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andypantsx3 · 6 months ago

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BY THE BOOK : MIDORIYA IZUKU X READER

SUMMARY: When your pro hero boyfriend comes home to find you studying, he suddenly takes a great interest in helping out. You find his methods... questionable. TAGS/WARNINGS: nsft, hysterical literature (reading out loud while sexually stimulated), pro hero deku, deku still has ofa, support tech grad student reader, slight intelligence kink, gn + afab reader, cunnilingus, established relationship, aged up characters, fluff (3k) NOTES: Hi guys! I have been in survival mode as of late and the writing has been slow going; my sincerest apologies for how long it’s taking me to burn down my @ficsforgaza backlog. But I finally had the time & energy on my hands this weekend to work on this one and I had such a blast!! I hope I’m not too rusty—and if I am, I hope you enjoy it as much as I loved writing it regardless lol. Love you and thank you always for your patience. Happy Holidays!!

Sometimes, you thought you could tell your boyfriend was near, even before you heard his key in the lock.

It was something to do with his power, you’d always suspected—as a support engineer unduly interested in other people’s capabilities, you’d spent hundreds of hours turning it over in your head. It was the unnatural immensity of other people’s powers, you thought, pulling and coiling just beneath the surface of Izuku’s skin. In close proximity, after prolonged use, its presence felt like a shiver up the back of your neck.

You felt the barest hint of it now, an unsettled feeling creeping into the marrow of your bones, and you sat up on the couch just as you heard the scratch of Izuku’s keys at the door.

One For All fit cleanly into Izuku’s own unwavering intensity somehow, like the last piece of his puzzle. Though one would certainly never think so looking at him as he spilled through the door, pink-cheeked from the cold, all bright eyes, sweetly angelic features, and a riot of wild green curls. He looked windswept from the biting winter breeze. He also looked too kind to be carrying the sort of power he did—too sweet and eager and lovely.

“Look what the wind blew in,” you grinned at him over the back of the couch, after assessing he was well. Your eyes tracked the sinuous movement of those broad shoulders as he yanked his mouthguard over his head, the flex and pull of his bicep as he hung it beside the door. He was moving without pause, no sign of injury or muscle strain , and his suit was intact. Ordinarily you didn’t mind if there was a bit of shredding about the abs as long as he came back to you whole and hale, but in the winter you didn’t like him wandering about risking the chance of frostbite.

Your heart fluttered when Izuku returned your smile with one of his own, so beautiful and bright, chasing away the cold he’d tracked in like a warm sliver of sun.

“Lots of small, easy fights today?” You guessed, judging from his intact suit but clear whiff of power about him.

Izuku scrubbed a hand through that riot of curls, exposing the reddened shell of a cold ear. “I only had to use blackwhip a couple of times,” he said as he shouldered the door closed behind him, the muscle of his thighs flexing enticingly as he stepped out of his boots.

You gestured at the pot of soup you’d left warming on the stove, and the veritable pile of crusty bread beside it. Warmth and carbs, exactly what you would have wanted if you were a pro hero fresh off a long day of patrolling in the snow.

Izuku’s eyes fixed on it with an obliging amount of interest, and he almost tripped over himself in the genkan in his haste to get to the kitchen. “I love you,” you heard him say, muffled through a mouthful of bread, heard the clatter of the silverware drawer and a bowl being placed on the counter.

You smiled and turned back to the book in your lap, a particularly dry, knotty text on robotic imitation learning that had had your eyes drifting closed for the better part of an hour. It was the last you’d need to get through for your Wearable Technologies graduate course, and something you were deeply interested in incorporating into your design practice. You could train a piece of equipment on how an individual pro hero moved and deployed their quirk, and use predictive modeling to deploy assistance functionalities within milliseconds if you got it right—such as immediate cooling in pro hero Shouto’s temperature vest the moment he ignited an arm.

The implementation was going to be so cool—but the theory was so mind numbing.

You felt the couch sink in beside your feet, and Izuku peered interestedly at the title in your lap.

“Introduction to Robotic Imitation Learning,” he echoed, and you could hear the note of excitement in his voice. You suppressed a fond smile, knowing he was already thinking through the same applications you had—he was just as much of a nerd as you were.

“Introduction to Snoozing and Napping,” you grumbled, turning back to your page. “There are only so many words on the Kalman filter framework a brain can handle before the human mind shuts itself down.”

Izuku hummed in interest around a spoonful of soup, propping himself up against your leg. The exterior of his suit was still cool from the outside, and he groaned with relief from the warmth of your skin, even as you hissed at the chill.

You knew he wanted you to go on, so you generalized for him. “It’s an algorithm used for robotic motion planning—you not only take measurements of the thing you want to model but you account for uncertainties to predict the probability that something is going to happen.”

Izuku nodded, taking another spoonful of soup, gesturing for you to go on.

You summoned up the willpower to explain joint probability distribution, pleased when Izuku easily managed to follow—he’d always been a quick study, especially of anything that could be employed in the service of heroics. You’d long thought if he hadn’t been gifted his quirk, he would be an insane support engineer.

He managed to finish his entire bowl of soup in the time it took you to explain, and housed another two slices of buttered bread with the sort of alacrity you’d only ever seen in pro heroes and professional athletes, making you smile while you spoke.

His spoon clinked softly against the edge of the bowl as he set them aside on the coffee table, and he hooked his chin over your knees as you finished explaining. In the setting sun from your windows he looked especially lovely, the kind, angular planes of his face brushed in gold, softening the spots of his freckles.

His eyes were especially bright, the way they always were when something in particular had caught his interest, and he smiled at you again over the tops of your knee caps.

“I admire how smart you are,” he told you, in the simple, straightforward way he always gave out compliments. It was like a shot to the heart every time, and you could feel your face warm with the praise even after years of receiving similar compliments.

You reflexively flapped a dismissive hand. “Not smart enough to have internalized it all! I have mostly been falling asleep to it,” you promised him.

He tilted his head, a green curl falling into his eyes. “I know you won’t have a problem when you’re awake.”

You shifted your legs with embarrassment, and a long fingered hand came up to cup the front of your thigh, as Izuku turned more fully towards you. You could feel the warm, hard planes of his chest against your shins, the line of his jumpsuit’s zipper pressing insistently just below your knee.

“Gotta try to impress you somehow,” you joked, your skin prickling as Izuku’s fingers absent-mindedly drew a pattern across your thigh. You could feel the heat of his hand through the thin material of the leggings you’d lounged around in all day, the chill finally chased away from his skin now that he’d come inside and warmed up.

“You do impress me,” he said in his soft, gentle tone. Which made your cheeks and nose burn hotter.

You knew you did, and the steady faith Izuku had in the people around him was one of your favorite things about him. It still made you feel like a middle schooler with a crush to think about, though, the intensity of your feelings too much for one body to handle.

“I will study hard to live up to your faith in me,” you promised, unable to help the goofy smile you knew you were giving him.

Izuku’s chin shifted against the tops of your knees, and he pressed his mouth to the knob of your left one, leaving a smiling kiss. “Tell me more?” he asked, fingers still sliding softly over your thigh.

“I’ll read it to you as I go, then,” you said, turning back to the brick of a tome, propping it up more firmly on your stomach as you adjusted yourself against the couch arm. Izuku’s eyes watched you over the top of the pages, that emerald gaze tracking your face closely.

“‘The algorithm works via a two-phase process: a prediction phase and an update phase’,” you began, trying to turn your attention away from Izuku and back to the text. “‘In the prediction phase, the Kalman filter produces estimates of the current state variables, including their uncertainties. Once the outcome of the next measurement (necessarily corrupted with some error, including random noise) is observed, these estimates are updated using a weighted average, with more weight given to estimates with greater certainty.’”

Izuku’s long fingers traced firmer lines across your thighs, almost like he was taking notes. He layered another kiss along the line of your knee, eyes glittering at you as you read.

“‘The algorithm is recursive,’” you continued, “‘It can operate in real time, using only the present input measurements and the state calculated previously and its uncertainty matrix; no additional past information is required.’”

You almost jumped as Izuku’s mouth trailed lower, into the space between your knees, leaving kisses along your inner thigh. His fingers gently pulled one thigh away to make space for him in between, and you cleared your throat, trying to return to the text at hand.

“‘Optimality of Kalman filtering assumes that errors have a normal–that is, Gaussian–distribution,’” you read on. “‘The following assumptions are made about random processes: Physical random phenomena may be thought of as due to primary random sources exciting dynamic systems. The primary sources are assumed to be independent gaussian random processes with zero mean; the dynamic systems will be linear.’”

Izuku let out a soft breath, insinuating himself further between your thighs. Your own breath came out a little uneven as he bent over you, mouth tracking dangerously towards the inseam of your leggings.

You paused, but Izuku fixed you with a look of his slightly-darkened eyes. “Please—keep reading,” he said, his tone a little lower than it had been a minute ago.

You swallowed in shocked understanding, skin tingling. You felt yourself nod, as Izuku’s fingers strayed to the waist of your pants, dipping below the band.

You let him slowly peel your leggings down, your underwear with them, adjusting as needed to make it easy for him, even as you tried to return your attention to your textbook.

“‘Regardless of Gaussianity, however, if the process and measurement covariances are known, then the Kalman filter is the best possible linear estimator in the minimum mean-square-error sense,’” you quoted, nearly squeaking when Izuku pressed his mouth to your hip, his curls tickling the skin of your belly. His hands gripped either side of your thighs, palms square and rough against your skin, and you tried not to shiver with the feeling.

“Um—‘Although there may be better nonlinear estimators’,” you said, then nearly jumped out of your skin when Izuku pressed his mouth to the core of you, only the strength of his grip stopping you from accidentally kicking him in surprise.

“Oh my g—uh! It—um—‘It is a common misconception perpetuated in the literature that the Kalman filter cannot be rigorously applied unless all noise processes are assumed to be Gaussian,’” you managed, before your cut off into a groan as Izuku layered a hot, sweet kiss over you, tongue dipping carefully between your folds. “Ah-–Izuku—”

Izuku petted a thumb gently over the top of your thigh to show he was listening, even as he swiped his tongue over you again, a long, firm stroke that had your thighs flexing in his hold. He laved over your clit, sucking ever so slightly, and your grip almost tore the edge of your textbooks as it tightened.

“Keep going,” he urged briefly, then did it again, punching a groan out of you.

“Extensions—oh—‘Extensions and generalizations of the method have also been developed, such as the extended Kalman filter and the unscented Kalman filter which work on nonlinear systems,’” you read on, voice shooting up nearly into a squeal when two of Izuku’s long, firm fingers pressed into you, as his mouth moved over you again.

“Ah! Oh my god—the—um, the basis—-” you said, breath growing short. Izuku’s fingers unerringly found the spot inside you that made you twist in his grip with the ease of long practice, and his jaw worked as he kissed you so shockingly filthily. You could feel something already starting to build up behind your navel, a fluttery lightness, an insatiable insistence on more.

“‘The basis a hidden Markov model—oh, fuck—such that the state space of the latent variables is continuous and all latent and observed variables have–ah!--Gaussian distributions,’’’ you recited, your voice tripping up further into a register that sounded more like begging than reading.

Izuku’s fingers worked you, long and thick and perfect inside you, as his tongue drew unrelenting circles around your clit. Stars seemed to spark in your vision, and your eyes squeezed shut, losing your place on the page as your hips flexed into his face. You felt suddenly very floaty and lightheaded, and not at all in a position to keep going.

Still, you tried to refocus your attention.

“‘K–Kalman filtering has been used successfully in—oh—multi-sensor fusion—ah, ah!--and distributed sensor networks–fuck, please, Izuku—to develop distributed or consensus Kalman f-filtering,’” you said, your tone nearly a cry.

Izuku groaned softly, sucking gently as his fingers curled inside you. It made your veins spark under your skin, your legs shaking in Izuku’s hands. You abandoned your grip on your book to seize the arm of the couch, clawing desperately at the fabric.

“Please, Izuku,” you cried, hips bucking towards his mouth.

The book tumbled off your stomach but you hardly noticed, gaze refocusing on the way his eyelashes fluttered as he licked you. His fingers played gently within you, a maddening press that was simultaneously too much and not enough, and his other hand came up to slide under your sweater, plucking gently at your nipple.

You lost yourself to the feeling—caught between the mind-melting curl of his fingers, the delicate suction of his mouth, and the careful pinch of your nipple. A delicious heat curled through you, waves of unbearable pleasure, and you could hear yourself babbling nonsense—garbled syllables of Izuku’s name, and every entreaty you could think of, a hundred thousands mores and oh pleases.

Izuku abandoned your nipple to pull you more firmly against him with a strong arm curled under your thigh, pressing you even harder into his mouth.

You muffled a scream in the sleeve of your sweater as he sucked you harder, tongue laving over you in loving strokes. Only his terrible strength held you down as you writhed beneath him, and then his fingers twisted in a way that had your vision whiting out—and you were suddenly thrown out over the edge of your pleasure.

Izuku licked you through it as you squirmed and begged and cried out his name, your climax seeming to last for eons.

You were panting hard when you finally slumped into the cushions of your couch, the ceiling seeming to swim in and out of focus before your eyes. When you gained enough control of your body again you looked down at Izuku, finding him watching you with a satisfied, almost shy curl to his mouth.

“You’re beautiful,” he told you, emerald gaze glittering with sincerity. “You’re so smart.”

Impossibly you felt your heart swell with even more love for him, and you seized his shoulder, dragging him up over you so you could kiss his mouth. The taste of yourself on him was embarrassing yet thrilling, and you petted a pleased hand through Izuku’s wild mess of curls as you kissed him.

“Well you are amazing,” you told him, swiping a thumb over his cheek fondly, smoothing over his freckles. A gorgeous watercolor of pink washed over his cheeks and nose at the proclamation, and you could hear his fingers flex in the cushion beside your head.

The sight of him flushed and waiting over you like another small something inside of you, like a pilot light, and you let your mouth pull into a wry grin.

“I hope you know I learned nothing though,” you said casually, your plan for your next steps already forming in your head. You let a hand trail carefully down Izuku’s flank, tracking towards his waist. “I think maybe I might need a few rounds for it to really sink in.”

Izuku’s ears went red against the green of his hair, and you felt your smile widen. “Maybe you could read it to me this time?” you asked, guiding him to roll under you, retrieving your book from the floor as you did so.

You settled yourself on the tops of Izuku’s thighs, feeling the hard press of him against your core, as you placed your textbook into his waiting hands.

Izuku’s answering smile was all the permission you needed. You directed him to start from the beginning of the chapter, and he did so in that soft, lilting tone of his you so loved. And then your fingers trailed up to the zipper at his collar.

It was time to return the favor—wholeheartedly.

REFERENCES: Kalman Filtering (Wikipedia) I took the passages our Reader recited from here because I do not actually understand Kalman filtering at all and could not organically come up with feasible text for her to read through. Sorry in advance to the author of this page lol.

#deku x reader #izuku x reader #midoriya x reader #midoriya izuku x reader #izuku midoria x reader #izuku midoriya x you #deku x y/n #bnha x reader #fics for gaza #izuku x you

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theonottsbxtch · 4 months ago

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TEEN IDLE | MV1

an: god this idea came to me while listening to teen idle by marina and lowkey kinda liked where i ended it, so i hope you enjoy it just as much and i won't write a pt 2 to this- unfortunalety for me my beloved friend hasn't proof read this one so apologies

wc: 2.8k

MAX VERSTAPPEN WAS RAISED FOR THIS. Before he could walk, he was sat in a go-kart; before he could read, he knew the weight of a steering wheel in his hands. His father made sure of that. Other kids had footballs, bicycles, summer holidays. He had telemetry sheets and tyre wear reports.

He was bred to be a champion, and so he became one.

By twenty-eight, Max had won everything there was to win. Multiple titles, records shattered, his name etched into the sport’s history books. And yet, looking back, it all felt like one long, unbroken blur—an endless series of podiums, press conferences, mechanics’ murmurs, and the relentless pressure of being the golden boy.

He could barely remember what it was like to be young, not properly. There were flashes, though. The sharp, acrid scent of petrol in the garage. The weight of his father’s expectations pressing down on him like a vice. The way his stomach had twisted before every junior race, knowing that second place was never good enough.

And then there were the times he could barely remember. That he should remember.

He had been seventeen, teetering on the edge of adulthood but feeling nothing like a man. She had been older—how much older, he wasn’t sure anymore, but old enough for it to feel like something forbidden. He’d told himself it was what he wanted, that he needed to do it. To feel something, to prove something.

Afterwards, he had stared at the ceiling, waiting for some grand revelation, some fundamental shift inside him. It never came.

He didn’t feel like more of a man.

And now, sitting in his driver room in another city, another race weekend, another meaningless milestone approaching, he wonders if anything ever really has.

He saw himself in the mirror across the room, still in his race suit, half unzipped, the fireproofs underneath clinging to his skin. His hair was damp, sticking to his forehead. He looked older than he remembered. Maybe it was the lighting. Maybe it was the exhaustion.

Maybe it was just the truth.

His phone vibrated on the bedside table. Another message he wouldn’t answer. He knew what it would say. Some journalist fishing for a quote. Someone from the team reminding him about media duties. A half-hearted invitation to drinks he had no interest in.

He ignored it.

Instead, he let himself sink back into the mattress, staring at the ceiling, replaying it all again. The wasted years. The wasted youth. The pretty lies, the ugly truth.

He had once thought that if he just won enough, if he proved himself enough, it would all start to mean something. That the hollow feeling would go away. But it never had.

He remembered being ten years old, crying in the back of his father’s car after a race he should have won. The slap, sharp and stinging. If you want to be the best, you can’t be weak.

He remembered being fifteen, standing on the top step of the podium, trophy in his hands, cameras flashing. His father’s arm around his shoulder, grip just a little too tight. See? This is what you were made for.

He remembered being seventeen, sheets tangled around his legs, a woman whose name he barely knew tracing her fingers down his chest. Was that what you wanted?

He hadn’t known what to say then. He still didn’t.

His driver room was silent except for the faint hum of the air conditioning, the city lights seeping through the gap in the curtains. He had spent years surrounded by noise—engines screaming, crowds chanting, his father’s voice drilling into his skull—and yet, in the quiet, he still heard it all.

He exhaled, long and slow, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. It was easier not to think. Easier to let the days blur together, one podium, one interview, one flight after another.

But some nights—like this one—he couldn’t help but wonder if he had ever really been alive at all.

He stayed there for a while, sprawled across the bed, staring at the ceiling as if it might give him some sort of answer. It never did. The room felt too still, too clinical, the kind of place designed for fleeting stays and nothing more. He had lived in hotels and motorhomes for most of his life, but none of them had ever felt like home.

Eventually, he forced himself to move. Peeling off his fireproofs, he let them drop to the floor, stepping over them as he made his way to the tiny en-suite. The mirror above the sink reflected someone he barely recognised. Shadows clung beneath his eyes, and a faint red mark on his forehead from his balaclava made him look even more exhausted than he felt.

He turned the tap on, splashing cold water onto his face, then braced his hands against the sink, head hanging low. He needed to get out.

Throwing on a plain t-shirt and an old hoodie, he grabbed a cap from the side table and pulled it low over his eyes. It was enough to make him anonymous—just another man slipping into the night, nothing special.

The paddock had mostly emptied by now, a few lingering mechanics finishing up for the evening, murmured conversations carrying through the cool air. He walked with purpose, shoulders hunched, hands stuffed into his pockets. No one stopped him. No one even looked twice.

By the time he reached the edge of town, he found what he was looking for. A pub, run-down but still open, the glow of neon signs flickering in the window. It wasn’t the kind of place anyone from the paddock would go, which was exactly why he chose it.

Inside, the air was thick with the smell of stale beer and cheap cologne, a low hum of conversation and the occasional scrape of a chair against the floor. A few old blokes sat hunched over their pints, barely sparing him a glance as he made his way to the bar.

“Can I help?” the bartender asked, barely looking up as he wiped down the counter.

“Whisky,” he said, voice hoarse from a day of interviews and radio calls. “Neat.”

The glass clinked against the wood a few moments later. He took it without a word, moving to a quiet corner, away from the dim overhead lights.

He took a sip. It burned on the way down, but at least it made him feel something.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, nursing the drink, letting the noise of the bar blur around him. Long enough for the ice to melt, for the world outside to fade into nothing.

For the first time in a while, he felt like nobody. And somehow, that was a relief.

The whisky went down too easily. He swirled the last of it in his glass, watching the way the light caught the amber liquid, then tipped it back, letting it burn its way down. He wasn’t drunk, not yet, but the edges of everything felt softer. Less sharp. Less real.

He was about to signal the bartender for another when she appeared. She slid into the seat opposite him without hesitation, eyes flicking towards the entrance before settling on him.

He barely had time to register her presence before a man followed, taller, broader, the kind of bloke who walked like he owned the room. The girl didn’t look at him, just leaned forward, resting her arms on the table as she spoke.

“See, I told you my boyfriend was waiting for me.”

Max didn’t move. Didn’t react. But he caught the way her fingers curled slightly, gripping the edge of the table just a little too tight. The man hovered for a second too long, gaze shifting between them, then exhaled sharply through his nose.

“Right,” he muttered, before turning and stalking back towards the bar.

She waited until he was gone before she relaxed, shoulders dropping ever so slightly. Then she looked at Max properly, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Thanks for that,” she said, not sounding particularly sorry.

He didn’t respond, just pushed his empty glass aside, already regretting getting involved in whatever this was. But she didn’t seem bothered by his silence. She tilted her head, eyeing the glass, then raised a brow at him.

“What are you drinking?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he muttered, shifting slightly in his seat. He wasn’t in the mood for small talk, least of all with a stranger who had just used him as an excuse to shake off some bloke she clearly had no interest in.

But she ignored him, her eyes flicking to the last few amber drops in his glass before he could move it out of sight.

“Whisky,” she said, like she had figured him out. Then, before he could protest, she got up and strode towards the bar.

He sighed, dragging a hand down his face. He should leave. Finish the last drops, disappear into the night, let her deal with whatever mess she was in on her own.

But when she returned, setting a fresh glass down in front of him with a quiet clink, he didn’t move.

“Cheers, boyfriend,” she teased, raising her own glass.

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head slightly, but picked up the drink anyway.

For now, he stayed.

She took a sip of her drink, watching him over the rim of her glass. He could feel her curiosity, the way she was studying him, trying to fit him into a story in her head.

“So,” she said eventually, setting her glass down, “do I get to know my fake boyfriend’s name?”

He hesitated. It was a simple enough question, but it felt like a trap. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the whisky. Maybe it was the way she had just waltzed into his night without permission, without expectation. But before he could stop himself, he said, “Emilian.”

It was his middle name. He didn’t know why he hadn’t said Max, that was far more common that Emilian.

She raised an eyebrow. “Emilian, huh?”

He nodded once, taking a slow sip of his drink to avoid looking at her properly.

She didn’t question it. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, tilting her head slightly. “Alright, Emilian. What are you out drinking for?”

He considered lying again. Saying something easy, something normal. But the truth slipped out before he could think of anything else.

“I’m tired,” he said simply. “Needed a break from work.”

Her expression shifted slightly—not quite pity, but understanding. “Bad day?”

“Long day,” he corrected. “Long… few years, actually.”

That made her huff a quiet laugh. “Yeah, I know that feeling.” She took another sip, then rested her chin on her hand. “What do you do?”

He should have said something vague. Something non-committal. But the whisky was settling in now, loosening the grip on his thoughts, and the lie came out before he even knew why he was telling it.

“I’m a mechanic.”

It felt strange, saying it. Unfamiliar, but safe.

She hummed, tilting her head. “Huh. Thought you might be something like that.”

He frowned slightly. “Why?”

She shrugged. “Dunno. Just got the vibe.” Then she smirked. “Or maybe I saw the oil stains under your nails.”

His pulse jumped for a second before he realised she was joking. His hands were clean—too clean, probably, for someone who supposedly worked in garages all day—but she didn’t seem to notice.

“Must be a stressful job, if it’s got you drinking alone,” she added, watching him over her glass again.

He exhaled, glancing down at the whisky in his hand. “Yeah,” he said, and for the first time that night, it wasn’t a lie.

He rolled his glass between his fingers, watching the whisky catch the dim light. Then, without really thinking, he asked, “What about you? Why are you out this late?”

She exhaled through her nose, tipping her head back slightly. “Was walking home from a wake,” she said, matter-of-fact. “Then that bloke started following me, so I figured I’d use you.”

There was no shame in it, no hesitation. Just a casual admittance, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. She took another sip of her drink, then smirked slightly. “There’s always some sad sod drinking alone somewhere.”

He let out a small laugh at that—barely more than a huff of breath, but it surprised him nonetheless.

“Lucky me, then,” he muttered, shaking his head.

She raised her glass slightly in mock toast.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The bar buzzed around them, low conversations, clinking glasses, the occasional burst of laughter from a table near the back.

Then he asked, “Who died?”

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t shift uncomfortably or drop her gaze.

“My dad.”

He blinked. “Shit.”

She shrugged, swirling the last of her drink.

“Sorry,” he said automatically, but even as the words left his mouth, he was already wondering—how would he feel if his dad died?

Would it be relief? Would it be grief? Would it be anything at all?

She must have seen something in his face because she let out a dry laugh. “Don’t apologise,” she said, tipping her glass towards him before downing the rest of it in one go. “He was a right old cunt.”

That made him snort before he could stop himself. He coughed, shaking his head as he took a sip of his own drink. “Christ.”

She grinned. “I mean, it’s true. Everyone was there, saying all this bollocks about what a great man he was, and I was just sat there thinking, what a load of shite.”

Max watched her, the way she spoke so bluntly, so freely. He tried to imagine standing at his own father’s funeral, people saying things about what a hard man he’d been, how much he’d sacrificed for his son, how proud he would have been.

He wasn’t sure he’d believe a word of it.

She leaned forward slightly, eyeing him. “Bet you weren’t expecting that answer.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “No. Can’t say I was.”

She smirked. “Well, you don’t look like the type to have a good relationship with your dad either, so…”

His grip tightened on his glass for half a second before he forced himself to relax. He didn’t reply.

She didn’t press.

Instead, she raised her empty glass, tilting it towards him. “Another?”

He should have said no. Should have left while he still had the sense to.

But he didn’t.

“Yeah,” he said, finishing the last of his whisky. “Go on, then.”

And just like that, he let himself sink a little further into the night.

The air was crisp as they walked, the quiet hum of the city settling around them. The streets weren’t quite empty—there were still a few late-night stragglers, people spilling out of pubs, voices carrying in the cool night—but it was calmer now, the chaos of earlier fading into something softer.

She shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket, tilting her head back slightly as she walked. “Where you staying, then?”

“One of the hotels by the track,” he said, not thinking much of it.

She let out a low whistle. “Bet that’s a nightmare with the F1 on. Must be packed. Loud as hell.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Something like that.”

She hadn’t connected the dots. Maybe it was the drinks, or maybe she just didn’t follow motorsport enough to care. Either way, he didn’t correct her.

They kept walking, neither of them in much of a rush to get anywhere. Her bus stop wasn’t far, but she didn’t break pace, didn’t cut the night short. Neither did he.

It was nice, in a way, walking with someone without expectation. Without small talk that felt forced or questions that felt intrusive. Just two strangers, filling the quiet.

Eventually, the bus stop came into view. She slowed, glancing up at the electronic sign before rocking back on her heels slightly.

“Well,” she said, turning to him, “this is me.”

He nodded. “Right.”

She looked at him for a moment, like she was considering something, then just smiled. “Thanks for the drink, Emilian.”

He let out a small breath of laughter. “Yeah. No worries.”

The bus pulled up, doors hissing open, but she didn’t move straight away. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, eyes scanning his face like she was trying to work something out. Then, without another word, she stepped onto the bus.

He didn’t ask for her number. She didn’t offer.

The doors shut, and he stood there for a moment, watching the bus pull away.

Then he turned and started walking back towards his hotel.

The night was still. The world felt quieter.

And for the first time in a long while, so did he.

the end.

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby @iamred-iamyellow @isaadore

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solar-sunnyside-up · 9 months ago

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Just found out one community association near me has a community toy library. Basically a community toy store where you sign out toys like you would library books.

And it really woke up how badly I want a library economy.

Cosmetic libraries in place of salons and make up stores- sign out hair accessories or jewlery, sign up for a haircut/makeup day with a vollunteer that you mesh with, etc..

Toy libraries to replace toy stores, holidays and birthdays now bring you down to borrow bikes and stuffed animals that have been loved by others, to borrow dolls and dollhouses and their endless closests and accessories.

Craft libraries filled with sewing machines and looms and supplies to make things, classes to learn how to do it, making clothes for friends never been so easy because the endless amount of patterns available. The craft clubs that would bloom from it. The ceramics and painting and welding art that could come out of it if we just all had time and access.

Engineering and woodworking libraries. We could be living in a real animal crossing Era of furniture! The weird and cool lighting and other oddities that would come from it!

Clothing libraries that are busy during the season change but also regular shopping. I dont use this dress I love anymore so I'll return it to the library and get something in this new color pallet for myself.

Kids libraries that yes, filled with toys but also cribs, highchairs, walkers, jumpers, pumps, bottles, cups, etc.. things that kids use less then a year at a time and never really get fully used before passing it onwards. Oh to be able to borrow a well loved crib or rocking chair for your newborn

#solarpunk #hopepunk #sunny says #libraries #library economies

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yeyinde · 10 months ago

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waking up after a night out drinking in a foreign country only to realise that the bed you're in is not your own. no one is beside you. you try to leave but the doors are all locked. the windows won't open. you're trapped. a pretty bird in a cage.

nothing is in the dressers except large, old shirts. the clothes you were wearing when you woke up disappear after you take a shower. no panties. no bra. food shows up on schedule. you never see who leaves it.

they don't answer when you scream. when you bang your fists against the door until they're bloodied. passing out on the floor when the drugs finally kick in. but the mess you make in the daytime is cleaned up. your hands bandaged. disapproval heavy in the air along with the stale scent of tobacco. smoke.

when you're good, you get things. books. magazines. treats. your favourite food. a laptop arrives when you sob yourself to sleep after screaming yourself hoarse about loneliness, and how this isn't right. this isn't okay. it's restricted, of course. you log into Facebook but the moment you try and ask for help, the internet is turned off. you're being watched. monitored closely.

you learn your lesson slowly, giving nothing away to your family and pretending you're enjoying your holiday. being good. quiet.

instead of treats, gifts, recipe books arrive—some pages dogeared. you start making the food. leaving a plate in the fridge. it's gone the next morning. more recipes appear. you make them, too. an expensive chain comes next. a pretty gold necklace for a pretty bird in a golden cage.

(each meal gets you a strange rash on your cheek, jaw the next morning. beard burn, you think, and try not to shudder.)

lingerie comes after. silk, lace. all of it fits perfectly. you try to avoid it. the idea, the implication, is a knife between your ribs, but the next morning, your laptop is missing. the books are gone. food, too. your clothes disappear until all that remains is the lingerie set and a little black box. one you pointedly ignore. throw out with the trash. chew on gum to make the ache in your belly go away until that vanishes too.

your world is narrowed down to hunger. loneliness. isolation—

(in the corner of the rooms, a red light glints in the dark. lonely, but not alone.)

it persists until you relent. give in. another lesson you learn. you wear the set to bed, and try to think nothing of it—

you wake up to something heavy around you. a warm, thick body pressed against your bare spine. coarse chair tickling the skin between your shoulder blades. a burly arm under your neck, elbow bent to wrap a rough hand around your neck. the other slung over your hip, shoved between your thighs. something hard presses into your ass. a bruising pressure. it aches. you stifle a gasp, but with his long, thick fingers wrapped tight around your throat, he feels it.

everything goes still. quiet. just the faint rustle of sheets. the scratch of coarse hair on silk. a breath. you tremble. fight back another gasp when lips press into your crown with a sharp inhale. scenting you. nuzzling into your scalp. warm breath that smalls of malt and honey. woodsy. tobacco.

your eyes adjust slowly to the dark, and fall on a black box left on top of your end table. velvet, you know. you've felt the softness between your fingers when you threw it in the trash with a sob. no escaping it, after all.

the hand between your thighs twitches. when he speaks, it shudders through your spine, makes your hair stand on end. it's a growling purr. the low roar of an old engine. more grit than comfort in the midnight dark.

"jus' close your eyes, love," he rasps, pushing his thick body tighter against you. coiling around you like a big, hungry bear. "an' go back to sleep for me."

and you do.

#heavily implied somno but im on the fence if Price would follow it through so its vague until i make up my mind about it #kisses his little wife goodbye each morning but sometimes gets carried away :T #captain john price x reader #price x reader #john price x reader #im gonna flesh this out because i love this idea tbh but i needed to get this out or id combust #pricedrabbles

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naileadevoras · 6 months ago

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* taps mic * is this thing on ? hi pookies ! it's the week before christmas & today , i'm presenting to you all a list of different occupations for your muses . i've categorized them based on alphabetical order for a neater look & it'll be easier for you all to read / browse through . i hope you find this masterlist helpful !

a like + reblog would be greatly appreciated . happy holidays !

🎱 𝑨 - 𝑯 .

accountant

activist

actor / actress

aesthetician

animator

apartment flipper

art critique

artist

author

babysitter

baker

bank teller

barista

bartender

bellhop

bike messenger

body builder

body guard

book keeper

bookstore owner

bouncer

cake decorator

camp counselor

cars salesman

casino manager

casting director

chef

civic planner

comedian

computer engineer

concert promoter

construction worker

dentist

dermatologist

dietitian

doctor

disk jockey

diver

driver [ uber , lyft , private ]

emergency medical technician

entrepreneur

etsy shop owner

fast food employee

figure skater

firefighter

financial analyst

fisherman

florist

food deliverer [ postmates , uber eats , etc ]

food critic

former child star

former miss universe

funeral director

game developer

guidance counselor

hair dresser

hair stylist

high school teacher

🎱 𝑰 - 𝑸 .

influencer

interior decorator

investor

janitor

journalist

judge

kindergarten teacher

lab assistant [ biology / chemistry lab ]

lifeguard

line cook

maid

make up artist

manager

marine biologist

marriage / family therapist

massage therapist

matchmaker

mechanical engineer

mobile app developer

mortician

motorcycle mechanic

nail technician

nurse practitioner

nursing professor

obstetrician

pageant queen

physiotherapist

piercer

pilot for commercial airlines

plastic surgeon

police officer

personal stylist

private attorney

private chef

professional athlete [ football , basketball , soccer ]

professional boxer

professional chess player

professional esports player

professional mermaid

professional photographer

professor

programmer

public relations

quality control inspector

🎱 𝑹 - 𝒁 .

real estate agent

receptionist

relationship counselor

respiratory therapist

retail employee

sales person

set designer / illustrator

singer

small business owner

socialite

social media curator

social media intern

song - writer

sports agent

stunt double

tattoo artist

teacher's assistant

tour guide

tour manager

translator

travel writer [ journalist ]

twitch streamer

ultrasound technologist

veterinarian / vet assistant

waiter / waitress

web art director

yoga instructor

zoologist

#masterlist #rph #job masterlist #rpt #roleplay help #indie rp #roleplay resources #mine

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ew-selfish-art · 2 years ago

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Dp x Dc AU: Danny's final Interview with Tim Drake for the Wayne Enterprise's Space Program Operation Janus Crew... Demon Twin AU.

Danny had been waiting for his offer letter from WE to be officially part of the Janus Crew. He'd done all the standard rigorous testing and passed with flying colors. He'd talked to every single head engineer and interviewed at all levels to prove that he was the man for this mission. It was as good as gold, so Danny was surprised when he got a call from the PA to Tim Drake, the CEO himself, to come in for a final interview. Just a formality and mostly just to meet the man who was going to be the poster boy for their program. Makes sense, but is unnerving, nonetheless.

The second he walks into the office space, Tam Fox seemingly does a double take, blinking a few times when he explains that he's there for a final interview. She nods and he proceeds as if nothing about that was weird.

Tim Drake has four laptops in front of him and a scattering of papers, but looking up to see Danny, he closes them all and the image of a scattered young man trying to run a Fortune 500 company is replaced with some one of deadly capability.

"Danny Fenton. Great to meet you, I appreciate you coming by today." Tim says, but Danny can see the sharks fin in the water.

"Of course, I'm excited to be part of the Crew." Danny throws back, making it clear right away that Tim needs to cut to the chase if Danny's not going to be an astronaut with WE. NASA will take him back in a heartbeat if WE is going to try and play games.

"We're excited to have you, everyone speaks of you like the next Armstrong or Aldrin. I just had a few questions, as an informality, that I wanted answered."

"I feel like I've answered every question there could be about me, but go ahead. I'm an open book."

"Great. I suppose I'll start with asking about your adoptive family, the Fentons. Were they good to you when you transitioned to their home?"

"...It's not common knowledge that I'm adopted. Mom and Dad are fine. We have a strained relationship now because of my teenage rebellion but I still go home for most holidays." Danny is on edge, but also a bit excited? How did Tim find this out?

"I see. I'm an adopted child myself, you can understand maybe why I asked. Do you have any relationship with your birth family?" Tim asks, but its clear he's asking something else. Danny calls it how he sees it.

"What are you trying to find out? I mean really, you're very polite but this doesn't have to do with my job."

"I'll cut to the chase then. Do you hold any allegiance to Ra's al Ghul or the League of Assassins?"

"Woah." Danny blinks.

"Woah as in you're surprised I found out, or Woah in surprise that you've been found out?"

"Woah as in, what the fuck, I haven't thought of his name in decades. I escaped pretty young after being abused from birth."

"That's what I needed to know. You have a sister through the Fentons, and a cousin that I suspect is a clone, any other siblings?" Tim asks, his to the point question making Danny's head spin. How the fuck did this guy know about Dani?

"How do you-"

"Any other siblings, Danny?" Tim repeats, cutting him off.

"...Yeah. I should have a twin running around out there. But if this has to do with whatever crazy bullshit he might be up to, I swear i'm not in contact with him or his family. I haven't been since I freed myself."

Tim looks like he's contemplating something, his eyes are still evaluating Danny as though he were a frog in freshman year Bio.

"I have a little brother, Danny, and it's interesting. He's not particularly fascinated by space but he likes to keep up with all the astronauts. I took it upon myself to research you once you came on the roster two years ago for this position. I know you're capable and I had no doubt that you'd be the man for the job. Then I saw your picture."

"You... saw my picture?"

"My brother watches out for Astronauts because he holds onto the hope that someone from his past might be one some day. That it might lead to their reconciliation." Tim clarifies.

Danny can't do anything but stare. No. No way.

"I told Damian not to look into the astronauts for the Janus Crew. Want to guess why?" For the first time, Tim's eyes look soft around the edges. Danny stays silent for a while, head reeling from this information.

"...Is he. Is he free?" Danny finally asks.

"He's left the league and burned all allegiance he held for them, if that's what you're asking. Came to join his dad, my adoptive father, when he was about ten. So just a few years after you made your own way out without him."

"That's... That's good. I'm glad. He's healthy?" Danny can't help himself but inquire. He'd loved his brother until it literally broke him.

"Most days. He runs an animal sanctuary, has a girlfriend and a best friend, gets along with our large family."

"Woah." Danny's near speechless again.

"I'm telling you this because... He's going to find out Friday with the press release of you being our Crew Leader. He'll see you and no doubt try to contact you. I want you to have the choice of reaching out to him before that, or at least make your peace with what you have to say to him if you don't want a relationship."

"Why?"

"Because I don't care to see my siblings hurt. Here, it's my personal line, below it is Damian's. Reach out to me if you'd like for me to plan a meeting spot, reach out to him if you'd prefer I stay out of it. I understand completely if my questions have led you to not trust me." Tim offers him a piece of paper with two phone numbers on it, Danny takes it with shaking hands.

"I... See. Okay." and then after a moment, Danny added numbly "Thanks."

Tim stands and Danny follows, they're both walking towards the door and Danny can't help but feel like he's waiting for another shoe to drop. Tim has a look in his eye like Jazz might on his birthday.

"One last thing before you go and you're officially listed as our star Astronaut: I took care of those pesky case files and lab reports for you. The white ones. It is quite literally impossible for that heinous shit to every bother you again."

"Wait, What? Why would you do that for me? You couldn't have known-"

"It's what family is for. Have a good day, Janus Crew Lead Danny."

#dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc #dc crossover #dp crossover #danny phantom #tim drake #long post #dc x dp fic #eheheehe tim is always in the know #nothing can be buried from him. he will find every record #i like to think that Danny joins for a wayne family sunday brunch after his mission in the stars #demon twin au #damian and danny are twins #danny and damian are twins #astronaut danny au

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ivyues · 3 days ago

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June Rain ⋅ Seungmin

You didn’t expect the soft summer rain to complement your first vacation as a couple. (A/N: you surely know those -> X)

The engine hummed softly beneath your fingertips, the highway unfurling ahead of you like a silver ribbon winding through the quiet countryside. You stole a glance at Seungmin, seated in the passenger seat, hood pulled up and a hand curled under his chin as he looked out the window. His eyes were calm and thoughtful, following the blur of green and low, cloudy skies.

It was your first holiday together – just the two of you. A small cabin, tucked away about four hours from Seoul, rented off a cute Airbnb listing that Seungmin had found and sent to you with a message that just said:

“Too cheesy? Or just cheesy enough?”

You’d replied with a heart emoji and booked it before either of you could change your mind.

Seungmin shifted in his seat, glancing at you. “You sure you don’t want to switch soon?”

You shook your head with a small smile. “I like driving. And you’d just fall asleep behind the wheel.”

“I would not,” he said, but his grin betrayed him. “Okay, maybe I would. But I’m great company.”

“You’ve been silent for 40 minutes.”

“I’m providing comforting presence,” he countered, sitting up straighter and stretching. “But seriously, this is nice.”

It was. The air was easy between you – occasional conversation, music low in the background, and the unspoken comfort of being together with nowhere urgent to be.

By the time you arrived, the sun was playing peekaboo through the clouds, casting soft light over the wooden cabin. Nestled between gentle green hills, it looked like something out of a Ghibli movie – wooden beams, a little porch, surrounded by early summer flowers.

You stepped out of the car and stretched, breathing in the mossy air. The quiet was heavier here, soft in a way that made your shoulders drop a little. Seungmin opened the trunk but paused to take it in too, his eyes following the lazy sway of tall grasses on the hill.

A couple of hours in, the rain began. Not a storm, not a dramatic downpour – just that soft, steady June kind of pattering against the roof and windows. The kind that makes the world feel wrapped in cotton, damp and close but not unpleasant. You both stood at the window for a moment, watching it wash over the trees and the little patio outside.

“Well, so much for our hike,” Seungmin said, holding two mugs of hot coffee and handing one to you.

You shrugged and smiled over the rim of your mug, the steam warming your face as you watched a waterdrop slide down the glas. “It’s kind of nice, though.”

Later, you played music from a speaker, low and lazy, a half-read book in your lap and a small stack of board games pulled from the cabin’s shelf on the coffee table. Seungmin insisted on playing a game that he swore he remembered how to play. It turned out he didn’t. Instead, he made up the rules halfway through, and you called him out for it, but he just grinned like he knew you’d let him win anyway.

When the rain slowed to a mist, early in the afternoon, you both ventured outside. The world was painted in deeper greens, the leaves still dripping, the sky a pale gray above. The air smelled of petrichor and damp earth, with that strange, clean scent that only comes after summer rain.

You stepped carefully over a puddle to not dreanch your sneakers, holding Seungmin’s hand. “On the bright side, at least my allergies are taking the day off. Thank you, rain.”

He chuckled, feeling the pull as you stepped over the puddle. “You’re glowing with less congestion. It’s very attractive.”

“Wow. You really know how to sweep a girl off her feet.”

“I try.”

Seungmin chuckled as he followed you. As you walked beneath a low-hanging branch, a single droplet slipped from a leaf and landed squarely on Seungmin’s head. He blinked in surprise, water trickling down his forehead. “Maybe we should have actually taken the umbrella with us."

“Ah, city boy can’t handle a little rain, huh?” you teased with a smirk, reaching over to shake the clear drop off his hair.

He just smiled, looking at you a little longer than necessary. There was something in the way your cheeks flushed in the cool air, in the way you skipped over puddles and the fact that your hair slightly curled because of the damp air.

He liked this version of you – freer, softer. A little wild in the rain-damp woods.

You walked in silence for a while after that, just the two of you and the quiet hush of the world post-rain. The occasional bird call and the distant sound of water dripping from leaves.

masterlist

#seungmin imagines #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #seungmin scenarios #stray kids scenarios #seungmin #stray kids #skz #skz scenarios #skz x reader #skz x you #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #skz fluff #seungmin fluff #stray kids x reader #seungmin x reader #stray kids fluff

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woso-story · 2 months ago

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Better Boyfriend Than Him - Part Nineteen

Alexia Putellas x Reader - Other Parts

Friday afternoon arrives with a quiet kind of excitement humming between the two of you. The moment Alexia walks in the door after training, cheeks still a little flushed and hair damp from the shower at the facility, you both know what comes next. You’ve already wrapped up your work for the day, your laptop shut and stashed in your bag, your thoughts nowhere near tasks or emails.

You both move around the apartment like a well-oiled team—folding clothes, tossing things into bags, double-checking chargers and toothbrushes. Alexia throws in some snacks for the road, and you grab the book you’ve been meaning to read for weeks. It doesn’t take long before everything is packed into the car, and the two of you slide into the seats, ready for the short drive ahead.

The windows are cracked open, music playing softly through the speakers. The sky is brushed in gentle golds and purples as the sun begins to dip. Alexia keeps one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually near yours on the console. Every once in a while, your fingers brush. It feels easy. Quiet. Good.

When you finally pull up to the Putellas home, your breath catches. The house is beautiful—not overly grand, but warm and full of life. The kind of place that feels like it holds memories in the walls, laughter echoing through every hallway. Something about it makes your heart ache a little with the sudden pang of homesickness.

Before the engine even cuts off, the front door swings open and Eli appears, a wide, beaming smile on her face. She walks straight over as you step out of the car and wraps you in the kind of hug that tells you you’re truly welcome here.

“I’m so happy you came, mi nina,” she says, rocking you gently side to side in her arms.

You start to move toward the trunk, wanting to grab your bag, but Eli loops her arm through yours, already leading you to the house. “Alexia will get it. You come inside.”

You glance back at Alexia, who just smirks and lifts both your bags from the trunk without complaint. Inside, the house feels even more like a home than it looked from the outside. The walls are lined with framed pictures—family holidays, childhood moments, snapshots of Alexia and Alba from babyhood to now. It smells like something warm and comforting is always being cooked, like love lives here.

In the living room, Alba is sprawled on the couch with a magazine in hand. She looks up when you enter and quickly stands, pulling you into a tight hug. “You finally made it,” she grins. “Welcome to our chaos.”

Alexia walks in behind you, your bags slung over both shoulders. “Nice. I get to carry everything and not even a hello?”

Alba scoffs. “We all know you’re here for manual labor.” But she hugs her anyway, and so does Eli, both of them giggling when Alexia mutters something about favoritism and betrayal.

You all sit and chat for a while, sipping drinks and laughing at stories that are half-familiar now. After a little over an hour, Eli casually drops a bit of news: “Oh, by the way, your aunt’s coming over tomorrow. She’ll sleep in the guest room.”

Alexia nods, but Eli keeps going. “So Alexia will stay in Alba’s room, and you,” she says, looking at you with a smile, “will sleep in Alexia’s room.”

Alba immediately groans. “Absolutely not. Alexia is terrible to sleep with. She hogs the blanket and kicks.”

You laugh. “I’ll just sleep on the floor, it’s okay. It’s only for two nights.”

“No,” Alexia cuts in firmly. “You’re the guest. You are not sleeping on the floor. I will.”

With that settled, Alexia grabs your bag and leads you upstairs. The stairway is lined with more photos—Alexia at different ages, her and Alba in ridiculous costumes, school pictures, football trophies proudly displayed in the background. It feels sacred in a way.

Her room is simple, a little dated, but entirely hers. The posters, the medals, the neatly arranged trophies—it’s like stepping into a time capsule of who she used to be, before the world knew her name.

“She left it like this,” Alexia says softly, gesturing around. “My mom. Didn’t change a thing when I moved out.”

You wander slowly, eyes catching on a photo. A baby Alexia, barely a few months old, sitting in the arms of a man with kind eyes and a gentle smile. In her tiny hands, a small football with the Barça logo stamped on it.

You don’t hear her move, but you feel her presence behind you, the warmth of her breath against your neck. “That’s me and my dad,” she murmurs.

You nod, not turning around. You don’t want to ruin the moment. You already know he passed—Mapi told you in a quiet, serious voice one night—but Alexia’s never brought it up before.

Just as you open your mouth to say something, Eli’s voice calls up to you both. Dinner.

The meal is cozy and warm, full of laughter and teasing and second helpings. You insist on helping Eli with the dishes, despite her gentle protests, and the two of you chat like old friends as you rinse and dry. It feels natural.

Later, you all pile onto the couch for a movie, but by the time the credits roll, sleep is tugging at your limbs. Alexia stretches and offers you her hand as you both head upstairs.

You go to the bathroom first, brushing your teeth, freshening up. When you come out, Alexia is laying a pillow and blanket on the floor.

“You really don’t have to,” you say gently.

Alexia just shrugs. “I’m still young. I’ll survive a couple nights.”

You arch a brow.

“What? Are you saying I’m not young?”

You laugh, your stomach doing a small flip at how cute she looks when she’s mock-offended. “No, but seriously. Just—let’s both sleep in the bed. If you’re okay with that.”

She studies you, searching your eyes, then nods. “Yeah. I’m okay with that.”

You slide into bed first, followed by her. The sheets smell like home. The space between you feels electric and terrifying and right.

After a long silence, you sigh softly. “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep.”

Alexia shifts toward you. “Want to talk?”

You nod, turning to face her. You’re so close now. You can see her face in the silver light from the moon, soft and calm and achingly beautiful.

“What was it like?” you ask. “Growing up here?”

She smiles faintly. “It was nice. A really good childhood. Football was always around. My dad loved it. He showed me everything. Took me to training, was there at every game. He was my best friend.”

Her voice starts to waver, eyes glistening.

“You don’t have to—” you start.

“No. It’s okay. I want to.” Her voice is quiet, but steady. “He died two months before I signed for Barca. It was all we ever talked about—me playing for the club. And when it finally happened, he wasn’t there. That’s still the hardest part.”

Your hand reaches up instinctively, brushing away a tear as it falls, only for another to follow.

“Everything I do in football is for him,” she whispers. “Every goal, every medal. I just want to make him proud.”

You lean forward and kiss her forehead, voice barely above a breath. “He would be. He is. I know he’s watching. And he’s so, so proud of you.”

She curls into your chest, and you hold her, arms wrapped tightly around her as she lets herself feel it all. You stay like that for a long time, until her breathing softens.

She eventually pulls back, eyes a little red, but softer. Lighter.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“You never have to thank me,” you reply.

You lie on your back again, opening your arms to her. “Now sleep. We’ve got a full day of family chaos tomorrow.”

She laughs quietly, snuggling into your side, whispering a soft “Goodnight” into your shoulder.

As she drifts off, you lay there for a while, watching her. Holding her. Loving her a little more than you did before. She’s so strong. So brave. So full of love.

You fall asleep with Alexia in your arms, and a heart full of something that feels a lot like forever.

#alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas fanfic #woso community #woso #woso fics #alexia x reader #barca femeni #woso x reader #woso fanfics #alexia putellas

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i-like-writing-stuff · 10 months ago

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grateful [ five hargreeves x reader ]

“Fancy seeing you here,” You crossed your arms, trying to act natural as the boy before you eyes you curiously.

“In front of the CIA headquarters?” Five mimicked your posture, “Jee, Y/N, fork spotted in the kitchen. What are you doing at my work place?”

You sighed, trying to fight back the urge of rolling your eyes. You were lying to yourself if you wanted to say that Five’s sarcasm actually annoyed you. After all, it was one of the traits you loved about him- surprisingly. You hated to admit it, even to yourself, but even if you were actually waiting for him to talk business, you never once missed an opportunity to meet him.

Especially if you weren’t surrounded by your noisy family. The Hargreeves siblings became your family by choice, and as much as you loved each and every single one of them, you couldn’t help but appreciate deeply the one on one time you got to spend with Five.

“I just got off the phone with Luther,” You said, putting your hands in your pockets, “Viktor got kidnapped, Five.”

As soon as those words eat your lips, you saw Five’s expression go from cocky to shocked, to worried and then to shocked once again. You hated you had to be the one to break these news to him, after six years of peace where all of you managed to live normal lives. You hated that you had to see him worried again for his family’s safety, but you had no other choice.

You all had to reunite to save your loved one.

“I’ll drive,” Five nodded, already realizing that the gang would have to get back together.

You and Five met during the JFK mission in 1963, when both of you were working for the Commission. You only heard of him around the work place, but never actually worked together. The Handler assigned you both for the first time to get the assassination done, but one thing led to another and you accidentally woke up in 2019, in your teen body, alongside him.

The rest is history.

As you got into his car, you watched him as he started the engine in silence. He was deep into thought, obviously worried half to death about his brother. You were as well, since Viktor was his first sibling you warmed up to, and honestly it felt surreal that he was in danger again, after six years.

Six years where nothing, and quite literally nothing out of the ordinary happened. After your third attempt at stopping the apocalypse and the Hargreeves losing their powers, you all moved on with your lives, keeping in touch now and then. All nine of you went separate ways, rebuilding your lives. Allison was back to acting, Klaus was finally sober, Diego and Lila were a family with kids, Viktor was running a bar and Luther was working somewhat as an astronaut. Key word, somewhat.

Five became a CIA agent and you were running a marketing agency, so you really only saw the family on holidays or random gatherings. You and him kept in touch the most. You were happy to say that he was your best friend, but sad that nothing more went on. If you were supposed to be together, you would have been by now.

After all, there was this drunken kiss you shared on the night of Luther’s wedding.

“Shut the fuck up, Hargreeves!” You giggled, pointing a finger m at him, “I respect Delores, I swear I do, but I do not understand why in the world she would put up with your ding dong face, honestly.”

“Oh, spare me the reverse psychology in which your jealousy lays, Y/N,” Five smirked, softly waving away your finger in his face.

You were the only ones left on the dance floor, intoxicated over the safe limit. After the whole family went to sleep, the two of you were still left quite energized. You didn’t know if it was because you were sixty year olds back in your teen bodies, or simply too drunk to realize how hyperactive you were, but you were not about to end the night any time soon.

You couldn’t exactly pinpoint the moment you fell in love with Five, but he definitely could write an entire book of how he grew feelings for you. It all happened at such a slow pace, how could he not? When he first met you in 1963 at the Dealey Plaza, he was immediately taken aback by your quick wit and intellect. He also didn’t think someone who looked so sweet and elegant, like the grandma who would take her grandchildren all the time to fancy restaurants and then bake fresh cookies for them at home, could also be a trained assassin, ready to fight off three people at once wearing dresses and heels.

It was love at first sight for him.

Then, when you kept Delores safe from Hazel and Cha Cha, he realized just how big your heart was. He was completely blown away by the way you held onto the mannequin with one arm, while dodging attacks incoming from both of them.

There was also this moment in 1963 when you held him in your arms after he went on a spree, taking out the entire board of the Commission.

He was so infatuated with every single action of yours, so deeply and intensely in love it was actually pathetic to him, to some degree. Now, as his hands were firmly gripping your waist, swaying your hips in sync to the melody on the speakers, all he wanted to do was feel your lips on his, for a first and last time.

“What’s on your mind?” You asked, as your arms were wrapped around his neck. You didn’t know when you got so close to one another, it was all just so natural.

“Ironically enough, you,” He scoffed, making you roll your eyes;

“Only you could make such a romantic comment and at the same time make me want to stomp on your face, Five,” You said amused, shaking your head in disbelief.

Five laughed, looking into your eyes. In his drunken state, he was not thinking rationally as he usually did anymore. He didn’t know for certain if he’d make it out of the apocalypse this time, and after the two attempts at saving the world, the regret of not tasting you was finally getting to him.

He moved his hands up your sides, resting them on your cheeks at last. Rubbing your face gently, Five leaned in to capture your lips, tasting the alcohol you shared all night. You were relieved to finally feel his touch you so deeply craved over the months spent together, pulling him even closer, as if that was possible.

That led to nowhere, unfortunately, as neither of you ever mentioned it again. Like little stupid kids, all these years you both assumed that the other didn’t remember that part, since no one ever brought it up ever again.

“Viktor will be fine, Five,” You broke the silence, watching as his knuckles turned white while gripping the steering wheel, waiting for the green light.

“I just forgot how fucking stressful all this shit was,” Five sighed, letting go, but not looking at you yet, “So stupid.”

“Hey,” You placed a hand on top of his, “We will rescue him and go back to our lives before, okay? Who knows, maybe it’s not even that serious- maybe it’s just some misunderstanding or a real easy mission. We stopped the apocalypse three times, I think some amateur kidnapping will be a walk in the park, okay? Besides, maybe by the time we get there, Viktor will have already handed their asses to each other.”

Five scoffed amused. You did always manage to be the voice of reason in his life whenever the over-thinking got the best of him.

You didn’t have any idea just how grateful he was for you.

#the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy x reader #five hargreeves #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves imagines #number five #number five x reader #five hargreeves imagine #number five imagine #tua x reader #tua season 4

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flattocatto · 5 months ago

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Viktor Modern!AU uni headcanons

ohhh hes in my head i have so many thoughts i have so much to say about him. you guys just let me cook. ok. okay thanks. please reblog like whatever im new here LOL

warnings/key takeaways: mention of recreational drug use, freshman/sophomore year of uni, lots of studying, goofy meet cute, oblivious nerd viktor, both of you live on campus in dorms (same building), GENDER NEUTRAL (use of ‘you’, no specific pronouns)

HE SMOKES WEED

IDGAF HE SMOKES WEED

not like some crazy stuff. no. he smokes weed ti not feel PAIN. yeah you heard me. he smokes shit w high CBD content. doesn’t smoke it for the high, smokes it to feel better

think he would have it medically and everything

ohhh uni viktor would be the only fucker allowed to smoke in his dorm because if his leg got bad how could he go outside huh?? he didn’t share this news (of him being allowed to smoke indoors) but people knew since he’d have a window cracked open all the time. not fooling anyone

on this note i feel like he would only smoke if he absolutely needed to. yk how people go “i can quit anytime!” but never do? he’s the kind of guy to say that but MEAN IT. he just prefers his joints over painkillers because he finds they work faster

ok enough weed talk. he’s getting his masters in biomedical engineering. its obvious you guys ive seen this everywhere.

he wants to make people better prosthetics. he also got a degree in prosthetics and orthotics techs but it was only a 2 year so its ‘just a paper’ as he says

he studies hardcore. its surprising he even makes friends (sorry viktor) but he saw a lot of potential in jayce as a student from people watching. like in canon au :D!

on that note, biggest people watcher. its actually kind of how he got his friends. extroverts pick up introverts from introvert daycare (the corner of the room)

relationship headcanons

if you guys were to meet, it would be one of those silly meetcute things.

hear me out. you book a study room with your friends to study for exams, but none of them show. shame. one got sick, the other had to go home to see their parents or something. all in all, you were DITCHED by your homies

now. someone coordinating the rooms messed up. viktor had that room booked the SAME time you did! gasp! he just likes the space of the rooms to properly spread out his work.

anyway you were already in the room and he shows up. and just stands there. awkwardly. standing man emoji.

instead of apologizing, he STANDS HIS MFING GROUND. “i have this room booked for three hours.”

“thats crazy because ME TOO.”

you go back and forth, before you both realize the confirmation email you got was from the same person or whatever. who had booked the room for you two. not two separate rooms.

after viktor makes a small mumble of “of course”, you offer to let him stay anyway. and explain that you originally had friends going over but they dipped.

its exam season, you aren’t leaving and you aren’t gonna kick him out! thats so cruel!!!

at the end you end up exchanging numbers. and find out you’re in the same dormitory building!!!

he invites you to study with him in a study room next time, to ‘prevent the coordinator from messing up again’ — he just likes your presence

bing bang boom friends. occasionally one of you begins to break silence, asking silly questions about futures and families and holidays. conversation is limited, you are both locked in to studying most of the time

unfortunately YOU are the one to ask him out. viktor is literally just comfortable with your presence and too in his head to think you’d ever LIKE him romantically.

you take him to a museum. yeah. the local one had a free day for students. you’re also 100% chill with sitting whenever he looked uncomfortable. even if he denied needing rest, his face did that little scrunch thing and you just knew

after that you went to the uni again, to the dining hall. and he insisted on giving you a meal off of his meal plan. he said he ‘barely uses them all anyway,’ and forces you to take it. even if it kind of wasn’t allowed. he just lied to the clerk and said he was going to take it home.

very sweet if him, breaking RULES?

thats like the only rule he breaks for you

no, he won’t let you sleep in his dorm

no, he won’t sleep in YOUR dorm either

no, he won’t sneak out past curfew

(unless ur dying)

there was a time you texted him ‘help’ at midnight and he made his way all the way to your dorm very quietly.

turns out you had burnt popcorn. and it tasted horrible and you were honestly stressed to the point of tears. he thought you had gotten hurt. he proceeded to lecture you on appropriate texts to send at midnight past curfew. for like an hour.

glorious ovulation i need to smoke with him.

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #arcane #arcane x reader #viktor x you #viktor my beloved #tw weed #fluff #fiction #flattocatto writes #i hope we all like my first post #im figuring it out #this site is new to me #im like an old person w their first phone.

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mggslover · 6 months ago

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The Holiday Getaway ❆

A Holiday to Remember: part 1

In which the BAU's holiday getaway takes a dark turn when a family is found murdered on Christmas, forcing the team to investigate while reader struggles with painful memories of her past and her growing, unspoken feelings for Spencer Reid.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!bau!reader Genre: bau found family fluff and comedy, slight angst Content warnings: mentions of shitty past christmases, suggestive content Word count: 5,8k A/n: merry christmas eve! this is part 1 of my holiday special and focusses all on the fun, cute found family vibes of the bau outside of a case. next part will explore a crime case and delve deeper into reader's relationship with spencer (smutsmutsmut), so be sure to check it out tomorrow! don't forget to interact if you've enjoyed this, it'll mean a lot 🎄🤍! dividers by @issysh3ll

Snowflakes swirled against the windshield of the car, vanishing as quickly as they arrived thanks to the rhythmic sweep of the wipers. The soft hum of Christmas music filled the SUV, providing a festive backdrop to the ongoing bickering between Garcia and Morgan in the front seats.

You were on your way to the BAU’s first official holiday getaway. It was a couple of weeks ago when Garcia came up with the idea to spend the holidays together. She planned the entire thing out and got a cabin in the woods booked, without so much as a heads-up to the team. Garcia was adamant about making this a traditional Christmas weekend getaway: Secret Santa’s, hot chocolate by the fireplace and snowball fights. As tempting and relaxing as those activities sound in comparison to the usual unsub hunting, a traditional getaway also meant no GPS, since that “ruins the fun”. So much for being a tech analyst.

“Okay, now take a right,” Penelope instructed Derek, holding a map like it was some kind of ancient artifact. “This is the shortcut. I swear.”

Derek raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “A shortcut? You sure? Because if we get lost again, I’m pulling up the GPS.”

Penelope made a face. “We do not need the GPS. I know this route like the back of my hand.”

Spencer and you shared an amused glance from the backseat, feeling like the younger siblings on a family road trip. You couldn’t help but wonder how the other SUV was doing. It wouldn’t surprise you if Hotch, Rossi, JJ and Prentiss already made it to the cabin, warming up by the fireplace, probably betting on how many wrong turns you'd taken by now.

After about six more chess matches on your tablet with Reid, you’re already the children of the trip, no need to hide the iPad kid allegations, the car finally slowed as Penelope’s excited shriek filled the air, announcing that you’d arrived.

You squinted through the window, shielding your eyes against the soft, bright snow that blanketed the landscape. There, nestled in the distance, was a massive wooden house with a smoking chimney, decorated in twinkling fairy lights. The scene looked copy pasted straight out of a Christmas movie. Spencer leaned in beside you, his curls brushing against your face, eager to see the scenery. When he pulled back, his eyes sparkled with excitement.

“Come on, let’s go,” you said with a smirk, pushing open the door. Everyone piled out of the car, the crisp air biting at your skin. Derek moved to the trunk to grab the bags, handing them out one by one. The hum of the engines of the other SUV echoed in the distance as Hotch waved from the driver’s seat, pulling up alongside you.

“Ha! I told you it was a shortcut!” Penelope teased, giving Derek a playful punch in the arm.

“I know, I know. Never doubted you, baby girl,” He responded, holding his hands up in surrender.

You turned to Rossi as he slowly emerged from the other car with a huff, stretching his legs in exaggerated motions.

“You doing alright there, Rossi?” you asked with a grin.

He groaned, bending down to touch his toes. “I didn’t sign up for a six-hour car ride,” he muttered.

“Poor passenger princess,” you shot back, unable to hide the smile tugging at your lips.

Emily and JJ stepped out of the car, their boots crunching softly against the snowy driveway as they approached you.

“How was the ride?” JJ asked, her breath visible as a white ghost in the air.

“An eventful one, that’s for sure,” you replied with a chuckle. “What about you? What did you two get up to?”

“Well, we took a trip down memory lane,” Emily smirked. “Rossi finally spilled the tea on what really happened with all of his ex-wives.”

“No way!” you exclaimed in disappointment. “I’ve always been curious about what went down with his third wife.”

JJ chuckled, her arm slipping through yours. “One of these days, I’ll give you the whole story—over wine, of course.”

You followed the group as they moved toward the house. Stepping inside, the scene before you took your breath away. If the exterior had been magical, the interior was nothing short of a Christmas dream come true.

The walls were covered in twinkling lights and garlands of fresh pine. In the corner stood an enormous Christmas tree, decorated from head to toe with ornaments and shimmering soft lights. On top of the tree sat a carefully placed star, nearly grazing the ceiling.

One wall of the living room was completely made out of glass, showcasing the picture-perfect view of the Winter Wonderland outside. The warmth of the room drew you further in—a handwoven rug stretched across the wooden floor, pointing toward a cozy sitting area that was illuminated by a roaring fireplace. The flames crackled and casted deep shadows over the brown leather couches and armchairs.

Hotch and Derek, ever the gentlemen, were already gathering the luggage toward the grand staircase, Penelope instructing them on where to place everything.

You laughed softly. For a moment, the scene around you felt overwhelming. Being surrounded by people who felt like family, people who cared enough to include you in something so meaningful—it was almost surreal. You couldn’t help but feel a little out of place, like you were an imposter in the scene.

The thought brought a pang to your chest, memories of past Christmases creeping in. You remembered locking yourself in your room as a kid, trying to block out the shouting from the other side of the door. And later, when you lived on your own, how the silence of those solitary holidays had felt just as loud.

You blinked back the sting in your eyes, unwilling to let the weight of the past overshadow the beauty of the moment. JJ lightly squeezed your arm, just enough to break you out of your thoughts. “You okay?” she asked softly, her gaze telling you she understood.

You nodded, managing a small smile. “Yeah,” you said, your voice a little uneven. “Just...taking it all in.”

JJ returned your smile. “She really outdid herself, huh?��

Your gaze flicked to Garcia, now descending the stairs with Hotch and Morgan, their laughter filling the space. “Oh, she really did,” you chuckled, the aching feeling being washed away by gratitude.

“My brilliant, beautiful people! Let’s gather around!” Garcia announced, her hands fluttering theatrically as she beckoned everyone closer. She reached into her coat pocket, taking a notebook out with on the cover a pug wearing a Santa hat.

Clearing her throat with mock importance, she held the notebook up. “First of all,” she began, “I want to say how ridiculously happy I am to be surrounded by all of you today. Truly. I mean, look at us! My fabulous crime-fighting family, all gathered in one glorious Winter Wonderland!” She placed a hand over her heart dramatically. “I’m especially glad I managed to convince you all that spending the holidays here is way more important than whatever terribly mundane plans you had in mind for the weekend.”

Her announcement was met with a round of chuckles and a few amused groans.

“I won’t leave you hanging for that much longer, I know everyone is excited to go wander around, so now, I will be announcing the bedroom arrangements for the next two nights.”

She flipped open her notebook with a dramatic flair. “For our fearless leader and our Italian stallion,” she began, gesturing dramatically toward Hotch and Rossi, “I’ve selected the room on the far left—peaceful, secluded, and far away from the rest of us loud, lovable lunatics.”

This earned some chuckles. Hotch and Rossi exchanged a nod.

“Next,” Garcia continued, “Emily and JJ, my glorious goddesses, you’ll be sharing the suite next door to them. Roomy, cozy, and perfect for midnight gossip.”

“As for me and Hot Stuff over here,” Garcia said, flashing a grin at Morgan, “we’ll be right next door to the goddess suite. And last, but certainly not least,” she declared, looking over at Reid and you, “my beautiful geniuses will take the far-right room. Bright minds need a quiet place to rest after dazzling us all day long.”

The group clapped and cheered as Garcia snapped her notebook shut with a satisfied nod. There were no surprises in the arrangements—everyone naturally gravitated to their usual pairings. With that, everyone began to disperse, laughter and easy conversation filling the air as they made their way toward their assigned rooms.

“I hope we get a room with a window,” Spencer said as the two of you walked toward the stairs, his tone light with anticipation.

“Oh, me too,” you replied with a dreamy sigh. “Imagine waking up to that view.”

When you reached the door to your room, you gestured for Spencer to open it. “Go ahead, Dr. Reid. The honor is all yours.”

Spencer turned the handle and stepped inside, his gaze immediately drifting to the far wall. “We did get the window room!” He said, his voice tinged with genuine delight.

But while Spencer was marveling at the view, your attention went straight to the king-size bed dominating the center of the room.

You froze. Then you heard it—the soft, innocent “Oh” from Spencer as he realized it too.

“Uh... yeah. One bed,” you said, your voice tight.

Spencer turned to you. “Well, at least the window is nice,” he offered helpfully.

You blinked at him, then quickly turned on your heel. “Wait here. Don’t move,” you ordered, making a beeline for the room next door.

Three sharp knocks later, Penelope swung the door open, her expression a mix of surprise and curiosity. “Is everything okay?”

You peeked into her room, your eyes landing on the two neatly made single beds. “Oh, everything is not okay,” you replied, crossing your arms.

“What’s up, sweet cheeks?” Penelope asked, feigning innocence.

“What’s up,” you said, voice rising slightly, “is that there’s one bed in our room. One!”

Penelope scrunched her face in mock surprise. “Oh no, that’s so weird! I could have sworn all the rooms had two beds.”

“Pen,” you groaned, narrowing your eyes. “How could you do this to me? I can’t share a bed with Spencer!”

“Why not? You have a crush on him!” Penelope replied, dropping the act. “I thought I was doing you a favor.”

“Yes, a crush!” you hissed, glancing nervously over your shoulder to make sure no one could hear. “Crushes are for daydreaming about, not for... for sharing beds! That crosses all the boundaries—professional, personal, existential! All of them!”

“We’re not at work, darling. We’re just a group of friends having a fun weekend together. Friends can totally sleep in the same bed without it being a big deal,” she tries to encourage.

You groaned again, burying your face in your hands. “This is a nightmare.”

Penelope stepped closer, her tone shifting to something gentler. “Okay, okay, calm down. How about this? Derek and I can swap rooms with you two. We’ll survive the whole one-bed situation, no problem.”

You peeked up at her through your fingers, your heart racing at the thought. “Oh, uh, no, no,” you stammered. “That’s not... necessary.”

Penelope’s eyebrow arched slowly, a knowing smirk creeping onto her face. “No?”

“No! I mean, we’re professionals, right? It’s just... sleeping. Innocent, completely normal sleeping, next to each other, in the same bed. Totally manageable,” you babbled, the words tumbling out in rapid succession.

Penelope crossed her arms, smirking even wider. “Uh-huh. I’ve never met two people more professional than you and Spencer.”

“Exactly!” you squeaked, nodding so fast it felt like your head might fall off. “I’ll, uh... I’ll just let him know we’re keeping the room.”

“Great plan,” Penelope said, patting your arm in encouragement. “Go get ‘em, babe.”

You shot her a panicked smile and turned back toward your room, heart pounding as you steeled yourself for the next step.

With a deep breath you entered your shared room again, seeing Spencer seated on the edge of the bed, playing with his tie. He looked up as you creaked open the door.

“Hi, I—uh, Penelope made a mistake with the beds,” you said, stepping into the room.

Spencer faintly smiled. “I assumed as much.”

“Is it okay if I grab a quick shower before the whole Secret Santa thing?” you asked, hoping to keep things casual.

“Of course!” he said quickly, nodding a bit too earnestly as he shifted on his feet.

“You can stay here, you know,” you offered, gesturing to the bed. “Watch some TV or something. I won’t take long.”

But Spencer was already shaking his head, waving off the idea. “No, no, it’s fine. I, uh, still have some things to take care of.”

“Alright,” you replied, trying not to overthink his reaction. Was the whole one-bed situation making him uncomfortable?

Spencer grabbed his bag and slipped out of the room as you headed for the connected bathroom. The moment you stepped inside, your annoyance with Garcia melted away.

The bathroom was like something out of a dream. Attached to the ceiling was a set of hanging lamps that filled the space in a warm, golden glow. The walls were made of rich oakwood, feeling both elegant and cozy. The floor was cool stone tile, and to the left, a matching wooden vanity stood under a large mirror. On the right, a glass shower. But the real showstopper was the round bathtub at the far end of the room, set under yet another window with a breathtaking view of the snow-covered trees. Judging by the controls on the side, it looked like it doubled as a hot tub. Either Penelope had blown the entire budget on this trip, or this was her attempt at matchmaking taken to the next level.

Shaking your head, you stepped into the shower, letting the warm water wash away your tension as you tried to stop obsessing over the sleeping arrangements for the night.

Meanwhile, Spencer was spiraling. The second he left the room, he raced to Penelope and Derek’s room, knocking urgently.

The door opened a crack, and Penelope peeked out. “It’s just a bed, don’t stress about—oh! Spencer!” she squeaked, clearly expecting you.

“I’m not worried about the bed,” Spencer said in a rush, his eyes wide and earnest. “I need to talk to Derek.”

Penelope blinked, thrown by his sudden intensity. “Uh... okay? Pretty sure he went outside to look around.”

“Thanks!” Spencer called over his shoulder, already halfway down the stairs.

Penelope watched him go, her curiosity piqued. “Oh, boy,” she muttered under her breath. “This is going to be so good.”

Spencer’s eyes darted frantically around the room until they landed on Derek. He sprinted toward him, halting abruptly when he saw that he was in the middle of a conversation with Emily.

“Derek,” Spencer called, getting his attention. “I need you.”

Derek raised an eyebrow, a teasing grin tugging at his lips. “Now, I was expecting you to confess to me one of these days, but certainly not like this,” he joked, making Emily stifle a laugh behind her hand.

Reid rolled his eyes, his voice tinged with impatience. “I’m serious. Please, just come with me.”

Derek glanced at him, clearly confused. “Alright, man,” he said slowly, trying to figure out what got Reid so worked up. Emily waved them inside as she stayed behind.

“What’s up?” Derek asked once they were inside.

“You picked Y/N for Secret Santa.” Spencer stated.

Derek blinked, still processing. “Yeah, I did. Why?” His eyes widened as the realization hit him. “Oh, you peeked, didn’t you? Penelope’s going to kill you.”

“She doesn’t have to know,” Reid replied quickly, his voice almost pleading. “Look, I need to swap with you. I got Garcia.”

“What?” Derek asked, clearly offended. “No way. I already bought something for Y/N.”

“I’ve got something for Garcia too,” Reid said, lifting his bag as if to prove it, “it’s probably better than anything you could come up with.”

Morgan shook his head, refusing to budge. “I’m sorry, man. I don’t know what you’ve got against Garcia, but it’s not happening.”

Spencer paused, pursing his lips. “It’s not about Garcia,” he began, thinking his next words through. “I’ve got something special for Y/N, and I really want to give it to her tonight.”

Morgan’s eyes widened in surprise. He had a thousand questions ready to ask, but over the years, he'd learned not to press Reid when he got this sincere. He’d be sure to get the full story from Garcia later.

After a long pause, Derek sighed. “Alright. Fine. But you owe me big time.”

Spencer exhaled in visible relief, a genuine smile flickering across his face. “Thanks, Derek.”

You’ve got yourself all cozied up on bed, a book in your hands and wearing the matching Christmas pajama set you got with the girls. The door creaks open, and you look up to see Spencer standing there, a small smile tugging at his lips. His posture is less tense than before—his shoulders are relaxed, and the frown on his face seemed to have melted away. The time spent alone seemed to have calmed the both of you.

You turn fully to your side, facing him. “Hi.”

“Hey,” he replies. “How was the shower?”

“Oh God, Spence,” you sigh, the memory of it still fresh in your mind. “I swear, you need to give it a try. It was the most heavenly experience of my life.”

He chuckles in response. “I can’t say no to that.”

Spencer places his bag down on the chair by the door before heading into the bathroom. Your fingers flick through the pages, content when you find the sentence where you left off.

Suddenly the peaceful silence is interrupted by a piercing scream. You’re sure you’ve broken a world record, because in a split second, you’re off the bed, gun in hand, and racing toward the bathroom door.

You quickly scan the room, finding no danger. But there, standing under the shower, is Spencer—completely naked, eyes wide in panic, hands clutching at his skin. The glass shower walls don’t hide anything, and in a blur of horror, you realize everything is on full display.

You join his screaming, and instinctively, you spin around, covering your eyes even though your back is already to him.

“I didn’t see anything! I didn’t see anything!” you stammer, not sure whether you’re trying to convince yourself or him. Because, well, you definitely saw a thing.

Both of your screams come to a halt. The silence that follows is thick with awkwardness, and after a beat, Spencer’s voice cracks through the tension.

“You—you set the water temperature to 115 degrees!” he says, sounding somewhere between panicked and utterly exasperated.

You blink, still trying to recover from the shock of what you just witnessed. “I thought you were dying!” you blurt out.

“My skin was dying! You’re stripping away the natural oils your body produces to protect itself. You know the skin is an organ, right? It’s not some random thing you can just ignore. Plus, your body’s not a furnace—it can’t handle prolonged exposure to that kind of heat. It messes with your blood vessels, makes your heart race, drops your blood pressure. It’s like you want to dry out your skin and potentially knock yourself out.”

You throw your hands up in frustration, running your fingers through your hair. “Spencer, it’s freezing outside,” you argue.

He sighs dramatically, as if this is the least logical thing you could have possibly done. “Cold is a much better option—it buys you more time to either get to safety, or, well, succumb without experiencing rapid organ failure.”

You’re about to respond when you hear him turning on the water again—this time at a much lower temperature—and with a hasty glance over your shoulder, you quickly avert your eyes again.

You shake yourself out of the random exchange, your heart still racing. “Whatever. I’m going downstairs. I’ll meet you there.” You hurry out, hoping the quick exit will help shake the awkwardness.

Downstairs, Rossi is waiting for you in the open kitchen. He places a bottle of wine on the counter, offering you a glass with a smile. “A 2008 well-chilled Pouilly-Fuissé for the lady.”

You take it gratefully, letting out a soft sigh of relief. “Thank you. You have no idea how much I needed this.”

“Wine time already?” Emily asks, her voice filled with curiosity as she strolls over, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Every time is wine time,” Rossi replies with a wink, pouring her a glass as well.

Emily takes a sip, her sharp eyes immediately flicking over you, scanning you in that way she does when something’s off. You feel your cheeks flush, and of course, Emily notices.

“Alright,” she says, her voice dropping a notch, “spill it.”

You take a slow sip, swirling the wine in your glass. “I don’t think I should. You know, very expensive carpet and all that.”

Emily rolls her eyes but smiles. “Don’t try to outsmart me now. You’re rarely this flustered, and no—” she points a finger at you, “—you can’t blame it on the alcohol.”

You hesitate for a moment, then give in with a dramatic sigh. “Fine. Just… Can we go somewhere a little more private?”

Emily’s grin widens as she leads you to the living room, and you both sit down. “So. You’re gonna tell me why you look like a deer in headlights.”

You glance around, making sure no one’s close enough to overhear. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, you say, “I just saw… Spencer’s…”

Emily raises an eyebrow, urging you to go on.

You take a deep breath before muttering, “Penis.”

Emily almost chokes on her wine, letting out a wheeze and nearly dropping her glass.

You quickly hush her. “Oh, come on. It wasn’t a big deal.”

She recovers, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “No? So he’s…?” She makes the universal ‘small’ gesture, her fingers pinched with a tiny gap between them.

“No!” You blurt out, suddenly defensive. “No, no, not at all! He was… he was good.”

The look on Emily’s face is pure delight as she bursts into a fit of laughter. “I cannot believe this. You just—wow.”

“It really isn’t that dramatic,” you mutter, hoping to deflect the tension. “I accidentally saw him in the shower.”

Emily’s eyebrows lift slightly, an expression that mixes curiosity with a touch of amusement. “Did anything happen?” she asks with interest, aware of the dynamic between you and Spencer.

“No,” You scoff with a short, dismissive laugh. “Especially not after I almost burnt his organs to a crisp.”

Confusion flickered across her face. You see it, but before she can ask for clarification, you wave off the subject.

Emily leans back on the couch, her eyes softening as she studies you, a calm yet knowing look settling on her face. “Look, I get it,” she says, her voice lower now, almost reassuring. “This was an awkward moment, but it’s not the first time you’ve wasted an opportunity in showing him how you feel. You’ve been tiptoeing around this for long enough. Come on, it’s Spencer. If there’s one person who you should feel comfortable with to confide in, it’s him."

“I know that,” you answer, the words coming out as a quiet sigh, the weight of it all pressing down on you. “It’s just not convenient. We’re colleagues, and on top of that, great friends. If I wanted to pursue something, I should’ve done it when I first joined the team. It’s too complicated now.”

She leans in slightly, her voice becoming more direct. “It’s only complicated because you’re making it complicated. You like him, and from what I can see, he feels the same. He’s probably just waiting for you to make the first move.”

You shift uncomfortably, not meeting her eyes, your fingers tapping nervously against your knee. You want to argue, but it’s hard to deny the truth. You’ve been tiptoeing around Spencer for so long—too long—burying your feelings beneath the surface where they could never cause any disruption.

“And if you don’t do something about it,” Emily adds, her tone soft but heavy with meaning, “you’ll regret it.”

A shaky exhale escapes you, as the reality of her words sinks in. “I don’t know, Em. There’s so much that could go wrong.”

Her gaze lingers on you, but it’s not pitiful. She sees right through you—sees the fear, the hesitation, the walls you’ve built up. The truth is, you’ve spent years convincing yourself that being close to Spencer was dangerous. Not just because of your professional relationship, but because of the way he anchors you—keeps you grounded when everything else feels unstable. He’s always been there, the rock you cling to when everything else feels uncertain. And the idea of stepping into something deeper with him, risking that connection, terrifies you more than anything.

Because if you lost him—if you let yourself love him and then something happened to him... you’re not sure you’d survive the fall.

The words you’ve been avoiding finally spill out of you in a quiet, strained whisper: “I’ve kept him at a distance, you know? I’ve always kept him at arm’s length because I’m afraid of what would happen if something bad happened to him. If I opened up, fully, and let myself love him… what if I lost him, Emily?” You swallow hard, the vulnerability in your voice feeling raw, exposed. “It’s a risk I’m not willing to take.”

For a long moment, Emily says nothing. She simply listens to you, her expression unreadable. Then she finally speaks. “There is also so much that can go right,” she encourages. “You’re not the only one who’s afraid of losing something. He’s been walking the same tightrope for as long as you have.”

Her words linger in the space between you. She doesn’t look away, doesn’t let you escape the truth that’s been right in front of you all along.

You open your mouth to respond, but your throat tightens, the words getting stuck. The risk of losing him is real, but so is the risk of never knowing what could be. And the more you think about it, the more you realize that the regret of not trying, of letting fear hold you back, would hurt so much more than anything else.

Emily shifts in her seat, clearly sensing the shift in energy. “Alright, enough of the heavy stuff for now. We’re supposed to be enjoying the holiday, remember?” She glances toward the doorway where the sound of laughter floats in. “It’s Secret Santa time. Now just look cute and pretend you’re excited before Penelope walks in.”

You chuckle, giving Emily’s hand a light squeeze, silently thanking her for changing the subject.

One by one, the team walks into the living room, settling into the couch and chairs. Spencer walks in last, looking effortlessly beautiful as always, his hair still damp from the shower. He offers you a sheepish smile as he sits down beside you, and suddenly, the anxiety that’s been gnawing at you melts away. Emily was right, it’s just Spencer. Your Spencer. Everything is fine.

Penelope takes her rightful spot in front of the Christmas tree, her arms outstretched toward the pile of gifts that are scattered across the floor. Her eyes gleaming with excitement. “Alright, everyone! Get ready, because it’s time for Secret Santa!”

“How exactly are we going to go about this? Any specific rules or guidelines we should follow?” Reid asks in interest.

“I am so glad you asked,” she responds in delight. “We’re keeping it simple—because let’s be real, our brains have been on overdrive and we all need a break. Here’s the plan: We’ll go in a clockwise order starting with Emily. Everyone can pick a gift from under the tree and open it. After that, you’ll have to guess who it’s from. And once you make your guess, the Secret Santa will reveal themselves!”

“Sounds easy enough,” Emily announces as she stands up, walking toward the tree. Her eyes quickly landed on a package with her name scrawled in sharpie. She sits back down on the couch, everyone’s eyes fixed on her with eager anticipation as she tears into the wrapping. Inside, she finds a leatherbound journal with a blackbird embossed on the cover.

“I love the song,” Emily says, running her fingers over the emblem. She looks up at JJ, a knowing smile on her face. “This could be from no one but you.”

JJ smiles in return. “It’s for writing down the thoughts—and everything else—you don’t always feel like saying. Sometimes putting pen to paper helps more than we realize.”

Emily's smile softens at the gesture, touched by the thoughtfulness behind it. Next, it’s JJ’s turn. She received a sleek organizer, and as she flips it open, the first page is a collage of photos—her wedding pictures, memories of Henry, and fun moments of the team.

“Only a parent would add a page like this,” JJ says, recognizing the personal touch. She looks at Hotch, and he nods, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“I figured it might help with the chaos,” Hotch replies.

“You’re all too good at this guessing game,” Penelope complains playfully. “It’s no fun when everyone’s a profiler.” She bends down to pick up her own gift, the package heavy in her hands. She sits on the floor as she unwraps it carefully.

When she sees what’s inside, her eyes widen in delight. Inside the package is a DVD player that also doubles as a radio—something you've seen in ads countless times. “Oh my god, please tell me it has the voice,” she says, fingers hovering in excitement over the buttons. She presses one, and suddenly, Derek’s programmed voice comes from the speaker, making you snort.

“Hey, baby girl. It’s December 24th. Ready for some music?”

Penelope’s face lights up, and she squeals in delight, wrapping her arms around Derek and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You’re the best!”

Derek shakes his head in amusement, giving her a quick smile before rolling his eyes at Spencer, who’s watching the exchange with an almost childlike excitement.

Next, Derek gets a ticket to Vegas. “Once we have a free weekend, I’ll take you with me on my Sin to Win weekend,” she teases, and Derek laughs, already looking forward to it.

Just then, Hotch’s phone rings. “Excuse me,” he mutters, heading to the kitchen.

Penelope pouts. “It was his turn,” she says with disappointment.

“No worries, Garcia,” Rossi reassures her with a wink. “My present will be better anyway,” he jokes, making her smile.

He unwraps his gift—a vintage bottle of whiskey—and holds it up with a grin. “See? It doesn’t get better than this.”

Laughter fills the room, but your heart is pounding as it’s now Spencer’s turn. You watch him closely, knowing that this is the moment when he’ll open your gift. It’s a small box, and as he unwraps it carefully, his fingers pause when he sees what’s inside: an exclusive Doctor Who Time Vortex watch. The watch has a leather blue strap, gold-plated Roman numerals, and the intricate inner workings of the watch are visible through the glass. You’d spend ages hunting down this piece online, fighting off a dozen eager Doctor Who nerds, and paying well above the asking price just to secure it.

“Wow…” Spencer breathes, his voice tinged with awe as he examines the watch. His eyes flicker up to meet yours, immediately knowing it’s from you.

“How did you get this?” he asks softly, his eyes full of gratitude and wonder.

You smile, trying not to overthink your response. “It wasn’t easy, but you’re worth the effort.”

A blush spreads across Spencer’s cheeks, and for a moment, the two of you share a quiet, intimate glance. Just then, Penelope’s voice interrupts. “Hey, Y/N has two gifts! That’s not how this works!”

Spencer’s eyes narrow, shooting daggers at Derek, who unapologetically shrugs.

“Ooh, I’m special!” you tease, grinning as Penelope hands you two gifts—a big one and a small one.

“Big one first,” you say, excitement bubbling in your chest as you accept the pink box with a bow on top. You rip into the paper. A red lingerie set stares back at you from under the packaging, and you throw your head back in a laugh.

A few weeks ago, Derek had come back from another late-night fling, and the conversation still echoed in your mind.

“How come women only own the same three pairs of bras?” he’d asked, genuinely perplexed.

You’d just sighed, shaking your head. “Derek, you’re lucky you don’t have boobs. Finding a bra that fits—and is affordable—is probably the hardest task one could face.”

Now, with the lingerie in your hands, you raise an eyebrow at Derek. “Do I want to know how you got my exact size?”

Derek looks over at Penelope with a sheepish grin. “I had some help from one of Santa’s elves.”

Penelope mischievously adds, “I may have hacked your computer to check out your purchases.”

You raise your hand in a dramatic, 'there you go' gesture, not at all surprised. “Of course you did.”

“Well,” you begin, looking at the box in your hands, “just know that you're never gonna see me in this.” You wave the red lace and satin teasingly in front of him, feeling a surge of amusement as Derek’s face falls in exaggerated disappointment.

You laugh, then glance over at Spencer, who’s sitting beside you. You can barely make out his muttered, “Good,” under his breath, though it’s enough to catch your attention.

You’re about to take initiative, maybe throw some playful banter his way, when the sudden sound of footsteps in the hallway cuts through the light moment. The door to the living room opens with a soft creak, and you look up as Hotch strides into the room. His jaw tight, his posture all business, and you can feel the shift in the air immediately.

“We’ve got a case. A family is murdered twenty minutes away from here.”

PART TWO

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