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summary : Spencer Reid gets bombarded by Penelope Garcia's demand into letting her know his girlfriend number...

warning : horny mentions, mentions of crimes, brief mention of insecurity, spencer being supportive and a hype-man and also spencer being a genius, penelope wanting her idol's number. it's really sabrina carpenter inspired... bare with me.

After the concert, Spencer was kinda expecting the thing to die down, except that the internet always remembers, especially when their favourite pop icon literally never said anything similar to what happened in Chicago.

“Chicago must've been her favourite city...” “that Spencer dude looks 19 ngl...” “i wanna be looked the same way she looked at that Spencer dude.” “Ugh, jealousy so overrated but I'm jealous of that doctor.”

Spencer told himself he didn't need to read them, he tried not to read them. He failed. He did convinced himself on how this could work as a parasocial study, instead it was mostly curiosity that got the best out of him.

While Morgan and almost all of the team got over the 'Spencer Reid is dating a literal popstar', Penelope Garcia hasn't, instead she doubled down and asked Spencer if he could give her his girlfriend's number.

And this was a loop. First thing in the morning, at Spencer mid day break and at lunch. Then it's before he leaves and then a text reminding him.

"Spencer, don't forget to ask her !"

"Penelope, I may date her but you need to know she's mostly busy ever since she started that tour. She's usually texting either late at night or really early in the morning, I don't wanna add more to her plate." Spencer warned his friend. He knew the intention of his friend were good, but he still thinks she's going a tad overboard.

"Right, right, that whole confidentiality thing is kinda annoying. I would've hacked your phone but I know she wouldn't want that— and also I wanna be apart of her fanclub as president..."

"I thought you were apart of her fanclub..." Spencer mumbled in confusion.

"I'm apart for sure, but not the position I want to be." Penelope answered truthfully before letting out a desperate sigh.

"Right, well I'll see what I can do Penelope but I can't promise anything."

"I love you boy genius, just know that your relation are wonderful !" the loud blonde beamed.

At night, in the cosy apartment Spencer was living, he was trying to text his girlfriend but he didn't get an answer. Not even five minutes later, he received a phone call.

✩⋆｡°❤︎ love ❤︎⋆｡°✩

"Why hello there, are you alone or not ?" the strained voice of his girl could be heard.

"You sound exhausted — but yes I'm at home, why ?"

"Oh I wanna facetime, I'm doing a rehearsal before the show in the afternoon..."

"Well it's wonderful. I actually miss seeing you. Will you come back home soon ?" he questioned. He knew her work could take months off but he still wanted to see her, it's been over three months since she's been home and the last time he saw her it was barely enough for him.

"Yes. I think... I still have a few shows but I will finish it before Valentine's day..."

Spencer activated his camera and saw his girlfriend all dolled up wearing a philly jersey and her iconic sparkly chunky boots.

"So how do I look, and that is two hours and a half of rehearsal just an FYI." she warned him, she knew he wouldn't mind seeing her messed up hair or the makeup holding on for dear life but she still felt a tad insecure.

"Darling, you look gorgeous!" He cheered

"You're too sweet ! First off, tell me about you — how's work and how is Morgan and Penelope. Second, I need to finish the settings and I need to do some stuff with my PR team because they want me to be on Good Morning America when I get back from tour..." she mumbled the last part thinking Spencer would ignore it. Which he did.

"Oh you should tell me more about it, well you see for me it was calmer, crime rates are lower during colder season, some recently shown survey found overall crimes tends to be least frequents during winter months." he rambled

"You sound so hot giving me stats. Can I say I'm starting to be horny or it's an exaggeration because of the lack of physical contact." she teased

"Actually, the lack of physical contact drop the levels of oxytocin and dopamine. Meanwhile your brain also intensify longing because your brain fills the gaps with memories..."

"Like the one where we madeout in a casino bathroom ?" She teased while twirling a strand of hair.

"Yep. Exactly and I wanna know why you're so horny... Don't say you're missing me or you crave physical contact." He said simply

"Haven't you seen the internet, like everyone talks about us. You should feel happy about it, people seemed very happy with how I flirted with you, now I miss you even more." She complained.

"I heard. Now may I ask a hypothetical question ?" He added before changing the subject to something else.

"Shoot, I'm always down for questions." She answered coolly

"Would you mind if my friend Penelope get your phone number ?"

"I don't mind but erm she should not share it to the whole world... like please." She asked, almost as if it was a promise.

"She won't. I trust her. And she's trying her best by legally enter the fanclub... She actually tries to work her way to the top." he simply declared.

"It's great Spence. Now gotta go, I have to eat breakfast before I practice again. Love you to the moon and back !" she affirmed while blowing him kisses.

"And I love you faster than light could travel across the diameter of the Milky Way." He responded with a smile.

The call ended but the tension could still be found in both. Spencer was still holding tightly his phone and smiled at the phone.

summary : After a long case, the BAU received graciously of Morgan concert tickets for the concert of Spencer girlfriend... and of course the night's gonna end with a blushing Spencer and a cheering BAU team.

warnings : English isn’t my first language, but that doesn’t mean I can’t write or speak it well. Lot of teasing, flirtation and suggestive dialogue. Handcuffs and happen during season 4.

When the BAU discovered that Spencer Reid was in a relationship, Morgan may or may not have immediately bought concert tickets for everyone—including Spencer himself. No explanations. No warnings. Just vibes.

The team was currently in Chicago, Derek invited them to stay after one long complicated case. Derek also proposed to stay at his house for the night. The team was greeted by Derek sisters and his mother. When Spencer went to the kitchen to wash his hands, he could see on the calendar :

The Short n Sweet Sessions

Spencer stared at the calendar then simply shrugged, thinking it wasn't what he was thinking it actually was. And he didn't think much of it when Derek sisters were dressed up in outfits awfully similar to someone he knows... but when he was in the car and the car was driving to a stadium, he was heavily suspecting something bad was going to happen.

“Morgan,” he said carefully, pushing his glasses up his nose, “why are we going to a stadium?”

“Oh, because I got us tickets,” Morgan replied far too cheerfully. “But pretty boy, we’ve got our VIP places and trust me, you’re gonna thank me.”

Spencer blinked. “I’m… lowkey scared.”

Morgan just laughed and high-fived his sisters as they met them at the entrance. Everyone settled into their seats, Penelope practically vibrating with excitement while JJ filmed everything “for memories.”

The lights dimmed.

A massive glowing heart appeared onstage.

“CHICAGOOOOOO!” a familiar voice screamed from behind them.

Spencer froze.

Slowly, he turned his head toward Morgan, who was wearing the most smug, I-ruined-your-life-on-purpose grin known to man.

“Oh no,” Spencer whispered.

The music started.

"Now he’s thinkin’ ’bout me every night, oh— Is it that sweet? I guess so…"

As the singer stepped into the spotlight, Spencer’s breath fully left his body.

There she was. His girlfriend. Wearing a heart-shaped pink bodysuit, a shimmery romper catching every light in the arena, radiating confidence like it was a second skin.

By the twelfth song, Spencer was painfully aware that she had spotted him.

Every time their eyes met, her smile grew wider. She sent tiny heart gestures in his direction. The crowd lost their minds.

Penelope grabbed Spencer’s arm. “SHE IS SINGING AT YOU.”

“I know,” Spencer squeaked. “I know. Statistically, this is a PR nightmare for her team but a dream for the attendees.”

Then the opening beat of Juno started.

“Oh no, no, no,” Spencer muttered. “Oh yes,” Morgan said.

The singer scanned the crowd dramatically before stopping directly in front of Spencer.

“Well hello there,” she purred, leaning down with the mic. “What’s your name?”

Spencer opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

The mic hovered.

Penelope sighed, snatched it, and saved the moment. “His name is Dr. Spencer Reid!”

The crowd screamed and cheered.

“Ooooh,” the singer grinned. “So fancy. Doctor Reid… you’re under arrest for being way too hot.” She tilted her head. “Do you wanna be my Juno boy for the night… or maybe forever?”

She winked.

Spencer turned red immediately, ducking his head as the arena erupted.

“Well, well,” she continued. “I’m gonna take that as a yes.” She tossed a pair of pink fuzzy handcuffs toward him. “Hands behind your back, sweetheart. And just lay back.”

Spencer nearly passed out. The rest of the song was a blur of teasing lyrics, crowd screams, and Morgan laughing so hard he had to sit down.

After the concert, while they were still backstage-adjacent, Spencer’s phone buzzed.

✩⋆｡°❤︎ love ❤︎⋆｡°✩: Still backstage, you wanna come and say hi ? Your friends are invited too. xoxo.

Before Spencer could answer, Penelope gasped. “SHE WANTS TO TALK TO US?!”

“OMG YES,” she yelled.

“Oh yeah,” Penelope added, turning to Morgan’s sisters, “Spencer Reid is dating my favorite pop star.”

They stared at him.

Impressed. Stunned. Slightly afraid.

Spencer adjusted his tie and sighed.

“This,” he muttered, “is not how I expected the night to go.”

Summary : Was the BAU really expecting the Spencer Reid to date a popstar ? Nope. Warnings : Explicit language and sexual references, R-rated popstar persona, surprise public relationship reveal / mild workplace chaos. Popstar reader is inspired by both Ariana Grande and Sabrina Carpenter. Season three ish Spencer...

Pop culture wasn’t influencing her. Pop culture was influenced by her.

Every lyric she dropped was borderline obscene, unapologetically feminist, and just self-aware enough to make men argue on podcasts. Her album covers alone caused think pieces—especially that one. The Manchild cover. The infamous arm around her waist, veins flexed, hand gripping skin like it knew it belonged there.

No face. Just a man.

The internet lost its mind trying to guess who he was. Actor? Athlete? Some poor finance bro about to be bullied into obscurity?

Nobody—not a single soul—guessed Dr. Spencer Reid, FBI.

Mostly because Spencer Reid didn’t think it mattered.

He wasn’t dating a pop star. He was dating her. The woman who stole his hoodies, info-dumped astrophysics facts back at him just to flirt, and wrote songs so explicit he once turned red listening to them in the car—while secretly loving every second.

Their schedules were chaos. Her world tours. His jet rides. Weeks of missed calls and airport kisses. Keeping it private wasn’t even a decision—it just… happened.

And today was supposed to be normal.

It stopped being normal the second the elevator doors opened.

Sparkly pink boots hit the BAU floor first. Then a puffy pink vest, cropped black top, and a skirt that made Derek Morgan choke on his coffee.

Two security guards flanked her—Verde, all muscle and sunglasses indoors, and Caesar, built like a wall and smiling like he already knew how this would end.

Penelope Garcia froze.

“Oh my God,” Garcia whispered, hand flying to her chest. “Oh my God. JJ. JJ look. LOOK.”

JJ blinked once. Twice. “Is that—”

“The her,” Morgan finished, stunned. “That’s the woman who wrote that song about—”

“DON’T,” Garcia cut him off. She was already vibrating. “Hi. Hi. Hello. I love you. I have loved you since the first time you said ‘men are a social experiment’ in an interview.”

She grinned instantly. “As you should.”

Garcia squealed. Actually squealed. “This is the best day of my life. I had a meet-and-greet ticket but—”

“She found a loophole and my manager eventually agreed,” she said easily.

“I reallocated resources,” Penelope corrected, proudly.

Verde leaned down slightly. “She’s cool,” he murmured to Caesar.

Caesar nodded. “Very cool.”

Photos were taken. Compliments were exchanged. Morgan pretended he wasn’t a fan and then immediately asked for a selfie “for his sisters.” JJ smiled like she’d just witnessed history. Garcia nearly cried when you hugged her.

Eventually, her manager checked the time.

“We should head out,” she said, reluctantly. “Before I accidentally join the FBI.”

Garcia pouted. “Come back anytime.”

“Oh, I will,” you promised.

She turned toward the exit—and stopped dead.

Spencer Reid stood there, file tucked under his arm, hair pulled into a small, messy ponytail, glasses slipping down his nose.

Her entire face lit up almost immediately.

“Spence!”

Before anyone could react, you ran and launched yourself at him.

“Whoa—!” Spencer barely had time to adjust before catching his girl automatically, arms wrapping around her waist like muscle memory. His surprise melted into the softest smile.

“You’re here,” he said, breathless.

“You’re here,” she echoed, grinning up at him. “You didn’t tell me you were working today.”

“You didn’t tell me you were invading my workplace.”

She laughed and kissed him—quick, familiar, effortless.

The room went silent.

Morgan’s jaw dropped. “Reid, what the fu—”

JJ’s eyes widened and cut off Morgan. “Is that—”

Garcia stared between the two. Slowly. Deliberately. “Spencer Reid,” she said, voice deadly calm, “why are you kissing my favorite pop star?”

Spencer blinked. “…Because she’s my girlfriend?”

Chaos.

“YOUR WHAT?” Morgan shouted.

Garcia gasped like she’d been personally attacked. “ARE YOU THE MANCHILD ARM ?!''

Spencer flushed instantly. “The—the what?”

She snorted. “Baby. You’re all over the internet, like you're iconic”

Verde and Caesar exchanged a proud look.

“Told you this would be cute,” Verde said.

Spencer glanced around, finally realizing the attention. “Oh. Uh. I guess… this is out?”

She shrugged, still smiling. “Guess so.”

He hesitated for half a second, then tightened his hold on his girlfriend. “I’m okay with it.”

Her smile softened. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Garcia clutched her heart. “I ship it. I shipped it before I even knew it existed.”

"I got ninety-nine problems but you won't be one, like what ?" Summary : a racist detective clearly made a mistake by being a little too misogynistic but also provoked someone he shouldn't have. Pt.3 of unhinged BAU reader Warnings : Sexism & misogyny. Workplace discrimination / microaggressions. Implied racial and cultural bias. Emotional abuse / verbal hostility. Harsh interrogation tactics. Distress involving a missing child. Parental shaming / accusations of neglect. Dark Humour and sarcasm.

The local detective cleared his throat. Loudly. Too loudly.

“Well,” he said, arms crossed, eyes sliding past her to Hotch, “we usually have our own agents asking to be apart of telling the parents but maybe one of your female agents could help..”

She turned slowly at the detective. She didn’t look at the detective yet. Hotch noticed. His jaw tightened.

Derek raised an eyebrow. Emily folded her arms. JJ went still.

The detective continued, digging his own grave. “You know, someone who won’t escalate things. This family’s already emotional. And no offense y'all are a little too much—”

“No offense?” she echoed pleasantly, finally facing him. “That’s new. Please proceed, tho I'd recommend with a lil caution.”

The detective smiled thinly. “I feel like your male coworkers wouldn't give the same attention to the parents. Maybe Agent Prentiss could take point. Or Agent Jareau. Even you too.”

Emily scoffed. “Wow.” JJ blinked. “Are you serious right now?”

The detective waved a hand. “I’m just saying—this is a sensitive situation. And sometimes cultural differences can make things… tricky.”

That did it.

Hotch stepped forward, voice ice-cold. “Explain what you mean by cultural differences.”

The detective hesitated. “Well—males are considered as very… direct. Families like this respond better to—”

“To what,” Hotch cut in, “a white female officer speaking over them?”

Silence.

Derek smiled like a man enjoying a show. “Careful,” he muttered. “You’re almost saying the quiet part out loud.”

The detective bristled. “Now hold on—”

“No,” Hotch snapped. “You’ve interrupted Morgan twice, dismissed Prentiss entirely, spoken down to Jareau, and now you’re questioning my other agent’s competence because she doesn’t fit your idea of agreeable.”

He turned to her briefly. “Are you okay to proceed?”

She grinned. “Oh, I’m thriving.”

Hotch looked back at the detective. “Good. Then you go inside.”

The detective muttered, “Figures,” under his breath.

Hotch heard it. “Say that again.”

Nothing.

Hotch nodded once. “Do your job,” he told her quietly. “However you see fit.”

She saluted lazily. “Your funeral with HR.”

Inside the interview room, the parents sat rigid with fear—the mother red-eyed, hands clenched; the father vibrating with anger. She didn’t sit.

She leaned against the table, arms crossed. “Alright,” she said calmly, “what exactly do you want me to do.”

The mother sniffed. “Find our daughter.”

“Okay. Then here’s the truth,” she replied. “Your daughter didn’t disappear. She left. With a man.”

The father slammed his hand on the table. “That’s impossible!”

“Is it,” she asked, tilting her head, “or is it just inconvenient.”

The mother sobbed harder. “How can you talk about her like that?”

“My parents would’ve beaten my ass into a new personality if I pulled this,” she said evenly. “But judging by how shocked you are? Parenting score’s going even lower this time.”

“That’s cruel!” the mother cried.

“No,” she said. “Cruel would be lying and say you're doing a wonderful job as parents.”

The father stood. “This is unacceptable. You’re supposed to help us!”

“I am helping you,” she said. “I just don’t do comfort lies.”

The mother screamed, “OUR DAUGHTER IS MISSING AND YOU’RE STANDING THERE JUDGING US?!”

She checked her watch. “What I’m doing is budgeting my patience. Also? I haven’t had coffee today.”

The father stared at her. “You care more about coffee than our child?!”

“Well, duh,” she replied. “I can’t solve crimes dehydrated.”

Then, casually: “And she’s still in the city, an emergency at a time — favorite motto.”

Both parents froze.

“What,” the mother whispered.

“Where is she,” the father demanded. “Is she alive?”

She nodded. “Very much so. She’s with a man. Voluntarily. And right now, the worst thing you can do is interfere.”

“I WILL SUE,” the father shouted.

She pulled out her phone and slid it across the table. “Go ahead. HR’s on the line.”

The call was active. And we could hear an annoyed voice on speakerphone.

She stepped back. “I’ve got a briefing. And then coffee.”

Outside, the detective scoffed. “Unbelievable. That’s how the FBI operates now?”

Hotch turned slowly. “Yes,” he said. “And if you undermine my team again, you’ll be explaining that attitude to your captain.”

"You're such a dream to me, before you speak, don't move. 'Cause I don't wanna wake up."

Summary : Hotch is again doing babysitting duty but this time had to drag her with Rossi all the way to Boston cause he didn't like the fact that she lowkey drove a federal agent car like it was a F1 car. And it's not because Morgan called in panic in the middle of his day off.

Warnings : season 3 ep.18 (the crossing), basically she can't drive and Morgan thinks he's about to die. Prentiss was to blame, house breaking, CM typical violence mentioned, psychological themes, mention of past episodes crimes (because I didn't know what they were talking about in the meeting so I lowkey invented), eating from a crime scene (ps. it's lasagna but if u have restrictions just imagine a basic lasagna with your restrictions okayyy thanks), anyways there's also a lot of unprofessional behaviour but it was already to think yk. english isn't my first language, 2.3k words. Likes and repost are accepted :3

Hotch was still babysitting her. Not because he wanted to. Not because he had time.

But because the one time he’d left her alone—after the whole Chester incident—had turned into such a catastrophic mess that Morgan had ended up calling Hotch on his day off like it was an emergency hotline. Hotch had been in the middle of investigating with Rossi. They were in the detective office, going over files, when his phone rang.

Hotch glanced at the screen.

Morgan.

He picked up immediately, because Morgan never called unless something was wrong.

“Hotch.”

Morgan didn’t even say hi.

“HOTCH.”

Hotch frowned. “What happened?”

Rossi leaned in a little, curious. Morgan’s voice came through loud enough for Rossi to hear.

“She’s driving.”

Hotch’s face didn’t change, but something in his eyes dimmed like his soul had just left his body.

“…She’s what?”

“She’s driving,” Morgan repeated. “And I think I’m about to die.”

From the background, Hotch could hear her voice—way too cheerful.

“Y’ALL ARE SO DRAMATIC! I’M LITERALLY A SAFE DRIVER! WE NEED TO GO TO THE SOUTH BEFORE HE LEAVES SO I’M GOING !”

Morgan sounded like he was gripping the dashboard for dear life. “Hotch, she just took a turn like we were in Fast and Furious.”

“Stop snitching Derek,” she said. “It’s not that true tho !”

Hotch shut his eyes briefly. Rossi, meanwhile, was openly smiling.

Hotch lowered his voice. “Put me on speakerphone.”

Morgan hesitated. “You sure?”

“Morgan. Do. It.”

There was some shuffling, and then her voice filled the line, bright and smug.

“Hi boss daddy !”

Hotch’s jaw tightened. “Pull the damn car over.”

“But it’s fun! And I finally can drive!”

Hotch stared at nothing, like he was contemplating on his life choices and started regretting everything.

“Pull. Over.”

“Okayyyy,” she said, dragging it out like she was doing him a favor. “But only because you asked nicely.”

“I did not ask nicely.”

“You did in spirit.”

Hotch hung up. Rossi laughed out loud.

Hotch didn’t look at him. “Don’t even start.”

Rossi held up both hands. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re thinking about it.”

“I’m thinking it’s funny,” Rossi corrected.

Hotch exhaled slowly, like he was trying to keep his blood pressure from becoming a federal issue.

A few hours later, Hotch and Rossi were heading to Boston for a meeting about some meeting with other federal agents to talk about analysing and profiling. Hotch had insisted she come with them, because the alternative was leaving her unsupervised in D.C., and apparently Hotch didn’t trust her to set something on fire or be watched by Emily or JJ without HR calling every two seconds.

She was complaining from the second she realized what was happening. Hotch didn’t even let her walk freely.He grabbed her by the arm and dragged her down the hallway like she was a toddler who’d escaped daycare.

Rossi followed behind them carrying her go-bag like a tired dad on vacation.Morgan and Spencer watched from the bullpen. Morgan was grinning like Christmas had come early.Spencer looked conflicted, like he wanted to laugh but also feared for her life.

“She’s literally getting escorted,” Morgan whispered.

Spencer nodded. “Yes. Like a potato sack.”

Rossi walked past them. “She’s not a potato sack more like a feral goblin or a child trying to escape daycare.”

She twisted dramatically in Hotch’s grip.

“SOMEONE HELP ME! I’M BEING ABDUCTED! CALL MY MOTHERRRR!”

Morgan laughed so hard he had to hold the desk. Spencer covered his mouth, but his eyes were smiling. Hotch didn’t even blink.

“Zip it,” he muttered.

She gasped. “Oh my God. You can’t say that to a woman.”

“I can when she’s a danger to society.”

“I’m not a danger to society.”

Hotch glanced at her. “You were driving a car like you had a personal vendetta against the speed limit.”

“It was literally fine. I wasn't over the speed limit yet.”

“Morgan thought y’all were going to die.”

Morgan shouted from behind them, “I WAS READY TO SEE THE LIGHT!”

She rolled her eyes. “Morgan is being really dramatic.”

Hotch stopped walking just long enough to look at her.

“I told you not to drive.”

She scoffed. “Pinky swear it was Emily who insisted I drive!”

Hotch’s eyes narrowed. “Emily isn’t here.”

“Exactly,” she said. “So stop blaming me. She’s not here to defend herself.”

Hotch resumed walking.

“I don’t care,” he said. “Chop chop. We’re going to Boston.”

She dragged her feet. Hotch dragged her anyway.

Boston was boring. Like, aggressively boring.

The meeting room was filled with local law enforcement—mostly older men, mostly suits, mostly the kind of people who said things like “perp” unironically.

There were no women besides her and in her sight of view. Which meant the second she walked in, she could feel every pair of eyes swivel in her direction. And it was insane because she was dressed professionally…Mostly.

Her outfit was a normal work fit, but it had a twist: A lacy pink top under her blazer that gave office siren vibes, and a Juicy Couture bag because it was iconic. Plus Spencer had gotten it for her birthday, so it was emotionally non-negotiable.

One officer stared at the bag a little too long. She stared back, deadpan, until he looked away.

Hotch leaned toward her. “Behave.”

She whispered, “I am behaving.”

Rossi murmured, amused, “For now.”

Hotch and Rossi went over the case. She sat beside them with a notebook open, looking like she was paying attention.She was. Sort of. But her brain got bored easily with the whole psychological issues their unsub faced, so she started doodling.

This time it was rats. Rats on the corner of the page. Rats in the margins. Rats with little speech bubbles. She even doodled a rat wearing sunglasses.

She highlighted in bright pink key words like DEATH, UNSUB, and M.O. And she may or may not have drawn: a dead rat laying next to an unsub rat and few centimeters away, a rat committing a felony

Hotch glanced down once and immediately looked away like it physically hurt him. Rossi glanced down and almost laughed.

One of the officers raised his hand. Hotch stiffened, because he already knew where this was going.

The officer cleared his throat. “And you—what’s your take on this?”

Hotch’s stomach dropped.

She blinked, paused, then smiled politely.

And Hotch realized—too late—that she was about to speak.

“Yeah,” she said, voice light. “I don’t remember every detail because I had to help our technical analyst, Ms. Penelope Garcia, during the case.”

The officer nodded like this was normal. Hotch was frozen in place. She continued, surprisingly calm.

“But from what I recall, the M.O. was messy. Like… even I had to think of crazier theories. And then I was like, ‘98% it's a group of teenage boys' and everyone didn't believe teens could do that.”

She leaned back, grinning.

“And turns out I was right! They were coerced by an older alpha male who did the same thing three states away before going there.”

She laughed softly, cocky as hell. A couple of officers chuckled awkwardly while some even clapped in amazement. Hotch rolled his eyes, because of course she was right.

Rossi nodded like a proud grandfather.

“She’s not wrong,” Rossi said.

Hotch muttered, “Of course she isn’t.”

After the meeting ended, an officer approached them with that hopeful look..

Hotch immediately went into leadership mode. Rossi looked interested. While she looked exhausted. The officer started explaining they needed help with another situation. She leaned into Hotch dramatically.

“HOTCHHHHH. You told me I was going to sleep.”

Hotch didn’t even look at her. “It’s overtime.”

Her face twisted. “Ugh.”

“That means more pay.”

She stared at him like he’d personally insulted her.

Rossi leaned in, cheerful. “Come on. Overtime is good.”

She huffed. “Better be worth my time. Gosh.”

Hotch pinched her side without warning. She squeaked and collapsed sideways like she’d been shot. Rossi stared at Hotch like he couldn’t believe what he’d just witnessed. Then Rossi offered her a hand. She grabbed it and stood back up, fixing her blazer like she wasn’t just a victim of workplace violence.

Hotch walked ahead like nothing happened, she ran up towards him only for her to hold his hand.

Rossi murmured, “You two are insane.”

She whispered, “He started it.”

They were led into a small interview room. A housewife sat there, hands folded in her lap. Her hair was neat. Her clothes were clean. Her face was blank. Not calm. Not composed. Blank.

Like her mind had left the building. She didn’t look like a murderer unless you’d look at her house. 

Rossi sat down. She sat down too, but leaned toward Rossi and whispered:

“Twenty bucks she’s actually troubled and we just lost time.”

Rossi didn’t even hesitate.

“Bet accepted,” he whispered back. “And we’ll go eat the pizza with Hotch credit card.”

She smiled. “Deal. Because you know we eat for ten people and he won’t know what’s coming for him.”

Rossi chuckled.

Hotch gave them a look that could’ve killed a man.

They shut up immediately.

The woman spoke quietly. About being a bad wife. About not doing enough. About her kids hating her. About her husband being disappointed.About how she deserved it. About how she killed him. But something felt off. Her voice didn’t match her words. It sounded rehearsed.

Hotch watched her like a hawk. Rossi asked gentle questions. While she wanted to talk but always got cut off by Hotch who asked the woman questions. 

She also watched the woman’s hands, her posture, the way she flinched when the officer raised her voice just a little. Then Hotch ordered her to go “check something with Garcia.” Which meant: Hotch wanted her out of the room before she said something that would get them kicked out of Boston.

She left, annoyed, but she listened. And because she was bored, she didn’t just “check something with Garcia.” She went to the woman’s house.

Thirty minutes later, she came back like nothing happened. She sat down next to Rossi, looking way too satisfied with herself. Rossi gave her a look. Hotch gave her a look.

She smiled innocently. The woman continued talking. After a while, she leaned toward Rossi and murmured:

“I don’t think she’s guilty.”

The officer snapped his head toward her. “Excuse me?”

“I mean,” she said, “she calls herself a bad wife. Her kids have nothing positive to say. The house is spotless. Except for the husband's bed.”

The officer frowned. “Please don’t tell me you, as a woman, believe she’s innocent.”

Her eyes narrowed instantly.

“Okay first of all,” she said sweetly, “that’s not because I’m a woman.”

Hotch’s shoulders tensed like here we go.

She continued.

“I think she’s psychologically abused. Look at her. Look at how she speaks. Look at how she blames herself for everything. And the fact that she's been married for years and her with her husband don't even share a bed - Hotch's lowkey divorcing but still slept in the same bed as his wife.”

The officer scoffed. “And you know this because…?”

She shrugged.

“Because Hotch made me walk all the way to her house.”

Hotch’s head snapped toward her. Rossi’s eyebrows shot up.

The officer blinked. “Your boss said you had to talk with this Garcia.”

She sighed dramatically.

“Woman… I did, and she gave me the records and address.”

The officer stared. “You broke into her house?”

“I didn’t break in,” she said, offended. “The door was open.”

Hotch’s eyes closed for a second like he was fighting for his life.

“And also,” she added, “I didn’t like your crime scene photos. They were boring.”

The officer looked like he was going to pass out.

“And,” she continued, “she had lasagna in her fridge. Like… a mean lasagna.”

Rossi turned his head slowly. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

She smiled.

“Oh I did, it was gonna go bad if I didn't came there.”

The officer’s face twisted. “So you ate from a crime scene.”

She shrugged. “I truly did worse. And trust, her cooking surpass a lot of what I have eaten here in Boston.”

Hotch spoke through his teeth. “We are going to talk about this later.”

She smiled at him. “Okay.”

Eventually, Hotch and Rossi explained to the officer: Even tho there was no signs of physical abuse. The woman was psychologically abused by her husband. The husband also had groomed the children into thinking the mother was useless and unstable. The woman had been broken down for years until she believed she deserved everything.

The officer’s face changed as he finally understood.

Hotch spoke to the officer. “She did kill him.” “But,” Hotch added, “she needs help. Not prison.”

The officer swallowed.

Later, outside, Hotch walked beside her in silence. Then he spoke, quiet but firm.

“For once,” he said, “I’m proud of you.”

Her face lit up almost immediately.

Then Hotch added, “But you could’ve behaved better.”

Her smile fell. “Here we go again.”

Hotch stared at her. “You told a police officer you entered their crime scene and ate from their fridge.”

“I didn’t enter it,” she argued. “The backdoor was open.”

“That’s still entering.”

“And I didn’t break anything this time .”

Hotch sighed.

She shrugged and continued walking.

“Where’s the fun in pretending they’re doing their job perfectly?” she said. “They needed to know they can’t protect a crime scene as well as they think.”

Rossi walked between them, amused.

“You’re going to give Hotch gray hair.”

She smiled. “He already has gray hair.”

Hotch shot her a look. She clapped her hands once.

"Then you come through like the sweetener you are. To bring the bitter taste to a halt."

Summary : Thinking about how unhinged reader would react when she has to encounter an unsub, who's in prison... with obviously surveillance cause she can't be alone for a second.

Warnings : mention of castration, reader licked hotch hand, nasty shits, mention that reader dyed her hair blonde using penelope's hair product (know that if ur hair's not suited for that rethink cause i dyed my friend with 4c hair with magic root with three pack of tresseme and half a dozen of L'Oreal) dont ask... and if ur hair is og blonde either darker or lighter is not a matter. HAD TO DO THAT CAUSE THE UNSUB WAS A MAN WHO HAD A FETISH ON BLONDES (i'm sorry_ish) BUT IT WAS ONE OF MY FAV. 2.1K WORDS... english ain't my first language. also mention of chaos and normal cm violence ig...

It was one of those days at the BAU where everything felt like it was teetering on the edge of disaster—fitting, since they were dealing with Chester Hardwick, the infamous arsonist and serial killer whose execution was looming like a storm cloud. Hotch had decided that leaving the team's newest, most unpredictable member alone in the office was a recipe for chaos. So, against her dramatic protests, he dragged her along for the prison visit with Reid. Little did he know, she hadn't even cracked open the case file. Problem number one.

The night before—exactly 15 hours before Hotch's abrupt "you're coming with us" announcement—she and Penelope had turned their girls' night into a rainbow apocalypse. Penelope, ever the dramatic tech goddess, had stockpiled an absurd amount of colorful hairsprays after spotting what she swore was a gray hair (spoiler: it was just stress from the back-to-back nightmares of her best friend getting kidnapped and Reid's abduction by Tobias Hankel).

"I'm aging prematurely!" Penelope had wailed, buying out half the store's supply. They experimented wildly, blasting greens, pinks, and purples all over her hair, but the colors clung like glue, refusing to wash out. She also knew that it was the fourth time in less than six months that her hair was looking 'unprofessional' and that HR was gonna try to chew her pay up because of this behaviour. In a panic, she grabbed Penelope's "emergency" dirty blonde spray—the one Garcia used to camouflage that rogue gray—and slathered it on top. The result? A blotchy mess: electric blue streaks peeking through pink patches, her natural dark roots stubbornly intact, all muddled under a uneven layer of blonde that screamed "bad decision."

Now, crammed in the back of Hotch's SUV on the five-hour drive to the prison, she fidgeted restlessly, her hair a technicolor disaster that clashed with her rumpled BAU polo. Reid sat shotgun, nose buried in his copy of Crime and Punishment—this time in Russian, because why not challenge his eidetic memory even more? Hotch gripped the wheel like it owed him money, his jaw set in that signature stoic line.

Reid glanced back at her through the rearview mirror, his eyebrows shooting up. "No, but like... bold choice of hair color. I would've gone with literally anything else, but I guess this shade of blonde works? In a post-apocalyptic clown kind of way."

She froze mid-chew on a churro she'd smuggled from the gas station stop. "What do you mean by that? You're scaring me here, Twinkie Wonder. Spill it before I start throwing Takis at you."

Reid sighed, marking his page with a finger. "You're worse than Morgan. At least he reads the case files before showing up. Haven't you even skimmed who we're visiting today?"

"Nope," she admitted with a shrug, popping a fiery red Takis chip into her mouth and crunching loudly. "But knowing your almighty knowledge won't rest unless you tell me—to prove how smart you are and all—bring it on, Boy Genius. Educate me."

Reid adjusted his glasses, his voice dropping to that professorial tone he loved. "Our, erm, soon-to-be-executed unsub is Chester Hardwick. He's got a thing for blonde females with your exact body type— the whole package of personality. He targeted women who fit that MO, strangled them, then set their bodies on fire. I'll just pray you don't become a factor in our potential failure here."

Her eyes widened comically, the churro dropping from her hand onto the seat. "GREAAATTTT! HOTCH, I SWEAR TO GOD, YOU TURN THIS CAR AROUND RIGHT NOW AND DROP ME OFF! STRAUSS—THE SATAN SHE IS—CAN TAKE CARE OF ME. PLEASE, I'M BEGGING YOU NOT TO LET ME NEAR THIS MAN I HAVEN'T EVEN MET YET!"

Hotch didn't even flinch, his eyes fixed on the road. "Sit still. I'm not turning back. It's been five hours, and I'm over your childish attitude. You should've thought about that before dyeing your hair like a walking pride parade. Now behave—we're already here."

"NOOOOOOOOO! SPENCER, YOU AMAZING TWINKIE BESTIE WHO LOVES ME MORE THAN LIFE, SAVE ME! SPARE ME FROM THIS HELL!"

Reid smirked faintly, closing his book. "I feel like this will serve as a valuable lesson. Plus, it'll be fascinating to observe firsthand how he reacts to someone who fits his old MO. Anthropologically speaking, of course. Now, I need to see if they have a bathroom—my hands are sticky from holding your iPod, what did you even touched to make it sticky ?"

She grinned sheepishly, wiping sugar dust off her jeans. "It was food! Precisely churro sugar, Fuego Takis crumbs, and probably residues from the milkshake that spilled on the passenger seat..."

"Oh, come on," Hotch groaned, his patience fraying like an old rope. "I told you not to do that after the trip to LA, and before that to Paris, Texas—and even before that one to Albuquerque. No eating in the car means no eating in the car."

She leaned forward, pressing her face against the window dramatically. "Can you at least open the door? I think you locked it with child security. Again."

"Last time I unlocked it, you jumped out onto the shoulder while we were going 60. I had to pull over, drag you back in, and yell at you for ten minutes straight. I'm not doing it again."

"THEN WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS DRAGGING ME INTO YOUR NOT-FUNNY, LIFE-THREATENING STUFF? I NEVER ASKED FOR THIS!"

Hotch's voice was calm, but edged with steel. "Because the first time I left you alone for an hour at the BAU, you bit someone. Jack is two years old and knows biting is bad."

She crossed her arms, pouting. "And Jack wants to eat candies for dinner. Your point? I don't see it, 'cause I eat candies for dinner and supper. And you let me babysit your kid because I'm the absolute best at it."

"The only option Jack hasn't rejected yet," Hotch admitted dryly, "and the only one I don't have to pay..."

"HEY! Actually, that's true—you've never paid me. But I steal your food and crash your place uninvited while you and Haley are... you know, doing the nasty. I'm just saying, a hotel or somewhere far away would be way better for privacy."

Reid chimed in, unlocking his door with a click. "You come at the most random moments, too. Remember when you broke into my apartment—the one I thought was above average secured, Derek Morgan approved and statistically impossible to open... You picked the lock, sprawled on my couch, and binge-watched Malcolm in the Middle at midnight. Could've at least texted."

She blinked innocently. "Right, right... don't really remember that one. Must've been a Thursday."

Hotch killed the engine and turned to face her. "We're inside a federal prison now. Remember the rules..."

"I KNOW: BEHAVE, BEHAVE, AND BEHAVE," she cut him off, mimicking his stern tone. "Also, 'don't bite, don't threaten, and don't act like being strangled or whatever twisted fantasy they have is kinky because they might act on it.' Got it, boss man. Crystal clear."

The trio walked into the stark, echoing halls of the prison, the air thick with the metallic tang of institutional despair. They were led to the interrogation room, where Chester Hardwick sat unchained to the table, his eyes lighting up like a predator spotting prey as they entered. Hotch and Reid took seats across from him, diving into questions about his crimes, probing for insights into their current case. She perched on a stool in the corner, doodling absently on a notepad to keep her fidgety hands busy.

Her artwork started innocently: a classic hangman game. Then the hangman toppled to the floor. Then he got stabbed in the back with a cartoon knife. Soon, the hangman was strolling off the page, free as a bird. She scribbled words around it—"imbecility," "mommy issues," "arsonist"—and beside "arsonist," she drew a mischievous raccoon juggling flames between its paws, complete with a tiny arson hat.

She nudged the paper toward Reid under the table. "Psst, check this out. Art therapy at its finest."

Reid ignored it, leaning forward instead. "Mr. Hardwick, can you walk us through the timeline of your third victim? Any details on how you selected her?"

Chester barely glanced at Reid, his gaze locked on her like a laser. She met his stare with a bored yawn, flipping her notepad shut.

After what felt like an eternity of unproductive back-and-forth, Hotch stood. "Okay, we're leaving. We've learned nothing useful here."

He pressed the buzzer to signal the guards. Once. Twice. Three times. Three turned into eight. Silence.

Chester smirked, leaning back in his chains. "Yeah, so you see... they're on a break right now."

"HOTCH, THIS IS NOT GOOD!" she yelped, jumping to her feet. "I TOLD YOU I WANTED MY REVOLVER! NOOOOO, IT'S TOO DANGEROUS. AND I WANTED THE EXTRA CHAINS FOR THIS GUY, BUT NOOOOO, IT'S TOO INHUMAN. BITCH, SINCE WHEN DID WE START CARING ABOUT THAT? HE'S DEAD MEAT ALREADY—WHY ARE WE TREATING CHOPPED LIVER LIKE ROYALTY? AND STRAUSS, THAT SATAN INCARNATE, PROBABLY ORDERED THIS FROM HER IVORY TOWER!"

Hotch shot her a warning glare. "I told you not to call her like that, she complained to me about how I should 'raise' you better."

Chester's grin widened, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Yeah, well, you know how it is. Shift change. You gotta wait fifteen minutes for 'em to come back—maybe thirty total. Plenty of time to chat."

"HOTCHHH!!!!!!" she wailed, pacing like a caged tiger.

Chester's eyes gleamed as he zeroed in on her. "What ya gonna do, Blondie? Trust me, you'll be pretty bruised and dead by the end. Yer head would look wonderful on a stick."

"OI, CHESHIRE CAT! YOU TOUCH ME, AND I WILL ACTUALLY CASTRATE YOUR ASS WITH A PLASTIC SPOON!"

"Feisty little thing," Chester chuckled, licking his lips. "I will love making you scream after I kill your two friends here. Slow and sweet."

"HELL NAH, LISTEN UP, CHOPPED LIVER! I HAD TO SIT IN THE BACK OF A CAR FOR FIVE HOURS TO SEE YOUR NARCISSISTIC ASS, AND I STILL CAN'T BELIEVE IT. I'M MAD AS HELL BECAUSE ALL MY FRIENDS ARE HAVING FUN IN ANOTHER STATE, AND I'M STUCK HERE WITH YOU. THEN YOU THREATEN ME? THAT'S RUDE AS HELL—AT LEAST DO SOME FOREPLAY FIRST, YOU INDECENT CREEP! BE A GENTLEMAN ABOUT YOUR PSYCHO FANTASIES!"

And that verbal sparring match dragged on for the full thirty minutes. Chester hurled twisted threats; she fired back with increasingly unhinged insults, from comparing him to a "dollar-store Hannibal Lecter" to suggesting he "take his mommy issues to therapy instead of arson class." Hotch stood rigidly by the door, trying to suppress a sigh that threatened to escape every five seconds, his hand hovering near the buzzer. Reid, meanwhile, watched with wide-eyed fascination, mentally noting behavioral patterns while secretly wishing Morgan was there to crack up at the spectacle. "This is like a live psych experiment," Reid muttered under his breath. "Fascinating escalation dynamics."

Finally, the door buzzed open, and a guard poked his head in. "Shift's over. You folks done?"

The federal agent outside nodded curtly as they exited. "So, how was it?"

"Instructive," Hotch replied flatly, clamping a hand over her mouth to stifle any further outbursts. She responded by licking his palm sloppily, and he retracted it immediately, gagging inwardly while wiping it on his pants.

"Where's the bathroom again?" Hotch asked while following the guard.

Back at the car, Hotch was too impressed—borderline stunned—by how her relentless barrage of insults had rattled Chester enough to keep him from escalating further. The killer had actually clammed up toward the end, muttering to himself instead of plotting murders. Hotch wasn't in the mood to ground her for the hand-licking (the seventh time that month, and it was only the fifth). He just slid into the driver's seat, started the engine, and glanced at her in the rearview.

"Next time, read the file and keep your hair natural," he said, almost smiling.

She beamed, unwrapping another churro. "Next time, let me stay home and bite someone. Deal?"

Reid snorted from the front. "Deal denied. But hey, at least we survived."

"Chasin' you, no, I won't stop tryin'. Just meet me at the borderline"

Summary : An unhinged woman being apart of the most serious department in the FBI, what will go wrong... well a shit ton of stuff.

Warnings : Canon-typical violence (normal) criminal Minds stuff Kidnapping explicit innuendo threesomes, flirting, Dark humor & unhinged behavior (intentionally chaotic, morally gray protagonist bending rules without breaking laws Mentions of assault Authority conflict Morality is flexible, professionalism is optional HR is the true antagonist Reader insert is intentionally overpowered, disruptive, and controversial. ENGLISH ISN'T MY FIRST LANGUAGE

Thinking about unhinged!BAU!reader She was twenty-four when Gideon recommended her. Twenty-four. Three master’s degrees—English Language & Arts, Sociology, and Criminology—stacked like a threat. Gideon called her “one of the most frighteningly intuitive minds I’ve ever met.”

Strauss called her the longest temporary headache she had. She hated hierarchy on principle. Especially the kind that loved to remind everyone “you’re replaceable.”

So she made it her personal mission to get fired. The problem? She was too smart. She never broke the law—no, that would be easy. Instead, she memorized civil and criminal codes for every state, weaponizing loopholes so thoroughly that HR started scheduling meetings about her.

"You're not allowed to do that." Hotch warned "I'm not allowed to blow a raspberry to someone who's not even aware I'm behind the tinted window ?" She responded as if it's like a question. "That's just highly disrespectful, he didn't do anything to you personally." "No but he did hit Morgan and I'm the only one who can hit him." She once flirted with an unsub during a monitored phone call. "You sound like super hot. I truly hope that the voice matches the face." The unsub flirted over the phone. "Are you confessing here cause you're sounding quite desperate," she responded bluntly. "Stick to the script. We don't need HR on our backs again." Hotch ordered. "Chillax, I know what I'm doing. You clearly look like you're lonely, I can fix that." She said before ending the call.

The team arrested the unsub and the unsub kept asking for her. HR kept sweating.

Hotch was assigned—unofficially—to watch her. Morgan and Garcia, however, immediately chose chaos. Somehow HR ended up hosting more than one meeting about harassment after she: lowkey proposed a threesome to Garcia, very loudly, over the phone and in front of Strauss. While Morgan laughed so hard he nearly fell Strauss looked like she wanted to jump out of the jet mid-flight.

Somehow she's learned to find some personal information and that from her freaking phone. That and the fact that she learned to code at nineteen. Then she learned to improve. Then she found loopholes in confidentiality protocols that technically weren’t illegal, just… deeply upsetting. She may have mentioned her abilities randomly because an agent pissed her off.

"Officer Logan, your divorce doesn't mean you have to act like the biggest asshole on earth, so unless you wanna call Brenda and tell her how much you don't want her to go back with her parents in Bel-Air, I highly suggest you zip your mouth." She cut him off.

The officer looked frightened but ultimately his cheeks redden in embarrassment, JJ was mortified - the potential liaison between the BAU and the police was clearly dead. Morgan found it clearly hilarious even tho Hotch who was next to him wanted to go home and sleep.

Garcia was proud. She texted her so many heart emojis but also added a ton of memes.

You'd think she's untouchable but somehow she got kidnapped more than once. The team kicked down so many doors, guns raised, adrenaline spiking— only to find her sitting on the floor, hands zip-tied, laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes.

“You almost died.” Hotch said while cutting off the restraints. “No, we were playing a fun game.” She responded cheerfully. “This isn’t a game babygirl, y'almost got hurt.” Morgan responded with a more serious tone. “Agree to disagree, I had worse than that.” Reid muttered under his breath while helping her getting up, “I need a raise.”

Meanwhile because of how much there's too much drama, people assume she's dating some of her coworkers.

Hotch, because she spent too much time in his office. “Is it too much to ask to have two minutes of peace ?” “But you looked lonely and I fell on the way. You're the one with the best bandaids.” She whined. “Here take 'em, now you finish those paper I gave you,” He said handing her the box of bandaids.

Reid, because they looked like a power couple from an academic thriller he held doors while she brought him coffee at exactly 140°F (71.11°C)

“For our boy genius an optimal temperature for maximum cognitive efficiency.” “I feel very supported and loved, thank you.”

Morgan, because the flirting was lethal and HR had explicitly stated that what they said to each other was “significantly worse” than Garcia and Morgan’s banter HR implied—again—that it could qualify as sexual harassment. HR vs the girls (HR lost) Then there was Garcia. The calls. The jokes.

The implications. HR hosted a full seminar and begged both women to stop “discussing hypothetical bedroom activities.” HR also prayed that whatever allegedly happened at Garcia’s house was a lie or wildly exaggerated. Morgan, overhearing: “So… when am I invited?” Emily joined in. Strauss developed visible grey hairs. And learned the hard way those news by hearing the conversation HR had recorded.

When Strauss finally pulled her “everyone is replaceable” speech and benched her— The BAU struggled. Profiles took a little longer. Connections were missed. Turns out her unhinged profiling worked. “Brunette. Around 5’11. Insecure bitch. Thinks killing is a turn-on—especially petite blondes with blue eyes. Mommy issues. Wants to be called ‘daddy’ if he’s lucky.” She was somewhat right.

Another time : “Unsub is the child of a retired actress who got pregnant late. She’s reliving her past because she’s dying soon. Stressor’s mortality.” She was right again.

Strauss put her back. No apology. But the team didn’t need one. Rossi who arrived during the time she was out but almost immediately adopted her as his illegitimate

“She literally slapped the unsub and he's complaining about it.” Strauss said in a meeting with Hotch and Rossi.

“No, she smacked the mosquito on his cheek.” Rossi defended.

"And no matter how I want to. And no matter how easy things could be if I did."

Summary : A lawyer who used to have morals and a federal agent who doesn't tolerate bullshit, what could go wrong ?

Warnings : Angsty ish to a lil romancey. A somewhat enemies to lovers. (reader) is somehow layered asf because erm yeah. IS PART ONE OF : Lawyer Au! (Morgan x lawyer!reader). ps. english isn't my first language.. PS : im thinking its season 4-5 but take some trauma out and think of it as before all the other shits. Reblogs and likes are appreciated :3

She grew up in the South, where injustice didn’t hide—it sat on front porches and church pews and dinner tables. She learned early when to stay quiet and when silence was complicity.

“Why don’t they ever get in trouble?” she once asked her mother, watching a neighbor scream slurs at one of her friends.

Her mother didn’t answer. That was answer enough.

Most of her friends were minorities, and standing beside them meant taking some hits herself. Teachers “misunderstood” her. Parents warned their kids about her. She learned to smile through it and keep her spine straight.

“I don’t care,” she told her best friend when they were twelve. “If they’re wrong, they’re wrong. I’m not switching sides.”

That promise followed her into her teenage years—along with straight A’s, perfect attendance, and SAT scores so high counselors stared at her like she’d cheated.

“Five Ivy League recommendations,” one of them said, stunned. “Do you even sleep?”

“Sleep is optional,” she replied. “Winning isn’t.”

She chose Harvard. Partly ambition. Partly convenience—her mother’s cousin lived in Boston. That cousin turned out to be a retired Virginian senator with a warm smile and unsettling advice.

“Idealism is cute,” he told her one night over dinner. “But it doesn’t pay the bills.”

“I don’t care about money,” she snapped.

He laughed. “Everyone says that before they need it.”

He taught her how the system really worked. Who mattered. Who didn’t. How justice bent for the right price. And something changed in her that night. She understood that she needed to step her ground to be respected.

“Bad people still deserve good lawyers,” he said casually. “And good lawyers deserve to be paid.”

She kept that phrase as a motto, as if helping the actual bad guys was . Years later, she stood in court defending men she would’ve despised at sixteen. She won. A lot. Her name was associated with expensive and shady people but in her mind the money was worth every sacrifices.

“You used to say you wanted to save the world,” an old friend accused once.

She shrugged. “I still do. I just invoice it now.”

She also sent some hefty donation to associations because there's people who needed it more than she did and having seven figures each time she has a client was probably another reason why she gave such amounts.

At twenty-nine, she moved to New York—and immediately ran into Derek Morgan.

Literally.

“Oi woman, watch it, we're investigating a case. Who even told you to come here ?,” he snapped.

She looked him over slowly. “You ran into me. Don’t get it twisted, you watch yourself before you start yelling at others.”

“Are you always this hostile?”

“Only when men raise their voices at me.”

That escalated quickly.

“You interfered with an active investigation,” Morgan growled.

“You violated my client’s rights,” she shot back. “And I have emails to prove it.”

Hotch stepped between them before it turned nuclear. Reid, standing awkwardly behind Morgan, whispered, “I’m… recording this. For, uh—research. Definitely not because Garcia asked me to.”

"Send it to me later, I'll use it as a birthday gift." Emily told Spencer who wondered why but nodded because he'd want to be witnessing Morgan's reaction.

JJ was talking with the detective of the NYPD about some media-related stuff while Garcia caught half of it over the phone. She never stopped asking questions.

They didn’t speak again until Los Angeles. The LAPD detective, known as Lopez requested the BAU help but also her help... Almost immediately, Morgan recognized —and his jaw tightened. Spencer who was on the phone with Garcia stopped mid-conversation, JJ and Hotch turned around to see what the commotion was about.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me.” He complained, rolling his eyes when he saw her walking towards the Detective office.

She lifted her hands to fake-surrender. “Relax. I’m not here to sue you. For today tho.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” He said with sarcasm dripping off.

“I’m here because my friend Lopez asked for backup. Seven women are dead, and whoever did it covered their tracks beautifully.”

Morgan hesitated. “You’re helping us?”

“I can multitask. Don’t look so shocked.”

By the end of the case, Morgan pulled her aside.

“I owe you an apology,” he admitted. “I misjudged you.”

She laughed. “Yeah. People tend do that a lot.”

A beat . “My mom says I should take you out.”

She blinked. “Your mother?”

“Yeah, she said I can’t judge you just because you’re doing your job. Annoyingly good at it,” he added. “But still.”

She tilted her head. “Clearly she’s an interesting woman.”

“So… dinner?” He asked again

She opened her mouth to refuse—then stopped.

“Fine,” she said. “But full disclosure: I once sued a federal agency just to prove I could.”

He smirked. “I was a cop before I became an FBI agent.”

“That could explains the attitude.”

“And you?”

“I was offered a Senate seat.”

Morgan froze. “You’re kidding.”

“Turned it down,” she said breezily. “There's too much work and I'd get less as a senator than what I'm doing now as a lawyer. That and because those old men think that yelling is leadership skills.”

She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Don’t tell them I said that.”

Morgan laughed despite himself. “You’re trouble.”

She smiled—sharp, clever, unapologetic.

"Let's just go back to the way it was. When we were on Honeymoon Avenue"

Summary : a germ-phobic with boundaries and a handsy sunshine who doesn't know that word... what can go wrong, especially if two coworkers already start shipping the two.

Warnings : English isn't my first language, it's FLUFF/CRACK because yeah. WE NEED THAT HELLUR I'VE BEEN THROUGH SO MUCH ANGST ON HERE LIKE *crashout noises*. Anywho happened pre!season one- season one. *bb reid is an angel he deserves more recognition**. Like and reblogs are accepted :3

In my AU!, reader is basically touchy with everyone she feels close with. Hugging, leaning, hands on shoulders, fingers hooking into belt loops when she laughed too hard—affection came naturally to her, like breathing. Most people in the BAU had learned to accept it. Some tolerated it.

Meanwhile Spencer Reid, BAU most germophobic member… adapted.

It was maybe his first day and she was the one who greeted him. Not Hotch, not Gideon—her. She’d appeared at his side with a bright smile and a coffee he hadn’t asked for but somehow was exactly the temperature he preferred and with exactly cream and sugar packets on the side as if she could read his mind.

“You must be Spencer,” she said, already ushering him forward. “I’m your official welcome committee. Come on, I’ll introduce you before Morgan scares you off by showing off.”

“I’m not— I mean— statistically speaking, intimidation through—”

She laughed, light and easy, and patted his arm once before he could finish. He stiffened for exactly half a second. Then… relaxed.

That should’ve been the first sign. But clearly he ignored it, she was just being weirdly friendly and her bubbly attitude made him feel comfortable in a place where he felt like he wouldn't be.

She showed him where everything was, warned him about Morgan’s relentless flirting with Penelope Garcia and JJ pastries quoting that they were a fanfavourite but also made Morgan gain two pounds, and later that evening invited him out for drinks with the team.

“Bars are… statistically unhygienic,” he admitted, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.

Her eyes lit up. “Okay. Noted. We’ll workshop that.”

Not even a month later, she learned he loved literature. That was when the notes started.

Every Monday, a quote appeared on his desk. Carefully handwritten. Taped neatly to the corner so it wouldn’t slide. At first, American writers only—she said it was “for consistency,” though Spencer suspected she was easing him into something.

He always read them.

And because Spencer Reid never turned down a challenge, he always replied.

May 5th, 2008

“What I fear most, I think, is the death of the imagination.” — The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath ★★★★☆

He frowned at the rating for a long time before responding.

May 12th, 2008

“I desire the things which will destroy me in the end.” — The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath 3.4/5

She found him at his desk not ten minutes later.

“Excuse yourself Reid but what is that” she said, hands slapping down on his desk. “A three point four?”

He blinked up at her. “Yes?”

“It was emotional, Spencer.”

“It was,” he agreed quickly. “But—some parts hit too close to home, and others felt… generic. Plath is undeniably brilliant, but some passages felt unnecessarily dense. In certain moments, I even thought she was being pretentious, which made it difficult to stay engaged.”

She stared at him, jaw slack.

“…You somehow made me understand your opinion,” she said slowly, “and I hate that.”

He smiled, just a little.

“She’s still one of the most important poets of the twentieth century,” she added. “That’s why I loved her so much when I was younger.”

He nodded, thoughtful. “That context does improve your reading experience but clearly I understand your point of view, my mother used to read me some classics too.”

Meanwhile, Penelope and Morgan who were supposed to be finishing a case work JJ gave them were instead watching the interaction as if it was a better reality show from E News then what these two binged watched together on their Sunday evenings.

“Ohhh,” he muttered. “Pretty boy.”

Garcia rolled her chair closer to Morgan, eyes sparkling as if she just cracked a code. “Did you see that? That man barely lets air touch him and he lets her put her hands on his desk and ruffle his hair ! He almost went to the bathroom to wash his hand when we shook hands.”

Morgan smirked and raised his voice. “Didn’t know you could get emotionally cozy with someone, Reid. Especially her. So—when you inviting her to dinner?”

Spencer froze.

“I—what—no—this is—statistically speaking, platonic relationships between male and female coworkers do exist, and HR hasn’t raised any concerns, and if you look at the data—”

He gestured wildly. “I'm taking as an example, you and Penelope are an excellent comparison—”

Garcia gasped. “Oh my god. You think you’re us?”

She clutched her chest dramatically and nearly toppled from her chair. Morgan checked if she was alright before he laughed at the 'joke' Spencer just told.

Because of how hard he laughed, he had to lean against a desk to support himself.

“Yeah, yeah, doctor. Whatever helps you sleep.”

And maybe that was because of this interaction that Derek Morgan and Penelope Garcia became the two self-proclaimed wingman and wingwoman of Dr. Spencer Reid.