Tw Torture - Blog Posts

Bad Dream

Warnings: kidnapping, torture, restraint, drugging, creepy/intimate whumper, hurt/aftermath

Whumpee woke slowly, their face aching from where Whumper had struck them. Their heart started racing. They tugged uselessly at the bindings. Hot tears leaked down their cheeks. 

“My Whumpee! You’re awake. Excellent.” Whumper’s footsteps stopped short of the edge of Whumpee’s bed. Whumpee could hear them, but not see them. “I’m thinking of trying something fun today!” Whumpee felt the bed shift. “It’ll be fun for all three of us.” Whumper remained out of sight. 

“Fun? How is this fun? I’m tied down. And not in the fun kind of way. Drugged, bound, and with you.”

“Come on, Whumpee, you like me.” There was an edge to Whumper’s voice.

“You’re right. I’m sorry, Whumper.” Whumpee swallowed and closed their eyes. 

“Keep your eyes open. You’re going to do as you’re told, Whumpee. From now on. And I won’t turn my attention to Teammate. You are mine. Mine. Do you hear me?”

“I’m not fucking yours.” The words tumbled out of Whumpee’s mouth before they could stop themselves. Before they could help and save themselves.

Whumper was in front of them again, slapping their face. “You are mine. And you will say that. Each time. Or I will do what I want with Teammate, and you will not like that. Are we clear, Whumpee?”

“Fuck you,” Whumpee spat in Whumper’s face. 

Dark eyes frowned down at Whumpee. “I did try to warn you. I know you aren’t stupid. Such fighting spirit. But you will come around, my Whumpee. And you will be mine. Always and forever.” Whumper lifted Whumpee roughly. Whumpee fought against Whumper weakly, the drugs still in their system. Whumper flipped Whumpee over so they could face the bound, gagged, and unconscious Teammate. 

“Now you have to watch me give Teammate the attention that I would have given you if you’d just complied.”

“No, no, no, wait. Wait! Whumper, wait!. I’ll be yours. Wait. Yours, right, that’s what you want to hear?” Whumpee desperately tried to get Whumper’s attention. 

“No, my Whumpee, that’s not how this works. I know you are trying to trick me,” Whumper wagged a long finger in Whumpee’s face. “You have to be punished for your disobedience. One day you’ll learn. And we have all the time in the world.” Whumper turned their loving gaze back to Teammate. “You know, teamwork makes the dream work.” Dark eyes glinted up at Whumpee. 

Whumpee jolted awake. It was dim in the room, the light coming from just beyond the door. Their nightmares had been getting progressively worse. The memories of what had happened infiltrating even moment of their waking and nonwaking hours. 

Caretaker walked in quietly. “Whumpee, you’re awake. Are you hungry?”

“No, thank you Caretaker. How long was I out for?”

“About six hours. You needed it, Whumpee. You’ve been fighting sleep for weeks.”

“Can’t sleep. Whumper’s there. Every time I close my eyes. It’s Whumper.”

Caretaker sat down on the edge of the bed. They held open their arms for Whumpee. “I’m here, Whumpee. And Whumper’s not. You’re safe.”

Whumpee bridged the gap between them, clutching at Caretaker’s shirt. Their tears were already flowing. They knew that. But it didn’t change the memories. It didn’t change that they relived every moment with Whumper every time they close their eyes. 

Do the dead comfort you? Pt.2

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: Spencer does all he can to save you from the hands of a psychotic unsub, and he makes a promise to remain by your side in the aftermath of the ordeal.

Content: Dead bodies once again, (tw) torture, stalking, breakdowns, hospital visits, blood, (tw) sexual assault, trauma, Spencer to the rescue & being a tad protective of the pretty girl he only met once before, the reader realizes she can't use her morbid sense of humor to cope with everything, hurt/comfort I guess?

Author's note: Here’s part two!!! I was listening to Ethel's new album while writing this and holy moly I was in the zone and wrote most of it in one go. (Pulldrone is exactly what was playing when I wrote the scenes while she was kidnapped and I feel like the eery ambiance encapsulates the utter sense of dread and despair that hits the reader once she realizes how serious the situation is). Hope you all enjoy <33

Let me know if you guys want a part 3!!

5,331 words (it’s a long one aha)

part one

masterlist

When you finally managed to open your eyes again, a sharp, dull pain radiated through your skull. The harsh fluorescent lights above didn't help as they glared down at you. At least you weren't on the floor. Nope, just restrained to an ice-cold metal slab. Fancy that. This must be how all my patients feel before I embalm them.

You attempted to look around the room but the bright lights from above prevented you from doing so. As you regained consciousness, you began to realize that both your wrists and ankles were restrained to the embalming table. And you were only in your underwear. The panic had begun to set in and you tugged at the restraints, but to no avail, they wouldn’t budge.

"Struggling won't help", a voice echoed through the room, "I made sure of that."

Your head snapped to the right as you took in the man who now began leaning over you. At first, he didn't even look real. He stood over you, bathed in the cold, sterile glow of the morgue’s overhead lights, his figure stretched and distorted by your disoriented mind. A nightmare stitched together from shadows and flesh, from surgical steel and the sickly scent of embalming fluid. His eyes—God, his eyes—weren’t just looking at you; they were studying you, cataloging every inch of your body as if you were a specimen he was about to dissect.

On any normal day, his face may have been forgettable, the kind you’d pass on the street without a second thought. But at this moment, in this place, it was the only thing in the world. The sharp angles of his cheekbones cast deep, skeletal hollows in his skin, making him look half-dead, like something that had crawled out of the very slabs you worked on everyday. His mouth curled in something that wasn’t quite a smile, wasn’t quite a sneer—just wrong, like he wasn’t used to making expressions that mimicked human emotion.

Then came his voice, it slithered into your ears, so sickly sweet that it made you nauseous, "You’re quite the fighter, aren’t you? But they all stop fighting eventually.”

You tried your best to focus on anything else at that moment, the details of everything else but him. The thin, latex gloves that he wore, they were stretched way too tight across his knuckles. The way his coat —a pristine white lab coat, because of course it was—fluttered slightly as he moved, the motion strangely elegant. You could smell him too. He smelled clean, too clean, like antiseptic and soap, but underneath that all was something rotten, something decayed. Maybe it was just your imagination. Maybe it wasn’t.

As he began mulling over which embalming tool to pick up first, his fingers hovering over them as if one of them was beckoning to be chosen, you realized just how exposed you were. For the first time since waking up, at the mercy of this thing, wearing a man's skin—you started to believe you might actually die here.

The sound of splintering wood as the mortuary door crashed open was deafening. You flinched violently, your body instinctively pulling against the straps that pinned you to the cold metal table. Relief and terror fought for dominance in your chest.

They’re here. Oh God, they’re finally here.

But then, just when you had begun to relax for the first time in hours, you felt the scalpal press harder against your neck. The tip of it broke through skin, not deep, but enough to make your breath catch.

"Don’t move,” the unsub growled under his breath. His voice was sharp, his calm façade cracking under the pressure. You could feel the tremor in his hands now, the desperation radiating off him.

Your pulse thundered, the pain from the cut on your arm flaring as you tried to keep still. The various cuts and injuries that littered your body were nothing compared to the fear the tiny blade at your neck instilled in you. You bit down on your lip to stop it from trembling. Don’t panic. Don’t make this worse. They’re here. They’ll get me out of this. Please let them get me out of this.

"FBI! Drop the weapon!" A commanding voice filled the room.

"Come any closer and I slit her throat!" The man bellowed. Up until this point he had not raised his voice once, and the sheer volume caused you to flinch again, the scalpal breaking through more skin. You could feel a warm liquid trail over your collarbone.

Your eyes darted to the doorway, tears stinging as you caught sight of the dark vests, the guns, the agents—saviors. But the unsub only pressed closer, his body partially shielding you. The scalpel was an unrelenting threat, cold and unmoving against your skin. The sharp sting at your neck anchored you to the moment. A hot tear slipped down your temple. I’m going to die here.

From Spencer's position in the doorway, his sharp eyes took everything in. The unsub’s trembling hands, the scalpel pressed against your throat, your bloodied arm, and—God—your state of undress. His chest clenched painfully, guilt and anger battling inside him. He only hoped the unsub hadn’t gotten too far before they arrived.

She’s absolutely terrified. One wrong move and she’s dead. Come on Spencer, think!

His jaw tightened as he saw the unsub’s gaze flick toward him, possessive and unhinged. Spencer’s hands twitched, his instinct to charge forward barely restrained. Stay calm. She needs you to stay calm.

"You don’t want to do this,” he finally said, his voice softer than usual. He took a slow step forward, keeping his hands visible. Carefully, he raised them, shifting the gun away from the man. He was acutely aware of the five other guns trained on him, ready to fire if he made a wrong move, which was why he was willing to take the risk. “This doesn’t have to end badly. Let her go, and we can talk this through."

There was a slight pause in the unsub's movements.

“You’re in control right now,” Spencer continued, his tone gentle, almost soothing. “But if you hurt her, that control is gone. You don’t want that. You don’t want to make this worse.”

Spencer’s gaze flicked to yours, meeting your tear-filled eyes. You looked at him like he was your only lifeline. The desperation in your expression hit him like a punch to the gut. The only thought running through his mind like a mantra was that he needed to get her out of there, fast.

The tension in the room was suffocating, each second seemed to stretch on for eternity. Then, the unsub shifted slightly, but it was enough for Derek Morgan to lunge forward like a strike of lightning.

The scalpel hit the floor with a sharp clang as Hotch slammed into the unsub, yanking him away from the table. Chaos exploded around you—shouts, the scuffle of bodies struggling—but it barely registered. Your chest rose and fell in ragged gasps, your throat raw as you fought for breath, tears blurring your vision.

Spencer was at your side in an instant, undoing the restraints that held you down, while simultaneously giving you a once-over to take in any serious injuries he may need to keep in mind for the first responders.

You were in such a state that you barely registered whose hands were touching you and your heart rate immediately spiked. Your eyes were shut and you began thrashing on the table whilst whimpering loudly.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s over,” Spencer’s voice broke through the haze.

You blinked, realizing he was kneeling beside you, his hands moving to undo the straps that held you down. You flinched as his fingers brushed your wrist, a sob escaping your throat before you could stop it.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice soft but steady. “He can't hurt you anymore. I promise.”

As the final strap came loose, you tried to sit up, but your body wouldn’t cooperate. Your legs felt weak, your hands trembling so badly you couldn’t push yourself upright.

“Here—let me help you.” Spencer’s hands were gentle as he guided you into a sitting position, his movements careful, almost hesitant.

The moment you were upright, you instinctively reached for him, clutching his shirt as your body shook with silent sobs.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around you. His vest felt stiff under your cheek, but his touch was warm, steadying. “You’re safe. I promise, you’re safe now.”

You couldn’t stop crying, the reality of everything crashing over you. His hand rested lightly on the back of your head, the other drawing soothing circles on your back.

Spencer’s heart twisted at how small you felt in his arms, how vulnerable. Gone was the sarcastic, spunky girl who had left such a strong impression on him after just one meeting. He held you tighter, his own breath uneven as he fought to keep his emotions in check. She’s okay. She’s okay now. But she’s so scared. I need her to know she’s safe.

When you finally managed to speak, your voice was barely a whisper. “He almost…” Yet another sob prevented you from continuing.

Spencer shook his head, cutting you off gently. “But he didn’t. He didn’t, okay? You’re here. You’re safe.”

You buried your face in his chest again, your fingers clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. And in that moment, he didn’t care about protocol or what anyone else thought. All that mattered was comforting the girl with the shattered spirit in his arms.

The sharp, sterile scent of the hospital was the first to hit you as the nurse wheeled you through the emergency room doors. The fluorescent lights felt too bright, their clinical glow exposing every bruise, every scrape, and every jagged line of your vulnerability. They reminded you of the lights in the embalming room. The embalming room. That man. The tools piercing your skin.

You were vaguely aware of Spencer at your side, walking just close enough that his hand occasionally brushed against the armrest of the wheelchair. You wanted to tell him you were fine, that he didn’t have to stay, but every time you opened your mouth to speak, the words got stuck in your throat. You didn't want to do this alone.

The nurse guided you into a small room, where a doctor was already waiting. Spencer stopped just outside the doorway, shifting awkwardly, his hands buried in his pockets.

“We’ll take it from here,” the nurse said gently, giving him a polite but firm smile.

Spencer hesitated, his eyes darting between you and the nurse. You could see the conflict on his face, his shoulders tense like he was bracing for an argument.

You managed to find your voice, though it came out weaker than you intended. “Spencer…”

His gaze snapped to yours expectantly, his features softening.

“Can you… stay?” The words were barely a whisper, but the way his expression shifted—relief, determination, and something almost protective flashing across his face—made you feel a little steadier.

“Of course,” he said without hesitation, stepping into the room. He pulled up a chair near the bed, sitting close but giving you enough space not to feel overwhelmed.

The doctor began her examination, her voice calm and clinical as she asked you questions. “Any dizziness? Nausea? Are you in pain anywhere besides your arm?”

You answered automatically, your voice hollow as your mind wandered. The doctor’s questions blurred together with the sting of antiseptic on your wounds, and the rustle of the hospital gown you’d been asked to change into felt deafening in the quiet.

You couldn’t stop thinking about the unsub’s hands on you, the way his gaze had stripped you of every ounce of dignity. The memory was suffocating, curling around your chest like a vice.

Spencer’s voice cut through the fog, grounding you. “Hey,” he uttered softly, his brow furrowed with concern. “You okay?”

You blinked, realizing the doctor had finished and was watching you with the same concerned expression.

“I’m fine,” you murmured, though your voice lacked conviction.

Spencer didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t press. Instead, he waited until the doctor left the room before leaning forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees as he studied you.

After a few minutes of silence, he spoke up again, "You're not fine."

You looked down at your hands, the hospital gown feeling too thin, too revealing, despite being more covered than you were earlier. You didn't know how to respond.

Spencer hesitated, noticing the sudden vulnerability in your expression. “I uh... I need to ask you a few questions… about what happened. It’s just procedure—to make sure this guy gets what he deserves. We don't have to do it now, but I'm here when you're ready.”

The sincerity in his tone made something in you crack. You weren’t ready to talk, not yet, but the way he said it—as if there was no question that he would be there for as long as you needed—made you feel a little less alone.

“You don’t have to stay,” you said quietly, though the thought of him leaving made your stomach twist.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said firmly. “Not until you’re ready for me to, at least.”

You glanced up at him, expecting to see pity in his eyes, but all you saw was quiet determination. It made you feel safe in a way you hadn’t expected.

You took a shaky breath, your hands clenching into fists as you tried to steady yourself. “Ask the questions,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, but firm with determination.

Spencer’s brow furrowed as he leaned forward slightly, his voice soft but insistent. “You don’t have to right now. We can wait until you’re ready. You don’t have to rush through it.”

But you shook your head, a flicker of something fierce in your eyes. “No… I want to do this now. If I don’t… I won’t ever.” The words tasted bitter in your mouth, but you pressed on, your heart pounding as the weight of what you were about to do sank in. “I need to nail this bastard. For me, for them… for everyone he’s hurt.”

Spencer remained quiet for a moment, watching you carefully, weighing your words. Finally, he nodded, his expression unreadable but softening with understanding. “Alright..." he hesitated, "This is going to sound silly, but can you close your eyes for me and tell me... what he did to you?"

You blinked, caught off guard by the request. For a moment, you didn’t know how to react. But the quiet, sincere way he asked you made something inside you settle, just a little. The room felt quieter now, the world shrinking down to just the two of you.

Closing your eyes, you tried to push the memories to the surface, to bring them into focus. Your heart beat faster, but you steeled yourself, knowing this was the only way to make him pay.

"When I woke up from being knocked out… I was tied down to the embalming table in my underwear, the straps were tight," you began slowly, rubbing your wrists absentmindedly. The sensation of the straps still lingered, and it made your skin crawl. "I couldn’t move."

Spencer stayed silent, his gaze never leaving you, his presence grounding you even as the weight of the memories pressed in. "Take your time," he said quietly, voice gentle but firm.

You took a shaky breath, nodding, trying to find the strength to continue. "He... he just stood there for a while, watching me. I could feel his eyes on me, like... he was enjoying it." You paused, swallowing the bitterness in your throat. "I couldn’t even scream. I just had to wait for him to decide what he wanted to do next."

Spencer’s jaw tightened, his mind was piecing it together, filling in the gaps even if you didn’t want him to. But he said nothing, giving you the space to speak. You appreciated that more than you could express.

There was no avoiding it. You had to talk about it. You had to say the words, had to help the FBI put together the full picture. You took a slow breath, trying to keep your voice steady.

“He—he used different embalming tools.”

Spencer looked up sharply, he noticed the pained expression on your face and realised just how hard this was going to be for you.

Your heart started to pound. As soon as you said it, the memories came rushing back.

The metal table was freezing against your bare skin, your body trembling with something beyond the cold. You pulled at your restraints, but they were too tight, digging into your wrists and ankles.

“I’ve always been fascinated by preservation,” the unsub mused, his fingers trailing over a set of gleaming instruments. “The way death can be… delayed. How a body can be made beautiful again.”

You didn’t say anything. Your throat was raw from screaming earlier, and you were running out of ways to keep yourself from panicking.

The unsub turned, holding up an embalming trocar—long, sharp, and glinting under the fluorescent light. “Did you know this is used to remove fluids and gases from a body before preservation?” He traced the tip lightly down your abdomen, not pressing hard enough to break skin. “It’s important to prepare the body properly.”

Your breathing hitched, and you clenched your jaw, forcing yourself not to react.

His expression darkened. “You’re supposed to be still,” he murmured, and without warning, he pressed down.

Pain flared white-hot in your side as the tip of the tool pricked your skin, just enough to draw blood. You gasped, your body instinctively jerking against the restraints.

The unsub sighed, shaking his head. “Messy,” he muttered, wiping the small bead of blood with his gloved hand. “I’ll have to try again.”

You inhaled sharply, coming back to yourself. The hospital bed, the warmth of the blanket, the steady presence of Spencer beside you—it was enough to pull you out of the memory, but your skin still burned where the tool had touched you.

Spencer’s knuckles were white where he gripped his knees. His breathing was slow, controlled, but his eyes—his eyes were burning with something deep and unsettled.

“He used a trocar,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “He—he didn’t go deep, but he wanted to see me flinch.”

Spencer squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, like he was trying to will away the image forming in his mind. “And the other injuries?” he asked, his voice strained.

You swallowed. “A needle. He… he injected something into my leg. Some kind of preservative, I think. It burned.”

Another flash—

The burn spread up your thigh, a fire beneath your skin. You cried out, muscles seizing, your entire body locking up.

The unsub tilted his head, watching with interest. “Formaldehyde is quite versatile,” he said conversationally. “It won’t kill you. Not yet. But I wonder how much your body can handle before it starts shutting down?”

You bit down on your lip, hard enough to taste blood.

You took a slow, shaky breath, forcing yourself back into the present. The hospital bed. The warmth of the blanket. The steady presence of Spencer beside you.

Spencer’s hands had curled into fists. His jaw was clenched so tightly you could see the muscle twitching.

“What else?” he asked, voice strained.

You hesitated again. “He used the embalming pump.”

Spencer’s breath audibly caught in his throat.

The hum of the embalming machine filled the room, a steady, mechanical noise that only added to the horror of the moment.

You were still strapped down, too weak to fight, but your breath was coming in panicked gasps as the unsub adjusted the tube connected to the pump.

“This is a test,” he murmured, almost absently. “A small amount, just to see how the body reacts.”

You barely processed his words before you felt the cool sensation of liquid seeping into your veins.

Your vision blurred for a moment. It wasn’t enough to kill you—not yet. But it left you dizzy, sluggish, your limbs feeling even heavier than before.

“Fascinating,” the unsub muttered to himself. “I wonder how much you can take.”

You swallowed hard, forcing the words out. "The last thing he did... he told me exactly what he was going to do to me. Everything he'd done to his other victims—every single cut, every injection, every—"

Your breath hitched, your throat closing around the words.

"But I—I was going to be his favorite," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "Because I had spunk. Because I fought back."

A shudder ran through you, your entire body recoiling from the memory. You couldn't say the rest. You didn't need to say the rest. The way his voice had darkened, the way he'd described it, savoring every detail like a promise—

You squeezed your eyes shut, as if that could block it out.

Spencer's hand closed over yours, grounding you. His grip was firm, steady, as if willing you to feel something other than that sickening sense of violation crawling under your skin.

“That’s enough,” he said, his voice low but unwavering.

You shook your head, your breathing uneven. “But you need to know—”

“I do know,” Spencer cut in, his voice sharp but gentle. His jaw was clenched, his eyes burning with something unreadable—but underneath it, there was a quiet, unshakable promise. “You’ve given us enough.” He exhaled, slow and controlled, but his next words carried the full weight of his conviction.

“He’s never going to hurt anyone ever again. I swear to you—I’ll make sure he rots in prison for the rest of his life.”

A sob caught in your throat, but you swallowed it down. You weren’t ready to cry—not yet. But for the first time since it happened, you felt the faintest flicker of relief.

Spencer wasn’t just listening. He was hearing you. And he was going to make sure you got justice.

You weren’t alone in this.

And for now, that was enough.

As the night wore on, the hours began to blur together. You knew you wouldn't be able to sleep that night, and as guilty as it made you feel, Spencer didn't seem to mind. Throughout the night, nurses came and went, checking your vitals, re-bandaging your arm, and murmuring reassurances that didn’t quite reach you. And through it all, Spencer stayed.

The hospital room had settled into an almost eerie calm. Machines beeped softly in the background, and the dim lighting made everything feel slower as if the world outside had paused. You were sitting up in the hospital bed, the scratchy blanket pulled tight around your shoulders. Spencer sat in the chair beside you, his legs crossed, thumbing through a book he’d found somewhere in the waiting area at a speed you didn't think was humanly possible.

The silence was interrupted by the sound of the door creaking open. The FBI agent that had first pushed the unsub away from you in the embalming room stepped inside. At first, his presence intimidated you, his muscular frame and broad shoulders made him an imposing figure, but there was an undeniable warmth in his deep brown eyes. His smooth, dark skin contrasted with the sharp angles of his jawline, and a hint of stubble shadowed his face. He was holding two cups of hospital jello, one red, the other green.

“Thought you two could use a little pick-me-up,” He said, holding the cups aloft with a charming smile. “It’s not gourmet, but it’s better than nothing.”

You managed to return a weak smile back, taking the red jello as he handed it to you. Spencer set his book aside and accepted the green one without hesitation.

“Thanks, Morgan,” Spencer said.

Morgan gave you both a once-over, his gaze softening when it landed on you. “If you need anything, just holler. But I’ll give you two some space.” He gave Spencer a pointed look as if to silently remind him to keep an eye on you, then slipped out of the room.

You began poking at the jello with the plastic spoon. The silence stretched between you and Spencer, not uncomfortable, just heavy with unspoken things.

"You know", you said finally, your voice a little raspy, “jello might be the most depressing food ever invented.”

Spencer glanced up from his cup, his lips quirking in a faint smile. There she is. “It does have a strange texture. Did you know it’s made from gelatin, which comes from—”

“Animal bones,” you finished for him, giving him a sidelong look. “Yeah, I’ve heard.”

He blinked, a little surprised, then nodded. “Right. I guess... you would know that.”

You smirked faintly, the smallest flicker of your usual sarcasm peeking through. “What can I say? I'm full of fun facts. Comes with the job, really.”

Spencer tilted his head, studying you once again. "Your job... I can't imagine it's easy," he said carefully, his voice gentle.

You hesitated, your spoon hovering just above the jello. For a brief moment, you considered brushing him off with a joke or changing the subject like you usually would. But when you met his gaze, there was something about the way he was looking at you. God, stop looking at me like that. His unwavering, earnest stare made you feel safe enough to answer honestly.

“It isn't most of the time” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “But it’s worth it.”

Spencer didn’t respond right away. Instead, he kept his gaze on you, his expression soft yet intent—like he was trying to unravel everything you weren’t saying. His eyes, sharp with quiet intelligence, searched yours as if they could decode the weight you carried, the thoughts you never voiced, the depth you kept hidden from the world.

There was something about you that fascinated him—not just your words, but the silences between them, the guarded way you spoke about things that mattered. He could tell there was so much more beneath the surface, layers of emotion and experience you refused to share. And yet, just for a moment, it felt like he could see them anyway.

He finally spoke, "Why?"

You sighed, setting the jello cup on the bedside table. “Because… when I embalm and prepare a body, when I make someone look like the person they were before…” You paused, swallowing hard. “I get to give their family one last chance to say a proper goodbye. One last moment where they can see the person they loved, not the person the world left behind.”

Spencer kept his gaze steady as he took in your words. He could tell how much those words meant to you. Surprisingly, his expression held a little bit of understanding and even awe.

"That's... incredible." he said finally, "I had never thought of it that way."

You huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. "Yeah, well… not everyone thinks it's incredible. Most people just think it’s creepy."

Spencer’s lips quirked into the smallest smile. "I mean, technically, you do spend a lot of time with dead bodies."

You gave him a pointed look. "And you spend a lot of time profiling serial killers, but you don’t see me calling you creepy."

Spencer tilted his head, considering that for a moment. "Fair point."

A comfortable silence settled between you, the heaviness of the conversation lifting just a little.

Before the conversation could continue you blurted out, "Thank you."

Spencer glanced at you, “For what?”

“For staying,” you said simply.

He hesitated for a moment, then gave a small nod. “I couldn’t leave,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “Not when you…” He trailed off, looking down at his hands. “I just couldn’t.”

You nodded, understanding more than words could convey. For the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t feel completely alone.

As you leaned back against the pillows, your eyes growing heavy, you realized that maybe, just maybe, you were going to be okay.

After your third day in the hospital, you were finally discharged. The hospital doors slid open with a quiet hiss, letting in a crisp evening breeze. You inhaled deeply, filling your lungs with fresh air—something that didn’t reek of antiseptic or overcooked hospital food. The gauze beneath your shirt still tugged slightly with each breath, but the soreness was manageable.

Freedom. Finally.

Beside you, Spencer hovered with the same quiet intensity he’d had when you arrived at the hospital, arms crossed like he wasn’t entirely convinced letting you leave was a good idea.

“You know, I appreciate the escort,” you said, adjusting the strap of your bag over your good shoulder, “but unless you’re planning on kidnapping me back to my hospital bed, I think I can manage from here.”

Spencer blinked. “I just— I wanted to make sure you got out okay.”

You smirked. “What, did you think I’d trip over my own feet and fall into traffic?”

“I— statistically, you’re not at full mobility, and with your pain medication, your reflexes might be slightly impaired—”

You rolled your eyes. “Spencer, I’m not going to faceplant into the street.” Then, after a beat: “At least, not immediately.”

The corners of his lips twitched, like he was trying not to smile but failing miserably.

The silence stretched for a moment. For all his intelligence, Spencer still looked like he wanted to say something but hadn’t quite figured out the words. His hands twitched at his sides, like he was debating reaching out.

You tilted your head at him. “You okay there, Doc?”

He cleared his throat, straightening. “I just— I hope you know that you, um… don’t have to go through this alone.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I mean, I was alone in the embalming room with a serial killer, so technically—”

Spencer shot you a look.

You snorted. “Okay, okay, I get it. Not the time."

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just meant… I know how trauma can make people isolate themselves, and I just wanted you to know that you have people who care.”

You nodded slowly. There was a warmth in your chest at the sincerity in his voice—softer, earnest.

“Well, in that case,” you said, shifting your weight to your good side, “since you care so much, would you... wanna get dinner sometime?”

Spencer’s mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again. “Dinner?”

“Yeah, you know. The thing where people sit at a table, order food, and consume it?” You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I mean, unless you don’t want to—”

“No! I mean— I do! I just—” He ran a hand through his hair, looking both overwhelmed and adorable in a way that made you bite back a grin.

You decided to put him out of his misery. “Spencer," your voice softened, "I’m trying to ask you on a date.”

He froze.

“Oh.”

You smirked. “Yeah. Oh.”

Spencer’s brain seemed to reboot in real time. “I—yes! Yes, I would like that.”

Your smirk softened into something more genuine. “Good. You can pick the place.”

He nodded, still looking slightly dazed. “Right. I, um, I’ll text you.”

You chuckled, stepping back toward the curb where your ride was waiting. “See you soon, Doctor Reid.”

Spencer stood there as you got into the car, still blinking, like he was trying to process what had just happened.

As you pulled away, you saw him through the rearview mirror—standing there, hand running through his hair, a small, boyish smile tugging at his lips.

For the first time in a long time, despite everything that had happened, something felt right.

bone and marrow; cut and served

word count: 2.4K content warnings: i think this one works better without too specific warnings, but general content warning for heavy yandere content and everything that comes with that, including kidnapping, torture, explicit physical abuse, drugging and so on. ← NOT kidding please heed the warnings

a/n: wanted to try something a different style since i think my dialogue could use some improvement. so this is 100% dialogue and is meant to read like a dialogue script!

Ah, y-you're back… You're… finally back…

…Paid? You got… paid? Did you… are you selling me off to someone else? O-oh, you mean my ransom finally got paid… by my family…

Right, you did mention that…

…

…You're not going to hit me for disobeying you, or forgetting? N-no? Because you're… not that cruel?

Wait, does that mean that. That when you ripped off my nails o-on camera, it wasn't so you could… so you could rewatch the recording and enjoy my pathetic crying and wailing? O-oh… I see…

I… I guess that does make more sense. I mean, who would… who would want to record something like that for their own sick pleasure, right?

Hii— I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to insult you! Of course it's—of course it's fine if you want to record something like that for yourself! Someone like me has no right to com—

Ah, a joke…

Of course I'm relieved. I'm just…

…

I'm not used to you not digging your nails into my cheeks every time I dare look away from you…

And, um, well. This doesn't. It doesn't feel real, you know? It's been five months since you, uh, p-placed me in… well, kidnapped me. B-being free again sound so… surreal…

This isn't… some sick joke, right? It's really not? You promise?

I-I'm glad. …Thank you.

…Huh? There's something seriously wrong with me if I thank you after everything you've done to me? W-well! You know!

…I don't sound very thankful? That's, um…

…

…Do you want me to get knees and kiss your shoes? You'd need to unbind me for that th—No! Of course I'm kidding! I'm—

O-oh, you're really… you're really doing it, you're really unbinding me. I, wow…

You must really trust me…

W-well, yeah, of course the handcuffs were really uncomfortable. You only ever let me out of them when you were, were t-tortu… I can't say it.

The… huh? No, rubbing them this harshly won't just make the scarring worse, l-like you're, um, saying. W-wait, please don't thro—ow!

Oh, this is… disinfectant…

Um, well, for all I know you could've put some cleaning product in here like the last time you… Even if you're insisting it safe because the ran… Right, the ransom got paid. I'm free now…

N-no! I'll use it, I'll use it! You're way too close!

Even if you put something else in here again, or it's really disinfectant and you're going to beat me again for using it because this really is just your idea of entertainment… I'll use it. You did give it to me, after all.

…Only on my wrists? Okay, only on my wrists…

…

So, uh, when's the exchange date? Or time? You're not usually this chatty. Normally you just dump food on the floor in front of me, or whip out the camera and then, well…

…Today? In… in a couple of hours? Oh… you're really early then?

You want me to… you want me to get cleaned up first? Y-you mean, in your bathroom? I'll get to… use your products? R-really?

Yeah, I'm… really happy to be clean again… I seem happier now than when you told me I'm to be free?

Well, it's just. It's just sinking in that this is for real now…

And the drive should be pretty far away from… I mean, what would I know. I was out cold for that. I just assumed… It would be kind of stupid to kidnap and hold someone close to where they live, right? You'd want to be a distance away and not get caught… right?

OW!

Ow, that really hurt! You didn't need to twist my arm like th—ow! I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I wasn't calling you stupid, I was complimenting y—ah!

You're pulling… holy shit, you're pulling my hair really hard. I won't run, so you don't have to—hng! I'm—I'm sorry, I didn't mean to backtalk.

…I knew it.

You said, earlier, earlier you said you weren't that cruel, but you really do enjoy my tea—I mean, you really do enjoy hurting me.

Ah! Don't shove me that hard, you—

Because we've… arrived? At the—wait, wait, wait but you said that was still a couple hours away? You—oh, your… your bathroom…

Y-yeah, of course I knew that. I was just…

…

The bath looks really warm… Is it really okay for me to—I should just get in already and stop wasting your time? Y-yeah, um… sorry…

—H!

You made this scalding hot on purpose, didn't you?

N-no, I'm not complaining. I'll take it, I'll take it… This is better than no bath, s-so…

…I should put my hands out? Okay…

Is this your—your bath soap?

…

…I'm! It just feels really nice to smell something so mundane again…

No, wait, wait, I'll use it! I'll stop wasting your time, please don't take it away!

…I should… I should be thankful because I finally get to clean myself?

R-right… Um, t… thank you very much…

—H-huh? I should kiss your feet to r-really prove it l-like I offered to earlier?

That's… that's so… I'll—Okay, I'll do it..

Oh it was a, it was just a joke… I'm not eager! This is just—Of course you'll hurt me less if I do as you say, even if it's—

Even if it's something like this…

…

It's… it's already time to get out?

Um, right…

…

Actually, um, could I… could I stay a couple more minutes? I just… This is my first bath in so long, I don't want it to end…

OW! You really don't have to pull on my hair every time I—ow! I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Please don't—

Wh… what are you… doing with those scissors?

If I… if I misbehave again you're going to… No, no, nonono I'm sorry! Please, please, don't—I'll behave, just don't—Please! I'm really sorry, I don't, I won't—

Aah…

Okay, thank you, I'm sorry, thank you…

…

A-ah? Change into this? You even… you not only let me use your bathroom, you even got me new clothes…

Y-yes! Thank you! I'm sorry! I'll—

Eek!—I'll be quiet now. I'm sorry.

…

S-stick out my hands again? Okay…

…Handcuffs again? No, no of course I don't mind! It's okay! Please don't get mad…

Y-you're not? Okay…

…I talk a lot? Um, I think… Maybe, I'm just kind of lonely…

You, uh, you have been my only social contact for five months now…

Or, um, roughly five months now. I'm assuming. It's kind of hard to tell how much time has passed when you've been stuck in a basement for so long.

I just…

…

I'm not—I'm not just stalling for time!

It's just… Are you, are you sure this isn't some messed up joke? You're not dangling this hope in front of me just to take it away?

This would… this would be a good time to reveal that.

…No? My family really paid the entire amount?

…They've never really… cared about me, so it's kind of surprising… Honestly, when you first mentioned it, I thought you were joking. I mean, it's true they have the money…

I'm their son, so it's only natural? Well, yeah, I guess, but…

It's… That's cruel of you to say. You had to have known what our relationship was like before you…

…Anyway, this joke isn't funny anymore. Please take me back to the basement now.

…

…It really isn't. You've done it, you've completely dashed my hopes. I hope you're happy now. I… I'm never getting out of here, I know that, okay?

It's… really cruel of you to toy with me like that.

So just… just take me back.

That's what the handcuffs are for, too, right?

…

…No?

No, you're really just going to throw me away like this?

Actually, I… when you approached me that night and told me to get into your car or else, I didn't know what to do. It made me so, so happy when I realised you must've planned this months in advance.

To think you were spending that much time thinking about me…

I was so, so certain you were finally getting revenge on me…

…Yeah. I thought… I'd been stalking you for two years, and even before that—so I thought… I thought that you'd taken me home to put me in my place, to teach me a lesson.

The last couple of months have been the happiest in my life. It's like… I was in heaven.

I mean, getting tortured in real life is a totally different ballpark than fantasising about it, that's true, but! But! Even if it was just painful, I wouldn't mind, because it's you! I could never hate or dislike anything you do to me!

You're backing away, but I promise you don't have anything to fear! Even if you go through on your promise, I don't mind! I won't struggle.

I belong to you, so anything you do is justified! You have that right!

But seeing your expression, you really didn't know about any of that…

I thought—I thought!

I thought maybe for once I was something special to someone, even if you did just hate me! I thought that with hard work and a lot of time, maybe I could be someone special to you in more ways than just the toy you keep in your basement!

I thought that…

…I guess it makes sense that you just remembered me as that rich loser you shared a class with once. But I…

…

…Why don't you just keep me in your basement again?

You wouldn't even need to keep me in handcuffs; I'd never run away! Or—or, of course, you could keep me bound the entire time, if that would make you feel more at ease!

You can… you can keep doing whatever you want to me! At any time! I won't struggle anymore! I'll cry and look cute and pitiful and pretty and whatever else you want me to!

You don't need to feed me regularly, or at all, or—Please don't back away…

I actually… I actually really like it when you pull on my hair!

I… I really love looking at my reflection in the mirror you left up in the basement, because I get to see the permanent marks you left on my face, like when you broke my nose three weeks into being home with you!

My favourite is probably when you coo at me and call me cute and condescendingly wipe away my tears—it always seemed to please you when I cried even harder… Even if—even if that was just an act, you seemed to be having fun!

And—and you really liked forcing me to look directly into the camera and.. and making me degrade myself, and repeat all those embarrassing lines, and—

What about that time you suggested getting me a shock collar? Or, or what about all those times you threatened to carve your name into my skin so I'd be ruined for everyone who came after you? You were joking but, but you seemed really into the idea! We could do that!

Am I talking too much again? You can tape up my mouth if you want, or break my arm for scaring you, or for being so arrogant, or—

Don't you—don't you want that to continue?

Nothing has to change!

Just throw me into that chair and lock the door and don't give me anything to eat for a week in punishment and raise my price and things can go back to the way they were! Or however way you want them to be!

Ack—Y-you're really pulling again, I can feel your nails really digging into my scalp—No, that's not a complaint!

I'll be good! I'll do anything! Anything—just please, please, pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease don't throw me away!

Pl—

…Really?

You'll do it? You will?

Thank you!

Thank you thank you thank you thankyouthankyouthank—

Mgh! I'm sorry, I'll be quiet now.

…Do you… do you want me to kiss your feet? Hehe, of course I'd be happy t—

Nngh! You're pulling my hair really hard…

You should… you should lead me around your house more like this. I have to bend at such an awkward angle when you pull like this…

Ah! Right, sorry, I'm sorry, I'll be good.

…

…Um.

We… just passed the basement?

…

…Why are you… unlocking the front door?

…Hey?

…

…Um, um that's the—that's your car. Why are you—

Aah! Wait, no, even if you shove me into your—You're just—You lied to me!

No—wait—I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get mad and accuse you of anything! Please, don't throw me away! I'll be good! I can—I can be useful!

I'm obviously already yours, but I could really b—

Stop, wait, don't close the car door! I'll—UGH!

Ow, you really… you really hit my stomach hard…

…That's what I get for not cooperating? I'm sorry…

…

Nngh…

…

W-wait, don't start driving, I—ow—Wait! Don't you want this too?

I know it wasn't just my imagination! You—hng—you enjoyed this too, didn't you? You insist you're not like that, but you actually really like having someone at your mercy, d-don't you?

I can be that for you! You don't—you don't have to do this! I'd be really happy like this, so won't it work out for both of us if you—

You can, you can, keep extorting my parents for larger and larger sums of money! I know they've set aside a fund for my inheritance—even if it's smaller than my brothers', it's still enough for you to live a comfortable life! And then I can stay with you forever, so…

Aren't I talking too much again? Aren't you… going to punish me for this? I know you want to.

So won't you—Ahh, you really kicked me hard—Won't you please recon…

…Why are you stopping? Y-yeah, this place is pretty remote, but we're in the middle of the road… W-wouldn't it be better to turn arou—

Wait, no, nononononononono please don't bring out the chloroform, wait, please, don't throw me away like this, I can be good, wait wait no wait, please—

Please don't leave me like this!