Spencer Reid One Shots

Overreaction - Fluff

I love Matthew Gray Gubler more than I love myself and that's actually saying something because I'm wildly narcissistic

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"Ahh!" You yell, instantly ducking your head and covering it with your hands. In the process you drop the plate that was in your hands, letting it crash to pieces on the kitchen floor. The power in your apartment complex had just gone off with the storm that was raging outside, and the darkness was accompanied by a huge crack of thunder. Great. Just spectacular.

Ever since you were a kid, thunderstorms and the dark had been what frightened you most. So fine, maybe the childish fears had followed you into college, but whatever. They were perfectly reasonable fears. And it was perfectly reasonable to be freaked out when you were stuck in the dark with a storm.

Your thoughts are so clouded with worry that your hands begin to shake, and you ball your fists in attempts to stop it. Desperate to run to your bed and muffle your ears, you don't register the broken glass plate on the floor until it's too late. And of course, being the idiot you are, you cut your foot trying to scurry away.

"Fucking- oww!" You scream again, unable to help yourself. The pounding of rain is so loud you're sure it doesn't matter. The glass sliced right into the sensitive part of your arch, and you hop backwards on your good foot frantically. But before you can make a safe getaway, another roll of thunder makes the building tremble, and, scared out of your wits, you fall right onto your ass.

"Shit, that hurts!" You cuss loudly, as if that would somehow lessen the pain. It doesn't. You hold onto your foot gingerly, hating the feeling of warm and thick blood running over your fingers. To top it all off, your ass is already growing sore. How much worse can this night get?

"FBI, what's going on?" Somebody yells, and a second later you see your front door burst open. If you were still standing, you'd fall over in shock right about now. What the hell is the FBI doing at your apartment?

A slim but tall figure launches in the doorway, gun and flashlight raised. Your apartment is fairly tiny, essentially made up of three rooms - the bedroom, bathroom, and everything else. So, with the kitchen area where you're sat being close to the door, the flashlight is blaring in your face in a split second.

"Hey, are you okay?" The guy asks, much more concerned now, lowering his gun. He makes a move towards you, but you still can't see his face with the light blinding you, so you crawl backwards as fast as you can. In classic you fashion, you manage to cut open your ring finger on more glass.

"Fuck!" You screech, confused and pissed out of your mind. You bring your hand back in front of you and squeeze, the light finally being pulled off your face and clicked off. You can see the man's silhouette as he holsters his gun and flashlight, but you still can't see his face.

"What the hell?" You question, turning your fear into anger as you nurse both your finger and your foot now. The guy crouches down, and his features are finally revealed in the little bit of light still left outside streaming in your window. He's got messy brown curls shoved behind his ears, a jawline that you have to guess is even sharper than the glass plate shards, and his eyebrows are deeply furrowed.

"Are you okay?" He asks again, gentler now. You shake your head no, still in shock and fury.

"Who the hell are you? You can't just barge into someone's apartment with a gun pointed at them! That's fucking rude and terrifying! I don't give a damn if you say you're FBI, show me a badge or get the fuck out!" You demand, wound on your foot starting to throb in pain. His mouth falls open slightly, but he quickly fumbles to reach for his wallet.

"Dr. Spencer Reid, I'm an agent at the BAU, I live in the apartment above you. Are you okay?" He asks for the third time as he flashes his credentials at you. You're satisfied that he is who he says he is, faintly recognizing him from around the building. Relaxing, you sigh in pain and lean forward a little. You glance at yourself, and can barely make out your pathetic form in the dark. Plopped on your ass, hanging onto a bloody foot with a bloody hand, broken glass behind you, and tears in your eyes. Must be attractive.