Welcome to my blog! My name is Mai (she/her) I'm in my late teens and I'm from the UK. This page is basically my diary so expect to some random thoughts pop up on here lol.
Get to know me <3
𐙚 I'm an ISFP
𐙚 I'm a Pisces
𐙚 Current victim of Psychology classes
𐙚 I LOVE music, playing guitar and reading!
𐙚 My favourite artists at the moment are Taylor Swift, Fleetwood Mac, Stevie Nicks, Luvcat and Sabrina Carpenter
𐙚 My current obsession is Criminal Minds (Spencer Reid, Emily Prentiss mainly). You'll find that I ship Hotchniss, Jemily and Willifer all at the same time somehow -I know, don't ask- and also Garvez ofc!!
If you want to ask about anything or would just like to infodump in my ask box feel free!!
anyone else think emily prentiss is the greatest character of all time and just want to cry over how much you love her and how she means more to you than any other character because same
Jason Gideon has two kids: Elle Greenaway and Spencer Reid.
Aaron Hotchner has three kids: Jennifer Jareau, Derek Morgan and Penelope Garcia.
David Rossi has two kids: Emily Prentiss and Ashley Seaver.
You hadn't meant to say any of it out loud. That was the part that would embarrass you most, later, replaying it — not the feelings themselves, which you'd gotten fairly good at burying under paperwork and forced nonchalance over the last few months, but the fact that you'd let them out at all, in the break room, at eight o'clock at night, when you were tired enough and sad enough to stop guarding the door on them properly. Garcia was the one person on earth you let see you like this — best friends since your first week at the BAU, the two of you a matched, slightly unhinged pair among a team of otherwise very serious profilers, prone to color-coded rants and dramatic hand gestures and the kind of shorthand only years of inside jokes could build.
"I just don't understand what I'm supposed to do with it," you said, stirring coffee you had no intention of drinking, mostly for something to do with your hands. "It's not like I can just switch it off. Believe me, I've tried. I have tried diligently, Garcia. I made a whole vision board once about getting over him. It had glitter on it. It did not work."
Garcia, perched on the counter beside the coffee machine with the particular gentleness she reserved for you when you got like this, didn't say anything right away — just let you keep going, the way she always did, patient in the way only your favorite person on this earth could manage after a twelve-hour day.
"He's happy," you said. "That's the thing. I want him to be happy. I'm not — I'm not some awful person hoping it falls apart so I get some kind of turn. I just—" Your voice cracked, just slightly, and you hated it. "I just wish it didn't have to be so hard to watch. Watching him be happy with someone else. Knowing I never said anything, and now it's too late, and it's entirely my own fault for being too scared to say it when it actually mattered."
"You don't know it's too late."
"He's with Lisa, Garcia. That's about as 'too late' as it gets. That is the dictionary definition of too late. They should put his relationship status next to the word in the actual dictionary."
"Feelings aren't always as final as timing makes them look."
"That's a very Garcia thing to say, and I love you for it — truly, deeply, with my whole entire chaotic heart — but it doesn't change the fact that I have spent the better part of a year in love with a man who has absolutely no idea, because I was too much of a coward to tell him before someone else did the telling for me by just — being braver than I was. Being available when I wasn't." You pressed the heels of your hands briefly against your eyes. "I don't even blame him. I blame me. I had the chance and I didn't take it, and now I get to sit across the bullpen every day and watch him text her and smile at his phone, and pretend it doesn't absolutely wreck me every single time, all while maintaining my very convincing 'totally normal, definitely not in love with my coworker' face. I should win an award. Where's my Emmy."
You didn't hear the break room door, which had been left propped only partway shut, ease open another few inches behind you. You didn't see Luke standing just beyond it, a case file forgotten in his hand, having come looking for Garcia about a background check and having stopped dead the second he registered the shape of what he was walking in on.
He didn't move. Didn't announce himself. He just stood there, quiet, absorbing every word like it had rearranged something fundamental in his chest, because he knew — with the particular, sick certainty of a man realizing he'd gotten something badly, catastrophically wrong — exactly whose feelings you'd just described as too late.
He'd told himself, for months now, that you didn't feel that way. That your friendship was warm and easy and entirely, safely platonic, and that whatever he felt for you sat one-sided and private in his own chest, something he'd have to manage quietly and eventually get over, because the alternative — telling you, risking the friendship, risking the team dynamic — had seemed like too much to gamble on a feeling he'd convinced himself wasn't returned.
He'd started things with Lisa, if he was honest with himself, at least partly because it had felt safer than sitting in that uncertainty any longer. Lisa was lovely. Lisa was easy. Lisa did not make his chest ache every time she laughed at something across a briefing room table.
He backed away from the door as quietly as he'd approached it, mind racing, and did not go back to his desk that night until he'd sat in his car in the parking garage for twenty minutes, staring at nothing, absolutely certain of exactly one thing: he had a phone call to make.
★・・・・・・★
You didn't know any of that yet. You spent the next two days doing what you always did — showing up, doing the job, being fine, being professional, catching yourself over-explaining your reports to Luke just to avoid the particular kind of silence that settled whenever it was just the two of you. You didn't notice, at first, that he'd gone quieter than usual around the bullpen, that his phone had stopped buzzing with the easy, constant rhythm of a new relationship, that he seemed to be watching you when he thought you weren't looking, like he was working up to something and hadn't found the words yet.
You noticed on Thursday, when Garcia sidled up to your desk with an expression that was doing a very poor job of hiding something — the exact face your best friend made every single time she had gossip she was contractually, morally obligated to share with you and no one else first.
"What," you said.
"Nothing."
"Garcia. I know that face. That is your 'I have information and I am vibrating' face. You get little sparkle eyes."
"I do not get sparkle eyes."
"You absolutely get sparkle eyes, I have catalogued them, spill it."
"I have been informed — through channels I am not at liberty to disclose, though I will say those channels have excellent taste in coffee and questionable timing — that a certain someone ended things with a certain someone else. Recently. As in, two days ago recently."
Your stomach dropped and lifted at the same time, an entirely unhelpful combination. "Luke and Lisa?"
"I said nothing." Garcia's smile said everything. "I am a vault. A vault that is currently vibrating with excitement, but a vault nonetheless."
"You are the least vault-like vault I have ever encountered in my life, and I say that with maximum love."
You didn't get the chance to ask anything further, because that was the exact moment Luke appeared at the edge of your desk, hands in his pockets, looking more nervous than you had ever seen him look walking into an actual crime scene.
"Hey," he said. "Can we talk? Somewhere that isn't — " he glanced pointedly at Garcia, who was making absolutely no effort to look like she wasn't listening, "—here."
You followed him out to the stairwell, heart going faster than the short walk should have justified, and he waited until the door clicked shut behind you both before he turned to face you, jaw tight, like he'd rehearsed this and lost the words anyway the second it mattered.
"I ended things with Lisa," he said.
"I heard. Sort of. Garcia's a vault with poor structural integrity."
That got the smallest, startled laugh out of him, easing something in his shoulders, but he sobered again quickly. "I need to tell you why. And I need you to let me get through it, because if I stop I don't think I'll find the nerve to start again."
You nodded, throat tight, not trusting your voice.
"I came looking for Penelope Tuesday night. Heard you two talking before I walked in all the way." He held your gaze, steady despite how visibly hard it was for him. "Heard you say you'd been in love with somebody for the better part of a year. Heard you say you thought it was too late."
Your whole body went cold, then hot, then cold again. "Luke—"
"I started things with Lisa because I convinced myself you didn't feel anything close to what I felt for you," he said, plowing through it now that he'd started, like he needed to get it all out before he lost his nerve. "Told myself it was safer that way. Easier than sitting around hoping for something I figured was never coming. And I was wrong. I was so completely wrong, and I am sorrier than I know how to say that it took me overhearing something I wasn't meant to hear to finally understand that."
"Luke."
"I'm in love with you," he said, plain, no hedging left in it at all. "Have been for months. Probably longer than I let myself admit. And I know this is — I know the timing's a mess, I know I just ended something with someone else and that probably doesn't look great, but I couldn't keep pretending I didn't feel this, not after hearing you say what you said. Not when there was a chance, even a small one, that it wasn't too late after all."
You stared at him for a long moment, stairwell quiet except for the hum of the fluorescent lights overhead, feeling like the floor had tilted slightly beneath you in the best possible way.
"You heard all of that," you said, finally, "and your takeaway was to break up with your girlfriend and corner me in a stairwell."
"When you put it like that it sounds slightly unhinged."
"It's a little unhinged, Luke."
"I'm aware." He huffed a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck, nerves creeping visibly back in now that the confession itself was out. "I panicked. Wanted to fix it before I lost the nerve. I'm not — I'm not proud of the order of operations here, if I'm honest. Should've ended it with Lisa for her own sake regardless of any of this. But hearing you say what I heard, and knowing I might actually have a shot I'd talked myself out of for months—"
"You could've just asked me," you said, something warm breaking loose in your chest, spreading out until it reached your face in a smile you couldn't have stopped if you'd tried. "Instead of assuming."
"I know that now."
"I've been in love with you since that case in Sacramento, Luke. The one with the bad motel coffee and the worse crime scene photos." You shook your head, half laughing, half disbelieving. "I thought you knew. I thought I was being obvious."
"I am, apparently, spectacularly bad at reading obvious things when they matter most."
"Apparently."
He closed the last of the distance between you slowly, giving you every chance to stop him, exactly the way he'd have wanted someone to give him the choice — and you didn't stop him at all, just met him halfway, and let him kiss you — not careful, not restrained, nothing like the polite, measured version of him you'd spent a year convincing yourself was all you'd ever get. His hand came up to cradle your jaw like he needed something to hold onto, and the kiss itself was messy in a way that felt more honest than anything careful could have managed, all the months of almost-saying-it and talking himself out of it and watching you across bullpens and briefing rooms pouring out at once. You kissed him back just as desperately, fisting a hand in the front of his shirt, saying with your mouth everything you'd rehearsed and never once said out loud — I've wanted this, I've wanted you, I thought I'd missed my chance, don't let this be the only time — and he answered every bit of it, breathless, like he was trying to make up for a year of silence in the space of a single kiss. Neither of you were graceful about it. Neither of you cared. It was the stairwell, and the smell of old coffee and industrial carpet, and the two of you finally saying, without a single word, everything you'd both been too frightened to say out loud.
"For the record," you murmured, when you finally broke apart, still close enough to feel him smiling, "Garcia's going to want full credit for this. Full credit, a parade, possibly a plaque."
"Garcia can have all the credit she wants." His hand found yours, lacing through easily, like it had simply been waiting for permission. "I'm just glad I finally listened at the right door."
"Very unprofessional of you, eavesdropping."
"The most unprofessional thing I've ever done at this job." He didn't sound sorry about it at all. "Best decision I've made in a year, though."
"Careful," you said, still a little breathless, one hand still fisted loosely in his shirt. "Making out with a colleague in the stairwell is probably a fair bit more unprofessional than eavesdropping ever was."
"Worth the write-up."
You laughed, leaning into him properly this time, and neither of you were in any hurry at all to go back through that stairwell door — though you did, at some point, make a mental note to text Garcia the second you got the chance, because best friends did not survive an eavesdropping-fueled stairwell confession without a full, dramatic, blow-by-blow debrief, preferably over wine, preferably that night.
★・・・・・・★
a/n: another looooooooong over due request and for that i am very sorry, but I hope you like it, I tired making the reader match Garcia's energy but idk if i managed (i think people can tell when i write I do theatre cos I'm literally sat in my room imagining dialogue back and forth and need to get better at writing reader inserts that aren't just my own personality u know idk lol anyway, I'm basically doing a solo improv class lmao) xx
