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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader
Content Warnings: talk of chronic pain, talks of doctors not believing patient, talks of hospitals, medication speak.
Word Count: 1.9k
A/N: I wrote this for a really good friend of mine who was having a really bad chronic pain day. I just know Spencer would take good care of you and just want to make it all better. Even though he knows he can't, he just wants you comfy. I hope you like it babes ❤️...
The ringing of your alarm came with a loud groan and a solid "go fuck yourself." You reached over, turning it off and laying back down. Your head was screaming and your body ached. Mornings like these knocked you on your ass. And sometimes it was taking your regular medication and pushing through.
But some mornings, like this one, there was no getting out of bed. And sometimes, these mornings made you feel hopeless. Hopeless because it was truly your reality. A reality where you were constantly at war with your own body. A reality where a cure probably wasn't in sight.
"Baby?" Your boyfriend, Dr. Spencer Reid, sat up, being careful of you as he leaned to turn on the light.
"Turn it off, Spencer." You groaned as you shoved your face into the pillows.
Spencer Reid was a genius, and a profiler. Able to read and get into the minds of some of the most prolific killers in America. And it was no different with you. If anything, he read you better than he read serial killers.
And on mornings like these, you couldn't be more grateful.
"I know you hate this but can you please rate your pain so I can help you?" The pain rating scale sucked about as bad as getting sucked into a black hole. If you said it was a 5 sometimes it wouldn't be looked at as seriously. But if you said an 8 or a 9, you'd be looked at like an absolute idiot.
And as a woman, you're looked at as a hypochondriac anyway.
Spencer was different though. He took your ratings seriously, and he never judged. "Like a 7-8. It's everywhere Spencer."
He hopped out of bed, turning the dimmer switch as low as it can go, making it practically night in the room but bright enough he could move around.
"Baby, can you sit up for me? Please? I want to check you out for a minute." Spencer Reid did not have an MD. But he'd read enough about your conditions, that he very well could.
When you'd disclosed your complicated medical ailments to him — after cancelling three dates on him — you were afraid he'd walk away. Claim you were too much to handle and never look back.
But he didn't.
If anything, it made you closer. Spencer went home that night and read all he could get his hands on about every single one of your illnesses. He read medical journals, text books, and even learned how to use google. He talked to his contacts, meeting up with them to discuss how different people present and kept symptoms. He was devoted to being the most understanding, and loving, man he could be for your particular needs.
