Spencer Reid Imagines *REQUESTS CLOSED*

Damsel in Distress

"Be safe," Spencer warned you before he left.

"You too, I love you," you replied.

"I love you too."

He walked out the door, leaving you by yourself in your house. Spencer had been spending the night at your place since there was a case in town and he wanted to be sure you were safe.

You weren't exactly worried; you felt safe whenever Spencer was around, and you knew that he and his team would take care of the task at hand: taking down a kidnapper and serial killer.

You glanced at the clock. It was 7:30 on a Saturday morning, and you were awake. Not for long, though. You laid in your bed (on Spencer's side, of course) and drifted back to sleep.

A tearing pain on your skull woke you as you were being dragged across your living room floor by your hair.

"What the - stop!" You yelled, and began clawing and hitting at the hands dragging you.

"Shut up!" A voice snapped. You felt a sharp prick in the side of your neck, and suddenly you couldn't fight anymore. You could only lie on the ground, limp, as a stranger dragged you from your house.

Once you were outside, he picked you up and threw you in the back of a black truck, making sure to bind your hands and feet, and then shut you into his toolbox. 

Your heart was pounding. You fought hard and long to be able to move, but once you could, you made quick work of slipping out of your ties. Feeling around in the dark and enclosing box, you felt your cell phone still in the waist band of your night shorts.

What an idiot, you thought.

Quickly, you called Spencer's number. It rang and rang, and the thought of him not picking up made you begin crying.

Finally, he answered, sounding stressed.

"Hey, where are you at?" He asked frantically. "I stopped at your house and you're not there."

"Spencer, I don't know where I am. Someone's taken me, I'm in a toolbox in the back of a truck. He drugged me, and he'll do it again. You have to help me."

You were sobbing loudly, but your cries were overpowered by the loud roar of the engine flying down the highway.

"Describe the truck, baby," Spencer instructed.

"Um, black, Ford, 1993... I didn't see the model."

"Did you see the tag?"

"No," you whimpered, "he doesn't have one."

"Okay, listen to me. Do whatever he tells you to do, and cooperate with him. That's the only way you'll stay alive long enough for us to find you. Garcia's tracking your cell as we speak."

"Please hurry..." you cried.

"I'll find you. I love you, be strong for me."

"I love you."

You hung up and placed your phone back where it was safe, then made sure you re-tied your restraints to make it look like you hadn't moved.

It felt like a century before the truck finally stopped. When it did, you only got more afraid and cried even harder. You were petrified.

Your attacker opened up the toolbox and yanked you out. You didn't fight him or say anything, instead you simply walked where he directed you and tried to hold it together. You failed.

"Shut up," he commanded, "or you won't make it very far."

You took a deep breath and bit your lip till you drew blood. It made you stop crying.

He led you to a cellar where he opened the door, then shoved you down the cement steps.

You hit your head and twisted your ankle on the way down. Blood ran from you forehead, and your ankle swelled.

"So this is how things are going to go," he said, descending the steps, "you're going to answer my questions, do what I say, and you might live."

"What do you want from me?" You asked quietly.

"Just information sweetheart," he whispered in your ear, tucking your hair back. "And maybe a little more."

Shivers ran down your spine and your stomach turned. You couldn't do this. You'd fight him tooth and nail before you let him take advantage of you.

"Get away from me," you spat. You threw your head back and butted him in the nose.

For a second, you were satisfied. Then, you were in pain as he beat you nearly senseless.

"Stand up!" He bellowed. It echoed off the cement walls.

Weakly, you got to your feet. Everything hurt at this point.

"Tell me about your pretty little boyfriend," he demanded. "Is he gonna come save you?"

"Fuck off."

Slap.

"I don't appreciate lip," he growled.

You stayed quiet, to reserve what little nerve you had left.

"Take your shirt off," the man commanded you.

"N-no," you refused.

He wielded a gun. "Do it."

Shakily, you slid your t shirt up your torso and off your arms, dropping it on the ground. You felt awfully exposed and extremely ashamed.

He walked closer to you, until you had backed into a wall.

"You know, this doesn't have to be bad," he said grossly.

You threw up in your mouth a little bit. You didn't say anything, instead you just stared at the floor. His putrid breath hit your neck before he started laying sloppy, disgusting kisses on you. You reacted by shoving him away and screaming.

"Stop!" You screamed. "Don't touch me!"

Before he could retaliate, the cellar door flew open, and in flooded the team of agents. In a split second, your attacker had a hold of you, and a knife to your neck. You were sobbing without even knowing it.

"Let her go," one of them commanded.

"No way, you think I'd let this pretty thing go?" He laughed, and ran his hand down your side and to your thigh. You found Spencer's eyes and begged him silently to help you.

As the argument heated up, he pressed the knife into your knock harder and harder until it was drawing blood. Finally, it reached a peak. Before you were killed, someone shot your attacker, freeing you.

You dropped to the ground immediately, crying and probably screaming. You were panicking. A room full of people was witnessing you completely lose it, but you felt hands around your waist and you knew Spencer was holding you. A soft cardigan was thrown over your shoulders and wrapped tightly as to comfort you.

"You're okay, listen to me," Spencer said. "A medic is on the way. Stick with me. I love you."

"Reid!" A man with black hair and a stern face barked.

"Hotch," another dark skinned man warned. "That's his girl. Let him comfort her."

A medic arrived, and you were hauled off to the hospital. Spencer stuck with you and held your hand the whole time.

"Say something," he said.

"I'm terrified," you blurted, "that was the worst thing ever. I don't understand how or why or when -"

"Shh, I know," Spencer nodded. "I'm sorry. It'll never happen again. I'll make sure you're safer next time. I'm so sorry."

Spencer hugged you and held you tight.

"I promise."