slide photos

@ a modelling agency

interviewer: so you wanna be a model

me: actually…i’m here for someone else

me: [slides a photo across the desk]

the photo:

interviewer: holy SHIT they’re hired

miafuckingsucks  asked:

1, 14, 15 for the Drabble thing <3

1.The skirt is supposed to be this short.

JJ and Garcia had been the first to notice the new addition to your wardrobe when you entered the conference room that morning.

“Since when did you start wearing skirts to work?” JJ teased, taking the opportunity since it was just the three of you in the room at the moment.

“And ones that could be considered so scandalous?” Garcia joined in as she prepped the files for the rest of the team members.

“This skirt would only be considered scandalous back in ‘The Scarlet Letter’ times,” you laughed incredulously at your friend’s comments, “And besides, I thought it was cute and would mix up what I usually wear to work.”

“It is very cute,” Garcia confirmed, coming to where you stood and handing you a case file, “And very short.”

Throwing your head back and groaning, you chuckled softly, “The skirt it supposed to be this short!”

Tilting your head back down, you noticed that Spencer had come to enter the conference room, and when his eyes settled on the hot topic of your previous conversation, he swallowed harshly.

JJ and Garcia also noticed this and shared a knowing look between each other as Spencer took his usual seat right next to your usual seat.

“See something you like, Spencer?” Garcia whispered to the blushing man as she handed him a file while you took a seat next to him.

Rolling your eyes, you whispered a silent thank you to the universe when Hotch walked in and immediately began briefing the team.

At one point, Hotch turned his attention to Rossi and you felt Spencer’s hand come to rest on your knee.

“I do like your skirt,” his voice just loud enough for only you to hear.

“Thank you,” your own voice no louder.

“Do you think anyone would notice if we were a little late boarding the plane?” Spencer asked, trailing his hand ever so slightly up your thigh.

“Not at all.”

You prayed that no one noticed the smile you had to bite back or the hickey that would soon come to appear on your neck.


14. Take. It. Off.

“Please tell me that was the last box,” you huffed, taking a seat on the floor next to one of the many cardboard moving boxes placed sporadically around Spencer’s living room.

Nostalgia had struck Spencer after returning from a visit to Las Vegas to see his mother last week, prompting him to bring up the boxes of memories he kept stored in the basement of his apartment.

“There’s only one more,” Spencer assured, sliding a box labeled ‘photo albums’ out of the pathway you had created towards the door, “I’ll go get it and then we can start going through them.”

Humming in agreement, you scanned the boxes that were settled around you, wondering which one Spencer would want to open first when he returned.

Just to your right, the simple Sharpie label of ‘CHESS’ caught your attention the most. Imagining that it was most likely full of vintage chess boards that Spencer had collected over the years, you figured that was a good box to start with.

Standing up from your previous position and tearing back the tape that sealed it shut, you were pleasantly surprised to see a golden baseball hat residing at the top. Picking it up, a smile grew across your lips upon reading the black lettering of “Las Vegas Chess Champion 1989”. The thought of a little eight-year-old Spencer wearing the hat atop a mess of his untamed curls made you giggle before adorning the hat yourself.

As you began to carefully remove the chess boards that the hat had been on top of, you heard Spencer re-enter the apartment and close the door behind him.

“Babe, did you see a box mark—” Spencer stopped in the middle of his question upon seeing the familiar tone of yellow, “Where did you find that?”

“In this box with your chess boards,” your smile drooped, having expected him to be far more excited when seeing the relic.

“I thought I got rid of that,” Spencer swiftly set the box in his hands down and made a move towards you, “Please, take it off.”

“Why would you want to get rid of it?” you dodged his attempt to remove the hat from your head.

“Y/N, please,” Spencer ignored your question, the tone of his voice growing desperate, “Take. It. Off.

Before you had the chance to respond, Spencer was quick to close the space between you and wrap one arm around you while his free successfully snatched the hat from your head.

Squealing with laughter, you attempted to reach your arm just as high as Spencer’s to retrieve the hat back but settled back onto your feet when you realized your efforts were pointless.

“Alright, fine,” you feigned defeat, placing your forehead against his chest “But, Spence, why did you want to get rid of it in the first place?”

Lowering his extended arm to drop the hat on the sofa besides him, Spencer sighed, “The day after I won the chess tournament, I wore that hat to school, thinking that I was so cool,” his voice drifted off, “And well, we both know how uncool the rest of the high school already thought I was…”  

Your heart dropped at Spencer’s explanation for the embarrassment he had in regards to the baseball hat. Even if he had grown past the bullying he had experienced in school, it was obvious that some pain continued to linger.

Glancing down at the hat that was now by your leg, you smiled sadly before picking it up and placing it on Spencer’s head, right where it belonged.

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I bet you looked just as cool then as you do right now.”

And for the first time ever while wearing that hat, Spencer felt proud.


15. Well, you’re coming home with me whether you like it or not.

There were a million other places you would have rather been then an overcrowded bar right now. Most nights, you would be partaking in shots with Prentiss or singing a horrible rendition of some Journey song with Garcia and Morgan; but between the silent treatment that Spencer was giving you and the creepy stare you were receiving from a man at the bar, you had had enough of the night.

Pushing your way through the hoard of people on the dance floor, you made your way over to the spot of the bar where Morgan and JJ were stood, both of them ceasing their conversation at your arrival.

“Spencer still refusing to talk to you?” JJ asked sympathetically, being able to see the dejection that still resided on your face from the previous argument that the two of you had.

“Not a single word,” you shook your head, glancing back to see that Spencer was still sitting at the booth you had all chosen when you arrived, his eyes trained on the drink in front of him.

“So I’m just gonna head out,” you motioned towards the exit of the bar, receiving understanding nods from both of the agents.

“You go home and relax,” Morgan stepped forward to give you a hug, “I’m going to try and talk some sense into that boyfriend of yours.”

Lightly laughing for the first time in hours, you bid them both a good night before making your way back through the crowd of people and out of the bars overwhelming atmosphere.

Taking a deep breath of the fresh night air and reaching for your car keys in your purse, the sound of the door slamming caught your attention.

“Hey, there,” the voice was unrecognizable, but when you turned around, you were met with the man who had been staring at you since you entered the bar.

“Hi?” your response came out more as a question than a statement.

“I couldn’t help but notice that you left without the guy you came with,” his breath reeked with vodka as he came to stand closer to you, “And I thought maybe you’d be into leaving with me instead.”

Taking a step back, you scoffed at the complete stranger, “I’m not, at all.”

Sudden anger flashed across the man’s glazed eyes, “Well, you’re coming home with me whether you like it or not.

Even if you were a trained FBI agent, the man’s threat made your heart race and your palms go clammy.  

“Take one more step near her and I will not hesitate to shoot you,” Spencer’s voice rang clear and authoritative through the tense air, taking both you and the man by surprise.

“You don’t even have a gun,” the drunk man snarled, unmoved from his position near you.

Moving the jacket of his suit to reveal that he was in fact still carrying, Spencer spit venom in his words, “Back away from her, now.”

No longer willing to continue harassing you or run the chance of getting shot, the man was quick to practically run past you, in the complete opposite direction of Spencer.

A shaky sigh of relief had barely left your mouth before Spencer had pulled you into his arms, his own body shaking with fear at the idea of what could’ve happened if he had not come to apologize to you.

“Thank you,” you whispered against his chest, “I thought you were mad at me, I didn’t think you would come after me.”

Shaking his head, Spencer tipped his finger under your chin and made you look at him, “I will always come after you, I can’t lose you.”

Pressing a kiss against your forehead, Spencer pulled you into him once more, not yet willing to let you go.