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spencereidluver · 2 months ago

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S is for Sitter

march 30, 2009

summary: you and spencer babysit newborn henry, spencer gets a BAD case of baby fever

word count: 944

warnings: mentions of pregnancy

It was just after 6:00 PM when you and Spencer arrived at JJ and Will’s front porch. Spencer held a neatly folded receiving blanket under one arm and a book titled “The Science of Infant Sleep” under the other. You, on the other hand, carried the essentials: your overnight tote bag filled with snacks and an extra shirt for each of you (just in case).

JJ opened the door before either of you could knock.

“Thank God you’re here,” she breathed, pulling you into a hug. “Henry’s been fed, he’s clean, and he just went down for a nap. Will and I will only be gone a few hours.”

Spencer nodded dutifully. “We’ve reviewed the emergency contact numbers. Pediatrician’s posted on the fridge. Carbon monoxide detector functional. You have backup power in case—”

JJ cut him off with a laugh. “Reid. We’re only going out for dinner. Not to Mars.”

Will appeared behind her, adjusting his watch and looking apologetic. “He’s really easy. Just don’t look him in the eye when he wakes up or he’ll think it’s party time.”

You gave them both a reassuring wave as they headed out the door, and before long, it was just the two of you… and Henry.

The house was quiet, except for the gentle whirr of the white noise machine from the nursery. Spencer peeked around the corner like he was approaching a wild animal. You followed, watching as he tiptoed up to the crib and peered inside.

“Wow,” he whispered. “He’s so… small.”

You leaned your head against Spencer’s shoulder. “You’ve seen Henry before, you know.”

“I know. But I haven’t been alone with him. This feels… sacred. And dangerous. But mostly sacred.”

____

The first half hour went smoothly. You sat on the couch with a documentary playing quietly while Spencer read aloud from the baby sleep book “for reference.” Every so often, he glanced toward the nursery like he needed to make sure Henry hadn’t vaporized.

Then came the cry.

A single, high-pitched wail that turned Spencer’s spine to stone. He dropped the book.

“I—what do we—should we—he’s crying.” Spencer was halfway to the nursery before you could answer.

You followed him inside and found Henry red-faced and flailing in his swaddle. Spencer hovered awkwardly, eyes wide.

“He’s crying because he woke up,” you said softly, reaching into the crib. “Sometimes that’s all. Babies don’t really know how to wake up without announcing it to the world.”

You scooped Henry into your arms and began to gently sway. Spencer looked completely frozen.

“Want to hold him?” you offered.

Spencer shook his head furiously. “No. I mean yes. I mean—what if I drop him?”

“You’re not going to drop him,” you laughed, adjusting Henry against your chest. “You’re literally the most careful person I know.”

Spencer looked unconvinced.

So you stepped closer, and, with practiced ease, gently placed Henry in Spencer’s arms.

His entire demeanor shifted.

“Oh,” Spencer breathed.

Henry blinked up at him sleepily, his tiny fists clinging to Spencer’s shirt. Spencer stared like he’d just been handed the entire universe.

“He’s… he’s perfect.”

____

Henry didn’t go back to sleep. But he didn’t cry either. Not after Spencer started walking him gently through the living room, softly reciting passages from some obscure early 1900s poetry book he'd found on the shelf. Every once in a while, Spencer looked at you with wide, gleaming eyes like he was discovering something new about life.

“He smiled at me.”

“He farted.”

“No, I know the difference between a reflex and genuine expression, and I’m telling you, Y/N, that was a smile.”

_____

At 8:00 PM, Henry spit up on Spencer’s sweater.

At 8:02 PM, Spencer insisted it was “a badge of honor” and refused to change.

At 8:10 PM, you changed the diaper. Because Spencer turned green at the sight.

By 8:30 PM, the baby had fallen asleep on Spencer’s chest, and Spencer hadn’t moved in 45 minutes.

“Y/N,” he whispered, “you have to take a picture of this. I need evidence that this happened. I need to remember this forever.”

You did.

And you smiled as you watched him gently rock the baby, his long fingers tracing small circles across Henry’s back.

“You’ve got it bad,” you whispered.

Spencer didn’t even deny it.

“I didn’t know I could feel this kind of love,” he said softly. “I didn’t even know.”

_____

JJ and Will returned around 10:30 PM. JJ found you curled up on the couch, half asleep, while Spencer sat in the armchair—Henry passed out on his chest again, a look of pure contentment on Spencer’s face.

“He’s a natural,” Will whispered.

JJ smiled. “He really is.”

Spencer looked up and whispered, “He just fell asleep again. I didn’t want to move him.”

JJ crouched down next to the chair and gently took Henry. The baby didn’t even stir.

“You guys are amazing,” she said, eyes full of gratitude. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” you whispered, standing and stretching.

Spencer looked like someone had taken away his favorite toy.

On the way back to your apartment, he was unusually quiet. You let the silence linger until he finally spoke.

“I think I want one,” he said.

You blinked. “A nap?”

“A baby,” he clarified, dead serious. “Not now. But someday. With… you, if you’d want that.”

You reached across the console and took his hand.

“Yeah,” you said. “I think I’d want that too.”

Spencer squeezed your hand.

“…Do you think Henry would notice if we babysat again next weekend?”

You laughed. “I think you just got yourself officially added to the emergency contact list.”a/n: i have baby fever right now and writing this part did not help one bit.

_____

next chapter: T is for Two Time

other parts: Spencer Reid A-Z Masterlist

view the masterlist in a calendar version!

_____ BUY ME A COFFEE _____

a/n: please don't let the next chapter title steer you away. I promise there is NO cheating in either party. It's actually one of my favorite chapters I've written and I can't wait to release it :)

_____

Have Recommendations? visit my recommendations page to submit your suggestion, no matter how big or small!

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taglist:

@justlivinginadaydream @dij-ology @navs-bhat @sammy-4103 @ada--44 @moongirl27

@hopelessheaven @shycreationdreamland @cultish-corner @violetvsworld @ivyflowers13 @taygrls

@hookergutss @random-3455 @nmw-am @bookworm124 @hizzielover @jem08

@princessbowbaby @theofficialfunk @skylions-den @smalltownbeautyqueen @spencereidapologist @lunajay33

@softlysunrays @maybe-not-this @wannabewolf @sylv3in @silver138 @sarcasm-and-stiles

@pillsbury-doughgirl @monfleurr @novaeatsworld @pleasantwitchgarden @vivixir @lolita-hc

@pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @guacam011y @super-nerd22 @khxna

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hoe4hotchner · 28 days ago

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Hi! I just read you blurb about Hotch with gen z reader and I absolutely love it, it's hilarious! ♡

Can I please request Hotch struggling with technology/apps and gen z reader helping him?

Thank you so much ♡♡

Terms and conditions | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Gen-Z!reader | WC: 1.7k | CW: Fluff. I feel like I might have made hotch into a whump in the second part of the fic (he's a little pathetic)

A/N: Tyyyyyy 💕💕

You could sense it the second you walked into the bullpen, something was wrong.

Not murder-in-Mississippi wrong, but Hotch-is-glowering-at-his-phone wrong. Which, all things considered, was still code red. You paused by your desk, coffee in hand, watching your unit chief stab at his screen through the open blinds of his office, like it owed him money.

Hotch’s jaw was tight, his brows drawn into a furrow that could’ve doubled as a trench. You’d seen him face down unsubs with less venom.

Rossi sauntered past with a file tucked under his arm. “He’s been at it for ten minutes,” he murmured, his lips twitching with a barely concealed smirk. “Try not to laugh too loud.”

You snorted softly, already knowing that it was a losing battle. Hotch’s technological struggles were the tales of BAU legends – whispered about in the break room like campfire stories.

The man could profile a psychopath in his sleep but ask him to navigate an app store, and he looked like he was defusing a bomb with a paperclip.

Adjusting your grip on your coffee, you strolled up to his office with the casual confidence of someone who’d grown up with a smartphone practically grafted to their hand.

“Morning, sir,” you said, popping your head through his open door. “Everything okay?”

Hotch didn’t look up. His voice was a low growl, clipped and precise. “No. It’s not.”

That stopped you. Aaron Hotchner didn’t admit weakness, not to unsubs, not to bureaucrats, and certainly not to his team. For him to let that frustration slip through the cracks of his carefully constructed facade was as rare as a sunny day in Quantico without a murder call.

You tilted your head as you moved closer to his desk, catching a glimpse of his screen, and had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from grinning.

“Are you… trying to download an app?” you asked, keeping your tone as neutral as possible.

He finally looked at you, and for one glorious, fleeting moment, Aaron Hotchner – elite profiler, veteran federal agent, and the BAU’s resident stoic leader – looked utterly, hopelessly lost.

His eyes held a mix of exasperation and something that might’ve been embarrassment, though he’d never admit it.

“I’m attempting to install the airline app,” he said, each word measured as if explaining a tactical maneuver. “We have a connecting flight through Dallas next week since the jet is still out of commission, and the travel department suggested I… ‘check in on mobile.’” The air quotes were practically audible, laced with disdain for the very concept.

You pressed your lips together, fighting the urge to laugh. “Okay. What’s the issue?”

He turned the phone toward you, revealing the problem in stark white and gray: Your Apple ID password is required to proceed.

“Oh no,” you said, unable to stop the grin now. “You don’t know your Apple password.”

Hotch’s eyes narrowed into the patented Hotchner Glare, the one that could make a hardened criminal confess in under ten seconds. “I didn’t realize it required a password just to check into a flight,” he said.

You nodded like you were diagnosing a patient. “Well, technically, it’s for downloading the app. It’s a security thing, two-factor authentication, biometrics, the whole deal.”

He blinked at you, slow and deliberate, like you’d just recited quantum physics in Klingon. “Two-factor… what?”

You couldn’t help it, you beamed. “Don’t worry, sir. I got you.”

Dragging a chair over to his desk, you plopped down with the enthusiasm of a tech support guru about to perform a miracle. You rolled up your sleeves dramatically.

“Alrighty, let’s start from the top. Do you know your email?”

“Yes,” he said, with a hint of offense, like you’d asked if he knew his own name.

“Great. Baby steps. Do you know the password for it?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Why would I need that?”

You froze, coffee halfway to your lips. “Oh boy.”

What followed was a twenty-minute odyssey through the labyrinth of modern technology. You guided Hotch through resetting his Apple ID, navigating the recovery process, and answering security questions that seemed designed to torment him (“What was the name of your first pet?” “I don’t remember.” “Okay, what’s the name of your favorite book?” “Why does this matter?”). By the time you’d successfully reset his account, installed the airline app, and added three others he grudgingly admitted might be useful (calendar, notes, and a weather app, because “it’s practical”), you felt like you’d earned a medal.

“Now for the fun part,” you said, leaning closer to show him Face ID. “You just look at the phone, and it unlocks. No typing required.”

He squinted at the screen as it scanned his face, then unlocked with a soft click. “You mean I don’t have to type anything anymore?” he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief like you’d just revealed the secret to eternal youth.

“Welcome to 2025, sir,” you said, leaning back with a grin.

Hotch stared at the phone for a long moment, then looked at you. His voice softened, just enough to catch you off guard. “That’s… actually impressive.”

You raised an eyebrow, mock-offended. “Careful, Hotch. That almost sounded like praise.”

The barest flicker of a smirk crossed his lips, gone as quickly as it appeared. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

You tapped his screen one last time, double-checking the airline app. “Okay, you’re good to go. App’s installed, accounts are logged in, and flight alerts are on. You’re officially a digital native.”

He leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose, a rare moment of visible relief.

“Thank you,” he said. “I don’t know how you all keep up with this.”

You shrugged, deadpanning, “Years of trauma, TikTok, and depression memes. It builds character.”

He gave you a look that was equal parts amusement and fond exasperation, the kind of look that made your stomach do a little flip. “I worry about your generation,” he said, but there was no real bite to it.

You smirked. “That’s fair. We worry about you too.”

Two weeks later, the BAU was airborne again, returning from a case in Arizona. The jet was quiet, save for the hum of the engines and the occasional murmur of conversation between Reid and Prentiss across the aisle. You were seated next to Hotch, who was, predictably, staring at his phone like it was a live grenade.

“Okay,” he muttered, almost to himself. “So if I press this…”

You leaned over, peering at his screen. “You trying to check the weather?”

He nodded, his expression a mix of determination and mild panic. “The app says there’s a storm on the way, but it won’t load the updates.”

With an easy grin, you reached for his phone. “I got it.”

He handed it over without protest, and that small gesture hit you harder than it should’ve. Hotch didn’t trust easily, not with cases, not with people, and definitely not with technology. But here he was, letting you take the reins, watching you in a way that made your heart skip.

You showed him how to refresh the app, toggle the alerts, and even sign up for text notifications so he’d get updates without wrestling the app into submission. “That should cover you,” you said, handing the phone back.

He studied the screen for a moment, then looked at you, his gaze lingering longer than usual. “You’re very good at this,” he said, his voice low.

Your brows lifted. “Tech stuff?”

“Yes,” he said, but there was something else in his tone, something heavier. “But… also, you’re patient with me. Most people aren’t.”

You softened, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. “It’s because you’re trying,” you said, matching his tone. “That’s all that matters. I mean, yeah, you kind of suck at it–”

He shot you a look, one eyebrow raised in warning.

“–but you’re learning,” you finished, grinning. “You don’t give up. That’s admirable.”

He didn’t respond right away, just watched you with that unreadable expression he wore so well. Then, quietly, “You remind me of Jack’s babysitter.”

Your jaw dropped. “Wow. Romance me, why don’t you.”

His eyes widened slightly, a rare crack in his composure. “That wasn’t-”

You laughed, waving him off. “Relax, Hotch. I know what you meant.” You nudged him with your elbow, lightening the mood. “Next lesson: memes. You’re way behind.”

He groaned, but it was more theatrical than genuine. “Do I have to?”

You grinned, undeterred. “Terms and conditions, sir. You want my help, you’re gonna have to suffer through at least three ‘Vine’ references a week and the dog of wisdom.”

He sighed, long and suffering. “I have no idea what that means.”

“And that’s how I know we’ll make a great team.”

Later that night, as the team disembarked the plane and shuffled toward the parking lot, Hotch fell into step beside you. Not quite touching, but close enough that you could feel the warmth of his presence in the chilly air outside the private terminal the jet had landed at.

The rest of the team was ahead, somehow still bickering about who’d lost the rental car keys back in Arizona (it was definitely Morgan).

“I looked up what Skibidi Toilet was,” Hotch said, his voice low, like he was admitting to a crime.

You gasped, delighted. “No. You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“And?”

He shook his head, his expression a mix of horror and resignation. “…I regret everything.”

You cackled, loud enough to earn a glance from Rossi up ahead.

“Welcome to my world, old man.”

But then he turned to you, and his voice softened. “Thank you,” he said, “for not making me feel stupid.”

Your heart tugged, caught off guard by the vulnerability in his words. “You’re not stupid, Hotch,” you said quietly. “You’re just… analog in a digital world.”

That earned you a smile, a real smile. “I suppose I could stand to be a little more digital,” he said, his voice barely above a murmur. “If it means I get to keep up with you.”

You stopped walking for a fraction of a second, your breath catching. Then you grinned, nudging him again. “Careful, sir. That almost sounded like flirting.”

He didn’t respond, but the look in his eyes said more than words ever could.

And as you walked side by side, you couldn’t help but think that maybe the gap between analog and digital wasn’t so wide after all. Not when it came to him.

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cass-1 · 22 days ago

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౨ৎ —his little secret — ౨ৎ

You and Ghost had close relations, which he insisted on keeping private, no matter how much you asked to get serious.

He wouldn't let you flirt with other men, maybe he thought he owned you. He'd love you, open up to you, comfort you, let you comfort him, but once you weren't alone, he'd act like you were nothing. It was odd.

You were cuddling on his bed, his hand on your waist. but something bugged you. The way he wouldn't even consider a relationship with you.

You sighed softly, looking up at the man next to you. He glanced at you as soon as you let out the sigh, curious about what was on your mind.

Simon knew what was coming now, having expected you to bring it up again. He was quiet, keeping his hand on your side, waiting for you to speak.

“Simon, why do you not want a relationship with me.” You said looking up at him with those big doe eyes. He looked down at you, then away.

“What av I told yu about askin’ silly questions darlin.” He responded with an annoyed tone.

“Let me know— you always keep secrets from me.” You said as you sat up, your arm still against his chest. Looking straight at him.

“No, darlin’ the ansas no.” He groaned in annoyance, “ please, ghost! please..” you begged, not even giving him a chance to react.

“I don’t want a relationship with yu.” He hesitated before saying bluntly, throwing you off track. Your face looking at him with a confused look. This man has had you in every position, seen your weak spots— even at your most vulnerable times, this can’t be right.

“Is this a joke? It’s not funny, Simon—“

“No, is not. The truth is, i’m not interested in yu.” He shot back before giving you anytime to react

Saying such evil words broke her heart, she felt the waterworks flooding her eyes. You’d stare at him at your eyes went glossy with tears, he knew you were a sensitive person. He knew how overprotective of that v card you were, you didn’t wanna waste your one chance with a ‘man’ as a teenager.

You could hear him sigh when you put your hands over your face to try hide the tears, wiping them away urgently. Ghost tried taking a hand off of your face, trying to be all sympathetic. You pulled away, getting up off of the bed.

Regret filled your mind, wondering the worst of the worst scenarios you possibly could think of, even thought this wasn’t the worst thing however it meant the most to you. Just as you thought, he stayed sat on the bed, not budging a finger. Prick. You gathered your belongings, your clothes scattered on the floor and began to hurriedly put them on.

He flooded your phone after you left his house hurriedly put together, sending apology paragraphs, is this him making effort?

Bit different from the smut I’d post but feeling lowk emotional right now 💔

sorry I didn’t make one of these in like 3 weeks now 💔 I’ve been so busy but I’m back now.

Let me know if you want a part 2!

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secretlyazombi3 · 2 months ago

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missing him.. ₊˚⊹♡

leon's home from a mission earlier than anticipated, but it's a welcome surprise. it's late at night, almost three in the morning as he gently opens the apartment door and shuts it behind him slowly, not wanting to make too much noise.

he kicks his shoes off in the dark apartment and sluggishly steps toward your guys' shared bedroom. he's groggy, exhausted from hours of physical labor, all he wants is your cuddles.

you're still sound asleep as he sets down his duffle bag and throws off his dirty clothes.

leon has a half-smile on his lips seeing you cuddling his pillow. it smelt like him; it helped you when you were missing your lover.

he throws on a clean shirt, he'd shower in the morning, he needed rest immediately, or he'd collapse right then and there.

as he approaches his side of the bed, he hears something quiet. it's hard to make out anything in the dark, but he sees your phone next to your head.

he grabs it to move it out the way, and when he does, he realizes what the noise was - you were listening to a voice message leon had sent you while away on loop.

you couldn't help that hearing leon's voice soothed you while he was away. it was the only way you could get sleep instead of spending more sleepless nights worrying about him.

he scoffs a bit before turning off your phone and setting it aside, gently prying his pillow from your grasp. your eyes flutter open sleepily.

you're too exhausted to tell if leon's really there or if it's just a hallucination in your drowsy state. leon gently crawls into bed beside you and wraps his body around yours, pulling your head to rest against his chest like he's just a big body pillow.

"hey.. 'm home, sweetheart." leon whispered as he stroked your back. "i love you."

#resident evil #leon kennedy x reader #fanfiction #leon kennedy #leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy x you #{¬ºཀ°}¬ z writes ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ #fluff #drabble #resident evil x reader

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mewtwoandme · 3 months ago

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Featuring Take Me Back to Eden by, Sleep Token

#so many of you thought he was gonna get an ass whoopin' XD #sike! >;)#get hit with the romantic fluff nerds!!#pokemon #mewtwo #shadow mewtwo #mega mewtwo z #animatic

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shy-writer-999 · 9 months ago

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Summary: Sickeningly sweet, Sanji can’t do anything but make love to you. A short and very lovey-dovey 900 words.

CW: Afab reader, G/N language, basically pure smut but its very fluffy and sweet, P in V.

MINORS DNI. NSFW CONTENT.

Sanji loves to moan your name into your mouth. As he rocks his hips up into you, one hand braces your waist. You’re in one of his favorite positions, sitting on his cock, legs wrapped around him, with your chests pressed tightly together. Your arms are thrown around his neck. Sanji’s free hand cups your cheek, and he’s almost smothering you with kisses so adoring that you can taste the love they’re made of.

He can never get enough of you.

“Fuck, my love,” he murmurs between and during his kisses, with no regard for where his lips are or how understandable he is. “You’re being so sweet for me.”

When you hum into his mouth in response, his hips move back and forth, keeping his cock inside of you. His shaft and tip grind on deep parts of you, rubbing and twitching with pleasure as you throb around him.

Sanji’s hair shifts and tickles your face as he rolls his hips. He’s got a heart-melting smile plastered onto his lips when they’re not locked on yours. Clean-smelling cologne is dusted in faint traces on his skin. He wears this fragrance specifically, not too much and not too little, because he knows it’s your favorite.

“You feel amazing, sweetheart.” Sanji purrs in your ear. It sounds like honey and desire, bouquets of flowers, hundreds of hugs, hand holding and sneaky kisses. At the same time, his tone is saturated with need and distorted by ragged breaths.

While his cock is inside of you and that gorgeous smile plays on his lips, Sanji is the epitome of a doting lover-boy. But while Sanji may seem like just a lover-boy, he’s far more complicated than that. His love is not a monolith, and you know that.

He’s a man with scars of trauma that he works to unpack each day. Sanji recognizes how these experiences have impacted the way that he loves, and he berates himself for sometimes not believing that the love you give him is genuine or that he deserves it.

He will never forget the day that he decided to give you all of him, unabashedly and uninhibited. You had been waiting for that day ever since you met him.

Now, any time that Sanji looks into a mirror, he hopes that you’re staring back at him—he hopes that he sees in his reflection the man that you so ardently cherish and support. And the more time he spends with you, the more he sees in himself someone worthy of being precious.

“You don’t understand how much I love you.” His thumb rubs soft circles on your cheek and his arm pulls your waist tighter. He wants to be as close to you as possible, to feel your heart beat at the same time as his, to match your breaths and memorize your every curve.

Each blissful and loving buck of his cock into your sensitive spot feels euphoric. Heat rages between your legs—in an attempt to take him, you squeeze him with your legs. You want as much of him as he will give you. Like always.

“I need you, angel.” Sanji’s voice is desperate and his hips move faster.

“You have me, Sanji.” It’s a cliché response, maybe. But it still rings true. No matter how many times you say it, he’ll never get tired of hearing it.

You are all that he could ever ask for. When he hears your words, an affirmation of your love, his breath quickens. You get him off in every sense. It’s the closeness of your body and the feeling of your core pulsing around him, but it’s also your affection. Something about feeling loved and loving you in return sets him off—especially when you’re on his cock.

Sanji’s brows are pinched at the middle, his mouth is open, and those pretty eyes of his are on fire. He’s almost at his limit. He’d like to see you cum before he fully lets go. It’s a sight that he savors, the last course, the dessert he never stops craving. Seeing you orgasm is sweeter than anything he’s ever made or tasted.

“Cum for me, gorgeous. Please.”

It takes no effort to do as he says. That familiar, white-hot, and eye-rolling wave of pleasure comes crashing down within seconds. It’s easy to cum when his voice gets like that—husky, low, and politely demanding. You’re floating in and drowned by pure ecstasy and true love. It washes over you for many moments.

Seeing you orgasm on his cock, satisfied and almost drooling, is what pushes Sanji into that wave. As he cums, his hips spasm upwards. You can feel that familiar tingling sensation, Sanji filling you up with his hot cum, and you relish it. His last haphazard thrusts are punctuated by groans and words that make your heart twist. “I—love you—so—fucking—much.”

You know that he’s telling the truth, but no matter how many times he says it you’ll never get tired of hearing it.

that's all for this one :D (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ i hope u liked it, i feel eh about it 🥴 but he is such a sweetie >///<

here's my masterlist and my posting schedule for october.

finally, trick or treat? (tumblr links)

#one piece smut #z's kinktober #op smut #one piece x reader #sanji smut #sanji op #sanji fluff #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji fluff #vinsmoke sanji x reader #op sanji smut #sanji x y/n #sanji x you #sanji fanfic #one piece sanji #sanji #black leg sanji

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clairewritesfanfics · 2 months ago

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A-Z Fluff Alphabet: Omni Mark Grayson

author’s note: The alphabet here is an amalgamation of fluff templates from the following writers: @themarauderstheoutsidersandpeggy, @snk-warrior, @queervibesmydude and @imagineimagineimagine, and my own personal additions.

Adoration: What does he can’t help but gush about you?

Your eyes that see his most pathetic sides and still shine with pure affection. Eyes that trust and love him wholeheartedly.

Baby: Does he want a family?

Maybe. His dad screwed him up so badly he couldn’t even picture himself with a romantic partner, let alone raising children. But having you in his life means he’s doing better.

Comfort: How does he help you when you’re down or stressed?

He knows you’ll talk when you’re ready, so he will simply brew your favorite beverage and set up a nest for you in front of the TV. All your favorite shows and movies and podcasts are already queued in.

Dates: What are his ideal dates?

Quiet, classy and low-key. His favorite is an evening meal at a fancy restaurant, no fuss, there is just you and him enjoying each other’s company.

Everything: You are his __________.

You are his peace, his quiet in the storm. When the whole world is falling apart and the noise is too much, he finds solace just by being in the same room as you.

Fight: How often do you argue? How does he handle the fight itself and its aftermath?

Not a lot, not even jokingly. He tends to give way to your desires, simply because your happiness is his happiness. The only times he gets angry is when you do something reckless, like not sleeping enough or overeating junk food. He loves you, he wants you to live a long life, so please take care of yourself.

Gifts: Does he spoil you?

Yes. He has a lot of money and barely has any use for it. He’s not the type to buy you random trinkets though, his gifts are more in line with giant bouquets from Japan and wine from France.

Honesty: Does he keep a lot of secrets from you? Are they white lies or do they hide world-shattering truths?

He likes to keep his professional and private lives separate, so there is information that he won’t share with you. He’s also the type of person who prefers to keep his problems to himself, because that’s what “men do,” but after discussing it with you he’s trying to open up more.

Injury: What’s his reaction when he finds you physically hurt?

He keeps his composure long enough to get you the medical attention you need while his mind pieces together what happens. If it was a genuine accident, and you beg him to let it go, then fine, he will. But if it was intentional? No hesitation, no monologuing–that person is dead.

Jealousy: Is he a green-eyed monster?

He’s mature in many ways, but not when it comes to this. He gets moody when you start talking about anyone for too long.

Kiss: Describe the way he kisses you.

Cradles your face between his palms while he steals your breath away.

Longing: Who fell first? How did you two get together?

He’s tall, dark, handsome; has that brooding and mysterious vibe down pat–of course, you fell first. But he fell harder.

Marriage: Does he want to be your husband?

Naturally. Some people think that marriage is just a piece of paper, but for him, it’s another way to bind you to his side.

Nightmare: What is his greatest fear?

Your inevitable death. His kind can live eternities, yet cursed with a heart that can love transient things.

On Cloud Nine: Is it obvious to tell when he is happy?

For outsiders? No. Not even a little bit. The man has the poker face. Everyone is baffled when you tell them that “of course, he’s happy, can’t you tell from his smile?” while gesturing at his hard expression.

PDA: Yes or no? If yes, to what degree?

No. He won’t be opposed to a quick peck on the cheek or lips, but he isn’t a hand holder and definitely not the type to wrap himself around you while in public.

Quirk: What is a habit, skill or interest of his that surprises people?

He has a sweet tooth and his favorite dessert is sakura mochi, a Japanese rice cake with a red bean paste filling. He doesn’t like black coffee. He has no problem with matcha though, maybe because it tastes great with the mochi.

Rhythm: What’s his favorite song or genre of music?

It’s rock music or nothing else.

Spa: What helps him relax?

When he is off work, he is off work. The only reason he would fight a supervillain or mediate a natural disaster is because it's actively terrorizing the area surrounding you.

Thrill: Do you two try out new things to give spice to the relationship? Or do you stick to your routine?

You’re predictable to each other, which he adores. You buy him a second bottle of hair gel without him even asking and at restaurants, he orders for you because you trust that he knows what you like. His work gives him a lot of surprises already, he doesn’t need any more excitement than that.

Upset: What is he like when he is in a bad mood?

Even more reserved than usual. He answers in grunts and has a hard time keeping eye contact. When he’s in a really bad mood then he will leave to cool down, not for too long, because then you’ll get sad.

Value: How important is the relationship to him?

So much that he cannot picture a life without you in it.

Wild Card: Random fluff headcanon

He will not leave for work unless you kiss him.

XOXO: How affectionate is he?

A lot, just not in a physical or verbal sense. He never forgets anniversaries and other special dates, he never misses appointments with you, and he cleans up around the house when he notices that you’re tired.

Yearning: How does he cope when you two are apart?

He despises overtime. He’s no early bird either–he’s one of those control freaks who arrives exactly as agreed upon; if you tell him that a meeting starts at 8:00, he will arrive at 8:00, not 7:59, not 8:01, but 8:00 sharp. He wasn’t always this strict with his schedule, after all, for someone like him, time was endless. But he has you now, and it feels like he has so little time.

Zebra: If he wanted a pet, what would he get?

When he was younger–as in, half his current height younger–he found a bird in the front yard. It was a release dove, so it wasn’t afraid of him, it trusted Mark enough to let him pet its head. It was Mark’s first and only friend. But one day, after school, it was gone from its clumsily made birdhouse. That evening, his parents had beef, Mark had poultry. Nolan forced him to finish everything. To this day, Mark can’t even stand the smell of fried chicken.

MASTERLIST | request rules | ask box

Other Fluff Alphabet for Mark Grayson Variants:

Mohawk Prisoner

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thepersonnamedsam · 8 months ago

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grin to win - the genz!driver

pairing: the genz!driver x 24!grid (pre and during singapore)

summary: it’s the gzd first ever win, but getting there was a bumpy road

word count: 4.3k

warning: not proof read and some angst, talks about not feeling enough and all that

note: i am so sorry for not having updated in such a long time, i do hope you still like my stuff :)

masterlist / taglist

it has been weeks since our beloved gen-z driver has had a positive experience. silly season started earlier than she thought - daniel was rumoured to be dropped soon. max hasn’t won for a long time, she wasn’t sure if that’s positive or negative, but she feels sorry for her favourite dutch. carlos finally announced he’s signed with williams.

oh, and logan’s been dropped.

oliver is driving for haas next year. mclaren overtook redbull in the constructors championship. lando has started his transition to mad-lando (get it? because he’s starting to drive like mad-max? anyway). kimi signed with mercedes.

but there weren’t any news surrounding y/n. nothing negative, but also nothing positive. no rumours of her signing with a new team, or staying at her current team. her contract will run out at the end of the season.

she hasn’t heard from her team ceo or principal yet. she wasn’t underperforming, no she’s just performing as expected. but also not doing better.

she needed that something. that something that reassured her, that she’s in the right place. she needed at least a podium this season. that’s what she was telling herself for the last weeks. beating herself up, every time she didn’t perform well enough (in her eyes, we have to say. because if you looked at it from a neutral view, she was doing more than fine).

the stress has been eating her up. she was staying longer at the gym, eating less, seeing the guys less, not seeing her friends or family. even her boyfriend broke up with her, because she’s been ignoring him and focusing too much on her racing.

lewis was the first one to suspect something, knowing this behaviour all to well from himself. but he didn’t know what to do. should he ask her about it or say something to someone professional?

the first thing he did was tell george. george usually knew what to do. except this time.

„lew, im sorry man, i don’t know what do do“, he sighed and looked over to his teammate. „we could just tell the principal, but i don’t know if we‘ll brake her trust this way.“

„she just needs to see, that she’s good enough, i know that that’s the issue she’s having right now“, said lewis to george.

the taller one just shrugged, „maybe we should just, you know, talk to her“, he suggested.

lewis agreed, but he was sure, that he was the wrong person to talk to y/n. that’s why he called seb.

and as her phone started to ring and her favourite picture of her and seb appeared on her screen, she instantly knew, that someone noticed her weird behaviour. why else would sebastian call during race week?

with a heavy sigh she picked up her phone and tried to sound as happy as possible as she said: „hi seb! what’s going on?“

the german scrunched up his face as he heard the rather happy voice of the young girl. „hi there, pretty lady. i heard you’ve been absent lately“, he said softly.

the moment y/n heard her current situation from someone else, her tears fell. she didn’t think that it’d effect her this much, someone knowing what’s been going on lately, but it did.

„how do you know?“, she sniffled. her cries broke sebs heart, he could only imagine how his daughter’s future teenage cries would take him out.

„a birdie noticed and told me, hun.“ - „who was it? tell me it wasn’t my ex, because that bloody pig told me, if i couldn’t care enough about him, he wouldn’t care about me and if he called you, that means he’d still care about me and that would only make me feel more guilt over the whole situation“, y/n started to ramble.

„hey hey, no, it wasn’t him“, seb stopped her rambling. „i won’t tell you who, im just gonna tell you, as someone standing on the sidelines, you’re doing more than fine, okay?“

she shook her head no, even though the retired driver couldn’t see her. „no im not, everybody’s getting to sign their new contract or has been rumoured to be let go, but nothings happening with me“, she sighed.

seb told her, that this wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, that teams usually like to torture their drivers to see how far they’re willing to push. and that she just had to let the team get to her and not assume anything.

„but what if it’s like the situation with daniel? or logan? what if it’s the same with me?“

„then so be it, you can come to switzerland for a few weeks, we‘ll forget the whole thing and organise something new, it’s as easy as that“, seb told her.

„and honestly, y/n, you’re not being dropped, or rumours would have already been going around. as i said, just go with the flow.“

that’s what she tried. she tried to engage more with the other drivers. she tried to enjoy little things like eating chocolate.

she started to regularly talk with seb and talk about her feelings and worries - which helped her a lot.

and as time flew by, she got back into her zone. back into that racing mode, back into the fight.

it was singapore, hot and humid, but she was ready to fight. right before qualifying lewis visited her garage. looking relieved to see her spirits back where they belong.

„kiddo, you ready?“, he asked. y/n grinned at him and threw two thumps up. „good“, he murmured.

„good luck!“, he shouted. „you too, you’re gonna need it with my pace“, she laughed back.

„i hope so“, whispered the mercedes driver. „i really hope so.“

y/n sat in her car, she felt that something good would be happening. she never felt this ready for qualifying before.

q1 and q2 went by as a breeze. her lap times were phenomenal, she’s done better, but they were still great. easing into q3 with a good feeling and good lap times.

„y/n, you’ve been doing great out there, don’t push yourself too much, okay? i’ll tell you when to give it your all. we’re going for the front row“, her race engineer told her.

front row, that was really something.

„you think we can do it?“, she asked nervously. „i think that you can do it.“

with that statement she drove out of the garage onto the track. driving some laps to warm up her tyres. feeling the track and the car. she took a deep breath in and let it out and waited for her race engineer to giver her their sign.

tears stained her cheeks as she got out of the car. everything was blurry. confusion was written on her face. qualifying just ended and she will start the race from p2 on sunday.

she couldn’t believe it, neither could her team or to be honest, every other driver on the grid.

journalist started to surround the garage, friends of the young girl had trouble getting to her. the first one who made it through the masses, was oscar.

as soon as she saw him, she started screaming; „oscar! can you believe it?“

the aussy looked at the girl, or rather young woman, and only grinned at her. „you’re giving me the creeps with that smile, os“, y/n giggled. „you look like the joker, who are you about to murder?“

„the one who’s been making you feel worthless, but that’s a different story“, he half whispered half sighed.

the young driver had to sigh, she knew the other drivers had caught on her emotions. but she didn’t think, that they’d know in this detail.

y/n grinned through the pang and hugged the australian. „thanks for being there for me“, she whispered.

the moment oscar wanted to say something sentimental, his teammate barged through the journalists and jumped on them both.

„i cannot believe it! my best friend, starting front row, my goodness“, he exhaled and inhaled again: „together! we’re starting front row together!“

y/n giggled once again, she felt, that this wasn’t the last giggle of the day. „will you let me pass?“, she asked jokingly.

lando looked shocked: „are you kidding me? nuh-uh, no way in hell will i let you pass, now that im a race winner, you’ll have to earn it fair and square!“

„fair“, oscar laughed. y/n shoved oscar outraged. „you’re on his side?“ - „i am a race winner too, you know?“

„indeed he is“, carlos called from the end of the garage. „oi, this isn’t your garage“, a mechanic of her team shouted, „this isn’t all of you guys‘ garage“, he said, as he realised two more drivers were present.

„let’s go, we‘re going to some hospitality or something“, y/n suggested. with an apologetic look towards the mechanics, the drivers left the garage.

„i’ll update the groupchat and tell them where we are“, lando mumbled. oscar’s and carlos‘ phone dinged, but y/n‘s was left out.

„wait, what groupchat did you text?“, she asked confused. „the one about you’re crisis-“ lando just saw carlos‘ and oscar’s head shacking no, as he slowly finished his sentence, realising his mistake, „-without you in it.“

„what?“ - „lewis and seb created a groupchat, to discuss some tips on how to lift your spirits, s‘all“, oscar slowly explained.

„okay“, said the female driver slowly. „thanks, i guess?“

„wait, so you all knew? i mean i kind of suspected you knowing, but you all knew? and what did you discuss?“

the three drivers thought carefully about their next words. carlos was the first to speak out: „nothing really. lewis just told us, that your behaviour reminded him of himself when he first joined mercedes and seb just told us, that he was talking with you about it and just kind of updated us.“

„y/n you’re very important to all of us, we love you and want you to be well. if somethings going on, we worry about you and want to fix it“, oscar supplemented.

„why didn’t you tell us?“ lando was the last to speak. his voice full of hurt. „oh lando, im sorry, i didn’t want to bother all of you with my shit“, she admitted.

daniel could see the falling tears on her face from far away. he could also see the many cameras realising their existence. he sprinted over to the four, to mainly shield them from the media, but his weird running drew more attention to the drivers.

„hi there, don’t cry, cameras“, he huffed. the little smile came back to y/n‘s face, as she looked at daniel’s red and out of breath face.

„hey i thought you were a high performance athlete?“, she smiled and wiped away her tears. „i am, athletes sweat, baby“, daniel said.

„i heard that that’s your last race, is it true, danny?“, she changed the topic from herself to the smiley australian.

„don’t change the topic, girly“, he smiled sincerely. „there’s no truth, until you get that breaking post on insta.“

„hey, but front row, huh? how nice does it feel?“, he asked her. still on the move, she nearly tripped, not only over her next sentence, but also over a curb; „very good but also kinda scary.“

„i got lando here in front of me and max behind me, just a little bit scary“, she elaborated further.

at the mention of the dutch, he appeared in front of the group suddenly. „i heard my name, what’s going on?“

„i get it, max is scary“, oscar whispered more to himself. „dude, how’d you do that?“, lando asked impressed.

„magic“, max waved his hand in front of his face and laughed. he high five’d y/n next and smiled at the other drivers.

„max is scary when he smiles“, said oscar slow and quietly towards lando, who agreed soundlessly. „hey, watch it“, max then pointed out.

on the other side, daniel was standing close to y/n, studying every twitch on her face. looking at carlos they silently communicated. the older two each grabbed a hand of hers and pulled her towards the next hospitality.

as usual, lando, max and oscar didn’t notice the other three‘s disappearance.

the two mercedes drivers, fernando and charles were already waiting. as soon as the female driver noticed lewis‘ braids, she sprinted towards him.

he though that she would gleefully hug him, but thought differently. with an angry step she stood in front of him. „how dare you make a groupchat about my feelings!“, she pointed a finger at his chest.

although she was small, she was fearful. her finger digging painfully into his chest, twisting every other second.

the older driver caved under her touch and slouched: „i’m so sorry, i just wanted to help.“

„by creating a groupchat? you could’ve just talked to me“, she sighed. „i know, but i thought i wasn’t the right person“, he admitted. „lew, you’re always the right person to talk to me“, she smiled lightly, „don’t ever do that again though!“

„okay“, he agreed, „but front row, love! how excited are you?“

and then she explained her thoughts all over again. noticing max not being here to make a scary entrance again. she explained happily, how the dutch suddenly appeared in front of her and how he reminded her of the flying dutch.

george and nando stood there listening to their favourite driver and grinned at her expressions and exclamations. her arms were up in the air, face twisted to match each of her words.

if that young woman would not be like this ever again, they swore to change the whole world for her.

„i’ll miss her“, daniel whispered to lewis. „oh buddy, it’s official then, this your last race?“

daniel nodded: „they have to recruite liam or he’s free to whichever team signs him.“ lewis looked at his friend, they’ve known each other for so long. it‘ll be weird without the australian on the grid.

„does she know?“, he then asked. „no, wouldn’t want to jinx anything and take her spirits away“, daniel hummed. „i get it, you have to tell her after the race though. wouldn’t be fair if she found out through insta.“

oscar, lando and max then trailed in with pierre, alex and charles. looking at the scene in front of them;

y/n telling some sort of story with fernando and george watching them and lewis with daniel standing on the side talking with hushed voices.

„we should celebrate“, lando said out of the blue. the female driver gasped upon hearing the random suggestion and turned around to face her best friend.

„yes, oh my god, that is such a good idea“, she excitedly said. „what should we do?“

charles said, that they could order pizza. pierre disagreed and said, that they should rent out a restaurant and eat authentic food. oscar thinks, that they should treat themselves with some spa time (they think, that lily really has a grip on that man).

lando suggested they’d go to the cinema. carlos said, that they should just go back to the hotel and do a relaxing movie night. lewis suggested they take a stroll with roscoe and leo. max thought some laps on the sim would be enough to celebrate.

george thought, that exploring singapore would be fun. fernando was just happy to tag along. daniel wanted to go swimming somewhere. and y/n, she really wanted to bury her face in ice cream and enjoy the time with her boys.

so that’s what they did. bought loads of ice cream, rented some movies at her hotel, turned her room into a home cinema and ordered some pizza too, just for fun. and of course roscoe had to stay there too.

after all that celebration, y/n was so tired, she fell asleep on fernando. he gushed and ushered the others to take some pics.

after tucking her in, setting the alarm for the next day, they all bid their goodbyes and left y/n alone. except lando - he stayed.

he was her best friend after all and he had to talk about all of the stuff with her. but it could wait until the morning, he was pretty tired himself.

as the alarm clock rang, y/n jolted up, confused as to where she was. seeing her hotel room, she remembered yesterday and what they did. she then felt someone moving beside her, turning around she saw a head full of curls and knew not to worry.

„lando, what are you doing here?“, she giggled. the mclaren driver groaned and stuffed his face into the pillow. „i have to talk about the stuff with you“, he then said.

„and you had to stay here why?“ - „because i knew i wouldn’t catch you before you would leave for the paddock, only logical solution was to stay here with you“, he finally lifted up his head and grinned at his best friend.

she laughed a little and ruffled up his hair. „you’re cute, but we don’t need to talk.“

he shook his head and made some grunting noises, disagreeing with her statement. „but we do, i need to talk about it.“

she told him everything he wanted to know. from the first time she thought she was not enough, to the phone calls with seb and to her feeling better over time.

„just promise me you’ll talk to me next time, okay?“, he begged her at the end of their conversation. she nodded. „say it, say that you’ll talk to me.“ - „i will, i will talk to you, lando, i promise.“

„good, but now, let’s get ready to race“, he grinned and changed the subject. y/n almost forgot, that they had a race to drive. and that she was starting from p2! „let’s go“, she excitedly said.

the day almost went by like a blur. the two arrived at the paddock, parted ways at her garage, bid good luck to each other.

she started her training session? warmed up with her trainer, ate some food, went to the toilet, that’s important. and then she already had to attempt the drivers parade.

she has never felt this nervous before. standing on that wagon, waving to the fans, not wanting to let anyone down, but mostly not herself.

the compulsive thoughts were coming back and she tried to remember what seb taught her. she breathed in for eight seconds, held her breath for seven, breathed out for eight again and held for seven. she repeated the box breathing method and tried to focus on the here and now.

lando saw her struggling to maintain a happy face and went over to her. „s‘all good?“, he asked in a hushed voice.

she nodded softly; „just trying to stay in the moment and not drift too far into the future.“

lando nodded, kind of understanding what she meant and just stayed by her side until the parade was over. as they parted ways for the second time that day, he hugged her and wished her only the best of luck.

her pre-race-ritual was listening to music, so she whipped out her headphones and blasted her loudest music on her playlist.

she almost jumped as her race engineer tapped her shoulder, to inform her that it was time to get into the car.

even though the first half of the day felt sped up, now everything was moving in slow motion.

she felt like james bond or any other action movie hero. her headphones still blasting music, she imagined herself looking total badass getting into her car.

step by step, nodding her head along to the music. arms flung up into the air to squeeze herself into the car. she mouthed some of the words as a mechanic gave her her steering wheel.

slowly she placed it into the socket and clicked it into it. still, everyone was moving in slow motion. she closed her eyes for a second, just trying to find her inner peace.

the music faded, she concentrated on her heartbeat. feeling it slow down, beat per beat. as she opened her eyes, the world was back to normal speed.

she took off her headphones, handed them to someone standing around the car. she lifted up her gloves, put them on and clapped her hands together.

„let’s get going then, ey?“, y/n then said to her crew. no clear answer came back, just some reassuring noises from around.

her helmet was laying in front of her, she looked at her drivers number, traced it with her finger and swiftly put it on.

the car was then rolled on to the track, everything was buzzing. she heard her race engineer checking the coms. hustling around her were all of the mechanics.

y/n went over the track once again. she knew every corner, she felt every bump on the road. her body knew when to turn, when to slow down or speed up. she knew what to do, this was her race.

she proved it by overtaking lando on corner one, lap one. right after the start there was a new race leader and they were called y/n l/n.

a woman was leading a formula one race.

she took off, she didn’t have to think about it, it was all muscle memory.

little did she know, lando was cheering behind her. even max was grinning like a mad man. for once both of them were content with not winning.

history was made on that day. as y/n crossed that finish line she couldn’t believe what was happening.

„y/n l/n, you are a formula one grand prix winner!“, she just heard her race engineer through her coms.

„and there it is, the first woman to win an f1 race, can you believe that we’ve just witnessed history?“

„i cannot, oh this is just fantastic! y/n proved that she could win, even with a mediocre car, just imagine her in a redbull or ferrari. this is beautiful, unbelievable.“

the female drivers head was spinning. what does she have to do now? in her whole career she only had one podium. but she was pumped with adrenaline that moment, she really just can’t recall what she has to do now.

she figured she’d just follow lando in her car and behold, she ended up at parc fermé. parking her car in front of the stand with the number one on it, she climbed out of it.

fuck, what cool pose was she gonna do? she hadn’t thought about that. just, improvise, she thought.

i’d will be embarrassing either way, she thought next. she took out her steering wheel, disconnected her helmet from the car and coms and jumped out of the car.

and then she just fell to her knees. at first sobbing into her helmet and not believing everything that has happened so far.

but the sobs quickly turned into laughter. she bowed, just like sebastian did, in front of her car.

sighing with happiness she stood up from the ground. lando came running to her, scooping her up and basically throwing her around.

„my god, you did it! you really did it!“

that was the actual moment, y/n realised what just had happened. that she had just won a grand prix. that she had just written history. that she had just done it.

max was coming from the other side, almost skipping. when have you ever seen max verstappen skipping?

„oh wow, this must feel so great, huh?“, he asked. „like a mountain falling from my shoulders actually“, she said.

she wanted to say so much more, but she was pulled aside to weigh. that procedure she knew. and then, there was her team, ready to celebrate the young driver.

just like lando, she sprinted towards them and jumped into the team. she was lifted up, chants were heard throughout the whole parc fermé.

„congratulations y/n, i knew you’d write history one day“, her team principal congratulated her.

from the side of her eye she saw christian horner giving her two thumps up. the next moment he mouthed: „let’s talk.“

does this mean? oh my god.

her chain of thoughts were broken, as lando pulled her along in to the cool down room.

she laid her helmet on the pillar and took the pirelli hat from the stand. her heart had finally time to calm down.

max and lando were grinning like crazy, as they approached the young girl woman. „congratulations, y/n, well done, perfect driving, couldn’t have done it better myself“, max told her. „ahhh, we’re both race winners!“, lando then shouted.

„that’s true! oh my god, i can’t believe it, and in the same season, high five!“

„who do i spray with my champagne, you or max?“, she suddenly asked. both men laughed at her question. „you spray whoever you want.“

so that’s what she did. before that, she closed her eyes at the national anthem. quietly sang along. never felt this much pride before. received the trophy and placed it far, far away from lando and shook that chanpagne bottle to spray all of the people present at the podium.

she took a swig of the god awful champagne, she remembered from last time how nasty it tasted. and she held her promise she once had with daniel.

at her first win, she would do a shoey, without any hesitation. she took of her sweaty shoes, sat down on the podium, filled the shoe up to the rim, hopefully the first sip would have the least amount of sweat and just started chugging it.

if you were present that day, you heard daniel ricciardo shouting and yelling at her from parc fermé. his whistling may have been recorded by the cameras, but who knows, the whole world was whistling for her in that moment.

nothing would ever beat that feeling ever again. drenched in sweat and champagne, chugged the mix of it and a heart full of love in that moment. she grinned at her win.

°°°

taglist: i feel like, im not gonna tag anyone for this, bc i haven’t posted in such a long time and i don’t wanna bother anyone…

so if you’re on my taglist and don’t want to be on it anymore, just post a comment under this and i’ll remove you :)

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magewritesstories · 1 year ago

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[ SPENCER REID ] THAT'S A YOU PROBLEM

cw. headcanons for (unit chief) spencer dealing with a gen z reader (there will be a complete fic on this once i find the time!!) tw. mentions of rape, sa, murder, etc

he's so confused all the time

this man knows practically nothing about pop-culture so he's very confused a lot of the time

on a regular basis he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose because of the unhinged things you say to UnSubs during interogation - "Sorry, man, the fact that your father was a deadbeat sounds kinda like a you problem." - "So, what? You did it for the plot?"

(he lowkey kinda loves it tho, bc it reminds him of gideon iykyk)

but aside from that he's also just perpetually confused when talking to you like what did you mean he has 'rizz'? (no one tell him)

one time you called something your 'roman empire' and he went on a 10 minute rant about the roman empire before you told him what you actually meant - he thought it was embarrising - you thought it was cute and would've let him talk abt it for a lot longer if rossi hadn't interupted

whenever the motive for a murder is religious you refuse to call god anything but she (he's giving up on trying to correct you)

the first few times you answered a statement with slay he was mildly concerned

you constantly quote movies and the team finds it very entertaining, bc what do you mean SPENCER REID doesn't know the origin of a quote - when an unsub blamed his killing spree on his absent father your response was "cool motive, still murder" and another time with "that's rough buddy" (spencer asked garcia why everyone thought that was so funny once they were back in quantico)

yes, he did listen to you rant about the kendrick v drake beef for a full 20 minutes without complaining - when penelope teased him abt it he said he was just returning the favour cause you always listen to him

he's sat beside you and watched you watch mike's mic appropriately unhinged recaps on plane rides (he was INVESTED)

the things you say "same" to concern him

that's it for now, i hope you liked it

#criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #bau team #gen z #gen z reader #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid headcanon #criminal minds headcanons #criminal minds x reader headcanons #spencer reid x reader headcanons #spencer reid imagines #the bau team #the bau team x reader

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chubbykaijuu · 1 year ago

Text

Family reunion ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ and a bonus

#dbz fanart #dragon ball z #my art #dbz #vegeta #dbz vegeta #prince vegeta #dragon ball #vegebul #vegeta and trunks fluff #trunks #bulma briefs

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dannyriccsystem · 1 month ago

Note

congrats on 1k!!!! could you do 1 & 14 with Oscar Piastri ?

WHAT A MIRACLE, I FOUND A DARLING!

1K SPECIAL - OP81

Smothered in kisses + “The important thing is that you’re okay.”

SUMMARY: Oscar needs comfort after the Aus GP

WORD COUNT: 543

WARNINGS: Oscar crying, fluff, 2025 Australian Grand Prix (yes it deserves its own warning)

FEATURING: Oscar Piastri x Reader

P9 AT HIS HOME RACE. This wasn’t the year anybody thought Oscar would start with— Especially with the great ending he had in 2024. It was clear progress had been made, and now you could tell that your boyfriend felt like he completely lost that. He, of course, was elated for his teammate. Lando had always been brought down for the ratio of years to wins, and seeing him succeed wasn’t something to complain about. But that wasn’t to say Oscar wasn’t upset himself.

You could tell his demeanor was off immediately. Of course you could assume that he’d be angry, but not to this extent. He pulled his helmet off, and the balaclava too, and you could finally see his tear stained cheeks and red eyes. You pulled him in for a hug, letting him hide his shame in your neck.

You prayed the spying cameras wouldn’t catch his crying, because you could only imagine how disappointed Oscar would be to have the whole world see his moment of weakness. You stroked his hair, even though it somewhat grossed you out it was coated in sweat. Nothing new.

“Hey, shh…” You kissed his cheekbone. Oscar squeezed you tighter, your chest flesh to his. “You still did great, Osc.” He pulled back to look into your eyes. He was pouting, but he wasn’t crying— Not yet anyway. “I was so inspired by the way you got back into the race— Maybe you didn’t win, but you displayed the most determination of everyone.”

He could tell you were being sincere as you cupped his cheeks, but he didn’t respond. It was like he was still trying to believe it himself. Nonetheless, you leaned in and kissed him right on the lips, which seemed to turn that frown upside down. You kissed his nose, his cheeks, his forehead— Anywhere you could kiss on his face, you did. He was laughing, squirming around like you were tickling him.

“Hold still,” You laughed out, squishing his face in your hands. He paused for you, staring down at you with that twinkle in his eyes. But something was off still, so you lowered your hands and gave him a more pointed expression. “What’s up?”

“Promise you won’t laugh?”

“Promise.” You extended your pinky finger, which he intertwined with his own.

“I feel like I disappointed you.” There it was, everything laid out before you.

You furrowed your brows in a look of sadness, shaking your head with a sigh. “Oscar…” He huffed because he could hear the upset in your tone. “I’m not disappointed. I mean, the fact that you’re in F1 to begin with is insane. That means you’re still the best of the best. And you got in points— You don’t have to score first place to be great. I have faith that you can come back from this. This is your year, I know it.” You ran your thumbs over the apples of his cheeks. “Besides,” one more kiss on the lips for good measure. He returned it this time. “What matters is that you’re okay. Every race where you come back to me is a win in my eyes.”

He was smiling— for real this time. “Thank you.” Now he gets to kiss you!

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spencereidluver · 2 months ago

Text

Z is for Zero Inhibitions

july 16, 2009

summary: Spencer opens up to you about his issues with compartmentalizing.

word count: 1.4k

warnings: smut, oral (f-reciving), soft!dom spence, switch!spence, switch!reader

It’s just past 1:00 a.m. when the jet touches down in D.C.

The team moves like shadows, quietly, efficiently, heavy from the weight of another case. Another unsub, another set of victims, another long week wearing bulletproof vests and battle faces. But for Spencer Reid, the weight pressing on his chest isn’t just the case.

It’s you.

You, across the aisle on the jet, curled in your seat with your cheek pressed to your knuckles. You, with dried blood at the corner of your temple, not yours, but close enough to make him nauseous. You, laughing off your near miss with a glare when he hovered too close afterward. You, the person he’s loved in silence and in secret and out loud and in every impossible way in between. And you almost got hurt.

Again.

And Spencer’s not sure he’s handling it well anymore.

“I’m fine,” you’d said back at the scene, rolling your eyes as you wiped blood from your brow. “Stop fussing, Spence.”

He’d nodded, swallowed and said nothing.

Because he is fussing. Constantly. Silently. Always. It’s getting harder to compartmentalize being a profiler when the woman he loves keeps throwing herself into danger like she’s not the center of his world.

He’s tired of pretending he doesn’t ache when he sees you draw your gun. Tired of playing it cool when someone flirts with you in the precinct and he has to act like it doesn’t ruin his whole day. Tired of the walls between the life you live in the field and the one you share after hours. So tonight, as the team disperses from the BAU parking lot, Spencer doesn’t go home.

He waits.

You raise an eyebrow at him when you see he hasn’t left. “Everything okay?”

He hesitates. Then says the only thing that feels right.

“Come home with me.”

Your lips part slightly in surprise, but you nod. “Okay.”

You’ve barely made it into Spencer’s apartment before the tension cracks like lightning. He doesn’t even let you drop your go-bag. His hands are already in your hair, already pulling you to him, already crushing his mouth to yours with a desperation that tastes like

Your bag falls. His sachel next. Fingers tangle in hair and fabric. The kiss is wild and all-consuming, full of pent-up desire and weeks of not enough time, not enough space, not enough you.

You barely make it into the bedroom before he presses you against the wall, lifts your thigh around his waist, and groans into your mouth when your hips roll against his.

“Spencer,” you pant, fingers slipping under the hem of his sweater. “What’s gotten into you?”

He stares at you, pupils blown wide, hair already messy. “You almost got shot today. I—”

You silence him with a kiss, gentler this time, but no less urgent. “But I didn’t.”

“That doesn’t help,” he breathes.

His hands are rougher than usual when he flips you onto the bed on your back and spreads your thighs. There’s no teasing this time. No slow kisses between your legs. He devours you, tongue plunging deep, lips locking around your clit with a brutal rhythm that makes your spine arch off the bed.

You come once like that. Fast, breathless, and shaking. He barely gives you time to recover before he’s above you, sliding in one long, hard thrust.

“Fuck—” you gasp, nails raking down his back.

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t pace himself. His thrusts are deep and punishing, his mouth at your ear, whispering words you can’t even catch between the ragged rhythm of your breath.

“You’re mine,” he growls. “You… you don’t get to scare me like that. I fucking love you. I can’t– God, I can’t lose you.”

You wrap your legs around his waist, meeting him thrust for thrust, your moans rising to match his.

He kisses you hard, and it’s not just sex anymore. Your bodies collapse together, tangled in sweat and shuddering breaths. Spencer rests his forehead against yours, still inside you, still trembling. His heart races beneath his chest, frantic and thunderous like it’s trying to leap from his ribs into your palm.

His hand finds your face.

“I meant it,” he whispers, stroking gently. “All of it. I want all of you. Even the messy parts. Especially those.”

You nod, chest still heaving.

He pulls out slowly, carefully, and you both flinch, oversensitive, overstimulated, still too high on adrenaline and emotion.

But he doesn’t move far.

He drops beside you, immediately reaching for you again, like the space between your skin physically hurts him. You shift, curling into his side, your legs tangled over his. Your head rests on his chest. He presses a kiss to your forehead. Then your temple. Then your cheek.

“I’m sorry I’ve been distant,” he says softly. “It’s not you.”

“I know.”

“It’s just… I’ve lost people before. Gideon. M-my dad. People I didn’t think I could live without. And now you—” He pauses, his voice breaking. “It’s like I’m constantly trying to hold back the ocean.”

“You don’t have to hold it back with me,” you murmur. “I’ll be right here no matter what.”

He swallows hard, throat bobbing.

You push yourself up slightly so you can look him in the eyes. “I work the same job you do, Spencer. I see the same horror. I know the same risks. But I also know that if we let that fear stop us from loving this fully…” You lean down, kiss his chest, right over his heart. “…then the job has already taken something we can’t get back.”

His eyes brim with tears. You kiss each one away.

A beat passes in silence, and then your lips are back on his, slower now, sweeter, a promise rather than a plea. This time, Spencer takes his time.

He kisses down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. Lingers on your breasts, lavishing each one with long, open-mouthed kisses. His hands roam like he’s memorizing you, like this might be the last time, even though you both know it won’t be.

And then he whispers, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you nod, shifting to straddle him.

You lower yourself slowly, both of you groaning as he fills you inch by inch. It’s overwhelming. Not just the stretch. Not just the friction. But the emotion. The intimacy. The love radiating between your locked gazes.

Spencer’s hands rest on your hips, but he lets you lead. You roll your hips gently, deeply, every motion drawing out a different kind of moan from both of you. Your hands brace on his chest, your fingers curling against him each time you sink down.

His mouth falls open.

“You feel so good,” he gasps. “So—fuck—perfect.”

You lean down and kiss him as you move, soft and slow. Every grind of your hips, every flick of your tongue, every moan into his mouth is a love letter written in sweat and gasps and surrender.

It builds again. But this time, it's not desperation. It's devotion.

His hand slips between your legs, fingers rubbing circles over your clit in time with your rhythm, and your head drops to his shoulder as you whimper his name.

“Spencer—I'm so close—”

“I’ve got you,” he breathes. “Let go, sweetheart. Come for me.”

You fall apart in his arms, full-body trembling, your inner walls clenching around him so tightly he chokes out a curse and follows you into oblivion.

This time, he doesn’t look away. He keeps his eyes on you. And you’ve never seen him look more wrecked, more in love, or more yours. Time slips away after that.

You stay tangled together, trading soft kisses, lazy touches, breathy little laughs that make it feel like you're teenagers sneaking into each other’s beds for the first time.

Eventually, Spencer gets up to grab a warm washcloth. He wipes you down gently, even as you protest that you can do it yourself.

“Let me take care of you,” he murmurs.

You do. You always do.

Later, in bed, curled against each other beneath Spencer’s soft grey sheets, you speak again. “Do you remember when I joined the team?” you ask.

“Mmm. You wore a brown sweater and quoted A Tale of Two Cities in front of Strauss.”

You laugh. “I forgot about that.”

“I didn’t.” He brushes your hair off your shoulder. “You scared the hell out of me. You were confident. Sharp. Beautiful. I thought you’d eat me alive.”

You smirk. “I kind of did.”

“You still do.”

You lean in and kiss his nose. “But now you like it.”

“I really do.”

It’s almost sunrise before either of you drift off. Spencer’s arm stays wrapped around your waist, your head tucked beneath his chin, your legs knotted together like they’re never going to separate again.

_____

next chapter: A is for Anthrax

other parts: Spencer Reid A-Z Masterlist

view the masterlist in a calendar version!

_____ BUY ME A COFFEE _____

a/n: finally made it to z, but i'm not done writing. i'm starting over with a whole new "A" chapter, this time based around the anthraz episode. stay tuned, and thank you guys for your support throughout this series.

_____

Have Recommendations? visit my recommendations page to submit your suggestion, no matter how big or small!

_____

taglist:

@universallyblizzardlove @ms-ks-world @justlivinginadaydreamam @dij-ology @lotus-ignis @sammy-4103 @ktssstuff

@ada--44 @moongirl27 @monfleurr @shycreationdreamland @cultish-corner @ariianelle @iiheartbowie

@spencerreidismybitch @traderjoesmints @ivyflowers13 @hades-disappointment-child @aceofspades190 @taygrls @hookergutss

@random-3455 @nmw-am @bookworm12

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hoe4hotchner · 15 days ago

Note

Currently thinking about those Letting Gen Z Write the Marketing Script videos and how hilarious it would be if Gen Z reader had Hotch do the marketing video with their script

#FBIvibes | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Gen-z fem!reader | WC: 1.6k | CW: Fluff

A/N: I have second hand embarrassment for Hotch.

It started, as most things did lately, with a meeting plotted into your calendar and a bizarre assignment from the Director himself, delivered in his office with all the gravitas of a man about to declare war.

Instead, it was worse.

“Public perception,” he said, leaning back in his chair, hands clasped like he was about to drop a bomb, “is in the gutter. We’re seen as cold, unapproachable, and—God forbid—out of touch. I want that fixed. I want social media presence. I want viral. I want the FBI to trend, Agent.”

Your brain hiccupped at the word Agent, the title clunking awkwardly in your head because unless “Agent” now meant unpaid marketing intern with a fake badge for building access, something had gone very wrong.

You blinked, your sunny disposition faltering for a split second. “Trend? Like… on the internet?”

“Exactly,” he said, nodding as if you’d just cracked quantum physics. “You’re young, you’re plugged in, you get it. You’re on those apps, aren’t you? TikTok, whatever else the kids are using?”

You nodded slowly, unsure whether to admit you’d spent hours scrolling through dog videos and unhinged cooking tutorials instead of reading your textbooks and studying. “Uh, yeah, I’m… familiar.”

“Good. Then you’re my point person. Create a series of videos to make us look approachable, human, relatable. Write the first script, get it approved, and then pick any department head to star in it. Someone with gravitas. Someone who screamed ‘FBI’ but still looked like they could charm the public.”

He was already halfway out the door before you processed that he was serious.

“Analytics will be watching,” he tossed over his shoulder, leaving you staring at his empty chair.

Two days later, you submitted a script titled: “#FBIvibes: Busting Crime and Serving Looks (No, We’re Not Like Law and Order).” It was a chaotic mix of quick cuts, dramatic zooms, voiceovers dripping with Gen Z slang, and a TikTok dance. It was almost like a scene straight out of The Office.

You’d written in a fake crime scene chase, a coffee spill for comedic effect, and a final shot of the department head doing the dance while holding a badge, all set to a remixed version of “Savage Love” by Jason Derulo.

The Director emailed back in seven minutes flat.

“Bold. I like it. Pick someone with a certain presence, someone who looked like they could arrest you with a stare. Let’s lean into the contrast between their demeanor and this… vibe.”

You sat back, scrolling through the FBI’s org chart like it was a menu at a hipster café. You eliminated the department heads who’d ham it up too much or, worse, enjoy it. You needed someone who’d radiate discomfort, someone whose mere presence screamed “I’d rather be chasing a serial killer than doing this.” The grumpier, the better.

Your eyes landed on Aaron Hotchner, Unit Chief of the Behavioral Analysis Unit. The man’s face in his database photo looked like it was carved from granite, his jaw set like he was personally offended by the camera.

Perfect.

You pointed at his name during your follow-up with the Director. “Him.”

The Director raised an eyebrow, glancing at the chart. “Hotchner? The BAU chief? He’s… not exactly known for his warmth.”

“Exactly,” you said, your grin practically sparkling. “He’s got that ‘I could ruin your life with a single email’ energy. The internet will eat it up when he’s forced to do something as un-man-in-a-suit-like as a TikTok dance. It’s comedy gold.”

The Director stroked his chin, then nodded. “He’s authoritative, intimidating, but undeniably camera-friendly in a… severe way. Approved. I’ll send him the details.”

You didn’t hear a peep for a full twenty-four hours. Then, an email landed in your inbox from Hotch’s assistant, as cold and formal as you’d expected.

Unit Chief Hotchner will meet you at 8:30 a.m. tomorrow in his office. Bring all necessary equipment. You will have exactly thirty minutes. Do not be late.

You showed up at 8:29, bursting with energy, armed with a tripod, a ring light, your phone, a thermos of coffee (because you weren’t a monster), and an FBI-branded baseball cap you’d found in the gift shop that screamed: “I’m trying too hard.” You’d also brought a backup plan: a tiny evidence bag prop filled with glitter to symbolize “crime scene confetti.”

Hotch didn’t look up from his desk when you walked in. His office reeked of coffee and regret, and his eyes flicked to your ring light like it was a personal affront to his entire career.

“You’re early,” he said, voice low and clipped like he was already counting down the seconds until this was over. “You have twenty-nine minutes.”

You flashed your brightest, most obnoxiously cheerful smile, setting down your gear with a flourish. “Morning, sunshine! Ready to make some viral magic?”

He finally looked up, his expression a masterclass in barely concealed disdain. “I read your… script.” The word dripped with the same tone one might use for “biohazard.”

“And?” you asked, practically bouncing on your toes.

“It’s absurd. It’s unprofessional. It’s a mockery of everything this agency stands for.” He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “A dance? To… what was it, ‘Savage Love’? I lead a team that tracks serial offenders. I don’t do choreography.”

You nodded, undeterred, your grin only widening. “That’s the whole point, Agent Hotchner! The internet loves it when serious people do unserious things. It’s called irony. It’s giving ‘main character energy.’ You’re gonna slay.”

He stared at you like you’d just suggested he wear flip-flops to a crime scene. “I don’t ‘slay.’ And I’m not doing that dance.”

“Oh, you will,” you said, setting up the tripod with the enthusiasm of a kid decorating a Christmas tree. “The Director approved it, and he said I could pick anyone. You’re my guy. Think of it as… community outreach.”

Hotch’s jaw tightened, and you could practically hear his internal monologue screaming for an exit strategy. “If I refuse?”

You shrugged, all sunshine and rainbows. “Then I tell the Director you’re not a team player. But come on, Hotch, live a little! It’s thirty seconds of your life. You’ve faced worse.”

“Don’t call me that!” He exhaled through his nose, a sound so weary it could power a small wind turbine. “Fine. But I’m not wearing that cap.”

You held it up, waving it like a matador taunting a bull. “We’ll see.”

He stood, adjusted his tie with precision, and muttered, “Let’s make this quick.”

The shoot was a glorious disaster. You directed Hotch through the script with the energy of a caffeinated golden retriever, while he moved like he was being held at gunpoint. The first scene had him walking down a hallway, badge clipped to his belt, looking like he was about to interrogate a wall.

“More swagger!” you called out, filming on your phone. “Channel your inner action hero!”

“I don’t have an inner action hero,” he deadpanned, not breaking stride.

“Perfect, that’s the vibe! Grumpy FBI dad energy, let’s go!”

The next shot was Hotch at the coffee machine, which you’d rigged to “malfunction” by unplugging it. He pressed the button, but nothing happened, and he glared at it like it was a suspect in a lineup.

“Cut! Now sigh, like, super dramatically,” you instructed, barely containing your giggles.

He sighed, but it was less “dramatic” and more “I’m reevaluating my life choices.” Still, it was gold.

The crime scene chase was next, filmed in a deserted parking lot behind the main building of the headquarters. You’d got Hotch jogging after an imaginary suspect, and you sprinkled glitter from the evidence bag for “aesthetic.” He stopped mid-stride, turning to you with a look that could curdle milk.

“Glitter?” he said, voice dangerously low.

“Crime scene confetti!” you chirped, tossing another handful. “It’s symbolic!”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is not what I signed up for.”

The final shot was the pièce de résistance: Hotch standing in the middle of the BAU bullpen, badge in hand, attempting the “Savage Love” dance. You’d simplified it to a few arm movements and a shoulder sway, but he looked like he was being forced to swallow glass.

“I’m not doing that,” he said, halfway through the first move.

“Come on, Hotch, it’s for the vibes!” you pleaded, clapping your hands. “The internet will love you!”

He finished the dance, if you could even call it that, with the enthusiasm of a man walking to the gallows. When it was over, he pointed at the camera.

“This was the last time.”

You beamed. “You’re a natural, boss.”

He walked away without another word.

The video:

TikTok #1: FBIvibes 🎵 “Savage Love” remix blaring [Hotch strides down the hallway, face grumpy like a storm cloud.] Voiceover (your voice, dripping with enthusiasm): “Think the FBI is all suits and shootouts? Think again. It’s paperwork, coffee fails, and vibes.” [Cut to Hotch glaring at the broken coffee machine.] Voiceover: “When your coffee’s DOA, but you still gotta catch bad guys.” [Cut to Hotch jogging through the parking lot, glitter raining down.] Voiceover: “Chasing suspects? More like chasing clout. #CrimeSceneConfetti” [Cut to Hotch in the bullpen, doing the world’s stiffest “Savage Love” dance, badge in hand.] Voiceover: “When your boss makes you go viral but you’re secretly a legend.” [Final shot: Hotch stares at the camera, deadpan: “This is not my job.”] Caption: Day in the life of a very serious unit chief at the FBI. #FBIvibes #HotchSlays #NotLikeTheMovies #DirectorMadeUsDoThis

The video exploded online, hitting 2.7 million views in twenty-four hours.

The comments were a fever dream:

“Grumpy FBI guy doing the Savage Love dance is my new religion 😭🔥”

“Why is Agent Hotchner lowkey serving tho 👀 #FBIvibes”

“The glitter??? The FBI is unhinged and I’m here for it 💀”

Hotch avoided you for three days. On the fourth, you got an email.

From: Hotchner, Aaron

Subject: Your Video Project

The Director is pleased. I am not. Next time, I choose the terms. No glitter. No dancing.

You grinned at your screen, already brainstorming the next trend.

Challenge accepted, Hotch.

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