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seumyo · 3 months ago

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a softie for sentimentality, bakugou katsuki.

Bakugou wears a bracelet. You’ve known about it for as long as you could remember, but only decided to acknowledge it now that you’re in your third year at UA, two weeks before graduation.

It wasn’t flashy or adorned with any kind of logo—just a simple, sturdy piece of metal with a stainless clasp that he seemed to wear all the time. You tilted your head as you studied it.

“You’ve had that bracelet for as long as I can remember,” you said, sitting down on his study chair. It’s a privilege to even set foot inside of his room without immediately being told (yelled) off, really.

Bakugou looked up from his book and glanced at you. “Yeah, and?”

“Is there, like, a story behind it?”

“No story,” he said with a shrug, but you weren’t entirely convinced.

“Really? That’s so bland. I thought there’d be like a gut-wrenching or life-changing story for it.”

He sat up from his bed with a huff, his eyes narrowing at you. “It’s just somethin’ I wear. What’s it to you?”

You raised your hands in mock surrender, a playful smile on your lips. “Alright, Mr. Mysterious. Keep your secrets.”

“Fuck off, dipshit.”

“Again with that! Why can’t you be nicer now that we’re graduating?”

“Shut up,” he grumbled.

But the conversation stuck to you.

It’s the day of graduation when you presented him with a small, handmade box. It was simple, made of sturdy cardboard decorated with his signature colors and an orange ribbon to match. Bakugou rose a brow.

“What’s this for?” He asks, holding it up like the box might explode at any given moment, though there was no bite to it.

“A box.”

“No shit,” he scoffs, “what’s in it?”

“Open it to find out!” You egged him on.

Bakugou sighs, opening the box with a focused pout. He went quiet when he saw what was inside.

“Ta-da! A bracelet,” you said, smiling. “For you. Thought you could use something new to switch things up.”

He held the stringed bracelet in his hand, looking at the material as if it would erupt in flames if he glared hard enough. It was a stark contrast to his metal one—brightly colored warm complementary beads with little charms that somehow still managed to feel like him. There was a red charm shaped like an explosion, a black bead with a skull design, and a small silver charm with an engraved kanji for “strength.”

“I’m not wearing this,” he said flatly.

It’s like your cartoonish heart balloon had suddenly been popped with a prickly needle.

“What? Why not? It’s cool!” you argued. “I even made it myself to really match you!”

“It’s not my style.”

“Sure it is. Look, it’s got black, silver, and even a little red—it screams Bakugou Katsuki.”

“I didn’t get you anythin’ as a parting gift,” he tells you.

“Don’t worry about it! It’s fine,” you replied, waving your hand in dismissal. “Just thought this’ll go with your metal bracelet.”

He nodded, though there was a somewhat frustrated pout on his expression, muttering something under his breath a soft “thanks,” and placed the gift back in the box, never actually letting you see him wearing it during that moment.

Years later, during a photoshoot for the yearly hero gala, Bakugou stood in front of the camera in his full Dynamight suit. The photographer adjusted the lights, snapping rapid shots as Bakugou struck his signature confident poses.

“Hold still,” the stylist said, adjusting his gauntlet slightly. Her eyes flicked to his wrist, and she paused. “Oh, that’s cute. Is that handmade?”

Bakugou blinked, following her gaze. Wrapped around his wrist, right next to his ever-present metal bracelet, was the colorful string bracelet you had made him all those years ago.

He stiffened slightly, but instead of taking it off, he shrugged. “Yeah. What about it?”

The stylist smiled warmly. “It’s a nice touch. Makes you seem... approachable. And quite frankly, it matches your suit.”

Bakugou snorted. “Whatever. Let’s get this over with.”

When the photos surfaced online, fans quickly noticed the bracelet. Social media practically exploded that day.

Is Dynamight wearing a friendship bracelet??

A HANDMADE BRACELET ON DYNAMIGHT??

Guys, he’s worn this thing for YEARS. Check the old pictures! 🙂‍↔️

You, of course, caught wind of the news—because honestly, who wouldn’t when it took all social media platforms by storm? You saw the posts one evening while scrolling through your phone. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw the photos. It was unmistakable—the bracelet you had made all those years ago.

Long after your UA days were behind you and your lives had taken you and Bakugou down different paths, the all-too-familiar bracelet made you smile sadly—more nostalgic happiness than actual sadness, really.

You stared at the screen, sighing quietly. You thought back to the last time you’d spoken, to the unspoken decision that had pulled you in different directions. You never thought something as small as a bracelet would still mean anything to him.

You didn’t even think you’d live to see the day he wears it, much less keep it after the years.

But there it was, bright and unapologetic on his wrist, a subtle reminder of a bond that hadn’t completely faded with time.

Somewhere across the city, Bakugou stood on a rooftop, the evening wind tugging at his hero uniform. He glanced down at the bracelet on his wrist, running his thumb over the frayed edges of the string. He smirked to himself, a quiet acknowledgment of the past and the person who’d given it to him.

“Guess you were right,” he muttered, his voice barely audible over the wind. “It does scream Bakugou Katsuki.”

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cuckoo-on-a-string · 3 months ago

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Neighborly

mdni

Masterlist

Soap x reader x Ghost

Summary: You didn't know hate until Johnny MacTavish. (Or a really big build-up to cuddles and smut).

Warnings: Implied anxiety disorder/depressive disorder, self-isolation, language, incredibly shitty communication and social competence.

It was supposed to be a one-shot.

You didn’t know hate until Johnny MacTavish.

He bought the only house within half a mile, the one you expected to stay silent and empty ‘til death did you part. So, you had reason to dislike him from the start. But you were raised right, and you pushed down the snarling hermit in your soul to be a good, friendly neighbor.

The first meeting was fine, even if he was a boombox of a human being.

“Neighbor? Oh, aye! The hermit? Sorry. Heard about you when I toured the place last month.” His eye lands on the plate of cookies you’ve brought to welcome him. “Those all for me?”

You made small talk at the door, swapped names, and set the groundwork for a reliable, limited relationship as polite people who just happened to live in close proximity.

Then the first snow fell.

You spied him outside, shoveling the shared drive that led up the hill. He cleared it all, which was kind, if a little stupid. The weather system promised another two inches by midafternoon, so everything would be solid white again before sunset. Still, not your problem.

But. He was shirtless. Ripped as fuck and shirtless.

As the wind flung each shovelful of snow back in his face, the powdery flakes stuck and melted on steaming skin. Muscles flexed as he made a spectacle of himself, and your thoughts turned to strategy and available resources.

You wrapped your palms around your ugly, handmade mug and sighed, sipping hot chocolate and wishing you’d gotten a neighbor with at least two scoops of common sense.

When he didn’t appear with his shovel the next morning, you knew your foreboding prophecy had come to pass.

You brought out the stock pot, fished out packs of frozen produce harvested from your garden, and sacrificed your last bag of chicken breasts. The skeleton saved from an old rotisserie bird joined the ingredient army. Might as well go all-in. A man with that many muscles needed bone broth to recover.

Since you didn’t know if he was a picky eater, you minced the garlic and onions small, even when your eyes burned to the point you had to stop for a break. You let the aromatics brown, added celery, carrots, potatoes, and fistfuls of fresh herbs. The precious seasonings survived the winter under grow lights and protective sheeting on your dining room table.

You doubted your neighbor would appreciate this gift for everything it was, but whatever he did as an idiot neighbor would be leagues better than the presence of a rowdy ghost.

When the chicken was tender and the broth tasted like home, you poured it into individual portions and packed them in a canvas bag with a loaf of bread, a box of tea, a jar of local honey, and a thermometer. It wasn’t terribly heavy, but the cold froze your fingers through your gloves. Your hand was cramping by the time MacTavish answered the door, red-nosed, pale, and bleary-eyed.

He let you in, mumbling a scratchy-voiced welcome, and if you’d known what that conversation would incite, you would’ve let him waste away like the families you failed playing Oregon Trail.

“Eat one now and keep the rest in the fridge.” You stack the single-serve containers in the fridge as you speak, sure he won’t remember the minutiae of your instructions. The last you pop in his microwave. He’s staring at you with feverish eyes, confused and helpless like a sick dog left on the side of the road.

Everything comes out of the bag, lining his counter so he can see them – and hopefully remember he has them. The thermometer comes out last.

“If your fever is over 104 in the morning, call the doctor. I’ll drive you if you need me to.”

That glassy stare isn’t shifting. The man doesn’t even blink.

“Did you get all that?”

He clears his throat. The action and sound are both strangely slow in his exhausted state, and you’re determined not to feel bad for him.

“Aye.” Finally, he blinks. “Eat the soup. Watch for 104.”

Good enough.

“Okay.”

The microwave beeps, you pull out the soup, leaving him to fetch a spoon from wherever the hell he keeps them. You don’t wait for him to show you out. “Take care of yourself.”

He didn’t call for help, and you took your turn shoveling the drive with proper protection after the last wave of flurries passed.

The next time he saw you in passing – you were returning home and he was just leaving – he let you know your soup was delicious, that the bread was amazing, and the honey did wonders for his throat. He never returned your containers.

Ah, well. They were replaceable.

Then the next snow came, and the dumb bitch went shoveling shirtless again.

It wasn’t as much snow, and it didn’t take him half as long, but you steamed, glaring from the safety of your kitchen window. You refused to replace your meal prep supplies again. And local honey was expensive. The brat could freeze and die. Something about taking a horse to water and all that shit.

You drank your coffee black that morning, just to make a point to no one in particular.

The man didn’t know how to take care of himself, and he had no idea how to winter-proof his home.

His pipes froze. You brought buckets, old towels, bottled water, and the number of an excellent plumber. Then you explained why he should pay attention to the forecast and let faucets drip to keep the water moving. You told him to open the cabinets under sinks so heat could combat the chill along exterior walls.

His truck’s battery succumbed to the cold. You gave him a jump and escorted him to town to make sure he didn’t get himself stranded.

When he didn’t keep things stocked and tried to panic-shop before a big storm, discovering that small town shelves couldn’t meet demand, you shared staples from your pantry.

He didn’t have more than two cheap blankets in his living space, so when the holidays rolled around you gave him your latest assemblage of granny-squares. And a scarf.

He gave you burnt cookies – “Biscuits” – in return.

(And a half-empty bottle of whiskey.)

He never remembered to drag his trash down to the main road.

And gods help you if the power went out, because the man had no generator, very little in his pantry, and rarely more than a quarter tank of gas in his ride.

He was careless. Clueless. Nearly helpless.

What were you supposed to do? You couldn’t leave him to his fate. It was unneighborly and inhumane.

He made you angry. But you didn’t hate him until his friend moved in.

A few months into his residence, you went to Johnny’s door to ask if he needed anything from town before the next storm shadowed the forecast, and a stranger came to the door.

A hulking monster with a skull painted over his balaclava.

The doorway shrank around his broad shoulders, and he ducked when he stepped out. You weren’t sure if he entirely needed to, but you understood the urge – like an adult stepping out of a child’s playhouse. Scarred knuckles wrapped around the doorknob, and you knew his grip would swallow you whole by the way it engulfed the brass handle.

Animal instinct jarred you. Every hair from the base of your skull to the end of your spine stood on end as you tried to smell the air, listen to the wind, spot the predator’s intent before it was too late.

You didn’t have a problem with people balaclavas. You’d worn one the other day when you were shoveling the drive, but this looked less like protection and more like a threat.

Was he robbing your neighbor? Had a serial killer come to town? Oh, fuck.

You took a step back, reaching for your phone because you didn’t carry a weapon, especially not on a grocery run, and it was the closest thing you had to help.

“You the neighbor?”

He asked so casually, vaguely irritated, but relaxed. It wasn’t the voice of a man who’d just been caught committing a felony, and you took a second to look beyond the stranger’s mask (and size). There was a mug in his hand, and he wore a t-shirt with sweats. His socked feet lingered on the front step, just shy of the blue road salt and crisped ice. Not robbery gear. More like a… houseguest?

Your neighbor never had guests before.

It caught you so off guard your brain short circuited. He had always been a lone, helpless figure. Made sense he’d have friends, though. You couldn’t imagine he’d survive anywhere long without someone looking out for him.

You were still a little irritated that your neighbor had invited his own friend to his own house on his own property without informing you, but that was just the recluse inside snarling at a new face. Or half of one.

And – well – manners.

Holding out a mittened hand, you introduced yourself, adding, “I stopped to see if Johnny needed anyth-”

“No.” He shut you down so fast you reeled another step back. “Don’t need anything.”

He closed the door and that was that.

Sun glittered on the season’s collection of snow, a frozen fairyland that wouldn’t entirely melt until spring. Then there would be roads washed out, and mud, and you’d need to teach Johnny flash flood safety and…

It didn’t compute. Johnny was still home, so surely he’d pop out with an explanation.

You waited.

But he didn’t.

The absolute fuck?

Your spinning thoughts kept you trapped in your head for a solid minute, processing what had happened, what was implied, and what that meant for your neighborly relationship. Even when you managed to move, drive to town, and run your errands, the interaction prickled in your mind like a splinter.

You must’ve done something wrong.

Aged fluorescent lights strobed out of time with your cart’s shrieking wheels. You discovered your list wasn’t in your pocket. It waited at home, next to a pen to add Johnny’s requests. You’d already added things you doubted he’d think to ask for, and it would take time to pick apart your needs. The list wouldn’t have saved you, even if you’d remembered it.

Three bags of flour went into your cart. That was fine. They’d keep, and baking was a good way to combat cabin fever (it warmed the house as a bonus).

Two gallons of milk.

Wait.

No.

You put one back, self-conscious. A young mother with her baby stood just behind you, and an old woman was reviewing her coupons across the aisle. You refused to make eye contact, convinced you’d catch them watching. Did they see? Were they worried about your germs on the product you put back? Did they think you were too broke to buy what you needed? Maybe they thought you’d just broken up with your boyfriend or something.

You counted the squares in the linoleum as you marched away from the refrigerators’ humming. One less source of white noise. It didn’t help as much as you’d hoped. The real buzzing roared inside your skull.

Johnny was a pain in the ass, but at least he was friendly. He wasn’t considerate, but he always thanked you. His friend was a whole different beast. Unfriendly. With a spare set of teeth snarling at the world.

The stranger hadn’t even introduced himself. Was he staying long? Moving in? What was he to Johnny? That question alone would answer so many others.

Because you’d never seen him interact beyond basic business with the mechanic, you realized you had no idea of his sexual orientation. Was he gay? Bi? Pan?

His shirtless shoveling shenanigans annoyed you, yes, but you’d unconsciously granted him a little leeway, assuming it had to do with misguided masculine showmanship. The rooster strutting where the hen could see. The dumbass alpha male proving he was a good, strong provider who was also quite nice to look at.

Clearly you were wrong, and in retrospect, you couldn’t see him as anything but a narcistic dipshit in need of training wheels.

You’d thought, maybe, he even liked you. As a friend? A comrade against the cold? As something.

But you were just a stop-gap. Useful.

Convenient.

Until his real friend joined him.

You found your attention unraveling like a cheap sweater. No matter how hard to you dried to darn the holes, you couldn’t keep up with the loose thread undoing all your conscious measures. It was quickly becoming one of those days when you convinced yourself your therapist had lied about everything.

When you messed up, even in your head, everyone knew.

If they didn’t say otherwise, you were annoying everyone in the room. If they did say otherwise, they were just being polite.

You weren’t likeable, not loveable, and the minute you weren’t useful you should make yourself scarce. Otherwise, things would get awkward, and no one wanted that. You could be the adult. You could hack off a limb and smile about it.

It didn’t hurt, and even if it did, it shouldn’t, because you didn’t have a right to that feeling.

Alright. Fine.

You realized, just as you joined the line for the cashier, that you’d forgotten matches and sugar. They’d been on your list. But someone joined the line behind you, and unspoken social rules that probably didn’t exist shackled you in place. Too late. You’d look stupid. You’d bother someone. Oh well. You’d just have to make another trip. Soon. But not too soon. Now there were two sets of eyes watching you from the connecting drive, and you didn’t want to give them reason to gossip and laugh and assume…

Your pile of groceries looked too small on the conveyor belt. Roughly half what they’d been lately. Would the cashier notice? You were sure she did. The way she recited your total sounded disappointed. Was she counting on you buying more? Were you hurting the employees’ holiday bonus? Shit. Fuck.

The bags felt too heavy. Too light. You forgot your reusable sacks at home, and the plastic dug guilt and accusations into the crease of your palms. On top of everything else, you were killing the planet.

You drove home.

Along the river. Through the trees. Up the hills to your corrupted sanctuary.

At least you didn’t need to make a second trip to bring in all the shopping. Your haul landed on the counter, you threw the damned milk in the fridge, and you realized, as you opened the pantry, that you already had four bags of flour. Two all-purpose, two for bread. Because you’d planned to bake for two.

The flour hadn’t been on your list.

And there was no room for it.

Your lip wobbled, and you bit it ferociously, chewing it until the texture changed and bits of skin started peeling.

It wasn’t a problem. You liked being prepared. You’d dump it in one of the emergency storage totes you kept in the hall closet and be ready when something went wrong.

You did just that, popping open the plastic lid and layering the flour over dry lentils, black beans, and shelf-stable cartons of broth. You decided to add more baking supplies to the list. Even if the power went out you could use the wood-burning stove in the living room to make griddle cakes. Maybe even soda bread.

There. Yeah. That wasn’t so bad. A silver lining.

As you returned to the kitchen, brainstorming ways to atone for the plastic bags you’d used, the scent of coffee wafted down the hall. Which was strange. Because you hadn’t put the moka pot on. You rushed in, frowning.

The old drip machine you only used for company burbled in the corner, and the groceries sat precariously on the corner, shoved aside by the beast who’d wandered through your unlocked door.

A tall, mohawked figure groped, shoulder-deep, in your cabinets.

MacTavish.

The Scottish mumbling would’ve tipped you off even if you weren’t so familiar with his figure (and hair, and limited wardrobe).

Your angst tasted bitter as you swallowed it down. You needed space for the feelings popping like firecrackers in your chest.

Relief. Hope. Dread.

He was in your space without invitation, and with the morning you’d just had, you felt anything but comfortable. Either you’d jumped the gun, or he was bringing a delayed apology for his friend.

“Johnny? What are you doing here?”

He smiled over his shoulder as he pulled two cups down from the shelf. One with your college logo and your prized ugly mug.

“Hello, neighbor!” He cackled, laughing at his own joke. “Wanted to give you a heads up and have a chat. My friend’s come to stay with me.”

Friend? What flavor of friend?

“I know. We met this morning.”

“Aye. Real barrel o’ sunshine, isn’ he?”

“If you say so.”

You wanted to be nice. You wanted to be his friend, too. But you weren’t, and you’d worked so hard to be a good, reliable person he could depend on in a new town – you were drained.

“His name’s Ghost.”

Most people grew out of their edgelord status by their early twenties. Ghost –with his skull balaclava and gruff voice – seemed better fit for the emo table of a suburban high school cafeteria than the adult world.

Johnny kept prattling, making an introduction for someone who wasn’t even there. “Told him all about you! He was impressed. Smacked me over the head about the pipes and said we’d go into town for a generator before the next big snow.”

“Hard to predict the next big snow.”

“Aye. He said that, too.”

If Ghost could keep your insights out of his mouth, you would appreciate it. It felt like he was stealing something from you, and you found yourself shifting from foot to foot, arms crossed, waiting for something terrible to happen.

And it did.

Gesturing as he described his old buddy and new housemate, his elbows danced around your kitchen like battering rams. First, he struck a cabinet, which hurt him more than the wood. He laughed it off. Kept talking. You didn’t need to say a word. By that point, you probably couldn’t even if he left space to speak.

For the life of you, you couldn’t riddle out what his visit was for. It was exhausting. He never chattered so much when you brought food or showed him how to keep his home in one piece. Ghost must make him very happy. His joy made you anxious.

His arm wide, indicating the views he’d fallen for and not the practical considerations of living in the goddamn woods on a goddamn mountain, and you watched in slow motion as his forearm caught your ugly mug’s handle.

It spun, wobbling to the edge of the counter, and before you could move, it plummeted.

A bad day instantly became your worst in years.

It must’ve made a sound when it hit, but you didn’t hear it. Or didn’t remember it. You didn’t remember going to the floor after it, either.

Your mug was in pieces, and when you pulled them to safety, wrapped tight in your fist, the glazed edges cut deep. It was such an ugly little thing. Your ugly little thing. You’d made it in one of those sip-and-spin pottery classes with your pals before you stopped going to see people face-to-face.

The mug wasn’t a friend. It was all of your friends. It was the fun you, the one who went out and did things, and moved through life like a real, entire person.

It practically exploded when it hit the tile. Some pieces were bigger than others, but there were dozens of them. Glittering chips and flecks that you knew you’d be finding with your feet through the rest of the winter.

There was no fixing it. It hurt. You were bleeding. Red oozed up between your knuckles and snaked down your wrist.

“Oh, shite! Shite, shite, shite. Are you alright? Here, let me –”

You didn’t want him to touch it again. Didn’t want him to touch you and act like he gave a fuck. This was a big, ugly feeling bubbling up inside, and if he didn’t dislike you yet, he would when he saw all the tears and snot.

A pretty crier you were not.

And no one wanted to see that, or deal with it, or cope with someone else’s messy emotions.

“It’s fine. I’m okay.” You grit your teeth and smiled through them. “But I need to clean this up, and I still have groceries to put away. How about you get your friend settled and we can talk another time, okay?”

“Are you sure?” His attention was fixed on the blood. Bright red was such an alarming color. You could understand.

“Yeah. Just a little scratch. Promise. But I can’t play host and clean myself up.”

His neck went stiff, and his eyes flicked from your face to the floor. Several times. Like he was having an argument with himself. But in the end, he listened, nodded, and got back on his feet from where he’d knelt in front of you.

“If you insist. But we’re right over there if you need anything, aye?”

“I know.”

Finally, he left.

You got up and locked the door behind him. If you’d taken time to do that before you put away the groceries none of this would’ve happened. You would still have your mug and you wouldn’t be on the floor, crying and cradling the remains of something that mattered to you.

-----------------------

He kept coming over when he needed things. Usually after Ghost’s truck rumbled down the drive. Sometimes he wanted advice. Sometimes he needed help. Usually he took tools and supplies he should’ve bought for himself.

You put your curtains to good work. You couldn’t remember a time you drew them so often. If he knocked, you’d answer, but the curtains were a good deterrent. Not foolproof, but something that gave you a little more power over your privacy.

Long jaunts into town have become escapes from your own home. Better the eyes of strangers – fleetingly painful – than the paranoia of sitting under glass where your neighbors might read your habits and foibles by the way the lights turn on and off through the night, might judge your messy hair through the kitchen window as you wash the dishes. Might, might, might. There were terrible possibilities in all that potential.

They were always there. One ready to freeze you out, the other hanging on your apron strings like a teenager who just got his first place. The conflict rubbed over your nerves like a match on a boot heel. Too much, too fast, and you’d combust.

So you found a lot of reasons to go into town. You remembered how much you liked the library, the joy of a cinnamon roll someone else baked, and hot coffee that didn’t come with a side of flashbacks.

The forecast predicted heavy snow overnight, and you made a day of grocery shopping, collecting novels from the library, and avoiding your neighbor’s last-minute requests.

You barely noticed the teens rushing out of the parking lot as you left your final stop, canvas bag loaded with enough media to keep you entertained through the storm of the century. No windows were broken. No key marks scuffed the paint. If they committed any mischief, it was minor.

Gas theft didn’t cross your mind until your engine quietly gave out and your car rolled to a stop between Nowhere and Nothing.

Understanding dawned with grudging revulsion. Like looking at the toilet and realizing it wouldn’t flush.

The little shits had siphoned your tank.

You smacked the steering wheel, cursing.

So much for the benefit of the doubt. You couldn’t escape. Everyone everywhere just wanted to use you.

But it was fine. Everything would be fine. You were always prepared in case someone fucked you over. Your wellbeing was your responsibility, after all.

Climbing out of the warm cabin, you headed to the back and pulled out the emergency gas can.

The red plastic was shockingly light. You didn’t realize until you’d already thrown your weight into the yank. Unbalanced, you tottered, and your heel skidded over ice.

The snow cushioned your fall, and you stared blankly into the white limned branches overhead as you tried to process the last five seconds. Things like this happened to idiots. They did not happen to you. Careful, cautious you with your backup plans and reserves.

You had simply made a mistake. Somewhere. Somehow. You’d find an explanation.

When you sat up, still in a state of shock, you examined the can, expecting signs of a mouse, or a crack, or…

An I.O.U. was taped to the back.

You knew the handwriting all too well.

That shitting little…

The snow arrived. Silence swallowed the mountain, and the gloaming snuffed the last of the sun’s warmth.

You sat alone on the side of the road, well aware that no one would come up this way for hours. Days maybe.

You had made a mistake.

You made your neighbor chicken soup.

Your nose burned, and you sniffed. Hot tears rolled down your face, burning as they went, and you wiped at them furiously. The wool of your mittens chafed your cheek. Your lip wobbled, and you hurled the empty can into the woods.

Fuck Johnny MacTavish.

Fuck Ghost.

Fuck your life.

#fic: neighborly #john soap mctavish x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #soap x reader #soap x reader x ghost #soap x ghost

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street-smarts00 · 3 months ago

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Santa Doesn't Know You Like I Do

Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: Your first Christmas with Spencer and you get his name for secret Santa.

WC: 1.8k

Tags: Fluff, Secret Santa, friends to lovers, one use of Y/N I think A/N: Sorry I went MIA :( I got busy with school. I hope to push out many ideas while I’m on break tho. Here’s something cheesy and festive for the holiday season I hope you enjoy! (not beta read don't kill me)

Nothing was right. Nothing you found was the right present.

This was your first secret Santa with the BAU and you picked Spencer's name out of penelope’s mug. At first you thought it would be easy to buy a present for him because you knew him so well. In almost a year of being with the BAU you grew the closest with Spencer.

What you didn’t expect was your present ideas to not live up to your own expectations. Nothing you came up with could live up to your own standards. Of course your “slight” feelings for him definitely affected this, but you tried to tell yourself that wasn’t true.

You ran through dozens of ideas. Clothing, a new scarf, tickets for a play, special edition of a book he loved. But nothing felt like the right present.

You almost gave up in your search for the perfect present for him. The gift exchange was in less than a week and you still had nothing. Sitting at your desk in the bullpen you considered settling with one of your first ideas.

While getting up to refill your coffee mug you noticed Spencer’s attention was focused on his computer. He sat there deep in thought with his brows furrowed and lips in a fine line. When you walked by his desk you saw he was playing an online chess game.

“Working hard or hardly working?” you joked.

He popped out of his focus from your presence. “I finished my files a little early,” he responded bashfully.

“Are you at least winning?”

He smirked, “I’ve won four times. But that’s not even the fun part. The fun is doing different plays every time and seeing what the computer comes up with as the best response.”

That’s when it hit you. An idea for Spencer’s gift.

Finally something that felt like a good gift for him. At the end of the day you rushed out of work to go to the craft store and get your supplies. You worked on the gift everyday after work.

Soon the weekend rolled around and you found yourself at Rossi’s. His living room had the biggest Christmas tree you’d ever seen. Everyone’s gifts sat there for the evening. After dinner you all sat down to exchange gifts.

“I want to go first!” Garcia exclaimed. She jumped up from the couch and hurried to the tree to grab her gift for JJ.

JJ excitedly opened the gift bag to find a small black and grey purse with a colorful crochet keychain. The idea that Garcia also handmade part of her gift gave you a sense of relief.

“Oh this is so pretty. Thank you so much,” she beamed, admiring the bag and twirling the keychain. Garcia squealed in happiness before JJ offered a hug to her.

JJ then handed over her gift to Rossi, a bottle of scotch. He smiled and thanked her for the bottle saying how his collection needed a new addition.

He stood up and brought his hands together looking at the tree. “My turn.” He grabbed a thin box wrapped in silver sparkly wrapping paper and walked over to you.

“For you, my dear,” he handed you the box.

Your eyes widened and lips perked up at the gift. It may be a little silly but, part of you wished that you were Spencer’s secret santa. You reminded yourself that the possibility of you both picking each other's names was unlikely. The possibility of some things being the same between the two of you was … unlikely.

You ripped back the paper to reveal a large eyeshadow pallet. Upon opening it, you saw an array of beautiful shades you couldn’t wait to try out.

“Rossi, this is so sweet. I love it,” You thanked with a bright smile.

Now it was your turn. Everyone’s eyes only made the moment more stressful. You got up and grabbed the box with a nervous hand. What if he didn’t like it? What if he thought it was too cheesy or corny? What if he thought it was useless as he already owned two of them?

You tried to quiet your thoughts as you handed him the box, but they had no intention of leaving.

“Merry Christmas Spence,” you said softly.

When you turned and walked back to your seat you neglected to see the rising blush on his face.

Spencer glanced down at the white and red striped paper. He carefully peeled it off and opened the lid to reveal a chess set nestled in between red tissue paper. The board spaces were off-white and royal purple with corresponding chess pieces the same colors. When he picked up the wooden pieces and saw small leaves and flowers painted on them. The King and Queen specifically had crowns in a shimmering gold.

“Wow look at that,” Emily admired.

Upon further inspection he noticed the small human imperfections in the details. The way not one leaf or flower looked exactly the same. Or how the clear coating over the paint was slightly streaky in some spots.

“Did you paint this?” He asked.

You nodded your head and answered , “Yeah I did.”

A faint “awe” could be heard across the room from Garcia.

“Y/N,” Spencer started, his voice full of admiration. “This is … beautiful.”

The butterflies in your stomach were getting restless.

“Really?” you asked, not able to hide the smile spreading on your face.

“Yes! It’s Perfect,” his eyes sparkled at you. “I love it. Nobody’s ever given me something like this.” He beamed at you with a smile that made you love sick.

The realization that you both were not alone set in and Spencer cleared his throat before closing the box. The gift exchange continued as Spencer handed over a present to Morgan.

The rest of the night was filled with catching glances and far away looks between you and Spencer. He seemed to feel more relaxed in a way after receiving your gift. Not that he was acting any differently. He just seemed more open. With the group and with you.

You lived off that feeling the whole evening. The idea that you made him happy. You helped him see he was appreciated and loved.

Not that he had to know you loved him.

He didn’t know that. Right?

As the hands on the clock passed you announced your departure and said your goodbyes. You stepped outside and felt a chill against your skin.

You held tight onto your keys as you walked to your car. The snow had just started to fall. Occasional little flurries fell down from the sky.

“Wait!” Someone yelled from behind.

You turned to find Spencer trying his best to run but not slip on the icy parts of the driveway. When he got closer you noticed his cheeks and the tip of his nose were pink. Probably from the cold weather you thought.

“I wanted to formally say thank you for the chess set,” he explained.

“You’re welcome,” you replied with a smile. You stuffed your hands in your pockets away from the cold. “I’m glad you like it. I was worried you’d find it cheesy.”

He looked confused. “Why would I find it cheesy?”

You shrugged, “because I hand painted it.”

“But that’s what makes it perfect,” he reassured. His voice is sincere and soft. “It’s personal and shows you care.”

His eyes widened. “Oh um-“

He suddenly remembered why he rushed outside and scrambled for something in his jacket pocket. It was a small cube shaped box wrapped in paper covered in snowflakes. Quite fitting for the weather.

“I know I technically wasn’t your secret Santa but I still wanted to get you something.”

You took the gift from him with a slack jaw. “Spence-“

“This isn’t because you were my secret Santa. I still wanted to get you a gift regardless,” he reassured.

“I- Thank you,” you started unwrapping the gift.

“It’s not homemade like yours but I hope you still like it.”

”It doesn’t have to be homemade for me to-“ the wind was stolen out of your lungs.

The gift was a small gold and white music box you immediately recognized. You opened the lid to reveal a ballerina in a pink tutu spinning as Sleeping Beauty Waltz played. Your heart ached as you admired the tiny dancer.

”Is this the music box from that antique shop in Seattle?”

While on a case in Seattle, you and Spencer went to an antique shop to ask the owner about evidence found at the crime scene that was purchased there. You fell in love with a beautiful music box in one of the aisles.

“It is. I saw how you looked at it in the store and in the car you said it reminded you of when you used to do ballet. So before we left Seattle I went back to the store to get it for you. I thought it would make a great Christmas present.”

“But, that was three months ago.”

He sheepishly smiled and his cheeks only got more red. “Yeah, I had to keep it a secret for a while.”

Your heart rate started to pick up as the butterflies returned. “I can't believe you went back and bought this for me,” you muttered in disbelief.

“Of course I would. You mean a lot to me and I knew this was something that would make you happy.”

You admired the music box before carefully placing it in your purse. “Thank you so much. I love it.”

His smile grew and reached his eyes. His eyes looked beautiful in this lighting. The Christmas lights from the house made them look practically golden. Even in the freezing cold you could melt from his eyes.

He shifted his weight and licked his lips. He seemed wrapped around the words in his head. “I also wanted to ask if maybe you’d want to go see The Nutcracker with me.”

Your heart damn near stopped.

“It’s playing at the theater downtown. I was thinking if we don’t get a case then we could go see the show on Friday. Maybe, if you want to, that is,” he rambled in nervousness.

“I’d love to,” you beamed.

His face brightened at your eagerness, but his nerves were still present. “But not as friends. As a date?”

You chuckled, “Yes Spencer, I would love to go on a date with you. I think the nutcracker is a perfect first date.”

“Great,” he said with relief. “And maybe afterwards we might have time for a game of chess with my new board.”

God he was cute.

“That sounds great.”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fic

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rafedarling · 2 months ago

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𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐲𝐧’𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐬

pairing: dad!drew starkey x mom!reader

summary: you and drew both decided to let rustyn celebrate his first christmas with both sides of your extended family. rustyn, at just six months old, steals everyone’s hearts with his bright smile and lively personality just like his dada.

warning(s): english is not my native language. fluff overload, mentions of breastfeeding and parenting dynamics, family gatherings.

au: like, reblog and feedback are much appreciated. discussion can be send through my ask box, please feel free to send in anything. ⭐️ taglist | tagging: @rubixgsworld @rafeyslamb @bisexualcvnt @tracymbcm @maybankslover @anamiad00msday @stuffyownswrld @httpsdrewstarkey @mileyraes @enjoymyloves @akobx @noobmazter69 @victwrvale @xoxohoneymoongirl @xoxosblogsblog @wearemadeofstardust0 @saviorcomplexrry @percysley @littlelamy @winniemoe @emberaurora @watercolorskyy @kravitzwhore

“Merry Christmas!” you both called out cheerfully as the door opened.

Your mom appeared in the doorway, her face lighting up at the sight of her daughter, son-in-law, and grandson.

“Oh, Y/N!” she exclaimed, pulling you into a tight hug.

“And look at this little one!”

Her eyes softened as she bent down to stroke Rustyn’s cheek.

“Merry Christmas, Mom,” you said warmly, stepping aside so Drew could greet her.

Drew leaned in to give her a quick hug, careful not to jostle the baby carrier.

“Merry Christmas! We’ve been looking forward to this all month.”

“And so have we,” your mom replied, beaming.

“Oh, come in, come in! It’s freezing out there.”

As you stepped inside, the warmth of the house enveloped you, and the sound of laughter and holiday music made your heart swell.

Drew’s family was already mingling with yours, chatting as if they’d known each other forever. It was exactly what you had envisioned when you and Drew decided to bring both families together for Christmas this year.

Your dad approached, his smile wide as he greeted Drew with a handshake that quickly turned into a hug.

“There’s my son-in-law! And my grandson,” he said, his voice filled with pride.

He leaned down to make funny faces at Rustyn, who responded with an excited giggle.

“Say hi to Grandpa,”

Drew said, gently lifting one of Rustyn’s tiny hands to wave. Your dad’s laughter echoed through the room, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sweet interaction between them.

After everyone had exchanged warm greetings, you and Drew found yourselves in the living room, where the Christmas tree stood tall and sparkling. Its ornaments glimmered and a stack of presents was piled neatly underneath.

Brooke, Drew’s sister, knelt down beside you with a brightly wrapped box in her hands.

“This one’s for Rustyn,” she said, her eyes twinkling.

“Oh, how exciting!”

You exclaimed, settling Rustyn on your lap so he could reach for the present. Though only six months old, his chubby hands eagerly grabbed at the wrapping paper, his face lighting up with a toothless grin.

“You’ve got this, buddy,”

Drew encouraged, leaning over to help tear a small piece of the paper.

Rustyn squealed in delight as the gift was revealed; a soft, plush dragon. You gasped dramatically, holding it up for him.

“Look at this, Rustyn! Your first dragon! Say thank you to Aunty Brooke.”

Drew chuckled.

“He’s going to love that. I can already tell.”

“Speaking of gifts,”

Drew added, standing up to retrieve a bag from under the tree,

“Rustyn has a little something for everyone, too.”

He began handing out small, thoughtfully wrapped presents you had both prepared. Each gift had been chosen with care, personalized ornaments for the grandparents, matching scarves for the aunts and uncles, and even a little handmade card from Rustyn (with your help, of course).

The room is now fill with nothing but with laughter and gratitude as the gifts were opened.

Soon, the smell of roasted turkey and warm bread wafted in from the dining room. Everyone gathered around the beautifully set table, the centerpiece adorned with holly and candles. Drew helped you into your seat before settling into his own, Rustyn still securely strapped in his baby carrier.

As plates were passed and glasses were raised, Rustyn began to fuss, his face scrunching up as he let out a small cry.

“Oops, someone’s hungry,”

Your mom observed with a gentle smile.

You started to rise from your seat, but Drew placed a hand on your arm, his voice calm and reassuring.

“Babe, I’ve got this. You eat, I’ll calm him down.”

You shook your head with a soft smile.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll feed him. You should enjoy your food too.”

Drew nodded, helping you unbuckle the baby carrier. He handed Rustyn over carefully, his fingers brushing against yours in a way that made your heart flutter.

“Let me at least save your plate,” he said, his eyes warm.

You carried Rustyn to the living room, where the lights were softer and the atmosphere quieter which really help Rustyn calm down.

Sitting on the couch, you cradled him in your arms as you began nursing. The soft light of the Christmas tree lit the room, and the crackle sound of the fireplace added to the cozy ambiance.

About fifteen minutes later, Drew appeared in the doorway, holding your plate, now freshly refilled with warm food. A glass of warm water was balanced in his other hand.

“You didn’t think I’d let you miss Christmas dinner, did you?”

He teased, a playful grin on his face. He plopped down on the floor in front of you, crossing his legs and setting the plate on his lap.

“Now, open up.”

You laughed, shaking your head.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously in love with you,”

He countered, spearing a piece of turkey with his fork and holding it up to your lips.

You rolled your eyes but leaned forward to take a bite.

“You know, I could’ve waited until later.”

“And miss the chance to pamper my wife? Never,” he said, leaning forward to kiss your forehead.

Rustyn, now full and content, gave a soft coo, his tiny fingers clutching at the fabric of your sweater. You glanced down at him, your heart swelling with love, before looking back at Drew.

“I think you’re spoiling us both,” you murmured.

Drew’s grin softened into something more tender.

“You two deserve it. Every bit of it.”

After dinner and more chit chat, the family gathered once again in the living room, this time for games and stories. Rustyn, now awake and in a playful mood, was passed around from grandparent to grandparent, each one marveling at his tiny hands and infectious smile.

Brooke pulled out her phone to snap a picture of Drew holding Rustyn, who was tugging at the festive Santa hat on Drew’s head.

“That’s definitely going on the family Christmas card,” she said, laughing.

By the evening, Rustyn had fallen asleep in Drew’s arms, his little head resting against Drew’s chest. You sat beside them on the couch, your head leaning against Drew’s shoulder as you watched the twinkling lights of the tree.

“Merry Christmas, Drew,” you whispered, your voice soft with emotion.

He turned his head, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Merry Christmas, Y/N. I don’t think it gets better than this.”

Tears pricked your eyes as you reached for his hand.

“Thank you, for being such an amazing husband. And an amazing dad.”

He squeezed your hand, his gaze dropping to Rustyn’s peaceful face.

“Thank you for making me both.”

Drew tilted your chin up, capturing your lips in a kiss filled with all the love and promises of the years to come.

#drew starkey #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey imagines #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x you #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey fanfic #drew x reader #drew starkey fluff #drew starkey one shot #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey blurb #drew starkey x female reader #dad!drew starkey x mom!you #dad!drew starkey x mom!reader #dad!drew starkey

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xo100 · 3 months ago

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A Sparkling Christmas - LN4

*:･ﾟ Summary: Christmas with Lando is full of love, laughter, and thoughtful surprises. But one unexpected gift turns a magical day into a moment you’ll never forget.

*:･ﾟ Word count: 885

*:･ﾟ A/N: hey loves! A quick message before you read the fic. I wanted to ask y’all if you can check out @gridprincess-04 her blog! She’s working on 12 days of Christmas! Her work is absolutely amazing.

⤷ here is the link to her post of 12 days of Christmas! Make sure to send in a request and she’ll make a masterpiece of it! Thank you in advance, love you all’

masterlist / community / request

౨ৎ

The first rays of sunlight filtered through the frosty windows, illuminating the cozy chaos of the living room. Christmas morning had arrived, and the festive spirit was palpable. Lando Norris stirred awake, his messy curls a tangle against the pillow. He blinked a few times, disoriented, until his eyes landed on the figure curled up next to him.

You were still asleep, your face nestled into the crook of his arm. The soft rise and fall of your breathing brought a smile to his face, one of those private smiles he saved only for moments like this—moments that were just his and yours.

He’d planned something special for today, and the anticipation had him wide awake now. Lando carefully slipped out of bed, mindful not to wake you. Pulling on a hoodie and some sweatpants, he padded into the kitchen to start the morning right: pancakes, coffee, and a little bit of his signature mischief.

By the time you stumbled out of the bedroom, wrapped in a blanket like a human burrito, the smell of coffee and syrup had already filled the air. Lando turned around, spatula in hand, grinning at you like the cat who got the cream.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” he teased, watching as you shuffled to the counter. “I thought you were going to sleep through Christmas at this rate.”

You rolled your eyes, too groggy to respond with anything clever, but the corners of your mouth tugged upward. Lando slid a plate of pancakes in front of you and leaned over the counter, chin propped on his hand as he watched you take the first bite.

“Good?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

“Amazing,” you mumbled through a mouthful of food, earning a laugh from him.

The morning passed in a blur of wrapping paper, laughter, and stolen kisses. Lando had an uncanny ability to pick the perfect gifts, each one tailored to you in a way that made your heart swell. A set of vintage books you’d been eyeing, a new pair of headphones, even a handmade card that was equal parts hilarious and touching.

But the real surprise was yet to come.

As the day wore on, the two of you transitioned from the chaos of gift-opening to the quiet comfort of lounging on the couch. The Christmas tree lights cast a warm glow over the room, and soft holiday music played in the background. You stretched lazily, announcing your intention to change into something more comfortable for the night.

“Wait,” Lando said, stopping you in your tracks. He reached behind the couch and produced a final gift, neatly wrapped in festive paper. “One last present. Open it before you change.”

You raised an eyebrow but accepted the package, tearing through the paper to reveal a cozy-looking hoodie in your favorite color.

“You’re trying to convert me into one of your hoodie cultists,” you teased, holding it up. It was soft and oversized, exactly the way you liked it.

“Guilty as charged,” Lando said, smirking. “Go try it on. I think you’ll like it.”

You didn’t need much convincing. Retreating to the bedroom, you pulled the hoodie over your head, relishing the warmth. But as you adjusted it, your hand brushed against something in the pocket. Frowning, you reached in and pulled out a small velvet box.

Your heart stopped.

Carefully, you opened it to reveal a delicate golden ring, the light catching on the intricate design. For a moment, you just stared, the reality of it not quite sinking in. Then you heard a soft knock on the door, and Lando’s voice drifted through.

“Everything okay in there?”

You opened the door to find him leaning casually against the frame, but his expression betrayed his nerves. He glanced at the box in your hand and then back at your face.

“So, uh,” he began, scratching the back of his neck. “I was going to do the whole get-on-one-knee thing, but honestly, I thought this felt more… us.”

You didn’t say anything, your throat too tight with emotion. Instead, you launched yourself at him, throwing your arms around his neck. He caught you with a laugh, holding you tightly as you whispered, “Yes. A thousand times, yes.”

The rest of the evening was a blur of happiness, laughter, and quiet moments shared just between the two of you. After dinner—a simple yet perfect meal you cooked together—you found yourselves back on the couch, tangled up in each other. The fire crackled softly, and the snow outside blanketed the world in a serene white.

Lando’s hand found yours, his thumb brushing against the ring on your finger. “I’ve been carrying that around for weeks, you know. Couldn’t figure out the right moment to give it to you.”

“You picked the perfect moment,” you said softly, leaning your head against his shoulder. “I’ll never forget today.”

He turned to press a kiss to your temple, his voice low and tender. “You make everything perfect, love.”

The two of you stayed like that for hours, wrapped up in the magic of the holiday and the quiet promise of forever. As the fire dimmed and sleep began to claim you, Lando’s voice broke through the haze.

“Merry Christmas, future Mrs. Norris.”

And with a sleepy smile, you whispered back, “Merry Christmas, Lando.”

౨ৎ

*:･ﾟ Notes; thank you for reading, love’s! Hope you all enjoyed it! If there is something wrong or need to be edited, let me know!

*:･ﾟtags; @gridprincess-04 , @justaf1girl

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r-riri · 1 month ago

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batboys reacting to you giving them a gift out of nowhere

word count - 916

as usual if you see issues with grammar, you dont

when you came up to him with a small box that had been neaty wrapped in a matte black wrapping paper including a sparkly bow ontop of the gift he was confused for the first thing

he didnt know what to expect and suddenly he was going though all the dates in his head making sure he didnt accidently miss something but even if he somehow did alfred would have told him so for something to have avoided his and alfreds memory would have been shocking in itself

when you gave him the small box and smiling with this cute soft smile that you wore whenever you were proud of something

you usually gave that smile to him everynight when they both were laying in bed and your finger traced his scars that littered his body and he loved it, he loved you

so now he was confused why you were giving him something so out of the blue but of course he took it thanking you deeping claiming that uou never woukd have to give him something like this and that your smile and presences would always be enough for him and for him alone

so when he opened up the gift and looked inside and saw two black clufflinks with a shiny 'b' engraved into the tops of them he couldnt help but smile at them remebering how he talked about needing a new pair for the new suit he got for an upcoming gala and you did it

you were always so caring to him

when richard saw you approaching with your hands tucked behind your back with this smirk plastered on your lips he knew something was up

he eyed your appearance trying to see what you were hiding from him and he knew something was wrong.

when you showed him the medium sized box with black and blue wrapping paper a shining smile graced his face seeing it. he should've know you were up something

dick smiled at you eagerly grabbing the box knowing whatever was actually inside the box he would love and cherish until the day he could no longer cherish them

he carefully opened the wrapping whilst looking up to you watching how youd react as he knew you were always a very facial person

inside the box was something he nearly cried at, inside was a porcelain statute of his dog haley and it was painted to look exactly like her and he sowre in this moment right now he knew he had to make a collection of porcelain statutes of him and you now so that he could make a family creation and put it somewhere he would be able to see everyday

he would then have pulled you into a hug and never would want to let you go as he knew this was his forever.

now this man isnt someone who is well equated with getting gifts so this was something he didn't know how to react to when you gave him a neatly wrapped box that was coloured red and black

at first his instinctive reaction was to smile and thank you before arguing that he didint need anything special and that your love and just pure intentions with him was more than he ever though he would be deserving of him knowing you he couldn't escape this and he has escape many things in his life time before

he begrudgingly he opened the gift and low and behold was something that made he want to curl up and just sit in his feelings and seeing a handmade book and inside were 134 reasons why you loved him and why your pick him in a crowed room before anyone else

he knew you loved him, sure it was something he struggled with but he knew deep down you were gonna vanish on him but it was the small acts like this that reassured him that you werent just gonna up and leave on him

as usual timothy would usually have been found in either his room or the batcave, so when he saw you walking into his room with a red box with a yellow ribbon he was confused

he knew no important dates were today, he knew, he would always know when it came to you, he wouldnt rather you hate him than have forgotten something so important to you so when he saw this safe to say he was perplexed on why

when you gave it to him- more like shoved it into his face he knew you were up to no good so he sighed and slowly unwrapped the box and carefully looked in side and smiled rolling his eyes looking back up at you with a 'are you serious' kinda look in his eyes

instead the box was a framed photo from a newspaper of him at a interview for the latest Wayne enterprises launch and it was of him talking to a newsreporter and he had this lovesick grin and the headline read in bold 'timothy drake lovesick?!' as in that moment he was talking about you since one of the questions asked about how he balances the role at WE and being a 'regular' teen and tim mentioned his lovely partner that he adored

the look on your face had him sighing internally but he knew deep down he never would want anything but this in his life

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strawberrynida · 1 year ago

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StrawberryNida // Etsy / Pinterest / Instagram.

(bc I love you, use code "TUMBLR" for a discount ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚)

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solxamber · 9 days ago

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Receiving Gifts on White Day with: Scarabia

go here for other dorms

Kalim Al-Asim

The moment you open the door, you are met with a rain of flower petals.

“Kalim—!?”

“Happy White Day!!!” Kalim practically vibrates with excitement, grinning ear to ear. Behind him, a small army of Scarabia students stands at attention, holding up an extravagant banner that reads: "FOR MY AMAZING, INCREDIBLE, BEAUTIFUL PARTNER!!!"

You blink. “You… organized an entire event?”

He beams. “Of course! I wanted to make sure you felt super special today!”

Before you can respond, Kalim grabs your hands and twirls you around like this is some kind of grand ballroom moment. "Oh! And I got you gifts too! Look!"

He shoves a ridiculously ornate box into your hands. You open it to find an assortment of handmade sweets, gold-foiled chocolates, and—wait.

“Kalim.” You pull out a chocolate completely covered in gold. “Why is there jewelry in my chocolate box?”

He tilts his head, completely serious. “You don’t eat gold?”

You pause. “Do you eat gold?”

“Not all the time,” he says, which is not a no.

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose—only for Kalim to laugh and pull you into a tight hug.

"I'm so happy we're together," he murmurs, voice soft but so full of love. "You make me the luckiest guy in the world, y'know?"

….How dare he be so effortlessly sweet.

You bury your face in his shoulder, grumbling. “You’re ridiculous.”

Kalim laughs, spinning you around again. “Ridiculously in love with you~!”

Jamil Viper

You open your door to find Jamil standing there, looking like he’s trying very hard to appear casual about this.

Which, of course, makes you immediately suspicious.

“…Good morning,” you say, eyeing the neatly wrapped box in his hands.

Jamil clears his throat, shifting just slightly. “Here.” He hands it to you with all the ceremony of a high-stakes diplomatic exchange.

You take it, raising an eyebrow. “What’s in it? A deadly trap?”

“Only if you have a severe allergy to handmade gourmet desserts,” he deadpans.

You blink, flipping the lid open. Inside is an assortment of beautifully arranged sweets—intricate, delicate, and so painfully precise that you immediately know Jamil spent hours perfecting them.

“…You made all of these?”

Jamil huffs, crossing his arms. “I wasn’t about to give you something half-baked.”

You take a bite—and your soul ascends.

“Jamil. Jamil, these are ridiculously good.”

He smirks, but there’s a hint of relief in his eyes. “Of course they are.”

Then, suddenly—before you can react—he leans down, brushing a soft kiss against your temple.

Your brain bluescreens.

“I take my responsibilities as your boyfriend very seriously,” he murmurs, lips ghosting against your skin for just a moment longer before he pulls away.

...He's dangerous.

Masterlist

#twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #jamil viper x reader #jamil x reader #twst jamil #jamil viper x you #jamil viper

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unluckilyimnot · 1 month ago

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valentine's gift ! – sae, rin, isagi, kaiser, reo, bachira

Note: i did it with other Fandom but didn't finished all of them beside bllk sorry I was busy preparing valentine's day for my gf. I'll post them tomorrow !!

m.list | rules

Sae has a list with all the things you once mentioned or showed him. It includes clothes, books, perfume – you name it. He’s also closely following all your new books and pieces so he doesn’t get it twice, for books only if it’s a prettier edition. He doesn’t care that you don’t like having things in double, he’ll get it. Any of this, if not all of it, along with a bouquet of your favorite flowers. He’d also love see you try the clothes he just got you

Rin prefers to offer you an experience, so maybe he’ll get you a place for an exposition or an escape game ! Something you can share with him, having pictures on your wall and good memories. That also can be going to the movie theater to see a cheesy movie so you two only laugh all along.

Isagi is more shy about it, he really doesn't want to mess it up ! He's asking his friends and even his mom for advice before offering you a homemade meal – that he did himself, with his mother's help. He thought that only chocolate would be boring, so why not enjoy a whole meal and some show you currently have going on ?

Bachira is all about handmade gifts, he's a DIY king. And his mother is always here to help him if he's stuck with something. He would make you a paper bouquet, the kind of letter or box when you open it there's pop-up hearts. He tries every year to make you chocolate but he still hasn’t found a good recipe it seems.

Kaiser is all too much, every time with gifts. He has money so why not spend it on you? He wants you to brag about it, even if he knows that's not the type of gift you cherish the most. That's why every year he takes you to a new or small restaurant, held by natives. It's really out of his new comfort zone, but so that you two can make special memories, meet new people and cultures. Because he never had the occasion to go to this kind of restaurant before, he wants to discover each of them with you.

Reo doesn't want to rely on money – well, not too much. You'll ALWAYS have a giant bouquet of roses, but he tries his best to make the rest meaningful. Yes, he'll buy you that pretty ring you saw the other day as well, and that perfume you said was too expensive. But you'll also have a handwritten, 4 page letter about how much he loves you and how you bring light to his life every day. You'll find a plushie of your favorite animal he made himself in crochet (he learned it just for you) on your bed. It's all about the implication he puts that makes it beautiful.

Let me know if you liked it !

#blue lock x reader #blue lock headcanons #blue lock imagines #sae x reader #rin x reader #isagi x reader #bachira x reader #reo x reader #kaiser x reader #blue lock #bllk x reader #bllk #valentines day #bllk valentines day

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asterafroditis · 1 month ago

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𐔌 . ⋮ be my valentine? ♡ .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓┆First Years x gn! reader

𓏵 729 words

ᝰ.ᐟ headcanons, no pronouns used, fluff, a bit ooc(?)

Second Years and Third Years coming up next! feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

I think Ace would pretend he doesn’t care about Valentine’s Day, but he actually thinks about it way more than he lets on. He’s the type to act like he totally forgot, just to see your reaction, only to pull out a small but thoughtful gift at the last second.

Ace likes to tease and play it cool, but deep down, he actually gets a little nervous. He doesn’t want to make it too obvious how much he cares, but if you show genuine happiness over his gift, he’ll get all smug about it—though his ears might turn a little red.

"Hah? You really thought I forgot? Please, I always come through! Here, take it. It’s not a big deal or anything, just a little something I threw together... H-Hey! Don’t look at me like that! Ugh, you’re making me blush or something!"

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I think Deuce would take Valentine’s Day way too seriously. He’d spend weeks planning, overthinking every detail because he wants to impress you. He probably buys a classic box of chocolates but then panics because he feels like it’s not enough. So, he adds more—a handwritten note, maybe even a little charm or trinket he thought you’d like.

Deuce likes to be upfront, but when it comes to romance, he gets so flustered. He stumbles over his words, gets embarrassed over small things, and is a total mess when handing you the gift. If you thank him sincerely, he might turn bright red and awkwardly try to downplay it.

"U-Uh! Here! I mean—um—I got you something! Wait, I’m saying this all wrong—ahem—I just thought, y’know, since today’s special, I should get you something nice. Uh. Do you… like it?"

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I think Jack would pretend he doesn’t care about Valentine’s Day, but he totally does. He doesn’t like all the flashy, romantic gestures, but he does want to do something special for you. His way of showing affection would be through actions—like carrying your things, helping you with a task, or offering you a snack from the cafeteria.

Jack likes to act tough, but when it comes to romance, he’s a total tsundere. He’ll say it’s not a big deal, but his tail betrays him by wagging slightly when you accept his gift. If you call him out on it, he’ll get so flustered and grumble about how you’re "imagining things."

“Here. It’s from my hometown. Don’t think too much about it—I just figured you’d like it. …What? Why are you looking at me like that? I’m not blushing. You’re imagining things. Seriously, quit laughing.”

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I think Epel would want to be smooth and romantic, but he struggles to pull it off. He tries to write a love letter? Ends up crumpling it up because it sounds too cheesy. He thinks about giving you roses? Freaks out because it feels too formal. In the end, he sticks to what he knows and gives you something handmade—like an apple-based treat from his hometown.

Epel likes to play it cool, but if you compliment his gift, his accent slips out, and he turns into a flustered mess. He wants to be the cool and mysterious type, but deep down, he’s just a sweet farm boy who cares about you a lot.

"Here. I made this myself. And before ya start teasin’ me, I was not thinkin’ too hard about it! …D’aww, quit smilin’ at me like that! Yer makin’ me feel all soft ‘n stuff."

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I think Sebek would treat Valentine’s Day like a sacred ritual. He’d act like he’s doing you a great honor by acknowledging this "human tradition," but truthfully? He spent hours making sure his confession was perfect. He’d go way too formal with it, talking like he’s making a grand proclamation, only to panic if you tease him even slightly.

Sebek likes to be loud and dramatic, but when he’s truly flustered, he does not know how to handle it. If you thank him sweetly or call him cute, expect him to go completely red and start sputtering about how he is "a knight of unwavering resolve" (while avoiding eye contact).

"Human! You should consider yourself fortunate to receive my affections on this day of sentimentality! I—WAIT, STOP SMILING LIKE THAT! I AM BEING COMPLETELY SERIOUS! H-Hey! D-Do not pat my head!! I am not blushing!!"

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flwrkid14 · 3 months ago

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The Batfamily’s Christmas List Tradition (and how Tim gets lost in it)

The Batfamily has a long-standing Christmas tradition: the List. With so many members in the family, it’s a necessity. Everyone writes down what they want (within reason, of course), and the list serves as the ultimate gift guide. It’s efficient, especially for such a big family, and it ensures no one ends up with seven pairs of socks or the same gadget twice.

Tim takes the list seriously. It’s his chance to ask for the small, thoughtful things he wouldn’t usually splurge on for himself. Things like:

New makeup brushes. His old ones are worn out and falling apart, and it’s not until he’s on a mission that requires cross-dressing that he realizes just how bad they’ve gotten. Having a new, high-quality set would make everything feel a little smoother—and maybe even a little fun.

Cozy hoodies. Between Wayne Enterprises business casual and his Robin gear, Tim rarely gets the chance to wear something soft and comforting. His favorite hoodies are all fraying at the edges, with loose threads on the pockets and fabric that’s stretched too thin. A fresh one would feel like a luxury.

A new game console. Tim is rarely ever not working, but on those rare days off, he realizes he doesn't have much to entertain him that's not work related, that doesn't require him to leave his nest. Plus, it’s a great way to connect with his siblings during low-stakes, playful nights.

Nice coffee cups or tumblers. His caffeine habits are legendary, but the chipped and mismatched mugs he uses don’t exactly scream "Tim Drake." A sleek, stylish tumbler or a high-quality ceramic mug would elevate the most important part of his day.

Random indulgences. Books, stationery, weighted blankets, maybe a nice figuring from his favorite movie, a cool gadget he wouldn’t think to buy himself—little things that spark joy and make him feel cared for, anything he knows his own parents would have never bought for him to help heal his inner child. He's never had the luxury of writing such lists before becoming a Wayne.

Tim doesn’t just take the list seriously for himself; he makes sure to go the extra mile for his family, too. He’s always had a knack for gift-giving, and he loves curating the perfect presents for his siblings. For Dick, it might be a rare vinyl of his favorite band. For Jason, an antique first-edition book he’d mentioned once in passing. For Damian, something handmade and unique, like a custom leather-bound sketchbook or a rare art supply. Tim remembers the little things—the throwaway comments, the subtle preferences—and builds his gifts around them, ensuring every box under the tree feels deeply personal.

But Christmas rolls around… and none of the thought Tim puts into his gifts is reflected in what he receives.

Instead, he gets tech. More tech. External hard drives, cables, chargers—things he already has backups for because, well, he’s Tim. He doesn’t need more, and he didn’t ask for more.

And the worst part? It’s not that they’re bad gifts. It’s that the family assumes they know him so well that they don’t even look at his list.

“Tim’s the tech guy,” they think. “Of course he’d want more tech.”

But he doesn’t.

He’s grateful, of course—Tim is always grateful—but there’s a hollowness that creeps in every year when he unwraps another stack of USB drives and ethernet cables. It’s not about the gifts themselves. It’s about the realization that the people he loves, the people who should know him best, don’t see him the way he wants to be seen.

In a way, it feels painfully familiar. Janet had always made sure his presents as a child reflected her vision for him, not what he actually wanted. New tailored suits instead of the hoodies or tees he longed for. Sleek, professional office stationery to replace his Robin-themed pens and notebooks. Vintage collectibles meant to sit on a shelf, collecting dust, instead of toys he could actually play with. The gifts always came with a message: who he should be, not who he was. And now, even with the bats, the gifts still feel like expectations—like they see him as "the tech guy" rather than Tim, with all his quiet wants and overlooked needs.

So, Tim starts dreading Christmas. Not because he doesn’t love his family or the season, but because it reminds him of how little they seem to notice the little things about him.

And maybe one year, he stops adding personal things to the list altogether. Maybe he starts asking for tech, just to avoid the disappointment.

But deep down, he wishes someone—anyone—would surprise him with a new hoodie, a weighted blanket, or a set of makeup brushes. Something that says, “I see you, Tim. I really see you.”

#tim drake #batfam #christmas traditions #found family fails again #tim would be a thoughtful gift giver #tim gets them custom personal items and he gets cables and USB drives #how is that fair?

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