#bubbs.writes
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"oh i could never date bakugo because he's too mean"
to you? mean? oh, darling, no.
the second bakugo confirms that you're his and his only, it's a one way ticket to being spoiled beyond anything you could imagine. his fight to be the best hero translates line for line into your relationship.
it's "whatever you want" mumbled after every question, it's "the fuck you think you're doing?" when you try to lift a finger toward your wallet, and it's "you drive me insane" with a scowl and smiling eyes, tugging you closer by the hip to soften his words.
trust me, you can't even go a day without him showing up in your relationship in some way. he's working late at his agency, swamped with paperwork? you're greeted in the morning with what seems to be the entire stock of the local flower shop down the street. he's sent away for a week on a mission? when your phone isn't buzzing with texts updating you (nothing too flowery, but it's enough to remind you he's thinking of you), you're eating food he's meal prepped for you or had delivered to your door. it's sunday? he's shoving your drink of choice under your nose and insisting that you spend at least an hour longer in bed.
if you're also a hero, on the streets fighting alongside him, he respects you above any other hero. if you're at home, in college or working in some other career, he's bragging to his sidekicks about how "fucking cool" whatever you're working on currently is.
and then there's the way he would never leave you with any doubts. does he suck at communicating his feelings directly? yes. without hesitation, yes. but he's there and he's blushing and spitting out assurances of his care for you until you're able to soften his jaw with time, he's never shying away from touching you to make up for where his words lack, he's playing your favorite songs in the car without having to be asked and he's always jumping at any opportunity to make your life easier.
(it helps, of course, that you spoil him tenfold by being there for him, holding his hand when nightmares prevent any further touches in the middle of the night and smiling so sweetly at him when he walks through the door to see you. i mean, how could he not adore the only person who sticks around and peeks past the vulgarity of who he is to see the good he fights so hard to maintain? something about you makes him feel human, worth emotion, worth love. he's willing to do whatever it takes to be "the fucking best at this boyfriend shit")
#bubbs.writes#Katsuki x reader#bakugo x reader#katsuki bakugo x reader#fluff#x reader#bnha x reader#bnha fanfiction#mha x reader#mha fanfiction#pro hero dynamight x reader
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it's a date || spencer reid x reader
masterlist
warnings: cannon-typical violence/mentions of murder and kidnapping, slow burn, fluff!, early seasons spencer, not proof read
word count: 6.1k
You sigh and crack your knuckles, staring down at the pot simmering on the stove. You know that the sauce would be okay if you left it for a few minutes, did something else, but you remain standing, uselessly stirring it every few seconds. Truthfully, you’re bored. Your mind shifts from cooking to work tomorrow, itching to pull out your documents and scan through them one more time. But you know you shouldn’t, advise about work-life balance tugging at your attention.
You’re debating if you should pick up a book and try to read, something light to take your mind off of the day, when a knock sounds from the front door. Your dog, Penny, a lovely golden retriever you rescued a few years ago, lets out a weak woof before slowly standing and trotting to the door. She’s old, more grey than golden, but she never fails to answer the door with you.
You turn the stove off and move the pot off of the burner, wiping your hands as you walk, when another knock echoes through the hallway. It’s sharp, official, loud. The sound fills you with anxiety. You stand on your toes to look out of the peephole.
“Hello?” You ask through the door, not recognizing the men standing outside and seeing no package in sight.
“Hello, Jason Gideon, FBI, could we have a word?” The older man says, voice stern but not unkind.
You open the door without unlatching the chain, peering out through the crack. “FBI?”
Jason Gideon, the one who spoke, pulls out his badge first. The lankier man next to him follows in suit. Your eyes linger on him for a second longer than the other agent, taking in his toussled brown hair. You scan the badges for a second before shutting the door to undo the chain.
“Sorry, you can’t be too careful, you know?”
“Oh, we know that all too well,” Gideon says good-naturedly, “it’s good to be cautious.”
He asks your name, you give it, and nods sharply, looking to his partner. “Well, like I said, I’m Jason Gideon with the Behavioral Analysis Unit, FBI, and this is my partner Doctor Spencer Reid.”
“Well, come on in, Agent Gideon and Dr. Reid,” you say, waving them both in and shutting the door.
“Just Gideon is fine.”
Dr. Reid sends you a tight lipped smile as he walks in, adjusting his shirt and otherwise avoiding your gaze. He seems nervous.
“Would you two like something to drink while you tell me why you’re here? Coffee, tea, water?” You ask, twisting the dishcloth between your hands as you lead them inside.
“I wouldn’t say no to some coffee,” Gideon says. You nod and turn to Dr. Reid, who is staring at you with his mouth slightly agape.
“Oh, yeah, coffee for me too, please.”
“Of course, have a seat,” you say, waving them to the small table in your kitchen and moving to prepare their drinks. Neither of them sit.
“How well do you know your neighbors?” Gideon asks as you start the coffee.
You shrug. “As well as anyone does these days, I guess. I wave when I drive past them, smile when they’re out front at the same time. Why, has something happened? I saw the police cars earlier, on my way home from work, but I haven’t heard anything else.”
“Yes ma’am,” Dr. Reid says, even though he looks your age, maybe even a few years older. “Your neighbor across the street was murdered last night, Mrs. Furgison, and her eight-year-old son is missing. Did you hear anything?”
You fall still, facing away from the two officers. Numb, you shake your head, “No, I didn’t. I wasn’t home last night. I was watching my niece for my sister.” You turn around to face them, leaning back against the counter. “But there are cameras outside, I’m assuming that’s why you’re here?”
“Yes,” Gideon confirms with a nod. “Would you be okay if we took a look at the last few weeks of footage if you have it?”
“You want to see if he’s been visiting before last night,” you mumble, nodding. “Yes, of course.”
“Do you work in law enforcement?” Dr. Reid asks, the question erupting from him like he couldn’t hold it back. “You’re shockingly calm and seem to know what we’re going to ask before we get to it.”
“Oh, yeah,” you chuckle, waving a hand in the air and turning to pull the pot of coffee out. “BAU, of course, you’d see right through me. I’m a victim liaison. I read through this process hundreds of times a week. Sugar?”
“No, thanks,” Gideon answers as Dr. Reid blurts out, “Yes, please.”
You set the mugs on the kitchen counter along with a container of sugar.
“Help yourself, I’ll grab my laptop to get those files for you.”
When you come back, laptop in tow, Gideon and Dr. Reid are having a hushed conversation, both holding their mugs of coffee. You round the corner slowly but loudly, aware that sometimes agents can be jumpy. Gideon smiles at you while Dr. Reid looks over sharply.
It fits, given their ages and presumably how long each have been in the field. You try to send him a reassuring smile. He reciprocates but still looks obviously awkward, fixing his hair and taking a sip of coffee.
“Would you like me to put the files on a USB? Email them somewhere? Or just,” you motion with the computer, offering it over.
“I can take it,” Dr. Reid offers, “send the files to Garcia.”
You let him, passing him the computer easily. With your job, the government is already elbows deep in that laptop, anyway; you have nothing to hide.
You watch as Dr. Reid begins typing away on your computer, leaning over the table and resting his forearms on the edge.
Both of the agents are dressed professionally: button-down shirts, slacks, dress shoes. Guns ready at the hip.
“You like to cook?” Gideon asks, nodding toward your forgotten pasta on the stove.
“Yes and no,” you admit, chuckling and turning your attention to him. “It always tastes better than takeout but it’s hard to get the motivation. Are you hungry? Can I offer you anything else?”
“Oh, that won’t be necessary, but thank you.”
“Of course. I know how overworked you lot can be.” You cross your arms and lean back against your counter. “What about you? Do you cook?”
“Not as often as I should,” he admits, smiling sadly. “Victim liaison, you said?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You seem a little young.”
��Could say the same about him.” You nod at Dr. Reid who doesn’t hear you, too focused on his work. “But I guess drive and pretty much no social life can get you anywhere,” you admit with a laugh.
“Garcia should have the files in a minute,” Dr. Reid interrupts, looking up from your laptop.
“I’ll give her a call.”
He steps out with a nod to you, walking back into the front hallway of your small home and leaving you alone with the doctor.
He opens his mouth to say something before his eyes focus over your shoulder and his attention is stolen. “Sorry,” he says, moving past you and into your living room, toward your bookshelf. “Is that a Russian copy of Crime and Punishment?” He asks, brushing his finger over the spine of the book.
“Oh, yeah, it is.” You follow him, staring up at your own bookshelf like you’ve never seen it before. It’s crammed full of books. There are more filling your bedroom down the hall as well. “It’s a slow read, I have to use a lexicon a lot of the time, but I sort of like the work. Translating’s a hobby of mine, I guess. When I have time. Sorry, that might be weird.”
“No, it’s not weird at all! Not to me, at least. Are you using a Dictionary-based lexicon? Can I see it? I have one that I love. I haven’t read much Russian but I have one for Greek. They’re rarely used anymore, falling out of popularity with the creation of the internet where everything is readily available to just search up, but I find them fascinating and I’ve never seen one for Russian before.”
He talks enthusiastically with his hands. His eyes shine, the interest lighting up his face. You think, before you remember the reason why he’s there, that he’s actually quite handsome. You become slightly breathless at the realization. You don’t really notice people like this often. But, towering above you, buttoned shirt pushed up to show his forearms and a self-concious smile stretching across his face, you’re a little flustered.
You take a breath, remembering that your neighbor is dead and a little boy is missing, sending Dr. Reid a small smile and motioning behind you.
“It’s in my office if you want to go look at it. I prefer it to just typing out the stuff I don’t know — mostly because I don’t have a Russian keyboard — and it’s easier to learn when you have to research it.”
“I would actually love –”
“Reid,” Gideon interrupts, ending his call, “Garcia got the files, we have to go.”
“Oh, yes, of course.”
“Thank you so much for your help,” Gideon says, walking toward you and offering his hand. “And for the coffee. So sorry to have interrupted your cooking.”
“Anytime detective,” you say, shaking his hand and smiling up at him, “always happy to help. I can give you my card if you need anything else?”
“That would be great, thank you.”
You rush to your bag to pull out one of your cards and hand it to Gideon before turning to offer Dr. Reid your hand.
“It was nice to meet you, too, Dr. Reid.”
He takes your hand firmly. “Spencer’s fine,” he says, stumbling over his words slightly but still smiling. “Thank you for your help.”
“Anytime,” you repeat, letting them out and returning to your sad pasta.
Your mind wonders, not to the murder or kidnapping, but to Spencer Reid. Wide brown eyes, tousled hair pushed out of his face, a sweet smile. Smart, too. Way too smart.
You’re not exactly experienced when it comes to dating, you hadn’t lied to Gideon when you said you don’t make time for a social life, dating included, but you do know that an interest in a too-smart profiler might spell bad news.
Still, as you portion out your meal, you can’t help but think that you’re feeling awfully motivated to return to working on Crime and Punishment. You don’t lie to yourself about the origins of this sudden spark of motivation, but you do rationalize it. What’s the harm in a fleeting crush, then? Especially if it gives you the push to finally finish one of the many projects hanging on your ever-growing list?
You suppose you might see them arround the office if they’re working in this jurisdiction, but then he’ll be gone and it’ll fade away. In the meantime, you make yourself a plate of food and settle down in your living room with the book and lexicon.
||||
“Well, that certainly poses an interesting problem,” you hear Cheif Saunders say as you walk into the police department the next morning, arms full of files ready for sorting.
You round the corner to escape this attention but aren’t fast enough and he calls you over by name. Cringing, you turn on your heel and are faced, once again, with Gideon and Spencer. With them are two more men and two girls, all intimidating and confident.
All FBI, if you had to wager a bet.
“Morning,” you say, nodding to Gideon and Spencer respectively. “Nice to see you two again.”
“You’ve met?” The tall man next to Gideon asks, pointing the question to Spencer. He grins, white teeth overtaking his dark, handsome face. He reaches his hand out to shake yours, “Morgan, nice to meet you.”
You introduce yourself, explain your position, and receive introductions from JJ, Elle, and Hotchner as well.
“Where did you meet our friends?” Chief Saunders asks, folding his hands in front of him and setting an accusatory glare on you. “Still preening for a new job?”
“No sir,” you say, uncomfortable. The chief is often cold with you, refusing to acknowledge your knowledge or work. When he found that you were looking to transfer stations to the one a district over, he’d still thrown a fit, though. You guess he can’t ignore how well your numbers reflect on him as easily as he deflects your accomplishments to your face.
“We stopped by to get access to her cameras, she lives across the street from the Furgison’s,” Gideon explains, watchful eyes glancing between you and the chief.
“They proved to be surprisingly useful,” Spencer interrupts. “We now know the make, model, and color of the unsubs car as well as his general height. Garcia is still trying to make out plates, but we are able to confirm at least pieces of our profile with the information.”
“You live across the street?” The chief asks, still staring at you. You shift your weight, holding the files closer to your chest.
“Yes, sir. In a duplex.”
“Then, fellas, I’ve found the solution to our problem. You’ll set up with our little liaison, then.”
“Sorry?” You ask, startled.
“We have reason to believe that the unsub is returning to the crime scenes after the police have left the area and allowed the family to return. But, if we know our guy, and we think we do,” Elle says, begrudingly, “he’s smart. He’s going to notice if we’re camped out in a car. And, in a residential street, it’s much harder to hide in a building.”
“So, you’ll have the opportunity to make yourself useful,” Chief Saunders chuckles, laying a heavy hand on your shoulder and shaking you.
“Only if you’re comfortable,” Gideon adds, glancing at you with a patient expression.
“Yes, it would be a complete invasion of your privacy, agents would be there twenty-four-seven monitoring. We would only stay in the front areas of the house, of course, but you needn’t do anything you’re not comfortable with. There are always other ways.” Agent Hotchner fixes you with a level look, voice sincere.
“Oh, she’s comfortable, aren’t ya?” The chief says, shaking you again with a wide smile.
“Yes, of course,” you say, nodding at the others. You mean it, you’ll do whatever you can to help out, you just wish you could’ve made the choice yourself.
“This way, you don’t have to worry about confidentiality, either. Little Miss has full access to ongoing investigations, she’ll be there for all of the briefings and such.”
You nod, discretely moving a step back so his hand falls from your shoulder.
“Yes, I’m meant to be kept up to date with all ongoing, violent investigations where and if possible to act as a bridge between law enforcement and victims and families of victims. Especially those with children involved — I should have mentioned we would cross paths again last night, I just wasn’t thinking.”
“Yes, we’ve worked with our fair share of liaisons,” Gideon chuckles, looking over his shoulder at JJ who gives him a small smile.
“Then it’s all set. You boys let me know when you have your profile ready.” Elle watches him walk off with a hard stare, obviously just as rubbed wrong by him as you are.
“Lovely man, isn’t he?” You joke, trying to make the situation lighthearted.
“We’ve interacted before. Our headquarters isn’t actually far from here, just a twenty-minute drive, we’re up in Quantico. He doesn’t get any better with time, though.” Agent Hotchner shakes his head, turning to grab a file off of the desk behind him.
“Well, he always forgets to offer his office space to visitors so I usually keep mine available. It’s quieter and there’s a whiteboard, follow me.”
||||
Since you started renting the small duplex by yourself, you’ve never felt awkward in your own home. Now, though, you feel odd taking up your own space.
The majority of the Quantico team is set up in your front room with laptops, cameras, and microphones.
“We don’t know exactly how long he usually takes to come back to scenes, only that it typically happens within the week,” Elle explains to you apologetically.
“No problem — comes with the job, no?” You say, smiling and trying to brush it off. Elle laughs gently, nose wrinkling as she shakes her head.
“No, not really. I wouldn’t be thrilled if these boys set up shop in my house, you’re taking this with much more grace than I would.”
You shrug, crossing your arms and tilting your head from side to side. “I won’t act like it’s normal, it is pretty weird having you guys here, but if it helps you catch this guy, why would I say no? Better me than some random civilian.” You hesitate, scrunching up your nose, “Better now than waiting for him to kill someone else.”
“Much more compassionate than I am,” Elle jokes, shaking her head and walking away as Gideon calls her name.
The main problem, you think, is that the duplex isn’t very big. The part of the team that’ll be staying with you — Spencer, Gideon, Elle, and Morgan — have all settled in. They won’t come and go, their car is firmly parked in your garage, and they’ll keep a low profile to prevent the unsub from noticing their presence. You’re meant to come and go as normal to keep suspicion low in case he’s cased the entire neighborhood. But, with only two bedrooms, a baths, and a small office, you’re feeling slightly cramped. Whenever you turn, you feel like you’re coming toe-to-toe with someone. It’s awkward, considering you’re very used to living alone.
Still, you’re determined to be a good host, so you set to preparing lunch for everyone. They’d insisted that you didn’t need to, but you really don’t know what else to do. You’d been given the day to help them all settle in and provide assistance wherever possible, but there isn’t much to do other than wait.
You’re pulling out the things for sandwiches when Spencer walks in.
“Hey, do you have an extra ethernet cable? Garcia thinks that a direct line would be better,” he asks.
“Maybe, you’re free to check in the office if you want. If you need, you can always pull the one from my desktop,” you say, shutting the fridge and trying to balance everything in your arms in one trip.
“What’re you doing?” Spencer asks, reaching forward to grab the ham and mayo from the top of your stack.
“Making sandwiches!”
“You really don’t have to. We can have food ordered, it’s okay.”
“I wanna make myself useful, I feel weird just standing around watching you guys work,” you say, dumping the materials on the counter. “I hope you guys like ham or turkey, it’s all I have.”
“You are being useful, though. You’ve let us set up in your home, how much more useful can you be?”
“I could provide food as well,” you say, sending him a smile. “Ham or turkey?”
Spencer looks exasperated, setting the ham and mayo down and shaking his head. Nervously, he uses both of his hands to push his hair back. “Either. Either is fine, thank you.”
You start to prepare the sandwiches, Spencer watching and still looking like he wants to say something.
“Hey, Reid, I found one, we’re all set,” Morgan says, rounding the corner and waving the white chord in the air. “Oh, what’re you making?” He asks, stepping closer and leaning over your shoulder.
“Sandwiches. I was asking Spence if you guys like ham and turkey but he wasn’t being helpful.”
“Well, Spence can be like that,” Morgan says, throwing Spencer a smirk over his shoulder. “But we’d appreciate anything.”
“I was trying to tell her,” Spencer interrupts, “that it’s entirely unnecessary for her to make us lunch. She’s already done enough for us letting us set up here. The effort is appreciated, of course, obviously, you just shouldn’t have to. Because we’re already intruding.” He trails off as Morgan sends him a look, raising his eyebrow.
“Well, I, for one, appreciate the offer,” Morgan says, leaning on the counter and smiling down at you. You laugh at him.
“It’s not that I don’t appreciate it! I do,” he says, turning to you and holding one of his hands up in a placating way, “I just don’t think, it’s very kind of course, I just –”
You cut him off, taking pity, “He’s fucking with you. Relax.”
||||
“I just can’t believe that you’re actually processing any of what you’re reading at that speed!” You say, throwing your arms up.
“I actually am. Speed reading, when done right, doesn’t take away from comprehension at all. Plus, with my eidetic memory, I can always think back and process later if I need to,” Spencer explains.
“Fine, you’re understanding what you’re reading in a general sense, but where’s the enjoyment in it? How can you possibly understand all the intricacies of the writing, what the author is doing, and appreciate the characters and their growth if you don’t take your time with it?”
“I tend to focus my reading moreso on informational writing, so that’s not often a problem. And when I do read something fictional or with more nuance, I’m never lacking in any way when it comes to my understanding of the content, even when speed reading.”
“So you’re not actually taking the time to have fun reading is what I’m hearing.”
“Reading is inherently fun when you’re learning something, though,” he says, lips quirked in a slight smirk and a line forming between his eyebrows as he looks down at you. The look is so disarming that you find yourself deflating a little.
You’re in your living room, a few books scattered on the coffee table between you two, debating the merits of each one.
“I dunno,” you say, argument leaving you as you become distracted.
“Just say I’m right! You know I am,” Spencer says with a chuckle, shaking his head and leaning toward you slightly, hands spread.
You thought he was cute when he was shy, bumbling in your house yesterday, but after a few hours to warm up to each other, you can’t deny you really like him.
The only thing that completely blocks the disappointment that they’ll all soon be leaving is that their UnSub will be caught when they have to leave. Your community and neighborhood will be better off for it.
“No, I still think you’re wrong. Sure, you understand what you’re reading but I just don’t buy that you could possibly enjoy it in the same way that I am!” You’re trying your damndest to regain your confidence, shaking your head side-to-side with a wide smile to erase the vision of his own smirk, his hands, his rolled up sleeves from your mind. “I mean, nothing beats curling up with a book and taking your time with it.”
“Well,” Spencer interrupts, lifting a finger, “how can you say if you’ve never tried my way?”
“Speed reading? I’ve done it, actually.” You shrug at his hesitating look, suddenly feeling vulnerable under the weight of his eyes.
“Really? What method? What was your fastest time? What —” Morgan cuts off his questioning by walking in and calling for him.
“Gideon wants you to take a look at something.”
“Ah. Breaks over.” Spencer stands from where he was sitting on your armchair, brushing his hands off on his pants. He points at you while he walks away, “We’re not finished, though!”
“Oh?” Morgan asks when he’s gone, raising his eyebrows at you. “Unfinished business?”
You scoff, moving to pick up the books you pulled out to talk to Spencer about.
You like Morgan. He’s an easy one to like and he feels like the bigger brother you don’t have with his easy smiles. The chaos in your house hasn’t been easy, you appreciate his consistent presence to lighten the atmosphere.
You’ve actually come to like all of them. Elle with her stories, Gideon with his dry smiles, and Spencer. Really, you just like Spencer. You’re an adult, you’re not ashamed to admit it. Just, only to yourself, lest you mess something up and make him uncomfortable.
“You know, I can’t really say I haven’t seen him this excited before because the kid gets excited about everything but,” Morgan shrugs, pushing himself off of the wall he’s been leaning on and coming to sit next to you, “you do seem to get along well.”
“Oh, yeah, Spencer’s nice,” you say, standing to put the books away.
“Nice,” Morgan muses, leaning back on the couch and crossing his arms.
“He is! You all are.” You laugh when Morgan raises his eyebrows again. “I’m being serious, I would kill to work on a team like yours. You all actually work together.”
“We have to.”
“It certainly works out better when you do.”
“Yeah, your boss is a real dick. He usually walk all over you like that?”
You wrinkle your nose at him as you sit down, pulling your legs under you. “More or less I guess. My personal opinion is that he’d like more men on the team and … no women,” you joke, giving him a what can you do? look, smiling sadly.
“And you tried to transfer?”
“Stop profiling me,” you say, eyes narrowing. Morgan smiles, all teeth.
“Not profiling, just remembering him saying something like that when we talked at the station.”
“Oh,” you say, slouching back. “That’s considerably less impressive.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah, yeah, I wound you. But I did look into transferring a while back. I’ve been trying to move up for a while and keep getting blocked. But, no surprise, I got blocked again.” You raise an imaginary glass, cheers-ing with the air, “Go government!”
“That’s fucked,” Morgan says, letting out a low whistle. “So you don’t want to stay a victims liasion?”
“No, I do. But it’s not my only job right now. It’s a little complicated, but our office is too small to have a head liaison. So I really just run around filling gaps wherever I can until I’m needed to do my actual job. I’d love to do just liaison work, I really like working with the public. Feels like I’m actually helping people, you know?”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Hey,” you say suddenly, not wanting to keep the mood somber (or ignore the FBI agent in your house with your silly woes while a murder investigation is underway), “you want some tea? Coffee?”
“Sure doll, I’ll take some coffee,” Morgan says, a confused smile taking over his face, “if you’re offering.”
||||
“It’s actually pretty interesting,” Spencer is saying, flipping through files and leaning over to show Elle something.
“Oh, I bet. Nothing better than vicious murder,” you say, dry, rolling a pen between your fingers.
“I mean the process behind deciphering their reasoning,” Spencer says, shrugging.
“I just don’t know how you look past it to see anything other than the violence,” you say, shuddering.
He and Elle have taken the night shift and are giving you a rundown on profiling. You’ve worked with profilers before, but they’re small-town cops, more interested in closing cases than being scientific, or, at times, even correct.
“How do you look past a crying mother after her daughter has been murdered to get the information you need?” Elle asks. “I’ve worked with hundreds of victims, I think I’m pretty good at it, but your records show that you’re one of the best.”
You heat at the praise, shrugging your shoulders. “I wouldn’t say I look past them. I actually try to get into their shoes to figure out what I can say to get through to them.”
“Often the victims families know more than they think. Every bit of information they can give us or the police about the victim only lead us closer to the unsub. We often rely on your job to get important information out of victims and families that we wouldn’t otherwise have. It requires tact, empathy, and extreme emotional control,” Spencer explains, setting the file down and brushing his hair back.
“Well, thank you?”
“I think he’s trying to say what we do is similar,” Elle explains, “it’s just the opposite side of it.”
“I’m still not following — but I’m definitely not built to be a profiler, that’s for sure.”
“But you could be. You profile in your own way. We look at the bad guys, the killing patterns, stuff like that,” Spencer leans forward, enthusiastic. “You just profile less intense people. Gather information from them, figure out what they need. Get in their shoes, to use your words. You use their actions, small phrases, and what you can gather from their homes to approach them the best way, no?”
“Looking at their clothes and body language and stuff, sure.”
“We do exactly that with crime scenes. Recognize patterns. Just like you can’t imagine seeing past the violence, some of us can’t imaigne having to see past the emotion of someone dealing with fresh loss.” Elle smiles. “You’d probably make a really good profiler. You’re just a better victims advocate.”
You consider that, weighing their words. “Sure, maybe,” you admit. “I still think it’s kinda like magic, though. Your knowledge, your intuition, your teamwork. It’s cool.”
“Thank you,” Elle says kindly.
Spencer jumps back into his explanation of the types of murder-kidnappers, musing with Elle again about their profile. Their ability to constantly return to the same evidence over and over without any hesitation is still amazing to you. Despite what Elle said, you’re sure you’d get bored.
You’re even more sure that it would stick to you in a way that working with the victims never did. You visit crime scenes, sure, but you never do everything in your power to commit every bit of them to memory.
As they talk, you move toward the window and move the curtains over slightly. It’s the middle of the night, the second the team has spent in your home, and you’re curious how much longer this unsub will take to be caught.
You’ve done your best to keep to your usual schedule and luckily it’s not unusual for you to be up late. The movement behind the curtains won’t be suspicious, so you stand and peek out curiously at the home across the street.
Penny sighs from her bed in the living room, snoring softly. She’s taken a liking to your guests who are always willing to give her attention and scraps of food.
The Furgison house bigger than yours, a family home with a large backyard. It’s a faded blue, lightened by the sun, with a white door. Theres a dim porch light that’s been left on, throwing yellow shaddows across the street.
You swear you see a curtain move in the window and your entire body freezes, breath stolen from your lungs.
“Hey guys?” You say, dead quiet, as you see the curtains flutter again. Small, nearly inperceptable movement. Greys and blacks angainst more greys and blacks.
“Yeah?” Elle asks, still reading over the file with Spencer.
“You’re sure that nobodys gone in tonight?”
“Certain,” Elle says, moving quickly to stand next to you. “Why?”
“Curtains moved,” you say, nodding toward the house.
“Maybe the AC was left on?” Elle suggests and you shake your head.
“No, we would’ve noticed it before now. They have no animals, the house should be empty.”
Your heart is racing as Spencer joins you at the window.
“You sure you saw it move?” He asks, moving to stand behind you, just out of sight at the window, a hand pressed to your back. Gentle pressure, just his fingertips, that makes you siffen even more. He moves his hand, whispering an apology.
You wish he hadn’t.
Your mind spins, distracted for a moment, shaking your head again.
“Yes, I’m certain.”
“Go get Morgan and Gideon,” Spencer tells you, sharing a look with Elle.
||||
You follow the team out, despite their insistence that you don’t have to, holding your own handgun out and following the light Morgan casts.
You live in a relatively sleepy neighborhood. Shared duplexes and little houses line the streets, most with little flowerbeds out front. The Furgison house is no exception: it’s a little blue house with rose bushes out front. It backs the small patch of wood that runs along the length of the highway.
Heart racing and head light from adrenaline, you stay out front to watch for any movement inside while Morgan and Hotch creep around one side of the house, Spencer and Elle take the other side.
“Back here,” you faintly hear Morgan say through your earpiece. “The cellar door is open. It was deadlocked last time.”
You sitffen, readjusting your grip on your gun.
“Wasn’t it cleared, though, when we were here last?” Elle asks.
“Yeah, but he could’ve snuck in through the woods — there’s no telling.”
“Didn’t we position police cars on the highway?” Elle again. You can imagine them all standing behind the house, guns drawn. It’s intersting to hear them communicate so efficiently, voices low.
“We’ll worry about it later. Morgan, you take the lead, I’ll take the rear, Elle stay out here.”
For a long few seconds, you hear Morgan, Spencer, and Hotch begin to clear the basement, until you’re jolted out of the repetitive “clear!”s by Hotch yelling, “FBI, put your hands up!”
The next few minutes turn into a whirlwind as police cars arrive and Morgan drags the UnSub out of the house by his handcuffed arms.
The Furgison boy comes out next, disheveled and passed to the paramedics in the back of an ambulance. Once you see Hotch, Spencer, and Elle are okay as well, you jump into action, going to sit with the boy and comfort him. Morgan is there, too, crouched down to talk to the kid.
“You’re all good now,” he’s saying, reaching forward to ruffle his hair. “And my friend here is going to make sure that you see your dad as soon as possible.” Morgan gestures to you and you nod at the little boy.
The sight of him makes your chest ache: he’s scrawny with wide brown eyes and a mop of curls on the top of his head.
“Agent Morgan is right, your dad is going to meet us at the hospital.”
The boy doesn’t say anything, shaking under his emergency blanket.
“I’ll ride with you in the ambulance, too, and that’ll be fun, right?” You ask, jumping up to sit next to him. Slowly and sluggish the boy rests his head on your shoulder, still shivering. You wrap an arm around him before mouthing ‘I’ve got him’ to Morgan. He gives you a small sile, waves at the boy, and goes to join his team.
After being checked over again by the paramedics, the boy falls asleep quickly in the hospital, holding his dads hand. You’re leaving the room, shutting the door with a soft click, when you see Spencer sitting in the hallway.
“How is he?” Spencer asks, standing up at the sight of you.
“He’s okay, some minor bruises and scrapes, dehydrated but on an IV. They’re just happy to be back together.”
“That’s good,” Spencer says, falling quiet and looking away.
“And, hey, you guys caught the bad guy — now you all get to go home!”
“Yeah,” Spencer says, turning to look at you again, chuckling slightly without any heart behind it.
“Are you not excited?” You ask, raising an eyebrow.
“It’s always nice coming back home after a trip, even one as close to home as this one is. But it’s a little bittersweet.”
“How so?”
You practically see Spencer gathering his courage, straightening his shoulders and sending you a small but genuine smile.
“Well, we have some unfinished business, remember? And you never showed me your lexicon.”
“Well,” you say, smiling, “you’ll just have to keep in touch, then. Maybe we can get dinner?”
“Yeah. Yes, of course. Dinner.” Spencer is fully grinning now, eyes squinting with the force of it. You can’t help but mirror him, laughing a little. “Well, I do have a car to catch. I just wanted to check on him and say goodbye.”
“Well, goodbye for now Dr. Reid.”
“Goodbye,” he says, smiling at you for a second longer before turning to walk to the exit. He makes it to the doors before he hesitates, one hand on the handle. He stands there, still, for a moment before turning around and asking, “Dinner, like a date, right?”
Giddy, your smile only widens as you nod. “I would really like that, if you’re asking, yeah.”
“I’m asking.”
“Okay, then it’s a date.”
i wanted more to happen here but then i got this far and still had so much more i could write about these two aahhh
lmk if u want a pt 2 bc i kind of have ideas :) tysm for reading!!
#bubbs.writes#x reader#cm#fluff#criminal minds#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fluff#first meeting fic#derek morgan#aaron hotchner#elle greenaway#criminal minds x reader#bau team#bau#slow burn#strangers to friends#to lovers#hehehe#i rlly enjoyed writing this#sorry for any typos#i did not proof read after minor edits oopsies
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i've noticed you
pairing: spencer reid x profiler!reader
warnings: fluff, not proof read (as is the usual oops), slightly slightly suggestive
word count: 2.6k
it's a late night in the office. dim light casts shadows across the bull pen. you squint your tired eyes to focus them on the document in your hand. hours have passed since everyone else went home but you stayed behind. something about pushing into the early hours of the weekend to finish off a long week is better for your mental health than leaving the documents for monday. the totality of closing the folder, marking it complete, and filing it away allows you to push the details of your cases to the back of your mind. you can't forget them entirely, of course, and nightmares still haunt you, but this is the best system you've found to make yourself feel better, even if only marginally.
a call of your name, soft and familiar, startles you. you jump, chair pushing back a few inches. you look up to see spencer standing in the doorway, giving you a confused look. his bag is strapped across his chest, hands clutching it, eyebrows raised. he's dressed more casually than you're used to: a plain blue shirt, khaki pants, his usual dress shoes. his hair is messy and his eyes look sleepy behind the confusion, like he'd only just woken up.
"hey, reid," you say, catching a yawn in the middle of saying his name. "you scared me."
"i could say the same to you. what are you doing here at," he checks his watch, flicking his wrist to right it in a movement that has your chest tightening. "3:46 in the morning on a saturday?"
"i could say the same to you," you mimic him, sending him a wide smile. you lift up your documents when he sends you an unamused look, waving the folder. "just finishing up before the weekend."
"you have over two weeks to have those reports filed, though?"
"helps me sleep better to have them done, i guess. you never answered me, though -- why are you here?"
"ironically, to help myself sleep," spencer answers, crossing the room in swift, long strides to reach his desk behind yours. he deposits his bag and turns to you, running a hand through his hair to push it out of his eyes. "i get nightmares and sometimes the best thing to do is try to get some work done. helps my conscious, i guess. or, at least keeps me busy."
you nod and watch him make his way to the kitchen. "that makes sense."
"i'll be back," he calls to you over his shoulder.
you hear his return a few minutes later, eyes trained on your file again. you don't look up this time, now that you know who it is. you're too focused on finishing these last few documents and fully aware that it's sort of hard to stop looking at spencer once you start.
the gentle click of a mug hitting your desk grabs your attention, though, and you tear your eyes from the page to look up.
spencer is leaning across your desk, nudging a yellow mug toward you, smiling widely. your throat tightens, a quick flash of pleasant awareness of him, and you swallow it away.
"what's this?" you ask, reaching for the mug. he doesn't let go as you expected and your fingers brush against each other. he shrugs instead of answering, leaning back against the desk next to yours and taking a sip from his own mug.
"coffee."
you take a sip, surprised to find it made exactly how you like. you can't remember ever telling him what you like and your cheeks heat at the gesture. you're grateful that the only lamp on is yours, hiding the heat from him.
"how'd you know how i like it?" you ask, taking a sip.
"i pay attention," he says, eyes trained on yours.
"to people's coffee preferences?"
"to yours, sure."
before you can properly allow that to sink into your exhausted mind, spencer sets his mug on your desk before grabbing his own files. "mind if i join you?" he asks, dragging the nearest chair over. "at least until you go home for the night."
"yeah, sure, i could use the company," you say, clearing space for him.
||||
5:53 AM
you: [attached image]
you: i promise i'm on the way, just having the worst morning. once i get this tire fixed, i'll let you know
you sigh, throwing your phone in your bag and squatting down to examine your blown tire. you don't know what you hit but you do know it's the start to an already sour morning.
you slept with your window propped open, despite how many times you've seen that go poorly for victims, and it rained, drenching your curtains. you didn't get to pack a lunch after dealing with that and usually, you eat breakfast at the office, so now you're on the side of the wet road, blown tire, and late for the first time in years.
your phone buzzes twice and you stand to dig it out of your bag.
5:55 AM
morgan: bad morning, pretty girl?
hotchner: don't worry about it, stay safe.
you roll your eyes at morgan, chest feeling lighter at hotch's reply. you hadn't expected him to be angry, this wasn't something anyone could foresee, but his answer still lessens the anxiety in your chest.
you climb into your car, turning on the heat and holding your hands to the vent for a few moments. you sit there for a few minutes past when you've thawed, dreading reentering the wet morning to change the tire.
the sound of a car door opening and shutting grabs your attention and you look in the rearview to see spencer walking toward you, hitting the button to lock one of the company vans. he's holding a bag in his hands, walking briskly to avoid getting too wet in the morning mist.
you throw open the passenger door when he gets close enough and watch as he folds himself in the car, shutting the door and adjusting his jacket.
"hello," you say, amused, "fancy seeing you here. did hotch send you?"
"i volunteered, here." he hands you the bag. you look at him for a moment longer, watching as he fixes his hair. you return your focus to the bag when he looks over at you, embarrassed to be caught.
you find one of the kitchen muffins and a banana in the bag. you stare at it for a moment, fully aware that this is exactly what you eat most mornings at work.
"i know you usually eat at work and didn't know if you had anything here," spencer explains.
"you noticed that?"
"i noticed you," he says. your eyes snap up to meet his, heart fluttering in your chest. he doesn't look embarrassed, eyes meeting yours steadily.
you struggle to find words, heart beyond touched by the gesture. you end up muttering, "thank you, spencer."
"you're welcome." there's a moment's pause while you come to terms with the fact that this can no longer be considered one of your worst mornings. "also, there was betting about if you could change a tire."
"ah, so you're here because you didn't believe in me?"
"well," he says, cheeky, smiling over at you. "you are just sitting in your car, decidedly not changing your tire."
"i was working myself up to it!" you say in defense. it's insane to you how quickly he has shifted your mood in just a few minutes.
he shakes his head at you, smiling slightly, and pops his door open, "open the back," he says, stepping out.
you do as he says, opening the trunk and getting out after him.
"i really was going to do it, you don't have to," you say, following him around the back of the car and watching him shift the things around to find your spare tire.
"i got it. go sit in the car, it's cold." he rolls his sleeves up, sending you a look.
you watch his hands as he moves the fabric up, exposing his forearms. you swallow, mouth dry, as he moves to the other arm, wrists flexing and bringing his veins into focus.
"i'm not sitting in my car while you do all the work," you refute, voice wavering, tearing your eyes away from his hands. you feel like a silly schoolgirl, ogling at her crush. or, better yet, like a scandalized victorian man seeing a hint of ankle for the first time, entranced by the barest hint of innocent skin. still, under the heat of embarrassment, you can't stop yourself from shifting your weight from foot to foot watching him lift the tire from your trunk.
"why not?" he asks, carrying the donut under one arm and walking over to the flat tire. you watch him, entranced, as he crouches down to examine the flat.
"it feels wrong! really, spence," you say, walking over to him and leaning down to catch his forearm and get his attention. "you don't have to change it for me, i'm more than capable."
"i know," he says, turning to look up at you from under his lashes. he smiles, still just a hint at the corner of his lips, and nods toward the car. "still, go sit, it's cold."
"spence-" you start and he rolls his eyes, standing up so he can look down at you and crossing his arms.
he says your name lowly, leaning back against the car and raising an eyebrow. "get in the car, this will only take me a minute."
he doesn't wait for your answer, pushing himself off of the car and walking to the trunk to grab the tool kit. stunned and slightly turned on, you slowly walk back to the drivers side of the car.
"good, now eat, too," he calls.
you grab the bag of food when you sit down, letting your legs hang down outside of the car. he stands up straighter to see you over the hood of the car and grins at you, "thank you."
||||
hands sweating and heart racing, you press the button on the elevator and watch the door close. you clutch the little bag between two of your hands, rolling your head back to stretch it and stare at the ceiling.
you're a profiler, you know people, you know that your ever-growing crush on spencer is reciprocated. his face as he said "i noticed you" is the last thing you see before you sleep and you know you aren't misinterpreting the signs. still, anxiety pools when the elevator dings and you step off.
you roll out your shoulders and step into the bull pen with confidence you have to fake, putting a smile on your face and holding the little bag behind your back slightly.
"morning angel," penelope calls to you, swinging around the corner and linking her arm with yours. "did you have any fun hot dates this weekend? please say yes, i am in desperate need of someone to live vicariously through -- my love life is dry in all definitions of the word."
"sorry love," you say, patting her arm and sending her a sympathetic look. "still working on that plan i mentioned a few weeks ago."
"wait," she says, suddenly stopping and forcing you to as well. "really? because you were all gung-ho about maintaining a sense of workplace appropriate behavior and all of that other blah hr speak."
"well," you say with a shrug, smiling at the ground, "i don't know, can't a girl change her mind?"
"she most certainly can. in fact, i have right now!" you look up at her suddenly ultra cheerful voice and see spencer walking into the room, hands in his pockets and heading right for you with a smile as a greeting. "i have decided that i'm not walking you to your desk and we'll chat over lunch instead. bye!"
just as quickly as she arrived, penelope left, scampering away to her office with a grin stretching across her face. she's your best friend, the one person you tell everything, and also the source of your greatest annoyance, leaving you alone in the hallway.
"what was that about?" spencer asks, reaching you and stopping only half a step away.
"just garcia being garcia," you say, shrugging.
"well, goodmorning," spencer says, tucking his chin down to look at you better. "have a good weekend?"
"i did," you say, swallowing in a deep breath to steel your nerves. "i actually managed to go to that bookstore you told me about."
"oh really?" spencer asks, excitement animating his face. "did you talk to the store owner? she's super cool, i actually learned a lot from her about book binding last time i visited. she has a little workshop in the back."
"i did, actually. i had to get her help finding a specific book," you say, holding the bag out to him.
"oh, which one?"
"open it and see."
"it's for me?" spencer asks, looking genuinely caught off-guard. he takes the bag slowly, as if expecting you to rip it away. you nod encouragingly and he takes the cue to lift the paper out of the bag and then the book. "wait, no way. this is so cool! i've been searching for it for ages."
you watch as he opens the book and his eyes widen finding it signed. he slowly, reverently, flips the pages to look at the publication date and his eyes flick to meet yours.
"this is a first edition?"
"yeah."
"this is- how did you know?"
"i noticed you, too," you say, voice soft and hesitant. you take the half step forward so your toes are touching. surprisingly, your anxiety is nowhere to be found as you look up at him, smiling, chest warm and fingertips tingling. "i hope that's okay."
"beyond, actually," spencer answers, voice softer. the hand holding the bag and book falls, his other one lifting to your cheek, hesitant. he brushes his fingers across your cheekbone gently before moving his hand to cup the back of your neck and bringing you in for a hug. .
it's exactly how you expected hugging spencer to be, warm and all-consuming. he laughs, gentle, a vibration you can feel through his chest and into yours.
"what?" you ask, face buried in his chest.
"it's amazing how hard i'm fighting to not kiss you right now. i always thought i would be too nervous - i mean, obviously, i've kissed people before. not that that's what i should be talking about right now, but, i just mean, it's different with you. you make me happy in a way that makes me nervous, you know?"
"i know," you say, softly, cutting off his rambling with a hidden smile. he's still holding you in the empty hallway and you would love nothing more than to hear his rambling but you're also very aware that someone could walk in any moment.
you just hope that whatever this is leads to more of his thoughtless rambles - you've missed them, noticed how he's held himself back more, and you think nothing will make you happier than being the person he turns to with them.
"yeah. um, thank you. but now i'm not nervous, i'm just annoyed we're at work."
you laugh, pushing away from him, fixing his tie. "we have plenty of time, it's okay."
he doesn't say anything, his hand still on the back of your neck. instead, he slowly leans down to press his lips to your forehead. it's gentle, as if he's afraid the wrong move will break you or send you running, and you melt from it.
"plenty."
part two of it's a date will come soon!! i hope!!!! please take this as a peace offering <3 i got the idea of spencer changing a tire on my head and could NOT LET IT GO !!!! like i'm ngl, i made myself blush w this so i hope u all enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing it :)
also also!! i usually like to keep my notes short but this is a reminder that my asks/inbox are always open!! and i read every reblog and comment and smile and giggle like a little kid when i see them. you all make my day every day and ily u all
#bubbs.writes#criminal minds#cm#x reader#spencer reid#criminal minds x reader#spencer reid fanfiction#fluff#spencer reid x reader#bau team#dr spencer reid#criminal minds fic#bau#criminal minds fandom#spencer x reader#dr spencer reid x reader#getting together fic#tooth rotting fluff#enjoy enjoy enjoy!!!
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pairing: spencer reid x reader
word count: 1.8k
warnings: angst, resolved angst though!! i keep promises!! also, shower scene but sfw !! i am just a slut for an innocent shower scene
part 1
Spencer doesn't come back that night and you sleep alone in the bed. It's too big, too empty, too quiet.
Your morning feels liquid without him. He usually makes the coffee, you figure out lunches. Brushing past each other, gentle hands, gentler smiles.
Everything feels hollow -- off-kilter. You're late to work for the first time in years, running behind with raw eyes and no reminders of the time shouted across the room.
Of course, you're used to the mornings that he's away. When he's in a different state you do this alone all of the time, but it's punctuated with texts and calls and promises that this isn't your new normal.
But now, the possibility hangs low over your head, a storm cloud dripping steadily over you as you work.
Annoyingly, the weather doesn't reflect your mood: it's sunny, there's a breeze, leaves cover the ground. It's the sort of weather you would convince Spencer to take a walk in. It's the sort of weather that, eons ago, he would have noticed and brought you out to walk in without you asking first.
It's not easy to notice when the shift happened. One moment he was exactly who you fell in love with: passionate about his job, sure, but equally excited about you. But, slowly, he changed. Like ice melting in water left outside, the parts of him that made every moment apart worth it slid down the glass and evaporated. The Spencer left is vacant, reading files at home even when you know he doesn't need to. He hasn't planned a date in months, hasn't texted you because he read something new that he wanted to share, hasn't seemed to see you for longer than a few seconds in weeks.
You tried to bring it up to him but the conversation was put aside because of a work call. He had to go but he pressed a kiss into your hair, hugged you tight, and promised you would work on it. Together.
That was over a month ago and he's made no effort. If anything, things have gotten worse. You can't remember the last conversation you had with him that had any true substance.
"Alright, go home." Your boss' voice cuts through your thoughts, startling you into the now.
"Sorry?"
"Go home, get some sleep, you look like shit," he says, shaking his head at you. "Don't argue, you're only missing a few hours, we'll survive without you."
Thanking him, you gather your things and begin the walk back to your car, scattering the fallen leaves with your feet.
You try to think of anything else as you get in the car, turning on music. It's hard, but you do it. You think about what to cook for dinner, what chores need to get done, mundane things that usually plague you.
You don't think about if you still have a relationship. You refuse the thought every time it creeps into your mind, shaking your head as if to physically remove the thought.
Spencer's car is in the driveway when you pull in. You put the car in park and stare at it, letting your head slowly fall forward and cheek rest on the steering wheel. He was so rarely home in the middle of the day on weekdays. You're not sure if you're ready to face him but know you have no choice.
With a sigh, you get out of the car and make your way into the house.
You can hear him moving around in the kitchen when you push the door open. Quietly, you slip out of your shoes and set your things on the table. Without saying anything, you go to your bedroom and start the shower.
You're tired of always initiating the conversations. You're tired of seeking his attention, practically begging for it, only to be shut down. Let him come to you if he's really sorry -- if he even is sorry.
You've been in the shower less than a minute when you hear your name being called. The bathroom door opens and you can just make out Spencer's head poking inside the room through the shower curtain.
"Hello?" He asks, stepping inside.
"Hi."
"I didn't hear you come in." You don't answer him, wetting your hair instead. "Can I sit?" He asks after a moment, his voice hesitant.
"Sure, if you want."
You watch as his shadow crosses the bathroom and he sits on the toilet, slouched, forearms resting on his knees.
"I was an idiot last night," he starts. You stay quiet, silently agreeing as you begin to shampoo your hair. "I can't honestly say anyone or anything is more important than my job. And I know you understand that, you've always understood that. I mean, I'm saving lives. Protecting people. What I do, it's important."
"I know," you say, softly.
"I know you know," Spencer says, just as softly, voice hurt. "But that doesn't mean you're not important or that I can treat you as less of a priority. Because you are, you know. A priority. Pretty much my main one."
You hang your head under the warm water, watching it drip through your hair and take the suds away with it. The soap runs down your arms, down your legs, and swirls around the drain. Steam lifts over the curtain, filling the air and making your eyes hazy.
There isn't much to say other than, "I haven't really felt like one."
"And I was an asshole when you tried to tell me, I know." Spencer rubs his hands across his face, voice agitated.
"What happened?" You ask, eyes still trained on the drain.
"Nothing, really. I think I just let myself get too sucked in. I mean, you've always been so consistent in my life, even before we got together, that I just sort of always expect you'll be there for me."
"I will," you admit, leaning against the wall of the shower so you can watch his shadow move as he speaks. It's true, you'll always be there for Spencer.
Spencer shakes his head, leaning forward and resting it in his hands. "You shouldn't have to if I can't prove the same is true in reverse. I should be just as consistent. I used to be just as consistent. I prided myself on how well I managed our relationship and our job. I got too comfortable, too cocky, too sure that I couldn't fuck this up that I ended up doing just that."
"I don't think you've fucked this up." Spencer laughs, low and harsh, lifting his head to look at the ceiling. "No, really. I think you just fucked up but it's nothing that can't be fixed."
"You deserve better."
"You are better, Spencer. I know you are. You're just going through something. I don't know what, I don't even think you know what, but if you let me in, we can work through it together. Just, you can't push me away."
"I don't even want to push you away, that's the thing. I can tell when I'm doing it but I can't figure out how to stop."
"Well, this is the best way to start. By telling me. I trust you. I trust us. Do you?"
"I trust you," Spencer says, voice breaking. "And, yeah, I trust us."
"Then that's all we need, no?"
He joins you in the shower a few minutes later. All innocence, helping you wash your hair and letting you wash his. The water is warm, you're in each other's spaces, not talking but just together.
It's the mundane task that truly starts to make you feel better. He's gentle as he works conditioner in your hair, eyes shut in peace when he bends down for you to run your fingers through his.
He jumps out before you to grab your towel, opening it and wrapping you up before hugging you. Warm, steady, he rubs small circles on the nape of your neck, under your dripping hair, where he holds you close.
"I was going to make dinner, I was making a list when you walked in," he says when the two of you make your way back into the kitchen. "I wasn't expecting you to be home yet."
"I was sent home early because I looked tired. Well, he actually said 'like shit' but I know what he meant." You send him a sarcastic smile as you sit down at the kitchen table, leaning forward to look at his grocery list, puzzling out what he wants to cook. "What about you? Why are you home so early?"
Hands shoved in the pockets of his sweats, Spencer shrugs. "Today is pretty much just a paperwork day. I got what I needed to get done out of the way and went home. The team was confused but they'll be fine."
"You left early?" You ask, raising an eyebrow and your gaze to watch him.
"Like I said, you're a priority, too. You deserve to be treated like one. I can't leave early most days, but the ones I can ... you deserve that, at the very least."
You stand, shuffling over in your socks, to hug him around the waist. His hands come to wrap around your shoulders without hesitation, smoothing over your hair.
You stand like that for a minute, his grasp firm, your nose pressed into his neck.
"We're going to be okay," you whisper, just as much for him as yourself.
"Of course," he replies.
here u guys go, luv u <3
i have something else (much much better writing quality wise imo) in the drafts so keep an eye out!! this is just a silly little thing but i still enjoyed seeing ur guys' reactions to it !!
#bubbs.writes#fluff#criminal minds#x reader#cm#angst#spencer reid#spencer reid fluff#spencer x reader#spencer reid angst#resolved angst#part 2#spencer reid resolved angst#hurt/comfort#spencer reid x reader#reid x reader#criminal minds x reader
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"idk izuku just doesn't seem like he would make a good boyfriend."
izuku midoriya? him? the one who has analyzed nearly everyone he has come across since a young age? the one who loves to figure out not only what people can do, but what they need? oh, love, you have no idea what you're signing up for when you agree to a relationship with izuku.
when i say he pampers you? i mean he plans everything he can think of, down to the letter, to ensure everything will be perfect for you. he memorizes your drink orders and can recite them off by heart, he has three pairs of the type of fluffy socks you mentioned liking once waiting for your next visit to his apartment, he even has a separate calendar just to keep up with things you mention wanting to do/having plans to do.
beyond that, he just cares so. much. about you. even when he's not obsessing about every way to make you smile, even just for a second, even when he's relaxing and just being human with you, he cares so much about you. never for a second do you ever feel like he's just humoring you. even when he's tired, eyes slipping shut, and yawning every few seconds, you know he's listening to you talking. you're not sure you've ever met someone more attentive of a listener than him until you catch him spacing out in conversations with others. he let mina drone on for twenty minutes about some tv show but you could tell he was just nodding and humming at her, nothing like the questions and reactions he gives to even your most boring of stories. he cares about everyone, but you especially. to him, you couldn't ever been uninteresting and everything you have to say is worth listening to, even if it's just because you're saying it.
even more than that, izuku doesn't ever stop talking to you! sure, you expected it going into the relationship: everyone knows izuku is a bubbly rambler, but he truly wants to tell you everything. you're amazed by how many times he texts you quick things that reminded him of you, stories he heard that you might find funny, updates on the couple you two were just gossiping about, and just every thought that passes through his head.
"i dunno, i just like that you know me best. i wanna keep it that way" he admitted one day, smiling sheepishly and running his fingers through his hair, "plus, you just always seem to like to listen, i don't really worry about boring you."
there's this sort of comfort in your relationship. nothing is non-negotiable, everything is easy, everything is calm. he brings you peace, deep in your bones that's hard to shake. he loves the sort of way that settles into your bones, so natural that it's almost too easy to adjust to the weight of it.
#izuku x reader#midoriya x reader#izuku midoriya x reader#bubbs.writes#deku x reader#bnha x reader#mha x reader#bnha fanfiction#mha fanfiction#fluff#i love him#so much
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thinkin' about a sweet, quiet, movie night with spencer
thinkin' about cuddling up to watch a documentary with him
or convincing him to watch a lighter movie with you
thinkin' about how he literally cannot shut up during movies
adding his own little facts to the commentary, asking about random actors and actresses
pointing out inaccuracies if any portrayal of police are on the screen
thinkin' about how he definitely is the type to keep an arm around your shoulder and lean in closer as he talks, whispering in your ear even though you're the only two people in the house
how he probably knows exactly what he's doing, how he probably smiles whenever you flush, how he keeps doing it to drive you mad
thinkin' about how movie night always ends up with the tv paused, spencer reading to you from a book to tell you something interesting, your back to his chest, his arms around you as he flips through the pages.
thinking about falling asleep there, in his arms, one hand playing with your hair while the other holds his book, quiet voice filling the air as he continues to read so you get good sleep <3
i just wanted to post a little something, even if it's short and sort of bad like this while i work on something longer <3 the brainrot is rotting!
#bubbs.writes#cm#criminal minds#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid headcanon#fluff#x reader#spencer x reader#reid x reader#criminal minds x reader
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'hey, u up?' || izuku midoriya x reader
synopsis: ur having difficulty sleeping without izuku there to keep you company
warnings: female reader, minimal cursing, fluff
wc: 2.3k
fic below the cut, reblogs appreciated
|||
To: Izu ♡
ik ur already asleep but i can’t sleep and i miss u :(
You sigh and set your phone down on the pillow beside you before rolling over and tugging your comforter higher up on your shoulder. You think of broader shoulders, a smattering of freckles, a flash of white teeth, and groan, pulling your blanket up so it’s covering your face too.
Izuku had returned from a two-week-long trip earlier today and, in typical fashion, was outside of your apartment door the minute paperwork was done. You insisted that he go get sleep, real rest, in his own apartment for the night, without you clinging to him all night. He wasn’t too hurt but you were sure that his shoulder needed rest from being dislocated and you were known to cuddle up to him in your sleep.
He pouted at the idea but agreed and left a few hours ago and you haven’t heard from him since other than a message letting you know he was home and was going to bed. Which was a good thing, you reminded yourself. He needed rest and was listening to what you told him to. But, fuck, you missed him while he was gone. While his missions weren’t rare – nobody could stop him from doing everything to climb the hero ratings (and you would never dream of even thinking about any other life for him) – not sharing a bed with him while he was home was rare. You were better at it when he was gone. You could tell yourself to get over it, he was away being a hero and you were more than busy enough here, putting your healing quirk to work.
But here? Alone in bed with him two blocks away? Thinking of how he could be holding you to his chest right now, playing with your hair and soothing you to sleep? This is much harder.
Groaning, you toss your blanket away and give in to the urge to check your phone again. No new notifications, as to be expected at 2am, but plenty of other distractions were right at your fingertips to keep you awake for much longer than you should be. You push away the temptation and toss the phone down to the foot of your bed, sitting up and stretching your arms high above your head. You’re sure there’s some melatonin in the cabinet in your bathroom and that’s your new goal.
It doesn’t take long to find it and fill a glass with water to take the small pill. You typically don’t take anything to sleep, preferring to fall asleep naturally if possible, but a small part of your brain urges you that the sooner you fall asleep, the sooner you can get up and head over to Izuku’s, like the desperate girlfriend that you are.
You’re walking back to your room, praying the medicine works tonight, when you hear something in your room. You freeze, blood running cold.
Your quirk works to heal yourself as well as others, so you really have little to loose by at least running in there to make a mad dash for your phone. You brace yourself with the thought as you grab the closest thing – a fake potted succulent – and push the door open with your toe, muscles tight and practically vibrating with adrenaline. When it’s obvious nothing is blocking your path, you launch yourself onto your bed and scramble to find your phone in the sheets where you tossed it, head turning around wildly to find the source of the noise.
You find an empty room.
You can hear your blood rushing in your ears as your fingers finally brush against your phone and you lower the plastic pot to rest beside you. You hadn’t imagined the noise, there was a loud thump followed by quick tapping noises, repeated enough that you’re sure you heard correctly.
You hover there, sort of crouched on your bed, armed with the smallest plastic pot in existence and your phone, and consider briefly if there’s an invisible person in your room with you.
You aren’t quite sure how to proceed, eyes darting around the room. You’ve just come up with the idea to throw your covers into the center of the room to see if it catches on any invisible creep so you can pummel them into the group when the noise happens again.
Tap tap tap tap tap
You scream, jumping up and throwing the fake succulent on reflex. It sails through the air and lands with a quiet thump on the rug. Swallowing thickly, you force air into your lungs to just think for a minute. It takes you a second to realize that the tapping had come from outside of your window and you slowly crawl off of your bed, phone clutched in your hand.
Your curtains are pulled shut to combat the bright sun in the mornings so you face them for a few seconds, breathing in through your nose and out of your mouth.
‘Please don’t be a person trying to break in please don’t be a person trying to break in please don’t be a person trying to break in’ you plead in your head, crouching down to scoop up your plastic weapon. You could turn back and grab the pepper spray attached to your keyring but you feel like it would be wrong to not let the little succulent see this adventure the entire way through.
You decide to rip off the bandaid, yank the curtains open, and prepare yourself to scream. You grab at the edge of the curtain before you hear a sigh.
You feel the blood in your body drop to your feet for a moment before you hear, “C’mon, Y/N?” through the thin glass of your shitty apartment window and you recognize the voice. Your blood feels like it finally starts moving after having been stopped and you feel your face flush as you pull the curtains back.
As you expected, your boyfriend is perching on the rickety fire escape, fist raised to tap on the glass again.
He breaks out into a wide smile at you standing there, pajama-clad with messy hair, before it turns confused and he raises an eyebrow toward your still-raised cactus weapon.
You lower your arm sheepishly, heart skipping at his blinding smile, and hurry to unlock the window. He pushes it open for you when you have it unlocked.
He braces his hands on the top of the window frame, leans forward, and into your room, biceps flexing and entering your space.
“Hello,” he whispers, smiling down at you.
It’s hard to not be flustered. He’s no longer the small Izuku Midoriya you met while training with Recovery Girl at UA – no, this is Pro Hero Deku, still sweet and bubbly, sure, but confident and fully aware of how he has you wrapped around his finger.
“Hi,” you return, letting him lean close and returning his smile.
“Quite the arsenal you have around here,” he comments, nodding toward your hand still clutching the plastic pot.
“I thought you were someone trying to break in!” You justify, holding the plant up, “It’s not my fault that you forget I have a front door.”
His smile widens as he leaps into your room easily, maneuvering from his awkward crouch to standing in front of you gracefully. “It’s faster to just use Blackwhip and come through his way, the elevator’s too slow.” He gently pries the small pot from your fingers and sets it on your desk, using his hold on your hand to bring your wrist up to his mouth and place a gentle kiss above your racing pulse. “Sorry for scaring you.”
“It’s okay, care to share why you’ve felt the need to visit my window at 2:30 like you’re some sort of Spiderman?” You ask, trying your hardest to not flush at the feeling of his lips sweeping over your wrist.
He shrugs, lifting his phone and waving it, “You said you missed me.”
You gape at that, laughing in disbelief. “So you woke up, left bed, and raced here instead of calling me or texting me back?”
“I knew if I did you would convince me not to come. Guess I missed you too.” He tugs your closer, moving his hand from your wrist to your hip and holding you there firmly, leaning down to brush his nose against yours.
“But your shoulder,” you whisper, even as you stretch up on your toes to return the gesture.
“It’s fine,” he promises, slowly smiling again and you can feel the shift from how close you are to him, “Plus, my girlfriend is super cool and can help me out in the morning if it’s sore.”
You scoff, rolling your eyes for show, “Is that all I am to you? After all this time?” You tease.
“Nope,” he hums, pulling back slightly and eyes flickering to your lips. “Never just that.”
Your heart skips a beat, squeezes, and then races. It doesn’t matter how many times he says it, how many different ways he shows you, or even the years you’ve been by his side – he still manages to make you feel giddy in every way possible.
“Oh, really?” You ask, breathless and unable to really think straight with how he’s raking his eyes over your face, drinking you in and not hiding it in the slightest.
He doesn’t answer, opting to lean in and brush his lips against yours in a gentle kiss. He pulls back for a breath before leaning in and kissing you properly, pressing his lips against yours, firm and insistent. It doesn’t take long for him to deepen it, licking at your bottom lip and smiling when you respond eagerly. His arm slips from your waist around the small of your back, tugging you close and holding you there. His other hand holds your cheek gently. Your arms are around his neck, fingers brushing past his undercut to find the thick curls above. He groans when you tug, lifting you up and pulling away to press small, quick kisses across both of your cheeks.
The adrenaline from before has made your small dose of melatonin kick in much faster than usual and you feel your eyes growing heavy even as you giggle and squirm in his arms.
“You ready for bed, baby?” Izuku asks, placing you down gently and pushing your hair out of your face.
You nod against his hand, holding it to your cheek so you can turn to press a kiss to the scar stretching across his palm.
He ushers you to your bed with a hand pressed against the small of your back, pulling his hoodie off while you settle on the far side of your bed next to the wall, watching him move in the moonlight of your room.
You admire the way the chords of his muscles bunch up at the movement, eyes tracing the freckles that continue down his shoulders to his strong chest and flat stomach. He is a beacon of power, strong and unbreakable, privy to countless strategies to have anyone anywhere fall to their knees, and he’s standing in your bedroom in soft pajama pants with little gauntlets on them (Bakugou’s merch, you note fondly) and bare feet.
He doesn’t comment on your staring as he crawls into bed, though he’s no doubt noticed, little gets past his attention. He stretches out on his back, adjusting his pillow and opening his arms wide for you.
“Are you sure?” You question, sitting cross-legged and searching his eyes for any sort of tenseness, “Your shoulder…” You draw off as he scoffs and props himself up on an elbow. He reaches forward and maneuvers you next to him easily, manhandling you in a way that makes you blush.
“My shoulder’s fine,” he mumbles, prodding you to lay down and shoving his nose into your hair when you do, sighing contently.
You sink into him, relishing in the warmth and comfort he brings. Gently, you trace the scars and freckles on his chest with a finger. You don’t comment on how he flushes across his chest at your attention. No doubt his face is red, too.
A secret, small part of you relishes in your ability to have him just as affected by you as you are by him. The number three hero is in your bed, holding you tightly in his strong arms, blushing because you are trailing your finger across the rough edge of a scar from a fight you’ve heard the story of a million times.
“You never finished telling me about the lady at the convenience store,” you remind him, poking his side gently. You know he relaxes more when he talks, you have fallen asleep countless times to the gentle sound of his voice, deep and slow as he gets more and more tired as well.
“You sure? It’s late, I can tell you tomorrow,” he hesitates, fingers tracing nonsensical patterns across the side of your neck.
“Mhm,” you nod, craning your neck to smile up at him, “you know I fall asleep faster when I have you to listen to.” Never mind that you’re sure that you’re exhausted enough to blink and fall asleep right then. “I want to hear about everything from when you were away, too.”
That’s all it takes to have him launching into the story, the hand that’s not attached to the arm holding you firmly to his side gesturing in the air.
You rest your cheek against his chest, listening for the gentle thrum of his heartbeat and feeling the gentle vibrations of his voice as he talks. You fall asleep easily and deeply, warm and content beyond explanation.
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note: i've been mia for a while, and i can't promise i'm back to writing full time, but i can promise i have a LOT in the works, some izu, some katsuki, some kirishima, so keep an eye out for whenever i have the time to finish/write those :)
#bubbs.writes#for once lmfao#izuku#izuku midoriya#fanfiction#izuku x reader#midoriya x reader#x reader#bnha x reader#deku#deku x reader#fluff#cuddling#brief mentions of someone possibly breaking in but it's fine#pro hero deku#aged up au#pro hero au#mha x reader
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but just imagine washing kiri's hair
gently nudging him under the water, smiling softly when he ducks his head so a little stream of water trails onto your shoulder. it's quiet, neither of you feel the need to talk as you let the shampoo collect in your palm. it's cool on your skin and you later it between your hands before bringing your hands up to rake it through his hair. he bends his head forward further to allow you easier access.
it takes time, gentle hands and soft work to loosen the gel that holds his hair up every day. you do the work, easily and carefully, watching as his eyes droop. he's tired from working all day, from smiling and talking and charming, and now he's quiet, leaning down so you can drag your fingers along his scalp and work away the grime and thick product.
before you, he never let others mess with his hair, always sure that they wouldn't take the same care that he does to keep his hair healthy after all the bleaching. but, with you, he doesn't hesitate to say yes when you ask to wash his hair.
he rests his hands on your hips as you work, thumbs moving gently and without any ulterior intentions, just touching you and watching your face peacefully.
he nearly purrs when you move to the conditioner, detangling his hair with your fingers, pulling and soothing any spots where you might have tugged too hard at his roots.
he returns the favor when you're done, gently massaging your scalp with the shampoo, removing the shower head to gently rinse without risking the soapy water running into your eyes, and carefully passing the conditioner through your ends.
and, when you both leave the shower with pruned hands and sleepy eyes, he can't imagine a life without you.
#bubbs.writes#kirishima x reader#eijirou x reader#eijirou kirishima x reader#bnha x reader#x reader#mha x reader#fluff#mentions of showering together#fully sfw#all fluff#gentle#gn reader#i just imagine he's so sweet#and like#someone needs to take care of him#after he's spent all day working hard to make people laugh and smile and feel safe and comfortable and happy#it's time that he lets others take his happiness into their hands#and ugh#i just wanna hug him
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masterlist:
criminal minds
unless specified, all are female!reader
spencer reid x reader:
fics:
it wasn't meant to be this way (angst) || pt 1 || pt 2
it's a date (fluff) || pt 1
i've noticed you
drabble/headcanons:
quiet night at home
#bubbs.writes#sincerelybubbles masterlist#criminal minds#spencer reid x reader#criminal minds x reader
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your most recent bakugou post (the one about him being mean but not to you) has just explained EXACTLY why I like the moody angry characters in almost every media I consume and I’ve never been able to put it into words. its the special feeling you get when you know that the person you’re with would never treat anyone else anywhere close to as good as they treat you, it’s just ahhhhh so nice, love your work!! <3
yes!! he definitely has the sort of "i hate everyone but this one vibe"
and then i just love to imagine how his friends would react seeing him do something so simple but so un-bakugo, like linking pinkies with his s/o or kissing them on the cheek as he gets up to grab another drink.
the absolute shock of all of them. you know kiri would be demanding why bakugo isn't that nice to him and denki would demand to know what you did to him.
but just in general, i feel like there's a lack of appreciation for how he demands to be nothing other than the best - obviously he would take that sort of competitiveness into making sure his s/o never wants for anything under the sun
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can't stop thinking abt having sore muscles around the pro hero!ua boys
(probably bc my muscles have been sore for days after jet skiing)
warnings: none, all fluff
of course, bakugo is lecturing you about not stretching first and drinking enough water.
"wouldn't be this fuckin' sore if you listened t'me for once," he'd grumble, already moving to the kitchen to cook so you can take pain meds.
he would insist that you lay on an ice pack if your back is sore in any way, already worried about an actual injury and not just a slight strain. once you're able to convince him that you're okay, just a little sore, he agrees to give you a massage. surprisingly, he doesn't complain much about it idea, simply just motions for you to lay down so he can help you out.
and when he's done, he'll be sure to gloat about his superior massage skills while secretly grabbing his phone to set an alarm to remind you to take medicine again in a few hours.
midoriya would be the first to remind you that sore muscles leads to muscle growth, especially if you're sore after working out.
he is the water police though, constantly insisting that you finish your bottle before jumping up to grab you a new one the second you're finished drinking.
he's also spoiling you rotten, fully aware of the way your body would ache from standing up to do simple tasks. so, he's jumping up any time you so much as move your finger, asking what you need.
"i'll get it, i'll get it! just stay there," he insists, holding up a hand to stop you from jumping up to grab your blanket.
overall, he's just too sweet to see you in pain, so he's doing everything he can to help you feel better. pain meds? he's running to the store. ice pack? there's one chilling in the freezer right now. you want heat? he's already boiling water in the kettle for your hot water bottle.
kirishima teases you for a few minutes when you complain about being sore, giant smile stretching across his face.
"i heard that cuddling with your super storm and manly boyfriend is the best remedy, actually," he jokes, scooping you up to rest against his chest, laughing when you squeal.
he is happy to grab you medicine, water, and a snack while resting with you for the day. if you're truly too sore to get up and do much, he's more than happy to lay down with you, watching whatever crappy netflix show you pick and doing whatever he can to keep you laughing throughout the day.
when you tell sero you're sore, he's reaching over to grab massage lotion before you can even finish your sentence.
"any excuse to get my hands on you," he jokes, nudging you to roll over so he can help soothe your aching muscles.
despite his teasing, he is focused and precise, doing what he can to help you feel better as quickly as possible. he's no stranger to aches and pains, slinging himself around by his tape isn't exactly easy on his joints and muscles, so he's happy to return the many many massages you've given him after patrols.
#bubbs.writes#bnha x reader#mha x reader#bakugo x reader#katsuki x reader#bakugo katsuki x reader#izuku x reader#midoriya x reader#midoriya izuku x reader#deku x reader#kirishima x reader#eijirou x reader#kirishima eijiro x reader#sero x reader#hanata x reader#hanata sero x reader#x reader#massages#fully sfw#fluff#my back hurts so bad#also bonus love for sero#he doesn't get enough love#but i miss him
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quite literally shouted nonsense to siri while in the shower but that's how yk its going to be a GOOD fic
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next week i'll (hopefully) have a lot of writing time
so!
which would u prefer for a meet-cute fic
#probably should decide between izu and kats but#idk#I'll probably write something for both of them#i have a sero fic in the works#bubbs.writes#bubbs.rambles#help#poll#:D#izuku x reader#bakugo x reader#just wanna get this in the tags so ppl see and lmk what they want sahbldfg
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i’m sitting and waiting for iv fluid to enter my gallbladder so it would be so silly goofy and fun and funny to send me head cannons that i can drabble on about while i sit and do nothing 🐱🐱
#cm#criminal minds#bubbs.writes#i’m bored and there’s something IN my arm#take pity i’m begging#i’ll also be meandering around and rebloging fics as i read them!!
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about me
hello :) i'm sincerelybubbes, you can call me bubbles, bubbs, moon, or anything similar!
i'm 20, a creative writing college student, and work as a pet groomer. my pronouns are she/her or they/them
i used to write more frequently than i currently do, but when i have the motivation i make content for bnha and occasionally haikyuu. i also, on occasion, draw! so check that out too <3
while my writing is entirely sfw (as of rn) this blog will occasionally rb 18+ content, so stay safe friends! i don't mind minors following me/sending asks but ageless blogs will be blocked if i notice them following me, as well as spam blogs/blogs that look as if they might be spam (no pfp, bio, rb's, etc.).
please feel free to message me or send me asks!!! i will always answer and appreciate it!
my tagging system:
art -> #bubbs.draws
writing -> #bubbs.writes
random thoughts -> #bubbs.rambles
organizing -> bubbs.organizing
answering asks -> bubbs.asks
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about me :)
hello :) i'm sincerelybubbes, you can call me kam, bubbs, bubbles, or anything similar!
i'm 21, graduated with a creative writing degree, and and truly just love writing silly little stories. my pronouns are she/her or they/them
i just graduated so i suddenly have the time (and mental capacity) to write about my goofy little guys again <3 i don't see myself writing much for bnha or haikyuu anymore, sorry to say, i think I've outgrown it. I'm sure my interests will fluctuate, but I'll primarily focus on criminal minds :)
while my writing is entirely sfw (as of rn) this blog will occasionally rb 18+ content, so stay safe friends! i don't mind minors following me/sending asks but ageless blogs will be blocked if i notice them following me, as well as spam blogs/blogs that look as if they might be spam (no pfp, bio, rb's, etc.).
please feel free to message me or send me asks!!! i will always answer and appreciate it!
my tagging system:
art -> #bubbs.draws
writing -> #bubbs.writes
random thoughts -> #bubbs.rambles
organizing -> #kam.organizing / #bubbs.organizing
answering asks -> #bubbs.asks
bnha content -> #bnha
criminal minds -> #criminal minds #cm
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