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aberrant-annie · 2 months

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Silver Linings ♡ Sam Winchester

Being duty solicitor was your least favourite bit about your 'training'. You didn't need supervision for it, which made it all the more boring. If you were with Cathy (your supervisor) then maybe, maybe, you could've enjoyed it. But no, you were stuck alone waiting.

Usually a duty solicitor would wait at home for a call that an attorney-less potential criminal was brought in who needed legal rep. But unfortunately for you, you didn't have a car. And since it was 11 at night the buses had long since stopped in this rural southern state you called home.

So you were simply sitting in the police station, waiting. Where you would wait all night. You went from being a 'hot shot' Stanford law student, to a trainee solicitor abandoned at a tiny police station.

You never wanted to go into criminal law, that was never the plan. You wanted corporate law, you wanted money, but more than anything you wanted to escape. Escape the very town that you were in right now. Escape the family that you now live with.

You kept telling yourself that maybe, just maybe, when you're fully qualified you can go to the city. But with your mothers bad health and your father out of the picture, well that wasn't really an option.

So for now you waited, and waited, and waited.

At some point between 1am and 2am you must have fallen asleep as you startled when an old, and tired, police officer shook you awake.

"Got two in for you." He said gruffly, "wanted for all sorts of stuff, we caught them grave robbin', but they're wanted for theft and murder and a whole host of stuff."

You blinked at him as his words slowly sank in.

Murder? You questioned in your head. It dawned on you that you may be sitting face to face with the people who'd been killing the young women in the town. No killing was too kind a word. They were brutally murdered their hearts ripped out.

You suddenly felt very sick, but this is what you wanted. If you were to stay in criminal law it would be beneficial to represent some prolific killers, your moral compass will survive.

"Wh-" you began but his loud and obnoxious yawn cut you off.

"Where are they?" You asked once he'd finished, trying to hide your slight terror.

"I'll show you to the interview room." He said as he walked away, jingling his keys in his hand. You followed him quickly, maybe this night wouldn't be so boring after all.

Before he opened the door, you quickly pulled your hair up into a smart updo (a quick knott) with a silver hair pin. It was your lucky charm. You've never given bad advice, lost a moot trial or failed an exam when you wore it. You weren't superstitious or anything, but you had a feeling with the two offenders you were going to face, you needed all the luck you could get.

When he unlocked the door for you, you weren't prepared for what you saw.

"Here's the file on them," the police officer said as you turned your attention back to him.

"Oh, thank you," you accepted the file as he turned to go, closing the door and subsequently locking it behind.

The two men sitting in front of you were cuffed to the table, sitting on chairs quite frankly too small for them.

They both looked unfazed by the whole process, if anything they looked annoyed, not scared or worried, just pissed.

That normally would have proved to be unusual, especially in such a town where all the offenders that walked in you knew by name. But you were shocked by something else.

Maybe you were still asleep?

This couldn't be right, surely?

There, one of the men sitting in front of you, was your old law rival. The one who pushed you to be top of your class. The only other person you knew with a full scholarship. The only person you knew that dropped out when he had so much potential.

Sam Winchester.

He dropped out after a fire killed his girlfriend, Jess, a lovely girl. Everyone thought it would be just a year out, but it wasn't. Naturally rumours circulated, but that didn't change the fact that Sam Winchester dropped out and you never saw him again.

Until now.

With several murder charges, accessory to murder, theft, robbery, burglary, identity theft, fraud, and grave robbing.

You quickly looked up and down the file as you seated yourself opposite them.

"So," you began unsure what to say, "you boys are facing a lot of charges."

Dean, Sam's older brother (you learned from the file) gave a slight laugh at your remark.

"You don't say..." He remarked. He nudged Sam slightly, to get him to laugh but he didn't. Instead he stared. He just stared at you.

"Sammy?" Dean asked, almost concerned, but more amused at his silence.

"I would say it's good to see you again Sam, but I would have rather seen you on the other side of this table." You said rather bluntly, you didn't have time for small talk, you needed them to respect you and know that you're good at your job, or at least will be when you're fully qualified.

"You know this chic?" Dean asked, eyebrows raised.

"I-" Sam began but it was clear he didn't know what to say. I could read it in his eyes, I reminded him of a past, I reminded him of a future that could have been.

"We went to Stafford together," you said avoiding both brothers' eyes, "briefly," you added, "it doesn't prove to be a conflict of interest so I'm fine to represent you further should you need it."

They both simply stared at you, then gave each other a knowing look, then they turned back to you.

You couldn't read them, well you couldn't read Dean at least. Sam looked pained, like he didn't want me to be here. But there was something else. It felt like he was sorry. Sorry for what was something you couldn't quite work out.

"So," you said, "you have quite a lengthy list of suspected felonies, most of which carry life sentences. Due to the expenses of trials if you plead guilty a deal could be made, if not you're at the mercy of a jury, and if your trial is down this way then I don't fancy your chances. Of course only plead guilty if you are."

You reeled of the standard advice, truly you weren't well versed in what to do with serious charges relying on old law school knowledge.

"Any questions?" You asked.

They looked at eachother again, Dean strangely wiggling his eyebrows at Sam. In response the younger brother just rolled his eyes.

He looked similar to how he did at school. His eyes were still hazel with hints of green, his hair was still quite long and messy, he was tall even sitting down he had an imposing quality. But there were small differences. He held himself with a tension only found in old war veterans, his hair was just uncomfortably long for him, annoying him. But the biggest difference was in his eyes, the hope and joy that he once had were replaced with fear, mistrust and a hardness you'd never seen before. He was haunted.

"What are our odds like?" Dean asked, leaning back in his chair, he was too relaxed. He wanted to be here, and you couldn't figure out why.

You studied him briefly before answering. "Not good." There was no point lying to them. "But with your track record I'm assuming you're planning to make it out before trial."

"No we're-" Sam began but you held up a hand to silence him.

"Attorney client privilege, I'm not ratting on you." You clarified, "but I'm assuming this won't be the last time you're caught, I can take care of any personal issues you need me to deal with, and I can give you my card with my contact info."

"You won't be a qualified solicitor yet will you?" Sam asked, looking you properly in the eyes for the first time.

"I will be in a month," you clarified, "I've already gotten a few deals through, good deals, I've gotten clients acquitted on a technicality which if I had ful access to your file outside of this police station I can try and find one in your case. If not I can always advise you on some 'hypothetical' situations you may find yourself in."

He looked at you, really looked at you, if you didn't know any better you would say he looked proud.

But you did know better. Sam Winchester was never your friend. He was barely your acquaintance. The only reason you knew him was because of a sort of academic rivalry you shared. You pushed on another to do better. Until you couldn't. He dropped out. You stayed. And your mind hadn't thought about him since.

Well, you didn't think about him often at least.

"Thank you," he said with almost a whisper.

"You know you're the best lawyer we've had," Dean began, "most act like we did all that shit and have no reason to be treated like people."

"It doesn't matter what I think, being 'guilty' doesn't mean you're morally innocent, just legally."

Dean looked at you, slightly confused by your remark.

"God, you sound like professor Williamson." Sam laughed, breaking a slightly awkward silence.

"I mean he was my fav..." you said almost shyly. To say he was your favourite was an understatement, he was basically like a father to you. He was like that with Sam as well.

When Sam left, it left a hole in Williamson's heart. A whole that you don't think was ever really filled.

"He would've been everyone's favourite if he didn't give people 1000 essays." Sam laughed, reminiscing on your shared school time.

"The essays were fun." You commented, catching the role of Dean's eyes in your peripheral vision.

"I mean yeah," he agreed, "but most people don't like essays."

"Well most people didn't get an academic scholarship." You countered.

"We were the only two." He said almost solemnly and that look of mourning what his future could have been was back on his face.

You kept your last remark inside, choosing not to open an already newly exposed wound.

When you graduated top of your class they mentioned how you were the only one of the law cohort to get a full ride. Sam, to faculty members, was a distant memory. Well he was to everyone but professor Williamson.

They gave tributes to Jess at your graduation but not Sam. It was like he never existed. Like he was never there. It hurt like hell. But what hurt even more was that no one seemed to notice. Sam was an old story, the boy whose life got flipped on its head after his girlfriend died in a freak accident.

"Not that I don’t like this trip down memory lane but..." Dean gestured towards the clock behind me. I turned, it was nearing 3am, the time all the young girls had been murdered.

As I turned back towards them, they pulled away from each other it was clear that they were whispering.

"Do you want to share with the class?" You asked, concerned at the sudden change of atmosphere with the brothers.

"How old are you?" Dean asked, rather bluntly.

You thought about giving a remark about how people should never ask a lady's age but thought better of it given the strange change in atmosphere.

"Twenty-five." You said, slightly concerned.

Sam quirked an eyebrow confused, Dean looked worried.

"I skipped two grades," you quickly explained, "why?"

"She's the same age as the others," Dean commented.

Sam nodded, slightly panicked now.

You knew they were talking about the young women being killed. And you could tell that they weren't the murderers. That being said, it begged the question, who was it?

"Are you going to tell me what relevance this has given your current situation?"

"Well-" Sam began but was cut off by a police officer opening the door.

"Miss, are you okay here?" A young-ish police officer stuck his head in the room, his eyes fixing on you. You squirmed in your seat, his eyes made you go cold.

"Excuse me, officer?" You questioned as you stood up and turned to face the police officer.

"Smith." He gave you his last name.

"Officer Smith, in case you aren't aware of correct procedure here you don't interrupt meetings with council, there are strict confidentiality rules in place. Now leave and I won't report you to your superior, open this door without my permission again and I'll see you fired." You told him bluntly. For some reason there was a lot of activity for 3 in the morning.

He lingered, eyes roaming over you, a wolfish glint in his eyes. "I was informing you that i'm the only officer on shift so if you need anything come to me." Then with a curt nod he closed the door.

When you turned back around Sam and Dean were mouthing indistinct words to one another.

"What?" You asked, worrying more and more by the second.

"We're sorry to do this," Sam said.

You looked at him confused for a moment before you realised what had happened.

The cuffs were off.

In the time you had your back to them they had managed to silently pick the locks, without you or the officer realising.

You looked Sam in the eyes, he looked genuinely sorry but strangely determined.

No.

No. No. No.

Your mind raced, they couldn't could they?

You'd been so ready to help them, so prepared to take an outlandishly bold case. And this is what happens.

"Officer Smith!" You cried as loud as you could.

"Shit, shit, shit," Dean grumbled, "not him jesus christ you'd think you'd want to die, we don't even have any silver 'round here!"

Just as you were about to start questioning things the door burst open to your relief.

Thank god there was an officer to deesculate the situation. You were so relieved. You felt lighter, you felt relief.

Relief that lasted mere seconds as when you turned to face the officer, your supposed rescuer, it wasn't who or rather what you thought it would be.

It wasn't officer Smith, although the creature that stepped out bore an uncanny resemblance to him.

His nails were now sharp, long claws, he now had fangs and eyes resemble those of a wolf rather than of a man.

Your heart dropped.

"Any bright ideas sammy?" Dean asked as he pushed you and Sam into a corner.

"Not unless you have any silver." Sam replied, it was clear his mind was racing at 100 miles an hour.

"What the hell do you need silver for?!" You questioned as you were hiding in a corner behind Sam.

"Silver kills werewolves." Sam explained, surprisingly calm.

"Werewolves?!" You exclaimed, it felt like your whole world was falling to pieces in front of you. "You're saying that he's a werewolf?!"

"Yeah, which is why we really need silver or we're all dead." You were shocked at the bluntness of his response, however you were more shocked at the fact that he knew so much about werewolves. And words didn't even begin to explain how utterly confused, shocked and down right bewildered you were that werewolves actually existed. You wouldn't have believed him if it wasn't for your impending doom.

Suddenly an idea struck you.

You looked at Sam in the eyes. "And what, you just stab it with the silver and they're dead?"

"That's the gist of it, yeah."

You heard a loud smack as Dean collided with the wall.

Just as you were about to begin talking once more, the werewolf, officer smith, made its move to where you and Sam stood.

Sam put himself between you and the creature, his arm lingering on your shoulder.

"You're not getting to her." Sam almost growled at the beast ahead.

Adrenaline coursed through your veins. You had one shot not to die.

Officer Smith just laughed and easily threw Sam aside, leaving only you in the officer's wake.

"Don't take this personally," The creature said as it stalked towards you, trapping you against the wall, his clawed hand reaching up to you.

Suddenly, you pulled the silver pin out of your hair, clutching it in your hand like a knife, "it feels pretty personal." You commented before driving the makeshift weapon into his heart.

He looked at you pained, you could see the life fading from his eyes. Then he fell. A loud thud. He was dead.

Your hands shook. What had you just done? You had killed a man. No, not a man, a werewolf.

If those are real, then what else is out there that you thought was only folklore?

"Shit." Dean commented, slightly impressed, pulling himself up from the floor, "You could have told me, Sammy, that your law school buddy was badass."

You were still frozen on the spot, staring at the officer that lay dead on your feet. The police officer that you'd killed.

"Hey," you felt Sam's hands come to rest on either side of your face, you must not have noticed him getting up, he gently turned your face so that your eyes met his. "You're okay, you saved mine and Dean's life, you saved your own life."

All you could do was nod.

"He wasn't human," he said solemnly, "he was never going to stop killing, you did the right thing even though it doesn't feel like it, you did the right thing. I'm proud of you."

You nodded again, this time a question bubbled in your throat.

"If he's a werewolf, then...?" You trailed off uncertainty.

"Do you really want to know?" Sam asked, his gaze unwavering, he knew what you wanted to ask and him holding back gave you the terrifying confirmation you needed.

"I-" you began but stopped. You needed to know. You were in this world now whether you wanted to be or not, ignorance wouldn’t save you now. "yes."

Sam took a sharp intake of breath and nodded.

"It's all real, everything that you're told is just your imagination, or just stories or folklore; all of it is real." He said with such confidence you had no choice but to believe him. "That's why I left school, I had to come back to this life."

His statement seemed to knock the air out of you. So much information was swimming in your head at once.

"It wasn't an accident with Jess then? Something killed her, didn't it?"

"Yes."

"What..."

"A demon."

The information hit you like a truck, the only thing that's keeping you sane was Sam's hands on your face. His hands that steadied you. His hands that sorted out your hair. His hands that grounded you. Him, Sam, that gave you the strength to do what was necessary.

You had to focus now. You had to sort out the mess at your feet. You needed a plan.

"Okay," you almost whispered, Sam probably wouldn't have heard you if his eyes weren't fixed on your face, your lips.

"We need to sort this out," you said, gesturing to the body on the floor and stealing yourself against the development of your night. Your volume and confidence growing. "There are no cameras here due to attorney client privileges, so the narrative is ours to shape. If you lock me in these cuffs I can be hysterical when someone comes, say you broke out and he tried to protect me but failed, you took my hair pin as a makeshift weapon and stabbed him, and then you both locked me up and ran." You nodded and the narrative came together logically and coherently, they would have no reason for you to lie given what you'd just gone through. Or allegedly went through.

"Why didn't we just kill you?" Dean asked, pointing out a key flaw in the plan.

You paused briefly thinking.

"You didn't kill me because Sam remembered me and thought to spare my life." You said quietly, "It shows some humanity, which would help if for some reason you both ever went to trial."

"Okay anything else?" Sam asked, his hands still lingering on you.

"You took your file with you as well so you know everything the police have on you and you went and collected your stuff from the storage lockers which officer smith had the keys for." You concluded hinting at them as to what their next steps are.

The pair of them just looked at you stunned, Sam's hands falling from your face.

"Yeah, good plan." Dean looked you up and down, "I'll go and grab our stuff. Sammy, sort our lawyer out."

Dean bent down and took the keys from Smith's lifeless body and began walking down the hallways, whistling as he went. This was just another day in the office to him.

"You sure you want to do this?" Sam asked, "you'll face a lot of questions, you might slip up, today's been a lot I don't want to put you through anymore."

He was worried about you. Worried that this would be pinned on you. Worried that he just threw your life off course, just like what happened to him.

"I'll be fine Sam really." You assured him, "It's you I'm more worried about, I'm assuming this constitutes as your 'day job'?"

"Yeah, it's the family business." He said gesturing sarcastically around him, "saving people, hunting things."

"Must be tough, no connections just always on the run, basically alone." You looked at him uncertainly.

He avoided his gaze as he spoke. "I've got Dean and there is a good network of hunters."

"Hunters?" You questioned.

"People like us." He clarified.

"How is there a whole side of the world I didn’t even know about?" You said almost to yourself rather than to Sam.

"Most people don't." His reassuring words didn't do much to ease your mind.

"You said there's a 'good network' that implies that quite a few people do know."

A silence fell over the pair of you, which Sam took upon himself to break in a slightly awkward manner.

"Speaking of hunters..." He trailed off.

"What?" You asked, raising an eyebrow, "Think I should switch professions?" You mellow dramatically flexed your muscles causing Sam to laugh.

"No, no," he laughed, "Don't get me wrong you'd make a brilliant hunter but I'd rather not have to worry about you getting hurt."

His words sent a warm rush through your body. He would be worried about you.

"What is it then?" You asked.

"Well, a lot get caught by cops for murder and such when they actually just saved people's lives, since you're a solicitor"

"Not yet." You lightly corrected him.

"You're almost a qualified a solicitor," he amended, giving you a poignant look, "I was wondering if...." He trailed off uncertainly.

You filled in the blanks from his silence. He wanted you to be there contact. He wants to give you an expansive country wide clientele. He wanted to give you the freedom to escape while also being able to be there for your family. He was giving you your life on a silver platter.

"Past my details on, I'd be happy to do my bit." You say, a genuine smile passing your lips.

"Great, thanks." It was his turn to smile now. "I'll pass them onto this guy called Bobby. He kinda manages a lot of people in a way, everyone goes to him for advice and such, he'll get your contact information distributed." He explained rather quickly, almost awkward and self conscious in his cadence.

"Yeah, thanks."

"Thank you."

A silence fell over you both.

"I suppose I'd better erm..." Sam used his head to gesture to the cuffs of the table.

"Oh yeah," you laughed slightly, blush creeping up your neck, this whole situation was quite absurd.

The pair of you walked over to the table and you sat down. Somehow it now felt awkward between the two of you.

He gently placed your hands in the cuffs and tightened them. Then secured the cuffs so that you couldn't move. "You might be here a few hours I don't know when another officer will arrive I'm really sorry-"

You cut him off by grabbing his hand with your cuffed one. "Don't worry, I'll be fine." You reassured him, not quite ready to let go of his hand quite yet.

He gave your hand a gentle squeeze, "I'll call you as soon as I can so that way you have my number, okay?"

It was clear that neither of you wanted to leave this moment in the past, but with time being of the essence in Sam's case you both knew he couldn't stay here much longer.

"Okay." You confirmed with a nod of your head.

You both stilled. Hands still intertwined.

"Right well I... I'd better go." Sam said unconvincingly, lingering with his hand in yours for just a few more stolen seconds before he pulled away and walked towards the exit.

"Sam?" You said his name like a question, a prayer. You didn't want him to go. To leave you alone. You were scared. Or at least you knew you would be. With Sam here you felt safe, you felt a warmth around you. You didn't want to lose that, not just yet.

Sam wasted no time turning around when you called his name, waiting for you to speak again.

"Don't disappear from my life again."

A smile crept up his face that he tried to hide. It was his turn for his cheeks to turn a light shade of pink.

"Don't worry, I have no intentions of doing that." He walked back towards you, and held your hands again, "I promise."

His eyes were trained on yours, his beautiful eyes. They roamed your face for a moment, as if trying to commit every detail of you into memory. Then they lingered on your lips.

You felt your breath hitch as he leaned closer to you. His eyes quickly looked into yours for a split second as if to ask 'is this okay?' All you could do in response was nod.

And that's all he needed. You felt your eyes flutter shut as his lips gently and tentatively pressed against your own.

You felt yourself falling, more and more and more.

He pulled away all too soon. "I promise to call," he said as he pressed another quick kiss to your lips, it lasted only a split second but it was enough to send your head spinning once more.

As he made his way to the door he turned and gave you one final look before he disappeared from view.

The warmth that you felt lingered as you pressed your cuffed hands to your lips. Sam Winchester had just kissed you, twice. The very Sam Winchester who's currently wanted. At this moment you should have been thinking about the disastrous consequences of being caught, or the devastating news that monsters were actually real. However, all you could think about was his lips on yours and his promise that he would call. His promise that you knew he'd never break.

Who knew this night wouldn't turn out to be so boring after all? Maybe there was a silver lining being a duty solicitor.

♡♡♡

A/n: I started off using brittish law then, I just made it fit to the plot lmao, but one things for sure it's definitely not correct in terms of us law but it's fine...

Wc: 4.8k

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aberrant-annie · 2 months

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The Benders

Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader

Criminal Minds x Supernatural

Summary: A new case came to you thanks to the Winchesters, it’s now your job to help the BAU profile the case.

Content warning: Murder case description, Bossy Hotchner.

There was once again that peg in your chest after the Winchesters figured out that their case it’s not about monsters, sometimes it makes you nauseous to know how fucked up this world is, this wasn’t the brother's case anymore, it was yours, or at least for you to figure to whom to pass it, Which FBI department is the right one? You knew the answer, You always knew the answer, that’s your job.

“What do we think?“ Dean said, walking with you around the house. “Can you do something for Officer Kathleen?” You nodded

“If she has my back with the story nothing can go wrong.” You assured him while wrinkling your nose in disgust inspecting the kitchen. “These people are vile, crazy, and disgustingly vile, worse than monsters.”

Every single item in the house was bizarre and heinous. You coughed as you felt sick to your stomach.

“Talking about crazy, what do we do with the little girl?” Sam said, peeping his head into the kitchen.

“Do not let her out, I will handle her later.” The look both brothers sent you made you roll your eyes. “Not like that, don’t be ridiculous, she is a girl.”

“She almost has Dean’s ass.” Sam reminded you.

“Like it’s hard.”

“Excuse me? You’re saying I’m weak?” The older brother said while crossing his arms.

“No, sluttish.” A big smirk invaded your face as you walked downstairs, headed to the basement of the house with the brothers following your lead.

“You think you are so funny.” You heard him mumble behind you.

“I know I am.” And just like that your smile was erased, looking at the horrors this family caused, and all of those heavy feelings rushed back, the horror, the fear, the lack of hope. You got out of that basement as fast as you could.

After five minutes of heavy overthinking and walking in circles on the muddy field, you decided to call one of the only phone numbers you know by heart.

“Hotch.” You heard in the other line when he picked up the phone at the second ring.

“Hey Hotch, it’s me once again, it’s not an easy one, you might need the whole team in here, We need a profile although it’s our case, it’s foggy and the bureau needs your approval.” You said with a heavy breath while rubbing the back of your head, which is exactly where your stress likes to hit.

If Aaron was being honest with himself after your two first words, he knew it was a difficult one, even if he didn’t know what you just faced, or what you’ve been doing, he still heard you were exhausted and that was enough for him to make a peculiar gesture for Rossi so he could arrange their next flight on the jet for him, so Rossi could tell it was a “You emergency”.

“Where are you? Are you okay?” Those were the only words he could manage to say, you know he cares about you, but hearing his concern was selfishly comforting.

“Yeah.” You said in a whisper. “Yeah, yeah of course, I’m okay, Umm I’m in Minnesota, Hibbing Minnesota, the Sheriff is waiting for the team already.” He knows you are lying, you know he does, he’s a profiler for the love of good.

“We are on our way, we’ll be there in two hours, Does that sound ok?”

“It does, thank you Hotch, I’ll be waiting for you.” A sense of rephrasing urgency came to you and you don’t even know why. Was that the right way to talk to your team leader?

“Of course” He simply said. “Does Penelope already have all the information?”

“Yep, I bet she’s already in the debrief room all settled.” All Aaron needed was to turn around to see the whole team gathered in the room. “Am I right as always, Aaron?” Hotch could hear your bubbly self coming out again and that was a relief for him, it meant you’ll be fine, at least until the next case.

“Don’t push your luck, See you soon.” That was the last thing he said to you before hanging up the phone and greeting his team.

The team didn’t know what your job was, they didn’t fully understand why you had to leave the office to find new cases, and once you found them, why you needed Hotch with such urgency, they knew better than to question him about it when it comes to you, The only two people who knew what was going on were Rossi and Hotch, not even Strauss was trusted with the big secret, maybe that was the reason why she hated Hotch that much.

—

“Hey, it’s your boyfriend coming?” You heard a voice beside you ask.

“One, Hotch isn’t my boyfriend, he's my team leader. Two, the BAU is on their way, so maybe you two shouldn’t be in the same city when they arrive, Dean.” You said while crossing your arms and looking directly at him.

“Isn't it funny how I didn’t even say his name and you already know who I am talking about? Cause it’s funny to me.” He implied with his characteristic smile and eyebrow move, while you rolled your eyes at him. “Don’t worry sweetheart we will be out of your hair.” The brothers left a kiss on your head as they said their goodbyes before leaving the place.

The Winchesters were family friends, it all started when John was on your Dad’s radar, and instead of arresting John, he helped him hunt a creature, that day their friendship began, and once in a while when they were in Virginia, your parents were happy to take care of Dean and little Sammy, it was easy because Dean was a well-behaved boy and Sam was your same age so he would play with you all day long, and before your father got retired from the BAU, he sent you to the FBI’s academy so he could trusted you with his job, in that way every time a Winchester job was humankind, you could step in and take their case.

—

After two and a half hours, you heard a familiar SUV engine sound and the first person to exit the vehicle was Aaron, with his sunglasses and typical stoical expression. He approached you hurriedly, and you could feel his gaze looking for any wounds.

“You know, I hate having to call you for this, but when I see you arrive, that’s when I know my job is totally worth it.” You said with a flirty smile while leaning over the fence of the house.

“Behave, please.” Hotch said although for a split second, you saw a little grin on his lips break into his composed self. Hotch was used to your flirting, he didn’t mind as long as you didn’t compromise him in front of the whole team.

“Sure thing, Boss.” You tilted your head to see Rossi coming out of the vehicle and smiled at him as he walked closer to greet you. “Well, I guess it’s here when it gets serious.”

“Not that you try anyway.” Rossi emphasized. “No survivors aside from the officer?” Rossi said while arching a brow. The question made you chuckle a little.

“Wrong question, Dave, You do know that hiding that information from you is kind of my whole job description, right?” You placed your hand on your hip while smirking at him with a hint of sassiness. But before Rossi could reply to your comment, Hotch interrupted.

They know about supernatural creatures, but they don’t know from whom you get the information, you have the feeling that if they get to find out someday, the Winchesters will be in jail in a heartbeat.

“Can you walk us through the case?” Hotch asked.

“Absolutely, but let me warn you, this is going to be a bad walk, like walking with high heels on grass, and your heel gets stuck and gets dirty, kind of walk.” Both men looked at you confused and you sighed. “A family of hunters, they’ve been hunting humans like wild animals for years, only once or twice a year though, victims of opportunity, mostly males but I don’t think they have any preference.”

“What makes you say that?” Hotch asked with a frown

“There are trophies everywhere, cars, hair, chandeliers made out of bones, teeth, photos, and when Officer Kathleen came, they were getting ready for another hunt.”

You walk through the house with both men following your pace, as you watch the forensic team analyze the evidence.

“No found bodies.” You finish your speech looking directly at the kitchen.

Both men nodded and looked back at the files in their hands.

“So they made a sloppy move that got them caught?” Rossi inquired with an arched brow.

“The sons did, they got out of hand, the thrill was too much and they wanted more, they never had police presence before.”

“Well, we should move to the station, Rossi will wait here for Spencer and Morgan.” You nodded and pulled your keys out of your pocket.

“You’re riding with me.” Hotch wasn’t fazed at your questioning look and took the keys out of your hands handing them to Rossi.

Although your head was spinning with questions and a sense of annoyance, your body followed Hotch to the interior of his car.

“Why?”

“Because I say so.”

“That’s not reason enough, and you know that” You heard Hotch muffled a sound. “Is this because of what you promised to my father? Because is absurd, I’m fine.”

“It has nothing to do with that, I know when to pull one of my agents out of the field when is needed, you need air and probably a little bit of sugar, you’re pale.”

You open up your mouth to argue back, but Hotch's words beat you to it.

“And No, I’m not saying you can’t handle things, but you need a break.” You only nodded and let out a heavy sigh. “Here.”

“It’s not funny when you don't let me argue back, but thanks.” You said after taking the chocolate bar Hotch was offering you.

The ride to the police station was silent and comfortable, and once you had already eaten something after almost twelve hours, Hotch could see how the color of your face came back.

“Hey.” JJ greeted you with a tight hug when she saw you coming down the hallway. “I went to talk with the little girl.” Your smile dropped.

“Did the girl say something back at the hospital?” JJ thought she saw a sign of relief written on your face when she answered with a “No” But decided against bringing it up.

“Although she said something about wanting to kill the man with pretty eyes.” If Hotch hadn’t been paying incredibly close attention to you, he would’ve missed how your eyes hardened for a second, just in time to change it to a confused look before JJ noticed.

“How peculiar.” You said. “However she is mad as a hatter, I mean why would she lock herself in a closet back there.”

You heard Hotch call your name with a scolding tone, but you brushed it off and went straight ahead to the station kitchen to get a needed cup of coffee. And after a couple of minutes, you felt a big figure by your side, leaning on the kitchen counter.

“The less she knows, the better.” You brought the cup to your lips while glaring at him. “If the report and the witnesses don’t match my story, they are going to think I’m hiding something.”

“You are hiding something.” He dryly said and frowned at you looking actually offended.

“I’m camouflaging the truth.” You try to explain earning a stern look from Hotch. “Let me handle the interviews, I don’t enjoy lying to my team.”

“I know, they’re finishing their profiles, and going back to Quantico tonight.” He informed you, distracted by your scrunched face displeased at the taste of bitter coffee. “I’m staying with you.”

“Aww, aren’t you a sweet one?”

“ To do the interviews, it’s our job.” He immediately said, earning a roll of eyes from you.

“Right, you can’t let a woman dream, can you?”

He smirked a little and shook his head, analyzing your unconcern attitude, Hotch scans over your form struggling with making your coffee taste good.

“There’s no way that a fifth spoon of sugar makes that taste good.” He said dryly.

“Well, I don’t hear you coming up with solutions, Boss.”

“There’s a coffee shop nearby, my treat.” You shoot him a smile and follow him back to the car without another word being said.

~~~

After three long days doing interviews and trying to get the story together, you and Hotch got the chance to sleep a couple of hours before your flight back to Quantico. And when you thought you were about to fall asleep, you woke up hearing the ringing of your cell phone making you jump scared by the sound, and answer immediately without looking at the caller ID.

“You have to tell me everything.” An excited and squeaky voice greeted you.

“Penelope I’m about to kill you right now if you don’t let me go back to sleep.”

“Oh please, I heard he smiled at you.” She insisted.

“What? No, it was a lip spasm, now bye.”

“No, no, JJ said he smiled at you.” And you felt that maybe you were about to kill two agents now.

“Oh God, just let me go.”

“No, no, details.”

“Bye, good night.”

“No, no.”

“Adiós, hasta luego.”

But that night you slept with a smile on your face, thinking about how Hotch had a soft spot for you and you weren’t the only one noticing, and maybe just maybe, you are his favorite member of the team.

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aberrant-annie · 2 months

Note

I'll send a request for Dean first and later I'll send it about Sam. Because I have had this for a while.

Dean basically raised Sam, and took care of Sammy, and I think about this idea of the reader taking care of Dean while is sick, showing that Dean deserves to be cared for and loved too.

Sorry if it's confusing English isn't my first language.

🍉

Tender Care

Pairing : Dean Winchester X reader

Word count : 1.1k

Warnings: none

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO COPY MY WORK, TRANSLATE IT OR POST IT TO ANY OTHER PLATFORM. REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED.

The bunker was wrapped in a calm stillness, there was nothing to do. Sam, Dean and Y/n came back from a hunt the night before and there were no potential hunts either. Y/n was in the library, dusting off the dirt that had accumulated on the further shelves, when Dean entered the open space with a mug of coffee in his hand. He didn’t speak, just took a seat on one of the chairs and admired his girl quietly.

The quiet of the bunker was broken by the sound of a loud sneeze. Y/n turned to look at Dean as he muttered a little ‘excuse me’. She nodded before going back to her work. She shrugged it off as a result of the dust filling his nostrils. He didn’t think much of it either.

Until a few hours later, he was sneezing constantly and his head felt heavy. His eyes were burning. His body felt weak and he felt cold. He groaned as the realisation dawned upon him, he was sick. He hated being sick. He pushed the thought aside and went into the garage to work on his Baby. Not before informing Y/n.

Y/n was in the kitchen preparing lunch when Dean entered the kitchen. She noticed something was odd in the way he walked. His nose was little red and so were his eyes.

“I’ll be in the garage if you need me.” He informed her. She noticed the change in his voice too. It was hoarse. She placed both of her hands on her hips and she observed him closely.

“Dean Winchester.” Was all he said and Dean looked like a deer caught in the headlights. He hated when she went full mother hen on him. And he knew it was coming. She took a step closer to him and touched his forehead with the back of her hand. “You’re burning up and you want to play mechanic?” She reprimanded him like a child. “Bed. Now.” It wasn’t a request. It was an order. And he was no fool to defy her orders when it came to this. He knew she would drag his ass to bed and chain him to the bed if needed.

“Yes ma’am.” Truth is, he could barely stand. He just wanted to distract himself by tinkering with Baby. But he could feel his illness coming to hit him with full force. She guided him towards their room with careful steps and laid him on the bed. She helped him out his jeans, getting him more comfortable and covered him with a blanket as she felt him shiver slightly.

“I’ll you bring some soup.” Y/n said but he grabbed her hand, stopping her from leaving.

“Don’t go.” He whined like a child which brought a smile to her face. He was cute when he wasn’t being all grumpy and a badass hunter. But he’s her grumpy badass hunter.

“I won’t be gone long, De.” She cooed at him lovingly. “I’ll get you some medicine too. I’ll be back before you know it.” She promised and he nodded reluctantly.

True to her word, Y/n came back fairly quickly. She had a tray in her hands which consisted of a soup bowl, a glass of water and some painkillers for him.

He laid in bed, looking pale and tired. His face was flushed from the fever, and he occasionally shivered despite being wrapped in blankets. A pile of used tissues sat beside him, evidence of his persistent coughing and sneezing. His nose was red and stuffy, making it hard for him to breathe comfortably. He felt weak and achy, with a dull headache adding to their discomfort.

She set the tray on the nightstand before sitting on the bed beside him. She pushed his hair away from his head. “Cmon baby, I brought you food.” She caressed his cheek gently and he closed his eyes leaning into her touch. “Dean.” She urged him to sit up. He sat up slightly and she adjusted the pillow behind him so he could be comfortable. She grabbed the bowl from the tray, she took a spoonful of soup and blew on it before feeding him.

Dean didn’t want to admit it but he liked being pampered by her. Even if meant getting sick sometimes. He hated being sick. All his life he had to deal with his sickness on his own. Even when he was a child. He took care of Sammy even when he was sick. And when Sam got sick he did everything in his power to get him better. Sometimes he wished, someone would do the same for him.

And when Y/n came into his life, she always took care him. She cared for him in more ways than one. Whether it was patching him after hunts, making sure he ate and slept adequately and taking care of him when he was sick. Sometimes he felt he was taking advantage of her kindness, that he didn’t deserve to be treated with such gentleness but she always assured him she loved him and felt happy taking care of him.

After the bowl of empty she passed him the tablet and he downed it with water. She helped him lay back and tucked him in the blankets. She got up from the bed but his voice stopped her. “Where are you going?” She placed a soft kiss on his forehead.

“Nowhere.” She replied getting up from the bed and turning the lights off. She rounded the bed and got into bed, laying beside him. He immediately rested his head on her chest and she started massaging his head. “Feeling any better?” She asked scratching his head lightly. He just hummed in response. He becomes a baby when he’s sick.

“Man, I hate being sick.” He mumbled after a few seconds of silence. He snuggled closer to her.

“It’s okay baby. I’ll nurse you back to health.” She replied holding him.

“Can you wear the sexy nurse outfit while you do it?” He grinned against her chest and she shook her head with a chuckle.

“Feeling better already, I see.” She remarked noticing he’s back to his flirty self. “Go to sleep, Winchester.”

“Yes ma’am.”

When Dean woke up he felt much better. His head wasn’t hurting anymore and his fever has subsided. And Y/n was still by his side. “Hey how’re you feeling?”

“Much better. Thank you for taking care of me.” He said throwing his arm around her waist pulling her closer.

“I’m just glad you feel better.”

With a content sigh, he pulled her into a gentle embrace, and they held each other, feeling the warmth of their closeness, as they enjoyed the simple comfort of each other’s presence.

Tags:

@spnfamily-j2 @galway-girlatwork @deangirl96 @queensilber

@s0urw00lf @monkey-d-hoshizora98 @deans-baby-momma @fullbelieverheart

@riah1606 @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @hobby27

@starkleila @suckitands33 @m3ntally-unstable @kanekilovelove-blog @candy-coated-misery0731

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aberrant-annie · 2 months

Text

Fallen Angels

do not repost or edit

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aberrant-annie · 2 months

Photo

Love is awful. It’s awful! It’s painful! It’s frightening. It makes you doubt yourself, judge yourself, distance yourself from the other people in your life. It makes you selfish. It makes you creepy, makes you obsessed with your hair, makes you cruel, makes you say and do things you never thought you would do! It’s all any of us want, and it’s hell when we get there. So no wonder it’s something we don’t want to do on our own. I was taught if we’re born with love then life is about choosing the right place to put it. People talk about that a lot, feeling right, when it feels right it’s easy. But I’m not sure that’s true. It takes strength to know what’s right. And love isn’t something that weak people do.

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aberrant-annie · 3 months

Text

Memories of Days Gone By - Spencer Reid

Summary: Spencer has never understood having a cluttered desk at work. Then you start at the BAU, and he's forced to share a desk with the least desk-tidy person in the whole FBI. Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader Word count: 3.1k Warnings: none, except talk of reader getting shot a/n: woah, outerspacebisexual actually writing instead of just reblogging post about writing? crazy Masterlist

Spencer always thought that having personal mementos in the workplace was weird.

Maybe it came from his mother, whose desk was always so cluttered she could barely place anything down without something else falling off. He could—as with everything else—vividly remember sitting in her office chair, spinning in around and around in circles, watching his framed toothy six-year-old-self flying past him again and again and again.

She never swapped out that photo, even when he got older and his round, chubby face became angular with his teen years. Not when he graduated high school, or college, or college again. In fact, he knew for certain that photo still sat on his mother’s bedside table. So you’re always here with me, she’d said on one of her good days. And even though most of the time she had no idea who the tiny child with thick frames was, she still traced a finger down the side of the glass before bed.

When Spencer first joined the BAU, he’d made a point to ensure his desk was cleared every hour. Empty coffee cups, old files, shredding, sticky notes; after one hour, it all went. That way he could ensure that everything got done.

And that same habit continued for years, until you showed up.

Hi, you’d said on your first day, sticking out your hand and smiling wide. Looks like we’re desk buddies.

He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. The desk had belonged to Emily before you got there, and the idea of looking up and seeing you was just another reminder that he’d lost her.

He was nice to you, of course. You hadn’t done anything wrong. You’d simply taken a job opening from the ballistics unit to the BAU. It wasn’t your fault that his dead friend’s desk was now yours.

At first, he noticed how you had a habit of leaving empty coffee cups on your desk, choosing to get another one rather than reuse the one already on your desk. It wasn’t a problem. There were plenty of mugs in the kitchen. But when your chair hit your desk, they chimed together, and the noise set him on edge.

He left it alone for the first month.

But then came the files.

Files piled up on your desk---not in neat piles marked ‘Complete’ and ‘Incomplete’ like his—just spread out across the surface in every direction and orientation. And as the week went on, more and more were added until there was no discernible way to tell which had been done and which hadn’t. This led to you having to leaf through folder after folder until you found the one you were looking every day.

Spencer had been tempted to say something one week when he’d watched you out of the corner of his eye search for a file for fifteen minutes. You’d found it right as he opened his mouth, spinning in your chair and heading straight for Garcia’s office. Spencer had sat and stared at the mountain of manila folders then entire time you were gone, thinking to himself, How could you put up with this?

How could you deal with having to fight with your desk at every second of the day just to find something? The idea of it made him want to throw up. Not that his apartment was any better, he knew that. But there was a difference between work and home. Home was allowed to be messy and cluttered, full of the rest of your life outside of work. Work was work. It depended on being able to obtain information quickly and efficiently—not after ten minutes of rooting around.

Hey, Reid? you’d asked one afternoon. Have you seen that Milwaukee case file?

Which one?

The consult one? With the three missing girls?

He tried his best not to roll his eyes. I think you put it down on the edge of your desk.

You spun and rifled through the stack, grinning when you held it up. You’re a genius, you know that?

Pursing his lips, he said, Believe it or not, I do.

Spencer might’ve been bad at reading social clues, but he wasn’t an idiot. He knew that you were just trying to be nice and start a conversation, but he reached over and lifted the phone to his ear, pretending not to notice the way your face fell. You quietly turned back to your computer and opened the file.

A week later, you tried again. Reid, do you want coffee?

No, he answered quickly, despite blinking back the sting of a 3:00am emergency case. ‘Urgent’ was all the text from Hotch had said, and now he was sitting behind his desk once again, for the fifty-second hour this week. Hotch was never wrong. There had never been a case that Hotch had chosen where the team hadn’t been needed, not in all the years Spencer had worked for the BAU. But he couldn’t deny that there were times that he wished he wasn’t at work.

You sure? I know we got more sugar, if that’s what you’re worried about.

I’m fine, he snapped, harsher than he’d intended. Thankfully, you left it alone.

Then, you were all in Atlanta, consulting on a case of three male bodies and another man missing. By the morning, his head had cleared, and he noticed the space you’d put between the two of you when you both arrived at the ME’s office.

Doctor Glenn, thanks for meeting with us, you started.

Doctor Glenn had smile brightly at you, standing from behind his desk to shake your hand. Spencer waved. Of course. And please, Scott is fine.

You sent him a soft smile. Where are we with the latest autopsy?

Well, from what I can tell, the murder weapon was some sort of short-bladed knife. What kind, I can’t say for certain. The advanced decomposition on all three makes it tricky.

Something like a kitchen knife? Or pocketknife?

Scott nodded. It’s possible. Like I said, I can’t be sure at this stage.

Can I see the photos? Spencer asked.

Absolutely, Scott replied. I was going to give you the file anyway. He opened the closest folder to him, but frowned. Oh, this isn’t right. Sorry, it’s here somewhere.

Noting his reddening cheeks the longer he searched, you said, Your desk looks a lot like mine.

If Scott noticed you attempt to put him at ease, he didn’t make it known. Brows pinched tightly together, he queried, The BAU doesn’t have strict guidelines on that kind of thing?

You shrugged. Maybe, it does. Though, I’m sure I’d have been written up by now if it did. You leaned forward in your chair to glance at the photo frames on the side. Spencer could see them clearly from where he sat. Two dozen frames littered the side of his desk, all displaying four boys---from baby photos to teenagers. Are they your boys?

Scott, visibly grateful to have a distraction while he continued rustling through drawers, didn’t look up. Yes, the four of them. James, Patrick, John, and Liam.

Spencer watched in silence the conversation the two of you had.

How old?

James is almost 21, Patrick, 19, and John and Liam are both 16.

Twins?

Indeed.

Must have been a handful when they were younger, I’m sure.

He smiled gently. You don’t know the half of it. John’s decided to head to college in California and Liam’s heading to New York.

It must be nice to have them close, at least for the time being, you replied.

It is. I don’t quite know what I’ll do once they’re gone, if I’m honest. And I worry. Like every parent does, I suppose.

Well, if they’re half as kind as all these photos make them out to be, then I’m sure they’ll be just fine.

That’s kind of you to say. I’m not blind, either. I know it’s a lot.

You laughed. It’s not, I promise. It’s nice to have something to remind you of the good. Especially with jobs like yours and mine. Reminds you of what you’re working for. Who you’re working for. There’s so much darkness out there, if we don’t remind ourselves, we can get lost in it.

Scott produced a file from the bottom drawer, and Spencer just stared at you, even as you took the file and flipped through it.

A month later, Spencer found himself hunched over his desk, computer brightness on low as he tried his best to block out the noise emanating from every corner of the bull pen. With the migraine he was sporting, he was sure he could hear all the way to reception, which did nothing to help his pounding head. He clicked random buttons on his computer as his eyes watched each minute tick by.

Four hours. That was all he had left. Then he could leave and collapse down onto his couch and sleep for two days until it was gone. With each passing minute, his brain fog got worse, until he was reading the same sentence for the fifth time in a row without comprehending what it was saying. Who even sends an email at 1:04pm on a Friday?

Aaron Hotchner, according to the contact name at the top. He needed to reply. Hotch would be expecting an answer.

Spencer hadn’t even realised you’d been speaking until you waved a hand in the air over the partition between your desks.

What? he asked, when you just stared blankly at him.

I asked if you were OK?

He sat up straighter, doing his best to ignore the pain that stabbed through him. I’m fine.

You cocked an eyebrow. Are you sure? You don’t look great.

I said I’m fine.

You were silent for a long moment, and you refused to break eye contact with him. That was until you leaned over and reefed open a drawer.

What are you doing?

You continued to dig through it. I have some pain meds in here. Nothing fancy, but you look like you could use some ibuprofen.

I don’t need it.

And I don’t need to sit here and watch you suffer for the rest of the day, Reid. Seriously. It’s painfully obvious.

Spencer didn’t have it in him to reply. Any other day, and he might’ve snapped at you. But today, he would take your kindness. As he came around to your side, he peeked inside your drawer, noting it was the same as the top of your desk. Cluttered and messy.

He stared at the mountain of files, eyes roaming over your desk. Your nameplate. Your empty coffee cups. Your photos. He paused as he took them in—for the first time since you’d been here.

Many different photos were tacked onto the partition. Most were of a cat and a dog and a few people who he assumed were family and friends from outside of work.

Only one was framed—a photo of the team. He could remember the day. You’d only been at the BAU for a month and upon returning from a hard case, Garcia had surprised you with a cake and balloons in the conference room. You’d cried, he remembered. Which he’d thought was weird, but hadn’t taken much note of at the time. Anderson had snapped a photo at Garcia’s insistence.

Suddenly, a sleeve of ibuprofen was thrust into his chest. Here.

Thank you, he mumbled.

You don’t need to thank me, Reid. Just take it, and maybe seen Hotch about leaving early. That can be your thanks. You gave him a tight-lipped smile, which he returned before heading to the breakroom.

Six months after you started at the BAU, you got shot.

Not life-threatening, but a bullet to the shoulder meant you were laid up on leave for two weeks.

The bullpen had never been so quiet, Spencer thought. Though maybe it was his guilt that made him think that. It had racked him every day of the two weeks since they’d gotten back from Wichita. The bullet had been meant for him, and if he’d actually been paying attention to his surroundings, then he wouldn’t have missed the UnSub lining up the shot, and you wouldn’t have pushed him out of the way, taking the hit for him.

Your screams still echoed in his mind. The first, his name: Spencer! Get down! And the second, your yelp of pain. Spencer had fired off two shots in quick succession, taking out the UnSub with barely more than a thought before he was turning to you lying flat on your back and gripping your shoulder.

He’d accompanied you to the hospital, where they said long-term damage was unlikely, but you would have a long road to recovery until you had full use of your arm again.

Hotch had immediately put you on leave, threatening that he’d make you take even longer if he saw you in the office at all before the two weeks was up. You had kept your word to him that you’d take the full two weeks.

Spencer hadn’t been sure what to do about your desk for the first few days. Hotch had instructed him to take over your files, which was easier said than done.

Heaving your last folder into his ‘Complete’ tray, he breathed a sigh of relief. Glancing at the clock, he realised he’d been zoned out writing reports for four hours. The rest of the team had all gone—aside from Hotch, but when wasn’t he in his office.

Starting over the partition, Spencer eyed the mess that still cluttered your desk. He hadn’t wanted to touch anything except the files, which he’d gingerly sorted into what was done and what wasn’t, careful not to disturb anything else on the desk.

Now, staring at all you’d left behind when they’d suddenly been forced to jet off, he wondered if tidying it was the least he could do. Maybe you would thank him for it. Or maybe you’d tear his head off for touching your stuff.

He decided to take that risk.

Collecting the loose papers and random Post-its, he placed them neatly into piles to the right of your computer. Most where mindless reminders for yourself—Get the dry cleaning! and Pay the water bill by tonight!

Spencer wasn’t always grateful for his eidetic memory, but not having to remember small day-to-day tasks was a huge bonus for him. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to cope without it.

He straightened the tacked photographs and wiped down the team photo. He made sure your computer was properly plugged in. He ensured your tablet was fully charged for your return. He was almost satisfied, when he noticed one green Post-it note had fallen behind your monitor screen. Weaving his hands between the cords, he pulled it out.

Thanks for the ibuprofen. I really appreciate it.

Below his barely legible script, sat a small face he’d doodled. Truthfully, he hadn’t thought anything of it since he stuck it to your monitor.

But you still had it, even two months later.

He stuck it back where he’d put it the first time.

You’re back, Spencer said as he entered the bullpen the next morning.

I am, you replied, grinning wide. Do I have you to thank for this?

Placing his bag down on his seat, he said, I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Oh, come on. There’s only one other office neat freak in this whole place, and I know for a fact it wasn’t Hotch. When he said nothing, you rolled your eyes. Fine. Guess I’ll have to pass my thanks on to the boss man.

Spencer smiled as he unloaded his bag.

Cat got your tongue or something, Reid? He kept his lips sealed perfectly shut. Ok, then. Keep your secrets. I don’t need to know them. I don’t want to know them anyway.

I’m getting a coffee, he said suddenly, cutting off your teasing drawl. Do you want one?

You blinked. What?

I said, I’m getting a coffee. Would you also like one?

Uh, yeah. That would be great, you managed after a moment. Thanks.

He nodded, and he pretended he didn’t feel your eyes watching him the whole time as he made his way to the break room.

“Reid?” Morgan called, and Spencer looked up from the file he was currently nose-deep in. “Are you coming?”

“What’s happening?” he asked, furrowing his brows.

Morgan groaned. “Don’t tell me you forgot about dinner at Rossi’s tonight.”

“Oh, that’s tonight?”

“Yes, pretty boy. How could you forget?”

“I didn’t forget,” he mumbled, gathering his belongings as Morgan made his way over to him.

“From the looks of it, you absolutely did.”

“I didn’t. I just…have a lot on my mind.”

Morgan stopped at the side of Spencer’s desk, his signature smirk adorning his face. Spencer didn’t even look at him as he hastily jammed files into his bag.

“This is new,” Morgan commented, and he glanced over to see him staring at a framed photo he’d picked up.

When he flipped it around, Spencer could see it. The photo of him in his apartment, sitting on the couch, grinning ear to ear, and you sat right beside him, holding your left hand up to display the shiny ring adorning your finger. You’re looking directly at the camera. Spencer is only looking at you.

Spencer took the photo from him. “I liked it, so I got it printed.”

He didn’t have to tell him that he got every photo printed now. He’d never been a fan of technology, and the idea that all his best memories were being held ransom on a device that could be destroyed any minute made his head spin. So, he got every photo printed. Most were safely tucked away in albums on his bookshelf at his apartment.

But this one was special.

Morgan’s voice was gentle as he said, “It’s nice.”

Spencer smiled and brushed a finger over the glass. “Reminds me of the good,” he said.

Then he placed it back down on his desk, the frame right at home amongst all the others.

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aberrant-annie · 3 months

Text

Tie a Tie - S.R

a/n: i'm a slut for a good tie

masterlist

₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: spencer reid x bimbo!receptionist!reader

summary: you ask spencer to teach you how to tie a tie

warnings: cuties being cute!

wc: 1.2k

"How do you tie a tie?"

The question and the voice attached to it made Spencer do a double take, his pencil pausing mid-stroke. He directed he gaze upward, and there you were. Beside his desk. Looking angelic as ever.

Today, your hair was embellished with ribbons, pretty pink bows tied neatly above your two braids. It was cute.

You hardly visited at his desk, in fact, this might be the first time. He had always been the one to seek you out at your receptionist desk.

He realized the lapse in conversation had gone on longer than what social norms dictate. He cleared his throat and reached up to rub his neck, offering you sheepish yet attentive look.

"Do I have something on my face?" The question came with an uncharacteristic frown that didn't suit you. A shimmering nail reached up, brushing your cheek as he fought the urge to replace your hand with his.

"No, no sorry," he assured quickly, a sense of equilibrium returning as your mouth flipped into a bright smile. "Just--, you want to know how to tie a tie?"

His intention wasn't to question you, but he was curious. What did you need to know how to tie a tie for? The answer seemed clear, yet unwelcome, as he begrudgingly considered the possibility of a significant other in your life, leaving a sour taste in his mouth.

"Yes," you affirmed, nodding like one of those dashboard bobbleheads, sending your ribbons dancing. "There's this outfit on Pinterest that I wanted to recreate, but it needs a tie, and well, I immediately thought of you, Dr. Reid. You're the tie expert, after all. I know you're super busy, so it's totally okay if now isn't a good time, but maybe you could text me? Or write it down, or--"

The tension dissipated from his frame, and he interjected with a soft smile. "Yeah, no problem at all. I'll teach you," he said, rising to grab an empty chair. He placed it opposite his, motioning for you to take a seat. "And please, It's Spencer."

He doesn't know how many times he's told you that Dr. Reid sounded too formal coming from you.

"Oh, right, Spencer." They way his name rolled off your tongue sent a wave of warmth through him. You bit your lip, crossing one leg over the other, the tip of your kitten heel brushing his calve in the process. "Thank you so much. I tried to watch YouTube tutorials, but it wasn't really working out."

"It's no problem," he said, trying to keep his cool as his surveyed the vacant office, immensely grateful the team was out on a case, and he was left behind to work on documents.

It wasn't that he was embarrassed by you, he would be an idiot to feel that way. He was embarrassed by how utterly out of control he felt around you. "Uh, here--"

His hands moved with practiced ease, a brief hesitation passing before he placed it around your neck. Your smile was disarming, compelling him to avert his gaze to prevent any impulsive actions. Gently, he swept your hair aside at the nape of your neck, careful not to entangle it with the fabric.

Spencer's fingers stalled, suspended over the smooth silk encircling you. The awareness of your focused gaze was palpable, almost tangible.

"Okay," he started, his tone even despite the butterflies attacking at his stomach. "The first thing you need to do is cross the long end over the short end, like this."

He illustrated the motion, his hands lightly skimming over your collarbone, eliciting a soft giggle from the unexpected tickle.

"Like this?" you repeated, your tongue making a brief appearance against your pink stained lips, trying to follow his lead.

"Exactly," he confirmed with a nod, smile inching across his face. "Now you bring the long end up through the loop around your neck."

His touch was light on the fabric, his fingertips just grazing the skin below your ear, a reaction visible in the slight shiver that traveled over you, goosebumps taking over.

You watched his every move, your head tilting to the side, a lock of hair falling into your face. "And then?"

"Now, you fold it down through the knot you've just made." Spencer's voice was soft, almost a whisper, as he focused on the task at hand. "Pull it all the way though, and then adjust the tightness by holding the short end and sliding the knot up."

With his guidance, you managed to complete the knot. "I did it!"

The excitement in your eyes was infectious, and he felt the rosy hue take over his face, a blush he couldn't contain at the sight of you. His laughter spilled out in response.

"You're a quick learner." His hands remained on the tie, a touch too long, maybe.

The intrusive ring of his phone fractured the moment, like a glass dropping on hard ground. He glanced at the caller ID--Hotch, of course--and sighed.

"Sorry, I have to take this."

"It's okay. Thank you for the help, Spencer."

Spencer almost died the moment you entered the bullpen the next morning, almost toppling over and dying of asphyxiation because of how easily you took his breath away.

There you were, in what he could only deduce was the Pinterest inspired outfit, a pink tie neatly arranged around your neck, its tail slipped into the waistband of your skirt.

"Spencer, you forgot your tie yesterday," you called out, extending the forgotten piece of fabric with a smile.

A red akin to a ripe strawberry bloomed across Spencer's face as he watched Morgan and Prentiss freeze mid-step, exchanging knowing looks as they glanced between you two.

"Reid, what's this about a tie?"

Of course, Morgan was butting in, because it just wouldn't be a normal day of work if he wasn't.

"It's not--We didn't--," he faltered, his eyes meeting yours, finding an innocent cluelessness to the implications around them. Opting to dismiss the others, he focused on you, taking the tie with hands that weren't quite steady. "I mean, thank you."

You simply beamed at him.

"Do you like my outfit?" you asked, doing a little twirl that made the hem of your skirt flare out. He had to avert his eyes, knowing that the way he was looking you over would certainly not be perceived as innocent. "I got your text with the instructions. It was so sweet because I definitely did not remember everything you said yesterday. It gets kind of confusing with all the steps."

He was momentarily lost for words. "It's... you look... amazing."

Spencer was still fumbling for words when you stepped closer, the soft scent of your perfume wrapping around him.

"Well, it's all thanks to you."

Before he could respond, your rose onto the balls of your feet and planted a gentle kiss on his cheek. It was quick, innocent, but it left his knees feeling like they might buckle

As you pulled away, his skin tingled where your lips had been, and he stood there, utterly dumbstruck, his face a canvas painted with various shades of pink.

Morgan stared at him, his eyebrows raised in silent question, but Spencer didn't care. For a short moment, he didn't care about anything else--not the case files, not the teasing of his colleagues, not the world outside. There was only the warmth on his cheek and the sudden lightness in his chest.

He decided this was his new lucky tie.

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

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aberrant-annie · 3 months

Text

HIS SUNSHINE • S. REID X READER

implied fem reader (self-referential when talking about women but can be ignored); fluff; sunshine!reader x grumpy!spencer; spencer realizes he is in love with reader; implied years of friendship + building to this; kissing; promises; slight angst (crying, mild insecurity); reader has a fear of storms; ~1.5k

part of @reiderwriter's writing challenge using grumpy x sunshine; oh, oh; and libra (modified somewhat to fit the scene more)

Spencer could feel your pulse calm as he rubs his thumb over your wrist. It was an odd sensation, someone physically relaxing under you and your attention. It wasn’t unwelcome, though, and he felt himself match his breathing to your slow exhales as you steadied yourself and your emotions.

He brought his thumb up and wiped your tear stained cheeks, rubbing the skin gently. You lean into the touch, nuzzling into his palm. He felt like his heart might stop when you let out a soft sigh, eyes fluttering shut. He could smell your shampoo with you this close, a coconut smell and a hint of vanilla. It was… pleasant.

“Better?”

You nod wordlessly. Your breath tickles his skin but he can’t bring himself to move away. He jumps when both of your hands find his free one and you intertwine your fingers with his. You inhale deeply before lifting your head, and the redness to your eyes makes his heart ache.

“Thank you.” Your voice is scratchy and Spencer smiles sadly, tracing his fingers up to lightly ghost over your temples and brows, a barely there touch with just enough pressure that you relax again.

“You don’t need to thank me.”

“I woke you up at one a.m. because I walked to your apartment in a thunderstorm just so I wouldn’t be alone. I think I do.”

Spencer smiles. “You’re welcome any time.”

“Really?” Your voice is small. He realizes he’s never made clear that you’re not crossing boundaries when you visit when you ask “I’m not intruding?”

“You’re not Morgan,” he teases lightly, and your smile is like a ray of sun finally breaking through a gray overcast. Everything is warm again. “I don’t mind. Really.” His hand has finally stopped and dropped back to his side, but you keep your fingers tightly twined with his.

“Why is that, Dr. Reid?”

“That I don’t mind you being here?” He can hear the confusion in his voice clearly. Why would he mind? It’s a sign you feel safe, with him, and you’re good company. His favorite company.

“Why am I an exception?” Your voice is infinitely small, and he almost misses the question. It drips with vulnerability and his chest aches.

Spencer doesn’t answer for a moment. He knows it’s just a few seconds, but it feels like time stops as he looks at you. Your small smile still plays at your lips, gentle curls to the corner of your mouth; a sparkle is returning to your eyes; your face, puffy from tears and marked with tear streaks is as beautiful as ever.

He’s in love with you.

He doesn’t know how he didn’t realize before. But he can’t imagine not being in love with you either, head tilting and mouth parting as he hopelessly tries to find words that won’t overwhelm you the way the revelation is overwhelming him.

Spencer’s eyes flick to your lips again and he realizes he wants to kiss you.

It’s wrong, he knows that. You’re friends. Coworkers before that. You came to him in a moment of fear and anxiety, desperate for support and seeking solace in him. You wanted a safe space that he could and did provide. He would be taking advantage of your emotional state if he were to spring these feelings on you, especially since he only just realized them himself.

And yet he wants to.

“I—” Spencer clears his throat. “You… you’re comforting, to me. It’s never too much. It doesn’t feel imposing because you will and always have respected my boundaries.” You always treat me well. I want you. Nothing could bother me beyond superficially and momentarily because I am hopelessly attached to you. “I make exceptions for you because you make them for me.”

You laugh softly. “So our relationship is only transactional?” There’s humor in your voice. You’re messing with him, and he can’t bring himself to care.

“If that’s what you want to call it.”

Your brow furrows. He wonders if he’s ruined the moment.

“Do you want it to be transactional?”

“No!” He answers too quickly, too emphatically, barely able to process his own words. “God, no,”

“Wow,” you drawl, all anxiety and tension gone from you. “You’re calling on God.”

Spencer can feel his face burn. He pulls his hand from your hold. Words escape him.

“Spencer.” Your tone draws his gaze to your face immediately. “I need you to be honest with me.” He nods before he can think to reject you — not that he’d deny you any request. He never can. “What are you thinking about?”

He studies you carefully, breathes out “you” before he can psych himself out of speaking. “Why I make exceptions.”

“Care to share?”

You’re so close to him. He can feel the warmth of your chest inches from him. Can see flecks of color in your eyes, could even count your eyelashes. He has half a mind to do so.

“I don’t think it’s appropriate,” Spencer whispers softly, shoulders relaxing as you toy with the sleeve of his hoodie. “You were just crying.”

“So it’s inappropriate?” You wiggle your brows and look up at him, eyes innocent and bright. Beautiful.

“In a sense.”

You smile, innocence to your expression vanishing. “So you want to sleep with me.”

Spencer coughs. “I didn’t— __, I didn’t say that! Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“You don’t want to? I’m hurt.” You’re grinning. “Here I was, thinking I’m irresistible.”

“I didn’t say I don’t…” he trails off.

You’ve cornered him. You have a Cheshire Cat grin.

“Will you run away screaming if I tell you a secret?”

“Depends. Are you going to tell me you kill pretty women and I need to make a break for it?”

Spencer laughs. “No.” The humor fades quickly, and he can feel his pulse pounding. Hear his heartbeat racing in his ears. “I love you.” His voice hitches on the words. “I’m— I just realized I’m in love with you.”

“Well, it took you long enough.”

He can’t think of a smart reply. He can’t think much at all. All he smells is you and your shampoo and bodywash, and he tastes vanilla chapstick when your lips press gently to his. You don’t give him time to kiss back.

“Are you sure?” Your fingers trace his cheekbones and his head is swimming.

“Sure about what?”

“That you want me. I mean, I was crying on your couch for an hour because of a storm. Do you really want to deal with all of that?” All of you. You’re asking for reassurance you’re not a burden.

As much as he wants to kiss you, he doesn’t. “I want you as you are. If that’s what you want to know,” Spencer whispers. “You are enough for me.”

“And if I’m not enough?”

“For me or for yourself?”

“... both.”

“You are. You will be,” Spencer ducks his head to kiss a scar on your collarbone, a knife mark from one of the first cases you were on with the BAU. “You’ll find it. The balance between who you want and need to be. What you want others to see you as,” your fingers twirl the hairs at the nape of his neck and he’s hyper aware of your touch, buzzing with anticipation of more contact. “For now, you have to learn to be satisfied with who you are.”

You swallow. Nod. Blink back tears again.

“And you’ll have to be satisfied with how I am. With all my scars and flaws.”

You smile. “I think you’re perfect.”

Spencer rests his forehead on your shoulder. “I’m not. No one can be. As long as you promise to be how you’ve always been with me, then, yes, I’m sure.”

“So you don’t want anything to change?” The lightness is strained. You’re too emotional for it to land, but he doesn’t call you on it.

“I’d prefer if you kissed me.”

And you do. He basks in your warmth, your sunshine. You break his dark clouds and his barriers. It’s enveloping, a heat and comfort. Familiar. It’s like you were destined to slot against him, warm him from the inside out. He can taste your tears. A sun shower. He can’t pull back, soaking up your affections like a plant. You’re smiling despite the way your breath hitches from your emotions, and he knows you’re happy. Overwhelmed. It’s everything and not enough.

He traces your spine.

“I love you. I love you. I love you.” His heart matches his mumbled words, beating to your tempo. It was years coming, in the making, years of your smiles and sweetness breaking down his walls and becoming part of his world in every way.

And yet the rhythm is familiar, as natural as breathing.

Spencer is tired of being upset with the world. And whenever he’s with you, he isn’t. Can’t be. He just hopes he can provide the same light you do.

i am trying. idk.. it's a fic!!! that's all i got.

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aberrant-annie · 3 months

Note

What if I put an insane little idea in your head and let it bounce around? Mid seasons (7/8 ish?) Spencer with a kinnda sorta fangirl? She just started at the BAU and it’s not that she’s weird about him but she does have like 3 of his papers memorized down to the letter and she “possibly quoted him on her college application essay” (it’s the literal conclusion).

Like she’s just this little ball of excitement and he has no clue what to do when the team is like “ask her out for the love of god and stop making heart eyes when she lets you nerd out”

Sorry if this makes no sense it’s 2:30 in the morning

FANGIRL - S.R

a/n: AHHHHH BECAUSE WHAT IF I JUST SMOOCHED YOU

loved, loved, LOVED this idea and writing it! you are amazing <3

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x fem!reader

warnings: reader being a fangirl for reid because WHO WOULDNT BE UGH

wc: 1.2k

"Dr. Reid, hi, it's such an honor. I'm the new agent."

You give him your name, hand extended out to him, bouncing off the balls of your feet. There was a badge pinned to your shirt, the clip attached to it gleaming in the fluorescent light, which despite its usual severity, seemed to soften around you.

Spencer comes to a standstill, his coffee suspended mid-sip, documents wrinkled in his hands as he assesses you. You are pretty. exceedingly so, but he's having trouble processing it, his mind still shrouded in the remnants of sleep.

He blinks away his surprise. "Nice to meet you. Hotch must've briefed you about the team, I assume?"

He adjusted the heap of papers to under his arm, freeing his hand to meet yours. The softness he encountered prompted a momentary pause, awakening a sudden urge to not let go. However, he promptly set aside the thought, releasing your hand with a concealed hesitation.

You fiddled with your earlobe, you shot him a sheepish smile. "Yeah, Hotch did, but I already knew a bit about you. I've always been a fan of your work. I mean, not like a fan per se, because that would be weird, right? But I've read all your papers, and they're just... they're brilliant, honestly."

Spencer was clearly caught off guard, his brows leaping upwards as he surveyed you. You weren't lying--that much was clear to him. He could see it in the way you met his eyes with an enthusiasm so bright it was nearly blinding.

"My work? You're actually familiar with it?"

A soft giggle bubbled from you, a sweet sound that seemed to momentarily leave him winded. He placed his coffee on the desk, leaning back slightly.

"Oh, definitely. Your research on chemical composition analysis in narcotics? I've read it so many times I could probably recite it in my sleep."

He considered the possibility of you exaggerating. He took great pride in his work and (without sounding too cocky) he was well aware of its significance and contribution to his field. However, there's a difference between knowing your work is recognized and encountering someone who has internalized it to such a degree--especially someone like you. He suddenly felt a touch of self-consciousness.

"I'm sorry, that was too much, right? I promised I'd play it cool, and then I saw you and... well, it's all just really surreal," you said before gesturing vaguely towards the bullpen. "Anyway, I'm going to go, uh, find my desk."

You hurried away before he could refute your words, head bowed. He felt like an ass.

The day threw him off balance. His contributions to the team lacked their usual insight, his mental gears turning more slowly. And for some inexplicable reason, he found himself preoccupied with thoughts of you. He attempted to rationalize it as a reaction to your interest in his work, a level of admiration that was a rare find. Unlike the formal niceties from others, your excitement about his work, about him, stood out.

He tried to latch onto Hotch's deductions about the unsub, willing his intellect to snap to attention and offer up a decent theory. However, a glance in your direction derailed his efforts. You were bent over the desk, your hands animatedly navigating through the papers. He was happy to see your enthusiasm was there despite his lack thereof earlier.

"Based on the geographic profiling and the choice of victims, it looks like the unsub has a background in urban planning."

Emily nods, "Good theory. What led you to that?"

He watches the anxious flicker in your eyes, glancing towards him, hands clasped together as you incline your head his way.

"Actually, I read about a similar case in Dr. Reid's paper on The Spatial Patterns of Serial Offenses." It strikes him then--he hasn't yet invited you to use his first name, adding another tick to the ever-growing list of ways he feels he's been inadvertently discourteous. "The clustering of crime scenes near arterial routes suggests the offender leverages the urban grid to facilitate escape and avoid detection. Embarrassingly enough, that was the topic of my college application essay."

Spencer was momentarily speechless (not something that happened often), his mind racing through the physiological response to shock--catecholamine release, vagal tone alterations, even transient arrhythmias--mirroring the way his heart seemed to skip a beat. You really did have his work memorized.

"That's, uh, right," he said, his voice gaining momentum. "By leveraging the urban grid, the offender not only evades capture but also creates a psychological terrain of control."

Hotch nodded in agreement, turning your attention to a series of photographs.

Before Spencer even looked her way, he could sense Garcia's stare, and as he turned, she prodded him with her elbow, smirking. "Seems like she's quite the match for you, doesn't she?"

"Huh? What? No, I mean--she's my coworker, and besides, she's much younger." Spencer was quite sure he sounded anything but convincing.

Garcia raises an eyebrow, shaking her head. "I meant in terms of smarts, but oookay, Spencer."

She walked out with a bounce in that definitely hadn't been there earlier, and Spencer was left with a red face.

He had every intention of pulling you aside, to apologize for earlier, to reassure that he didn't find you odd or weird, and to admit that he was genuinely flattered. But it appeared that every time he had a chance to make it to your desk, you had vanished, or were in deep conversation with JJ, or inside Hotch's office.

It was a relentless cycle that persisted until the end of the day, when everyone began to leave--except for you, who remained still firmly planted at your desk, fervently jotting notes into your notebook.

Absorbed in your work, you didn't notice his approach until he cleared his throat.

"Hey," he said softly.

Startled, you flinched, prompting him to immediately feel like shit. Strike three. You laughed off the shock when you realized it was him, moving your notebook aside, offering him your undivided attention.

"Sorry, Dr. Reid, hi! How's it going? Is there something I can do for you?"

"I thought I'd see if you needed help with anything, and you can call me Spencer, if you want." He glanced at his watch. "Are you still working?"

You pushed a piece of hair from your face and nodded towards the formidable pile of forms.

"Spencer, okay," you said, like you were testing it out, "and just sorting through a mountain of onboarding paperwork."

He nodded, hesitating slightly before speaking. "Listen, I need to apologize for earlier."

You tilted your head. "What for?"

"I think I wasn't as welcoming as I intended to be."

"That's okay, I know I was a bit intense."

He shook his head. "No, you weren't. It's just... It's rare that my work gets much attention. I'm happy you appreciated it. If there's a specific topic that you're more interested in, maybe I could explain more about it sometime?"

You glanced down at your hands, trying to hide the smile that was blooming there. You weren't successful. When you looked back up, Spencer felt a little bit awestruck by your eyes, the flecks of color that he could now see clearly.

"I'd love that. Maybe over coffee?" you suggested.

"Yeah, sure." He could feel the heat rushing up his neck.

He reluctantly parted ways, leaving you to your paperwork, and as he approached the elevator, Penelope was there.

"You know, sugar, maybe I did mean quite the match in a romantic way. So, are you going to ask her out, or shall I play Cupid?"

He blushed. "I think she might have just beat me to it."

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna @readergf @sarcasm-and-stiles @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @freyy253 @broadwaytraaaaash @r-3dlips @m-indkiller @sunfyyre @sleepysongbirdsings @trulycayla @reiderrambles

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aberrant-annie · 3 months

Text

secrets (Spencer Reid x fem!reader)

Summary: Spencer has a girlfriend and the team doesn't know, but they have their suspicions.

Spencer has never been happier. He has a beautiful girlfriend who he is head over heels in love with. He keeps it a secret from the team because he wants to keep her safe and to himself, also because he doesn't want to hear any of their teasing and jokes. She is a social media influencer and keeps their relationship under wraps as well, her fans do not know who he is but they know she has a boyfriend.

Spencer: I love you so much and I miss you baby, I should be home soon!

Y/n: I love you and miss you too, I'll order in tonight for dinner!

As Spencer moves to respond to the message he feels someone walk up behind him and immediately shuts off his phone.

"Oooh who you texting pretty boy?" Morgan says with a huge smile on his face

"No one, I'm going home" Spencer says and leaves no room for argument as he practically runs out the doors and to the elevator

"What's going on with him lately?" JJ asks with a very confused look on her face

"I know that look on his face, he's found himself a pretty girl!" Derek responds

Emily, Derek, and JJ all talk more about Spencer and their suspicions about how he has been acting.

"Let's all go to Garcia's office and have her do a little digging on this mystery girl." Morgan states and JJ and Emily agree with excitement

"Baby girl! I need you to do some digging, we think Spencer has found himself a girlfriendddd" Morgan sings

This immediately gets Penelope's attention and she starts digging and in less than 2 minutes she finds the girl on Instagram.

"Oh my goddddd she is so pretty! And she's an influencer! And look!!! Spencer is in some of these posts!" Garcia squeals

Liked by spencer.reid and 102,312 others

Y/n: I never want to leave

Liked by spencer.reid and 91,254 others

Y/n: Dates with my boy🩷 (please never go back to work)

Liked by spencer.reid and 117,342 others

Y/n: I love you forever💞

Liked by spencer.reid and 112,342 others

Y/n: Little getaway to Italy <3 (isn't he the best photographer?!)

Liked by spencer.reid and 223,451 others

Y/n: I said my feet hurt and he carried me 2 miles back to the car🥹

"He's got game!!" Morgan exclaimed

"So that's why he took a week off so suddenly last month! He went to Italy with her!" Emily gushes

"She's so pretty! And he is so cute with her! Carrying her for 2 miles does not sound like him at all, he is so in love" JJ says proudly

"We need to meet her!!!!" Garcia exclaims and everyone agrees

The same day at Spencer's apartment he walks in and is greeted with the lovely sight of his breathtaking girlfriend on his couch, in his clothes.

He walks over to her and pulls her into a kiss and a hug. "God I missed you so much baby" he says once they pull away.

"I missed you too angel" she replies

Spencer stares at her lovingly and her cheeks turn red from the attention.

"Stopppp" she says

"You are so perfect my love. What did I ever do to deserve you?" Spencer asks

"What did I do to deserve you?" She retaliates

"I am so in love with you Y/n." Spencer states as tears well up in his eyes

"I'm so in love with you Spence" she responds and pulls him on top of her and into another kiss.

They make-out for a bit with his hands traveling everywhere. Her waist. Her hair. Her hips. Her face.

He travels down her neck and leaves soft kisses all over her as she sighs in content.

Once they pull away they decide to head to bed as they both have an early morning. They get ready for bed, Y/n obviously stealing one of his sweatshirts to wear.

They fall asleep in each other's arms wishing to stay there forever.

The next day the team is so caught up with paperwork that they do not have time to ask Spencer about his girlfriend.

Once it's time for their lunch break Spencer rushes out and yells a quick "see you later" to the team!

"We are following him." Morgan declares and everyone nods in agreement and follow him out the doors.

They are quiet and Reid does not notice the team following him to the cute little cafe he is meeting his precious girlfriend at.

Spencer spots her on the sidewalk waiting outside the cafe and runs up to her and engulfs her in a hug

"Hi baby" he whispers into her ear and kisses her head

"Hi Spence" she replies and looks at him with heart eyes

He leans in and kisses her passionately, unbeknownst to him, his coworkers are watching from across the street in shock

"Ok who is that and what has he done with Spencer?" Derek jokes

Penelope can't help herself and sprints across the street to the lovey dovey couple in their own world.

"Spencer!!! When were you going to tell us you have a girlfriend?!!" Garcia yells

Spencer pulls away from his girl in shock and spits out "what are you doing here?!"

Derek, JJ, and Emily cross the street and explain to Spencer all that happened the day before and leading up to them following him to the cafe.

Y/n laughs and finds the whole story very funny. She introduces herself to them and they do as well.

"It's so great to finally meet you! I have heard a lot about you all!" Y/n says to them

"I wish we could say the same but pretty ricky has kept you all to himself!" Morgan teases

Spencer blushes and wraps his arm around her waist. "I just want to keep her safe." He states.

His coworkers look at him and are so shocked but so happy for him for finding love, he has never been like this.

They all decide to eat together at the cafe and talk.

"So you're the one that keeps Spencer on his phone at all times and makes him blush just from a text!" JJ exclaims

"I have seen your posts all over my explore page! I am obsessed with you!" Garcia says

Y/n blushes from all the attention and thanks Penelope.

Spencer grabs her hand from under the table and squeezes it while placing a soft kiss on her cheek.

"So how long have you two been together?" Emily asks

"9 months 12 days 7 hours and 12 minutes"

Spencer answers with a smile

"Well we can tell that you are amazing for Spencer, we have never seen him like this before." Morgan states seriously

"He's perfect for me. I love him so much, I don't know what I would do without him." Y/n says as she looks at Spencer.

He blushes and says "I love you"

They want to continue the conversation but sadly, their lunch break is coming to an end.

The team says goodbye to Y/n, and Penelope exchanges numbers with her.

Spencer walks up to her and tucks her hair behind her ear, admiring her. She leans in for a kiss and he reciprocates immediately. The kiss goes on for a bit until Morgan whoops and they pull away quickly.

"I have to go, I love you sweetheart, I'll see you tonight" Spencer says

"I love you too baby, see you later" Y/n replies and gives him one last hug before he walks away with the team.

"Pretty boy! I didn't know you had game! She is hot!" Derek exclaims

Spencer rolls his eyes and says "She's my girlfriend don't say that."

"Ok ok, I'm happy for you though! I'm glad to see you this happy, I can tell you really love her" Morgan finally says seriously

"Yeah I really do." Spencer responds.

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aberrant-annie · 3 months

Text

Boyfriend For the Night | Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: During a night out with the team, you and Spencer find yourselves together at the bar. So, when a creep tries to pick you up, he tries his best to defend his best friend (by being MORE than just that…)

Tags: fluff, pining idiots, BAU!Reader, Fem!Reader.

Warnings: Alcohol consumption 🤷‍♀️

Words: 1.4k

It was often, after difficult cases, someone on the team would shout out a suggestion of “what’s everyone doing tonight?” or “anyone wanna go get some drinks?” This time, it just so happened to be Penelope.

“Come on, you know it’ll be fun,” she pleaded to the boy genius packing up in the bullpen.

“I don’t know, Garcia. I’m not sure how much fun I’ll be,” Spencer gave a tight-lipped smile, putting another file in his over-the-shoulder bag.

“Pretty Boy, you’re plenty of fun,” Morgan jested, one arm around Garcia. “Plus, I think Pretty Girl is going, too,” he smiled.

Spencer knew that was your nickname, given affectionately by Derek. He mulled over it in his mind. At least, if you were there, he might have someone to talk to about common interests. You were, after all, the only one on the team that could follow along with his ranting, taking the chance to blab about your own latest interests, as well. “Fine, I’ll go,” he came to the conclusion that hanging out with team would probably be more exciting than rereading a scientific journal to the soothing sounds of Vivaldi. Plus, he would get to see you outside of work.

“Yay!” Penelope clapped her hands together, her blonde pigtails bouncing. “This’ll be so much fun!” She grabbed Morgan’s hand and started walking out of the bullpen. “See you guys there!”

—

You spotted him as soon as he walked in, grinning wide with a small wave.

“Spencer!!”

He laughed, waving back, in response. He scooted in next to you in the tight booth, his leg hitting yours. “What did I miss?” He asked, smiling at the team.

“Just hearing about Emily’s worst dates,” you smiled up at him, elbows on the table.

“Captivating,” he joked, a little stiff from the close proximity between the two of you. Spencer couldn’t deny that he was attracted to you. Well, he could, and he has been, ever since he met you. Sure, it earned him some teasing from the team, but you weren’t free from it either. ‘That’s just what happens when a man and woman are friends,’ he rationalized. But your relationship was closer than just friends. (Best friends?) It was hard to ignore the way you turned to him, when in a group, or how you always lit up when someone mentioned his name. And if Spencer was trying to hide how big his smile got when he got to rant to you about his favorite subject, or how much you two laughed about who-knows-what in the bullpen when the team wasn’t around, he wasn’t doing a very good job. And he certainly wasn’t doing a good job now, trying to keep his composure as you giggled next to him, as the conversation went on.

“Well, I’m getting another drink,” you spoke between a laugh. “Spencer, you wanna come with?” He looked up at you, standing with your purse over your shoulder.

“Sure,” he smiled, following you out of the booth and to the bar.

“I’ll have…” you leaned against the bar, tapping your chin in thought. “Whiskey and coke, please,” the bartender nodded. “Spence, you want anything,” he looked down at you, hands in his pockets. He squinted down at the little plastic menu that the bar had printed out.

“Just club soda, please,” he smiled shyly at the bartender. You stood up, leaning your hip on the counter.

“I’m glad you could make it,” you spoke to him, smiling.

“Me too.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I love Penelope, but I can’t hear about what she does in the bedroom with Kevin anymore,” you laughed at the end of the sentence. Spencer did, too.

“I know what you mean,” he noticed the way you messed with the zipper on your jacket as you spoke to him, a habit he picked up on quickly, when he first met you. “However, I think listening to Morgan talk about his one night stands is arguably worse,” he laughed.

“It’s SO much worse!” You hit him on his sweater-clad arm, playfully, a wide smile pulling up at your flushed cheeks. He laughed with you, putting his head down a little to hide the blush that bloomed up on his nose.

“Only about fifty percent of first dates result in a second one,” he continued, cracking his knuckles nervously. “there are ways to increase that likelihood, like a good first impression, or establishing shared interests early on,” he gained a little confidence. “actually, over sixty eight percent of successful couples report that they were close friends before dating,” he spoke the last part before he could think about it. After he realized what his words might have suggested, he closed his mouth, turning away shyly. You smiled to yourself, putting your head down a little. “That’s, uh, probably why Morgan hasn’t found someone yet,” he turned back to you, smiling tight-lipped. “At least ONE reason,” he laughed. His lips pursed gently, his chestnut hair dangling around his ears. You looked up at him gently as he loosened his tie, still laughing a little at his joke. Your eyes wandered toward his lips. He licked them nervously, glancing back down at you, eyes scanning your face.

You were snapped out of you Reid-filled daze when an unknown man spoke up next to you.

“Hey, pretty lady,” his voice was gruff and had an inflection that somehow communicated that he had never touched a woman in his life. “Can I buy you a drink?” You turned around to see a man no older than thirty smirking slyly next to you, leaning on the bar. He absolutely REEKED of cigarette smoke.

“I’m okay,” you smiled nervously, subconsciously moving closer to Reid. The doctor narrowed his eyes, a little put off by the advance.

“Come on, pretty girl like you, here all alone?” He advanced. “Let me buy you a drink,” he reached out to put a hand on top of yours, but Spencer stepped in.

“Uhm, actually, she isn’t here alone,” he ran his hand through his hair nervously, giving the man a tight-lipped smile. The man looked between you two, a confused look on his face.

“For real?” His voice came out like gravel, and he scoffed a little bit.

“Yeah, for real,” you grabbed Reid’s hand, squeezing it. “I’m here with my boyfriend,” his heart skipped a beat or two when you called him that. Boyfriend. He couldn’t help but smile proudly at the man.

“You’ve GOTTA be joking,” he slurred, laughing.

“No, she’s not joking,” Reid stood up straight, tucking his hair behind his ear. “And, actually,” he began, his tone changing to how it usually did before he went on a rant. “According to surveys, around seventy percent of women find unsolicited advances in bars to be unwelcome and uncomfortable, rather than flattering,” he pressed his lips together, shrugging a little while squeezing your hand. You couldn’t help but giggle at his attempt to scare the guy off. The man just stood there, confused. “Studies show that people decide within the first seven seconds if they're interested in someone. If you come off as aggressive or disrespectful, your chances plummet, which,” he looked back at you, smiling. “I think is what happened here,” he was proud of himself; you could tell.

“I don’t need your statistics, Einstein, I think-“

“Actually, Einstein had an IQ of about 160; I have an IQ of 187, an eidetic memory, and can read over twenty thousand words per minute,” this effectively wore the creep off, because he just mumbled an angry ‘whatever’ and walked away toward another group of girls.

You looked up at your friend and broke into laughter. He joined. “I cannot believe that worked,” you squeezed his hand a little, turning to face him.

“Honestly, me either. I figured he would either get bored and leave, or end up punching me,” he laughed out. “I may be in the FBI, but I don’t think I can handle a drunken bar brawl.” The bartender set the drinks on the counter in front of you and you gave him a small smile, grabbing yours. “The team’s probably waiting for us,” Spencer grabbed his drink, dropping your hand. You picked it back up, looking up at him.

“Just in case we come across any other creeps,” you smiled, a warmth running through the both of you.

“Good thinking,” he mused, squeezing your hand tightly, walking back toward the booth.

Morgan spotted the both of you, turning away from his conversation with Hotch.

“Oh? What’s this? Pretty Boy and Pretty Girl holding hands,” he crossed his arms. You rolled your eyes at the comment.

“Some weirdo tried picking me up, so,” you held your intertwined hands up so they could see. “Reid is my boyfriend, for the night,” you smiled, taking a sip of your drink. It was, supposedly, just for the night, but Spencer liked the sound of that.

And, admittedly, so did you.

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