speakingsoftly

[speakingsoftly]

016. CARNATIONS

The first month Touya spent without you didn't feel real. He felt like a kid waiting by the door for you to come back every night. And with every day that passed, your absence was a cruel jackhammer into his heart that reminded him you weren't coming, no matter how much he wanted you to. His mind felt like it had been unplugged, a dull melancholy beating in place of it instead.

He spends a lot of his time thinking about you. Touya knows how much people can change in so little time. So, he wonders what will have changed about you when he sees you again. It's like a fairytale playing out in his mind whenever he thinks of you—because all he can see is himself flying through these next few months and straight into your arms. He's not afraid of forgetting the sound of your laughter or the way your eyes crinkle when you smile, because those very things were permanently etched into his soul. You were a tattoo kiss that couldn't be erased, serving as a silent reminder of what he was fighting so hard for.

His mind is a broken record player that only shows him moments in time with you—moments where he had felt true happiness for the first time in his life. He'd wake up with his heart beating fast and his eyes stinging like they'd been washed with the hottest of spices.

The second month is when the chilling realization that Touya got you fired finally settles in. He never really thought past the fact that you didn't have a job here at the hospital anymore—he chose to stay blissfully ignorant rather than thinking too hard about it. He felt the guilt bubbling and burning in his chest, how had he not been more worried about your well being? Truly, Touya was stupefied. Why hadn't you expressed even a shred of anger towards him? Just a few sharp words would be fine, Touya wouldn't mind at all. Because it would make sense. You were jobless, thanks to him.

And it's not like you'd been fired from just any job, it's not like Touya's father had placed him in just any hospital. This hospital laid in Japan's most beautiful lands, on acres of endless greenery. It was the best institution for hundreds of miles in every direction.

Touya can't help but go down the rabbit hole in his mind, crawling deeper and deeper into the infinite number of possibilities your kindness made. And Touya was unfamiliar with being around people who didn't have ulterior motives, so much so that he had trouble simply understanding that maybe you not getting mad at him was just a show of humanity. Something he wasn't familiar with.

The third month is when Touya is handed a calendar. The numbers and months are all scripted in cursive, spanning multiple pages that felt like the softest silk between his fingers. After flipping through the calendar, Touya decides he wants to hang it on the wall. Your gel pen hangs loosely from Touya's lips as he bites down on the end of it, his hands working to carefully pin his calendar to the wall. Gradually, the boxes fill up with red marks crossing out each one of them. There's still a great number of pages to go, but Touya's release day is regarded with a small smiley face he drew.

The fourth month is when Touya has his first nightmare since you left.

He went to bed that night as he always did. He did his nightly routine of washing up and combing through his hair until it was a fluffy cloud atop his head. He stared at his slowly healing scars in the mirror for at least fifteen minutes before changing into his night clothes and settling down to write his letter of the day to you. Some days, his letters would span pages—stray papers would be strewn all over his bed as he tried to organize his thoughts. And other nights, he'd only write down a sentence or two before folding up his letter and filing it away. All the letters he wrote were kept in a small box Akari gave Touya to keep near his bed. Touya has a feeling you'll be proud of how much his handwriting has improved when you read his letters.

His nightmare was unexpected. It was dark and heavy in a way that made it feel like his lungs were collapsing and someone was stepping on his throat. He woke up the moment it became too much for his heart to handle, sitting straight up in his bed with a strangled gasp as his hand moved to clutch his night shirt—trying to ease his breathing.

A bead of sweat rolled down the side of his face, and Touya's tongue darts out to wet his dried lips before he glances at the emergency button beside his bed. He's not completely sure if he's having some sort of a heart attack, but his throat is closing up, and he feels terribly dizzy. He swings a leg over the edge of his bed, cradling his head in his hands as his eyes squeeze close.

But, he'll be fine. Because he remembers your breathing exercises. Like clockwork, Touya breaths in and out—he counts and he thinks about his senses; what he feels, hears, smells—and then his erratic heart slows to a calmer melody. After that, Touya is able to lay back down, though shivering, and go back to sleep. It takes him a bit of time, but his head feels like its been stuffed with cotton. Soon enough, his pale lashes are fluttering close.

Dabi would have broken down. Dabi wouldn't have gone back to bed, he would've stalked out of whatever shitty hideout he was camping in and find something to burn. Maybe an abandoned car lot so he could melt the cars that sat stationary and forgotten‚ because melting metal looked like liquid gold sometimes. An illusion of a drug all in its own, destruction had been Touya's escape at one point.

But now, Touya sleeps like a baby in his room—with a trickle of drool running down his chin as he snores quietly. His bed head was a mess, too—but despite it all, he resembles an angel that had regrown its own wings. Touya has shed Dabi in the same manner a snake sheds to reveal the new layer of skin beneath, untouched and pure.

The fifth month is warm. Touya walks in the recreational garden a lot more as the sun begins to shine more, and his cactus has been growing a lot, too. Touya feels stronger—not physically, though he is proud his body isn't anywhere near as weak as it had once been. Mentally, his head had ceased its constant screaming. It was like all the noise had come to a screeching halt. And although he doesn't know what change there was in his chemistry that made him feel this way, he's grateful. Every day is a day closer to you—every breathing second a second closer to the home he knew.

The sixth month is when Touya starts getting emotional. He's so close—he can almost hear your voice calling out his name. He daydreams about you constantly, wondering how hard he's going to hug you once he sees you again. Tonight is one of those nights where Touya pours his heart and soul into his letter. He only had a few more days left until he'd see you again. The doctors had run multiple tests and evaluations on him, and he'd exceeded their expectations. Just like he promised you he would.

Touya's eyes squint when he realizes his words weren't forming on the page in front of him—before realizing his pen had run out of ink again.

He fights the urge to let his eyes close as he quickly caps the old pen and tries reaching for another one—but his hand misses the pencil case twice. His eyelids were heavy with sleep—blurry too, and he couldn't even manage to grab another pen for himself. Touya didn't even hear Akari enter his room—all he felt was a gentle pair of frail hands helping him stand. His legs felt like jelly, and he regarded the older woman with squinted eyes.

" 'm not a baby, Akari." Touya mutters as he gently removes Akari's hand from him. His voice is hoarse, and Akari laughs lightly at the sight of Touya's sleepy smile. If she didn't know better, she'd say he was drunk. Simply put, he was acting silly. But he was just high off of the prospect of seeing your face again.

"Let's get you to bed, Touya." Akari responds softly as Touya nods groggily. He's about a foot away from the bed when he speaks up, the worlds tumbling from his lips in something close to a whine. He was delirious from lack of sleep, but even then—he was only thinking of one thing.

"I miss my Y/n,"

Akari mutters a quiet oh dear when Touya suddenly loses all his will to stand. Touya crumples against her completely, his larger frame moving sluggishly as his head fell with a quiet exhale. Akari lets out a started yelp before carefully helping Touya lower himself onto the bed. His words were slurred with sleep, and it was clear that he hadn't gotten enough rest these past few days.

"She's waiting for me out there. I...I really can't wait to see her," Touya admits breathlessly, and Akari hums as she pulls his blanket over him. Touya doesn't move an inch, resorting to staring up at the ceiling above him as he presses the back of his forearm against his forehead.

"Night, Akari. Get some sleep, yeah?" Touya yawns, finally rolling over to get comfortable in bed as he presses his cheek against his pillow. Akari rises from her chair, gently patting Touya's shoulder as she bids him goodnight. Touya keeps an eye on Akari until he can confirm she's safely left the room before finally allowing his eyes to close, succumbing to his fatigue as he falls asleep.

Touya feels like a little kid all over again. He felt like he could face the world and come out on top—and it was an incredible feeling. He hadn't felt this type of hope in a long time, but you inspired something youthful in him—rekindling a flame deep inside he thought had been put out so many years ago.

CARNATIONS MASTERLIST.

a/n; everyone say thank you taylor swift. carnations would not be a thing without her, this girl got me through every chapter 😭 i can't write a single word unless she's playing...i think i'm crazy...💔 alsoo touya is so in love in makes me fawking sick. OH btw, y/n cried cause she missed his b-day after getting fired. but this guy was giggling in his room while writing u love letters because he literally forgot it was his birthday and was just minding his own business completely unaware until akari brought him a cupcake. anywho we are getting close to the end of carnations... i can feel it 🥲 i'm still not sure how i feel about this chapter. hmph.

tags!

@kawaiidemoneart @porusuniverse @starrmage @lilbeatlebear @bokukenmakuroo

@summercreolefanfictioner @dija200 @phtmmsqrde @sunaraii

@c-lunette @gh0stgirl333 @skullkittens @gurl-pls-evn-the-sharks-fear-me

@hawkwithsocks @suresnips @sugurusmoon @matchablossomsss @moonlitmorganite

@redr0sewrites @muimuiwisteria @sukunaspillow @starsryi

@eidolonwriter @dabislittlemouse @rueclfer @kelin-is-writing

@shugs1801 @imaginationmess

@lasa27 @sophiathefrog @etaerealboy @kooromin @sourbbyxo

@hvnares @ephmeraloblivion @lost-seraphiim @quokka-ina @jesuschrist2006

@stoned-anime-babe @qatiee @shadowsingers-redhood @alycat171

@21-princess

@xileonaaaa @rylerboi @blurryperrtymoonlight @mrcleans4headwrinkle @accidentpronedork

@exquisitenesss @miniatureempathknightpony @afterlife11

[speakingsoftly]

omg i love ur account soo bad, i would rlly like to read about Spencer being jealous of Derek, for the reader to comfort him and try to help with his insecurities, lowk sad ik but pleaseee 🙇🏻‍♀️

Spencer sighed as he watched Derek from afar, talking to a group of women. Each of the girls seemed to be entranced with what the man in front of them was talking about, one of them playing with her hair while the other one kept biting her lip which turned into a not so subtle smirk over time.

Spencer hadn’t had the best luck with women, he had a few take interest in him over time, but it never grew into something serious. He blamed himself for not being the archetype of a man girls would usually want from what he saw and no matter how hard he would try to be more appealing, it just wasn’t him and he wouldn’t be able to keep up the facade for too long.

“What’s on your mind, boy wonder?”

Spencer blinked his eyes as you walked over to him and brought him out of his thoughts. Spencer wondered if he should tell you what’s on his mind or would it be something he would eventually get over after some time. It was hard to hide anything from you though, the sparkle in your eyes made Spencer crack and he’d always tell you whatever it was he was thinking of, you had never judged him for it as well, so he had his answer.

“Y/N, be honest, is there anything about me that’s… unattractive?”

“What do you mean? I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.”

“Really?”

You nodded as you took a seat next to Spencer, your hand reaching out and thumb running across the back of his hand. Spencer wasn’t one for physical touch, but whenever you showed it it put him at ease.

“Where is all of this coming from?”

“I look at Morgan at times, the way he talks to women, how he presents himself, the way he is basically and I don’t know I just… wish I could be that way.”

“I’ve always liked the way that you are. Men similar to Derek put me off at first, it makes me feel like they have other intentions, but when we first met only minutes in and you were talking about the differences between plant and human cells and I thought that it was really fascinating.”

Spencer chuckled as he remembered the day you both had met. He was scared that he had messed up his first interaction with you and that you would stay clear of him whenever you would come across in the bullpen, but you did the exact opposite. You’d always take time out of your day to go talk to Spencer, even if it was the most random subject someone could think of, but you never regretted it and kept coming back for more.

“There are people out there that adore people like you Spencer and I’m proud to say that I’m one of them. Plus, I think you’re cuter than Derek.”

Pressing a kiss to Spencer’s cheek, his eyes went wide as you waved goodbye and he watched you return to your desk, a slight bounce in your step as you strode across the room.

Spencer chuckled as his eyes met the floor, somehow your words set him at ease during times he needed it the most. He didn’t know what he had done to deserve someone like you in his life, but whatever it was he was sure he’d do it a thousand times again to have even one more conversation like this.

You can find my masterlist here!

Let me know your thoughts in the comments and like & reblog to support <3

[speakingsoftly]

it's dry january

“alcohol makes people say things they shouldn’t.” you hear the faintest tremor in his tone as he swallows hard. “and do things they shouldn’t.” spencer thinks looking at you too long might just undo him altogether.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: fluff

content: bau out for drinks! very very brief mention of case violence in the first line. flirty bau reader renders spencer a bumbling idiot!

word count: 1.1k

note: some days i stare at 5 open tabs of WIPS and some days i stare at my notes app during an hour long train ride and come up with this. no linked poem bc twas a random idea, happy january everyone! fic is titled after this poem though!

a line: You always leave him scrambling, speechless, completely stupid—He adores you for it.

Nothing prepares you for the aftermath of the kind of week where you find five headless bodies drained of blood. Therapy perhaps? But everyone knows the job doesn’t pay you enough for that. They hardly give you enough time off to begin with. 

For now though, O’Keefe’s, on Rossi’s tab, gets the job done. Well, that and a cigarette of course. Always a cigarette.

You exhale a puff of smoke, the stick balanced carelessly between your fingers. The shuffle of shoes on asphalt behind you doesn’t startle you, and neither does the voice.

“You really shouldn’t be out here alone like this when you’re inebriated.”

You don’t need to look up to know who it belongs to. 

“Needed a smoke,” you say simply, flicking the cigarette. The ash tumbles to the ground. “And Morgan’s on his whole ‘new year, new me’ shit.”

“I give him two weeks,” Spencer grins, stepping toward you. “Emily’s got a pool going.” 

“Spencer Reid,” you say, dragging out his name. Your eyes catch his briefly as you spin to face him. “Are you seriously betting against our dear coworker’s journey towards self-improvement?”

Spencer tilts his head and shrugs innocently. “I’m just making an educated guess based on statistical probability.”

“And cashing in on it.”

“Well, yes,” he admits. “That’s definitely an added bonus.”

You shake your head, your laugh soft and smoky, as you take another drag. The toe of your heel nudges his shoe when you take a step to close the gap between you. “You’re cute, Reid,” you say, almost intimately. “Y’know that?”

Spencer’s cheeks flush a faint pink. You always do this to him. His usual arsenal of facts and percentages is rendered utterly useless against your charms. You always leave him scrambling, speechless, completely stupid.

He adores you for it. 

“You—uh—you really shouldn’t smoke while drinking. The nicotine accelerates alcohol absorption. Inhibits you faster,” he manages. 

“That's kinda the point, handsome.” You retort, leaning in just enough to make his breath hitch. “S’what makes this fun isn’t it?” 

“Alcohol makes people say things they shouldn’t.” You hear the faintest tremor in his tone as he swallows hard. “And do things they shouldn’t.” Spencer thinks looking at you too long might just undo him altogether. 

He’s granted momentary relief when you turn away to stub out your cigarette on the edge of a nearby trash can. It’s shortlived though, because your hand comes to land on his chest the moment you turn back. When your fingers move to toy absentmindedly with the buttons on his vest, Spencer blanks entirely. 

“Like tell you I think you’re really cute?” you ask, your lashes fluttering in feigned innocence as you gaze up at him.

“Exactly,” he breathes out, a shaky laugh escaping him. “Like that.” His hand moves over yours and for a moment you think it may be to pull it away—He doesn’t. 

“And, uh, it’s a well-known fact that alcohol lowers inhibitions, making people more likely to do things they normally wouldn’t—like talking more or saying things they don’t really mean.”

There’s a glint in your eyes that makes his heart thud painfully against his ribs. Spencer hopes to god you can’t feel it beneath your hand. 

“And who says I don’t mean it?” you counter. Spencer doesn’t answer. He doesn’t think he’s even capable of it, his mouth opening just slightly before closing again.

“I mean, you don’t mind my honesty, do you?” you tease playfully. Then your smirk deepens, just shy of wicked. “Unless… you do?” You start to pull your hand away, but his fingers tighten ever so slightly around yours, stopping you. “Wha—no—I didn’t say—I mean, I—I don’t mind,” he stammers. 

“See?” Your grin spreads, soft and triumphant. “Cute.” 

At that, you lace your fingers with his, tugging him gently toward the bar. Spencer laughs nervously, already wondering how much of this you’ll remember in the morning. “You uh—You’re pretty cute when you’re drunk,” he says softly. 

Your eyes light up, saccharine delight crossing your face. “Aw! So you think I’m pretty and cute?” you echo, voice dripping with adoration. Spencer can only nod, blush deepening as he lets you lead the way with his hand in yours. 

Back inside, it’s clear the group has moved on from their individual drinks when the waitress sets a pitcher on the table. It fizzes, something green and citrusy that Spencer is grateful to abstain from. 

“About time,” Morgan calls, as you slide into the seat next to him. “What’d you do to get my boy genius all flustered like that, pretty girl?”

Spencer’s ears burn faintly as he takes the seat directly across from you, his hands folding awkwardly on the table. 

You ignore Morgan’s tease entirely, turning your attention to Garcia instead who’s already handing you a full glass.

“Me too!” JJ pipes up, her voice light. Spencer freezes mid-sip of his water, his eyes darting to JJ’s very noticeable baby bump.

“JJ, you can’t—you really shouldn’t—” he splutters, gesturing weakly toward the pitcher. Alarm is written across every inch of his face.

“Relax, Spence.” JJ waves him off amusedly as she reaches to grab a glass from Garcia. “It’s non-alcoholic.”

Spencer blinks, his brain trying to recalibrate. “Non-alcoholic?”

Across the table, Garcia beams like a proud parent. “We’re doing Dry January! No alcohol for the whole month. I proposed the idea to everyone.”

“Proposed isn’t the phrase I’d use,” Emily interjects dryly, leaning back in her chair. 

“Coerced,” Morgan says with a pointed look.

“Borderline threatened,” you add with an exaggerated sigh, swirling the contents of your glass lazily.

JJ, of course, opts for silence, contentedly stirring her drink with a smile. Misery loves company. 

Spencer’s eyes you, his brow furrowing. “All of you?” You lean back in your chair, biting back a grin as you take a deliberate sip from your glass. 

“Well, nearly everyone,” Garcia grumbles, nodding toward the end of the table. Rossi doesn’t miss a beat, raising his glass of scotch. “When hell freezes over,” he declares, taking a swig.

Spencer’s gaze flicks immediately to you now, brazen. “So, you’re not actually—”

“Drunk?” You cut him off, your grin now fully formed as you lean forward. “Oh, definitely not. I’m sober as a judge, gorgeous.”

Spencer’s certain he’s not going to survive this night​​—Not when the way you say gorgeous sends his heart stuttering in his chest. 

Later, when you mutter something about being too sober, Spencer can’t help but think, more than ever, that this is going to be a very long night—But he lets you tug him toward the bar by his tie anyway, smiling like a mumbling, bumbling idiot all the while.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you so much for reading! likes, comments or reblogs are very much appreciated!

ᯓ★ song recs if you feel like it: dizzy on the countdown by turnover im in love with you by the 1975

[speakingsoftly]

CLASSIFIED ; spencer reid

synopsis ; a sleepy morning turns into spencer falling over himself to get to work on time, forgetting his badge behind him.

includes ; spencer reid x fem!reader, kissing, getting interrupted by the bau, secret relationship

sunlight flittered through your blinds, heat radiated off your boyfriend who laid beside you, his arm draped over you as he slept peacefully. you card your fingers through his hair, unintentionally stirring him from his sleep.

“oh, i’m sorry baby” you apologise, voice soft in an attempt to keep him from waking up any further “go back to sleep.”

it was a rare day off for spencer, by your second date he’d told you he was in the bau, by your fifth you had gotten used to work tearing him away. but despite the annoyance, you had gotten used to it. you understood his job was important, you understood that evil wouldn’t take a break just so you could keep your boyfriend all to yourself.

when you asked him how personal time worked, he admitted to you that his team didn’t know he had a girlfriend. it stung a little, but when he explained that his job would be putting you at risk it softened the blow.

you’d heard the horror stories, how his boss’s wife was killed just so the unsub could get to him, about another girl who had been shot simply for being an agent.

it sucked, but you understood why, at least for now, spencer didn’t want to broadcast you all over the office.

“don’t wanna,” spencer mumbled, pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder as he blinked his eyes open “don’t wanna waste my one day off.”

you couldn’t help the small smile that appeared when he said that, days off may be hard to come by but spencer made sure you were the sole focus for every second of them.

he propped himself up on his elbow, his other hand tightening its grip on your waist to pull you closer “c’mere, pretty”

his sleepy voice makes the words sound even better as you lazily wrap your arms around his neck, your fingers toying with the hair at the back of his head.

he presses a lazy kiss to your lips, which quickly spirals into something deeper. his hands grip at your waist, desperate, like he was afraid that if he loosened his grip you’d disappear.

trails of nips and kisses are dragged along your neck as he moves to hover over you, your breathing is shallow, fingers tightening in his hair as his hand slides over the surface of your stomach, fingers tracing along the hem of your underwear.

“fuck,” spencer mumbles, long fingers slipping under the fabric agonisingly slowly “you look so pretty, baby, so pretty under me.”

you let your eyes fall closed, his mouth still attached to your neck as his fingers ghosted across your skin.

until his phone rings, eliciting a frustrated groan from you both. you watch as he reluctantly reaches for it to see who’s calling. you don’t need to ask, his irate expression tells you it’s work.

“yeah?” his tone is blunt, uncharacteristically so but you can’t exactly blame him “what? no, i’m not supposed to be — right. fine.”

he doesn’t need to explain what’s going on, you already know by the way he jumps out of bed and hurriedly starts getting ready to head into work.

it’s immature, you know, but you can’t help but cross your arms in annoyance as you watch him bolt back and forth around the room.

“sorry, baby.” spencer sighs, easily reading the mixture of frustration and disappointment in your expression “i’ll make it up to you, promise.”

you hum in agreement as he presses a kiss to your forehead, promising to call you when he could before disappearing out of the room, and in turn, your apartment. you stay in bed a little longer, feeling sorry for yourself and worrying about your boyfriend at the same time.

the floor is a mess, both yours and spencer’s clothes strewn around as well as decorative pillows and comforters. as you begin picking clothes up from the floor, your eyes fall on a small, rectangular piece of leather hidden under a pair of socks.

spencer’s badge.

you gnaw on your bottom lip, conflicted on what to do. by now spencer would already be at the office, calling him to come back would cut important time from his schedule. but without it he’d be in trouble.

you needed to bring it to him without airing his personal business to the entire building, which is how you ended up signing in as a visitor who was here to meet with agent derek morgan.

the only name you heard from spencer that you could remember confidently.

a serious looking woman showed you the way to the bau office, your fingers nervously drumming on the leather cover of the badge as you headed up the elevator.

all hope was lost once you stepped out, two glass doors showcasing the expanse of the office filled with people shoulder deep in whatever they were working on.

you look around the hallway like a deer in headlights, unsure if you could just walk in or if you could just give the badge to someone else to pass on to spencer.

“you okay!?” a cheerful blonde approaches you, seemingly from nowhere. arms stacked with files and carrying a coffee cup at the same time.

“uh,” you’d feel guilty adding to her workload “do you need a hand?”

mentally you face palm, cursing yourself for your lack of social skills in the simplest of situations.

“please!” the woman gasps, the ceramic mug wobbling in her hand “hotch is going to kill me if i spill coffee all over his case. i already told him ‘mister hotch sir, it would be easier to go digital’ but nooo.”

you laugh softly, taking the mug from her unstable hand and tugging open the door for her.

surely you could enter with someone who was actually allowed in the office.

“follow me!”

she’s speeding ahead, a woman on a mission, up the steps and into what seems like a conference room. you trail behind apprehensively, not wanting to get either of you into trouble by just swanning in.

“if there’s any dismembered bodies or general badness on the screen i swear to god!” she warns, rounding a corner and disappearing into the room.

you hang back awkwardly, partly because you have no business in there but mostly just in case there was any dismembered people on display.

“you’re all good!” her head pops around the corner and she motions for you to come in, so you do.

there’s barely time to register your surroundings, a circular table with a group of people sitting around it. you spot spencer instantly, you don’t even attempt to guess who everyone else is.

his head is buried in a case file, so your presence is unknown to him. which isn’t a surprise considering you’re not meant to be in the building let alone the office.

“garcia, we talked about this.”

a stern voice comes from a tall, serious looking man. you didn’t need to be a genius to work out he was most definitely spencers boss.

“right.” the woman, garcia, presses her mouth into a thin line as she gently takes the mug from your hands “do you know where you’re meant to be, lovely?”

“oh, uh, here actually.”

as you retrieve the badge from your back pocket, spencers head snaps up at the sound of your voice. his eyes widen slightly and a small smile makes its way onto his face.

“hey, what are you doing here?”

his question catches you off guard, even more so when he gets to his feet and moves around the table towards you.

wordlessly, you hand over his id, the perfectly rehearsed excuse of finding it at a cafe stuck in your throat now that spencer had made it known you weren’t a stranger.

“how did i — thank you.” his smile widens slightly, his hand resting on your waist briefly as he pressed a thankful kiss to your temple “i’ll call you on the plane, okay?”

you knew he wasn’t trying to brush you off, but he was evidently busy and you had no actual reason to still be here.

you nod, face warming up when he gives you another quick kiss before you go, sending a tiny smile and a brief wave towards the rest of the team.

as you gently shut the door behind you, you aren’t quick enough to miss the questions thrown in spencers direction. even laughing softly at garcias exclamation of “spencer has a girlfriend!”

[speakingsoftly]

Hi!! I saw your requests are open for fluff and I love your writing and have an idea currently plaguing my mind if you are interested (but no worries if not!) 🩵

There’s this girl on tiktok who does rejection therapy where she makes little requests to strangers with the expectation of being denied, but sometimes the outcome is super sweet. I think it would be cute for a kinda shy reader to be doing rejection therapy and ask Spencer (or any of the BAU) to like play rock paper scissors or hold their badge or something with the expectation of being rejected, only to be pleasantly surprised when she isn’t rejected

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader Trope: Fluff! Just fluff w.c: 1.33k A/N: Slowly defrosting my request box purely for fluff. I do feel a bit rusty in writing again, it's a muscle I've forgotten to exercise on the daily. I am no chess player so I honestly don't know how to write a game. Anon, I hope this still lives up to your imagination! Main masterlist

Intermezzo. // Spencer Reid

Hushed adult chatter and boisterous children’s laughter filled the greening park, once cold and barren from the winter past. The sun, as if still shy to take center stage, peeked behind a cloud of white curtains. Vibrant hues of picnic blankets scattered all over the green grass, books and wicker baskets keeping them from going with the windy breeze. 

Over the past few weeks, you’ve gotten comfortable in the new city you now call home. Bringing the tumbler of coffee against your moistened lips, the corners of your mouth lifted to form a soft smile, marveling from how far you’ve come. This city now contained your coffee shop down the block, your bookstore tucked between alleyways, and your park nestled in the middle of the bustling city. 

Your therapist was excited for this new chapter of your life, coaxing you to take baby steps away from your cocoon and enjoy what it had to offer. Filled with slight trepidation a few weeks ago, you sat on the exact same bench, back rod straight and hands wringing from the unknown when a group of men, ages of all varying degrees, had caught your eye. They were gathered under the shade from two great trees, seated and hunched over, playing various states of chess.

Fascinating.

They kept to themselves, something you could relate to. As Saturdays and Sundays passed on, you found yourself wondering why there seemed to be no women or any newcomers, to be exact, that join in the fray. Do people not feel the draw? Is it only you who found them intriguing?

Movement caught the corner of your eye.

A new face walking towards the gaggle of men—or to be exact, hobbling towards with crutches under his armpits, to an unoccupied chess table. His eyes scanning along the throng of players before briefly looking down and tapping his uninjured foot to an inconspicuous beat.

You observed him with fascination and anticipation, wanting to see if any of the usual faces would join in on his table, allowing him to be absorbed into the otherwise impenetrable group.

Five minutes.

Then ten, the seat in front of him remained empty. 

You briefly wondered if you could do it—you weren’t after all bad at chess, being a past player in high school. Not that you won more than three competitions, joining the team was purely an excuse for extra credits and to get out of physical education. 

Could you do it?

Could you walk up to a complete male stranger and ask for a game?

Could you take the rejection that may come with it?

Gnawing on your lip, you found yourself moving closer and closer, steps quiet and hesitant but each shuffle ringing in your ear. His eyes, feeling the change in the wind and your upcoming presence, met yours—both wide-eyed and unsure.

He seemed to be just like you, a doe-eyed deer stepping out of their hiding for predators lying in the wait. A gust of breath escaped your lips, a measly amount of strength returning to your tightly strung body.

“H-hi,” you whispered. 

He blinked before clearing his throat. “Hi, how can I—” his gaze tracking the path of your gaze, the opposite black pieces on the chess board. “Do you, do you want to play?”

You timidly smiled. “If you’d have me, yes.” 

“Yes,” a smile forming on his face, hands fighting to push the wayward curls behind his pinking ears. “Of course, please.” 

Gingerly seating on the marbled seat, you muttered a ‘thank you’ under your breath, one you were sure he didn’t hear.

No words were exchanged further as he moved his white pieces with grace. It was a complete contrast to yours, rusty and unsure even to that moment as to what you were actually doing seating in front of a chess genius. That was who he was, you realized, as he ate another of your pawn. Perhaps this was why no one dared to occupy the seat. He was no outsider or meek prey, he was the king (or prince) and the predators of all chess enthusiasts in the group.

You could feel the heat from the gazes of the spectators, other tables long abandoned to view and scrutinize the eventual downfall of the challenger. Whispers of strategies under their breaths and shakes of their head as they predict the next thirty-seventh move. 

Briefly you wondered if you should just call it quits, wanting to hide from the pressure. But isn’t this a prime opportunity to take further steps away from your comfort zone? Isn’t that was your therapist would have wanted? Perhaps, you were expecting rejection in the beginning and now that you were in the thick of it, you wished that it had come instead. The sweet ‘no’ from his handsome stranger’s lips rather than feeling your nerves fray from the trap laid in front of you—a pawn in perfect position to take his queen on c1. 

“Would you like to take a break?” he asked, expecting his voice to be filled with mockery and superiority, but rather was coated with the sweet, worrying tone you’d expect from a doting grandmother. 

Shaking your head no, moving your king away from endangerment—g8 to h7. 

Your opponent smiled before quickly taking his turn with a pawn. 

The game continued on in such manner, give and take, between two strangers turned opponents. You could feel the end coming as his moves further stalled, now requiring the handsome stranger to assess the remaining pieces on the board to his gain. In turn, you studied him. 

The ends of his hair brushing against the middle of his long neck. Its’ roots sticking to his forehead, shiny from perspiration. Sleeves of his button down haphazardly folded to expose his forearm and one subtle vein that disappears and appears as he moves. You doubted he was any older but the underlying confidence brimming underneath his humility made you think he’d been exposed to the underbelly of the world, long before you did. 

Seven moves later, he flashed you another smile—bigger and more joyous than you’ve seen. “Draw.”

The spectators stilled into silence. A rarity, one of the older gentlemen whispered under their breath before everyone brought into an applause. 

It happened in a flash causing breath to be caught in your throat. You’ve done it. The game was over. You’ve gone above and beyond from what your therapist had asked you to do—her “rejection therapy” leading you to an unknown you couldn’t wait to explain.

“Good game,” he breathed out.

You nodded, watching as his right hand reached out in between, casting a shadow on his knocked over king. “Oh—” lifting your hands in front of you to act as a barrier. “I’m not much of a—the number of pathogens passed during a handshake—”

“Is staggering. It’s actually safer to kiss,” he continued on before chuckling to himself, hand still extended out regardless of the trivia being shared between you two. “Not that I’m saying we should but yeah, I’m not much of a ‘handshake-r’ myself.” 

Giggling, you slowly reached for his awaiting hand, giving him a way out before both palms met and fingers locked around it. 

It was warm, like the sun that was no longer hiding behind the curtain of clouds, like a tumbler of freshly brewed coffee made by your favorite barista. 

“I’m Spencer. Spencer Reid.”

Your cheeks heated. “Nice to meet you, Spencer Reid. I’m Y/N.”

Hands still firmly connected across the chess game long forgotten, both of you seemingly unwilling to let go of the physical connection.

He cleared his throat. “Would you like to play again sometime?”

“If you’d have me again, yes.” Briefly biting your lip before taking another brave step, creating another ‘rejection therapy’ moment. “Or we could have coffee or tea sometime?”

You waited with bated breath. 

The corners of his eyes crinkled and another breathtaking smile painted his face.

“I’d like that. I’d really like that.” 

Comments & reblogs are highly appreciated!

[speakingsoftly]

.ᐟ foreseeable future — pt. 2

k.bakugou smau

he’s your brother’s best friend.

a/n: PART TWO EVERYONE STAND UP HELLOOOOOOO BROTHERS BSF BAKUGOU MEOOOOWWWWWWW HEHEHEHEHEHHE

m.list | pt. 1

[speakingsoftly]

Just like Spencer, you weren't particularly inclined towards physical affection. It wasn't that you didn't enjoy it from time to time, you just felt more comfortable expressing your affections in other ways.

This evening, though, your body and mind had other plans. Not long after Spencer walked through the door, you felt the urge rising through your chest. As you listen to him settle down for the evening, you feel it even more.

Eventually you give in, approaching him quietly just before he changes into his pajamas. He pauses his movement as he spies you in the doorway, a soft smile playing upon his features, eyes turning curious as you approach him, standing a little closer than you usually would.

"Hi." He gently lets out.

"Hi." You respond.

Quick witted as always, he tilts his head to the side, feeling that there's something you need. You step closer, and glance up at his face, gauging his reaction. When you don't find any protest, you snake your arms under his, wrapping them around your body as you hunch a bit to press your head against his chest, under his chin. He doesn't hesitate to wrap his arms around you in return, letting out a content sigh as he inhales your scent.

Your fingers splay out between his shoulder blades for a moment before you curl your fingers inward, scratching softly. He lets out a surprised little sound, his whole body shivering.

"Sorry," you apologize quietly.

"Don't be. Felt good."

You repeat the motion, and he wiggles his shoulders, making you giggle as he tries to get you to scratch just the right spot.

Moments of physical affection may not be too common for either of you, but that makes it all the more sweet when your skin meets.

[speakingsoftly]

Tl;dr how you can personally make Neil Gaiman lose money (and not be a jerk to others.)

I see a lot of folks upset that NG will financially benefit from residual and other compensation surrounding his involvement in the adaptation of Sandman and Good Omens (and he will.) But the answer isn’t “rage at the fans who are so emotionally attached to his blorbos because they grieve differently, and then somehow NG will be financially punished.” That’s lower-class/middle-class thinking. NG is too rich and financially diversified to really be hurt by little boycott or a couple of show cancellations (though said cancellations can cause life-changing poverty to the little guys who signed contracts and turned down other opportunities before all of this came out. And boy does NG love women in poverty 🤮)

So if you want to substantially reduce the wealth of someone at NGs financial level—you need to do it with professional services fees.

Details below the cut:

The firm that NG has apparently engaged for online reputation management (ORM), called edendale, was once paid for their professional testimony in an unrelated slander lawsuit, which was delivered in the form of report outlining the strategy ORM firms use and just how ludicrously expensive those professional services cost. (credit to horrornobody77 for digging up the report.) We’re talking hundred of thousands of dollars for a small potatoes case, where NG’s could easily get into the millions for ORM and associated legal fees.

It’s not that long of a read, but to summarize the key action items you can take:

-ORMs wait for the discourse to die down because active discourse is much more expensive to counter. Wanna cost NG money? Talk about the accusations over time. Set a quarterly calendar event in your phone to remind yourself to post (and otherwise engage on other people’s posts) about the Vulture article. This needs to happens for years, so that NG has to pay for more comprehensive ORM and for longer.

-Make discourse that is Google-friendly. Use the words edendale will find concerning (they’re already running fluff pieces with the terms Neil Gaiman Uncovered to try and bury the similarly named subreddit.) If you just post a link without much comment, it’s not gonna be prioritized by search engines. Similarly, if you make a low effort post and then no one else engages with it, it’s not going to make it to the top ten search results. Engage with each other, for heaven’s sake!

-Don’t let the fluff sit unaddressed. If you see random bot posts sharing NG quotes captioning random fantasy art (probably stolen) with the comments turned on? Respond! Make it hard for the bots to understand your comment but easy for humans. “Nice quote! Mega bummer about what NG did, I used to really like him.” is hard for a bot to auto-delete. “Fuck NG” is practically doing the bot’s autodelete command for it.

-If/when you post fan works for properties strongly related to Neil Gaiman, leave a lil callout in the authors notes. Nothing that will get you sued, just a few words like: “I would definitely personally choose to not ever meet Neil Gaiman at a comic con.” Maybe throw in a link to your fav tumblr summary.

Anyway, to the person being paid hundred or thousands of dollars per hour by Neil Gaiman for professional services—you’re welcome for the extra billable hours 😘

Also Edendale sounds like a law firm in a Good Omens legal AU fic, and I can’t believe it’s real.

[speakingsoftly]

.ᐟ foreseeable future

k.bakugou smau

he’s your brothers best friend.

a/n: been really craving brother’s bsf bakugou sooooo here

m.list

[speakingsoftly]

you are 16. you are talking with a gay man in his 50s or 60s, a friend, huge and gentle with a scarf and short fluffy curls of gray hair, who has directed you in two plays staged in your mid-size artsy town. (he has not yet asked you to be in his production of The Laramie Project which will change your life. this conversation will also change your life.)

he is talking about theatre. he is talking about theatre when he was younger. he says, "of course, it was AIDS then." in the pause, you ask him. clumsy and quiet and 16 and "straight," you ask him. what was it like.

he takes a moment in which his face is not like a person's face. "there was a time," he says, "i'm not sure how long, years. when i went to a funeral every weekend." he tells you about two funerals in a day, and choosing between friends when you couldn't make it to both. he does not look at you, he looks at them. his wet grey gaze is so clear that you start to see ghosts. it will be years before you understand why it feels like your grief too. why the ghosts call you family.

[speakingsoftly]

maiden name | s.reid

summary; reader is struggling to accept having to change her last name, spencer is there to remind her he will love her regardless.

warnings; fem reader, talks about changing names, reader has a healthy childhood (the fact this is a warning?!?) reader grew up with two brothers, fiancee!reader, almost smitten spencer, mentions a childhood dog death, doubts, anxiety, hurt x comfort, a little angst but its pretty sweet overall, happy ending duh! Reader graduated highschool and uni

an; HAI GUYS!! first fic in who knows how long 🔥🔥

Spencer was perfect. The proposal was perfect. Private, safe, romantic. Everything you had always dreamed of and more. He had made sure you had gotten your nails done recently enough, he made sure you loved them. He used Penelope and his female coworkers to figure out exactly what ring you would want. Of course, he already knew, but their reassurance helped.

You didn’t see it coming, but that wasn’t a bad thing. saying yes to spending the rest of your life with Spencer Reid was the easiest thing you had ever done. You never doubted that for a second, the fact you wanted Spencer, everyday, for the rest of your life. To feel the warmth of him when you woke up, or to see the small note on your bedside table when he had to wake up early for work and didn’t want to disturb you.

You wanted his long rambles, and beautiful mind everyday, for as long as the universe would allow you to have it. You wanted his too sweet left over coffee’s when you were running late and he offered you the rest of his so you didn’t have to wait for your own to brew.

You wanted his fears, everything that made him second guess, you wanted every chance to reassure him, you would spend the rest of your life reminding him how perfect he was to you, for you, and you would do so happily.

You were completely enthralled by Spencer from the moment you met him. And he never let you second guess if he felt the same when his actions made the answer clear as day. Spencer was the person you wanted to have a family with, to grow old with.

So why, a week before your wedding did a daunting feeling fill your stomach.

“You alright, baby?” Spencer’s hands gripped your waist gently as he moved past you in the kitchen, where the two of you were supposed to be cooking dinner. This had been routine, something you fell in love with. One night, dedicated to making dinner together. Eating it while watching some documentaries, because to you and him date nights didn’t need to be fancy, just together.

You however had zoned out, probably for the last long while. You had been cutting tomatos but your thoughts had gotten the best of you, leaving you staring at the knife in your hands, but not really looking at it. Now, snapped out of your daze, your head turned to Spencer as he held out a sheet of paper towel for you to wipe your hands.

You took it, pushing a soft smile to your lips. “Sorry- Yeah.” You said, eyes moving to the paper towel as you wiped away the juices the tomato had left. Spencer seemed unconvinced but hummed, moving to wrap his arms around your waist, his chin finding place on your shoulder.

The way his hands slipped under your (his) t-shirt, fingernails drawing gently up and down the skin of your waist, made you smile. The action so gentle and full of everything you needed in that moment. “Talk to me, sweet girl.” The touch a grounding reassurance that Spencer Reid, was not the issue.

And while you couldn’t seem to pinpoint the exact reason, you knew that reason was sitting in your childhood home, at the breakfast bar in the morning, the house smelling sweet with whatever your mother had been cooking for breakfast, the front door left wide open as your brothers came in and out, noise following where ever they went. Their friends coming in to steal a slice of toast, or a piece of fruit before they drove you all too school.

Because your house was the type of house they could do that.

The reason was in the living room on weekends, where you watched your brothers laughing and fighting over the mario kart round they had been playing, while you sat on the floor in between your mums legs while she braided your hair. Your dad due home from work any moment, which would be followed by more chaos and laughter because Saturday nights were movie night.

It was in long car rides full of meaningless bickering with your brothers, then a lot of giggling, pit stops and bathroom breaks. It was in your dad carrying you inside after you fell asleep in the car, which eventually turned into your brothers carrying you inside, when everyone got older and your dad’s back was no longer equipped for carrying body weight, your brothers never minded.

The reason was in your brother’s shared bedroom curled up in one of the beds, both of them on either of your side, all three teary eyed and sniffling because your childhood dog had just passed away and at 15, there was no where safer then in your older brothers arms. The reason was in how they allowed you to sleep on a mattress in their room for a month after, because your room felt too lonely without your dogs company anymore.

The reason was in when you graduated from high school, and your family cheered so loudly you couldn’t hear anyone else. It was in the flowers they gave you, in the hugs — and how it was the exact same when you graduated from university. It was in doing the exact same for your brothers when they graduated.

You hadn’t realised Spencer’s arms were wrapped around you, at some point you shifted, or he shifted you so your face was buried in his chest, cheeks tear stained. His hand on the back of your head, rubbing gently over your hair. Movement so tender it made you realise now Spencer’s arms were the safest place in the world.

“M’ sorry” you sniffled as you pulled away from the hug, the knuckles of your fingers coming to wipe away the wet spots under your eyes that left an uncomfortable residue of everything you were feeling. A shaky sort of breathless laugh leaving your lips, “It’s not a big deal, I’m being dramatic.” You smiled up at Spencer, a sad sort of smile.

He smiled back but you could see the worry in his eyes as he leant over to turn off the stove. He could read you better than you could, well enough to know this wasn’t a conversation you could have while juggling between cooking dinner. His hands then moved to cup your face, thumbs replacing your knuckles as he wiped away whatever was left on your cheeks.

“If its making you cry, its not dramatic, its how you feel.” He mumbled gently, eyes dancing over your face. Before he leant forward, placing a soft kiss on your forehead, the sort of one that made you exhale and melt into him a bit, the soft, lingering one he saved for moments when he knew you needed it. “Talking about it?” He asked, because he knew you, and knew sometimes all you needed was to cry, words weren’t always necessary to deal with it.

But you nodded, sniffling slightly. “Talking about it.” You agreed gently. Back of your hand coming to wipe your nose, followed by another sniffle.

Spencer smiled, “Okay pretty, go sit on the couch and I’ll make you a tea yeah?” He offered gently, you knew it was more because he knew you’d need a minute to mentally prepare what you were going to say, he knew you’d do that better without his gaze on you. He knew you’d be more comfortable on the couch, in the corner where you had a place to sink into in the corner because at least once, you would feel silly and embarrassed. Spencer knew you.

You nodded, offering him a grateful smile to which he responded by scrunching up his nose a little playfully, pressing another two quick kisses against your forehead before letting you go so you could walk to the living room. Which you sat, trying to make sense of your own emotions.

He didn’t take long but you know he waited till you nodded to follow through with entering the living room. He sat close, but not close enough to overwhelm you if your emotions became too much, but still close enough for you to feel he was there, enough to remind you that he was not the reason you were down.

The candle, the one lit in the middle of your coffee table, the same one your mother had lit your entire childhood didn’t help the way you were feeling, but it didn’t make it worse. In a way it was comforting, just no longer comforting enough.

“Did i do something?” Spencer asked, because he knew figuring out what the issue was vaguely would help him help you, and it would help you build the courage to tell him what was going on, and what you needed from him in order to fix this.

You shook your head, smiling gently. “No, Spence. It’s not— Nobody did anything. It’s just me.” You said quietly, his face twisted into something familiar, concern, doubt, worry. You hated that, and he knew you did. When he jumped to conclusions in his mind, overthinking getting the better of him.

“Second guessing?” He asked, his lip then caught in his teeth as he tried not to show how much getting the answer terrified him. You knew what he meant, second guessing the wedding, getting married. You almost wanted to laugh at his lack of understanding of how impossible it was for you to doubt that, when he was him, and oh so perfect, all the time even when he wasn’t — especially when he wasn’t.

You shook your head again, “No.” it was simple, straightforward because it was true.

He sighed something similar to relief, his eyes studying yours for a moment. “You gotta help me out here, angel.” He silently pleaded with you, because he tried not to show it, but you knew your random crying and emotional change was concerning to him, because he cared about you in an all consuming way.

“I don’t— i don’t know how to make it make sense.” You said quietly, looking down to fiddle with the engagement ring on your finger. Not because you were thinking about taking it off, but because it was something safe, and fiddling helped calm you down.

“Word vomit, I’ll put it together.” He said. A familiar line you had heard a hundred times, and he always seemed to prove that.

You sniffled again. “I- I just-“ you sighed, “I want to make it clear I’m not doubting you or us or anything— And its not that I don’t want yours.. Really its not— I like the way it sounds. I love your family.. Your mum- i feel bad i feel this way. I love you and I’m yours forever, I want this, I want you and I can’t wait” You breathed out, then your voice broke and the tears started all over again, a wet lining on your eyes that made your vision blurry and you afraid to blink, “And I’ll really miss my last name.”

You didn’t watch Spencer’s face twist into something a lot gentler and softer, as he shuffled closer on the couch to wrap his arms around you. It was easy to melt into him, so secure and safe and something that made this so difficult. Something you should be excited for feeling so scary and distant, and you really did feel bad you felt this way.

“You don’t have to change it, honey. You- I would take your name a million times if thats what you wanted — You don’t- Oh Im so sorry baby.” He mumbled as he pressed a handful of kisses into your hair, his hand moving to smooth it over in between.

“We could hyphenate it, if that’s what you wanted. God- Honey I don’t care about whose last name we take as long as I have you.” He said gently, voice so soft and honest in made your stomach twist and you wish you could better explain yourself, but you melted into him, letting the tears fall from your eyes.

A shaky breath left your lips, “Its not even so much about the name.” You spoke out quietly, “I guess— Its just my family, my life- Im good with change, y’know I am— I just.. I want yours— I’m just really gonna miss mine.” You breathed out.

He nodded and you could feel it, his hand moving from your head to your lower back.

“Okay— Thats okay. We can wait a while, yeah? You don’t have to change it immediately, we can wait till you have processed it and you’re ready. And if then — You decide you want to keep yours, or you want me to change mine, thats okay too. Sounds like a plan?” He offered.

Perfect Spencer Reid. He never failed you remind you. His patience and gentleness everlasting and unconditional.

“Sounds like a plan.”

[speakingsoftly]

HE LOOKS SOO GOOD WITH SHORT MESSY HAIR 😍

[speakingsoftly]

Don't Fall for this scam.

Transgender community, please please please do NOT use this product! It will kill you if used, please do not use it whatsoever.

Please reblog and spread the word

[speakingsoftly]

sniffles and sneezes - spencer reid x sharpshooter!reader

You think on occasion that Spencer is too smart for his own good. F4 on the chess board, talking down an incredibly intelligent unsub, cyphers read like the languages he understands. On strange occasion, you find yourself sitting on the balcony of your shared apartment all alone when he's reading.

You don't know if he can read the insecurity off of you every time, but he has a general sense of when to leave you alone and when not to.

You sneeze, scrunching your nose as you sniffle and huff.

"Here." Spencer hands you a mug of tea, blanket in the other hand wrapped around your shoulders.

"Thank you." You sigh. "Got... tired."

"It's a taxing job. I'm a taxing man." He rubs your shoulders soothingly. "You going to tell me what happened, or should I guess?"

"I was just wondering." You sniffle, taking a sip of the tea. "Oh, that's so good— I was wondering if I'm really fit for the team."

Spencer nods slowly. "Like me a couple hours ago?"

"I don't know." You huff. "I feel like I'm only really good for shooting things."

"You provide insight that no one else can. You have a perspective that few do."

"No, but there are plenty of snipers out there." You blink slowly. "I'm not that special."

"Well, they're not you. Everything is intentional, no?"

"I'm not too sure about that." You tilt your head. "Though, I do have to say, it was fun when we first met."

"Oh, honey. There's no scientific reasoning behind how I fell for you at first sight. To call you an angel from heaven couldn't have possibly be more accurate."

You laugh. "It was not that dramatic."

"Thought about the possibility of a God existing for a solid second when I met you."

"You liar." You hit Spencer's arm, panicking when the tea threatens to spill over.

"You just don't know."

[speakingsoftly]

The hottest thing a man can do is be a awkward little nerd 

[speakingsoftly]

warm reception — s. reid

you finally meet some of spencer's colleagues in an unconventional way. very heavily implied towards earlier seasons reid.

──── ୨୧ ────

It's been an exhaustingly busy day; the team was working a local case, meaning no long-distance traveling was required, but that didn't make the case itself any easier. They weren't very close to a solid profile, and it felt like the unsub's MO changed with every attack.

The most recent has been at a university not far from headquarters, a young woman found dead inside the main quad. It was also the same university you went to, and if that wasn't already enough to unnerve Spencer, you not answering his calls were close to pushing him over the edge.

Spencer feels like he's been on his feet the whole day, and he feels like he hasn't been much help to anyone with his mind wholly preoccupied by his concern for you. He wondered if you were safe, if you were the one that discovered the body, if you were maybe close to the victim.

The team had some of the victim's friends and other witnesses brought in for questioning, and while they were busy with that, Spencer had been quietly working on the geographical profile to try and pinpoint where the unsub might strike next. His attention is drawn from the map in front of him when he hears his name called, only to find you standing next to Morgan, seemingly making your way from one of the interrogation rooms.

He drops everything curtly before making his way to you, quickly giving you a once over, and once he sees no visible damage, he calms down a bit. It doesn't completely eliminate the nerve wrecking anxiety, but it gives him some peace of mind that you atleast hadn't been hurt.

"Hey, are you okay? What are you doing here?" he rushes out, not really giving you time to process his questions. "I'm okay," you breathe, sparing him a small smile you hoped looked somewhat reassuring, "I wasn't at the crime scene, I was only brought in for questioning because I was one of Kathy's long term lab partners. Nothing serious I suppose," you add, sparing Morgan a look, who was still standing next to you and silently observing the scene unfolding infront of him.

"I'm sorry, you two know each other?" he asks, looking at you and then Spencer with a raise of his eyebrows. You nodded once his eyes were on you again, suddenly shy under his questioning gaze. "We're dating," you said with a small smile, watching as the shock took over Morgan's whole face, from his eyebrows shooting up into the sky to his mouth hanging slightly agape at your words.

"Dating, huh?" he asked, watching as you nodded again. "Well, how come you never told us you had a pretty girl waiting for you at home, Reid?" he asked, attention back on the now furiously blushing young man. "It's— it's fairly new," he stuttered, trying his best to look collected, and failing miserably. "I was going to tell you, eventually."

Spencer was right, the two of you had only been dating for a little less than two months, and as selfish as it may sound, he was planning on keeping you to himself for a little longer. Morgan shook his head in understanding and slight disbelief, a gentle hand coming up to pat your back. "Well, it's nice to finally meet pretty boy here's girlfriend, even under the circumstances," he said, and you hummed in agreement, giving him a warm smile.

"Are my ears deceiving me or did I just hear you refer to this young lady as Reid's girlfriend?" a bubbly voice came seemingly out of nowhere as Penelope appeared next to Spencer, curious eyes drifting over to you and Morgan. "You heard right," he smiled, "this is—"

"Penelope Garcia," she interjects, shaking your hand, and you notice how everything about her is so vibrant. From her prettily painted nails, to the colorful frames of her glasses and the many statement pieces that adorned her, like the bows and the chunky jewelry. She was like the embodiment of sunshine.

"Gosh, you're gorgeous! It is so nice to meet you, even if I'm just now finding out about you," she said, side eyeing Spencer, who looked like he was on the verge of passing out. "We should totally go out for drinks some time though, a formal introduction is way overdue," she added very matter-of-factly.

"I agree," you smiled, already taking a liking to her sweet and bubbly personality. "I'd love to hang out and get to know Spencer's colleagues."

"I'm already excited!" she said, bracelets chiming as she clapped her hands together. "Oh! We should have a girls night! You'll love Elle and JJ, we could—"

"Okay, I think we should give these lovebirds some space, babygirl. You can plan your girl's night some other time," Morgan chirped in, already throwing his arm around Garcia and leading her away. "You'll be okay seeing her out, right Reid?" he asked and Spencer nodded, already leading you to the door with a hand to the small of your back.

"They seem nice," you said, once you were out of earshot, hovering around the exit not yet ready to leave yet. "They are nice," Spencer smiled before his face morphed into an unreadable expression. "I hope you don't think I was trying to hide you from them," he spoke softly, "I really was going to tell them about you when the time was right."

"I understand," you smiled, squeezing his upper arm affectionately, "I am glad I finally got to meet them though. Some of them at least." He smiled at that, nodding as if deep in thought. The flurry of movement behind him caught your attention, making you giggle to yourself at the sight. "I think you're needed back at your desk," you said, prompting Spencer to turn around swiftly, scared that it might be Gideon or Hotch waiting for him. It wasn't, but it was a group of very curious agents gathering around his desk in hopes of catching another glimpse of the mystery girl.

You recognized Penelope, who seemed to be in the middle of telling a very interesting story to the blonde and brunette ladies that stood either side of her. The brunette's eyes caught yours, her sparing you a shy smile at being caught before she was swiftly dispersing everyone away from Spencer's desk and back to their respective stations.

"I'll see you tonight," you said, bringing Spencer's attention back to you. When you saw the coast was clear, non of his colleagues in close range anymore, you pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek, watching the way his ears tinged pink almost immediately, making you smile. He only nodded in reply, giving you a tight lipped smile and seeing you off with a small wave which you returned eagerly.

[speakingsoftly]

Younger writers. Please, just know that you could not skip to different songs on a cassette tape, that’s CDs. With tapes you pressed fast forward or rewind and prayed.

Also, VHS tapes did not have menu screens. Your only options were play, fast forward, rewind, pause, stop, or eject.

Y’all are making me feel like the crypt keeper here, I’m begging you 😭