f0rkandspoons - Tumblr blog

f0rkandspoons · 9 months ago

Text

in the absence of you | s.reid

summary; to find out you're pregnant and then experience a miscarriage while spencer is in prison, is a lot, trying to figure out if you should tell him when he gets home is just as much.

warnings; fem reader, hurt x comfort, mainly hurt, a lot of angst, miscarriages, pregnancy, guilt, withholding information, post prison spencer, mentions cat, probably inaccurate medical information, messy timeline, relationship struggles, imma say 18+ because there is very strong mentions of sex, and bad sex experience, emotional deattachment, grief, guilt, reader strongly believes she did something wrong, spencer blames himself for her dettachment, insecurities, trust issues, established relationships, hopeful ending, (happy ending would be inaccurate bc theres nothing happy about this fic!) feeling alone, yeah man idk this is just sad.

an; um.. so this was suppose to be fic 5 but i wanted to post it sooner, and its BEARtober so i can actaully do whatever i want.. thank you, i know i posted fic one two hours ago.. but its technically day 2 bc its 12:30am.. im so sorry in advance. 4.7k... YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE CONTENT YOU CONSUME!! if this will trigger you, please don’t read.

beartober masterlist

You remember the moment clearly: the world was grey, the air heavy with the scent of rain, when you stumbled upon the truth in a small, sterile bathroom. It had been two weeks since Spencer had been taken away, wrongfully convicted and trapped in a nightmare you couldn’t fathom. You had just returned from a visit, the echoes of his voice still dancing in your mind like a haunting melody. You stood there, staring at the little stick in your hand, the two pink lines appearing like a beacon of hope in the darkness that surrounded you. Your heart raced, a mixture of joy and fear spiralling within you. You were pregnant. Spencer’s child was growing inside you, a tiny miracle nestled in the shadows of despair.

In that moment, you could almost picture his face—the way his eyes would light up, a smile breaking across his face as he wrapped his arms around you. You imagined the joy of sharing this news, of planning a future together even in the midst of chaos. But as the excitement bubbled within you, a chill settled in your chest. Spencer was in prison, suffering through an ordeal that felt cruel and unjust. You couldn’t bring this news of a new life into the turmoil that enveloped you both. What would it mean for him to hear such news in a place where hope felt like a distant memory? No, you decided. You would wait. You would hold this secret close until he was home, until you could see the joy reflected in his eyes, not the shadows of despair.

Days turned into weeks, and each passing moment felt like a tightrope walk, balancing on the edge of your own joy and the weight of his suffering. You became adept at hiding your secret, slipping into a routine that felt increasingly fragile. You took prenatal vitamins in the morning, their presence a constant reminder of the life blossoming within you. You attended appointments alone, tracing your fingers over the growing bump that would soon signify so much.

But with every visit to Spencer, every moment shared behind that glass, you felt the joy dimming under the weight of your choice. You didn’t want to add to his pain; his world was already dark. You watched him struggle to hold onto hope, and you couldn’t bear the thought of placing another burden on his shoulders. You knew if you told him he would be happy, and then feel horrible because you were pregnant, and he wasn’t there, he deserved to hear it when he could process it. That was something else you worried about, the timing was horrible, not unwelcomed on your behalf but unfortunate. When Spencer got out he would need time to adjust, you would need time to adjust.

When you touched your belly, you whispered promises, vowing to keep this little one safe until he was free. But it wasn’t long before the joy turned to an ache, a sense of loneliness creeping in. You would lie in bed at night, tracing your fingers over your bump, feeling the small kicks and flutters, and wishing desperately that he could be there to experience it with you. The silence felt oppressive, filled with unspoken words and unshared dreams.

Then, just two weeks before Spencer came home, everything shattered. You found yourself crumpled on the bathroom floor, the world spinning around you as the pain hit like a tidal wave. You didn’t want to believe what was happening, didn’t want to accept that the life you had held onto so tightly was slipping away. The miscarriage was both a physical and emotional unravelling, a gut-wrenching reminder of how fragile hope can be.

You spent the following days in a fog, the echo of your loss drowning out everything else. Each moment felt surreal, like you were watching life unfold from behind a glass wall. You wanted to scream, to let the world know that you had lost something precious, but the fear of burdening Spencer kept you silent. You couldn’t tell anyone, nobody knew you were pregnant beforehand. You kept the joy away from the world until it could reach Spencer, and now it was gone. In the quiet of your apartment, you felt the walls closing in. The space that had once been filled with laughter and love now felt hollow, echoing only with your grief. You avoided places that reminded you of the joy you had once felt, the memories of what could have been cutting deep into your heart. You wandered through your days in a daze, wearing a mask of normalcy for the world to see. Friends reached out, concern etched on their faces as they noticed your distance. You offered polite smiles and reassurances, your heart aching at the thought of revealing your pain. They didn’t know what you had lost, and you didn’t want to pull them into your darkness.

At night, when the silence was deafening, you would curl up on the couch, clutching a pillow to your chest, tears streaming down your face. You replayed the moments you had spent with Spencer, the way his laughter would fill a room, how he would hold you close and make you feel safe. You missed him fiercely, but you also felt an overwhelming loneliness, the grief a reminder of everything you had kept hidden from him. You thought about telling him, about sharing the weight of your sorrow, but the thought made your chest tighten.

Every time you looked at him when you visited, your heart twisted with guilt. He deserved to know, but you feared his reaction, the possibility of seeing that flicker of pain in his eyes. You wanted to protect him, but in doing so, you found yourself carrying this burden alone. You acted the best you could when you visited, but you knew he could tell you weren’t okay.

Two weeks have passed since Spencer’s release, but the warmth of his return hasn’t settled into your bones. Instead, it feels like a lingering chill, a shadow that stretches over your heart. How could you add to his pain when he had just returned to a world that felt foreign? He had faced horrors you could only imagine, and you didn’t want to push him deeper into the darkness. You stand in the kitchen, staring blankly at the dishes piled high in the sink, each one a reminder of how normalcy feels out of reach. The sunlight filters through the window, casting a golden hue across the room, but it does little to brighten the dark corners of your mind.

Spencer is home, yet he feels distant, a haunting echo of the man you once knew. You watch him move around the apartment, and while he wears a smile that is both familiar and foreign, his eyes reveal the weight of the trauma he carries. You want to comfort him, to wrap him in the warmth of your love, but the grief of your loss sits like a stone in your chest, making it hard to breathe. It’s been so easy to slip into the role of caretaker, to push your own feelings aside for the sake of his recovery and adjustment. The truth is suffocating.a secret you’ve kept locked away, tucked into the recesses of your heart. You want to scream it, to let the world know, but the fear of burdening him with your sorrow keeps your lips sealed.

Every time you meet his gaze, you feel the weight of your silence pressing down on you. Spencer is still adjusting, still fighting to find his place in a world that has changed around him. You can see the flickers of his old self—the gentle humour, the way his laughter dances in the air—but the shadows linger. You can’t shake the feeling that by holding back your truth, you’re pulling him deeper into the void. Spencer’s presence was a comfort, but the weight of your secret loomed like a dark cloud. You started to withdraw, spending long hours lost in thought, feeling like a ghost haunting your own life. In the two weeks Spencer had been home, you had sex once, a few nights after he got home– and honestly it was probably the worst sex you’ve ever had, not because of him, he did everything perfectly, you felt good, physically, he was gentle, and focused. Three months is a long time without sex, and physically it felt good, really good.

But the physical pleasure didn’t compare to the mental disturbance. You felt like the world was crushing you, there was so much guilt and disgust flowing through your veins because it felt so wrong. You kept it together and you didn’t blame him for not noticing, you kept your eyes closed throughout the entirety of it, too scared that if you let them open the tears would fall. He was focused on being gentle. It was messy, and fast, and you were almost thankful. You waited till Spencer fell asleep before you hid yourself away in the bathroom and spent hours crying. You didn’t wake him, you refused to. He deserved rest, good rest in the comfort of your shared bed. Anytime he tried to initiate more you tried, you allowed yourself to get lost in the feeling of his lips for a while but you couldn’t do it when the feeling bubbles in your chest again and you felt the struggle to breathe, not from the kiss but from the pure weight of your guilt.

You hardly slept, the one way to escape your burden taken away when your dreams of what your life could’ve been turned into nightmares of what you had lost. Most nights you’d lie still in Spencer’s arms, his body warm against yours, yet it provided no comfort, only reminding you of what you were keeping from him. You felt guilty, guilty that the ultrasound photos sat in the bottom of your handbag untouched since the day you lost the baby, you couldn’t look at them, it felt like torture. You felt like it was your fault, no matter how many times the doctor told you, it wasn’t, it was a thought you couldn’t shake. You felt like you were constantly battling the idea of telling Spencer, which would only put more on his shoulders, more that he didn’t need, but he deserved to know, you knew he would want to know.

You were pulling away, He noticed, of course, but he attributed it to his own struggles.

“Hey, you okay?” Spencer asks one evening, breaking the silence that has settled like a heavy fog between you. You look up from your coffee, the steam curling into the air like the thoughts you can’t articulate.

“Yeah, just tired,” you reply, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You wonder if he can see through it, if he senses the turmoil beneath the surface.

He nods, though uncertainty flashes across his face. “You’ve been saying that a lot lately. I know things have been rough, I- I know things are different- I’m different. I'm sorry, but I’m here..” The sincerity in his voice hits you hard. You want to believe that you can lean on him, that you can share the weight of your grief, but the thought of adding to his burden paralyses you. He’s already been through hell; how can you throw your pain into the mix?

“It’s just… adjusting to everything,” you say, your voice wavering. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around all that’s happened.”

Spencer steps closer, the warmth of his body radiating into the space between you. “I know. We will be okay.. Are we okay?.”

Your heart aches at the earnestness in his gaze. You want to reach out, to let him pull you into the light, but the chasm of your grief feels insurmountable. It feels silly trying to act like everythings fine, it would be useless to lie, the colour drained from your face and the emptiness in your eyes spoke words louder than a lied ‘im fine’ ever could, so you gave in to his knowledge. You nodded, “ We’re okay– I- I just need time,” you whisper, looking down at your hands. “I’ll be okay.” You move away towards the couch, he follows, sitting next to you as you bury yourself in the sofa.

The silence that follows is heavy, filled with unspoken words and unacknowledged pain. Spencer nods slowly, his expression one of resignation mixed with concern. You can see the wheels turning in his mind, the thoughts he’s too afraid to voice. As the days pass, the emotional distance between you only grows. You drift through your routines, performing the motions of daily life—cooking meals, doing laundry, going to work, avoiding the deeper conversations that tug at your heart. You want to talk about it, want to tell him how devastated you are, but every time you think of opening your mouth, the words stick in your throat. Each time he reaches out, trying to connect, you feel a pang of guilt. He deserves to be wrapped in the comfort of your love, not burdened by your sorrow. You keep telling yourself it’s better this way, that it’s noble to protect him, but deep down, you know it’s a lie.

“Let’s watch something together,” he suggests, his tone light but laced with worry. You nod absentmindedly, your mind elsewhere. The sound of laughter from the show fills the room, but it feels hollow. You can’t shake the heaviness that clings to your heart.

“Do you remember the last movie we watched together?” Spencer asks, attempting to lighten the mood. “The one with the ridiculous plot twist?” He offers, shuffling his body to face you a little more, you continue picking at your nails, keeping your gaze on the tv, honestly hardly hearing his words

You force a chuckle, but it doesn’t reach your heart. You don’t remember, not in the slightest, maybe if you thought about anything besides the weight in your chest you would be able to, but everything was distant, you were distant. “Yeah, that was… something.”

He turns to face you, and you can see the concern in his eyes. “You’re not really here, are you?”

His words cut deep, and the truth behind them wraps around your throat like a vice. “I’m trying,” you manage, feeling the tears threaten to spill over.

“Just… talk to me,” he pleads, and there’s a desperation in his voice that makes your heart ache. “Is it too much? Baby, tell me what you’re thinking.” He shuffles closer. You tense.

And yet, the silence persists. The weight of your loss feels too heavy to share, like a storm cloud hanging over both of you. You can’t bear the thought of seeing the flicker of pain in his eyes, the guilt that would inevitably follow. You feared saying it aloud would make it too real, telling him would make it too real. He didn’t deserve that, not after the months he spent being put through unimaginable things. He was trying here, to make this as easy for you as possible, showing empathy in the time he needed it most. That plagued you with guilt you couldn’t shake because no matter how hard you tried to be present, your heart remained in pieces on the bathroom floor.

“It's not you.” It came out quiet and if your sense of self awareness didn’t feel thousands of miles away you would’ve cringed. It wasn’t him, he was trying his best and dealing with stuff and turmoil you couldn’t even begin to imagine, you expected a change in him, that wasn’t the issue. Your head dropped as your fingers moved a little rougher, now picking at the skin around your nails, a horrible habit Spencer had helped you stop when you first started dating, you subconsciously picked it up again when he went to prison.

He moved closer, if you looked up you would’ve seen his brows knitted in concern and a frown on his face as he reached out to depart your hands from one another, taking one on his own to stop your assault. “Then what is it?” He was pleading for an insight into the mess in your head, that was terrifying because you knew there was a similar mess in his own, for a completely different reason. You were both silently fighting emotions impossible to articulate. Spencer was slowly adjusting, slowly. It took time for him to even begin to talk about what had happened in his time locked up, you never pushed. He was trying to let you in, and you were trying to push him out, but you could see it in his eyes, he knew there was something, and you could push him away and try to handle this alone, but you didn’t want to be alone.

You looked up at him, tears lining your eyes. You chewed at your lip before you let out a harsh breath, “I got my period.” Your voice broke, then the tears followed as a sob left your lips. Then your hands were reaching to cover your face as the tears continued, falling as if you hadn’t been crying everyday for the last month. Waking up to your period was maybe the worst feeling you had ever experienced, the reality washing over you again, and the sight of blood filling you with a memory you didn’t think you could ever forget. It was painful, so painful.

His eyes widened when you started sobbing, each sound leaving your lips causing his heart to weigh heavier as he moved closer to wrap his arms around you. He knew you, he knew you on your period. Sure you were more emotional than normal but not this emotional. His hands threaded through your hair as you buried your face in his chest, still covered by your hands. He didn’t want to admit that this was the closest he had felt to you since his release. “Is that what's wrong, sweet girl? Are you in pain?” He asked, and you shook your head as sobs ripped from your throat followed by wet hiccups. You were sure there were probably wet stains on his shirt despite the fact your hands were in the way, your tears would not stop, you couldn’t stop them, you couldn’t carry this alone. Not anymore.

It was muffled by your hands and his t-shirt, hardly coherent through your sobs, “I was pregnant,” You felt him stiffen slightly and you knew he heard it, but once the truth was in the air, once the words left your lips, the others followed almost instantly. “I was pregnant and I lost it – I killed our baby.” It was all broken words, the ugliest side of your guilt travelling through in your words.

He was quiet. That was the worst part. You knew he wasn’t mad, actually you didn’t know that, deep down maybe, but right now you truly believed he could have any sort of reaction, even the most unlike him. Right now your brain was absent of any ability to process what you were doing. Your chest was so tight it hurt and you were genuinely struggling to breathe.

When he heard your slight hyperventilating against his chest he seemed to snap out of whatever state he was in, he pulled back to look at your face, his hands moving to cup your cheeks to pull you to look at him, the sight was heartbreaking. “Breathe, Please. Deep breaths” He guided, his voice gentle but you could see emotion in his eyes, something less gentle, not so much anger, maybe hurt, maybe confusion, maybe guilt. You couldn’t see well enough through your tears to figure it out.

You listened, the air you breathed in deeply was so cold it made your throat burn, it was just as cold when you breathed it back out, then again. “I’m sorry,” You whispered, the tears were still falling, you didn’t bother trying to stop them anymore. It was useless.

“That’s a lot–” He shook his head, “--You were pregnant?” It was the same whisper as yours, as if he was trying to make sure he properly understood what had left your lips, as if this was a reality he didn’t want to be. He was confused, of course he was.

You frowned as you looked up at him, you knew he would want to know everything, and as much as you knew he deserved that, explaining and reliving it felt like a punishment, as if you needed more of that. “Spencer” it was pleading. You were pleading with him not to dig, not to ask, selfishly so, because you knew he deserved everything, that he needed to hear it just as much as you needed to not talk about it.

He frowned, his thumb reaching to brush tears away from your cheeks, the movement useless because the tears kept falling, “I know it hurts. Can you tell me when?” he asked, he was being so gentle, it only made the guilt in your chest burn more, his kindness was cruel because you didn’t deserve it, not in your eyes.

You hiccuped as you looked down, he lifted your face a little more, encouraging you to look back at him, you did. You “Um– A month after- you uh” You trailed off, a month after his life was ruined and he was wrongfully convicted, he knew what you meant, you could see it in the way his eyebrows furrowed further. He was quiet, the silence thick with so many questions and needed explanations, he needed to know what happened, he needed to be walked through it because he wasn’t there. You knew the guilt was probably eating at him for that, you partly wished you hadn’t mentioned it, that you had been more sensible before blurting it out.

“How far along were you?” He asked, another question tumbling out so gently. He was trying to be careful, despite his hundreds of questions. There was no backing out now, he deserved to know everything just as much as you deserved to be able to tell him everything.

You hiccuped as you answered, “Eight and a half weeks.”

His eyes closed as a harsh breath left his lips, his hands dropped from your face to drag along his own. You weren’t sure what he was feeling, you weren’t sure what you were feeling. He did the maths in his head to figure out when you miscarried, he didn’t want to make you answer it. His hands dropped from his face to his lap as he looked back at you, then you saw tears in his eyes, ones that mirrored your own. “Did you find out what happened?” He asked, voice strained.

You dropped your head and looked down at your hands, “Genetic abnormalities” you whispered. Saying more seemed impossible as your throat felt like it was closing.

You remembered the appointment after like a scene on repeat. There were so many tears, so many ‘it's not your fault, there's nothing you could’ve done' and even more ‘Do you want me to call somebody?’ from the doctor, the question would only make your tears harsher, because there was nobody to call.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice cracked with emotion as he searched your eyes. He wasn’t angry, he was hurt, processing, overwhelmed, anything but angry with you. He wanted to know, he wanted to know everything, especially something like this.

Your head dropped further as you whispered and ‘im sorry’ which made him shake his head, and remind you that he asked you why you didn’t tell him, he wanted to know what was going on in your head, he wanted to know, he wanted you to let him in, to let him grieve this loss with you. He wanted to know what it was that made you feel like this was something you had to carry alone.

“You’ve been through – You’re going through so much” You mumbled out, every word seemed harder to get out, but there was no out of this conversation, no running or hiding from the truth, from him. “I didn’t– I didn’t want you to have to deal with this as well.”

His frown deepened, and you swore your heart broke in half when a sound so sad left his lips, as if what you said physically wounded him. “You-” He let out a harsh breath, “That's not fair.” He whispered, and you knew he was right. You withheld information he deserved to know, that could affect him just as much as it did you, and he understood your intentions, and your fears but that didn’t make it any easier to process. He wasn’t mad, he was hurt, maybe a little bit mad, but not so much with you, with everything else. “You don’t– Angel, you can’t choose that for me. This– this is just as much on me to deal with as it is for you. I want to deal with this with you.”

“I know.” You were silent after that, because the only words you could think of was ‘I’m sorry’ and you knew he didn’t want that. You knew he didn’t want you to be sorry, he wanted you to trust him to let him in, to not treat him like he was fragile. He wanted you to have faith in him, to be able to rely on him, he wanted to be there. He hated that he hadn’t been there. He was right, it wasn’t your job to dictate what he could and couldn’t handle, and while maybe with the right intentions, you were taking away such an important part of your relationship from him, you were hiding something so important to you, and you knew it was just as important to him.

Maybe I’m sorry was all you could think of, because that's all you were. So sorry. Sorry that you hid it from him, sorry that you let him down, sorry that you lost the baby. You were so filled with guilt and grief it was consuming you. No matter how many times you were told it wasn’t your fault, the wonder of what if took up too much space in your mind, what if you just did one thing differently, it was useless, because it was out of your control, that felt worse. That there was nothing you could have done to change it. Spencer was just as silent as you were. The weight of what happened caused a crack neither of you wanted there, you didn’t know how to fix it, you didn’t know how to let him into the mind you didn’t even want to be in.

“I love you” He muttered.

The sob followed. You didn’t realise how much he was holding back emotion till this moment. Till he leant forward to wrap his arms around you and his head buried into the crook of your neck, seeking your comfort just as much as you seeked his. You shuffled closer and wrapped your arms around his, easing into his touch. “It's not your fault.” He spoke through his sobs, His hand trailed up to cup the back of your head, tangling his fingers in your hair, pulling you closer, at his words your mind swirled, hearing it from him made you think about it, it didn’t shake the guilt, but it softened it, your sob followed his.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, crying in the comfort of one another, at some point you had moved so you were on his lap, his arms around you like he needed it to breathe. Telling him didn’t ease the grief you were carrying, you didn’t think anything would, but you were feeling it with him, and you weren’t alone in it. There were many more conversations to be had about it, probably hundreds of more apologies between the two of you, probably a lot more crying and days just like this, tangled in shared sadness and maybe that wouldn’t fix what you were feeling, ore take away the grief and maybe it would be just like this for a while.

But you trusted him, and you trusted that you would be okay, that your relationship would be okay.

821 notes · View notes

f0rkandspoons · 9 months ago

Text

WHAT A GREAT EVENING.

#myeyeshavebeenblessedtonight #spencer reid #matthew gray gubler

21 notes · View notes

f0rkandspoons · 10 months ago

Text

never grow up ❀ s. reid x reader

in which you are at the age you never thought you'd live to.

genre: hurt/comfort + fluff! tags: established relationship. (very brief) mentions of r not eating. depression. non sexual nudity. mention of a past suicide attempt. reader is codependent on spencer #anxiousattachment!! mini argument not really because he loves you a lot!!! please know your triggers ♡ word count: 2.2k a/n: this was a vent write. LOL! i think i switch tenses a lot in this? i tried to fix it. this is why we don't write fanfiction while we're crying!!! i love u i love u i love u and i am so so glad you are the age that you are!! continue to grow please!! life will become beautiful!!!

Depression is a funny thing.

Sometimes you are forgetting there has ever been a version of you out there that fantasised about death and longed for an escape from this world you deemed so cruel, so invasive. Other times, you are sat naked on the cold floor of your bathroom rocking back and forth, clawing at your skin and ripping hair out of your scalp because you are sobbing so ferociously. The world spinning around you and your cries, so violent, are making you lightheaded and you wonder if you pass out here if anyone will ever find you.

Clearly, tonight, you are the latter.

It started as a small pit in your stomach that morning, that you braved through and ignored to the best of your ability, even as you said gentle 'no thank you's' to food offered by your co-workers and forced your brain to focus on work and not the never-ending abyss of dread in your abdomen. Then, it became a tear or two on your way home, that you vehemently wiped away and pretended was never there because it couldn't be.

Then you were showering to get your mind off things — a stupid decision, really. For your brain was latching on to every awful emotion it had felt thus far today, and you were stepping out of the shower with an even heavier heart, and your hands were wrapping around your now goosebump riddled body, as you were sinking to the floor in a ball.

And maybe hours passed by you. Maybe days — it certainly felt that way. Maybe it was only a mere five minutes. But your loud sobs felt like they took an achingly long time to slow and quiet down, until they were falling into ugly sniffles of the snot on your face, and a raging headache behind your eyes.

Loud sobs — scream sobs, really — had a lot of disadvantages. The aftermath feeling of embarrassment of screaming at your brain that refused to simply shut up, the scratch at your throat from every sound you ripped from it. The audio block it gave you from the rest of the world. For you truly were in your own universe when you were howling alone in the comfort of your bathroom walls.

So much so, that the familiar sound of a door opening and closing, and a bag being placed down by the side of it, went entirely unnoticed to you. Footsteps against your apartment's wooden flooring weren't picked up, nor were the first two knocks on your bathroom door. By the third, you were blubbering through saliva and snot, and you had heard it. Followed by a very gentle calling of your name, that had your heart clenching within your chest for a new reason.

He had said he was coming home tomorrow. Which almost always meant he wouldn't be home for another three days, and so, in your mind, you thought bawling that night could be a secret kept between you and your tiles.

Apparently not.

He called your name again when you didn't reply, an added hint of desperation in his voice. Trembling, you stood, your limbs feeling as though they were creaking while you straightened them out. And you didn't bother about the towel sitting in a crumpled heap on the floor, nor the pile of your clean clothes sitting on the countertop. In fact, you didn't bother about anything as a shaking hand twisted the doorknob and pulled it open.

In an instant, his worried frown deepened, and eyes that might usually drink in the sight of your naked body beautifully, now didn't wander further than the scarlet scratch marks along your neck — blood vessels risen to the surface from how fragile that part of you was. He exhaled, and took a hesitating step towards you. One you welcomed by remaining planted in your spot — you didn't know if you could move, though.

"Can I ask what's wrong, or do you simply want a hug?"

Both, you wanted to say. Both, but also neither.

You didn’t say that. Instead, you said, "Hug."

He hardly took a second to register what you'd said before his arms were wrapping around you. If he found the slightly damp state of your skin annoying, he didn't comment on it. He didn't say much at all, as he enveloped you into his body, a hand securing itself on the back of your head, and his chin resting atop your head.

Water dripped uncomfortably to the floor, splattering on the tiles and his shoes, being the only sound aside from your irregular hiccups and sniffles. His button-up was wet from your tears and your body, and you could almost hear his complaints about it, if this were any other day.

Minutes passed, and even though you didn't want to, you pulled back, feeling his hands slip around to your waist and hold you benevolently. Your own hands reached up to your face to wipe away tears, an embarrassed laugh escaping your lips.

"This is pathetic," you said, fingers digging into the corners of your stinging eyes.

"How?" he asked you.

"I didn't think you'd be home to see me having a mental breakdown."

A smile that didn't quite reach his eyes appeared on his lips. "Well, I am." Fingers squeezed your waist reassuringly. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

You shrugged, wordlessly, your eyes dropping from his face to the damp spot on his chest from where your face had once been, heart stuttering.

"We don't have to, honey," he said. "But it might help."

"I know it might," you muttered.

He was silent, as were you. A few more beats passed between you two, before you were turning around to pick up clothes you had left for yourself on the counter. You didn't really feel any different under his watchful gaze as you dressed yourself. Accustomed to the act, or simply too overwhelmed with another emotion, you didn't know.

He followed you into the living room when you walked out there, and he sat down next to you on the couch you curled up on. You opened and closed your mouth a few times, and he lifted his head on each intake of breath you had, as if about to say something. But you never did.

So, he took over.

"Did something happen today?" You shook your head, and he nodded his own. "Okay. This past week?" You shook your head again, because other than missing him while he had been stuck in Texas for a case, nothing had actually happened.

You wished it had. Truly, you wished you had experienced a murder on your way to work, or a distant family member had passed away so you could blame this feeling on something other than memories simply resurfacing.

You sniffled again. "You know," you began, voice thick and wobbly from the lump lodged in your throat. "When I was fourteen, I didn't think I'd ever be this old."

Your gaze lifted from your lap to look at him, and you let a helpless tear fall from one of your eyes when you locked eyes with him. He was confused, unsurprisingly so.

So, you continued. "I tried to kill myself. When I was fourteen."

He readjusted his posture, eyebrows falling into a more concerned state, and he was silent for so long you wondered if this was when he decided you were too much and too complicated for him to deal with.

He didn't. "I didn't know," he said, instead.

"I don't exactly advertise it," you replied, and even if it was an attempt at being light hearted, it fell flat. "I just realised I never thought I'd be this age," you continued when he hardly reacted, "and I've been really anxious and down all week, so I think that realisation kind of sent me over the edge."

"Are you happy you're at this age?"

Hesitantly, but surely, you nodded your head. "I got to meet you."

His lips twitched, but a smile never crossed his face. "You should be happy for reasons more than just me."

"You are my reason for being happy," you argued.

"And I'm glad to hear I make you happy, but I cannot be your only reason."

"Why not?"

"Because that's dependency."

You short-circuited, and he sighed upon realising the way you were taking his words — maybe not the smartest thing he could've said to his still tear-stricken-faced girlfriend.

"What I mean is you should have other areas in your life that make you happy. Not just me."

"I like my job," you mumbled, gaze relocating to your lap. "And my friends."

"Great," he said, and you could feel his weight shifting on the couch as he nudged closer to you. "As long as I'm not your reason for living."

Your eyebrows furrowed. "You've been my reason for living since we started dating. Why is it different now?"

"I didn't know I was your reason for living until now."

"So if you are, then what? You leave me?"

"No," his response was so immediate you were sure you could feel the whiplash, and he ran a hand down his face with an exasperated sigh. "I don't want to fight with you when you're like this."

"I don't want to fight with you either," you agreed, fidgeting with your fingers in your lap. "I'm sorry I'm co-dependent."

He didn't respond for a while, mulling everything you two had shared and now, your apology, over in his head. You sat, anxiously, as minutes ticked by until he was puffing his cheeks to let out air, and standing up from the couch.

He turned to you. "I love you, you know that," he began, and even before he had a chance to finish, you were already drowning him out, world crumbling around you as tears welled back up in your eyes. Maybe if you weren't as emotional as you were that night, your vision wouldn't have already gone blurry, and your heart wouldn't be shattering in your chest already.

"But?" you countered, a sob escaping you at the end of the word.

He froze at the sound of it, his eyebrows turning in to each other, "Sorry?"

"You love me, but?"

"I don't understand."

"I'm sitting here, sobbing really violently and I look hideous, and you've just discovered I'm co-dependent, and you don't like that about me, so now you're telling me that you love me, but this isn't going to work out, and I need to work on myself before I get into another relationship, and you hope I can find happiness, and—"

"—What are you talking about?" he cut your ranting off, blinking a few times, confused.

"Is that not what's happening?"

"No?"

"Oh."

You stared at him, and he stared at you, and you felt your heart slowly pick itself back up from the pits of your stomach, each piece mending itself back together. He wasn't breaking up with you.

"I wasn't going to say that at all. Please don't put words in my mouth."

"Sorry," you said, though it wasn't very sincere. He crouched down in front of you, hands finding your fidgeting ones to hold them.

"Can I finish what I'm going to say before you cut me off this time?" Wordlessly, you nodded your head, and so he continued. "I love you, and you know that, and I don't want you to think I'm upset or mad at you for being codependent. You're allowed to not know how to navigate a relationship. But—"

"—There it is—" he glared with no real heat at you, and your lips twitched "—Sorry."

"But I need you to communicate with me. I'm going to inevitably do things that upset you, because you're co-dependent. We need to figure those things out, because a lot of the time you will respond unhealthily, and knowing what I know now, I don't want to be a trigger in any way."

"You won't be a trigger," you mumbled, and he shot you a pointed look, and your shoulders deflated. "I just feel stupid communicating things like that. Like, oh, I'm sad because my boyfriend is out of state for work and he's super busy and not responding to my messages so I think he might hate me."

"That isn't stupid."

"Yes it is!"

He said your name, eyebrows risen, and he shook his head. "You're upset about something. That isn't a stupid thing at all."

"It feels stupid."

"Okay, well, how about the next time I'm away on a case and not replying and you miss me, which is what that crazy, sad, completely reasonable phenomenon is called, by the way, you communicate that with me, and you see how I respond?"

"What if you tell me to go fuck myself?"

He didn't even need to verbally deny your words for you to know that that response was completely out of character for him. All it took was one simple look, and you were diffidently smiling and averting your gaze, mumbling a quiet, "Okay."

And yes, the next time he was out of the state and you missed him, as he so kindly put it, you told him. And he spent three hours on the phone that night with you, reassuringly expressing how much he loved you, and how little he hated you.

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

1K notes · View notes

f0rkandspoons · 11 months ago

Text

control | spencer reid

summary; reader has a hard time with eating habits due to lack of control, thankfully Spencer notices everything.

warnings; details of eating disorders caused by lack of control, feeling the need to control the amount & what you eat, starvation, reader is avoidant and a little tiny bit mean, hurt x comfort, angst, happish hopeful ending, female reader.

i think this is around 3k?? im not sure tho bc i cbf checking 💯💯 tags; @i-live-in-spite

an; please don’t hate me, thats all i have to say when publishing this. please.

Your pen hit against the wooden desk momentarily— repeatedly as you stared at the paperwork in front of you. Although your mind was focusing on a hundred things other than the paper you we’re supposed to be finishing.

It wasn’t until the sound of your name being called that you were pulled out of your trance, looking up you noticed Penelope Garcia standing in front of you.

She repeated your name when you met her eyes, “Sorry” You muttered softly, bringing your hand up to your face, pushing hair off of your forehead as you leant back against your desk chair. “Whats up?”

“I said your name like ten times honey. Wheres your mind” She asked softly, tilting her head slightly to the side. There was a hint of jokingness in her tone, which gave you the leverage to laugh off the question.

“I brought donuts!!” She said excitedly. Which was when you noticed the pink box in her hands. You also realised that you were insanely out of it — for not noticing sooner.

You raised your eyebrow as a slight frown hesitated over your lips, before you just pulled it back into a smile. “Thats sweet pen!! Im okay though, Thank you.” You said, smiling up at the blonde women.

She hummed, not even half convinced of your dismissal of her offer. She reached into the box pulling out your favourite donut with a wide smile on her face. “Are you sure? I got your favourite!” She said in a singsong voice as she waved it around.

You realised the chances of you getting out of taking the donut were insanely slim, probably close to none.

“Alright.” You gave in, watching her already wide smile grow impossibly wider as she placed your donut on a plain white napkin, leaving it on your desk before she shuffled away to deliver the rest of the donuts before you even got the chance to thank her.

The donut sat untouched over the course of the next few hours as you returned to your work.

“Don’t let Garcia see that you didn’t eat it. She almost assaulted me when I tried to decline” Spencer spoke from behind you, making you jump slightly, before turning your head to face him.

You were confused for a moment, eyebrows furrowed as you looked at him. He seemed to sense your confusion, causing a small chuckle to pass his lips as he nudged his head slightly towards your desk. Your eyes followed where he head nudged towards, eyes landing upon the uneaten donut sitting there.

You sighed. “Its probably no good now anyways” You said, looking back at him for a moment. Pushing a smile to your lips before turning your head back to your work.

Spencer was easily your best friend. Not just inside the BAU but outside as well. You guys had usual outings, going to coffee shops, libraries, little cafe’s, watching doctor who together in his living room which always ended in you staying a little too late and falling asleep in his bed.

Maybe a little more then best friends, but neither of you cared to address it.

“Do you want me to get you a new one?” He asked, a slight frown tugging at his lips as he noticed your unusually dismissive behaviour. Avoiding his gaze, keeping conversation short, the way you were rubbing your temple.

He had been watching you all day, you did minimal work instead spending majority of the day staring at the paper work, then excusing yourself to the bathroom way more often then normal.

It wasn’t just today either, it had been building up slowly for ages. Spencer noticed all of it. Your tired eyes, disoriented mind and how you had grown more and more quiet as the days went on — spending too much time in your own mind.

You shook your head, not looking up at him as you started tapping your pen over and over again. “No thanks, spence. Im alright.” You muttered, your free hand coming to rub your eyes.

His frown deepened as he walked around to the side of your desk to get a clear look at your face — it was much prettier to look at than the back of your head, not that there was anything wrong with the back of your head. Your face just had much more endearing features.

“Have you eaten today?” He asked, but he knew the answer.

There was no point lying — you knew that. Spencer had been around you all day. The only time you left your desk was to go to the bathroom an abnormal amount of times an hour. “No, Ill get something later” You answered, your words falling nothing short of a lie.

He raised his eyebrow as you kept your gaze on the desk. “Did you eat yesterday?” He asked. His tone wasn’t daring or malicious in any sort of way. Pure concern laced every word.

You nodded but the words to confirm never followed, making a the pit in his stomach only deepened when the reality of what he thought was going on felt a little more confirmed.

“Do you want to come over tonight?” He asked, his voice was quiet as if he was scared if he spoke to loud you would break, scatter along the ground into a million little pieces, shards flying, only for them to prick you and leave you bleeding if you tried cleaning them up.

You turned your head slightly at his quiet request, you searched his face for something — anything that may give you any sort of reason to back out of his offer, but how could you say no to him?

“Sure. Ill come after dinner” The pit deepened.

He shook his head “No, no. Let’s cook something.” He suggested, you only laughed at him, eyes widening slightly.

“Me and you cooking? Come on spence be serious” You laughed, he almost wanted to feed into the joke just to continue to see the smile on your face, but he knew it was ingenuine. He couldn’t be upset about it.

“I am being serious.”

Your head tilted to the side as you looked up at him, you could see on his face — he was waiting for an answer. You finally gave in, sighing. “Fine, do you want me go to the shops on the way there?” You asked.

He shook his head, “I’ll go, all you have to do is show up” He said, a smile lacing his lips — it almost made you smile back. “Okay” You agreed once more before.

He smiled, before returning back to his desk.

Normally you would be ecstatic to hang out with Spencer — on any other occasion. The idea of having to cook and then feeling too bad to deny the food after the effort you both put in didn’t exactly strike your fancy all that much.

Your hand knocked on his door and moments later he was opening it with a soft smile on his face. He stepped aside letting you walk in wordlessly as you set your bag down by the door, taking in the warmth of his apartment that soothed the cold of your skin slightly, not enough, nothing seemed to sooth that.

“I got the stuff to make pasta.. I figured it was simple and easy enough for us” He mumbled as he took your hand in his, guiding you to the kitchen, you let out a small laugh, following him.

Although the feeling of discomfort remained in your chest and all over your body, not because of his hand in yours or anything to do with him, but the idea of food make your stomach twist, which the knowledge you’d have to be around it constantly with no chance of an escape or way out, it made your blood run cold.

“Awesome” You mumbled out, much more enthusiastically than you felt. His hand pressed softly against your back as he moved to stand on the side of you before his hand left, instead pressing against the counter as his eyes stayed on your face.

He hummed softly, looking down at the ingredients he had brought after asking rossi for a recipe he could use, the simplest the elder man had was given.

Spencer began by boiling the pasta, although you teased him about buying store brought pasta instead of making it yourselves like the recipe recommended, you had mixed opinions on it.

On one hand, the store brought pasta saved you both a lot of time and energy and probably mess, knowing if the two of you attempted to make it yourselves it would end up being a big mess and probably take about three different tries before you got it close to right.

On the other, heavier hand, your mind seemed clouded with the knowledge of how much sugar and fats were in store brought pasta, how processed it was seemed to take over the space in your mind. It was silly, you knew that deep down it was such a little thing and it didn’t make that much of a difference— to anyone else.

To you it was everything.

“I think the water is boiling” Spencer mumbled as he looked over the water in the pot, a laugh slipped through your lips as his half convinced voice pulled you from your mess of a mind. You walked towards where he was standing to look over the water in the pot that was in fact boiling.

“Well it’s bubbling and extremely hot.. so yes, I think you would be right” You nudged him slightly as he placed the pasta into the pot, your stomach clenched.

The two of you worked to cut vegetables together, in your mind you were working up the math of how many calories was in all of this combined, Spencer noticed your distracted glance, the way your mind seemed to be a hundred different places at once, anywhere but there with him.

He frowned, “What’s going through your head?” He asked softly, dropping his gaze back down to the zucchini he was cutting into thin slices, each one a different size to the other but he figured it didn’t matter.

You turned your head to look at him, aching at his question entirely. You wanted to tell him the thoughts running through your mind, the concern and doubt that had been consuming you for weeks but it all died on your tongue when his hands reached into the bag to bring out a jar sauce.

You hated the way that a stupid jar of sauce was what caused the most reaction from you, instead of answering his question your eyes widened and your head immediately was shaking. “We can’t use that.” You muttered.

He furrowed his eyebrows in confused and concern as he looked between you and the jar of sauce for a moment, wondering if maybe there was something you were allergic too or if this was the chance he had to confirm his idea of what had been going on with you.

“Why not?” He quizzed.

You huffed out, hands stilling on the knife and tomato you were cutting, before the knife was placed on the cutting board and you were reaching out for a tea down to wipe your hands. “We just- We can’t.” You settled on.

He raised his eyebrow, placing the jar on the table. Spencer wasn’t stupid, not in the slightest, although he knew pushing on this was either the smartest or dumbest thing he could possibly do in this situation.

“But why?” He pushed anyways.

You dragged your hands through your hair, “Do you know how much sugar is in that? Thats like so insanely processed and unhealthy..” You muttered out.

It all kind of settled in for Spencer in that moment, he had known you for years, you were never a crazy health freak. He had seen the signs come and go over the last few years but they were always subtle enough, until more recently, they came and they just didn’t seem to go.

“Does that bother you?” He challenged quietly.

You could see it in his eyes and feel it in the air that he exhaled that seemed to fill the space between the two of you, he knew.

“Yes- Spencer. Obviously it bothers me or else I wouldn’t tell you we couldn’t use it.” You stated, obviously growing frustrated. Spencer would normally double down at this point, not wanting to argue but he knew you, he knew this. There was no real other way to get you to break.

If he approached it softly, you’d deny it. He tried that before.

“Why? Why does it bother you?” He asked, raising his eyebrow. His tone was still laced with concern and slight challenge. It made your stomach tense and your arms line with goosebumps.

“Spencer seriously” You mumbled out, looking up at him, “Just drop it.” You sighed out, “Use the sauce- but I’m not eating it.”

He hummed, of course he wasn’t going to use the sauce if you had a real issue with it. He knew you had a real issue with it. Obviously. “Just tell me what’s wrong. Tell me why you aren’t eating” He pushed lightly.

“I am eating.” You huffed out, dragging your hands down your face.

He just hummed again, obviously disinterested in hearing your weak arguments and defence. “I know you’re not, I just don’t know why.” He argued back, he wasn’t going to drop this, not when it was something so concerning to your health.

“Spencer” You tone was a warning he chose to ignore. You could feel the tears burning their way behind your eyes and the tingle in the bridge of your nose which gave you enough of a warning of how this was going to go.

“Talk to me, sweet girl. I want to help you, let me help you.” He said breathlessly, his tone much softer than it had been previously, he stepped close to you, hands reaching out to grab onto your wrists. His fingers dug gently into the pressure point of your wrists, you’d die before you’d admit it helped regulate the emotions coursing through your body, even though it did.

You cursed his beautiful smart brain.

“I just- Cant.. I can’t eat.” You admitted, the tears now blurring your vision as the made way to the waterline of your eyes, your voice was shaky and cracked in every other syllable of your words.

His expression softened, he figured the words he wanted to say could wait. Instead his hands tugged you closer to him gently as he pulled your body flush against his. His hand cradling the back of your head as his fingers threaded through your hair to hold your head in place against his chest, his other hand resting on your upper back as he held you tightly.

Your arms instantly wrapped around his waist as your head found home in the fabric of his shirt over his chest, you chose to focus on the rhythmic beating of his heart rather than the thoughts that swarmed your mind, the doubt and the lack of focus all being forgotten for a moment as you melted in the feeling of Spencer’s arms.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” He whispered softly into your hair after a moment, as his head rested on top of yours. The words making your heart skip a beat, and a sigh to pass through your lips, the tears continuing to roll down your cheeks.

You pulled back slightly in order to look up at him, voice shaky and quiet as you spoke. “It’s- Its not about that” You admitted. Sure you had days where you didn’t feel the greatest about yourself but that wasn’t the cause of your lack of eating.

He furrowed his eyebrows, leaning down to nudge his forehead against yours softly before leaning his head back, fingertips running gently over your scalp, soothingly. “Then what is it about?” He asked, genuinely wanting to understand.

You sighed, your hands leaving his waist to instead rest against his biceps as you lacked the words to explain your thought process. “I- I just-“ How were you suppose to put the million different thoughts running through your mind into simple words. “I don’t know how to— Say it”

He hummed, understanding. “Word blab, just say anything you feel, everything. It doesn’t have to make sense.. I’ll make sense of it. Im good at puzzles” He mumbled out the slight joke yet his tone was still soft and serious, you had to ignore the way your eyes threatened to roll playfully.

You were silent for a moment before another deep sigh left your parted lips, eyes moving away from his as the words left your mouth in a ramble;

“Its- Everything is so much— Like constantly so much and I feel like everything is moving so fast constantly.. I can’t breathe half the time— And work- god work, everything is happening; people are constantly getting hurt and dying, people are dying and theres nothing we can do about it ever— We can’t save everyone I know but I hate it - everything feels like a mess, im a mess and I just- The amount I eat.. and what I eat is the one thing I have control over; full control.”

The tears were flowing and your voice came out shaky and breathy. Along with a few hiccups that broke through the sobs that ruined the flow of your sentence as you blabbed out everything you couldn’t quite make sense of yourself.

Spencer frowned as he listened to you, taking in every word and every half finished sentence as you just broke down, he took in the way your voice broke and you ended up back against his chest in tears. He didn’t say anything for a moment as he instead held you tightly.

When he did speak, his voice was gentle and warm, like a big hug after a bad day. “I understand — As much as I can. I understand what you are saying. Its normal to want to control things especially when things feel so out of control around you.. But this isn’t a healthy way of coping with that feeling. And i know you know that, sweetheart.” His fingers smoothed out your hair.

You didn’t reply so he continued. “I know you feel like you are making yourself feel better, like you have control over the amount your eating but this is how a cycle starts and I’m pretty sure you also know that, since i am almost positive this isn’t the first time this has happened— Am I right to think that?” he asked softly.

Your breath shook as you nodded into the fabric of his shirt. He hummed in response. He knew that — he had seen it before.

“So you know that when it gets to a certain point you are no longer actually in control of it, instead you actually have the least amount of control. Eating disorders are like an addiction and a disease.. It takes control of you before you even realise it’s happening — and then you actually have less control than you did originally.”

You huffed out as you leant away from his chest to take a deep breath and meet his eyes. You knew he was right, but it made your chest ache to hear aloud. To be told so directly the thought you tried to ignore.

“I just- Everything is a mess.” You mumbled. He nodded.

“Everything is a mess.. But it doesn’t have to stay that way you know? Theres ways to cope with when things feel a little too messy around you, and little too messy up here” He mumbled as his hand came to tap gently against the side of your head. “Theres other things you can control that don’t put your health at risk”

You let a little smile break way onto your lips. It was hard not to smile at the sound of his sweet gentle voice he had reserved for sensitive moments like this. You hummed, shaking your head slightly.

“You’ll help?” You asked softly, looking up at him.

He nodded immediately, “Everyday.” He promised silently, moving down to press his forehead slightly against yours, offering you a small smile.

You returned it, “Thank you.” You breathed out quietly. You knew this wouldn’t be an easy process, you knew it would be a lot of back and forth and take a lot out of you. You would have to rewire the way your brain chose to cope — but—

“Don’t thank me, Sweet girl. Thank you, for trusting me. We can fix this up yeah? Get your pretty mind better, huh?”

— it all seemed a little bit lighter knowing Spencer would be there along the way.

611 notes · View notes