#my new favourite mug

[politelymenacing]

LOOK WHAT ARRIVED

[scribblingface]

I want to go to the cafe but I don't go unmasked in indoors public spaces but I WANT to go to the CAFE. sitting here seething because I won't let me go to the cafe.

[keldae]

I give you: the BEST mug for Monday mornings, or dealing with volunteer club drama. ;)

[the-mushroom-faerie]

it's here!!!

IT HAS ARRIVED!!!

@danieljacksonpinchinghisnose aren't you jealous 😏

[upperranktwo]

My favourite thing about the colder seasons is all the penguin themed things in stores!!! I love penguins so much 🐧

[dalashas]

I've been chasing an obfuscated childhood yearning for a while now and I have just discovered it may have been the feeling of chugging cold milk

[dilfkuza]

my infinite wealth order arrived yayyyy yippie!!!!!!!

[thethirdtriplet]

Headcanon for the Bats:

The Bats are absolute menaces to society, in their own weird and unique ways.

—————

Dick refuses to be referred to as anything but “Dick” when in public with his family or even his friends, so no, he will not be referred to by his legal name or any of his common nicknames, but any and all variations or nicknames for “Dick” (Dickie, Dikehead, ect…) are acceptable:

It almost makes Dick a little too happy when any of his siblings yells “Dick” in a crowded room or public place.

One woman actually yelled at Dick and his siblings for their language, that is, until he informed her that Dick is his name. She was so embarrassed she turned a deep shade of red and she apologised.

Dick tried to hide his smirk because he's an absolutely horrible person. His siblings are not impressed, and refuse to admit that it’s kinda funny.

—————

On Father’s Day, Bruce receives a multitude of gifts from his children (whether legal, emotional or biological), as a joke he has to receive at least one gift that has “worst parent ever” on it, from one of them. And while he loves all of the gifts (gag gifts or sentimental) equally, he still has his favourites:

Bruce might enjoy the utter horror and unease a little more than necessary as he uses the thermos Jason bought him for Father’s Day with the words “worst dad ever”, printed on the front, in bright red for all to see.

He is currently forced to endure attending yet another board meeting when one -brave but stupid- new board member made a rather rude comment about how Bruce’s kids shouldn’t disrespect him with such gifts. Which prompts Bruce to go on a tirade about how he should mind his own business, and never speak about any of his kids like that. It got so bad, and he was so furious, that none of the other board members mentioned that the meeting would be ending soon. By the end of Bruce’s speech, their time was up and the meeting had to end.

Not that Bruce was finished. The next day, to work, bruce wore the bright blue tie Dick had gotten him, holding the mug Tim got him that had “Not the best parent, but I am trying my best.” printed on it. And he has continued to wear the things his kids buy him to work, without fail.

No one mentions anything about his clothing choices or the mugs (yes, mugs because there’re multiple mugs with equally concerning words printed on all of them), because if they do, he will go on a tirade about his kids and how much he loves them, and no work will get done.

[ghostlyangels1204]

Brutal Ghost, a man built for battle. Cold, detached, unemotional Ghost, scaring every new recruit off with a single glare. Moody, brooding Ghost who doesn’t entertain small talk that doesn’t interest him. A sergeant adopted a puppy? Uninteresting. Someone is going for tea with their grandmother? Don’t care. Ghost who Price silently worries about, all the time.

But,

Simon Riley who crashes into bed with you, his large, cold hands coming under your shirt to steal your warmth away. His chest vibrating with a chuckle as you gasp, failing to squirm away from his cold touch before he pulls you closer to him.

Simon Riley who wakes up before you, his feet slapping against the pavement in the light morning sun, running just a little faster than during his mandated drills, to get home to you just a little quicker.

Simon Riley who wakes you up with a steaming cup of your morning brew, settling down by your side, his hand sweeping your hair away from your face to gaze at you. Kisses peppered all over your face, a soft smile growing as he watches your nose scrunch up from the interruption of sleep.

Simon Riley who puts your favourite mugs on the highest shelf, the one you can’t reach, just so you can ask for his help. “There ya’ go shorty,” a wry smile on his face as you grumble at his quip.

Simon Riley who just HAS to have a hand on you at all time. His digits engulfing yours when you walk around shops together. A soft hand resting on your lower back as you wash dishes. He grasps your hip, his face nesting in the crook of your neck as you both rest on the sofa after a long day of doing nothing.

Simon Riley who seldom uses your name, a grumble of, “darlin’”, or “angel”, maybe even a, “my love” bouncing off the walls of your shared space.

Simon Riley who wanders local markets in his free time, spotting something sparkly that is way too expensive, only to walk home with a small bag in his hand containing the pretty gift for his pretty girl.

Simon Riley who is convinced the dryer is eating his shirts and hoodies, only to spot you curled up on the couch engulfed by the offending ‘missing’ article.

Simon Riley who sends you pictures of fluffy little cats who saunter up to him on his morning runs, seemingly unintimidated at his gargantuan size, just to imagine the smile and giggle you let out when you see them.

Simon Riley who was made for unwavering devotion to you.

[papa-poutine]

And as if today wasn't bad enough I broke my mug

[ashhh-14]

"Why's there only one bed?!"

part 2

Part 1

Featuring - Dan heng, Gepard, Jing yuan & Blade

Info- '......' meaning short timeskip

A/n- yes I'm not dead pfft. The idea was given by @tigerpriestess when i posted the first piece, i started writing this one when i read the suggestion cuz it was intriguing but my writer's block hit like a truck so yeahhh, finally here's the part 2. Happy reading!

Dated : April 15, 2024

It's been a week since Dan Heng's brain was in a frenzy. The night you two shared one bed together, how you held his hand, your soft skin against his cheek, how you kept him company when he was restless. But... Why are you acting like nothing even happened from the very next morning? Was he overthinking everything? Was that night's events a mere act of care and nothing more?

You poured yourself a cup of coffee, sleep evident in your actions since you didn't wake up too long ago. Turning around to head back to your room, you bumped into something firm. You stumbled back a little, only for an arm to wrap around your waist preventing your fall. You looked up, eyes coming in contact with those beautiful orbs you love looking into, "Dan Heng?" You were unable to read his face as your breath hitched at his intense stare, his feet moving forward, backing you up against the counter as you found yourself in an inescapable position," What-What's wrong?" He started leaning closer, the grip you had against the mug slowly loosening the more he leaned in.

"Why are you acting like nothing happened?" A confused expression took over your features as you looked up at him, only making you two even closer, barely an inch of space separating you two.

"Tell me (Y/n). Was what you did that night, was it really just out of care? Do you really not feel anything for me? For us?" His expression remained unchanged but on the inside, he was anxious. Anxious on what you'd say, anxious that he'd lose you to this situation, to these feelings. Your breath halted, mind processing his words. Does that mean he feels...? You thought he was a man incapable of these feelings, always wanting to stay closed off from the world then....

"I do, I feel a lot more for you than you can imagine." Your voice was only able to come out as a whisper as you saw his eyes light up, his arms pulling you closer against him as the mug slipped off your hand, crashing against the floor but that didn't stop him from leaning closer, your lips about to graze each other when, "How dare you two break pom pom's favourite mug!!"

Your eyes scanning the fabric of clothing from a new shop opened in Belobog, heavy footsteps entering the shop took your attention away.

'Oh no it's him again.'

As quickly as you can, you paid for the stuff you've already selected and scurried out the shop. Your hurried actions not going unnoticed by the captain of silvermane guards. 'Tenth time now this month.' His jaw clenched.

............

You made your way to the front door of your house as you heard the bell ring, peeping into the peephole to check who it was, you lightly gasped to yourself as you saw the captain of Silvermane guards. Your mind scrambled on what to do as voice from the other end of the door spoke.

"Don't even try this time. I'm not leaving until I talk to you."

You bit your lip in contemplation, releasing a deep sigh as you twisted your wrist, opening the door. You didn't dare meet his eyes as you walked inside, hearing the front door click shut behind you.

"Do you want some water?" You spoke aimlessly in a futile attempt to reduce his stare on you. Moving along the kitchen island you went to grab a bottle of water when you found yourself trapped inbetween the counter and a firm Chest. The hand that was stretched outward for the water came back infront of you, two much larger hands intertwining with back of yours and pressing both of them on the counter as if to make sure you won't run away again.

"Gepard..." Your voice came out meekly. You knew what this was about. You exactly knew but you didn't want to address it. It would ruin a lot of things, and you weren't willing to risk that.

"Why're you doing this?" Gepard's voice came out as a mere whisper, as if all the resolve from earlier broke. Releasing one of your hands he circled it around your waist, pulling you against him tight. As if it was a way of reminding both you and him why exactly was he here. You sucked in a sharp breath.

"Why do you keep avoiding me? Why are you so adamant on running away and not give us a chance to even talk about it."

You closed your eyes releasing a soft sigh. "There's really no point in talking about that Gep. It's futile. Plus you're my bestfriend's-"

"God woman she knows that I like you." Your breath got caught in your throat as you let his words sink in. "What..."

If it was possible, he pressed you even more against himself, nodding against your shoulder. "So will you just stop running away?" His voice had a certain edge to it that you couldn't quite pin point.

You looked back over your shoulder just as he leaned down, his lips pressing against the corner of yours.

"When are you planning on talking to him?" Asked Lady Fu as she stirred sugar into her tea cup.

The divination commission's weather was pleasant today. A gentle breeze soothing the skin but it did nothing to soothe your aching heart.

"I honestly don't know" you said, distracted by how the birds are flying overhead.

"You'll have to talk to him eventually. You can't keep on avoiding him. He might look aloof but he noticed it the very first time you sent another cloudknight to give him the reports which you usually do yourself." She took a sip of her tea.

"I'm just trying to delay it as much as I can. I can't find it in me to face it just yet." You sighed.

...........

"Long time no see Admiral" A soft yet firm voice spoke, head tilting sideways to look at you.

"Yes General." You nodded in agreement, climbing the stairs up to his chair, placing the stack of papers in front of him from the recent report on the stelleron.

"So...Was there any particular reason you asked of me today?" You stated slowly, trying to scan his face for what he's thinking but you should have known better.

His laugh echoed through the room, making your heart flutter. "I just wish to catch up. It's almost break. Mind joining me for a walk?"

.......

Cutting the walk short as Jing yuan took a seat beneath a tree, you stared at him, raising an eyebrow. "General?"

He chuckled.

"This is usually my nap time, forgive me for the tardiness. Why don't you join? I assure I won't be keeping you long." His voice spoke, extending a hand towards you.

You looked at it a little hesitant. You remember the last time you let him get too close to you. You're still having a hard time trying to forget those memories.

You took it after a moment of contemplation, stepping a foot forward when the world spun and you found yourself on Jing yuan's lap.

Your eyes widened a fraction, looking up at the said man as he slipped an arm around your waist. His other hand came up to trace your face as he stared intently in your eyes. Not able to take his gaze any longer you looked away.

Your name fell from his lips like a symphony and you found yourself looking at him again, your heart having a hard time assessing the situation as you placed a cautious hand to his chest, as if to create some sort of space between you two.

"There's no reason for you to run away." His tone dropping a note softer, his thumb traced over your bottom lip.

Your breath shuddered and you risked whispering "Please don't give me false hope."

"I'm not." Was all he said before he bent down and placed his lips against yours.

It was just another night as you strolled the streets of Luofu. The wind was nice today, you thought as you suddenly felt a presence behind you. You didn't need to look back to see who it was. "Done with the work already Blade?" You mused looking up at the said male from corner of your eye as he fell in step beside you.

"Well what do you think smartass?" He said with a raised eyebrow, a smirk threatening to break on his lips.

"A simple 'yes' would have been much more appreciated." Turning your face, you narrowed your eyes at him.

With that you both took off in a run, jumping off the ridge and down into the abyss as you were pulled against blade. "Can't have you hurting now can we?"

.........

You sucked in a sharp breath as Blade tightened up the bandage around your arm.

"Why the hell did you go on the mission that was assigned to both of us." It was more of a statement than a question as you scanned his features while his eyes were fixated on wrapping up your wounds.

"I needed to clear my head" And that was enough for him to snap his gaze up towards you, his jaw clenching further as if challenging you to saying something more.

It was partially the truth. You wanted to clear your head, but you omitted the part that you wanted to clear your hear off him. The light-hearted banter you both rejoiced in usually has been turning your heart ablaze recently, and you were certainly not going to let it do that.

In the next instant you found yourself sprawled against the bed, your back hitting it with a soft thud as you found Blade on top of you. "Do not test my patience." His voice was low and threatening as you averted your gaze, brows furrowing as your eyes fell on the chain encircling his neck. You reached a hand up, tracing the silver chain as you felt the engraved words around your finger tips.

He made no movements to push you away as you hesitantly looked at him. To any other it would have looked like Blade's normal poker face but you knew better.

Propping yourself up on one elbow the other pulled him down as you crashed your lips against his.

Him wearing your name was all you needed to know.

Masterlist

Written by yours truly

[boorines]

bf!wonwoo thoughts

genre: fluff, suggestive

-

bf!wonwoo who thinks everything is better if he does it with you. playing games on his computer? wordlessly hands you a controller so you can play with him. reading a book? it’s much more enjoyable if you’re resting your head on his shoulder while he turns the pages for you. wonwoo who always has your favourite mug ready when he pours himself a cup of coffee. he refuses to leave bed in the morning if you’re still asleep, only willing to start his day when you start yours. he’ll trace patterns into the skin of your arm or run a finger along the curve of your cheek while you sleep, smiling sheepishly if your eyes blink open. wonwoo who says shopping for groceries is 100%, definitely, always a two person job. doesn’t matter if it’s only to pick up a carton of milk, he’s coming with you. says it’s for ‘moral support’ (he would superglue himself to you if he could).

bf!wonwoo who is so subtly flirty it drives you crazy. eye contact with frequent glances at your lips. sly smiles and once overs, then twice overs, when you try on a new dress. a hand darting out to wipe pasta sauce off the corner of your mouth. two hands wrapping a scarf securely around your neck. wonwoo who takes every opportunity to dote on you. in private or in public. slides your joint hands into his coat pocket as you walk together. opens his coat and pulls you flush against him when you’re not warm enough for his satisfaction. picks fluff out of your hair like it’s second nature. wonwoo who notes the way your cheeks flush pink and laughs, placing a kiss to your nose. wonwoo who follows up with a kiss to your lips when your ears bloom the same shade as your cheeks. “why so shy?” he whispers. but he knows.

bf!wonwoo who thinks the sound of your laughter is the prettiest he’s ever heard. so he does everything that he can to hear it. cheesy pick up lines when you fuss over the stove with him in the morning. stupid dad jokes that make you chuckle with a roll of your eyes. his eyes trained on you as a comedy film plays on tv, praying he catches your soft laughs at the scripted jokes. wonwoo who won’t hesitate to coax them out of you if he has to. soft pokes at your stomach, victorious when you splutter out a laugh. fingers tickling the soles of your feet as they rest on his lap, pulling whiny giggles from your throat. wonwoo who has a deep frown on his features when he sees your face wet with tears and your eyes bloodshot. wipes at your cheeks and places soft kisses to your hair, warm and soothing. relieved when you give him a watery smile. makes a mental note to never let you nip to the corner store alone, even if you relentlessly insist.

bf!wonwoo who gets a little jealous even if he pretends not to. wonwoo who simmers a little when you smile sweetly at the old friend you bump into in the frozen foods aisle. wonwoo who can’t help but let out a gruff sigh when you tell him how that friend had a penchant for cracking the silliest jokes. he mumbles under his breath when you question the change in his demeanour, getting sulkier the longer it takes for you to catch on. and when you do? the shy smirk you give him makes him short circuit. wonwoo who is quick to press his lips against yours the second the door closes behind you. wonwoo who mutters things like ‘mine’, ‘my baby’ and ‘no one but me’ into the crook of your neck. wonwoo who grins smugly when you nod feverishly, pressed against the door. wonwoo who peppers your skin with kisses, returning your need for him tenfold.

-

written with @waldau in mind! since wonwoo is ur ult <3 thank u for reading and enjoying my work, ur reblogs make my day!!

[luveline]

What about a lil fic of the first time bombshell reader gets mad at Spencer? Like it can be while they r dating or before and May be r is giving Spencer quiet treatment?

ty for requesting! ♡ fem, 1.3k

Spencer waits for Morgan to get up for a coffee before he gets up himself, tailing his teasing teammate to the microwave. He's hoping Morgan's in a sympathetic mood today, because Spencer is in dire need of some sympathy. 

"Loverboy," Morgan says, his voice steeped in suspicion. "Can I help you with something?"

"Do you know why Y/N's upset?" 

"You don't? You're the expert." 

Spencer rubs at his nose, the beginning of another migraine brewing between his eyes. The gesture draws a little more empathy than his misguided question. 

"You're gonna have to ask her yourself. I don't want her angry at me too, she's gonna fix my computer before Garcia finds out I fell for her phishing email test." 

"I've been asking her. It's making it worse. She won't answer my questions anymore. She just hums." 

"Silent treatment. Yikes." Morgan sips his tea through a grimace. "I mean, you must've done something bad. She's usually so–" 

"Lovely?" 

"–in love with you." Morgan laughs as he wanders off in the direction of the stairs up to Hotch's office. "Same thing."

Spencer decides to make a cup of bribery tea for you. He microwaves a mug of hot water and plunks a bag of your favourite blend in without ceremony, bobbing it up and down as he watches you from over his shoulder. You've moved desks upon request to sit with the rest of the team and opposite Spencer (against Hotch's self-proclaimed better judgement), your things set carefully in contrast to his books, a library's worth teeming on every spare inch. Some have even made their way onto your desk, pristinely stacked in wait of his perusal. It's one small gesture among the hundreds of kind things you do for him. 

"Here," he says, setting the mug down next to your mouse carefully. 

Your anger strikes him. Eyes frosted with an uneasiness he's not partial to, lips, so perfectly painted, screwed into a frown. It's not nice seeing someone he cares about upset with him, worse when he has no idea what it is he's done. 

"You're annoyed at me," he says. You wait for him to continue. "I don't know what I did." 

"That makes it worse." You frown at him. After a few seconds of this—your frowning, his looking sorry and confused— you sigh wretchedly (as in, he's never heard you sound that sad, ever, and he hates it). "Spencer, you stood me up." 

Everything in him goes cold. "No I didn't." 

Your sad frown melds again to anger. "Yes you did! I– I got my hair done at a salon, I bought a new dress, I bragged to all of my friends that my cute coworker was gonna be my date, and none of that mattered because you didn't text me back so I was worried sick all night that you were," —your voice drops to a private whisper— "in trouble somewhere, and then you come into work like nothing happened? Not even a hint of an apology? I thought you wanted to come."  

Your voice burns with embarrassment. Spencer can feel it in his throat, that plucky ache of someone letting you down. 

"That was last night?" he asks quietly. A friend asked you to their charity ball, not as ridiculously fancy as it sounds but an occasion of esteem and important to you nonetheless. "Y/N, I thought that was– I have it in my phone as next month. As November. I'm so sorry." 

"Why didn't you answer my texts?" 

He winces. "I had a migraine… Screens make it worse, and I haven't charged the battery yet because I was coming to work anyways I'm sorry, Y/N, really. I mixed it up. I should've asked you." 

You seem less disheartened at his admission. You cross your arms over your abdomen and lean back a touch in your chair, as if deciding whether he's being truthful. Spencer isn't in the habit of lying to you and anybody could tell you that, so after a few seconds you look away. "I asked you if you were excited yesterday morning. I told you my dress came."  

"I know." He can't believe he's gotten it wrong like this. Anyone can make a mistake, but he imagines you in your new dress with your hair done waiting for him in the cold weather that descended on Virginia last night and his guts twist into a knot. "I didn't piece it together. I didn't… I didn't…" 

Spencer can't remember the last time he let someone he loves down like this. His migraine spikes again like a needle in the eye, fiery agony that has him closing his eyes to cope. 

"Spencer," you say, softly admonishing. "Hey, it's okay." Your chair creaks.

"I'm so sorry," he says through his teeth. 

"I thought you were being a jerk, but I guess I should've known you wouldn't do something like that." You stand up and take his elbow into a very gentle hand. "I'm sorry for giving you the cold shoulder. It was childish. I was just hurt thinking you did it on purpose." 

"Sorry," he says again. "Migraine." 

Your hand rises to his cheek. "Yeah? Sit down, Spence. Take a breather." 

The doctors say that Spencer's migraines are psychosomatic. He doesn't get how something so odious can start from nothing. 

You seem twice as upset but in a different light, ushering him down into your chair. "Don't worry," you say softly, your hand falling into his hair, "I took a great picture. You can still see me in my nice dress." 

You're kidding but he's genuinely glad. Then the pain takes over and he can't see the other side of it for years. 

It only feels like years. 

When he can open his eyes, you've knelt by his chair. He hates to see you getting your pants dirty like that, hates worse that your eyebrows have pinched and the soft plane of your forehead has etched deep with concern. 

"You can still be mad at me," he says under his breath. 

"I'm a little upset," you confess, putting an uncharacteristically tentative hand on his knee. "It sucked, but not as much as this seems to suck for you." You're like an angel, all pretty and wide-eyed at his feet, your hand beginning a short path up his leg, a soft back and forth. "I'm sorry Spencer. I was punishing you for something that wasn't your fault." 

"You didn't know. How could you, I–" He winces as another wave of pain flares behind his eye, blurring your small smile. "I should've charged my phone." 

"Maybe. I can't imagine you had the capacity, Spence. Not if you're like this." 

"Don't just forgive me because I'm in pain." 

"I'm not, I'm forgiving you because even though it really hurt my feelings turning up alone, I'm not cruel enough to blame you now." You squeeze his knee. It's an instant balm, the chronic ache behind his eyes easing ever so slightly. Your forgiveness makes the rest bearable. "Can you forgive me for being so heartless?" you ask lightly. 

Your lips curve demurely around each word. Spencer scrambles to cover your hand with both of his, his neck craned forward. "Of course I forgive you." 

"Thank you." Spencer could collapse. "Drink some of this tea, okay? Maybe drinking something will help."  

Nothing ever helps, but he does it because it's your hands bringing the cup to his lips. 

"I know you looked beautiful," he says between sips. 

"I would've looked better on your arm. Too bad you're getting grievously attacked by your own brain. This is what happens when it gets too big, babe, it's trying to come out of your ears." He's a little sorry to have won you back this way, but mostly so, so relieved. "Anymore of this'll and you'll start messing up the months. Oh, wait!" You laugh as he laughs but soon scramble to apologise when the sound makes his head hurt. "Sorry, I'm sorry! Drink some more tea, sweetheart." 

[rosyblooom]

right person, wrong times | cl16

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader summary: a random day each year across 11 years, as they go from practically strangers, to more, to less, and again. (~4.3k) a/n: inspo from 'one day' !! been struggling with writer's block, so sorry in advance if it's rough lool

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

One day in 2018

Y/N glanced across the crowded room, picking out one familiar face amidst the sea of strangers: Pascale. Their families went way back, but with Y/N's parents splitting when she was just a toddler, she'd spent most of her life in Spain with her dad, Switzerland for boarding school, and rare trips to Monaco to visit her mum—hardly ever crossing paths with the Leclerc's.

But today was different. She found herself in Monaco attending a family gathering to finally meet Pascale's sons properly. She couldn't recall the last time she'd spoken to them, but Pascale had insisted today would be the day, especially since her recent move here.

Across the room, Charles stood, his posture slightly hunched as his mother whispered in his ear, urging him to check on Y/N. "Please go see how Y/N is doing. I'm not sure if she'll remember you, but just introduce yourself and keep her company for a while," Pascale pleaded, fixing him with a hopeful gaze. "Please."

"I don’t even know where she is or what she looks like."

"She's at the bar," Pascale replied with a smile. "She's the pretty one—you won't miss her."

"Very helpful," Charles chuckled, shaking his head before stepping back. "I'll make my way over now."

It didn't take long until he found himself at the bar. Surprisingly, his mother's brief description proved accurate, as Y/N stood out for her beauty—quite a departure from the faint memory he held of her.

Drawing closer, he flashed a warm smile and extended his hand in greeting. "Charles."

Y/N shot him a quick, assessing glance, her eyes flitting over his unruly hair and black attire, before meeting his gaze. "Not interested," she dismissed, her attention already wandering back to the room.

Chuckling at her abruptness, Charles shook his head. "No, no, I wasn't trying to... I'm not here to make a move, I wouldn't."

Y/N turned towards him, her curiosity piqued by his response. "Ouch," she teased, a hint of amusement dancing in her eyes. "So you think I'm ugly, then?" Her lips curved slightly as she awaited his answer.

Heat crept up Charles’ neck, and though he couldn’t see himself, he could sense the warmth spreading across his face. With a nervous stammer, he began, “Wait, no! That’s not what I meant—What I’m trying to say is—”

“Relax,” Y/N interjected with a sympathetic smile. “I’m just kidding. Nice to see you again, Leclerc. It’s been a while, huh?”

Charles let out a long breath, his tension easing slightly. For a moment, he studied Y/N with a discerning gaze, as if attempting to unravel her mystery; she was undeniably peculiar, yet undeniably intriguing. “It has been a while,” he finally acknowledged, nodding slowly.

One day in 2019

This marked Y/N’s first ever Christmas market in Monaco. She had wanted to attend last year’s, but the winter season had always been her least favourite. This time last year, it was simply too cold for her—no matter what the news claimed, she was freezing. But today wasn’t half as bad. Sure, she was bundled up in about three sweaters under her hoodie, which she wore beneath her jacket, but well, you could say she was sensitive to weather.

“Y/N?” a voice suddenly erupted from behind her, pulling her attention away from the gigantic, decorated Christmas tree and towards Charles, who now stood before her, holding two steaming mugs.

Y/N narrowed her gaze, appearing lost in thought. “Sorry, do I know you?”

Charles shook his head and sighed, his breath forming a white cloud in the chilly air. “Right, of course. It’s been a year, so it makes sense for you not to remember me…”

“I'm just joking,” Y/N grinned, nudging him cautiously to avoid any spills. “You’re too easy.”

Charles’ mouth dropped open slightly, his eyes widening for a moment before he chuckled, “Okay, I’m not going to believe anything you say from now on.”

"Good idea," she nodded with a smile. Y/N's gaze then drifted down to the two mugs in his hands, and she inquired, "Am I right to assume that one of these is for me?"

A puzzled expression briefly crossed Charles' face, his brows furrowing slightly, prompting Y/N to gesture towards the cups.

As if suddenly remembering, he exclaimed, "Oh, right! I thought you might want something warm, and who doesn't like hot chocolate, right?" With that, he offered one of the drinks to her.

"I sure do." Y/N took the cup, cupping her cold hands around the hot glass, immediately feeling the stiffness melt away from her fingers. The hot chocolate wasn't nearly as scalding as she had anticipated—it was just right, and she savoured each sip, briefly closing her eyes in contentment. When she reopened them, she couldn't help but remark, "Sweet, just like you."

As if someone had turned on a gas stove, heat rushed to Charles' face, though this time he was fortunate; the weather was already giving him a rosy complexion due to the cold.

But Y/N still noticed, and she smiled. "Don't go getting soft on me now," she teased, bumping her elbow into his arm.

Without really thinking, Charles muttered, "You're not making it easy…" His words slipped out, and with their proximity, Y/N heard him loud and clear. Even though it wasn't the first time she'd heard a comment like that, the fact that it came from Charles sent a pleasant shiver down her spine.

"What was that?" Arching a brow, Y/N glanced up at him sideways, a playful glint in her eyes.

"Nothing… Do you want to get inside though? It’s a little too cold for me."

“It’s my first time here,” Y/N said, hooking her arm around his, ignoring the sudden tension in his muscles. “Don’t want to get lost,” she explained, glancing up at Charles, who didn’t object and instead simply nodded. “Right, yeah.”

“So? Lead the way then.”

“Alright, alright,” Charles obliged, skilfully manoeuvring through the crowd, with Y/N beside him.

One day in 2020

“Is this seat taken?” The question caused Y/N to freeze, her forkful of ratatouille dropping onto her plate. She swallowed the remaining food in her mouth and swiftly swept the napkin off her lap, dabbing the corners of her mouth until she was sure there were no traces left.

“Not at all,” she finally responded, turning towards the voice. “I should warn you though—” But the moment her eyes met the familiar pair of Charles’ blue ones, she stopped mid-sentence.

For a brief moment, it seemed as if the rest of the table didn’t exist, as neither of them spoke, both too captivated by the other's presence. With a crooked smile, Charles broke the silence. “You were going to warn me about something?”

Y/N couldn't quite explain why, but the sight of his smile immediately lifted the corners of her mouth, while her stomach somersaulted with a flurry of emotions. She pushed aside the sensation and simply laughed, resting her elbows on the table and burying her face in her hands. “Just forget it,” she mumbled against her palms, loud enough for Charles to hear.

A gentle breeze wafted over her, carrying a familiar, clean scent of laundry detergent that Y/N had come to associate with Charles. Somehow, it immediately calmed the strange fluttering in her stomach, prompting her to lift her gaze again.

“Hi,” she finally greeted with a smile, reaching for the glass of wine on the table.

“Hey,” Charles nodded, settling back in his seat.

They lingered like this for a while, Y/N's gaze fixed on the side of his face while Charles casually surveyed the room, exchanging greetings with a few acquaintances. Squinting slightly, Y/N blurted out, “Are you stalking me?”

Charles burst into laughter, quickly composing himself and leaning towards her. “In my family's house?” he countered.

Y/N nodded in satisfaction as she took a sip from her drink. “Excellent point,” she conceded.

Gently settling the glass down, she redirected her attention to the untouched forkful of food and remarked, “Can I just say, you have to try this, it's so good.” She gestured towards her barely touched plate. “I don’t know what Pascale put in this, but this is the best ratatouille I’ve ever tasted.” Y/N grabbed her fork and extended it towards him, but noticing Charles freeze, she quickly swallowed her words, saying, “Oh, sorry, I know some people are a little iffy with sharing—”

Before she could retract the fork, Charles' warm hands suddenly enclosed around hers, halting her movement as he guided the fork towards his mouth, taking a bite, and nodding at her with a smile. “It’s been my favourite since I was a little kid.”

Y/N whispered softly, her voice barely above a murmur, yet close enough for them to hear each other perfectly. "A man of taste huh?" Her gaze drifted from his eyes down to where his hand still lingered around hers, now tracing soft circles across her skin.

Charles followed Y/N’s line of sight, quickly clearing his throat when he realised what he was doing. He withdrew his hand, causing both to avert their eyes, suddenly finding interest in everything but each other.

The last thing Charles wanted was to make Y/N uncomfortable, and as for her, she simply didn’t want to blow things out of proportion—see something where there was nothing. For all she knew, Charles was like that with all his friends.

A few moments passed, filled with surrounding chatter, before they both spoke up at the same time.

“Do you want to go—"

“So, do you have any other—"

Laughter erupted between them before Y/N smirked, “Because I’m a lady, you first.”

“How kind of you,” he chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Are you free next week? We could maybe grab lunch or something.” Before she could respond, he added, scratching his neck, “I would offer to cook, but unfortunately, cooking skills don’t get genetically passed down.”

Ignoring the beat Y/N was sure her heart had just skipped, she simply smiled and leaned forward, chin propped on her hand. “You mean a date?”

“Only if that’s what you want.”

Her rapid nods confirmed everything before her words even formed. However, just as Charles’ lips broke into a broad grin, Y/N’s expression suddenly fell as she remembered, “Wait, no, I can’t. I’m travelling to Spain tomorrow to visit my dad. And then after that, I’ll start my internship in New York City.”

Charles sank back into his chair, though his face didn’t betray the disappointment he felt. “I see,” he sighed.

“Rain check?” Y/N asked. She wanted a date with him, to see if they’d hit it off on that level. The only problem was the timing, but she knew her feelings didn’t fade quickly. If they had to wait, then so be it. She was ready to do so. Laughing, Y/N added, “Seriously, I still want that date.”

“Rain check it is,” Charles nodded. “Congrats on the internship though, that’s amazing. Maybe I can come visit, and we’ll—”

The sudden clanking of glass interrupted him, causing both to turn their attention to the woman standing at the end of the long table.

Without breaking eye contact with the woman, Y/N leaned in closer to Charles, her lips accidentally grazing his as his gaze fleetingly dropped to her lips before he refocused on the woman, who had now dropped her glass onto the table.

Y/N whispered into his ear, to which Charles simply nodded, suppressing the sudden surge of desire coursing through his veins.

One day in 2021

Y/N walked through the Paddock with a sense of detachment, like a deer caught in headlights. The US Grand Prix had come to an end, and Max Verstappen had emerged as the victor. It wasn’t exactly what she had hoped for, but she didn’t feel any strong emotions about it. What occupied her thoughts, however, was the meeting spot she had arranged with Carlos.

Pausing in her step, she pulled out her phone, deciding to cut straight to the chase and call him directly. The phone rang for what seemed like an eternity until the sound was abruptly cut off by a long beep, indicating his automated voicemail.

“Not even personalised,” she scoffed, hanging up, tossing her phone into her bag, and continuing, resigned to the idea of either wandering aimlessly forever or eventually finding Carlos.

However, she didn’t get far before colliding with someone. She stumbled backward a bit before regaining her balance, and as she looked up, her eyes widened in recognition.

Charles stood opposite her, his expression shifting from shock to a warm smile, though his eyebrows remained slightly furrowed. “Hi,” he breathed, the warmth of his breath reaching and spreading across Y/N’s face. “You’re… here.”

Y/N’s gaze swept over his tousled hair, a few strands sticking to his forehead adorned with tiny beads of sweat, some trailing down the sides of his slightly flushed face. “You’re sweaty. Very sweaty,” she blurted out, immediately regretting her awkward observation. But it had been a year since their last exchange, so it was understandable that things felt a bit awkward between them.

A few chuckles escaped Charles, immediately bringing a smile to Y/N’s face. “Thanks, I didn’t notice."

She exhaled a laugh, and then Charles added, “Thank you for coming, I really appreciate it.” Shielding his eyes from the harsh glare of the sun with his hand, he squinted at her. “Can I ask though, was this meant to be a surprise or something?”

“Ah, Charles, you’ve met my friend, Y/N,” Carlos interrupted from behind as he came to a stop beside her.

Y/N smiled awkwardly. “Uhm... Carlos actually invited me, so that's why I'm here."

“You two know each other?” Charles inquired, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.

“My dad lives in Spain, remember?” Y/N reminded him, shrugging. “Our families are pretty close.”

“Right…” Charles nodded, though he couldn’t shake off the slight hint of disbelief in his voice. After all, he knew Carlos was dating someone already, so he wasn’t sure why he felt that way. And as for Y/N, she was free to do as she pleased. After all, that date they had talked about last year never even happened. They had no history, no reason for him to feel jealous.

But he did anyway.

Wanting to diffuse the sudden tension settling between the three of them, Y/N exclaimed, “But it’s good to see you again. And you did really well. Congrats on P4, seriously.”

Charles smiled, and for the first time today, it was genuine. He wasn’t entirely satisfied with P4; he had wanted a podium finish and had come close to it. But for some reason, if she was happy, so was he.

“Thanks—” His smile faltered when an arm snaked around his torso, his girlfriend Amélie taking her place beside him and planting a quick kiss on his cheek. Without wasting a second, his gaze shifted to Y/N, just in time to catch the way her eyes widened before she swallowed, her expression now impassive.

Shock and confusion swirled through Y/N’s body. She hadn’t expected Charles to have a girlfriend, so when she felt her heart crack slightly, it made sense. But she wasn’t going to show it—at least, not purposely she wasn’t.

Charles furrowed his brows as he regarded the girl standing in front of him. A pang of guilt nagged at him, though he couldn’t quite pinpoint why: they were never anything more than friends. And judging by the way neither of them had kept up with one another, you could barely even call it that.

Maybe they were more like strangers with a couple of good memories and unfulfilled promises?

“You alright, mate?” asked Carlos, pulling Charles out of his reverie.

Clearing his throat, Charles replied, “Yeah, yeah... Uhm Amélie, this is Y/N, my… friend.” The word came out almost as a question, but he pressed on. “Y/N, meet Amélie, my girlfriend.”

Charles wasn’t sure what he expected, but Y/N’s cheerfulness was definitely not it. “Hey,” she smiled and waved.

Slowly, tensions began to dissipate as all four of them became engrossed in conversation—though in reality, it was more like three. Y/N found herself too preoccupied with the realisation that Charles had a girlfriend now. It was a simple fact, yet it carried a weight: it meant he hadn't spent the year turning down people left and right, like she had, in hopes of a maybe.

One day in 2022

"Y/N, thank God you’re here!" Amélie's voice echoed the moment Y/N stepped into the living room, causing her to freeze in her tracks. "Uh, hey?" she replied, her eyes scanning the partly decorated room before settling on Charles, who sent her a small wave.

She raised her brows and forced a smile, though it faltered quickly—she and Charles had grown apart. Truthfully, Y/N had contemplated not showing up today; faking an illness or something and making sure to stay at home for a few days—Monaco was too small to risk being accidentally spotted.

But she came.

She came because Charles called.

Two days ago, he had called her in the middle of the night, asking if she was planning to fake being sick to avoid seeing him. And he was right—exactly what Y/N had been contemplating. So, when her first phone call with Charles in two years challenged the very idea in her mind that they had grown apart, it confused her. After all, she was sure she was a blank page now, yet he still seemed to be able to read her.

Snapping out of her daze, Y/N watched as Amélie paced erratically, her brows furrowing with every step. "What's going on with her?" Y/N asked, turning to Charles for an explanation.

He chuckled, approaching her. "It's the cake," he explained. "Amélie ordered it, but now it needs to be picked up sooner than planned because they're closing earlier than usual for some reason. So, now we have a problem, obviously."

"Why don't you just go pick it up?" Y/N leaned into him, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes still fixed on Amélie, who was now engaged in a fervent phone call.

"Apparently, I'm too clumsy."

"You are."

Charles chuckled, but his laughter was cut short when Amélie suddenly gasped, her eyes darting between Y/N and him as she rushed towards them. “Okay, guys, everyone will be here soon. If I stay and finish all this off, you two can quickly go collect the cake. So, if one person drives and the other holds it really tightly, that should work, right?”

“Sounds good,” Y/N chimed in.

“I agree,” Charles added.

“Alright,” Amélie beckoned them out of the living room and towards the front door. “Go on.”

“I love you,” Amélie said, leaning in for a kiss. But as she moved closer, Charles instinctively turned his head, causing her lips to land on his cheek instead of his mouth. His gaze had shifted to Y/N, who stood in the front yard, seemingly fixated on the grass.

“Yeah... love you,” he muttered absentmindedly, his attention still captivated by the girl just a few feet away from him.

Normally, Charles had no issue displaying affection for his girlfriend in front of others, but Y/N made it difficult. Whenever she was around—whether at family gatherings, parties, or Grand Prix events—his eyes always seemed to gravitate towards her.

“Please, don’t take too long!” Amélie shouted as the door slammed shut.

Amidst the occasional chirping of birds, a palpable silence settled between them. Y/N stared into the distance, while Charles observed her from the corner of his eye, noticing subtle changes since their last encounter. Her hair, for instance, was slightly shorter—a minor detail, yet one he couldn't help but notice.

With a loud clap, Charles gestured towards his car, parked discreetly to the side. “That way.”

Following his lead, Y/N entered through the passenger seat. However, as the car sprang to life and its dashboard lights flickered on, Charles let out a frustrated groan.

“What's wrong?” Y/N inquired.

Charles shook his head for a moment, muttering, “I told him to fill up the gas…”

“Oh,” Y/N exhaled, resting her head against the soft leather headrest. “So, what now?”

Charles' eyes lit up with excitement as he sat up eagerly, turning to face her. "We've got some old bikes in the shed, so if you want to—"

"You want us to ride rusty old bikes, while carrying a cake?" Y/N interjected, her serious expression quickly giving way to laughter.

"...Yeah?"

Y/N narrowed her gaze, appraising Charles for a moment before rolling her eyes and pushing the door open. "This is so going to backfire. I can't believe I'm doing this."

Charles couldn't help but smile as he watched Y/N exit the car. He had a feeling she wouldn't turn this idea down, and he was glad he was right. It meant that despite the years, things hadn't changed too much between them. She was still the same Y/N he knew, and he hoped he was still the Charles she was willing to have a date with.

"Don't tell me I'm going to have to do this by myself now. You coming or what?" Her yell pierced through the car, prompting him to jump out and hurry towards the shed.

By the time he finally reached the shed, Y/N had already claimed a bike—and surprisingly, it was his. Charles used to guard that bike fiercely when he was younger, not allowing anyone, not even for a few minutes. But now, as he watched her mount it, he felt no trace of that possessiveness, not even a hint.

Perhaps it was because he had outgrown that childish behaviour, or maybe it was something else entirely. Either way, he couldn't deny the genuine happiness that bubbled up within him at the sight.

Now, if it were Amélie riding his bike at that moment, he wasn't quite sure he would feel the same way.

“Race you to the bakery?” Y/N grinned mischievously.

A wide smile immediately spread across Charles' face. “Sure, once I get my hands on a bike.”

“No,” she retorted, already starting to pedal. “You snooze, you lose.”

Racing to grab Lorenzo’s bike, Charles jumped on it, yelling, “Cheater!”

When he finally caught up to her, Y/N was no longer riding her bike but pulling it alongside her, causing him to slow down beside her. “What’s wrong? Why aren’t you riding?” One corner of his mouth curled upward as he fixed her with a knowing look, coming to a full stop. “Oh, did you finally realise that cheating isn’t the way to go?”

“Says you,” Y/N retorted, though her chuckles rang loud and clear as Charles fell into step with her.

“Anyway,” she pointed down at her bike, “the chain’s come loose. So yeah, I was right, this was a bad idea, and Amélie is going to kill us, and poor Pascale won’t have a birthday cake.”

“Wow, don’t be too optimistic now,” Charles teased, earning an elbow to his side. “We’re not too far from the bakery now, so I say let’s not worry until we get to the ‘how do we get back home in time’ part. What do you say?”

Y/N turned to Charles, her eyes lingering on his features longer than necessary. “Okay,” she finally nodded, “sounds like a plan.”

But her words seemed to fall on deaf ears. In the time she spent gazing at Charles, he had been doing the same, unwilling to move on from that moment quite as quickly as she had.

Stopping in his steps, Y/N continued a few more feet before finally noticing his hesitation and halting her movements, turning back. “Do you want Amélie to murder us?” she joked, but her humour faded when she saw Charles’ serious expression remain unchanged.

“Okay, what’s the matter—”

Charles cut her off with a sigh. “Why don’t we talk anymore, Y/N?”

“What do you mean? We’re talking right now.”

“Come on, seriously,” Charles walked up beside her.

Y/N just shrugged, her mouth suddenly as dry as the Sahara desert. “I don’t know…”

“Well, I don't either, so can we please just start over then?” Charles proposed, his tone tired of the tension and the walking on eggshells. It was too much when all he wanted was to be close to her, to laugh like they used to before everything went haywire.

Y/N looked off to the side, musing over his words for a moment, before meeting his gaze again with a small smile. “Okay, fine, I guess.”

“Wow, you seem really excited,” Charles remarked, flashing a wide grin.

“I really do, don't I? Now, if you don’t mind,” Y/N started walking again, “I really do not feel like being killed today, so let’s fucking go.”

“Alright, alright, I’m coming.”

2:31 ──────ㅇ────── 4:45

[pierregazly]

a thousand words ꨄ charles leclerc

charles leclerc x reader

warnings: fluff, charles love language is touch (99% of it is kissing) [1.1k words]

request: 🫶🏻 could i request prompt 25 with charles? tysm 🥰🥰 [forehead kisses. cheek kisses, knuckle kisses]

note: this is literally just 3 times charles used kisses to show his feelings 🤭 this is part of my 1.5k celebration! feel free to request away!!

In one kiss, you’ll know all I haven’t said. - Pablo Neruda 

When you first knew he loved you.

The joy on his face was so raw, so palpable. The absolute adoration that crossed his beautiful features prompted the searing of your heart, the extra beat in your chest. He had looked at you in so many ways, but never like this. Never like a man so hopelessly in love, he couldn’t even express it in words.

Charles Leclerc was in love.

Every time he walked past you, he always went out of his way to press a kiss to the top of your head, to the swell of your cheeks, or the bare skin of your shoulder exposed by an old and tattered shirt of his you wore at his apartment. It was the one thing he knew he was the best at, being able to convey his love for you by the actions of a simple kiss.

He first knew he loved you on a yacht, the sunny skies of Monaco shining down on the two of you, his body half on yours while he shielded you from the sun; but scarred you with the warmth and sweat emitting from his body.

It was the way you smiled at him when he pressed a kiss to the tip of your heated nose, swatting at him when he remarked how burnt you were going to be. 

Your only response?

“Not as burnt as you, Charlie. I’m going to be rubbing aloe vera on you for days, my little lobster,” you practically cooed the words out at him, brushing your own lips over his red-tinted cheeks.

He really couldn’t help himself. He pressed his lips softly to yours, moulding the two like they were always meant to be. He didn’t know how to convey how much it meant to him that you were already pre-planning how to sooth his self-induced suffering, didn’t know how to convey how much he loved you for it, really. A kiss meant a thousand words, and he’d prove that. Time and time again.

2. When he says good morning.

Soft kisses littered your face, small brushes of lips against your nose, your closed eye-lids, your cheeks, your forehead, your lips, anywhere they could linger across; they were felt. 

You could smell the fresh mint wafting from his mouth as he littered your face in tiny pecks, whispering words in French with every new kiss causing your heart to soar, to beat a second quicker; eager to open your eyes and get on with your day, when you had someone so wonderful to spend it with.

Greeted with the soft smile of an early-morning riser, Charles held his lips against your cheek for a second longer than the rest of his bombardment of kisses, three consecutive times. Three kisses on the cheek for good morning. Three kisses on the forehead for goodnight. Three kisses to the knuckles simply when he wanted to see your reaction, when he wanted to see the adoration in your eyes. He couldn’t put a number on the amount of times he wanted to press his lips to yours though, every second of every day sounded adequate to him. 

Finishing off with a peck to your lips, he finally pulled back from your face before pulling a steaming mug from the side table that he must’ve put down before beginning his morning escapades.

“A perfect cup, to start the morning. I have scheduled breakfast for an hour from now at our favourite place, time to get up, ma jolie fleur,” he said.

Holding in the groan at the knowledge you had to leave the warm and cozy safe haven beneath you, your only response was a hand jutting out towards him, grabbing towards the warm mug in his hands. He laughed, handing you the cup as you sat up, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head as he pushed himself off the bed.

“Don’t make me come back in here, mon amour.”

“What are you going to do Charlie? Kiss me some more?”

3. When he says his vows.

Charles Leclerc was a man of many words when the moment called for it.

This moment, right now, should’ve been the moment that called for it the most. Called for a description so heavenly, so full of soliloquies and poetry that it made the crowd around him weep. But he was too busy staring at you in all your beauty, fresh tears having gathered in his eyes just moments before. 

There you stood, his hand in yours, while the whole world around stopped. The Pastor continued his words, affirming to the whole Church how the two people before him were here to join in Holy Matrimony; here to begin their lives as a married couple, to have and to hold, for all eternity.

But he knew his part was coming up soon, where he would be asked if he had any vows to say, if he had been able to convey into a few short paragraphs, how much you meant to him. He had written it out, erased it, written it again, threw the paper out, and repeat, more times than he would care to admit.

Nothing seemed perfect enough to describe the way in which he loved you. Until the memories flooded in, the way he showed how much he loved you would be exactly how he would describe it in his vows. And he would end it off the same way he always did.

He felt his nerves heighten as the crowd was informed that the two of you had written your own vows, forgoing the pre-written ones for your own promises and affirmations to one another.

Charles was to go first.

“Everyday I’m with you, I greet you with three kisses. Every night we spend together, I send you off with three more. I’ve never been one to express myself in words, always actions. In my career, my actions win me races, they win me trophies, and championships. In my family, my actions help my family succeed, they bring pride to our name. With you, my actions demonstrate everything I wish I could put into words. With every kiss, from today, until forever, I promise they will mean a thousand words, a thousand things I wish I could properly say. I swear to everything above, I will love you until my lips cannot press against yours, anymore.”

And promise he did, with a brush of his lips across your knuckles.

this is genuinely my favourite thing i've ever written. i can't explain why, but i'm so very in love with it. i hope you all are too!! 🫶🏻

[happyhauntt]

a grey day — spencer reid.

writing masterlist | askbox

─── summary: spencer meets the newest member of the department.

─── pairing: spencer reid x autistic!medical examiner!reader.

─── warnings: fluff, reader is autistic & a mom, spencer's iq gets slashed to sixty when he talks to pretty girls and it's my favourite thing. no use of y/n. reader is performing an autopsy so mentions of blood but nothing too graphic.

─── word count: 1.3k.

     YOU KNOW IT'S A GREY DAY before you even manage to open your eyes.

     And really, you’re expecting it  ━  this whole week has been filled with pale pink and lime green with solid, unwavering turquoise blobs in the middle, because you started your new job on Monday and the apprehension, the excited, the nausea, they've all been stirring up inside you for days now.

     Waking up to a grey day doesn't hit you as hard as it usually would.

     Still, you feel sluggish when you drag yourself out of bed ten full minutes after your alarm has gone off. The shower is a no-go this morning  ━  if you’re honest with yourself, the shower is a no-go most mornings, when your skin feels soft and sensitive and your brain can't cope with the idea of a barrage of hot water raining down on you  ━  so you slap on some deodorant and spray some dry shampoo in your hair, tugging it up into a rough ponytail.

     You take your time with your makeup, though; strawberry lipgloss and lots of concealer, a heaping of eyeliner and your favourite gold hoop earrings are exactly what you need to feel better. When you step out into the hallway wearing your comfiest black jeans and a jumper that's probably smart enough to pass the dress code, hearing your daughter giggling in the kitchen, the grey day lightens a little.

     It gets even better when your sister-in-law presses a travel mug of iced coffee into your hands.

     "Jackie, I fucking adore you," you say around a mouthful of delicious, soul-quenching caffeinated goodness. You’d half-expected Jackie to have something planned. Four years of living together means that Jackie tends to know about your off days before you do.

     The other woman suppresses a smile, coupled with a sharp look. "There's a three-year-old right there!"

     You snort, waving your hand nonchalantly. As if you don't have this conversation every single day. "Nellie knows not to repeat what I say." You turn to your daughter, your heart swelling three sizes as the little girl at the kitchen table looks up from her drawing. "Nell, baby, what am I always telling you?"

     "Don't go home with strangers."

     "Well, yeah, but I meant the other thing."

     The little girl brightens, revealing a missing front tooth. "If Aunt Jackie won't say it, then I shouldn't say it."

      You giggle, scurrying over to drop a kiss on your daughter's forehead. "Exactly right, my little love."

     When you turn back toward the kitchen counter, your sister-in-law's face is painted with an affronted look, her mouth half-open. "I can say bad words!"

      You wrinkle your nose. "I'll believe that when I see it."

     By the time you leave the house, sliding into your car with a second cup of iced coffee in hand, the day has lightened to a pale blue. You hope it will stay that way.

     "YOU LOOK SO TIRED, DUDE."

     Well, alright, he'll admit it wasn't the first thing he was expecting to hear when he entered the coroner's office. It's been a while since he ventured down to the morgue, sure, but Dr. Peterson has never talked to him like that before, and he's fairly certain not that much has changed in the three-or-so weeks it's been.

     And Spencer's observant. He prides himself on being able to notice things, tiny details other people seem to miss, things that are so obvious to him that he can't comprehend how normal people can't see them.

     So if anyone asks, he'll never admit that it took a full twelve seconds before he realised that the girl in the white lab coat, elbow-deep in an open chest cavity, is definitely not Dr. Peterson.

     "Uh..."

     It's the most intelligent response he can muster in the moment.

     "It's okay," you add, hardly bothering to look up from the corpse. "I'm tired too. And you're not the worst-looking guy in the room." You jerk your head at the dead guy on the table. "Although I'd say that's a pretty low bar, all things considered."

     "Where's Dr. Peterson?"

     "He retired. Or got a promotion, I think? Not totally sure." You shrug, raising an eyebrow at him. "I thought I'd met most of the department already, but I don't recognise you.” You tell him your name, squinting at him through your plastic glasses.”I’m the new... coroner, medical examiner, pathologist, dancing monkey? They didn't totally specify the position when they offered it, which I think says more about me than anything else."

     Spencer blinks. He's not totally sure he's ever met anyone who could talk nearly as fast as him before. "Dr. Spencer Reid, Behavioral Analysis Unit. Nice to meet you."

     "Oh, cool!" The liver in your hands gives a wet squelch as you drop it into a metal dish. "I'm under the BAU! I answer to your Section Chief, um, Agent Strauss? She's a little harsh, huh? I'd, uh, shake your hand, but..." You hold both hands up, mimicking a surrender, showing off the blue medical gloves slick with blood.

     An inkling of a smile creeps onto Spencer's face. "I don't shake hands."

     "That's fair," you say with a shrug. "Can I help you, Dr. Reid, or did you get lost looking for the cafeteria?"

     “No, actually.” He remembers the files he was supposed to show you and reaches into his satchel. The intensity of your gaze is like lasers on his skin and he can’t help but fumble, almost sending a stack of documents scattering across the floor.

     When he looks back up at you, cheeks flushed rosy, your stare hasn’t wavered even slightly. Amusement lingers in your eyes.

     He clears his throat and holds out the files as if they are a peace offering. He doesn’t quite understand whether a battle has been fought, but he definitely feels like he lost one. “Hotch— uh, Agent Hotchner sent the Howard County ME’s report on the Richardson case. He wanted you to look it over and sign off before they file it for the District Attorney.”

     You nod at him. The corner of your mouth quirks a little at his stuttering. You’re not sure you’ve ever been so immediately endeared to somebody before, but there he is, blinking at you like a deer caught in headlights. It’s so adorable.

     “Sure, I can do that,” you say. “Just pop it on the desk over there and I’ll get on with it when I’m done here. Can’t get any bodily fluids on the paperwork, y’know? That’d be a nightmare.”

     The volume of your laugh startles him, and he jerks slightly. The sound of it is loud and warm and it should really freak him out, considering you’re wrist-deep in a cadaver and cackling like a maniac, but it doesn’t. It’s actually kind of sweet.

     “If that’s all, Dr, Reid, I’d like to finish rooting through this guy’s insides so I can sew him back up.” Your words are an obvious dismissal, but he doesn’t feel offended, not with the kind smile still adorning your features.

     He nods and backs away. His feet feel a little numb. “Sure thing. I’ll, uh, catch you later. Have fun!”

     “I’m sure I will.”

     You sound like you’re about to laugh again. Have fun, really? He knows he’s fairly inept when it comes to women, but have fun? He scurries out of the morgue and back into the land of the living, and as Spencer boards the elevator all he can think is that he’s so glad Derek wasn’t there to witness that.

     He’s certain he’d never live it down.

     Meanwhile you resume your autopsy with an odd, fuzzy feeling in your chest. You start to hum beneath your breath, a song that must have played on the radio while you were driving to work.

     Your grey day feels a little pink at the edges.