#drug addict spencer reid

[bambinafangirls]

*mid season 2*

spencer: i don’t drink energy drinks, they’re not good for you

emily: you’re a drug addict

[frankiebirds]

[reidmarieprentiss]

The Hardest Goodbye

Summary: Spencer is using again after being rescued from Tobias Hankle.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: angst

Warnings/Includes: drug use, kidnapping, trauma, no happy ending, needles, talks of weight, talks about sex, rehab

Word count: 4.4k

a/n: so so so sorry about this one ,, when i say i live for the angst ... i mean it

main masterlist

When you started dating Spencer Reid, you never imagined the trials your relationship would face. The worst came when Spencer was kidnapped, a harrowing ordeal that left him physically and emotionally scarred. During his captivity, he was forcibly given drugs, leading to a painful and lingering addiction even after his rescue. 

Recognizing the signs that he was still using, you took it upon yourself to help him get into rehab, standing by his side through every step of the recovery process. You were his unwavering support, understanding that his journey would be marked by both triumphs and setbacks. Despite the challenges, you appreciated his efforts to overcome his addiction and never lost faith in his ability to recover.

On days when he struggled to motivate himself to attend rehab sessions, you would drop everything to accompany him, offering the strength and encouragement he needed. Your acceptance of his good and bad days showed your deep commitment to his well-being, and through your support, Spencer found the resilience to continue his fight against addiction. Your love and dedication became the cornerstone of his recovery, proving that even in the darkest times, he was never alone.

Finally, he’s clean. 

Life with Spencer has returned to a semblance of peace, a fragile tranquility that you both cherish deeply. The trauma of his kidnapping and the dark days that followed seemed like a distant nightmare, though the shadows of those memories still linger. It’s been a long, painful journey to get here, but here you are, together.

You and Spencer hadn't been intimate in what felt like forever. The ordeal with Tobias Hankle had left him deeply traumatized, and you respected his boundaries, giving him all the time and space he needed to heal. But now, with him clean and more like himself again, you thought it might be time to gently test the waters.

One quiet evening, as you sat together on the couch, you turned to him and let your hand rest on his. The warmth of his skin was a comforting reassurance. He smiled at you, a genuine smile that reached his eyes, and you felt a flutter of hope. You leaned in and kissed him softly. He responded, his lips moving against yours with a tenderness that made your heart ache with love.

As the kiss deepened, you shifted, moving to straddle his lap, hoping to rekindle the intimacy that had been absent for so long. But the moment you settled in, you felt his body tense beneath you. He broke the kiss abruptly, his hands coming up to grip your hips, stopping you.

"Wait, please," Spencer said, his voice tight and strained. "I can’t... It makes me feel trapped."

You pulled back immediately, your heart breaking at the look of fear and discomfort in his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Spencer," you whispered, moving off his lap and sitting beside him again. "I didn't mean to make you feel that way."

He took a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "I know you didn't. It’s just... it’s hard for me."

You nodded, reaching out to take his hand in yours, squeezing it gently. "I understand. We don’t have to do anything you're not comfortable with. I love you, Spencer, and I’m here for you, no matter what."

He looked at you with a mix of gratitude and sorrow, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Thank you. I love you too. I just need more time."

You gave him a reassuring smile, leaning in to kiss his forehead. "Take all the time you need. I’ll be here."

From that moment, you didn’t initiate anything again for a long time. You focused on being there for him, supporting him through his recovery, and finding new ways to connect and share your love. 

One evening, after months of patient waiting and gentle encouragement, Spencer finally took a step you hadn’t expected. You were sitting together on the couch, a movie playing softly in the background, when he turned to you with a look of determination mixed with vulnerability.

He reached out, his fingers lightly tracing your cheek before leaning in to kiss you. It was tender at first, but soon it deepened, the passion you had both suppressed for so long finally bubbling to the surface. Your heart raced as you kissed him back, feeling the intensity of his desire and his love.

As the moments passed, he gently guided you to straddle his lap, his hands resting on your hips. You could feel the shift in his demeanor, the hesitation that had once been there now replaced with a newfound confidence. You kissed him deeply, your fingers running through his hair, savoring every second of this long-awaited closeness.

But when your hands moved to the hem of his shirt, he stopped you, his grip on your wrists gentle but firm. He broke the kiss, looking into your eyes with a mixture of apology and regret.

"I can't... I can't take my shirt off," Spencer said quietly, his voice tinged with a sadness that broke your heart. "I lost so much weight while I was using. I... I don’t want you to see me like this."

You looked at him, your heart swelling with love and compassion. "Spencer, it’s okay," you whispered, caressing his cheek softly. "You don’t have to do anything you're not comfortable with. I love you for who you are, not for what you look like."

He nodded, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Thank you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you for understanding."

You smiled at him, leaning in to kiss him gently on the lips. "Of course. We’ll go at your pace, always."

He sighed with relief, pulling you close and burying his face in your neck. You held him, feeling his body relax against yours. You knew this was a significant step forward, and you were grateful for his trust.

That night, you didn’t get any further than snuggling, but the intimacy was fulfilling without the need for anything more. Spencer was still healing, and you were more than willing to wait, to support him, and to love him unconditionally. The journey was far from over, but you knew that as long as you had each other, you could face any challenge that came your way.

As the weeks turned into months, your sex life began to resume, albeit with one consistent condition: Spencer always kept his shirt on. You respected his boundaries, knowing how sensitive he felt about his body after the ordeal he'd been through. Your intimate moments were filled with love and tenderness, and you found joy in reconnecting physically, even with this limitation.

However, as time went on, you couldn't help but notice subtle changes in his appearance. You had seen him eat heartily on numerous occasions, and it was clear that he had started to gain back some of the weight he had lost. His face had filled out a bit, and his arms seemed stronger. More noticeably, his ass and thighs were regaining their former shape, which you couldn't help but appreciate.

One evening, during a particularly passionate moment, you found yourself lost in the sensations and emotions of the moment. As you moved together, you squeezed his ass playfully, a smile tugging at your lips. "Looks like someone's been filling out," you teased lightly, your tone affectionate and playful.

But the reaction you received was far from what you expected. Spencer tensed immediately, his entire body going rigid beneath you. He pulled away, a look of panic and distress flashing in his eyes. "Don't," he said sharply, his voice almost a whisper but laced with a mix of anger and fear. "Don't say things like that."

You froze, your heart sinking. "Spencer, I'm sorry," you said quickly, reaching out to touch his arm, but he pulled back, wrapping his arms around himself protectively.

"I can't... I just can't," he muttered, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape.

You felt a wave of guilt and worry wash over you. "Spencer, please talk to me," you pleaded softly. "What's going on? Why is this so hard for you?"

He shook his head, refusing to meet your gaze. "You wouldn't understand," he said, his voice breaking slightly.

"Then tell me," you insisted gently, desperate to understand and help him through whatever was tormenting him. "I love you, Spencer. I want to help you, but I can't if you shut me out."

There was a long pause, the silence between you heavy and fraught with tension. Finally, he took a deep breath, his shoulders slumping. "It's not just about the weight," he admitted quietly. "It's... it's the scars. The marks from the needles, from Tobias... I hate looking at them. I hate how they remind me of everything."

Your heart ached for him, understanding dawning in your mind. "Spencer," you whispered, moving closer but still giving him space. "You don't have to hide from me. I love every part of you, scars and all. They don't change how I feel about you."

He looked at you then, his eyes filled with vulnerability and pain. "I just... I feel so broken sometimes. Like I'll never be whole again."

You reached out, gently cupping his face in your hands. "You are whole to me," you said softly, your eyes locking onto his. "You are more than your scars, more than the trauma. You're Spencer, the man I love. And I will stand by you, no matter what."

Tears welled up in his eyes, and he leaned into your touch, finally letting some of the walls around his heart crumble. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion.

One quiet afternoon, after Spencer had left for another case with the BAU, you found yourself alone in the apartment, your mind racing with worry and unease. Despite his assurances and your best efforts to trust him, there was a gnawing feeling in your gut that something was still wrong. Spencer's reaction to your playful comment had left you deeply concerned, and you couldn’t shake the sense that he was hiding something.

Driven by a mix of fear and determination, you decided to do some digging around the apartment. You hoped against hope that you were wrong, that you wouldn't find anything to confirm your worst suspicions. But you had to know for sure.

You started with the obvious places: drawers, cabinets, the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. You sifted through his clothes, checked under the bed, and even searched behind books on the shelves. The more you looked, the more desperate you became, tearing the apartment apart in your search.

After what felt like hours, you sat down on the edge of the bed, exhausted and emotionally drained. You hadn't found anything—no syringes, no hidden stashes, nothing to indicate that Spencer was still using. A wave of relief washed over you, and for the first time in days, you felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe you had been wrong. Maybe he really was clean.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. "He's doing better," you whispered to yourself, as if saying it out loud would make it true. "He's really trying."

Little did you know, Spencer had taken the box with him on the case. He had become adept at hiding his relapse, and the box—a small, nondescript container with his supply—was his lifeline. He couldn’t bear to be without it, even when he was away on a case.

—

The day started off innocently enough, with you tackling the seasonal chore of rotating your closet. You hummed softly to yourself as you put away the heavy fall and winter clothes, making room for the light, breezy garments of spring and summer. It was a mundane task, one that allowed your mind to wander.

As you reached the back of the closet, your hands brushed against something solid and unfamiliar. Frowning, you pulled out a small, nondescript box. Your heart sank as you recognized it. Opening it confirmed your worst fears—inside were the remnants of Spencer's hidden stash.

You sat back on your heels, tears welled up in your eyes, and everything began to fall into place: his moods, his odd behaviors, the way he sometimes seemed distant even when he was right next to you. Hiding his upper body, probably covered in fresh tracks. The puzzle pieces clicked together in your mind, forming a picture that was devastating to behold.

Unable to think clearly, you quickly packed a bag, your hands shaking as you shoved clothes and essentials into it. You needed space, a moment to breathe and figure out what to say to Spencer. Yelling at him wouldn’t help; you knew he was in a fragile state, and the last thing you wanted was to push him further away.

With your bag slung over your shoulder, you headed for the door, your heart pounding in your chest. As you opened it, you nearly collided with Derek. He was standing there, a look of surprise on his face.

“Hey, I was just—” he began, but stopped short when he saw your tear-streaked face and the bag in your hand. “What’s going on?”

You tried to stifle a sob, making eye contact with him for a brief, heartbreaking moment. Without saying a word, you pushed past him and hurried down the hallway, the tears flowing freely now.

Derek watched you go, a deep frown creasing his brow. He pulled out his phone and quickly dialed Spencer’s number. Spencer, who was out picking up Thai food for dinner, answered on the second ring.

“Hey, man, what’s up?” Spencer’s voice was casual, oblivious to the storm brewing.

“What the hell happened, Spencer?” Derek’s voice was sharp with concern. “I just ran into your girl. She was crying and had a bag packed. What’s going on?”

There was a long, heavy silence on the other end of the line. Spencer’s heart sank, the realization hitting him like a ton of bricks. “She knows,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “She found the box.”

Derek's confusion was evident in his voice as he pressed for more information. “Knows what? What box, Spencer?”

Spencer swallowed hard, his throat dry as he tried to find the words. “The box... my stash. The drugs I’ve been hiding.”

Derek's silence was palpable, and when he finally spoke, his voice was filled with a mixture of disappointment and concern. “Spencer, why the hell are you still using? I thought you got clean.”

“I... I thought I could handle it, that I could control it,” Spencer admitted, his voice cracking with emotion. “But I couldn’t. And now she knows. She saw everything.”

Derek sighed deeply, his frustration and worry clear. “You need to get your ass home and talk to her. She’s hurting, man. You can’t keep doing this.”

“I know, Derek. I know,” Spencer said, his voice breaking. “I’m heading back now.”

As Spencer rushed home, his mind raced with thoughts of how he could possibly explain, apologize, and make amends. The fear of losing you was overwhelming, and he knew he had to face the consequences of his actions.

When Spencer finally arrived at the apartment, Derek was waiting for him, arms crossed and a stern expression on his face. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do,” Derek said, his voice low and serious.

“I know,” Spencer replied, his voice heavy with guilt and resignation. He took a deep breath, bracing himself for the conversation he had been dreading. "Derek, it's bad. I... I relapsed. After everything that happened, after Tobias... I thought I could handle it on my own, but I was wrong."

Derek's eyes narrowed, his concern deepening. "Why didn't you come to me, man? Why didn’t you ask for help?"

Spencer looked down, unable to meet Derek's gaze. "I was ashamed. I didn't want anyone to know I was struggling, especially after everything we’ve been through. I didn't want to disappoint anyone."

Derek shook his head, frustration evident in his voice. "Spencer, we’re a team. We’re family. You don’t have to go through this alone. You can’t keep hiding this and expect it to just go away."

Spencer nodded, tears welling up in his eyes. "I know. But it was so hard, Derek. Every time I looked at myself, all I saw were the scars, the reminders of what I went through. Using again... it made the pain a little more bearable, even if just for a moment."

Derek placed a firm hand on Spencer's shoulder, his voice softening. "I get that, man. I really do. But you can’t let this destroy you. You have people who love you, who want to help you. You have her."

Spencer's heart ached at the thought of you, the pain he had caused you. "I know. And now she’s gone because of me. I need to fix this, Derek. I need to show her that I can get better, that I can be the man she deserves."

Derek nodded, his expression softening slightly. "Then you need to take the first step, right here, right now. No more hiding, no more excuses. We’re going to get you the help you need, and we’re going to do it together."

Spencer took a deep breath, feeling a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness. "Okay," he said, his voice resolute. "I’m ready. I’ll do whatever it takes."

Derek squeezed his shoulder, offering a supportive smile. "Good. We’ll get through this, Spencer. One step at a time."

When Spencer and Derek stepped into the apartment, the air felt thick with tension and unspoken promises. Derek wasted no time, his determination clear as he followed Spencer into every room, helping him purge the space of anything that could be linked to his addiction. Spencer hesitated for a moment, but then joined Derek with a renewed sense of purpose.

Together, they scoured the apartment, starting with the small, nondescript box Spencer had hideen. They threw away syringes, pills, and anything else that could be used to get a fix. Derek watched closely as Spencer deleted all his dealer contacts from his phone, a look of grim determination on his face.

"It’s not just about getting rid of the drugs, Spencer," Derek said firmly. "It's about making sure you don't have any way to fall back into that trap. We're going to clean this place out completely."

Spencer nodded, his jaw set as they continued their task. Every drawer, every cabinet, every hidden nook and cranny was searched and cleared. By the time they finished, the apartment felt emptier, but also lighter, as if a weight had been lifted.

Derek then stayed with Spencer, refusing to leave him alone. For three days, he kept a close eye on him, offering support, conversation, and even a few moments of levity to keep Spencer’s spirits up. They watched movies, played chess, and talked about anything and everything that could keep Spencer’s mind occupied and away from the cravings.

On the second night, Spencer broke down, the weight of his guilt and shame finally overwhelming him. He sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, tears streaming down his face. "I don’t know if I can do this, Derek," he admitted, his voice choked with emotion. "What if I mess up again? What if I can’t stay clean?"

Derek sat beside him, placing a comforting hand on his back. "You can do this, Spencer. I believe in you. And you’re not alone in this fight. You’ve got me, and you’ve got her. We’re all here for you. You just have to take it one day at a time."

By the third day, the worst of the withdrawal symptoms had just started, and Spencer felt a  deep desire to use. He still had a long road ahead of him, but he felt stronger knowing he had people who cared about him and believed in him.

It was on that third day that you came home. The moment you walked through the door, you saw Derek and Spencer sitting on the couch, talking quietly. Spencer looked up, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of relief and trepidation.

Derek stood up, giving you a small nod. "I'll leave you two alone," he said gently, walking past you and offering a reassuring squeeze on your shoulder as he left.

You stood there for a moment, taking in the sight of Spencer, who looked worn but determined. He stood up slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. He held his breath as he waited for you to speak.

"You need to check yourself into a clinic," you said, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you.

Spencer blinked, taken aback. "What?"

"If you want to stay with me, you need to help yourself first," you continued, your tone firm but filled with concern. "Clearly, us working through it isn’t enough to help you. You need to take control of your life and your recovery."

He stared at you, the weight of your words sinking in. "But... I thought we could handle this together. Here. At home."

You shook your head gently, stepping closer to him. "We’ve tried that, Spencer. And it didn’t work. You need professional help, a structured environment where you can focus entirely on getting better. I’ll support you every step of the way, but you have to make this commitment to yourself."

Spencer’s eyes filled with tears, a mixture of fear and resignation. "I don’t want to be without you," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I’m scared."

"I know," you said softly, taking his hands in yours. "I’m scared too. But this is the best chance for you to truly heal. And once you’re better, we can build a stronger, healthier life together."

He nodded slowly, his grip on your hands tightening. "Okay," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "I’ll do it. I’ll check into a clinic."

Relief washed over you, and you pulled him into a tight embrace. "Thank you, Spencer. This is the right thing to do. For both of us."

Over the next few days, you helped Spencer make the necessary arrangements. You researched clinics, found one that specialized in addiction recovery, and made sure it had a good reputation. Spencer was hesitant, but your unwavering support gave him the courage to take this crucial step.

The day Spencer checked into the clinic, you drove him there, holding his hand the entire way. The building was imposing, but it represented hope and a fresh start. You parked the car and turned to him, giving him a reassuring smile.

"We’ll get through this, Spencer," you said, squeezing his hand. "I’ll visit as often as I can, and we’ll stay in touch. Just focus on getting better. That’s all that matters right now."

He nodded, his eyes filled with determination and a hint of fear. "I will. Thank you for believing in me."

You leaned in and kissed him gently. "Always."

With that, you watched as Spencer walked into the clinic, ready to face his demons and fight for his future. It was the hardest thing you’d ever done, but you knew it was the right choice. And as you drove away, you held onto the hope that this was the beginning of a new chapter for both of you, one filled with healing, love, and a brighter future.

—

Not even a week later, Spencer was walking back through your front door. The sight of him standing there, his bag slung over his shoulder, filled you with confusion, anger, and disappointment.

"What the hell, Spencer?" you demanded, your voice trembling with a mixture of emotions.

"I'm clean," he said defensively, dropping his bag to the floor.

"Clearly," you replied, crossing your arms over your chest. "Why are you home?"

"I can check myself out whenever I want," he snapped. "It's not prison."

"I know that, but you agreed to go through the whole program, which is twelve weeks, not one."

"It was stupid," Spencer retorted, his frustration evident. "It wasn't helping. I don't need to be told not to use; I already know that."

You felt a surge of anger rising within you, your patience wearing thin. "This isn't about being told not to use, Spencer. It's about getting the help you need to stay clean, to deal with everything that led you to use in the first place. You promised you would try."

"I did try," he insisted, his voice rising. "But it was a waste of time. I don't need a program to tell me what I already know."

"You think this is easy for me?" you shouted, unable to hold back any longer. "Do you think I want to see you struggling, to see you hurting yourself? I pushed you to go because I love you and I want you to get better."

Spencer's face contorted with anger and frustration. "Well, maybe you don't know what's best for me. Maybe I know myself better than you do."

Tears welled up in your eyes as the weight of his words hit you. "Maybe you're right," you said quietly, your voice trembling. "Maybe I don't know what's best for you. But I do know that I can't keep doing this. I can't keep watching you destroy yourself and pretending that everything is okay."

"What are you saying?" he asked, his voice softening, a hint of fear creeping in.

"I'm saying I can't do this anymore," you replied, tears streaming down your face. "I love you, Spencer, but I can't keep sacrificing my own well-being for someone who refuses to help themselves."

Spencer's eyes widened in shock and desperation. "You can't leave me. I need you."

"I need you too," you said, your voice breaking. "But I need you to be healthy, to be whole. And if you can't commit to that, then I have to walk away."

You grabbed your bag, tears blurring your vision as you headed for the door. "I hope you find the strength to get the help you need, Spencer. But I can't be here to watch you self-destruct."

With that, you left the apartment, your heart breaking with every step you took. You knew it was the hardest decision you had ever made, but it was also the only way to protect yourself and give Spencer the wake-up call he desperately needed. As you walked away, you held onto the hope that one day, he would find the strength to truly heal and that perhaps, when that day came, you could find your way back to each other.

[spencer-reids-adventures]

for @tobias-hankel!

cw: drug addiction

---

He doesn’t think anyone knows.

Last time, of course, they knew. They knew he’d just suffered a major trauma. They knew he kept arriving late to work and snapping at the team. They knew something was very, very wrong. And they never said anything to him about it, not really. Some vague words from Gideon. A few suspicious looks from Morgan. Utter befuddlement from poor Emily. But no one ever said a word, and so, neither did Spencer.

This time, he’s more careful. 

Once again, it’s not his fault, not really. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself. It’s not his fault he wasn’t coherent enough after being shot to tell the EMTs not to give him narcotics. It’s not his fault he was unconscious when the rest of the decisions about his knee surgery were made. It’s not his fault he limped out of the hospital on crutches with a bottle of Percocet, and it’s not his fault he took it, or that he took it upon himself to increase the dose. Small increments, a few days at a time. He’s a doctor. It’s fine.

It’s not his fault his team was too busy focusing on Hotch to notice any of it.

It’s not his fault that when the Percocet runs out, he manages to make his way to a crummy neighborhood in the middle of the night to pay an embarrassing amount of money for a moderate quantity of Dilaudid, and it’s definitely not his fault that the relief is so powerful, it actually makes him cry.

No, it’s not his fault, he assures himself. But it’s still a problem. It’s still a secret. It’s still scary and shameful, and Spencer is weak and broken, and he can’t let any of his teammates find out what’s happening.

He tries to be careful. It’s easy at first, because he’s on leave from work. Once he gets back, he does his best to look normal, to arrive on time, to be kind to his coworkers. He tries his best, and it’s so hard, and he truly doesn’t know if he’s succeeding. He’s not sure of much, at this point. He’s just trying to get through each day the best he can, to manage the pain in a way that’s familiar for him. 

Hotch returns to work not long after Spencer, and from the look on his face, he can tell something is wrong. He doesn’t say anything, though. He never says anything. Spencer tries to brush it off, pretends it doesn’t bother him, pretends he’s not desperate to just talk about it with someone. 

He tries, and he tries, and he tries.

And then one evening, the phone rings.

The call shows up as Unknown Caller, but Spencer answers it anyway, expecting someone trying to scam him or sell him something.

“Just listen,” the voice says on the other end. “You don’t have to say anything right now.”

And Spencer couldn’t say anything even if he wanted to, because it’s Gideon’s voice on the other end of the line, a voice he hasn’t heard in years, though he hears it in his memories and his dreams more often than he’d like to admit. 

He waits, speechless, for Gideon to continue.

“Hotch called me. We talk sometimes, you know. He keeps me up to date on what’s going on. And he told me that something’s going on with you. He’s really worried about you.”

Spencer swallows. Why would Hotch reach out to Gideon instead of just talking to Spencer himself?

What would Spencer have even said if Hotch had tried to talk to him?

“I’m assuming it’s the same problem you had last time, when you missed that plane, though Hotch couldn’t confirm anything. Maybe it’s not that. Maybe you’re just struggling emotionally, or maybe it’s something else I don’t even know about. No matter what it is, Reid, I want to help you. I want to be here for you in a way that I haven’t before.”

Spencer rubs his face with his hand. It doesn’t make sense, none of this makes sense. Gideon left. He left, and he’s gone, and Spencer made peace with that a long time ago. And now—now he doesn’t know what to do at all. Now, nothing makes sense. Nothing at all.

“Can you tell me what you’re thinking, Spencer?”

Spencer sighs. Pulls at his hair. Wrings his hands out a few times, and switches his phone from one ear to the other. 

“I messed up,” he finally whispers. “I missed another plane.”

“We can fix this,” Gideon says immediately. “Are you home? Are you safe? Can I come to you?”

“C-come to me?” Spencer repeats incredulously. 

“We obviously don’t want you detoxing on your own,” Gideon says matter-of-factly. “I’ll come help you.”

“Detoxing…”

“You know you can’t keep going like this. Something needs to change. I’m not going to let you kill yourself with this stuff.”

Spencer is quiet for a long time.

“I’m… at home,” he finally whispers.

“Stay there,” says Gideon. “I’m coming to you, okay? It’s going to take me a little while, but just—don’t go anywhere.”

“I won’t,” Spencer promises. 

When Gideon shows up 30 minutes later, a needle and a vial are sitting on the coffee table, but Spencer hasn’t moved.

[0o-junebug-o0]

Just To Hear Her Voice

Here's my first Criminal Minds fic!

summary: In the aftermath of Emily's death, Spencer starts calling and texting her number to cope as his life spirals down around him. He has no idea that halfway across the world, Emily is listening.

content: drug addiction, grief/mourning, angst, hurt/comfort, near relapse, angst with a happy ending

word count: 3.2k

Spencer calls Emily for the first time a week after her death. He’s sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest on the floor of his apartment, pressed between a chair and the wall, rocking forward and backward. He holds the phone to his ear and sobs when he hears Emily’s voice.

“This is Emily Prentiss. I’m not available right now. Leave a message and I will call you back.”

The dial tone sounds. Spencer chokes on a sob and hangs up. He redials the number. 

“This is Emily Prentiss. I’m not available right now. Leave a message and I will call you back.”

He hangs up before the tone and calls again. 

He only speaks on the sixth call. 

“This is Emily Prentiss. I’m not available right now. Leave a message and I will call you back.”

The dial tone sounds and Spencer takes a deep, shaky breath. “H-hi, Emily. I, um, I don’t know why I’m calling you. It’s– it’s not like you’re going to answer. You’re dead. I helped carry your coffin. It—” A sob pushes up his throat and cuts him off. “It was so heavy,” he whispers. 

He bows his head and presses his knees against his face, he can feel the tears seeping through the fabric of his slacks. “I just– I really miss you. It doesn’t feel real, none of this feels real. I’m sorry. I—” Spencer cuts himself off with a wet chuckle. “I should go eat something.”

Spencer pulls the phone away from his ear and hangs up. He doesn’t push himself off the floor for another three hours and when he does he goes straight to his room.

He calls her again three days later just to hear her voice. He doesn’t speak.

Spencer lays on the floor of a Nashville hotel room four weeks and six days after Emily’s death and dials her number. 

“This is Emily Prentiss. I’m not available right now. Leave a message and I will call you back.” 

He waits for the tone.

“I saw someone that looks like you today,” he says weakly. He breathes deeply and stares at the ceiling, tracing the perimeter of the room with his eyes. “It was uncanny. I, um, I really thought she was you. I was with Rossi, heading back to the Nashville police station, we’re on our first case since—” he pauses unable to finish the sentence. “It was good he was there. I might have called your name if he wasn’t. It feels wrong without you here.” Unable to think of anything else to say, Spencer hangs up. 

He doesn’t know that halfway across the world his voicemails are transferred from one phone to another and Emily Prentiss, newly arrived in Paris, listens to them and cries.

After the case in Nashville, calling Emily becomes a part of Spencer’s routine. Most of the time he doesn’t talk, unable to force himself to speak, and just listens to her voice. On those days he goes over to JJ’s house once he hangs up and cries in her arms. 

Emily receives records of those calls too, the times and dates are sent to her new phone and she stares at them when they arrive, hoping that she’s not the only person Spencer is talking to.

After three months he shifts from leaving messages to texting because it’s easier than talking. He still calls to listen to her voice but always hangs up before the tone. He texts her about his day, about the cases they’re working on without giving away any details, about how much he misses her. He still goes to JJ’s house at least once a week, he feels safer there on bad days.

Five months and thirteen days after her death, Spencer calls Emily’s number and yells.

“You should have told us! We could have helped you! We’re family, Emily! It’s our job to take care of each other.” Spencer's voice cracks and he lets out a screaming sob as he grabs a plate from the sink and throws it to the floor. “And now you’re dead! You’re dead and there’s nothing we can do about it! You’re so fucking stupid, Emily! We– we could have helped you! I hate you! I hate you! Why’d you have to leave?” He falls to the floor and trails off into uncontrollable sobs, not caring that the ceramic shards dig into his knees and the palm of his hand. He leans against the cabinets next to him and sobs, painfully and violently. He knows he’s being loud, loud enough that his neighbors can probably hear him but he can’t bring himself to care, not when he feels like he’s dying. He slams his head against the cabinet and the pain of it combined with the pain of the ceramic stuck in his skin helps ground him. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice wet with tears. “I’m sorry, I don’t hate you. I promise I don’t hate you. I’m so sorry. I could never hate you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He repeats those two words until his phone dies in his hand eleven minutes later.

Halfway across the world, Emily Prentiss sits in her Paris apartment, listens to the voicemail, and cries.

Spencer doesn’t call or text for twenty-four days after that. He knows she’s dead. He knows she can’t hear or see what he says to her, but he feels painfully guilty for his last voicemail. The kind of guilt that burrows into his chest and stays there, squeezing tight around his heart and lungs whenever he thinks about it. 

He lays awake in a hotel bed in Sedona, Arizona staring at the ceiling. With a sigh, he rolls onto his side, grabs his phone from the nightstand, and opens his text conversation with Emily. 

“I don’t know why I’m still doing this,” he types. Spencer squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. “I know you’re not going to see this, but I want to say I’m sorry again for when I last called. I don’t hate you. I promise I don’t hate you. I was just angry and sad and didn’t know what to do. I don’t know why I still feel so stuck. Obviously, everyone else is still sad but they seem to be moving on while I’m still here.” He sends the message and pauses for a moment. “I’ve been craving again, ever since you died. It’s getting worse the longer it’s been. I don’t know why. I thought it would get easier but it’s just getting harder. I’m scared, Emily.” His finger hovers over the send button before he changes his mind and deletes the message. He’s not going to tell anyone that, not even someone dead. Emily doesn’t deserve that. “I miss you,” he writes. He hits send and puts his phone back on the nightstand, curling into a ball with the comforter pulled up to his chin.

He squeezes his eyes shut and wraps his arms around his chest, trying not to scratch at the crook of his arm and trying not to think about getting high. 

The next two weeks pass in a haze and Spencer can feel himself getting worse. He calls and texts Emily’s number more frequently and visits JJ’s house nearly every other day. Being around Henry is the only thing keeping him from contacting his old dealer. He would never bring that shit into their home, he would never even think of being high around his godson. 

Spencer sits curled in on himself between a chair and the wall of his apartment with his phone pressed to his ear.

“This is Emily Prentiss. I’m not available right now. Leave a message and I will call you back.”

“This is Emily Prentiss. I’m not available right now. Leave a message and I will call you back.”

“This is Emily Prentiss. I’m not available right now. Leave a message and I will call you back.”

“This is Emily Prentiss. I’m not available right now. Leave a message and I will call you back.”

“This is Emily Prentiss. I’m not available right now. Leave a message and I will call you back.”

“This is Emily Prentiss. I’m not available right now. Leave a message and I will call you back.”

The tone sounds. “I miss you, Emily,” he says, his voice weak around the lump in his throat. “It’s not getting easier, but I’m alright.” That’s a lie. He doesn’t know why he’s lying. Emily’s dead. She’s not going to hear it anyway. But he just can’t bring himself to say it. He hangs up.

Three days later, Spencer calls JJ to ask if he can come over. She apologizes and tells him that Henry has the flu and passed it on to Will. He tells her it’s okay and hangs up.

Forty-five hours later he calls a number he deleted from his contacts years ago.

Sixteen hours later Spencer is curled up on his couch, staring at the unopened vial of Dilaudid sitting on his coffee table next to a packaged needle. 

He knows he shouldn’t do this. He doesn’t want to. But he needs it.

He feels frozen, his whole body is shaking. He rubs his eyes hard and continues to stare at the vial. He knows he should call someone but he’s scared and ashamed. He doesn’t want anyone to see him like this.

His hand shakes violently as he reaches for his phone and selects Emily’s contact. She’s dead. He can call her. She won’t know and maybe calling will give him the courage to dump it down the drain. 

The first ring startles him and he waits silently, tears streaming down his cheeks as the phone continues to ring.

“This is Emily Prentiss. I’m not available right now. Leave a message and I will call you back.”

The tone sounds and Spencer speaks.

______

Emily's phone pings as a new voicemail is transferred to her phone. She looks at her phone with surprise. It’s eight am in Paris and two am in DC. It’s much later than Spencer usually calls.

She turns her volume on and selects the voice message.

The first thing she hears is a shaky sob she’s become painfully familiar with.

“Hi, Emily. I don’t know why I’m calling,” Spencer mutters. His voice sounds completely broken and almost dead. “Actually, that’s– that’s not true. I know why I’m calling.” There’s a pause and all she can hear is the shaky sound of Spencer breathing and crying softly. “I can’t call anyone else.” He sighs. “I’m, um, I’m sitting in my living room in– in front of a needle and a vial of Dilaudid.” Emily’s stomach drops and she shoots to her feet. A broken sob plays from her phone. Panic builds rapidly in her chest and she hopes, prays, that Spencer hasn’t taken any yet. She’s pulled from her thoughts when he starts to speak again. “I don’t want to,” he whispers. “I promise I don’t want to. It’s just too much, I—” his voice breaks “I need it, Em.” Emily raises her hand to cover her mouth as tears stream down her cheeks. This is her fault. This is all her fault. She should’ve told everyone. 

“I’m so sorry, Em. I just– I really miss you. I-I didn’t even get to say goodbye.” 

The playback ends and Emily immediately rushes to the toilet to vomit because that sounded horrifyingly like a suicide note. She coughs violently and spits into the toilet. She doesn’t even take the time to flush it before she clicks on Spencer’s number and her phone is ringing.

Halfway across the world, Spencer sobs as rolls up his sleeve and wraps his belt around his upper arm. The sterile plastic crinkles as he removes the needle. He holds it and wishes he wasn’t like this. Wishes he was a better, stronger person. He reaches to grab the vial but as the tips of his fingers touch the cool class his phone rings. 

He startles, almost dropping the needle. Too large a part of him is glad he didn’t drop it because that means it’s still clean and he can still use it. He slips the needle back into the plastic packaging and sets it back down on the coffee table but he doesn’t undo the belt around his arm. His hand shakes violently as he picks up his phone.

He stares at the screen for a moment, it’s a number he doesn’t recognize with a Paris area code. He doesn’t know why but he answers it.

“Spencer!” Emily’s voice gasps through his phone. 

Spencer stares wide-eyed at the phone without responding. This isn’t happening, this isn’t real. She’s dead. He must be having a schizophrenic break, he’s the right age for it and he’s hearing the voice of his dead friend.

“Spencer!” the voice says again. He refuses to think of it as Emily’s voice. It’s not her voice, it can’t be because if it is that means she’s alive. That means that she and Hotch and who knows how many other members of his team have been lying to him for months. That means she heard and read all his messages. That means she heard him say that he bought Dilaudid and is about to shoot up. “Please, Spencer! Please answer me. Oh, God.”

“E-Emily?” he asks, his voice breaking. He hates that part of him believes it might actually be her.

“Yes, fuck. Yes, it’s me, Spencer, please tell me you’re okay,” she gasps. Spencer can hear her crying.

“Is–is this real? I’m not having a schizophrenic break?”

“No, I mean yes, I mean this is real!” Emily stutters. “I’m real. I’m alive. I’m so so sorry. But please, Spencer, tell me you haven’t done anything.”

Spencer doesn’t respond, just staring in disbelief at his phone. A moment later his phone beeps and a button appears at the bottom of the screen. Without thinking he presses it and immediately Emily’s face fills his screen. Her face is pale and her hair is all over the place and she looks terrified. She stares at him with wide eyes. In the bottom right corner is himself, and for the first time in sixty-one hours and twenty-three minutes, Spencer looks at himself. His face is red and blotchy and the bags under his eyes look like bruises. His hair is greasy and knotted. His shirt is buttoned incorrectly, his right sleeve is rolled up, and he can see the belt cinched around his arm.

“Spencer?” Emily asks, and her lips move on his phone as she speaks. “Did you—”

He cuts her off with a shake of the head and with a shaking hand, undoes the belt around his arm and lets it fall to the floor. “I was— I was about to,” he admits, his voice weak and wet. “I took out the needle. You called right— right as I grabbed the bottle.”

Spencer can see the panic fade from Emily’s face. “Okay, okay,” she says, her voice breathy with relief. “Thank God. Okay. Spencer, I need you to listen to me, okay?”

He nods and says nothing. 

“I need you to pick up the bottle and dump it.”

Spencer immediately bursts into tears. “I-I can’t, Em. I can’t!” he cries. “I want to but I can’t. You were dead. I helped carry your coffin! I can’t! It was so bad. I need it! I need to not feel!” He knows he’s not making any sense but by the look of her face, he can tell Emily understands.

“I know,” she says softly. “I know. But I need you to do this for me. Please, Spencer.”

He bows his head and sobs ugly and violent sobs. 

“You’re going to be okay, Spencer. I’m right here. I’ll always be right here.”

“But you weren’t!” he screams, the anger in his chest finally boiling over. “You weren’t here! You left! You lied! You let us believe you were dead! You let us mourn you! I hate you, Emily! I fucking hate you!” 

Spencer looks up at the phone when Emily doesn’t respond and freezes when he sees the tears streaming down her cheeks. 

“I–I’m sorry,” he says, panicked. “I don’t know why I said that. I don’t hate you. I don’t hate you. I promise I don’t hate you! Please, Emily, please. I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I— fuck!” Spencer drops his phone on the couch and pushes himself to his feet, grabbing the needle and vial of Dilaudid as he stands. 

“Spencer? Spencer!” Emily cries frantically through his phone. He doesn’t respond and practically sprints into his kitchen. Quickly, before he can regret it, he breaks off the tip of the needle and stabs it into a banana to make it safe and throws it and the rest of the needle in the trash. He unscrews the cap of the vial and dumps it down the kitchen sink. He sobs as he watches the liquid flow down the drain. The vial slips from his fingertips and he sinks to the floor. He says there until he’s sure all of the drug is gone before shakily pushing himself up, rinsing out the vial with water, and throwing it in the trash with the broken needle.

He stumbles back into the living room and picks up his phone to see Emily panicking. She opens her mouth to speak but Spencer interrupts her. “I dumped it,” he says weakly.

“Oh thank, God,” Emily sighs with relief. “Fuck. I’m so sorry, Spencer.”

“Who knew?” he demands. 

“What?”

“Who knew you were alive?”

“Just– just Hotch and JJ. But don’t be mad at them, please. I had no choice. Hotch knows because he’s Unit Chief and JJ only knows because she was assigned to making me disappear. It was too much of a risk to tell anyone else.”

Spencer scoffs. “What? You didn’t trust us? You don’t think we can keep a secret as important as this?”

A pained look crosses Emily’s face. “No,” she insists. “No that’s not it at all. I know all of you would have kept this a secret. I trust all of you with my life. But I couldn’t risk you knowing because it would put you in danger. Doyle will do anything to get to me. I wish even JJ and Hotch didn’t know, but I didn’t get a say in that. But I did get one in protecting you. You don’t– you don’t have to forgive me, or– or even be okay with it, but please—” a small sob cuts her off. “Please, I just need you to understand.”

Spencer stares at her for a while before slowly nodding. “I understand,” he whispers. “I hate it and I’m mad and I don’t forgive you yet but I understand.”

“Thank you,” Emily sighs weakly. “That’s all I ask. I just want you to be safe, that’s why I called, even though I have been ordered not to contact any of you. I couldn’t– I couldn’t let you relapse.”

Spencer nods weakly.

“I just need you to be okay,” she sobs softly.

“I’m not okay,” he admits, another sob forces its way up his throat. “I need help, Em. I’m sorry.”

She shakes her head. “Don’t be sorry. You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m going to call JJ, okay? And she’s going to come pick you up. I'm so proud of you.”

Spencer nods. “I love you, Emily.”

“I love you too, Spence. I’ll stay on the line until she gets here. I’m not leaving you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If anyone wants to be tagged in future fics, just let me know! Also if you have something you'd like me to write, my requests are always open!

[hyperfixatedoncrimminalminds]

So I accidentally deleted this request but I have written it so sorry to whoever wrote it.

Request : Okok, Teen!Male!reader x Spencer Ried (platonic obvs) when reader ends up getting mixed up a crime/murder in the drug scene. They aren't the unsub but they struggle with addiction and has an ally cat type attitude so it makes it difficult to get any information out of him. Spencer is like a father figure and they start to get close, helping reader through out the case/ recovery.

I love this idea

Third person pov...

Spencer Reid and Derek Morgan arrive on scene, there is a serial killer runnng around kidnapping upstanding people then killing people by overdosing them on different drugs.

The latest victim was a mother with two children under the ages of 10, with no history of drug use she is currently the 5th victim, where they found her was in a dumpster in ohio.

"Looks like the rest of the victims" Says Derek as he kneels next to the body of Samantha Doyle. Spencer nods and looks around the scene. "As well as the dump site, he threw her away like trash." He says, as he looks he notices a boy looking no older then 15 being talked to by the police.

Confused Spence leaves Morgan and walks over to one of the police officers. "Hey excuse me, whats he doing here?" He asks nodding over at the boy and officer.

The office next to him looks over. "Oh yeah him, he's been hanging around sayin' he saw something. Don't bother with 'im he's an addict got loads of them here" he tells the agent, Spencer thanks the man but doesn't take his eyes of the teen.

The officer just sighs and leaves the boy, he was watching with intense curiosity. The boy had messy hair and dark circles under his eyes, giving the impression of a troubled soul.

Spencer's mind immediately went into profiling mode, trying to figure out the boy's story, he walked over to the boy and introduced himself, "Hi, I'm Dr. Spencer Reid. And you are?"

The young man shrugged his shoulders tapping his hand nervously. "Y/N" he says bearly over a mumble but Spencer hears him. "Well Y/N, did you see anything here?" He asked.

The young detective immediately noticed the troubled look in (Y/n)'s eyes, and he could see the fear and guilt written all over his face.

Spencer's empathetic nature kicked in, and he knew that there was more to this young man than meets the eye.

(Y/n) was like a wounded alley cat, always on edge and unwilling to trust anyone. The 15 year old didn't say anything. "How about you come to the station to talk" Says the genius.

Y/N thinks before nodding, either way they were going to make him talk might as well get it over with, soon the boy is sat in the back of thr SUV with two Agents.

They try and talk to him more but only get a few words out bef they take him to the interrogation room to talk, as Y/N sits and waits he thinks over his life.

He's been hooked on drugs since he was 12 when he was 10 his Mother died leaving him with his abusive Father, he would kick little Y/N around all day until the boy finally turned to drugs to dull the pain.

It's worked all those years and he's hooked, finally when he was 14 he ran away and had beeb living on the streets, pick pocketing people who walk past him.

He met many different people throughout the last year, not many of them were nice most were arsehole and criminals, but last night traumatised him.

He was in his usual place counting the money he managed to pick pocket of some people, when he heard something. He saw a guy dressed in dark clothes throughing something in the dumpster.

Y/N didn't bother with it, but he got curious and stuck behind a dumpster and got a pretty good look at what was happening, his E/C eyes widened in shock.

It was a body, the man was throwing her into the dumpster, Y/N ducks into the darkness when the guy turns around, he gets a good look at his face before he leaves in a truck.

It was to dark to see the number plate, Y/N walks closer to the body, her lifeless eyes stare into his dark tired ones, she looked alot like his Mother.

Shivering he closed her eyes and left to go back to his place where he sleeps and tried to forget what he saw.

The door to the room opens bringing the teen back into the real world, Spencer had told everyone to stay there thay he would handle it.

He closed the door and sat in the chair oppos the boy, Y/N wasnt ha dcuffed and coukd ove but didn't he kept sat down.

Spencer decis to take a different approach, he reaches into his pocket and takes out a pack of cards.

"Mind if I play a game of solitaire?" Spencer asked, trying to lighten the mood To his surprise, the young man slowly reached out and took the cards. As they played, Spencer asked more questions, trying to get some information about the crime and the drug scene in the area.

As he played Y/N became a little more reaced but was still on guard and keeping Spencer at arms lengt.

Y/N still didn't reveal much, but Spencer could tell he was holding back. He also noticed the subtle tremors in Y/Ns hands and the needle marks on his arm.

He soon realized that Y/N was not the unsub, but rather a lost soul struggling with addiction and trauma, this brought him back to when he was addicted to delaudid.

After a few games Y/N began opening up about what he sawast night, he told him everything he remembered, this helped the team alot tk catch the bastard.

Throughout the case Without judgment, Spencer offered to help Y/N get clean and get out of the dangerous world of drugs. With the help of Y/N the team manages to catch the killer sooner than they had hoped.

As the case progressed, Spencer and the H/C teen grew closer. They spent long nights talking and playing cards, and Spencer could see the potential in the young man. He was intelligent and quick-witted, but his addiction was holding him back.

Y/N was also hesitant to trust anyone, but he slowly opened up to Spencer, after having an awful relationship with his bio father seeing him Spencer as a father figure scared him, Spence became more invested in the teens recovery and helping him turn his life around.

With the help of the team, they were able to track down the murder suspect, Y/N even played a crucial role in gathering information, using his 'alley cat attitude' to his advantage.

As the case came to a close, Spencer and Y/N celebrated with a game of cards and a heartfelt conversation. Y/N thanked Spencer for his help and guidance, and Spencer promised to always be there for him.

From that day on, Y/N focused on his recovery with the support of his new family at the BAU. He still had his struggles, but with Spencer by his side, he knew he could overcome them.

Spencer, on the other hand, learned a valuable lesson about not judging a book by its cover. Y/N may have been mixed up in the drug scene, but he was more than just an addict. He was a survivor.

The end!

Hope you liked this oneshot, slowly getting through these requests. Sorry for any spelling or grammar mistakes.

Request are open!

Word count: 1312

[cmincorrrctquotes]

Hotch, picking up his phone: Reid? I'm kind of busy right now-

Reid: Do you think drinking thirty-six cans of Redbull consecutively would heighten my senses or would I just die?

Hotch:

Hotch: I'm on my way.

[bloodywickedlips]

Conquer all

Summary: You are new to the team and notice something is going on with Spencer Reid, all the signs are there and you want to help him.

The elevator door opened and you stepped out looking at every one doing their own business.

You were lost and had no idea where to go. Seeing someone walk past you cleared your throat and stuck your hand out.

“Hi, sorry I'm miss Y/L/N, I’m looking for SSA Hotchner” you said with a smile and the woman in front of you looked around not sure what to do and smiled back at you.

“Do you have an appointment?” she asked you and you shook your head and pulled you badge out.

“no, I’m supposed to start with his team today, new member and all” I said and blushed as she stared at me with wonderment.

“oh you are the new recruit, okay, yes his office is right through there, up the stairs” she said pointing with her very out there painted nails. You smiled and went to thank her but she scurried off before you could say anything.

“weird…” you said to yourself and walked through the glass doors and to the stairs. You were aware of the eyes following you but kept your head held high and knocked on Hotchner’s door and stepped inside with the ‘come in’ you heard.

You closed the door behind you and looked at the man in front of you.

Suit and tie with piles of paper work in front of him.

“Good morning sir, I was told to see you first thing today” you said to him and watched as he stood up and walked around the table. You smiled as he stepped forward and pulled you in for a hug.

“I was told you would be joining us” he said and looked you over. “So you got the heads up to babysit your niece then?” you grumbled and he laughed. He didn’t smile often or even laugh and it was nice to see him do it.

“No I know of no such thing” he said and you rolled your eyes knowing your father for being over protective.

“Your desk is right across Reid’s , and I’ll introduce you soon” he said and motioned for you to sit down.

“I would prefer if the team didn’t know we are related” you said and he frowned at you silently questioning why.

“Back home everyone knew my dad and assumed I got in because of him, I don’t want the same happening here” you clarified for him hoping he would understand.

“I see, well the whole team is profilers so I will keep it quiet but they catch onto things quickly” Hotch said and you smiled.

“Uncle Hotch I was top of my class, and I’m very good at lying. I’m sure ill be fine” you said and stood up to set up your desk.

“then no more uncle, is Hotch only” he said and you nodded appreciatively and walked out shutting the door once again.

You looked over the desks and saw only one empty one. You sat your bag down and looked at the guy sitting by his desk across from you, he was something else, he looked like someone that just stepped off of a magazine cover. Reid you recalled your uncle saying.

“you must be Reid, I'm Y/L/N “ you said sticking your hand out. “Well hello…how can I help you?” he said obviously trying to flirt. “Morgan why are you in my chair?” a voice said to your left and as you turned to look you saw a tall guy in a sweater with beautiful brown hair. What is it with this place? Did they only hire model approved agents?

“Sorry pretty boy, I was looking for something” the guy said and it fit. Pretty boy.

“Who are you?” pretty boy asked and you couldn’t stop the blush from creeping up your neck.

“Y/N Y/L/N…I'm new to the team. And I'm guessing you are Reid and you are Morgan?” you asked and looked at spencer checking you from head to toe. It didn’t make your blushing any better.

“yeah, uh Spencer, Spencer Reid” he said and you noticed he didn’t try to shake hands with you instead he was scratching at his neck, which you could tell was already irritated from his scratching.

“and I’m Derek Morgan sweetness” the other man said and stuck his hand  out for you to shake.

You gripped his hand tightly and he turned it over “Nice ink” he said and you nodded as you looked down to your tattoo on your wrist.

It was something special to you that you had gotten a few months back, it was a stack of books with a small word saying conquer all.

Morgan let go and retreated to his own desk and you were left to set up your own. A few minutes later you were called to the meeting room and met the rest of the team before being prepped for a new case.

As you were listening to JJ explain what was happening you couldn’t help but steal glances at spencer. His leg was bouncing non stop and his eyes were never settled for long, and scratching. His neck and then elbow and then neck again. Never stopping.

After the briefing you grabbed your go bag and went over the files on the jet. You always sat on your own when working as then your mind was fully focused.

The case took four days in which you grew closer to the team and kept an eye on spencer’s antics. They never stopped.

Arriving back at the office you all had to fill in your own reports and you got a congratulations from the team on putting the profile together so quickly.

You just finished your report when you saw Spencer walk to the rest room and looked around first to see no one watching and walked after him.

You shut the men’s bathroom door and locked it behind you. There was only one cubicle door closed and you sighed, you hoped that you were wrong but all the signs were there.

“How long?” you asked out loud and heard spencer gasp “Shit..” before something dropped and it managed to roll right under the door and stop in front of your shoes. You bent down and picked it up.

Dilaudid, a narcotic painkiller.

The door flung open and spencer snatched it out of your hand.

“It’s not what you think” he said and walked to the sink to wash his hands. “Spencer talk to me” you said and frowned at him trying to help.

“Don’t call me that, it’s Doctor Reid” he snapped at you and you understood he wasn’t angry he was embarrassed.

“Reid, if you need help….” You started to say but he spun around and glared at you “I don’t know what you are talking about” he hissed and you shook your head.

“None of them know?” you asked surprised that no one has picked it up.

“Shut up, you know nothing” Spencer hissed at you and he stormed out of the bathroom and you followed after him, going to your own desk.

Spencer avoided you and you couldn’t blame him. He was angry and embarrassed, but you knew he was angry that you had picked it up and none of his team mates/ family picked it up.

“Don’t stay too late guys” Hotch said to both you and spencer and an idea struck you.

“No we are actually just leaving. Spencer and I am going to grab a coffee and a few books to read” you said smiling at your uncle.

“oh Reid can I ask you to pick up a book for Jack to read. We’ve finished the last book you gave us” Hotch said and you could see spencer wanted to decline but you mentioning going to a bookstore had him stuck.

“Sure Hotch” Spencer said and you smiled and grabbed your bag. Spencer stood up as well and pushed his chair back in a little bit too hard but Hotch didn’t seem to notice.

You walked with spencer and hotch to the elevator and waited till the doors opened to the basement where all the cars were parked.

“Come on Reid, my car is this way” you said and bid Hotch a goodnight and spencer had no choice but to follow you.

You got into the car and waited for spencer to get in, slamming your door resulting in you rolling your eyes.

You drove through the city until you got to the bookstore and looked at spencer but he was avoiding your gaze.

“Come on” you said and got out of the car and walked to the bookstore. You walked to the door and spencer huffed as he saw the closed sign on it.

“It’s closed, nice thinking” he remarked and you rolled your eyes again as you pushed the door open and stepped inside. “Reid just get inside” you grumbled having enough of his attitude.

Spencer frowned but walked in and followed you through the aisles after closing and locking the door.

You approached the chairs and smiled as you saw some of the few people that you knew.

“Anyone else?” you heard and sighed as you walked up and turned to face spencer that was still standing for an explanation.

“Hi everyone, my name is Y/N and I’m a recovering addict. Now we can all speak freely here as all of us are in some parts of law enforcement. So where should I start? Uh I’ve had to deal with some nasty people out there. So it all started when a case went bad, I ended up getting shot and needed surgery. I was in hospital for a long time, and there I fell into the rabid hole of morphine. I lost friends and family as my addiction got worse and I nearly overdosed while on the job. My mind was so busy that I forgot I had already shot up that morning and only a few hours later did I take another dose. My co worker found me passed out in my motel room and had to phone an ambulance. It was then and there I decided I couldn’t carry on like that. I had to be stronger and conquer this addiction. So this coming Wednesday I will be sober for a year” you explained and the people around you cheered and clapped but your eyes were only set on spencer.

He had tears in his eyes and you felt your heart break a little bit for him.

You walked back and sat down for the next person to speak. Spencer joined you and sat next to you.

“How…” spencer asked and you turned to him with a sad smile “It takes one to know one” you said softly and watched as he nodded and turned back to listen to other stories.

After the meeting was finished you said goodnight to everyone and locked the door again.

“So what you have permission to use the store?” spencer asked behind you and you chuckled.

“No, it’s mine. Only thing I found pleasure in my whole life was books. So I bought my own bookstore” you explained.

“Reid, I’m sorry…I shouldn’t have gotten involved” you said and looked down at your feet.

“No I’m sorry, I was just embarrassed. And angry that none of my family is helping, but only a true friend would get in the line of fire to try and help” spencer said and you stepped up to him.

“I will help Reid, anything you need” you said and spencer nodded and reached into his bag. You frowned not knowing what he was doing until he held out his hand and when he opened it you saw the three bottles. “Take them…please” Spencer said with a tremble in his voice.

You took the bottles from him and stepped forward slowly, wrapping your arms around him.

Spencer was stiff for a few seconds before his arms circled you and a sob tore through his throat.

“It’s okay Spencer, you will get through this. I will help you” you said and hugged him tighter. You knew there were a lot of hard days ahead, detoxing was one of the worst things to go through, but you would get him through it and stay by his side.

“I’m at a disadvantage here” spencer said as he pulled away and wiped his eyes.

“You know a secrete about me but I know almost nothing about you” he said and you smiled staring up into his beautiful eyes.

“I have an uncle in the BAU” you said and watched Spencer’s eyebrow squint together trying to think who it was.

“Come on let’s grab that book my uncle asked you for” you said and laughed out loud as spencer’s eyes went wide. “Hotch!! Hotch is your uncle?” he exclaimed and you shook your head at him and grabbed his hand to lead him to the children books. You knew he wasn’t big on touching but it warmed your heart when he didn’t pull away but instead grabbed your hand tighter.

[odilelakes]

i'm still continuing my rewatch of criminal minds from the very beginning and holy fucking hell. they could have handled reid's addiction a lot better than they did. it was just a rumour that mgg asked for them to drop it -- so if that's the case OKAY FINE, actor comfort comes first. but if that wasn't the case, jesus christ they could have done so MUCH with it! they had a whole subplot they could have written but NOOOOOOOO. it would have been such an interesting story to delve deeper into, the dynamics with the rest of the team they could have worked it into. they had something GOOD on their hands.

[spentfromspence]

Spencer in his drug addiction era

[alovesongtheywrote]

yknow, there's something fun to me about the way reid is tortured with russian roulette in season two, and then a million years later in season eleven, morgan gets tortured the same way. there's some fun and funky symmetry there. they could start a support group.

also, guess who directed that episode of season eleven lmao

[unprofessionalprofessionalbinger]

Put it down Spencer Reid x fmc

Big shout out to everyone that liked my first little writing. Y'all give me motivation <333 summary: Spencer suffers silently, thinking nobody notices. He's wrong. Spoilers for criminal minds season 2 episode 12

tw: cursing, drug abuse, addiction, eating disorder(?), short little hint at selfharm

"Don't you think Spencer has been acting weird lately?" I ask Morgan concerned. I let it slide the first three weeks. It isn't something small to get kidnapped by some crazy guy with three personalities. It wouldn't be unusual for Spencer to act weird or close himself off a little. But he's done such a 180. The only thing that stayed is his awkwardness. Sweet Spencer Reid sassed at me multiple times the last weeks. He even insulted me (I made a joking jab at him and he told me I'm wasting the precious oxygen a tree is tiredlessly producing)

His hands are shaky. He fumbles more. He rants less. He's gone colder and quieter. He scratches his arms through his sleeves and seems tired and unfocused. He's also gotten paler. And thinner? "He won't talk to anyone, it worries me, what if he needs help but can't bring himself to ask and then one day it'll be too late and-" Derek quickly interrupts my ramble before I go any further down the rabbit hole.

"Hey, pretty girl, relax. I'm sure he'll be fine. He just needs some time to really get back, y'know? Hankel did quite the number on him, you saw how Reid's foot looked." His voice is soothing. He always has that soothing tone. But it doesnt work. My mind easily picks words and the way they sounded apart and leaves only the cold, harsh truth behind.

"Exactly what I mean! He was digging his own grave and then had to shoot a man he pitied! That's horrifying! I don't expect him to be fine, but I sure as shit expect him to talk to one of us. Better, all of us. Not at once. But it's important. Who does he trust? JJ. He trusts JJ. I should go ask her if she knows anything." My tone is determined as if nothing could bring me from that path.

"Go ask if JJ knows what?" Prentiss. Prentiss joined not long ago. She's trying hard to fit in, but Gideon isn't exactly easy on her. Not that I can't relate. Looks like the only women he can stand are JJ, Greenaway and Garcia. Well, not that bad. But he's honestly a little... how can I say it? Different.

"Oh, it's nothing. Just about Reid. Do you know how he's doing?" I don't expect her to know. But I'm not shutting her out. She seems nice. At first I feared she was a nepo baby, but she definitely proves herself well. She had gotten sass from Spencer too. Honestly, for the lack of a better word, I'd say he's acting bratty. But I strongly doubt he enjoys whatever is happening.

"Well... last time I asked him what's going on with him, he told me quite clearly that I have no idea what I'm talking about, so I guess I'm not exactly the right person to ask, I'm sorry. I don't actually know him that well anyway." She seems genuinely sorry that she cannot help the issue. "It's alright, Em. I'm sure we'll get him back somehow." I reply with a gentle smile.

Turns out JJ doesn't know anything either. But I know. Not because he told me, but because it's obvious. Also, I'm pretty sure the others know too. Either they're in denial or just decided to ignore Spencer's obvious drug addiction and let him fight it himself or rott alone in his apartment. Great. So much for 'we are a family'. First Elle pulls the fucking card of just shooting the rapist. Then she has to leave? I mean, I'd get it if there was evidence, we couldn't have let that slide, legally speaking, but IA said it was legit. Self-defense. She got shot in her own home, she was traumatized and not ready to come back. Then she got pushed. Further and further. Instead of helping, the team just pushed her away. I can't let that happen again. Not to Spencer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I have been knocking on this damned door for ages now. I knock again. Maybe knocking is the wrong word. It had evolved into more of a banging. An angry woman opens the door a couple feet over and glares at me. I throw her an apologetic look and tell her I'll stop.

Just as I turn away, a muffled thump reaches me from the other side of the wood. My mind immediately spins. What if he's hurt? I knock one last time and call out "Reid?!" He doesnt answer. Without thinking, my hair is let down, pin in my hand. Then the pin is in the lock, next thing, the door is open. I step inside, gently close the door again, dump my bag and scan the room. My eyes quickly find the hunched over figure on the floor of the dimly lit room.

After closer looking, I notice the small bottle of medicine next to his thigh and the syringe tightly grasped in his hand. "Fucking hell, Reid put that down right now." He lazily tilts his head in my direction and squints weirdly at me. Dipshit is already higher than his IQ. He slurs a 'no' in my direction. "Don't make me hurt you." I say, half jokingly. With a few quick steps, I reach him. My fingers wrap frimly around his hand. His knuckles are white from how tightly he holds that damned thing. But that needle will not breach his skin again.

"Spencer. Please. Put it down." I say gently. It seems like he's high enough to not have that much willpower in him. He lets go and slumps back against the wall. I carefully put the drugs in my bag. He needs rehab. But that will cost him his job. He can't lose his job. It'd end him. The only way is to help him quit without getting forced by someone else's hand. I definitely need to have an insightful conversation with sober Reid.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow is when our few little paid vacation days start. Ten days without a case. It'd be a great time to start withdrawal. I leave a container with pasta, chicken and creamy sauce in his kitchen, put a post-it on it saying 'Call me when you're sober ~Romanov' and take his dilaudid with me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I should've expected that I wouldn't be able to sleep in until lunchtime. But hey, can't blame a girl for trying. My phone rings at nine and I pick up with a sleepy voice, not looking at the caller ID. "Are you seriously still asleep? Did breaking into my apartment and stealing from me make you that tired?!" Spencer's sassy voice reaches me through the phone. He sounds upset. I get it. I pinch my nose and sigh.

"No, actually, I'm just tired of getting shut out." I reply in the same tone. The line goes quiet for a while. "What do you want?" his voice is suddenly small and quiet, it breaks my heart. "I just want to talk, Goldie. Need some company the next couple days? I swear I'm great company." My voice is soft. An underlying plea swings in my words. "Depends. You got some more of that pasta? Haven't thrown up in two hours. And it's really good." I can't quite put what about his tone it is, but it makes my heart melt and I can't help my next words. "I could teach you. We could do a little cooking lesson. Promise I'll wash my hands really, really good." I add the last part teasingly, wanting to bring a little more lightness. "This is not a question, by the way, it's now officially an order. My place, four o' clock. I'll send you the address. Don't be late. You have to bring nothing but yourself in one piece. Don't think I didn't see that knife yesterday. You can't hide anything from me, Goldie." I hang up without letting him answer. I know Spencer Reid well enough. He'll show. He can't argue with me if I hang up, and if he doesn't show, he will 100% feel bad about it.

Morally problematic? Maybe. But it's for a good cause.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alrightyyyy, this is it for tonight. Might be rushed. Isn't proofread. I again didn't write enough Spencer aghhhhh.

But tomorrow. I promise. I'll feed fluff. Cooking together and a little angsty talk. Cuddles, lot of trust aaaand more fluff!

Again, thanks for the support, every last little thing means the world to me. It is an honor to know people actually read my shit (even if it's only for Spencer)

Feel free to leave any kind of critisism <333

[masterwords]

the eve of destruction

Summary: Hotch is in bad shape after his ordeal with Mr. Scratch, and while coming by his house to help out one day Spencer is faced with temptation. When he gives in, he has to find a way to fix it before it destroys everything he holds dear.

Words: 7.2k

Warnings: drug addiction (see the rest of the tags on AO3)

Pairing: Hotch/Morgan

Notes: This is for my love @domestikhighway58 <3 Be kind, I wrote this is a matter of hours so there are probably horrific errors.

********************************************************************

Spencer hesitated at the door. There was a key in his hand, a key to a door he’d never opened, never been through, never even faced before. Hotch’s apartment lay beyond the threshold, and it was silent. The last time he’d seen Hotch, he was sitting hunched over and bleeding in the back of an ambulance arguing with EMTs and Rossi about whether or not he needed to be taken to the hospital.

Rossi and the EMTs won in the end, when he tried to stand and suddenly couldn’t. It was frightening to watch from afar, from beside the police car that was revving its engine ready to take Peter Lewis to the nearest police station. Watching Hotch’s knees buckle beneath him, watching Rossi reach out to try and catch him before he hit the ground.

“Just go check on him for me please, kid?” Derek had asked, and how could he say no? He desperately wanted to say no, send someone else, send someone more qualified. Someone who has been here, who has been inside Hotch’s home. Someone who belonged, but no. Derek insisted. “I want it to be you, Reid.”

Putting the key in the lock felt wrong, but he had to do it. He couldn’t chicken out now no matter how big it felt. How wrong it felt. The worry he was riddled with over what he would find on the other side – a gun leveled at his face, if Hotch wasn’t prepared for his entry? Hotch passed out or worse on the floor? There were too many scenarios, each one shockingly worse than the last.

What he found was nothing like those quick twitch nightmares, and the sense of relief he felt as he surveyed the apartment was immediate. Hotch was sleeping on the couch, sleeping peacefully from the looks of the gentle rise and fall of the blankets over him.

His instructions were to check the place out, make sure everything was good, and to disturb Hotch as little as possible. “He just needs to rest,” Derek had pointed out. “No tv, no phone, no books. Not a lot of conversation.” They had no idea what had happened to him in the hours that he was alone with Peter Lewis, but his injuries were extensive enough to warrant a few days at home. Spencer suspected that was mostly to do with him wanting to hide them, not to mention what happened in any case files. He could get away with a bump on the head and a few days off, but if he showed up to work clearly out of sorts people would ask questions. This was about the only way to get Hotch to take time off.

Read the rest on AO3!

[l4ndojpg]

Whumptober 2023, Day 27: Scars

fandom: criminal minds | characters: spencer reid, luke alvez, penelope garcia | ship: pre spencer reid/luke alvez, but can be read as platonic | trigger warnings: past self harm, past drug addiction | content: case fic, post prison spencer, autistic spencer, spencer is uncomfortable in his body, luke helps | word count: 1.6k.

“Jesus Christ, it’s fucking boiling,” JJ says, fanning herself with her hand. “Don’t they have AC  in this place?” 

“Just asked,” Tara grimaces, sitting down next to her at the table they’ve occupied and pulling a case file toward her. “It’s broken. Getting fixed tomorrow.” 

The team all groan. 

“Okay, I know we’re all uncomfortable,” Emily says, pulling her hair off her neck and into a ponytail, “but we’ve worked in worse conditions. Let’s get to it. The quicker we gather a profile, the quicker we’re out of here and back on our air conditioned jet. Rossi, Tara, can you guys head to the first crime scene? Luke, Spence, can you take the second one?” 

“Sure,” Luke says, and Spencer nods. He’s been back at the BAU after his stint in prison for almost a month now, and he’s been doing well, all things considered. But ever since they touched down in Miami this morning, he’s gotten quieter and quieter. He seemed fine on the jet, and as they head out to the car in silence, Luke begins to worry that something’s going on. 

“Hey man, you good?” Luke asks as they slide into the SUV. Spencer nods, relief washing over his face when Luke turns on the AC. 

“Yeah, sorry. I was just hot in there,” Spencer replies, smiling at Luke reasonably convincingly. Luke lets some of the worry alleviate, but things still don’t seem quite right. He decides to let it go for the moment. 

“Holy shit, I know right?” he says as he starts the car and backs out of the station parking lot. “You think with a station this big they’d at least have working AC.” 

They pull up at the first crime scene, a house on the outskirts of the town they reside in. They both heave a sigh before exiting the cool car into the sticky hot air, and head out to the back lawn where two bodies, the couple who own the house, have been murdered beside the pool. They introduce themselves to the officers, and Luke goes inside with one to inspect the house. Spencer agrees to remain outside and scan the gruesome scene in front of him. 

When Luke comes back outside fifteen minutes later, Spencer is pale and dripping with sweat. He looks like he’s close to being sick. Luke gestures toward the house, which is air conditioned, and Spencer nods vaguely. They move inside together, into the living room, where the officers have now all vacated. It’s just the two of them, and Luke turns to face Spencer, scanning him concernedly. 

“You okay?” 

“Just hot,” Spencer mumbles, sitting down on the couch and wiping his forehead. He stares down at the carpet, and Luke sits down next to him hesitantly. 

“Yeah, you should take off a layer,” he says. “Everyone else is in t-shirts. I think I have a spare one in my go bag, back in the car-,” 

“No thank you,” Spencer says quickly. Luke doesn’t miss the way his teammate immediately tenses up when Luke suggests removing a layer. He frowns. 

“I know it’s not really your style-,” 

“I said no,” Spencer cuts over him firmly, still looking down. His foot taps rapidly against the floor, leg bouncing. He brings up a hand to brush his hair off his forehead and exhales tiredly. Luke stays silent, trying to figure out what to say next. He knows Spencer’s most comfortable in long sleeves, but he can’t figure out why the man would rather get heat stroke than remove a layer. He makes a decision, standing up suddenly. 

“Garcia’s calling,” he lies. “Have a drink of water while I take this.” It’s a bad lie, but Spencer is clearly too uncomfortable to notice. He nods vaguely, and Luke moves into the next room. He calls Penelope, and she picks up after two rings. 

“What’s up, newbie?” she says, bubbly as ever. 

“SOS,” he says, “I think something’s wrong with Reid.” 

“What?” she says, voice high and concerned suddenly. “What’s happened? Is he okay? What’s going on? I-,” 

“I can’t explain if you keep asking questions,” Luke rolls his eyes, and she shuts up. 

“Sorry, sorry. Please. Talk. We need to help our boy genius.” 

Luke explains the situation, and Penelope is unusually quiet as he does so. When he’s finished speaking and she still hasn’t said anything, he says, “well?” impatiently. Penelope sighs, and after a moment, she speaks. 

“You know about the Hankel case, right?” 

Luke grimaces, remembering what Emily and Rossi told him about the kidnapping case and Reid’s addiction in Mexico four months ago. 

“Yeah, I know,” he says. 

“For years after, he didn’t wear short sleeves. Even once he’d been sober forever, and we all knew. He didn’t want any of us seeing the track marks.” 

“But they’ve surely faded by now?” 

Penelope sighs. “Use your brain, newbie. What happened in Mexico?”

“I don’t-,” then it clicks. “Oh.” 

“Yeah,” she says sadly. “Ugh, I wish I was there. I wish I could wrap him up in a hug and tell him it’s all gonna be okay.” 

“You wouldn’t want to hug here, trust me,” Luke half jokes. “It’s so fuckin’ hot.” 

“I wouldn’t care,” she says stubbornly. “Oh well. I’m not there, so it’s your job to talk to him.” 

“Uh,” Luke says nervously, “Shouldn’t Prentiss do it? Or JJ? Or Rossi? Or literally anyone other than me?” 

“I think he’d rather it was you,” Penelope says shrewdly. “He opens up to you in a different way.” 

“I guess,” Luke says uncertainly. “What should I say?” 

“You’ll figure it out,” Penelope says, “Emily’s calling, I gotta go! Good luck!”

“Wha- Garcia!” but she’s already hung up. Luke growls and shoves his phone back into his pocket. 

Okay. It’s fine. He can do this. He’s not really a talk-about-your-feelings guy, but he’s pretty sure this is the only chance they’re going to have on this case to talk privately before Spencer gives himself heatstroke. He also thinks he knows exactly what to say. It’s going to be an uncomfortable situation for both of them, but if it’s going to help Spencer… 

He sighs and re enters the living room. It’s clear Spencer hasn’t moved. His leg continues to bounce anxiously, and his head remains in his hands. He looks up when Luke sits down next to him again. 

“We should get back to the station,” he says, and Luke nods. 

“In one sec,” he says. “I just wanted to talk first.” 

“Okay,” Spencer says, discomfort clear in his voice. “About…?” 

Luke takes a deep breath and lifts up his shirt just above the waistline, and pulls down the hem of his jeans just below. Spencer stares at him like he’s crazy. 

“See these?” Luke points at several faded scars that litter his hip. Spencer stares for a second, then nods. “Yeah. Rough, I know. I did ‘em a long time ago. It was a real messed up time in my life.” 

“You-,” Spencer swallows. He can’t seem to take his eyes off them. “You did this? To yourself?” 

“Yeah,” Luke says, letting his shirt drop back down. He’s surprised at how easy it was to show his scars to Spencer - they caused him so much anxiety for such a long time. “I did. And you know me - I love a one night stand. But for a while there - after I finished serving the Rangers - I couldn’t bring myself to let anyone see. It felt like letting them see right into my brain or my soul or something. But it’s been a minute. And I got through that dark period of my life. I don’t exactly show them off, but I don’t mind people seeing them as much these days.” 

Spencer is silent. Luke can’t read his expression. He hopes he’s not messing this up too badly. 

‘Point is,” Luke says hurriedly, “I know you’ve probably got some too. Scars. I don’t pretend to know what you’ve been through in the last few months, Reid, or even in the years before I knew you. But I do know that no matter what, I’d never judge you based on what you may or may not be dealing with under all these layers. And neither would anyone else on the team. We’re a family, you know.” 

“I know,” Spencer says softly, making eye contact with Luke properly for the first time throughout the conversation. “Thank you for showing me.” 

“‘Course,” Luke says. “What can I do to make you feel better about shedding a layer or two? You’re gonna get heatstroke if you keep this up much longer.” 

Spencer swallows and blinks back obvious tears. “You don’t have to do anything else. That was perfect.” 

“It was?” Luke says in disbelief, but Spencer’s already pulling off his sweater and rolling up the sleeves of his button down. He rubs his arm subconsciously, then holds it out to Luke. 

“You don’t have to-,” 

“It’s fine,” Spencer says quietly. “I want to.”

Luke looks down at Spencer’s arm. In the crook of his elbow are three circular, faded pinpricks. They’re so close to gone Luke has to squint to see them, but he understands it probably doesn’t feel that way to Spencer. 

“Thank you, Luke,” Spencer says, and Luke can already see most of the tension melting away from his body. “You have no idea how much I appreciate you right now.” 

“Tell Garcia that,” Luke snorts, and Spencer smiles for the first time since they landed in Miami. “She thought the only way to make you feel better was to give you a hug.” 

“I love her, but I would’ve hated that in this heat.” 

“That’s what I said!”

[frogs-smoking-cigarettes]

it’s so funny that men think women want muscle bound freaks. Every woman I know wants to fuck dr. Spencer Reid

[a-heart-of-kyber]

Saw a post in the Spencer Reid tag like 2 days ago that still has me like: