ARREST ME BUT MAKE IT SEXY2 / S.REID / SUMMARY - Spencer rescues a very annoying agent
PAIRING: agent!reader x spencer reid / w/c: 1.4k / fluff
a/n: shoutout to @cheriesbucky for being the absolute ANGEL who suggested this
The basement was dim, damp, and reeked of mold and motor oil. The ropes around your wrists were tight but not impossible—you’d been trained for worse. Still, that didn’t mean you weren’t pissed.
“What is it with unsubs and bad lighting?” you muttered, shifting in the old wooden chair you were tied to. “What, the budget didn’t cover lightbulbs?”
Across the room, your kidnapper paced. He wasn’t particularly bright, though he thought he was. That was always the worst kind—delusional with a God complex and a knife.
“I thought you fed types were supposed to be smart,” he sneered, stopping just a few feet from you.
You raised a brow. “I am. You, however, kidnapped a federal agent in the middle of a BAU investigation. Not really a Mensa moment.”
He didn’t like that. Predictably, he stormed over and gripped the collar of your button-down shirt, yanking it hard enough to pop two buttons free. His hand hovered, threatening, over your chest.
You blinked once. “Oh wow, you’re so original. What’s next, a villain monologue? Maybe some unnecessary backstory about your mommy issues?”
The unsub froze.
Then scowled.
Then stepped back with a growl. “You don’t know anything.”
You smiled sweetly. “Honey, I know you have abandonment issues, a need for control, and a probable inferiority complex stemming from a middle-child dynamic. Also, you smell like Axe body spray and microwaveable regret.”
Another button popped off.
You gasped. “Sir, if you ruin this shirt, you’re paying for it. This is government issued polyester. You have no idea how itchy this is.”
The door upstairs creaked open.
You went silent.
Heavy boot steps followed.
And then—
“FBI!” Morgan’s voice rang out.
The unsub spun, panicked. You smirked.
“You’re in so much trouble,” you sing-songed.
The door burst open a second later, and suddenly the room was swarmed. Morgan tackled the unsub to the ground in one fluid motion. Hotch shouted for backup. Emily kicked the knife away. And then—then—Spencer.
He moved straight to you, eyes scanning your face, chest heaving like he’d just run a marathon. His hands shook as he began untying your wrists.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice tight with concern.
You gave him a tired smile. “Other than the fact that I’m missing three buttons and I’m pretty sure this chair gave me a splinter in a very personal place? Peachy.”
He let out a soft huff of laughter, his fingers brushing over your skin a little longer than necessary as he helped you stand.
You wobbled slightly. He caught you instantly.
“Easy,” he murmured, his hand steady on your waist.
“Oh, Doctor Reid,” you said, blinking up at him dramatically. “Are you trying to sweep me off my feet?”
The tips of his ears turned pink.
“Stop flirting,” Emily called as she cuffed the unsub.
“I’m barely flirting,” you replied, leaning a little more into Spencer just to be a menace. “Let the woman have her trauma bonding.”
Hotch sighed from somewhere near the doorway. “Let’s get her out of here before she drives us all insane.”
Spencer’s arm stayed around you even as he walked you out. The sunlight hit your face, and you winced, then immediately leaned into him again. Maybe you didn’t need the support, but you sure as hell weren’t going to waste the moment.
“So,” you said softly, “you missed me?”
He chuckled. “You were gone for three hours.”
You smiled. “Admit it. That was the worst three hours of your life.”
He didn’t answer right away. Just tightened his hold a little, letting it speak for him.
Yeah. You were definitely going to milk this for all it was worth. Especially when he insisted you stay with him that night.
Spencer’s apartment was… exactly what you expected. Books lined every wall. Some were stacked in leaning towers like paper skyscrapers. A chessboard sat mid-game near the window. The place was warm, in that “lives alone but makes tea for two” kind of way.
You flopped onto his couch with zero hesitation, legs kicking up as you groaned dramatically. “If I never see rope again, it’ll be too soon.”
Spencer hovered awkwardly by the door, keys still in hand, like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with you now that he had you.
“Are you… okay?” he asked finally, stepping closer.
You looked over your shoulder at him, feigning offense. “Reid. I was kidnapped, threatened, manhandled—and you’re asking if I’m okay? After you made me sleep on this crime-against-furniture of a couch instead of your bed?”
His eyes went wide. “Wait—I didn’t make you sleep here. You didn’t even ask to—”
You burst into a laugh. “Relax, Doctor. I’m teasing. Unless you’re offering.”
His ears turned pink again. You were starting to consider it a competitive sport.
“You should eat something,” he said quickly, trying to change the subject. “I have, um… crackers?”
You raised a brow. “Crackers? Wow, what a luxurious meal. Do you woo all your guests like this?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I wasn’t expecting guests.”
You smiled and sat up. “I’ll allow it. But only because you have very charming bookshelves.”
He gestured toward the kitchen. “Seriously, though. Want tea?”
You nodded, stretching. “As long as I don’t have to brew it myself. I’ve been through enough.”
He disappeared into the kitchen, and for a moment, you let yourself actually relax. The adrenaline was gone. The aches were settling in. And beneath it all was that heavy, quiet awareness: you could’ve died today.
Spencer returned a few minutes later with two mismatched mugs. He handed you one and sat beside you—not too close, but not far, either. He smelled like books and peppermint and something just… safe.
You sipped. “Mint chamomile? What a romantic.”
He smiled softly, eyes flicking toward yours. “You’re handling this well.”
You looked at him over the rim of your mug. “You say that like you expected me to fall apart.”
“I didn’t,” he said quickly. “I just mean… most people would still be shaken up. But you’re still making jokes.”
You set the mug down and leaned in a little. “Wanna know a secret?”
He sighed and gave an expression that read, “hit me, what is it this time.”
You lowered your voice. “I make jokes when I’m terrified.”
His brow furrowed, just a little. “So… you were scared?”
You paused, then nodded. “Of course I was. But I knew you guys would come for me. Knew you would.”
He blinked, caught off guard. “Me?”
“You didn’t exactly hide your interest in the interrogation room, genius,” you teased. “And I might’ve been unconscious when you found me, but I remember your voice. First thing I heard when I came to. Sounded really… relieved.”
A flush crept up his neck. “I was.”
Something shifted then—just a little. The air between you slowed, softened. He looked at you like you were a riddle he was afraid to solve. You looked back like you wanted to be figured out.
“Spencer,” you said softly, “can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“Are you always this gentle with people?” Your voice was quieter now. Less performative. “Or is it just me?”
His breath caught.
Then, just as quietly, he said, “It’s not just you.”
A beat.
“But it’s different with you.”
Your heart did a slow, dangerous turn.
Before either of you could say more, a roll of thunder cracked outside. Rain began tapping the windows like fingers on glass.
You sighed dramatically. “Well, now you have to let me stay the night. What kind of profiler kicks a traumatized woman out into a thunderstorm?”
He laughed under his breath. “You can stay as long as you want.”
You smiled. “Dangerous words, Reid. I might never leave.”
And for the first time since the kidnapping, something in your chest unclenched. Not just because you were safe, but because… maybe you were exactly where you needed to be.
dreameyess11
