Spencer Reid: Oneshots

Cuffed (Literally)

Summary: After being taken in by the FBI for "assisting" a wanted trio, Reader is interrogated by Spencer.
Warning: Mentions of death, guns, kidnapping

"I'll be back in 5."

You nodded. "Wait."

"What do you need?" Harrison's tone was abrasive.

"I'm hungry..."

He groaned, undoing your handcuff. "There's probably something in the cabinet. If I see anything out of place, you know exactly what will happen." His grip tightened on the knife in his hand.

"I know," you whispered.

"I'll be back."

You swallowed, slowly walking to the pantry. Stale bread, half empty peanut butter. Good enough. You grabbed tje ingredients, pulling out a butter knife to spread the peanut butter.

"FBI!"

You jumped, clutching the knife as a swarm of SWAT officers and a few people in FBI vests burst in. "Holy—"

"DROP THE KNIFE!"

"What the hell is—"

One pointed a gun right at you. "Knife!"

"Okay! Okay!" You tossed it to the side, a lankier man moving to cuff you. "Don't fucking manhandle me! What are you doing?!"

"Arresting you for the murders of 79 people." He cuffed your wrists.

"WHAT?!"

"Shut it," another one spat.

"I didn't kill anyone! I just do the tech shit!"

"I'm sure," the other guy replied.

The door opened, everyone looking over as Harrison entered again. "Shit." He reached for his knife, a shot firing directly into his chest. You shrieked.

"Please don't shoot me!" Spencer saw something he didn't really expect to see in your eyes. Terror.

A few agents glanced at each other. "I'll take her back, you guys check out the place," the lanky one said, leading you outside.

"Is Harrison dead..?"

"Harrison? Is that his name?"

"Mhm."

"He's dead."

You nodded. "Are you gonna kill me?"

"Are you gonna give me a reason to?"

"I don't know, it's hard to tell with feds. I could reach in the direction of my pocket, and you'll shoot."

"Then I wouldn't do that."

You grimaced. "Can you at least not grip my arm so hard? You have surprisingly sharp nails." He was silent, the pain in your forearm loosening. "Thanks."

"I didn't help you."

"You were pointing a gun at my face 1 minute ago, the fact that you didn't do anything is enough to be thankful for."

"Just get in the car."

"These cuffs are making my wrist itch."

"Wow, I'm sorry. Let me just go get you some high quality silver ones."

"Aren't you a delight?"

"Sorry if my manners aren't so good when I'm literally with a serial killer."

"Again, I didn't kill anyone."

"Tell that to your defense attorney."

"That's harsh."