For the love of god please stop tagging ur OCs in the x reader tag!!! Cos that ain’t me that’s some random ass person with a name that ain’t mine!!! And that’s not what I go in to the x reader tags looking for!!!
i feel like the youth should be reminded that the point of shipping is not for a ship to become canon. the point of shipping is to collect all the canon crumbs like starved mice, run away cackling and make some fun little scenarios with them just for the hell of it.
Warnings: kissing, some minor tension, some action, guns, case-talk, reader is in danger, no injuries, happy end, use of Y/N
Words: 2.5k
Summary: Amid a dangerous hostage situation, the reader and Spencer Reid navigate life-threatening risks, unspoken feelings, and the undeniable tension pulling them together.
The sound of gunfire erupted across the warehouse, sending my heart racing. My cover wasn’t great—a rusted-out shelving unit loaded with dusty, half-empty crates—but it would have to do.
“Spencer?” I whispered into my comms, keeping my voice low as I crouched lower.
Static buzzed in my earpiece for a moment before his voice came through. “I’m okay. Are you hurt?”
“No, but I’m pinned down,” I admitted, glancing around for a way out. “Where are you?”
“About thirty yards from the exit,” he replied. “I saw the unsub head your way. Y/N, you need to move—now.”
I could hear the panic in his voice, and it sent a fresh wave of adrenaline coursing through me.
“Copy that,” I said, swallowing hard.
I took a deep breath and peeked around the edge of the shelving unit. Sure enough, the unsub—David Malick, the leader of the trafficking ring we’d been hunting—was closing in on my position, a handgun clutched in his meaty fist.
I didn’t have much time. Without hesitating, I bolted for the next row of shelves, keeping low and zigzagging to make myself a harder target. A shot rang out, the bullet sparking off the concrete inches from my feet, but I didn’t stop.
“Y/N, are you okay?” Spencer’s voice came through the comms again, frantic this time.
“I’m fine,” I panted, sliding behind another stack of crates. “But he’s getting closer.”
I could hear Spencer muttering to himself on the other end, his rapid-fire thoughts spilling out in a barely audible stream.
“Spencer,” I interrupted, keeping my eyes trained on Malick’s shadow as it loomed closer. “I need you to tell me what to do.”
He hesitated for a fraction of a second before responding. “The shelves—look for anything heavy you can use to slow him down.”
My eyes scanned the shelves around me, landing on a precariously stacked pile of steel pipes.
“Got it,” I said, gripping the edge of the shelf and giving it a hard shove.
The pipes toppled with a deafening crash, scattering across the floor and forcing Malick to dive out of the way. I used the distraction to make a break for it, sprinting toward the far end of the warehouse.
“Spencer, where are you?” I gasped, my legs burning as I ran.
“I’m coming to you,” he said. “Just keep moving.”
I made it to a small office at the back of the warehouse, slamming the door shut behind me and shoving a filing cabinet in front of it. My hands were shaking as I drew my sidearm, the weight of it grounding me.
“Spencer, I’m in the office,” I said, pressing my back against the wall. “But I don’t know how long I can hold out.”
“I’m almost there,” he promised, his voice steadier now.
Before I could respond, the door rattled as Malick slammed into it from the other side.
“Open the door!” he bellowed, his voice full of rage.
“Not a chance,” I muttered, tightening my grip on my weapon.
The door shuddered again, the metal groaning under the force of his kicks. I could feel my pulse hammering in my ears, but I forced myself to focus.
Then, suddenly, the pounding stopped.
“Y/N?” Spencer’s voice came through the comms, softer now.
“Yeah?” I whispered.
“Trust me,” he said.
Before I could ask what he meant, the door burst open—and Spencer was there.
He moved faster than I’d ever seen, disarming Malick with a well-placed strike before slamming him against the wall. The unsub struggled, but Spencer was relentless, his movements precise and efficient.
By the time I snapped out of my daze and raised my weapon, Malick was already on the ground, cuffed and groaning.
“You okay?” Spencer asked, turning to me.
I nodded, still trying to catch my breath. “Yeah. Thanks to you.”
Later, after the rest of the team arrived and the scene was secured, Spencer and I found ourselves sitting on the back of an ambulance. The paramedics had already checked us over, and now we were just waiting for the all-clear to head back to the hotel.
“You were amazing back there,” I said, breaking the silence.
He looked up from where he’d been fiddling with the hem of his sleeve, his cheeks flushing slightly. “I just did what I had to do.”
“No, I mean it,” I insisted. “I’ve never seen you like that before. You were…impressive.”
His flush deepened, and he ducked his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks. But you were pretty impressive yourself. That move with the pipes? Genius.”
I laughed softly, the sound easing some of the lingering tension in my chest.
“Spencer,” I said after a moment, my tone more serious now. “You saved my life.”
He looked at me then, his hazel eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my breath catch.
“I couldn’t let anything happen to you,” he said quietly. “Not you.”
Something in his voice—something raw and unguarded—made my heart skip a beat.
“Spencer…”
Before I could finish, he reached out, his hand brushing against mine. The touch was gentle, almost hesitant, but it sent a jolt of electricity through me.
“I mean it,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You mean a lot to me, Y/N.”
My heart felt like it was about to burst. “You mean a lot to me too,” I admitted, my voice shaky but firm.
For a moment, we just sat there, the weight of our words hanging in the air between us. And then, slowly, tentatively, he leaned in.
It wasn’t a kiss—at least, not yet. He stopped just short, his forehead resting against mine as his breath mingled with mine.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmured.
But I didn’t.
Instead, I closed the distance, my lips brushing against his in a kiss that was soft and sweet and everything I’d ever wanted.
Hey sorry, we taken your self-destructive humour and put through the incinerator. Sorry if you wanted it back, it now longer exists, as it wasn't in our standard code of conduct booklet.
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