good pizza” He manages to get out, though his mouth is full.

“That's gross Spencer dont eat with your mouthful” Laughing, shaking your head, at his changes of moods. He turns around to face you chewing with his mouth open grinning, knowing it annoys you. Rolling your eyes at him smacking his arm playfully. He settles down as the episode starts playing. You manage to get two episodes in when you start falling asleep during the last part of the episode. When It ends he turns it off, bringing you a pillow and pulling a blanket over you. As you fall asleep,last thing you hear is

“Thank you (Y/N), I couldn't make it without you”

~~~

You could barely get any sleep that night, waking up every half an hour. Having decided to give up on the idea of more sleep, as you watch the sunrise. Your mind seems to be running with the idea of Emily still being alive and how today, you’re going to demand Hotch gives you the truth. After last night, you need to know the truth, then you will be able to tell Reid. The way he is going is terrifying and the idea of losing another friend is something you're not able to take anymore. Grabbing your bag quietly as you walk out, not wanting to disturb Spencer as he needs his rest. Getting into your car, with the intent to get coffee before going to visit the empty gravesite of Emily Prentist. Needing a safe place where you can think clearly about what you're going to do. You really want to just strom into Hotch’s apartment and scream at him. But you know you can't do that, needing to be calm and think logically, especially if Jack is there. As you're driving to the coffee shop, there's some road work, making you get redirected. Sighing frustratedly as you're forced to take the long way. Driving down the road when you notice you're about to drive past Hotch’s apartment building.

“For fuck sake!” Screaming loudly as you slam your foot on the brake, hand pressing hard on the horn. Due to the fact a car had just pulled out in front of you cutting you completely off. The anger in your body has just tripled, as you pull into that car park. Slamming the car door behind you as you storm your way up to Hotch's apartment. Feeling the anger flowing freely through your veins, trying to take deep breaths to control the anger. Surprisingly, it doesn’t do anything to help.

~~~

Your hand bangs loudly against his door, your mind thundering with anger as you wait for him to answer. You weren’t going to leave here without the truth, no matter what happens.

Standing there for a few moments tapping your foot hoping it will calm you down as you run out of patients. Lifting your hand about to knock again, only to have to lower it when you hear the door starting to unlock. Huffing angrily as Hotch finally opens the door, looking at you in surprise and concerned.

“(Y/L) it's 6:30 what are you doing here?” Hotch voice full of concern, stepping back to let you in.

“I am so angry, Hotch, I am so pissed off at you, you think you could do this to us?” You take a deep breath. Trying to keep your voice steady, but it raises with every word as you walk in. Hotch narrows his eyes, closing the door.

“What are you talking about (Y/L)”

“Seriously Hotch, you didn't think I would figure it out, the secret you and JJ have!” Snapping at him, your arms flying outwards. Hotch tenses up, his face hardens.

“Secret, we don't have any secrets (Y/N)”

The anger in your body is fighting hard to take over. Forcing yourself to take a deep breath to steady yourself.

“I am trying my hardest to keep calm right now Hotchner, only because Jack doesn't need to hear me screaming at you”

~~~

Your hand reaching up into your hair, running through it. Taking another deep breath, trying your best to control your temper.

“Jacks at Jessicas, but I would prefer you don't accuse me or JJ about anything” His tone coming out harsh, which earns a loud scoff from you.

“Bullshit, If you didn't have a secret you would want to know what the secret is, I'm a profiler Hotchner, and I'm a pretty fucking good one, so don't you dare try to say I'm wrong” Yelling at him, not meaning to allow your emotions to take over so soon. Hotch crosses his arms, glaring at you.

“I do not know why you're so upset, Yes we have a secret, but it's not that bad” His words fall effortlessly from his lips, making you laugh hysterically.

“Not that bad? Not that fucking bad?! How the hell is Emily alive not a big fucking deal!?” Screaming at him, your hands squeezing into fist. His face softens looking at you, his eyes filling with concern and worry and you feel like you can pick up a little guilt hidden away.

“(Y/N).. I didn't.. I didn’t realise that you were struggling this badly” His voice softened, his reaction throwing you off.

~~~

“Excuse me? I just told you I know you faked her death, you and JJ did, and you're going to try to tell me I'm struggling seriously?” Your voice lowering, looking at him in disbelief.

“I know it hard to move on but”

“Don't you dare try to turn this onto me Hotchner, I know the truth” Your confidence starting to waver, trying hard to keep the doubtful thoughts at bay.

“(Y/N), Emily's Dead” The way he says it, the pure worry and concern, the sadness filling his tone. Was almost enough to crush all the confidence you have left. Shaking your head trying to clear your thoughts.

~~~

“No no, she's alive. I know she is, otherwise what secret are you and JJ hiding, you did admit you have one” Your voice is loud, trying to stay feisty, but honestly you're just sounding broken.

“I'm trying to convince JJ to come back to the team as a profiler, we didn't want the team to know until it can happen” His tone is soft, his body language telling you that it's the truth.

“I've been trying to get her back since Emily's death. It's taken a lot of convincing, but it's looking like it could happen.”

Allowing that information to set in, your body starts shaking lightly, tears springing to your eyes.

“But what.. But at the hospital you and JJ went into another room to talk” Taking a deep breath, trying to watch his body language closely, through the tears.

“We were discussing how we would inform her family, JJ is better with families, but I am the unit chief, we decided we would do it together.” His words breaking all hope that you have left.

~~~

Tears rolling down your face, your legs shaking giving out underneath you, your body crumbling to the floor. Feeling arms grabbing you, helping to lower you to the ground, as you let out a painful sob. Hotch pulls you into his arms, holding you closely as you cry. He strokes your hair gently, as he whispers comforting words, letting you fall apart in his arms.

Guilt filling him as he had to lie to you once more, having to lie to his team everyday when he sees them struggling. He was wondering when you were going to break, he has been noticing that you haven't been allowing yourself to grieve. You have been distracting yourself with work, or with helping the team, asking for more paperwork to complete. Even offered him parenting advice, so you could lessen the stress on him and therefore on the team. He hated the way you had stopped caring for yourself, he barely saw you do any of your passions anymore. Normally you would have a different book with you every case, and most weeks you would bring in some baking, with new recipes you had discovered. You hadn't done any of that for over four months. Everyone had changed, and he hated watching his team in pain.

~~~

You laid in Hotch’s arms for a long time, even after the tears had dried. Feeling completely destroyed and numb. Having gotten your hopes up that it would be possible to see her again, that's all you want in life. Slowly pulling yourself away from his arms, taking a shaky breath.

“I'm sorry Aaron, you didn't need me to do that” Your voice croaky from the crying, your body still shaking faintly.

“It's okay, (Y/N) I told you I'm here when you need to talk” His tone is soft and judgement free. “Why don’t I make us some coffee, and we can talk?”

“No I’ve taken enough of your time, I should go” Standing slowly, Hotch does the same watching you, his hand staying softly on your arm.

“No, please stay, we need to talk about a few things” You can't meet his eyes, knowing as he's the team leader. He has to report when there could be an issue with someone. Giving him a small nod, he walks over to the kitchen, turning the coffee pot on. You head over to the bathroom to clean yourself up.

~~~

Walking back out after cleaning yourself up, you see Hotch sitting on the couch, cups of coffee on the table in front of him. Sitting down beside him picking up your cup, smiling weakly, avoiding his stare.

“Thanks Hotch” Taking a sip of coffee, relaxing into the softness of the couch.

“No problem, you know we need to talk about what you accuse me of right?” He smiles sadly, looking at you concern. He needs to know how you found out, how he can make sure no one else will be able to figure it out.

“Do we have to?” Letting out a tired sigh as you drink more.

“We do, (Y/n) I need to know why you thought Emily was alive, it's unhealthy to think that way” His tone stays calm and soft as he speaks. His voice has always been a comfort for you, not long after you joined the team. Hearing his voice seems to just melt the stress away. Closing your eyes as you try to think about how to answer that. The hope that you had about her being alive is now long gone, and inside all you feel is a big black hole.

“I know that, but it made sense, somethings just didn’t add up and so I guess my brain, put this idea in my brain to cope and I wanted it to be true so my brain made the rest up to help I guess” Sighing, putting the cup down.

“You need to take some time off, I don't want you coming back for a week, you need to grieve”

Your eyes widen, shooting up at him. “No way, Hotch I can't take time off, It will just make things worse please, I need to be working”

“No you don't, you need time to accept it, you know there's five stages of grief, you're still struggling with accepting what happened.” Hotch face harding back up. You always call that his work face, hiding his emotions, putting his professional face on.

“No Hotch, I know what happened, I just had a bad moment okay, I can not take time off, we are already short with profilers, and Reid needs me this week please, he is struggling.”

~~~

Hotch sighs, straightening up, looking back at you.

“(Y/n), you aren't any good to us, if you don't look after yourself, You are an important part of this team but, recently your skills haven’t been as good as they used to be. You need time” Hotch lies, you have been working greatly recently, your skills have been on point. But he needed something to get you to take some time off.

Your hand sliding up, playing with your hair as you start doing some slow breathing technique.

“I know I haven't been myself lately, but please, It's not wise for me to not be without the team.” Your eyes begged for him to let you stay. Hotch’s eyes narrow watching you closely, he raises an eyebrow slightly.

“Something happened with Reid last night, didn't it?”

“Don't profile me Aaron” Groaning slightly. “Yeah alright it did, but he's going to be fine, he just needs me this week Hotch and I need to be working please”

Aarons face filling with concern, his lips tightening into a thin line, the question he wants to ask, written across his face. Shaking your head lightly at his unasked question.

“He was close last night, he rung me for help, I can't leave him when he's too close to the edge”

“He has the whole team’s support, this isn't just on you” Tilting his head to the side slightly, he wanted to tell everyone the truth but he knew he couldn't.

“Your right, but last time, I was the one who pulled him out of the hole, I know you all wanted to help, but it risked your job, I was new I was able to help, I'm the only one he trust enough when it comes to this, and you know that Hotch”

He picks up his coffee looking away from you, thinking deeply about this situation.

~~~

“(Y/n), You are always there for the team, but who do you talk to when things get hard?” Hotch turns his body back to look at you, studying your body langues.

“I have the team” You answer him quickly, tensing up. You don’t open up easily, it's something you have always struggled with.

“Yes you do, but you don't open up to us”

“I do,” Crossing your arms, feeling exposed. “You're the one who doesnt open up Hotch” He scoffs lightly at your words, raising an eyebrow.

“I talk to Dave, don't try and turn this on me, you know that taticed doesn't work on me” He smirks softly, watching as you roll your eyes up at him.

“Fine Hotch, I don't open up to anyone, the last person I did is now dead, so I'm sorry if I got issues.” You huff at him, rolling your shoulders back feeling uncomfortable.

“I'll make you a deal (Y/L)” Smiling at you slightly, acting if he's already won this discussion.

“Oh and what's that?”

“I won't make you take time off, I won't report you which would make you go more often to therapy, but only If you agree to my terms”

Groaning quietly, knowing that, this is not going to be fun. “And what are your rules Hotchner”

“Everyweek, you spend one night talking to me about anything.” Rolling your eyes at his words, sipping on your coffee.

“Seriously, that's not fair” Huffing annoyed, placing your coffee down a little too hard.

“You also have to tell me when you have a bad day, and my rules start now, or you take two weeks off and start therapy on monday”

Staring at him angrily, knowing if you want to help Reid, you would have to agree to his stupid terms.

“Fine, you win.”

~~~

When Hotch gets up to get more coffee, your phone rings. That's when you notice it's now 10am, shocking you with how much time has gone by. Answer your phone when you see its Reid.

“Hey Spence” Forcing your voice to be filled with calm and fake happiness.

“Hey, where you go, you left early” Reid's voice fills the silence, sounding refreshed and relaxed.

“Oh yeah sorry, I was going to wait for you to wake up but I had a few things I wanted to deal with this morning” Explaining hastily, knowing that's not the full truth.

“Oh alright, well Morgan trying to organise drinks tonight, you in?” Smiling softly at the idea.

“I'm in, wait one second Reid, I'll ask Hotch” Pulling the phone from your ear, turning to Hotch who's already watching you. “Team drinks tonight, you in?”

“Not tonight, Jack will be home” He gives you a small smile. Nodding at him, understandingly bringing the phone back to your ear.

“I'm in, but Hotch is busy tonight.”

“Why are you with Hotch?” Reid asks, confused.

“Work stuff, had something I wanted to run by him” The lie comes out instantly, avoiding Hotch’s stare.

“Oh okay, well 8pm, want me to pick you up?”

“Would love that, thanks Reid” Smiling lightly, placing your phone down.

“Really, lying to him?” Hotch smirks lightly. As if his point from earlier was just proven, which just earns him another eye roll.

“You really like rolling those eyes at me huh?” His chuckle deepens, slightly .

“You're not special Hotch, a lot of guys can get me to roll my eyes.'' Smirking at him, cheekily.

Taglist: @lalalove-56 @ssamorganhotchner @montyfandomlove @lilozg-123 @hola-you-blog @lmg-stilinski24 @yourdryadwife

Let me know if you want to be added.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #no secrets without lies #aaron hotchner x gender netural reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x gn reader #aaron hotchner fic #emily prentiss fake death #bau x reader #spencer reid x reader

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vidamedicos · 1 year ago

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spentfromspence · 1 year ago

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Super shitty drabble I made about Spencer’s addiction to get rid of my writers block ‼️

…

“Please, please Derek!” Spencer said looking up at Derek, although Derek didn’t meet his eyes. He couldn't. “Man, you don’t know what you're doing to me, I need it! Derek, please, I fucking need it, man!” Spencer rested his head against his co-worker's knee, snot, tears, and saliva soaking into his jeans.

Derek glanced down at the sobbing mess of a man, he scoffed and rolled his eyes. He shook his leg lightly in an attempt to shake Spencer off of him.

“Spencer, get off of me. This is pathetic and you know it.” Spencer stumbled backwards, holding himself up with his hands. “This isn’t you man. You never swear, and you sure as hell don’t beg.” Derek ran a hand down his face.

Spencer switched his position to sit on his knees. He trembled uncontrollably and his tears still hadn't stopped. He reached a hand up to his elbow and began to itch with his index finger. His finger dug into the bruised skin making Spencer wince in pain. Isn’t that what he was after? Pain? All the drugs do is hurt. It hurts Derek, it hurts the rest of his friends, it hurts him. But Spencer needed it. He thought he did anyway.

“Derek…Please. I need it, you don't get it. Just- just one more dose, then I’ll quit, I promise.” Spencer whispered, his fingers still digging at his elbow. He could feel a wetness around his fingers, blood he assumed.

Derek scoffed again still looking down at Spencer. “You and I both know that’s not true. You won’t quit, you're an addict Spencer. Save your lies because I’m not going to buy them.” He watched as Spencer breathed so heavily it seemed as if he wasn’t getting any air at all.

Spencer took a final deep breath, he couldn’t think anymore, not without Dilaudid. He raised to his feet and looked Derek in the eyes. Spencer’s eyes were wide and his pupils were dilated. His face was red and hot heavy breaths escaped his lips. Derek took a step back from the younger, he was starting to worry. He had never seen Spencer so…out of it.

“F-fuck you, Derek!” Spencer began to shout, he was hesitant and stumbled over his words but that only made him angrier. “You don’t know shit! Seriously, calling me pathetic? Who do you think you are!? You’re in my house, taking my drugs, and for what!? Why are you doing this Derek? I was fine before you came here.” Spencer shouted and he wiped a hand across his face ridding it of sweat, snot, and tears. He kept eye contact with Derek, something that was also out of character for the doctor.

“Kid, I’m doing this because I care about you. No good friend is going to just let you do drugs.” Derek sighed, he watched as Spencer finally broke eye contact, his face softened, anger no longer present in his body language other than his visible balled fists, which Derek viewed as a minor threat.

There was a long moment of silence. The only sounds were sniffles and the birds that continued to sing outside Spencer’s window. Spencer took a deep breath in and then exhaled before speaking.

“I-” He started but stopped just as quickly before starting again. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you had to see me this way, Derek. You’re right, I am pathetic.” Spencer laughed sadly.

“That’s not what I said.” Derek muttered.

“What?” Spencer’s small laughs died down and he raised his head to look at Derek.

“That’s not what I said. I never said you were pathetic, I said this is pathetic.” He said, making a gesture with his hands to imply the whole situation was pathetic.

“Oh. Okay then.” Spencer mumbled under his breath. His eyes were fixated on Derek's pocket, he could see the outline of the vials. He sighed and fidgeted with his hands. “Derek-” His sentence was cut short by Derek.

“Shut it, kid.” Derek wasn’t asking and Spencer knew that, although Derek didn’t sound as mean as he did earlier, he sounded tired. Spencer didn’t say another word.

Derek wrapped an arm around Spencer’s shoulder and led him to the bathroom. Spencer stood in the corner silently as Derek turned on the shower and ran warm water.

“Have a shower, you’ll feel more comfortable once you have.” Derek said as he slipped past Spencer out the door. Spencer nodded, even though Derek had already left the room. He would feel a bit better. His fingertips were bloody from his elbow, his hair was sticking to his forehead and neck from how much he had been sweating, and his ribs hurt from how harshly he was sobbing before.

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matthew-gray-gublers-babygirl · 2 years ago

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Knight in Shining Armor

Paring: Female FBI reader x Spencer Reid

Summary: The reader is kidnapped and Spencer is struggling to keep himself together.

Warnings: Mention of drugs and addiction, violence, kidnapping + mention of Spencer's kidnapping, angst from unsub and Spencer, mention of Maeve, sad Spencer, use of Y/N and Y/L/N (your last name)

Word count: 1K

-> MASTER LIST

Not in a million years did Spencer think anything like this would happen. “We're trying our best,” Hotch sighs. “Well obviously not hard enough!” Spencer hardly raised his voice, so when he did, Hotch knew he was serious. “We understand this unsub. We have handled cases like this multiple times. We will find her.” Hotch reminds Spencer. “Forty percent of kidnap victims are released unharmed, but that's only with a ransom. All the women he has kidnapped so far have died. Who’s to say he won’t do the same to Y/N.” he mutters before abruptly leaving the conference room. Spencer goes to the bathroom to clear his mind, and as his shaky hands run through his hair, the terrifying urge resurfaces once again. He craved his fix. Dilaudid . He knew he shouldn't. Either way, he couldn't. He knew he couldn't get his hands on anything. But, oh lord, it was hard to resist. His body felt itchy all over, an everlasting scratch that will never go away, even with the sharpest fingernails to claw at.

Spencer hears a soft knock on the door. “Hey, kid. It’s me, Derek.” Spencer quickly fixes his hair and daps away the tears in his eyes. “What- um. What do you want?” he asks. “I’m just checking up on you. I know what youre going through is tough. It's tough on all of us.” Derek starts. “Y’know, I was terrified when you were taken.” Why did he have to bring that up? The worst part was that he knew how petrifying it is to be kidnapped. Spencer slowly unlocks the door, and Derek lets himself in. “It's gonna be okay, man. You just have to have faith.” He says, and Spencer gives him a slow nod as tears begin to form again. Derek pulls him into a hug, letting him cry on his shoulder like a brother should do.

"What if it happens again...?" Spencer whispers. "What if... what if she dies? I don't think I can handle another death. Another person leaving me..."

Derek knew how hard Spencer took Maeve's death. All he could do was hold him tight, because he didn't want to make promises he couldn't keep.

As the knife's cold, sharp blade drags along your jaw, bone-aching chills run through your body. "You don't have to do this." You mumble. You hear him laugh and you gag silently as you smell the stench of his rotten mouth. "Oh, but you see, I do," he mutters, tilting your head toward his sickening gaze with the blade's tip. "I'm not sure what they taught you, but you're a terrible actor. The moment I saw you, I knew you were an FBI agent."

Was it really that obvious? You were trained to see through these unsubs. You have been taught to keep composure during situations like this. You wanted to cry at the prospect of any unsub getting the better of you. You had Spencer in mind. He was going to help you get through it. He was going to save you the same way you saved him. "They'll track you down. I'm certain they will."

Your kidnapper laughs once more. That threatening, taunting laugh. "Like who?" he wonders. "Your little boyfriend, the infamous Dr. Spencer Reid?" When Spencer is mentioned, your stomach drops. “Your boy genius. IQ of 186.” How did he know you referred to him as a 'boy genius'? "Actually, it's 187." Suddenly, his hand grasps your neck, and you gasp. “You- you don’t like being undermined…” you manage out. "You have difficulty speaking to women, especially when they are... more confident than you."

“No! That’s… that's not true!” His grip on your neck tightens, and you gasp for air. "You're dissatisfied with your life. You have a straightforward job that makes you unhappy. That's why you hurt women in order to reclaim your power." You had to figure out a way to buy time even with his hand around your neck constricting your air and death at his fingertips.

"Admit it," you say quietly. "You're a pitiful... little... man." And, just as if God Himself had answered your prayers, the door bursts open, with S.W.A.T officers filing in and F.B.I agents following. Your captor removes his hands from your neck, accepting defeat as they handcuff him like a frail child caught breaking the rules. “Youre under arrest for the kidnapping and murder of five women, including the kidnapping of Y/N Y/L/N.” Agent Morgan says, along with the Miranda Rights he has memorized over the years of many arrests.

Emily and Spencer release you as soon as the offender is removed from the room. Spencer gives you a tender kiss on the lips. Spencer was constantly teased about your relationship by the BAU. Even now, he was still shy. When he kissed you in public, it was always a quick peck on the lips or a kiss on the forehead, never like this. So you were taken aback when he kissed you so passionately. Your heart beat faster. You knew you were in safe hands with Spencer. “I’m so sorry… I’m so incredibly sorry…” he whispers to you as warm tears stream down his face, his trembling hands running down your arms as he felt you underneath his touch, reminding himself that you are in fact real and alive. He didn't let you out of his embrace until he was fully aware that you were a physical being and not a figment of his imagination.

You had no idea the pain and suffering Spencer went through while you were held captive. It pained your heart to even think that Spencer had to sit in agony like that.

“I thought you were dead. I mean… I never lost hope. I knew there was still a chance. You know, Schrӧdingers cat, in quantum mechanics-” You interrupt him by placing your fingers on his lips. “Yes, Spencer. I know what Schrӧdingers cat is.” You hum softly, and he can’t help but smile. “Come on, let's get you out of here. Medics are waiting outside,” he said as he helped you up and out. “I’m fine, Spence, really. I don’t need any medical help.” you protest, but he quickly pushes that away. “Youre getting checked out. That's non-negotiable.”

As you walked out of the room you were kept in, you expected to hear soft snickering from Derek, a cocked eyebrow from Emily, or an impressed look from J.J., but nothing. All that mattered was you and Spencer. He was the one who would remove your Crown of Thorns at the end of the day. Your knight in shining armor who was there to save your every trip and fall.

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ohdearlordspencerreid · 1 year ago

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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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