The Story That Didn't Want To Be Written | Spencer Reid x Reader

Another Night

TW: Blood, Light descriptions of self harm/scars 

You wake up in his arms- jolting a little because you don't immediately remember where you are. It doesn't take long to register the pain in your side- it stings but his shirt is no longer there and he isn't applying any more pressure. You're both still shirtless and he is still behind you, letting you lay on his bare chest.

One of his hands is wrapped around the back and left side of your neck, his pointer and ring finger resting on the side and feeling your pulse. His other hand is laying gently across your left side, drawing patterns into your skin. His breathing is still steady, although you're sure he felt you jolt awake because his chest stopped moving for a second, but he stayed quiet at first, letting you remember where you were and what had just happened.

Shit. What just happened.

Your head is still resting lightly on his chest, right under his chin so you can feel the way his neck moves when he breathes. You decide to roll your head upward slightly- looking him in the eyes or the first time tonight. Although, you don't look very long because when you meet his gaze all you see is remorse, and in your opinion, that's the last thing you deserve right now.

You relax your head after looking for him, bringing your gaze to settle on the bottom of the sink in front of you. You feel him take a deeper breath in, and then you register his voice- it's timid and slightly shaky, but also smooth and low. Comforting, it's extremely comforting.

"Hi" is all he says. His voice is genuine- he wants you to know he isn't mad, and you can tell he wants to talk about what just happened. You're dreading the conversation. You scan your eyes around the bathroom- taking in the fact that his shirt is stained lightly with your blood and your right side is highlighted a light crimson color, but you're not actively bleeding anymore.

You take a deep breath in response to his voice, moving your head a little against his chest in acknowledgement that you heard him speak and were listening.

You were fully awake now- still feeling a little out of it but not nearly as clouded as you were when he first set you on the floor. You felt awful- remorseful, guilty, and you felt so fucking sad.

At least I don't feel empty. You thought to yourself.

"I- we should probably clean you up..." he says quietly. You knew he was trying to be gentle but it was less of a question and more of him telling you what was about to happen. You nodded against his chest in a soft surrender.

"Okay" he said, sounding a little more confident before giving the back of your neck a little comforting squeeze, rubbing it a few times with his thumb before you felt him shift to lead to his left, keeping his left hand firmly supporting your left side in an attempt not to move your body too much.

He reached over to turn on the faucet in the bath/shower that was to his left. You hadn't realized it was so close to you, but you were glad because it meant he didn't have to get up to get to it. You didn't want him to get up- this was comforting in some weird way. As embarrassed as you were by the situation, you didn't want him to leave.

You heard him pull something before the running water changed from heavily coming out of the bathtub faucet, to rushing quickly out of the shower head, the sound the water was making now at a much higher pitch.

You felt him shift back to be directly behind you, placing a hand on your cheek and rubbing his thumb gingerly against your skin. You felt a film between your skin and his- suddenly being reminded that you had rested your head in your bloody hands earlier and were almost certainly covered in blood all over your face.