Spencer Reid: Oneshots

Breathe

Summary: Reader reflects on how drastically their life changed after meeting Spencer and the BAU.

How did I get here? That was a question you had been repeating to yourself for the past 9 years. 9 years, the number seemed so small in the grand scheme of one's life, but yet it felt so long.

"Y/N Y/L/N! FBI!"

Your chest tightened as you immediately dropped the gun to the floor, a bullet shooting out of the cocked gun. You jumped, tears pooling in your eyes. You shut your eyes, biting them back, as a muscular man cuffed you, aggressively shoving you out of the cabin.

You recalled how terrified you were. All those years of being so well trained at masking every micro expression, but you could hardly stop yourself from crying.

"Listen to me, Y/N." You glanced up at the stone cold man. Hotch or something. "Despite what most evidence points to, I don't believe that you're responsible for these murders. In fact, I think you know that too."

You swallowed. "I don't know..."

"You do, actually."

You glanced at your feet. "So?"

"So I offer you a deal."

"A deal? With me?"

"Yes."

"Right, what is it?"

"Help us."

You scoffed. "Why would I do that?"

"Because you know inside that you aren't a bad person, and you know that there are other people out there stuck in the very position you are. Your good nature should make you want to help them."

"And if I don't?"

"Prison. Life sentence or two, maybe death."

"Gee, that doesn't seem one sided."

"Make your choice, Y/N."

"Am I getting paid?"

"You'll be an actually agent, if that's what you're asking."

"For who..?"

"The profile we have of your captors matches what we see in sex crimes most often, so we think you'd be an excellent fit for their Quantico team."

"Deal..."

That first day was terrifying. You probably spent 3 straight days rummaging through your old wardrobe, tossing every ounce of outdated clothing to the side only to try it on again and repeat the cycle. You were strangely nervous for something you 'hadn't cared' about.

"That's her," someone whispered as you walked past.

"I still think she killed those people."

"What's a psycho doing in here?"

Each remark made your posture hunch slightly, your head pointing at the floor. Walking while looking at your feet was an awful idea, and you felt your forehead bash into something—someone. "Oh my god...I am so sorry."

"Don't worry, are you alright?"

You glanced up, moving your hair back behind your shoulders. "Yeah...you?"

He was cute. "I'm good." The man hesitated. "Are you new?"

"Oh yeah! Hi uh my name is—"