#i think it's just because it's fun to think about pairings like these

[ham1lton]

X MARKS THE SPOT!

pairings: retired f1 drivers x retired f1 legend!yn.

faceclaim: jessica alba.

summary: being the first-ever female f1 world champion was hard enough. writing a tell-all about it, including all the details of your beef with that former driver? let’s just say the track wasn’t the only place things got heated.

warnings: mentions of misogyny. like a lot. so if that is something that makes you uncomfortable, please don’t read!! your comfort comes first <3

author’s note: ignore timeline issues!! this was all inspired by that one anon who said something about yn writing a tell-all. this was written in like three hours. if you liked this, maybe send me an ask? :D

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

liked by vogue, jimmyfallon and 2,837,018 others

yourinstagram: it was so fun talking to jimmyfallon about writing my memoir ‘lucky girl syndrome’! i talked about getting the call that i was being signed, getting name dropped in a kdot song (thank you for making me cool to my nephews!) and the legacy i want to leave behind. check it out!!!

view all 298,727 comments

user1: MOTHERRR

user2: omg i’ve already pre-ordered my copy!!

-> user3: i’ve reserved it at my local library 🫡

user4: i hope she spills all the tea. i wanna know exactly who the misogynist motherfuckers are.

user5: she’s the goat female driver idc!! first female championship winner!!

-> user9: during her time in mclaren, jenson was carrying her. but yeah let’s talk about that one rigged championship 😂

user6: she still looks so hot. my first celeb crush.

-> user7: i had pictures of her all over my wall. i think my mom still has them up 😓

user8: worst driver of all time. only there because she looked good in the race suit.

-> user11: if she wasn’t hot, no one would care about her driving.

user10: this was always going to happen when you allowed women into f1. ruined the sport. she was nothing but a distraction on the grid.

-> user12: she was incredible. she clawed her way to a championship when everyone doubted her. she proved that women can do anything. the only distraction are people like you.

user13: please please please tell me she says that her and jenson were a thing. i always used to ship them so bad. the photoshoot for british vogue was imprinted on my thirteen year old brain.

-> user14: ANOTHER JENSONYN SHIPPER!!! baitclaren was my fav mclaren era. y’all can have your twinkclaren!!

-> user15: remember when jenson shut down a misogynistic reporter who tried to imply that yn wasn’t a good driver?? that was his girl frfr!!

user16: i’m so proud of u yn. you’ve been through so much and i’m excited to support you.

*liked by yourinstagram.*

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

“SHE’S NOT THAT FAST — SHE JUST GETS LUCKY SOMETIMES. THAT’S ALL IT IS. RIGHT CAR — RIGHT TIME. LUCKY GIRL SYNDROME.” — a senior mclaren engineer.

dedicated to everyone who ever rooted for me. thank you.

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

EXCERPT FROM LUCKY GIRL SYNDROME.

by yn yln.

when i signed with mclaren in 2013, i thought i was living my dream.

i was the only female driver on the grid, paired with jenson button—a world champion, a household name, and, to some, a certified heartthrob. they already loved calling him “promiscuous” in the press, and suddenly there i was: the pretty young woman who happened to drive fast. to them, we weren’t drivers—we were a brand. two good-looking people in shiny cars. and that label stuck.

from the start, i wasn’t taken seriously. i’d show up to meetings and realize they’d given me the wrong time—jenson would already be there, halfway through strategising with the team. he always looked uncomfortable when i walked in late, knowing i wasn’t told the same things he was.

“you’re here now,” he’d say, smiling politely, trying to ease the tension. i liked him. he wasn’t the problem. he was respectful, and if anyone made an offhand comment about me, he’d interject with a joke to cut through the awkwardness. but even his kindness couldn’t fix what was fundamentally wrong.

my first podium was a moment i’d worked my entire life for. it was a race where i drove faster than jenson, faster than most of the grid. but the photo they posted of me on the team’s social media wasn’t of me crossing the finish line, or holding my trophy.

it was me in the garage, leaning over the car, my race suit unzipped halfway down. the caption didn’t even mention the podium. it was just… my body. i couldn’t stomach looking through the comments.

i’ll never forget calling my dad that night. he was furious. he asked me why i didn’t make a fuss. why i didn’t storm into the team’s office and demand better treatment. but what he didn’t understand was that it wasn’t that simple. you’re the only woman in a room full of men, and they’re already waiting for you to slip up. waiting for you to show too much emotion, to prove them right when they think women are too “dramatic” to handle the job.

so i kept my head down. i smiled at the cameras, laughed at the jokes, and drove my ass off every weekend. and every time i was faster than jenson, every time i outqualified him or finished ahead, they’d say, “she got lucky.” when he beat me, they’d say, “see? this is why she doesn’t belong here.” it was a game i couldn’t win.

being the first woman on the grid wasn’t just about being fast. it was about being everything they didn’t expect me to be: calm, collected, agreeable. i couldn’t afford to push back because i knew they’d use it against me. so i swallowed it all, every little slight, every dismissive comment, every missed opportunity. i thought if i just kept my head down and drove, eventually, i’d earn their respect.

but now, looking back, i realize… they were never going to respect me. not really. not as a driver. they respected what i did for their brand, for their image. they respected how well i played the part. but as a person, as an athlete? i was just another pretty face to them. nothing more. and that’s what hurt the most.

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

r/books

Discussion Thread:

“Lucky Girl Syndrome” by YN YLN: Thoughts, Reactions, and the Drama It’s Stirred Up.

──────────────────────

u/checkeredpast: just finished lucky girl syndrome, and WOW. she did not hold back. calling out mclaren for the way they treated her, the “wrong meeting times” sabotage, and the completely inappropriate podium photo… i can’t believe this stuff actually happened.

u/fastlaneandfurious: the part where she talks about the team using her as a “walking brand strategy” instead of a driver broke my heart. like, they wanted her to be the face of the team but refused to actually treat her like a serious athlete.

u/f1fanfiction: let’s talk about the fact that she outsold literally every sports memoir in history. 2 million copies sold in the first week. yn doesn’t just break records on the track, apparently.

u/nosteeringallowed: her calling out the media for labeling her as “lucky” after she beat half the grid is ICONIC. “they didn’t call my male teammates lucky—they called them skilled.” like, yes queen, drag them.

u/ynsthegoat: what got me was the chapter about the infamous team dinner where they wouldn’t even let her speak during strategy talk. then she went out and out-qualified jenson the next day.

u/overqualifiedandundervalued: “they said i was lucky, but luck doesn’t drive faster laps or win races. luck didn’t make me the first woman to win a championship—it was skill, it was hard work, and it was me.” CHILLS. absolute chills.

u/gridgossip: is no one going to talk about the tea she spilled on that one driver? the “polite but condescending” comments she got from him while he constantly undermined her. we KNOW it’s about seb.

u/wheresthefinishline: @ u/gridgossip no no no, it’s def about fernando. she’s been shady about him for years, and the way she described the “overly competitive teammate who couldn’t handle being outpaced by a woman” fits him perfectly.

u/holygrailpodium: the inappropriate photo after her first podium makes me so mad every time. she’s standing there in tears, holding the trophy, and they choose to post a picture of her leaning over the car with her suit half-open?? disgusting.

u/gaslitandgridlocked: her dad being her biggest defender was such a beautiful part of the book, though. “why do you stay quiet when you’re the fastest in the room?” hit me right in the heart.

u/podiumqueen: not me crying over how she kept driving through all of this, knowing they didn’t want her there. like, the strength it must’ve taken to win races when her own team wasn’t even rooting for her.

u/championshipenergy: the way she calls out how different her career would’ve been if she were a man was SO POWERFUL. “they didn’t need me to be fast, they needed me to be pretty. they got both, and they still weren’t satisfied.”

u/mimosasontherace: i can’t stop thinking about the last chapter where she talks about winning her first championship and how no one in her team even hugged her when the cameras switched off. like, they couldn’t even fake happiness for her.

u/driversanddivas: this book isn’t just a memoir; it’s a reckoning. yn exposed everyone who doubted her and proved that no matter what they threw at her, she came out on top. lucky girl syndrome my ass—she EARNED that title.

u/lightsoutandread: imagine being on the grid right now, knowing you were one of the people she called out. the absolute awkwardness.

u/trophiesandtrauma: if you’re on the fence about reading this, DO IT. it’s not just about racing—it’s about breaking barriers, sexism, and resilience. honestly, it deserves all the success it’s getting.

u/checkeredpast: she’s already announced a limited series deal with a streaming platform. you KNOW it’s going to be messy when they dramatize the “wrong meeting times” scene.

u/bookishracer: “lucky girl syndrome” is officially my book of the year. yn didn’t just tell her story; she made sure no one could ever erase it again.

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

liked by f1stan, ynstan and 1,837,928 others.

ham1ltonshaderoom: f1 legend and now best selling author, yn yln, took to harper’s bazaar to discuss writing and her career. however, her memoir went viral for more than its record breaking sales. yln mentioned that there was a certain driver that would be her biggest fan in public and then undermine her in public. it has been dubbed ‘x marks the spot’, with the hashtag gaining major traction on social media. what do you think ham1ltons? and who do you think the supposed driver could be?

──────────────────────

‘there was one driver who always seemed to go out of his way to remind me i didn’t belong. he wasn’t on my team, but his presence always lingered—sharp, dismissive, condescending. let’s call him x. in interviews, he’d say all the right things, calling me a “trailblazer” and claiming he respected what i brought to the sport. but in the paddock, it was another story. during press conferences, he’d interrupt me, throwing in some smug joke that made everyone laugh but left me feeling small. once, during a rain delay, he walked past my garage and casually remarked to my engineer, loud enough for me to hear, “well, at least she’ll look good sliding off the track.” and when i won my first race, beating him in the process, he didn’t say a word. no handshake, no congratulations—just a quick glance and he was gone. i’ll never know why he went out of his way to belittle me, but in the end, i didn’t care. that win wasn’t for him. it was for me.’

──────────────────────

view all 23,727 comments

user1: it’s definitely fernando. they’ve never liked each other, and he’s always been salty when anyone’s faster than him.

-> user2: nah, it can’t be fernando. he’s competitive, but he’s never outright disrespectful. i’m thinking nico.

-> user1: girl that’s the point 😭 x was never openly disrespectful.

user3: okay but what about lewis? we KNOW their relationship wasn’t always great. remember how tense they were in interviews back then?

-> user4: no way it’s lewis. he’s literally said she’s one of the most talented drivers he’s raced against.

-> user5: lewis can say nice things now, but what if he wasn’t like that back then? she didn’t say the guy stayed disrespectful. she also said x was nice in public, who knew what he was saying in private.

user6: everyone’s ignoring seb, but she’s shaded him before. what if it’s him?

-> user7: yn has ALWAYS defended seb. if anything, he was one of the few drivers who actually supported her. it’s not him.

user8: it has to be fernando. the whole paragraph is giving fernando energy, and you know it.

-> user9: nah, i still think it’s nico. remember when he threw shade at her in a press conference after she outqualified him?

user10: you’re all wrong. it’s michael. she’s talked about how intimidating he was to race against, and she never got along with him.

-> user11: yn literally called michael one of her idols. she’d never write about him like that.

user12: y’all are missing the obvious answer—kimi. he’s the only one who would say something that blunt and not care about the fallout.

-> user13: kimi didn’t even talk to her half the time lol. i can’t see him caring enough to belittle her.

user14: okay, what if it’s no one we’re expecting? maybe it’s some random mid-grid guy like grosjean or massa.

-> user15: yn wouldn’t waste a whole chapter on someone irrelevant. it has to be one of the big names. my money’s on fernando or nico.

-> user1: fernando for sure. yn’s always been lowkey bitter about him, and this just proves it.

-> user2: it’s not fernando!! why can’t you just accept that some drivers are cocky without it being him??

-> user3: okay but if it’s not fernando, who else would it be?? the smug comments SCREAM his vibe.

user5: we’re all arguing, but yn’s probably laughing at us right now. she KNEW we’d be doing this.

user16: yn ‘attention whore’ yln.

user17: at least we know it wasn’t my king jb 😻

user18: idk who tf yn is but this tea is so juicy 😭

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

[setting: thanksgiving dinner, complete chaos. plates of food are half-eaten, wine glasses are full, and cousin jess is recording everything on tiktok. the family is deep into an argument about “x marks the spot,” using jess’s infamous powerpoint as reference.]

uncle bob: jess, i still don’t get why you made a whole powerpoint about this.

cousin jess: because the people need to know, uncle bob. yn’s memoir is the drama of the decade, and you’re welcome for organizing all the evidence.

aunt carol: honestly, it’s that fernando. slide four proves it. all the press conferences where he interrupted her? it’s right there.

aunt fiona: fernando wasn’t that bad. he even congratulated her in, like, 2017. i think it’s nico. slide eight, jess literally wrote “petty king energy” under his name.

uncle hamish: it’s not nico. you’re all overthinking this. i say it’s jenson. didn’t he once call her “intense” in an interview?

cousin matt: jenson literally defended her against the media every other week, hamish. you clearly didn’t listen to slide six.

grandpa: i still don’t understand why this yn person didn’t just punch the guy.

grandma: because she has class, unlike this family. pass the stuffing.

aunt bobbi: wait, what about lewis? slide ten said they were “friendly but complicated.” maybe he was fake-nice to her.

uncle craig: fake-nice? lewis was the only one who liked her, bobbi. slide nine has like five examples of him hyping her up in interviews.

cousin jess: uncle craig, you’re wrong. he was supportive, but there’s that one time he ignored her after she beat him in qualifying. it’s suspicious.

aunt carol: you think it’s suspicious? no way. lewis isn’t smug enough to be x.

uncle hamish: oh please, you’re all just picking names because they sound dramatic. if anything, it was sebastian.

aunt fiona: seb? absolutely not. slide seven shows he called her “one of the best drivers on the grid” multiple times.

uncle bob: that’s suspicious. who compliments people that much unless they’re guilty?

grandma: compliments aren’t guilt, bob. stop eating the cranberry sauce straight from the bowl and get a grip.

aunt carol: you’re all wrong. slide four, people! fernando cutting her off mid-sentence! the man’s guilty as sin.

grandpa: why does anyone care about this? it’s all rich people in fancy cars. sounds like nonsense.

cousin matt: rich people drama is the best kind of drama, grandpa.

aunt bobbi: jess, why is kimi’s slide just a picture of him smoking with “#needthat” written under it?

cousin jess: because kimi’s innocent. everyone knows he doesn’t care about anything but being my dream man.

uncle craig: so why isn’t yn on the slide about drivers who were universally liked?

cousin jess: because she wasn’t universally liked, uncle craig. she was fast, hot, and female in a male-dominated sport. they were all salty.

uncle bob: well, now they’re all posting about how much they respect her.

grandma: of course they are. it’s called covering their asses.

uncle hamish: if i were yn, i’d name names. all this mystery is just fueling conspiracy theories.

grandpa: or she could just leave it alone so we don’t have to argue about it at thanksgiving. what the hell even is f1? is that nascar?

uncle craig: formula 1, dad. jesus, keep up.

grandma (snapping): if someone doesn’t pass me the cranberry sauce right now, i’m gonna be the next x.

[jess pans the camera to her grandma glaring at the table, muttering under her breath as the family keeps arguing.]

cousin jess (whispering into her phone): y’all, my family is losing it over x marks the spot. happy thanksgiving.

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

liked by landopriv, ynupdates and 4,738,918 others.

ham1ltonshaderoom: an update on the ‘x marks the spot’ speculation. it started over who exactly is x, from f1 legend yn yln’s memoir and it is causing a stir! with former/current drivers taking to social media and journalists to prove their innocence. kimi räikkönen, when asked, said ‘yn deserved every win she got. people talked too much, but she let her driving do all the talking. always respected that about her.’

mick schumacher released a statement via instagram, with a montage of photos of him and his dad with the first female championship winner: ‘my dad always believed yn was one of the most talented drivers he’d ever seen. he admired her strength, her skill, and her ability to prove everyone wrong, time and time again. he spoke so highly of her and what she brought to the sport, and i know he’d be so proud to see her telling her story.’ when sebastian vettel made a rare appearance to the grid, he confirmed that he had bought a copy and thought that he was proud to watch yn ‘make history’.

now the sudden flurry of support is making fans of the sport wonder just who is genuine and who is covering his ass? what do you think ham1ltons?

view all 2,983 comments

user1: the way literally everyone is tripping over themselves to prove it’s not them is SO funny. one of you is lying, and we will figure it out.

-> user20: exactly!! the fact that EVERYONE is suddenly posting/talking feels so suspicious lmao. someone’s definitely guilty, and they’re trying to throw us off the scent.

user2: kimi’s response is so him. short, straight, and unbothered. it’s definitely not him.

-> user22: we’re all analysing this, but kimi’s out here just vibing like always. love that man.

user3: mick’s statement is beautiful and wholesome as always, but also low-key throwing shade at the others?? like, ‘my dad always supported her’ is giving ‘can’t say the same for you lot.’

-> user21: honestly, mick’s post is the only one that feels 100% genuine. his dad was always so supportive of yn.

user4: seb really said ‘i bought the book’ and dipped. man didn’t even deny anything outright. sus??

-> user5: nah, seb’s always been a yn fanboy. remember when he called her ‘the most talented driver on the grid’? it’s not him.

user6: the lewis and nico posts are giving major ‘damage control’ energy. both of them trying WAY too hard to sound supportive.

-> user7: facts. lewis called her a ‘champion’ like we wouldn’t notice how cold things were between them back in the day.

-> user17: tbh, i don’t think it’s lewis. yn has said before that he was always encouraging her, and they’ve stayed friendly.

user8: fernando’s post feels so rehearsed. like, when has he ever gushed over yn like that before??

user9: low-key think it’s nico. man was so salty about literally everything back then, and the ‘petty king’ vibes match the memoir perfectly.

-> user10: yesss, especially the part where she said he didn’t congratulate her after her first win. sounds EXACTLY like something nico would do.

user11: not enough people are talking about jenson. just because he was her teammate doesn’t mean he’s innocent. the whole ‘answer my texts’ thing was cute, but he’s a smooth talker.

-> user12: nah, yn always spoke highly of jenson. he had her back when mclaren was treating her like a sex toy. i’m ruling him out.

user13: so we’re all just ignoring that fernando spent YEARS shading her in press conferences? india ‘13 is permanently engraved in my brain.

-> user18: can’t lie, if it’s fernando, i’ll be disappointed but not surprised. his 2013 energy was… a lot.

user14: honestly, they’re all acting sketchy. the sudden love bomb of support is too much. one of you is x and we will find out.

user15: plot twist: what if x isn’t even one of the obvious names? imagine it’s someone random like felipe massa lmao.

-> user16: watch it not even be one of the main suspects and we’ve been dragging the wrong guy this whole time 💀

user18: it’s giving ‘we need to get ahead of the narrative’ vibes, and i’m here for the chaos.

-> user19: everyone’s pr team is in OVERDRIVE rn lmfaoooo

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

— all works taglist: @luvsforme @yelenasloverrrrr @donttouchthegnote @chelle1306 @bloodyymaryy @km-23mr @stinkyjax @f1kenzzz @ctrlyomomma @aliciaablueprint @theblueblub @namgification @tallrock35 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @ariellovelynn @shhhchriss @lifeless-firefly @xylinasdiary @evie-119 @itseightbeats @landososcar @yongi-lee @velentine @m1892 @blushmimi @evans-dejong @nixisracing @lethalvenus @sainzluvrr @santanasaintmendes @idontknowlmaoo @sainzluvrr @tetetoni @ssprayberrythings @heavy-vettel @tashisgf @daniskywalkersolo @c-losur3 @lestappenslover @linoscrly (see yourself tagged when you don’t wanna be? or you want to be and don’t see yourself? send me an ask!)

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

[no-144444]

playing favourites- o.piastri

summary: your first season as an f1 driver doesn't start the best, and you quickly realise McLaren doesn't like women very much. On top of that, your race engineer is as smug as the rest of them, and you have to deal with him all the time.

pairing: race engineer! oscar piastri x f1driver! fem! reader

warnings: lots of misogyny, lando is an asshole in this, illusions to ed behaviour, reader is not in a good head space, all of mclaren is super sexist.

pls remember this is fiction and purely for fun!

part one | part two | part three | part four |

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

It wasn’t exactly your plan to have a DNF on your first race but, thus the joys of a backmarker team. Zak had promised you, sworn even, that McLaren would be up there, fighting with Ferrari and RedBull. He’d told you that leaving RedBull would be worth it. Now, you were getting beaten by a fucking VCarb, the seat you could’ve had. You stalked over to Oscar once you got out of the car. 

“Care to fucking explain?” you scoffed. He looked at you, unimpressed. 

“It was an error with the steering wheel,” he shrugged. “Nothing you, or I, could’ve done.”

You sighed. “Of course not. Nothing anyone could’ve done, do you think the media will take that? Do you think this won’t mark my fucking career?! Oscar I need you to understand-” 

“Stop shouting at him, it wasn’t his fault,” Zak demanded. 

“Exactly, it’s yours. Make your car drivable,” you said before walking away. 

It was your reputation on the line, your career, your life. You’d worked to be in Formula One your entire life, you were the first woman in years. You didn’t have the option of  ‘just having a bad race’. You had to impress every single time, or else you’d be ridiculed. You knew what you’d see online tonight. You knew what people would say. You knew what questions you’d get from reporters. You knew it all. You’d done the song and dance a million times before, and you weren’t interested in doing it again. 

“SO, WHAT HAPPENED?” “YOUR FANS ARE DEMANDING ANSWERS?” “WAS THIS AN ACTUAL FAILURE OF THE CAR, OR JUST THE DRIVER?” “WHAT DID YOU SAY TO YOUR RACE ENGINEER AFTER?” “DO YOU TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR YOUR RACE?” “WHAT DO YOU SAY ABOUT PEOPLE’S OPINIONS ON YOUR DRIVING AFTER TODAY?” “SHOULD YOU HAVE STAYED AT REDBULL?” 

“ARE YOU EVEN A GOOD DRIVER?”

Walking out of the media pen, you had your head hung low and a blank expression. Every single reporter wanted to talk to you. Every question was more and more degrading, and you just felt empty by the end of it. Megan, your press officer, left you in the hallway of the motorhome and you leant against it and sighed. 

You couldn’t keep doing this. 

In recent months you’d been questioning whether or not any of this was worth it. Every single weekend of your career had been a step towards gender equality, you were the poster-girl for being a good driver, but it was always just not enough. You’d left RedBull because of it. You realised they’d never give you a seat and just continue to use you as a diversity hire. It hurt though, that had been your home for years. You’d always been a RedBull driver, since you were in karting. The whole lead up to your first race was months and months of questions, everyone wondering if you could finally show everyone that women deserved seats in F1. 

And you’d just fucked it up. 

You hadn’t even noticed that you’d started crying until you felt them on your cheeks. You quickly wiped them away, but it wasn’t quick enough to fool Oscar. He frowned as he looked at you, walking towards you. You rolled your eyes. “Don’t fucking pity me,” you scoffed. “Come on, we have to debrief,” you said, walking into the boardroom. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

“Oscar, when am I pitting?” you shouted, hoping he would finally fucking answer you. 

“I’m not sure yet, give me a moment Y/n-”

“Y’know it’s really fucking impressive how we finally get in the points and now I’m getting fucking undercut because you’re not fucking ready Oscar, this is ridiculous!” you shouted. 

“Pitting next lap,” he said, neutral. It pissed you off how level-headed he was. 

“Fuck off,” you muttered. You pitted next lap. You finished the race in P11. 

Shit. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

“Fuck!” you shouted at Oscar, getting out of the car. “This is such fucking bullshit.”

“Y/n-” he started.

“Just fuck off,’ you sighed, pushing his hand off your arm. “That would’ve been our best finish! P5?! And then Lando turns into me?!” 

He nodded. “Calm down,” he soothed. Your mood turned. 

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do,” you ripped your arm back. 

Lando DNFed. You DNFed. Shit. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

P15, another failure. At least you’d gotten higher than Lando, stuck down in P17. 5 races in and 0 points between the two of you? Fucking hell. You’d never scored so badly in your life. You walked over to the barrier, finding Oscar standing there. 

“Sorry,” you sighed. “We’re so fucking slow.”

He nodded. “We’ll keep working.” 

You nodded, but you felt that same nausea twisting your gut. 

“Are you hungry?” he asked, somehow sensing it all. You shook your head. 

He stared at you a second longer, then took your answer, despite the way he sensed your lie. 

You two didn’t get along. He understood that. It didn’t mean he wasn’t aware of your insane diet and work out regimen. He was completely aware of the way you blame yourself despite the car being the only issue. He watched you work yourself to the bone. He almost wished you would be a bit more arrogant, like Lando, he wished it fell off your shoulders as easily as it did his. 

He couldn’t stand the media. The narrative they were pushing about you was ridiculous. You’d won every junior series, you’d waited your turn in RedBull, only to get kicked to the curb, you were good enough, but something told him you were starting to believe otherwise.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

“So what’s the issue?” Zak sighed, pacing the garage, starting one of his famous pep talks. 

“Y/n,” a voice from the back muttered and everyone's heads snapped to you. It had been one of the mechanics who had preferred Carlos, but you just shrugged. A few chuckles were heard, one of them coming from Lando himself, and you just continued what you were doing, staring off into space. 

“It’s the car we built,” Zak answered his own question, trying to do damage control. 

“She’s not exactly Hamilton,” Lando said, a little bit too loud, as he joked with his engineer. 

“She’s consistently placed in front of you in the same car,” Oscar pointed out, his voice neutral. “The only reason she DNFed in Saudi Arabia was because you turned into her. Also, you haven’t gotten any points.”

“What are you, her boyfriend?” He chuckled, making the garage laugh. You rolled your eyes, getting up and walking off. “Is she fucking PMSing?” 

Oscar’s blood boiled at the way his co-workers laughed at that, at you. You didn’t deserve this shit from Lando, from anyone. Oscar went after you. He stopped right outside your driver’s room. 

“I don’t know what to do.

He heard your voice, thick with emotion. 

“You’re not working hard enough, look at Lando. You have to pay your dues here, it’s how McLaren works. Go for a run and clear your head.”

“I’m exhausted-”

“I’m not asking.” 

He stepped back, letting the door swing open. You stared back at him with wide eyes. “Run?” he offered.

“She should go on her own-”

“Yeah, sure,” you shrugged. 

You didn’t like Oscar, but it was better than going alone. 

“What’s Richards’s problem?” he asked as you two ran the streets of  Miami in the pitch black of the night. Richard was your trainer.

“He’s just a bit of a pushover,” you shrugged. “He’s making me better.”

“He’s making you train more, relax less, and eat less,” Oscar pointed out. “Is that better?” 

“So you’re a health expert now?” you scoffed. “The gaul of you, to always assume that you know better than someone just because you can. It is fucking insane how much of an ego everyone here has.”

“Maybe you should get one,” he scoffed. 

“An ego? No thanks.”

“No, a backbone,” Oscar said. “You can’t let Lando walk all over you, he’s without.”

“Without what?”

He shrugged. “You know what I mean.”

“I don’t,” you continued. “Explain.”

Oscar smirked. “Talent.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re so strange.”

And off you went, running again. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

P4, finally a good result, finally a result worth all the struggle, all the shit, everything.

But no one was at the barricade. None of your mechanics, no Zak, no one. Not even Oscar. You looked like a fucking idiot. Lando had DNFed. They were busy with him. McLaren was such a fucking boys club, and you didn’t fit in. You shook your head as you searched the barricade, not one familiar face to be had. Bullshit. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

You walked back into the motorhome after all of your media duties, and you scoffed when they let out a half-hearted cheer. No celebration for you, only sympathy for Lanod, who crashed because of his own reckless driving, Lando who was totally fine, Lando. You pretended it didn’t hurt. You’d been congratulated by everyone else, every other driver, especially Danny, Liam, Yuki, Max, and Checo. They all gave you the biggest hug, told you how well you were doing, and celebrated you.  You wished you’d just stayed as their reserve driver. Maybe then you’d be something to someone. 

You stumbled into your driver’s room and found a note on your table, beside it, your favourite chocolate bar. 

Congratulations on your result, you deserve to be celebrated, but Lando sucks so we had to pretend that you aren’t incredible. I thought you’d enjoy something sweet, sorry we had to be the ones to leave the bitter taste in your mouth.

Osc. 

You stared down at it for a moment. Oscar knew your favourite chocolate bar. Oscar explained himself and apologised. Oscar was there for you, even if it was just in spirit. Oscar wanted to celebrate you. He wished he didn’t have to leave you alone, standing in Parc Fermé with no one to congratulate you. 

“Fuck you,” you said, to no one in particular. You were alone, as always. You crumbled up the note and threw it into the bin. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

When Oscar looked at his desk in MTC the next morning and found the same chocolate bar he’d spent 3 hours searching for, he frowned. McLaren was ruining you slowly. Your mental health was falling further and further away from ‘alright’, and he seemed to be the only one to notice it. He saw you out of the corner of his eye. “Y/n,” he called. “Come here.”

You rolled your eyes, walking over to him. “What?”

“I don’t like these,” he shrugged. “You should take it, I’m sorry-”

“I don’t like them either,” you shrugged. “Go give it to Lando, since you’re his bitch now too.”

“I-”

“I don’t fucking care about where your loyalty lies, Oscar, but don’t play both sides. You picked one in Imola, so stick with it,” you seethed, hitting the bar out of his hand. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[k1tty5]

I would like to make it clear that I do NOT want anyone’s firstborns, but I will ramble. for you.

rambles about the process and other thoughts under the cut! I talk a LOT, so… view at your own risk?

I originally had this idea a couple months ago, I think when I first heard the song. I had made a little test for it, which I didn’t end up doing anything with because I thought it didn’t really make much sense. Which, I’m not sure I did that great of a job making this make sense, but you know. Whatever.

this is the original drawing i made for it back in early august, very rushed and not a big fan of it.

I liked the black background & grayscale palette, as well as the way the string kind of . Twirls around the text? BUT, I went into this without any planning, mostly just me doodling and then threw the lyrics on for fun. No plot or whatever, very short.

After I made this, I was kind of just keeping this idea in mind for later, but I held back on trying to do it as I just wasn’t really sure where I wanted to go with it. I’m very bad at planning and tend to rush into things a lot, which ends up hindering the quality of a lot of my art. and since this was something I actually liked the idea of, I wanted to give it my all.

There was also the fact that because I liked the idea, I wanted the best outcome. This kind of ends up in a sort of paralysis where I don’t want to work on something because I’m not good enough for it, but I did realize that I will likely never consider myself good enough for it, so why not just go for it?

Anyway ,

I did not end up keeping the black background for the reason that I decided that this time around I wanted it to have a more traditional vibe/look? Like perhaps it was scrawled over some roughed up paper, hence the sketchy style and limited palette.

And as for why I didn’t keep the string looping around the pages, I just thought that would add too much red to the pages, sort of ruining the vibe. So I instead just kept it inside the panels!

these are the original thumbnails/sketches! most of them I kept the same, but I did end up pretty much entirely changing the third page, because I decided there was already too many panels of just their faces with somewhat unsettled expressions .

thoughts on individual pages - don’t expect me to be organized or this to be well thought out, by the way,,

on page 1 ,

I started with a shot of the relationship, mostly to just… set the scene. I am NOT an expert on comics, and went into this with very minimal planning, so this work in general is more of the vibes than it is a storyline, but I did try to vaguely get it to resemble something comprehensible.

the second panel of Etho brushing Joel’s cheek is very much no thoughts for me lol, not very happy with how it looks. I do picture Etho as the more openly affectionate one (though i can see it both ways). BUT, to match with the lyrics, you could say that the first panel paired with “it’s hard to tell which elements of this are real” could be resembling that the boat is something tangible and physical, whereas the second panel paired with “and which are chemically enhanced” is referring to whatever feelings they have. Asking themselves if this is really real, or if it’s just the game.

no notes on the third panel lol. like i say this was not well thought out, the story is somewhat there, but it’s VERY much up to interpretation and I did intend it to be that way. I have ideas about what is happening, but I want to keep it up to the viewer.

on page 2,

“But it’s not easy to tell what I want from what I need” OH BOY !!! manic red joel. blinded by the bloodlust and rage and adrenaline. he needs this. he needs it, doesn’t he?

“I am more scared of myself than I am of anyone else” okay okay okay. I don’t headcanon he has any real remorse for killing anyone. this is a death game, you’re not meant to be a good person, this is built on lies and manipulation and blood and hurt. headcanon they’re all insane people doing bad things (with a forced hand or not). BUT !!! big fan of “i break everything i touch” kind of thing (its kind of a pattern in ships i like OOPS). so much angst. regretful of your violent nature, wishing to be gentler so that you can cradle his face without digging your nails into his skin, unwanting to break the only thing you’ve learnt to love.

but. etho doesn’t care !!! he doesnt care. his hands are just as bloody as yours, don’t you see?

on page 3,

panel one is just a continuation of the last scene which i just talked about blah blah blah

panel 2!! thats a portal. we all know what happened in the portal :)

on page 4.

ending the mini comic thing with the ship burning, while it started with a shot of the ship in its prime. before and after, how it started and how it ended.

all in all, I !! AM !!! INSANE!!! about them. I could ramble for hours probably but this is already long so ending with a couple final thoughts.

this is definitely meant to be set after they’ve gone red, when in that timeframe is up to you, though. in my vision the lyrics are kind of correlating to c!joel’s thoughts/feelings/whatevers, but it can definitely go both ways - or neither way lol. This song is really just like. THEM. To me.

anywho, thank you to anyone who has put the augh’s and ough’s in the tags, they’re very gratifying haha <3

the simplest words

[whatifitis]

♡ So American - FC 43 ♡

Summary: You and Franco celebrate Thanksgiving together for the first time and Franco nearly gags when he sees American Thanksgiving dishes

Author's Note: this is so ass so I’m sorry 😭 feedback is always appreciated

WC: 2296

CW: american reader 😲, fluff, thanksgiving food, wicked mentions, more overuse of song lyrics

You and Franco had been together for the better part of the year, about 7 months. Thanksgiving was coming up and, on the same weekend F1 would be racing in Qatar, not allowing Franco to be with you on Thanksgiving day, which was honestly a disappointment to the both of you. However, after moving around some plans, the two of you managed to pick a date that worked for everyone to be in your hometown to celebrate the holiday, before Franco had to go off and be a star (and an icon).

To say you were excited was an understatement. It was not only your first time having a boyfriend, but having a boyfriend during the holidays. You were excited to create new memories with Franco and show him how you celebrate the holidays in America.

Your family typically divides the work for the food every year and this time you were in charge of making the sweet potato and marshmallow dish, something you knew was gonna throw Franco into a whirl about. Your boyfriend enjoys making fun of some American dishes and you don’t mind because it’s fun and you can see how some of them are strange.

You two were in your apartment the morning of Thanksgiving dinner. You got ready for the day and decided it would be best to change into your outfit after you’ve cooked. You settled on wearing one of Franco’s shirts and a pair of his shorts for now. You then decided to head to the kitchen to prepare your dish, Franco trailing behind you like a puppy.

“You look pretty wearing my clothes.” Franco complimented.

You deadpanned to Franco with an emotionless face asking, “do I not look pretty any other time? Is this the only time I look pretty?”

Franco’s face turned red and he was panicking, “I- no, no, amor. Thats- that’s not what I-“

“I’m kidding, love. Relax, looked like you almost shit yourself then.” you laughed.

Franco took a breath of relief and just smiled at your antics, “ha ha, so funny.”

As you pulled out the ingredients you’d be needing, Franco watched in confusion.

“Amor, what- what are you making? You have sweet potatoes, marshmallows, and pecans on the table. Is it all for one dish? No, right?” he questions, cocking his head to the side.

“It is for one dish. I’m making a sweet potato casserole!” you exclaim excitedly, knowing it was one of your favorite dishes and you can only have it during Thanksgiving.

“Eugh. No, amor. No.”, you watch as Franco makes a face of disgust, “Why?”

“It’s good, baby. I promise. When it’s all baked together with the seasonings, it tastes like heaven.” you think, displaying a picture of the dish in your mind.

Franco all but side eyes to your response, “I thought I tasted like heaven…” he pouts.

“Sweet potato casserole tastes better, babe. Sorry.” you flash a toothy smile.

“Ay dios mio. Is this what I’m marrying into?” Franco jokes, dropping head into his hands.

“Ehm! I beg your finest pardon?! Where the fuck is my ring?”, wiggling your ring finger at him, “Don’t joke about marriage, bitch. Or I’ll start doing the ending riff of Defying Gravity all day long.”

“Ay no, por favor, no. As much as I love your singing, amor. I can’t listen to any songs from Wicked right now. It’s all you’ve been playing the past month! Please, anything but Wicked, anything!” Franco pleads with you.

“Fine. Your funeral though.” you say, carrying on with your cooking.

“Que?”

“Nada”

Franco is left speechless, but you carry on with your actions.

After plopping onto a chair and pouting, Franco got curious, “Amor, can you tell me what Thanksgiving is? I know you give thanks, but why?”.

“Well, in school we were taught that years ago, around this time, the pilgrims and Native Americans came together to share a meal and be peaceful with one another. They basically celebrated a successful harvest but with most of American history, there’s some lies. But Americans really don’t care about history. It’s just a day where most of us don’t have to work and an excuse to stuff our faces with food that’s really bad for us.”

“That’s….nice.”

“I can feel the judgement from here.”

“I’m not judging, just learning.” he smiles cheekily, “but in all honesty, your reality is so different from mine. In Argentina we don’t have this holiday and strange foods, but I want to learn all about your crazy American traditions if it means I get to be by your side. I go where you go.”

“I go where you got too.” you say, still blushing from his words.

“Maybe ‘I go where you go’ can be our ‘always’.”

You tried to suppress your laugh and threw a few marshmallows at his response, “You’re done. You’re done. I cannot believe you just quoted The Fault In Our Stars.”

He’s giggling to himself and it’s one of your favorite things in the world. It’s just not fair of him to be so cute and funny. If he keeps this shit up, you swore you were gonna marry him.

-=+=-

During the drive to your parents house for dinner, you and Franco listened to music. As passenger princess, Franco had control of the aux and he played a playlist he had made when you two first started dating. He knew that sharing music was sort of a love language of yours so he saved all the ones you had mentioned at times or the songs he would always find on repeat when you were around.

It was a peaceful drive, that is until No Good Deed from Wicked came on. As soon as the opening chords started, Franco knew there was no stopping you. He watched as you put on a one woman performance for him, and him only. Yes, it was from Wicked but he couldn’t lie. If you’re the one singing, he didn’t mind the constant sound.

He was also thankful it wasn’t Defying Gravity or else you would’ve been asking for a broom to hold. He also knew you would’ve fucked up your voice a bit if you attempted Cynthia Erivo’s riff.

The two of you arrived at your parents house and were warmly welcomed by the rest of your family. Though the house was already decorated in Christmas decor, the feeling of Thanksgiving was flowing through the air. Your dad already had the (American) football game

playing on the tv, calling Franco over to once again try and convert him into a fan.

You watched as your boyfriend was practically dragged away from you, laughing as he mouthed the words ‘help me’. Your dad adored Franco and your Franco loved hanging with your dad. As they went on to do their antics, you walked to the kitchen, setting down the dish you had prepared and began to help your mom finish up some cooking.

“So,” your mom starts, “how are you and Franco?”

You couldn’t help but smile, you’re glad she brought him up first because you can never have a conversation if it’s not about him.

“We’re good. When he found out that he was able to make it to dinner, he was so excited. He’d immediately asked me a million questions on whether he should bring something or not as a gift. But I told him to not worry about it, there’s enough food and drinks so we didn’t need anything.”

“He’s a sweet boy. I’m glad you found him, he’s brought back a light in you that I haven’t seen in a long time.”

You looked up at your mom and almost burst into tears. You didn’t know that color was coming back to you. Before any tears spilled, Franco walked into the kitchen and went straight to you. When you were close enough, he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close and kissing your hair.

“Do you guys need any help?” he’d asked you guys.

“I don’t think we need any help here but you know what I need help with?” you aunt asks, raising a cheeky eyebrow at Franco, “I need help dancing to this song.”

You watched as your aunt grabbed Franco's hand and pulled him away from you to dance with him. The two danced and swayed to the music as the rest of you laughed and cheered them on. You’re glad your family gets along with Franco well.

Music, laughter, and chatter filled the air, along with the savory and sweet smells of the food that was almost ready to eat. Once everything was cooked, your mother, aunt, and yourself began to set the table with the silverware and make the table look as beautiful as can be. As if they could sense that everything was ready, Franco, your father, uncles, aunts and cousins joined you at the table.

As each of you began to take your seats, Franco was almost split in half. Everyone wanted to be seated next to him. You were all for sharing but Franco was yours. As long as you got to sit on one side of Franco, no heads would roll and peace would prosper.

In the end, one of your cousins ended up sitting on the other side of Franco, ready to bombard the poor boy with questions about racing and F1.

Before digging into the food, everyone had to give thanks and say what they were grateful for. Most of your family said the typical stuff like thankful for having a happy, loving family and having a roof over their head. That was until it was your cousin’s turn…

“This year, I’m grateful that Logan was dropped from Williams and that Franco was able to have that seat. My best buddy is a F1 driver now. But R.I.P. Logan, my American king. Also R.I.P. Sebastian Vettel, you would’ve loved Franco. Anyways, who's next?” your cousin clapped his hands, looking around the table.

Crickets could be heard from the silence.

Franco, thankfully, moved the conversation forward and said his thanks. “Well, ehm. I think I have a lot to be thankful for this year. I’m thankful for my opportunity to drive in F1, and even though I don’t know where I’ll be next year, I’m still happy I got this chance. I’m also super grateful for y/n. We only met this year but she’s still amazing and has been there for me through a lot. And I’m also grateful for having been invited to join you guys today and that you guys are so cool and welcoming, so thank you.”

Everyone basically awed at Franco and his little speech. Meanwhile you were on the verge of tears. You’d never known love like this and you couldn’t believe he chose you. He was like a poem that you wished you’d written.

After some deep breaths from you, everyone began to dig into the food, well, everyone except for Franco. The boy was absolutely lost, he didn’t know what half the stuff was and he wasn’t sure how to go about anything. You took it upon yourself to start his plate for him so that he could familiarize himself with some of the foods and not get overwhelmed.

When you set his plate down in front of him again, he looked at the plate confused and then turned to you, silently asking you to tell him what everything was.

“You’ve got some ham, sweet potato casserole, green beans, and mashed potatoes to start. I know you like all those even if you haven’t tried some yet. From here you can work your way around the dishes on the table.” you smile.

“Gracias, amor. I really am grateful for you and all that you do.”

“Tell me, lover. How grateful are you?” you cheekily ask.

With a wink, Franco replies, “I’ll show you after dinner.”

-=+=-

“The only thing I will be showing you if anything is my shit because I am so full.” Franco tells you as he settles himself on the couch.

The whole family had wrapped up dinner and finished off the night with some dessert. Now some of the family were chatting over some drinks to end the night.

“Please don’t.” you tell Franco.

“Ok, I wasn’t actually planning on showing you my shit. Ay dios.” states as he rolls his head to rest on the back of the couch.

You take a seat next to Franco, resting your head on his shoulder, his arm instinctively wrapping around you. His other arm reached for your hands and held them close. You swore his hands were so warm that they made hell seem cold.

You really were grateful for him. The two of you had been through some tough times so early into your relationship. There were times where you wondered if it was meant to be and if it would all work out. You’d even tried to push him away at some point, believing his life would be easier if you weren’t there to drag him down. But he stayed. There have been moments where you’ve been mean to him, times where you were so depressed that you would stay in bed all day and didn’t move. Days where you didn’t respond to his texts or calls because you couldn’t. But despite all that, he’s still here.

You’ve burned so many bridges in your life. You’ve made the same mistakes over and over but now you know you did one thing right. You love Franco with everything you have and he’s the person you trust the most. He knows you better than you know yourself most of the time. Even when you lose your mind, he’s still yours.

[diamonddaze01]

second servings

pairing: mingyu x afab!reader genre: smut, fluff, a dash of humor bc im fun like that | wc: 3.7k Warnings: unprotected sex (WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT), drinking rating: r a/n: happy thanksgiving! or as ivy (my beloved @c-oupsie ) aptly put it, dicksgiving // huge thank you to @lovetaroandtaemin for the beta!!! //MINORS DNI

It’s safe to say that this Thanksgiving has been a rousing success.

Your mother had nothing but praise for the way you pulled off her famous sweet potato casserole (even though she was hovering behind you the entire time, making "suggestions"), and your father was borderline drunk on Mingyu’s whiskey-infused turkey. Sure, he’d proudly claimed it was an old family recipe, but you’d seen him frantically Googling “best Thanksgiving turkey recipes” at 2 a.m. the night before. No harm, no foul—especially since your parents didn’t need to know about his panic or how the entire kitchen had nearly gone up in flames during the basting process.

For his part, Mingyu had charmed everyone effortlessly. Between pulling your chair out at dinner, teasing your father about how he could totally outdrink him (a dangerous game, considering how much whiskey had been consumed), and sheepishly admitting he’d practiced making pie crust for weeks, it was clear your parents were absolutely smitten with your boyfriend. By the time your mom hugged you both goodbye at the door, whispering that you’d “picked a good one,” you thought your heart might burst with pride.

But now, the house is quiet. The only sounds are the low hum of the dishwasher and the occasional creak of the floorboards as you wander through the dining room, stacking dishes and tidying up. The scent of roasted herbs and pumpkin pie still lingers in the air, but you’re already beginning to unwind.

Mingyu is... well, not unwinding. Not in the slightest. You can hear him singing—no, yelling—off-key in the kitchen as he polishes off the last of the whiskey your dad left behind. When you poke your head in to scold him for leaving you to do all the cleaning, you find him leaning against the counter, a lazy, lopsided grin lighting up his face. His tie is loose, and the top buttons of his shirt have been undone, showing off that smooth stretch of skin you always find it impossible to resist.

“You’re wasted,” you accuse, trying not to smile at how disheveled he looks.

“Wasted?” he echoes, incredulous, though the way he wobbles slightly when he stands says otherwise. “Nah, baby, I’m just... grateful. It’s Thanksgiving! And I’m thankful for you.” He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close, his nose nuzzling your temple. His voice drops, low and teasing. “And the way you look in this dress... God, how did I keep my hands to myself all night?”

You roll your eyes, even as your heart stutters in your chest. “Because my parents were right there, and you were busy trying to impress them?”

Mingyu hums, the sound reverberating against your skin. “Impressed them so much they probably think I’m an angel, huh?” His fingers press lightly against the small of your back, pulling you closer until you can feel the warmth of his breath against your ear. “Guess I shouldn’t ruin that image.”

When you laugh, the sound barely leaves your lips before he has you pinned against the nearest wall. Your shriek of surprise is muffled by Mingyu’s mouth on yours, warm and insistent, tasting faintly of whiskey and the pumpkin pie he’d wolfed down before your parents left. His hands bracket your waist, firm and steady, but there’s nothing restrained about the way he presses into you.

“Shhh,” he murmurs against your lips when you try to protest, his voice dark and teasing. “Can’t let them know their soon-to-be son-in-law isn’t the perfect golden boy they think he is.”

Your laugh bubbles up despite yourself, but you manage to shove at his chest just enough to put some space between you. “Mingyu, stop! There are dishes everywhere—”

“Don’t care,” he growls, already pulling you back toward him.

“Mingyu!”

He only grins as you slip out of his grasp, retreating into the dining room, muttering about someone needing to be responsible. But he’s not far behind. You feel his presence before you even hear him—the deliberate slowness of his footsteps, the quiet huff of his breath as he watches you stack plates.

You turn to scold him, but the words catch in your throat the moment you see his expression. His pupils are blown wide, gaze dark and intent, like he’s just barely holding himself back.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you say, a little breathless.

He takes a step closer.

“Like what?”

“Like—like you’re going to—”

Mingyu doesn’t let you finish. In one swift motion, he’s at your side, spinning you around and lifting you effortlessly onto the dining table. Plates clatter around you, some teetering dangerously close to the edge as you gasp in shock.

“Wait,” he says suddenly, holding up a hand. His gaze flicks to the plates beneath you, then back to your face. “Are these gonna break if I—”

You raise an eyebrow, trying to keep your composure. “If you what?”

He flashes you a devilish grin, and before you can stop him, he swipes an arm across the table, sending the rest of the dishes clattering to the floor.

“Mingyu!” you gasp, clutching his shirt as you gape at the mess.

“It’s fine,” he says, far too casually for someone who’s just created a potential disaster. His voice is rough, his breath coming quick as he leans in close, pressing you back against the table. “They’re not ceramic. They won’t break.”

Your protest dies on your lips as his mouth finds yours again, hands already working to undo the buttons of your dress. The table creaks beneath you as he presses his weight into you, his kisses growing more heated, more desperate with every passing second.

“You’re insane,” you murmur against his lips, though your fingers are already threading through his hair, tugging lightly just the way you know he likes.

“Maybe,” he admits, his grin unmistakable even as his lips move to your jaw, trailing kisses down the column of your neck. “But you’re stuck with me now.”

“Not if I kill you for breaking half our dishes,” you tease, though the sharp intake of breath you can’t quite suppress gives you away.

“Then you’ll have to explain to your parents why their perfect golden boy is gone,” he counters, his voice a low rumble against your skin.

"And we can't have that, can we?" you murmur, tilting your head to give him better access.

Mingyu chuckles, the sound vibrating against your throat. "Definitely not. I've worked too hard to impress them."

His hands slide down your sides, bunching up the fabric of your dress as they go. You shiver at the feeling of his fingers against your bare thighs, your skin prickling with goosebumps. Mingyu's touch is warm, his fingers leaving trails of heat in their wake.

"Speaking of impressing," you say, trying to keep your voice steady as his touch wanders higher, "I can't believe you actually learned to make pie crust."

He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dancing with mischief. "Oh, that? I lied. I bought it pre-made."

You gasp in mock outrage. "You fraud!"

"Hey, your mom loves me,” Mingyu bites the junction where your shoulder meets your neck, just enough to hurt, and you whine. “You can’t call me a fraud when her love is real, baby.” His tongue carves a path back up to your mouth.

"Oh, shut up," you laugh, tugging him closer by his loosened tie.

Mingyu chuckles, the sound vibrating against your neck as he continues his trail of kisses.

"You know," he murmurs, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze, "I wasn't lying earlier. About being grateful for you."

The sincerity in his eyes catches you off guard, making your breath hitch. Even with his hair mussed and his shirt half-unbuttoned, there's an earnestness to him that makes your heart swell. But then he kneels in front of you, and your heart starts to stutter.

“And what better way to show you how…grateful I am,” he starts, fingers brushing against the wet spot on your panties, so soft it makes you gasp. “Than to kneel in front of you?”

His words make your back arch, shivers running down your spine. He hums softly, fingers brushing the edge of your panties. 

“My baby’s so pretty,” he breathes, pressing open-mouthed kisses against thighs as you shiver. 

"Mingyu," you gasp, your fingers tightening in his hair as he slowly drags your panties down your legs. The cool air hits your heated skin, making you shiver.

He looks up at you through his lashes, a wicked grin playing at his lips. "Yes, baby?"

You open your mouth to respond, but all that comes out is a breathy moan as he presses a kiss to your inner thigh, dangerously close to where you need him most. Your hips buck involuntarily, seeking more contact.

Mingyu chuckles, the sound low and rough. "So eager," he murmurs against your skin. "But I want to savor this. Show you just how thankful I am."

His tongue traces lazy patterns on your thigh, inching closer and closer to your center with each pass. You squirm on the table, plates clattering softly around you as you try to press closer to his mouth. But Mingyu's hands on your hips hold you firmly in place.

"Patience," he whispers, his breath hot against your sensitive skin.

You whimper, fingers tightening in his hair. "Mingyu, please..."

He looks up at you, eyes dark with desire. "Please what?"

"Touch me," you breathe. "I need you to—"

Your words dissolve into a gasp as Mingyu finally, finally presses his mouth against you. His tongue moves in slow, deliberate strokes, teasing and exploring. You throw your head back, a low moan escaping your lips as pleasure courses through you.

Mingyu hums against you, the vibration sending shockwaves of sensation up your spine. His hands slide from your hips to your thighs, gently urging them further apart. You comply eagerly, desperate for more of his touch. Mingyu takes advantage of the new angle, his tongue delving deeper, circling your clit with practiced precision.

"God, you taste amazing," he murmurs against you, the words sending vibrations through your core. “Better than my pie, baby.”

You can't help the breathy moan that escapes you, your hips rolling against his face as you chase the building pleasure. Mingyu matches your rhythm, alternating between broad strokes of his tongue and focused attention on your sensitive clit.

"Mingyu," you gasp, tugging at his hair. "I'm close, I'm—"

Your words trail off into a strangled moan as Mingyu redoubles his efforts, his tongue working faster, more insistently against you. One of his hands leaves your thigh, and you feel his fingers teasing at your sopping entrance before slowly sliding inside. The dual sensation of his tongue on your clit and his fingers curling inside you makes you arch against the table, fingers finding purchase on the tablecloth and holding on for dear life.

"That's it, baby," Mingyu murmurs against you, his voice rough with desire. "Let go for me. Show me how good I make you feel."

His words, combined with the relentless attention of his mouth and fingers, push you over the edge. Your back arches off the table as waves of pleasure crash over you, Mingyu's name falling from your lips in a breathless cry. He works you through your orgasm, his movements slowing gradually as your body relaxes.

When the last tremors of pleasure subside, Mingyu presses a final, gentle kiss to your inner thigh before standing up. His hair is a mess from your fingers, his lips swollen and glistening. The sight of him looking so thoroughly debauched makes your heart race all over again.

"Come here," you murmur, reaching for him.

"You're beautiful," he murmurs, leaning down to capture your lips in a searing kiss. You can taste yourself on his tongue, and it sends a renewed spark of arousal through you. His hand finds yours, interlacing your fingers on the thoroughly christened tablecloth. You bring your joined hands to your mouth and suck on his fingers as Mingyu looks on in dazed fascination.

Mingyu groans, his eyes darkening with renewed desire. "God, you're gonna be the death of me," he murmurs, voice rough with want.

You release his fingers with a soft pop, a mischievous smile playing at your lips. "I thought you were showing me how thankful you were," you tease, running your free hand down his chest. "Seems like you might have more gratitude to express, love."

His answering grin is downright predatory. "Oh, I'm just getting started, baby," he growls, leaning in to nip at your earlobe. "I've got all night to show you exactly how thankful I am." Without warning, his fingers find your sopping cunt again, and you squeal.

Two, then three, fingers bully their way into your weeping pussy, and you groan, wanton, as Mingyu’s free hand yanks the sleeves of your dress off your shoulder.

“Don’t-” your words are cut off with a keen when Mingyu’s fingers go even deeper, back arching off the table. “Don’t rip my dress Mingyu-ah! There! Right there- don’t stop, please please-”

Mingyu chuckles darkly, his breath hot against your neck as he continues to work his fingers inside you. "Wouldn't dream of ripping this dress, baby. I love how you look in it too much." His teeth graze your collarbone, sending shivers down your spine. You're caught between the pleasure of his fingers and the slight pain of his teeth, overwhelmed by sensation.

"Fuck, baby," he groans against your skin. "You're so wet for me. So tight."

You can only whimper in response, your hips rocking against his hand as you chase another peak. The table creaks beneath you, the remaining dishes clattering with each thrust of Mingyu's fingers.

"That's it," he encourages, his voice low and husky. "Take what you need. Take it all, baby."

His thumb finds your clit, circling it in time with the thrusts of his fingers. You cry out, hips bucking off the table. Mingyu's free hand slides up to cup your breast through the fabric of your dress, his thumb brushing over your nipple.

"Oh god," you moan, your head falling back against the table, hands gripping his bicep. You’re not sure if you’re trying to push him away or pull him closer. "Mingyu, I'm gonna—"

"Come for me," he growls, curling his fingers inside you. "Let me feel you, baby."

Your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, your body arching off the table as you cry out Mingyu's name. He works you through it, his fingers slowing but not stopping as aftershocks ripple through you.

When you finally come down, panting and boneless, Mingyu withdraws his hand and brings his glistening fingers to his mouth. He sucks them clean, his eyes locked on yours; you moan, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt. Your fingers grapple helplessly with the buttons. He lets you struggle for a little, forehead pressed against yours as his deft fingers work to push your dress off of you, leaving you bare before him on the dining room table. The cool air pebbles your skin, but Mingyu's heated gaze makes you feel like you're on fire.

"You’re delicious," he murmurs, a wicked grin playing at his lips. "But I'm not done with you yet."

He decides to put you out of your misery, pushing away to roughly yank his shirt off and throw it across the room. His hands yank at his belt, and his pants and boxers follow soon after, joining his shirt god knows where. Your eyes rake over Mingyu's exposed body, drinking in the sight of his toned chest and abs. Your gaze travels lower, lingering on his erect cock, already glistening with precum. The sight makes your mouth water, and you unconsciously lick your lips.

Mingyu catches the gesture and smirks. "See something you like, baby?"

You nod, unable to form words as he steps closer, his hands running up your thighs. He positions himself between your legs, the tip of his cock brushing against your sensitive folds. You whimper at the contact, your hips jerking involuntarily.

"Tell me what you want," Mingyu murmurs, his voice low and husky. He rocks his hips slightly, teasing you with just the barest hint of pressure.

"You," you breathe, reaching for him. "I want you, Mingyu. Don’t make me beg.”

"Never, baby," he growls, voice rough with desire. "I want you too much."

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "Then take me," you breathe, nails raking down his back.

Mingyu doesn't need to be told twice. With one smooth thrust, he buries himself inside you, both of you groaning at the sensation. He stills for a moment, forehead pressed against yours as you adjust to his size.

"Fuck, baby," he pants, his arms trembling slightly as he holds himself above you. "You feel so good."

You roll your hips experimentally, drawing a strangled moan from Mingyu. "Move," you urge. Mingyu obeys, pulling out almost entirely before slamming back in. The force of his thrust sends a few more plates clattering to the floor, but neither of you pay them any mind. Your focus narrows to the feeling of Mingyu moving inside you, the delicious friction as he sets a punishing pace.

"God, yes," you moan, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Just like that, Mingyu."

He grunts in response, his hips snapping against yours with increasing urgency. One hand grips your hip, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, while the other braces against the table. The wood creaks beneath you with each thrust, but you can barely hear it over the sound of skin slapping against skin and your mingled moans. He whines, burying his face in your neck as he drives into you relentlessly.

"You're so fucking tight," Mingyu groans, his voice strained. "So perfect for me, baby. Only for me."

His words send a fresh wave of heat through you, your walls clenching around him. Mingyu groans, his hips stuttering for a moment before he redoubles his efforts. He shifts slightly, changing the angle of his thrusts, and suddenly he's hitting that spot inside you that makes you see stars. He lifts his head to capture your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your moans as he drives into you.

"Oh god," you cry out, your back arching off the table. "Right there, Mingyu. Don't stop!"

"Fuck," he grunts, his movements becoming more erratic. "I'm close, baby. So close."

You can feel your own orgasm building, a coiling tension in your lower belly. "Me too," you pant, your fingers tangling in his hair. "Mingyu, please."

Mingyu knows you like the back of his hand, knows exactly what you need to send you over the edge - his hand leaves your hip, sliding between your bodies to rub rough circles against your clit with his thumb. Mingyu shifts slightly, hitting that spot that convinces you that you’re in heaven - your mouth drops open in a low whine, and he savors every reaction you give him.

Your entire body tenses as the pleasure makes spots dance in your vision. Mingyu's movements grow more frantic, his breathing ragged against your neck.

"Come for me," he growls, his thumb pressing harder against your clit. "Let go, baby. I've got you."

His words are the final push you need. Your orgasm crashes over you in waves, your back arching off the table as you cry out Mingyu's name. Your walls clench around him, pulling him deeper.

The sensation of you pulsing around him pushes Mingyu over the edge. He buries himself deep inside you with a final thrust, groaning your name as he comes.

For a long moment, you both stay like that, panting and trembling in the aftermath. The table creaks again, as Mingyu presses loving kisses against your lips, hands rubbing gentle circles on your sides.

“I love you,” he whispers, equal parts adoring and reverent. “I’m so grateful to have you in my life.”

He sounds so genuine, so lovelorn, that it almost brings tears to your eyes. “I love you too,” you breathe, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him close. “I’ll never stop thanking fate for bringing you to me.”

“It wasn’t fate,” he grumbles half-heartedly. “It was your shitty cocktails that almost gave me alcohol poisoning at Jeonghan’s graduation party.”

You sigh, pulling back enough to stick your tongue out at him. “And just when I was starting to wax poetic about you, Kim Mingyu.”

“Oh, by all means, continue-”

The table decides then that it has had enough of the both of you, and the leg gives out with a deafening splinter. The sudden tilt of the table sends you both sliding towards the floor in an undignified heap. Mingyu manages to catch you, cushioning your fall with his body as you land on top of him with a soft "oof." For a moment, you both lie there in stunned silence, the broken table leg jutting out at an awkward angle beside you.

Then, almost simultaneously, you burst into laughter.

Mingyu joins in, his body shaking with mirth against yours. "Oh my god," he wheezes, lifting himself up on his elbows to look at you. "Are you okay?"

You nod, still giggling. "I'm fine. You?"

"Never better," he grins, pressing a quick kiss to your nose. "Although I think we might need a new dining table."

You groan, finally taking in the full extent of the damage. Plates litter the floor, and your poor tablecloth lies in a heap near Mingyu’s feet.

"Oh no," you moan, burying your face in Mingyu's chest. "My parents gave us that table as a housewarming gift."

Mingyu winces, his hand coming up to stroke your hair soothingly. "We'll figure something out. Maybe we can fix it?"

You lift your head to give him a skeptical look. "Fix it? Mingyu, the leg is completely broken off."

He shrugs, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Hey, I managed to convince your parents I'm a master pie baker. I'm sure I can convince them I'm an expert carpenter too."

You can't help but laugh, swatting his chest playfully. "You're ridiculous."

"But you love me," he grins, pulling you down for a kiss.

"God help me, I do," you murmur against his lips.

[kiwriteswords]

All is Bright

Masterlist || Ao3

AN: apologies to those who have requested things before this! I am working on a few others, but I had to get this one out today! Hope everyone enjoyed their Thanksgiving if they celebrate it! I also would be happy to take holiday requests that are non-christmas!

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Grumpy!Female Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Tags/Warnings: Christmas, Alcohol TW, Grumpy!Reader, Hotch with the Praising, Suggestive Flirting,

Sypnosis: When the BAU gathers for Rossi’s annual Christmas party, you’re determined to survive the night with your grumpy demeanor firmly intact. Holiday cheer isn’t your thing, but Aaron Hotchner—your stoic, endlessly patient boyfriend—has a way of melting your resolve.

Rossi’s estate was decked out in its holiday best. Twinkling lights illuminated every corner, and the smell of pine, cinnamon, and whatever culinary masterpiece Rossi had whipped up filled the air. The BAU team, scattered across the sprawling mansion, was in various stages of celebrating—laughter and clinking glasses echoing in the space. You, however, sat on the edge of a couch in the living room, a scowl lightly gracing your face as you sipped your drink.

“Didn’t realize Scrooge made the guest list,” Morgan teased, plopping down beside you. He had a full glass himself, but it was in stark contrast to what you were drinking. The spiked eggnog he had was far too sweet for your liking. You kept it simple and…you with the gin on the rocks.

“Ha, ha,” you deadpanned, taking another sip, waving him off, “I’m just here for the food. Don’t get used to this festive spirit.”

“Festive spirit? That’s a stretch,” Emily chimed in from across the room,  “Come on, admit it—you’re having fun.”

You rolled your eyes. Sure, the party wasn’t awful, but your natural state of grumpiness was a hard shell to crack. And yet, it seemed like everyone was on a mission tonight to tease you out of it.

Well, almost everyone.

You glanced across the room, and there he was—Aaron Hotchner, in all his stoic, composed glory. He was in conversation with Rossi, holding a glass of something that wasn’t eggnog (because, of course, he also wasn’t an eggnog guy). His suit jacket was off, tie loosened just slightly, and the sight of him caused the smallest crack in your armor.

Hotch glanced in your direction as if sensing your gaze. His lips quirked into a small, knowing smile before he excused himself and made his way toward you. Your heart betrayed you with a flutter, but you shoved the feeling down, keeping your scowl firmly in place.

“Hey, sunshine,” he greeted softly, the corner of his mouth lifting just enough to tease you.

“Funny,” you replied. “Everyone’s a comedian tonight.”

“Hmm.” He perched on the armrest of the couch beside you, close enough for his presence to feel grounding but not overwhelming. “Morgan giving you a hard time?”

“When isn’t he?” you muttered, glancing at the man in question, who was now laughing with Garcia by the fireplace.

Hotch chuckled lightly. “It’s only because he cares.”

“I think he just likes to mess with me.”

“That too.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping just for you. “You know, you could try smiling. It’s Christmas.”

“Why should I? There’s a whole house full of people here doing it for me.”

Hotch’s laugh was quiet but genuine, the kind of sound you swore could melt even your grumpiest moods. You felt his hand brush lightly against yours, where it rested on your knee, a simple, grounding touch.

“I like your grumpiness,” he said, surprising you. “But I like it even more when I can make it go away.”

Before you could respond, you heard Emily call out from somewhere behind you. “Hotch, do something about her face before it ruins the photos.”

You turned to glare at her, but Hotch chuckled again. “Let’s give them what they want, then.”

He stood, placing his drink on a coaster and offering you his hand. You raised a brow. “What are you up to, Aaron?”

“Trust me,” he said, his tone gentle but playful.

With a sigh, you placed your hand in his and let him pull you up. He guided you toward the doorway leading into the dining room, where a sprig of mistletoe hung, subtle but unmistakable.

“Oh, come on,” you groaned, realizing his plan. “Mistletoe? Really?” You knew you sounded like a defiant child, but really? 

“You don’t like traditions?” His voice was smooth, his expression amused but patient as ever. Why did he have to give you that look? 

“It’s cheesy.”

“Maybe. But I think we owe Rossi for hosting this party.” He stepped closer, his brown eyes warm, his smile soft. “What do you say?”

Before you could roll your eyes again, the team noticed. Garcia was the first to squeal. “Oh my gosh, yes! Kiss her, Hotch!” 

“Might as well get it over with!” Morgan called out, grinning ear to ear. 

“Stop making it a thing,” you muttered, cheeks heating as you shot daggers at your friends. You could have sworn you heard Rossi whistle.

But then Hotch gently tilted your chin up, bringing your focus back to him. His expression was calm, steady, the kind of look that always reminded you why you fell for him in the first place. The soft brush of his thumb against your chin was electric enough to refocus your brain. 

“It doesn’t have to be a thing,” he said quietly, just for you. So nonchalant, like you weren’t the center of attention. “Just us.” 

You couldn’t argue with that. With a resigned sigh, you leaned up, and he met you halfway, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that was soft and unhurried. The world around you seemed to fade for a moment, your grumpiness melting away like snow under the warmth of the sun.

When you pulled back, the room erupted in applause and cheers, which immediately brought your scowl back.

“Great. Now it’s a spectacle.”

Hotch chuckled, his hand sliding down to rest on the small of your back. “I’ll make it up to you later.”

“Better.”

The team’s laughter and cheers didn’t let up, and you glared at them over your shoulder. “Don’t you all have something better to do than act like high schoolers?”

“Not when this is more entertaining than TV,” Morgan quipped, raising his glass.

“You’re all insufferable,” you grumbled, though the faintest twitch of a smile betrayed your faux annoyance.

Hotch leaned in closer, his hand steady on your back. “Do you want to stay here and endure this, or should we disappear for a while?”

Your brow quirked. “Disappear? That’s not very supervisory of you.”

“Supervisory me is off duty,” he replied, his lips just barely brushing your ear. “And I have more interesting priorities tonight.”

The flush creeping up your neck betrayed the calm facade you tried to maintain. “Fine. Let’s get out of here before they start taking bets.” 

You were hoping he meant to leave. Adios. Irish goodbye. But his plans were more of an intermission of sorts. 

The two of you slipped away toward one of the quieter sitting rooms, though not without a few knowing smirks from the team. Rossi’s mansion, as sprawling as it was, offered plenty of places to hide away from the chaos. You found yourselves in a cozy, dimly lit room with a roaring fireplace, the sound of the party fading into the background.

“This better not be where you try to sell me on more Christmas traditions,” you teased, crossing your arms as you turned to face him. Somehow, even this unused room, in Rossi’s mansion, abode for one, was even decked out for the holiday. 

Hotch stepped closer, his gaze soft but focused entirely on you. “No traditions this time. Just us.”

You softened at that, the tension you always carried in your shoulders easing a little. “You’re dangerously close to getting me in the holiday spirit.”

“Is that so?” he said, the faintest hint of amusement playing at his lips. “Should I be worried?”

“Maybe.” You stepped closer, resting your hands on his chest. “But don’t let it go to your head.”

His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing gently along your skin. “I think I’ll take my chances.”

The kiss that followed was deeper this time, more intent behind it, yet still carrying that steady warmth you always found in him. You lost yourself in the feel of him, the stress and grumpiness of the day melting away completely.

When you finally pulled back, your forehead rested against his, and you let out a soft sigh. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”

“Am I?” His tone was amused, but his gaze was steady, his hand lingering at your waist.

“Yeah. I can’t even stay mad around you.”

“That’s the goal.” He kissed your forehead, his voice low and affectionate. “I like seeing you happy. Even if it takes a little extra effort.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but the sound of someone clearing their throat made you both turn. Standing in the doorway, Rossi grinned, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“Hope I’m not interrupting,” he said, though his tone suggested he was enjoying this far too much. “I just came to see where my guests of honor disappeared to.”

You sighed, giving Hotch a knowing look. ��I told you they wouldn’t let us escape.”

Hotch chuckled softly, his hand still at your back. “It was worth a try.”

“Well, don’t let me stop you,” Rossi said with a wave of his hand. “But you might want to come back before Garcia starts circulating conspiracy theories.”

Rossi left with a wink, and you groaned, burying your face in Hotch’s chest. “I swear, next year, we’re skipping this.”

He held you close, caressing your back with reassurance, his voice warm with laughter. “Not a chance. But I told you,  I’ll make it up to you afterward.”

You looked up at him, arching a brow. “You’d better.”

Hotch’s hand lingered at the small of your back as the two of you stepped back into the glow of Rossi’s holiday party. The laughter and music were a sharp contrast to the quiet moment you’d just shared, but his steady presence grounded you as always.

Morgan was the first to spot you, a wide grin splitting his face. “There they are! And here I thought you two were off plotting something.”

“Only my escape,” you replied dryly, earning a chorus of laughs from the group.

“Oh, come on, we know you secretly love it here,” Garcia said, her sparkling outfit matching the mischievous glint in her eyes. “Especially when you’ve got him by your side.”

Hotch’s hand tightened slightly at your back, his calm demeanor unshaken by the team’s teasing. “Someone has to keep her from bolting.”

“Someone,” you muttered under your breath, shooting him a side-eye glance. His lips quirked in amusement, his brown eyes soft as they met yours.

The teasing continued as Rossi brought out a tray of desserts, insisting everyone try his homemade tiramisu. As the team gathered around the kitchen island, you felt yourself relax into the chaos, the warmth of their camaraderie chipping away at your usual reluctance.

“You know,” JJ said, nudging your arm with a grin, “you’re almost smiling. Is Hotch rubbing off on you?”

“Absolutely not,” you deadpanned, earning another round of laughter.

Hotch leaned in close, his voice just for you. “Is it so bad to admit you’re enjoying yourself?”

You shot him a playful glare but couldn’t quite fight the small smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe. But if you tell them that, I’ll deny it.”

He chuckled softly, brushing his hand along your arm. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

As the night wore on, the team drifted into various activities—some chatting near the fireplace, others engaged in a spirited game of charades. You found yourself by the Christmas tree, admiring the lights despite yourself. Hotch joined you quietly, his presence as calming as ever.

“You’re staring,” you said, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. You tried to focus back on the various shiny bulbs hanging from each branch but couldn’t help but look back toward him.

“Just admiring the view,” he replied without missing a beat, his gaze fixed on you.

Your cheeks warmed, and you looked away, grumbling, “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you’re still here,” he said, the faintest smirk on his lips.

You rolled your eyes but leaned into him slightly, letting the quiet moment settle around you. For all the teasing, the chaos, and your initial reluctance, you couldn’t deny that being here—with him—made it all worthwhile.

The soft glow of the Christmas tree lights reflected in Hotch’s warm brown eyes as you both stood there, taking in the quiet moment. The sounds of the team’s laughter echoed in the background, distant enough to feel like you were in your own little world.

“You know,” he started, his voice low and thoughtful, “I never thought I’d be doing this again.”

“Doing what?” you asked, glancing up at him. You could feel the shift in his energy. It was something, especially with him, you could pick up on before words even left his mouth. Your usual demeanor softened, recognizing this.

He gestured subtly toward the tree, the party, the warmth of the night. “Celebrating. Finding this... peace. With someone I care about.”

The sincerity in his tone made your chest tighten. Hotch wasn’t one to overshare or wear his emotions openly, so moments like these carried weight. You hesitated, unsure how to respond, the vulnerability in his words catching you off guard.

“Maybe I didn’t mind it as much as I let on,” you admitted quietly, your voice softer than usual, almost reluctant. The confession hung in the air for a beat before you quickly added, “But don’t get too sentimental on me. I have a reputation to uphold.”

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly, his gaze flicking toward you briefly before returning to the road. “Of course. Wouldn’t want anyone thinking you’ve gone soft.”

As the evening wound down, the energy in Rossi’s mansion began to settle. The team had dispersed into smaller groups—Emily and Garcia were deep in a heated debate over whether "Die Hard" was a Christmas movie, with JJ chiming in occasionally, Morgan was helping Rossi clean up, and Reid had somehow been roped into organizing the board games Rossi insisted on showcasing earlier. You stood near the door, watching it all unfold with a mix of amusement and relief. The night had been more tolerable than expected, but you were ready to call it.

Hotch appeared at your side, his coat draped over his arm. “Ready to head out?”

You sighed, giving the room one last glance. The goodbyes had just about done you in. You tried to hide a comment about likely being called into seeing all of these people before the next few days were over but held back. 

“More than ready. Let’s go before Rossi tries to guilt me into taking leftovers.”

Hotch’s lips curved into the faintest smile, and he helped you into your coat, his hands lingering just a second longer than necessary. 

Once outside, the crisp winter air hit your face, a refreshing contrast to the cozy warmth of Rossi’s house. The driveway was lined with cars, their frosted windshields glittering under the soft glow of the outdoor lights. Hotch walked you to his car, opening the passenger door for you as always.

The drive back to your shared apartment was quiet, the sound of Christmas music on the radio filling the silence. You stared out the window at the snow-dusted streets, watching as the lights from decorated houses passed by in a blur.

The soft hum of the car and the muted glow of passing streetlights filled the comfortable silence between you. Hotch glanced your way again, a flicker of amusement in his gaze as his fingers tapped lightly against the steering wheel.

“You were good tonight,” he said again, his voice carrying a warm, teasing edge that made you glance at him with narrowed eyes.

“Good?” you repeated, raising a brow. “Are you about to give me a gold star?”

His lips twitched, but he didn’t break. “If I thought it’d keep you in line, I’d consider it. But we both know you respond to other things.”

Your cheeks burned at the weight of his words, the way his tone wrapped around you. Your stomach flipped at the way his voice dipped just enough to send a pleasant shiver down your spine. You masked it with a roll of your eyes, your tone teasing as you replied, “You’re impossible.” 

“And you love it,” he countered smoothly, his eyes flicking toward you again, steady and unshakable.

Your mouth twitched into a small, reluctant smile as you turned back to the window. “Don’t get used to it. I’m not exactly lining up for the Most Festive award anytime soon.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” he said, his voice softer now. “But you showed up, you played nice, and you made it through without biting anyone’s head off. Maybe even a smile or two. That’s progress.”

You scoffed lightly, though his words sent a subtle warmth through your chest. “If you think that’s progress, your standards are lower than I thought.”

His smirk deepened, and he let the silence stretch for a moment before he replied, “I think you know my standards are anything but low. Especially when it comes to you.”

Your cheeks warmed at the weight of his words, but you kept your tone light. “You’re lucky I even went. I could’ve stayed home.”

“You could have,” he agreed easily, his voice steady. “But you didn’t. And I’m glad you didn’t.”

The sincerity in his tone caught you off guard for a moment, and you glanced at him, his profile illuminated by the soft glow of the passing streetlights. His presence was so steady, so calm, it made your usual defenses falter. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

He gave a small nod, keeping his eyes on the road. “I do. You didn’t have to go, but you did. For me.” The corner of his mouth tugged upward again, but this time, his gaze stayed on the road. “You know, for someone who’s so resistant to the holidays, you play along pretty well when you want to.”

You raised a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” he said, glancing at you now with that steady, unreadable expression, “that I see right through you.”

Your stomach flipped at the way his voice dropped, warm and firm. “Oh, do you now?”

“Yes,” he replied without hesitation, his tone laced with challenge. “And for the record, you did better than good tonight. You were perfect.”

The car pulled into the driveway of your shared apartment, and the engine’s hum faded as he shut it off. You turned to face him, your heart beating just a little faster under his gaze. “Perfect, huh? That’s a bold claim.”

“It is,” he said, his hand resting lightly on the gearshift as he leaned just slightly toward you. “But I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

You stared at him for a moment, caught between wanting to roll your eyes and wanting to melt under the intensity of his gaze. “Fine. But if you’re so impressed with me, you’d better make it worth my while.”

His lips curved into that rare, private smile he reserved just for you. “Oh, I plan to.”

The warmth in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, and you huffed, reaching for the door handle to hide your reaction. “You’d better, Hotchner.”

He chuckled softly, stepping out of the car and rounding to your side to open your door—always the gentleman, no matter how much it flustered you. As you stepped out, his hand found its way to the small of your back, guiding you toward the door with that quiet, steady presence that always left you feeling just a little off balance.

By the time you reached your apartment, you were practically buzzing with anticipation—not just for whatever promises lay unspoken between you, but for the way he always seemed to know how to unravel your defenses with nothing more than a look and a touch.

And tonight, you were more than ready to let him.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

[planetpedri]

You can write one about Pau Cubarsi where he teaches her how to play soccer, a really cute moment pleasee

Only friend — Pau Cubarsí.

Pairing: Pau Cubarsí x Fem!Reader

Summary: Pau knew you hadn’t been doing good, so he came over to get you out of your room by forcing you to play footy!

Word count: 920+

Disclaimer/s: mostly fluff + me projecting gulps so lighttt angst

A/N: hi guys yes this is me projecting my problems into writing thats my bad honestly I HATE WINTER!!

“Get out of bed.” Pau insisted, standing in your doorway with pursed lips. The second you heard the door open, you’d already known it was him since your parents knew better than to open it without knocking.

Shaking your head, you pull the blanket over your head. “Pau, go away. I’m tired.”

“Tired?” Pau sighs, slipping off his shoes and entering your room. “It’s two in the afternoon. It’s time to get up. I have plans for us.”

The bed dips under his weight and you finally turn around to face him. Dark circles ring around your eyes as you look up at him. “I went to bed at five.”

“In the morning?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t care.”

“Wha—“ You don’t get to finish your sentence because Pau had looped his arms under you and pulled you out of bed. “Pau!”

“Get dressed. We’re going to the park.” He says sternly, setting you down and offering a small smile. “Quit pouting.” He chuckles, placing a small kiss on your lips.

Trudging towards your closet, you change into ‘park safe clothes’ while Pau waited downstairs with your parents. Once you slipped on shoes and did your hair, you stomped down the steps.

Pau sat up on the couch, watching as you rounded the corner with a grumpy expression. He grinning, standing and saying his goodbye’s to your parents.

Your parents adored Pau. Like.. adored, adored. So did you, of course, but to them Pau could never do any wrong. To you, he could. Making you get out of bed to do God knows what, was wrong.

“What are we even doing today?” You quirk an eyebrow, climbing into the passenger seat.

Pau’s mouth forms a devious, shit-eating grin. “I’m teaching you how to play football.”

Instantly you reached for the door handle. Pau, having much faster reflexes, locks the car doors. “Nuh-uh!” He laughs, “you can have aux, just come with me, okay?”

Chewing on your cheek, you let out a huff. “Fine. Only because I hate your music.” He nearly tried to defend himself, but stopped when he saw the look you were giving him.

The park was quiet today, which was lucky for you. Only a few families milled about and they were at the play sets. Pau reached for his ball in the back seat before getting out. When you begrudgingly got out, he wrapped an arm around your shoulder.

“This will be fun!” He insists, planting a kiss to your forehead. No matter how annoyed you may be, it was so hard to stay in that state when your boyfriend was just so.. perfect.

“Fun is going to the mall. Fun is not spraining your ankle because your boyfriend forgets he’s playing with his girlfriend and not his teammate.” You point at him accusatorially, which sends waves of guilt through him.

“I apologized for that a million times!” He groans, letting his hand drop to your hip. “I won’t do that again. Promise.”

Rolling your eyes with a small smirk, you chuckle. “Sure. Okay, put the damn ball down.”

Pau grins, setting the ball on the fresh grass. “What should we start with today?” He thinks out loud to himself, which you watch with your hands on your hips.

“Well shit, I don’t know.” You mumble, “oh! Oh! Remember last time when I did that one thing?”

The teens eyebrows pull together before it dawns on him. He nudges the ball, playing with it as he thinks. “Okay, yeah. You’re talking about when you kicked it behind you?”

Shaking your head vigorously, you use your hands while you explain, “nooo. Dribbling! I think thats what it’s called?”

Pau looks up from the ball to you, “yeah, that’s what it’s called. Okay, jog beside me and watch the ball, i’ll explain as I do it.”

Nodding, you and Pau set off in a slow jog, as you do so, he explains his tactics and you watch him move. “It’s easier to do when you’re in a full on run, but you should start off jogging, it’ll make it easier to learn.” He stops the ball, kicking it up into his hands before he sets it in yours. “You got this.”

Swirling the ball in your hands, you chew on your bottom lip. “Right. Super simple.” You mumble, psyching yourself up. “Alright, let’s go.”

Letting the ball drop to the grass, you do just as Pau described. You nearly stumble, but catch yourself and continue. Every so often, Pau gives you a new pointer, and you adjust to it.

Throughout your time learning how to play, Pau gives you compliments and praises;

“Yes! Yes just like that, you’re a natural!”

“See, you know what you’re doing!”

“Might as well start calling you Messi.” — That was teasing, which you’d flicked him for, eliciting a loud giggle from the boy.

After nearly an hour of non-stop playing, you slump onto the bar of the net, catching your breath. “How do you do this nearly every fucking day?” You gasp out, taking a large gulp of water to alleviate the pain.

Pau sits across from you, leaning back on his palms. “Nena [baby], i’ve been doing this since i could walk.” He says with an amused expression.

Your eyes roll, “true.” Taking another large gulp and jump to your feet. “Let’s go again!”

Pau looks up at you incredulously. “Again? Not even an hour ago you were complaining about me even bringing you here.”

“Yeah, well. Times change.” You grin, reaching for the ball.

likes , comments , and reblog’s are appreciated. lmk if you’d like to be tagged in future pau posts.

ᝰ.ᐟ tags @halfwayhearted @ar4ujos @sakashq @joaoflms @hrts4havertz @spidybaby @unx100to @n0vazsq

[zepskies]

Lost in Translation

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Female POC!Reader

Summary: Living with this man isn’t easy, and you’ve absolutely had it with him. Supe or not, you’re one step shy of kicking him out. Will he try to make it up to you? 

AN: So after getting requests for a Soldier Boy x POC!Reader, I’ve had a short series in development called Unravel Me. I’m a bit stalled on the outline right now, so I thought this could be a fun way to introduce their relationship and see if you guys think I should continue with the prequel, kind of like how I did with Checkerboard and the Break Me Down-verse.

This story would take place after Unravel Me, after a fair bit of character development lol. It also fulfills a bingo square for @jacklesversebingo!

Prompt: “Whatever you’re going to ask, the answer is No!”

Song Inspo: “Damage” by H.E.R.

Word Count: 3.4K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, bit of dirty talk, fingering, edging, some angst, fluff and feels. The reader is a mixed race POC (Afro Latina), with textured hair. 

The apartment was quiet, but not peaceful.

You were in the kitchen washing the Mt. Everest of dishes piled in the sink, partly because someone hadn’t rinsed off his own plate of carne guisada.

Ben had asked for beef for dinner yesterday, and you’d graciously delivered with your grandmother’s recipe for the stew. It was filled with chunks of tender, fall-off-your-fork beef, garlic, onions, carrots, and more—all marinated to perfection, if you said so yourself. You even added in some little yellow potatoes, both for taste and texture.

Apparently, he couldn’t be bothered to put those meaty man muscles to good use, aside from shoveling three helpings into his mouth.

A bottomless pit and a freakin’ man-child, I swear to God, you inwardly groused as you scrubbed the ceramic a bit too hard with the rough side of the sponge. No matter how many times you asked, nicely, it seemed your boyfriend couldn’t manage to pull his weight around here.

Okay, you knew his job could be demanding, but so was yours.

What the hell is this, Maid in Manhattan? Newsflash: I’ve got shit to do too! 

“And I cooked!” you muttered in indignation. That reminder propelled you to scrub a bit harder. The least he could do was clean the kitchen. Or take out the trash. Or toss the laundry into the washing machine once in a while. Like you really wanted to handle his dirty boxers all the damn time.

Did he have no shame? Couldn’t he do anything for you without you having to ask him three million times?

Es que él es bruto, mija, as your Dominican grandma would say about your grandpa, often while swiping a tired hand over her long braids. Es como un animal con ropa.

Just then, you heard his heavy steps creaking on the wood floors in your bedroom. Today was his day off, so he was probably taking his sweet time rolling his ass out of bed.

Meanwhile, you were hustling to get the place at least decently clean before you got yourself together for work. The thought made you simmer as you continued to place dishes on the counter rack. Each one clacking to rest was satisfying, but it also ticked up your internal dial to a fine boil. 

You heard him bang the bathroom door open and cringed internally, your teeth grinding. You’d reminded him three times already about the neighbors and the noise.

Sabes que, supe or not, I’m about to— 

“Morning, sweetheart.”

Ben’s voice washed over you, deep and still a little rough with sleep as he stepped into the kitchen. His old man loafers slid against the floor with every step when he approached you from behind, and his heavy hands found a familiar resting place on the curve of your waist.

He swiped your slightly wild curls to the side and pressed a tantalizing kiss into your neck. His voice, his touch, the brief scrape of his beard; it all caused a small shiver of delight up your spine.

“Hmm, you smell good. Good enough to eat.” And he teased you with the graze of his teeth, biting gently enough where your neck met your shoulder. You flinched with half a huff, trying not to smile. 

Just like that, it took the edge off your irritation…a little. You opened your mouth to reply, but before you could…

“Hey,” he said, “since you’re already up and about in here, how about some breakf—”

Your spine tightened once again.

“Whatever you’re going to ask, the answer is No!” you snapped. You moved out of his arms to grab a hand towel to dry your hands with. They were all pruny from washing dishes.

“I’m already running late. Why? Because this place is a fucking mess, and the only one who seems to care is me!” you exclaimed. First, you gestured to the dishes now drying on the rack. “Hmm?”

You then opened up the lid to the full-to-bursting trashcan. “What do you call that, huh? You said you’d take this out last night. After I asked you twice. What, was I not speaking English? Did something get lost in translation, or are you already losing your hearing? Just let me know, ‘cause I can sure as hell crank up the volume for you!”

Ben raised a brow. You read his thoughts in his surly frown. You have some fucking audacity, talking to him like that, but it’s still early. He hasn’t even had his coffee, for Christ’s sake.

If he was more awake, no doubt he’d be barking back at you. Instead, he heaved a sigh, drew closer to you and shut the trashcan lid. At least there was one lid he knew how to close.

“All right, it’s just a little mess. No need to get fucking hysterical,” he said, trying to grasp your arm to placate you. You shrugged out of his hold and crossed your arms in anger.

“Ben, it’s not just a little mess. And what is this, 1945? I’m not hysterical!”

His lips twitched at a smirk, making you even angrier. But he’d caught enough smoke from you in the past to know he didn’t want it at 8:00 in the morning. He grasped your arms and rubbed them up and down, trying to sooth you.

“Okay, okay. It’s a little early for all this Latina temper, don’tcha think?” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Your gaze snapped up at him with a glare.

Oooh, this man. He knew how to get you mad fucking tight.

Not in a good way.

Instead of exploding like Mount Fuji, you kept it all under your skin. You turned away from him and aimed to continue getting ready for work, but first, you took out a Greek yogurt from the fridge and wholly ignored him taking up space in the kitchen. You wouldn’t answer him when he called your name. In fact, you were going to give him the most frigid of cold shoulders—so cold he’d get hyperthermia through that invulnerable skin.

He waylaid your plans when he grabbed your hand, swinging you back into his arms. You gasped at the suddenness of it, looking up into his cocky, charming smile. You couldn’t stare too long at his green eyes, or the rest of his handsome, bearded face. Not when he knew exactly how to use it against you.

“Don’t think that’s gonna get you out of this,” you warned him. You set your yogurt on the kitchen counter and pushed at his chest, but it was no more effective than pushing at a mountain and expecting it to move.

His hands spanned your waist, his fingers beginning to press into your soft sides. He bowed his head, brushing his lips against your neck and the shell of your ear when he said, “Out of what, baby doll? Looks to me like we can still have a good morning.”

His voice once against trilled heat and tingles through your body, but you managed to lean back, holding the pads of your fingers to his lips.

“Hey, I’m not playing around here. If we’re gonna do this,” you pointed between him and yourself, “then let me make one thing really clear. I’m not la sirvienta around here, okay? I’m not your fucking maid. I’m your girl. Your partner. And since you live here now, I’m gonna need you to do your part.”

Ben almost rolled his eyes, but you grasped his chin. He frowned at you with furrowed brows. There was a time where he would've been inclined to grab your wrist and try to intimidate you with his temper. You saw it lying in wait behind his pursed lips and irritated stare, but you weren't afraid of him. Not anymore.

“Listen to me. I get that you haven’t lived like us commoners for most of your life, but this stuff is important,” you said. You took a deep breath, and you counted to three. You met him with a calmer gaze. “Ben, I love you.”

You let go of his chin and lowered your hand, letting it splay over his chest. He softened, ever so slightly, even though his frown remained.

“I love you,” you repeated, “but I don’t need a man-child.”

"Excuse me?" he did snap this time, his hold loosening from around your waist. "The fuck did you just say?"

You narrowed your eyes right back at him.

"You heard me," you said. "I want a man. A man who's going to be my rock when I need him. Can you do that for me, like I do for you? Are you gonna be my man, or do I need to claim you as a dependent on my taxes?"

His expression sharpened again at your thinly veiled accusation…but the longer he looked into your eyes, no longer angry, but earnest and imploring, the more he actually listened to what you were saying. His jaw worked for a moment in annoyance. You subtly softened him with your hands soothing up and down his arms, a slow back and forth over solid, warm muscle.

Eventually, he was able to curb his instinct to bark a callous reply. He nodded, expelling a breath through his nose.

“Fine,” he said.

Your brows rose. “Fine?”

“Yeah,” he said flatly.

You knew it was the closest you were going to get to an agreement, as well as an apology. You were still working on that last one, but dating this man was a work in progress, for both of you. With a sigh, you patted his arms that were slowly wrapping back around you.

“Okay, I’m really running late now,” you said.

“You should probably get a move on then,” Ben said.

Still, he didn’t release you. He stared down at you with an amused smile while you struggled against his hold. You uttered a laugh.

“Babe, I need to get to work.” You leaned over and spied the oven clock. “Oh, shit! it’s almost 8:30! If I’m not there by 9:00—”

“You sure you want to go now? Tense, body all tight,” he said, his voice deep with sensuous suggestion.

His lips neared yours, but he didn’t kiss you. Not yet. His lips veered away to brush against your cheek. He inhaled deeply as he moved, taking in the floral scent of your soap, mixed with the army of products you styled your hair with, and the faint imprint of your perfume from the night before. He skimmed down your neck and along the shell of your ear.

“Wouldn’t you rather I fuck all that tension right out of you?” he offered. “Leave you nice and warm and satisfied, have that pretty pussy coming hard on my cock.”

You let out a shaky breath, closing your eyes as his filthy mouth and the timbre of his voice struck a chord through your body, tinging warm arousal between your legs. Your fingers tightened on his strong arms, digging into the fabric of his loose robe. Ben took that as a wordless confirmation. He bent at the knees and grabbed you up by your plush thighs. You wrapped your arms around his neck on instinct, with a small gasp.

But you recovered quickly. Taking his face into your hands, you met his lips roughly with yours in a devouring kiss. He set you down on the kitchen counter hard enough to make the clean dishes rattle. His hands were just as claiming as his mouth, squeezing your hips and thighs as he spread them open to make more room for himself.

While your tongue dueled with his, you shoved the robe off his shoulders, followed by his sleep shirt pooling to the floor. His hand slid under your top as well, and almost ripped it at the hem in his haste to get it up and over your head.

“Ow, ah-ow!” You giggled when the collar got caught on your hair. Ben’s breathy chuckle reached your ears. He was gentler in how he helped get the shirt off the rest of the way. Your mane of hair fell into your face, and you huffed.

Ben did you the favor of brushing the thick curls away from your eyes, tugging several strands behind your ears, even though most of them didn’t obey him. He framed your face with his big hands, and his thumbs swept along your skin, the rich complexion shining in the morning light filtering through the kitchen window.

There was more care in his touch now, his strength tempered just for you. Fond amusement colored his features. For as much shit as you gave him, you still gave him more of yourself; more of your trust, your patience...and all the rest of it. You gave him more than anyone that had come before you, and deep inside, he doubted anyone that might come after you.

You smiled up at him, a little wryly. You leaned up and met him for a gentler kiss. Your eyes fell closed at the feeling of him, and the spicy hint of his aftershave. It was a scent that often clung to his pillows. When he was gone on a mission for days on end, you wouldn’t admit to clinging to one of them to help you sleep, and make you feel safe. 

“Mmm, you smell good,” you whispered. And it was true. He smelled like mint and spicy aftershave. You plied his lips with deeper kisses, licking into his mouth with a sensuous tongue, before you stole his words. “Good enough to eat.”

He uttered a groan deep in his throat. It satisfied you, enhancing the warm flood between your legs.  

Fuck it. You were calling in sick today.

You drew him back into the pull of you, winding your arms around his neck and your fingers in his hair. It was getting long again, but you liked it. You liked something to hold onto, just as much as he did. Your nails brushed against his scalp, down the back of his neck, earning a hum of pleasure from him. You wound your legs tightly around his hips and invited the press of his hard cock against your throbbing core, even through your panties and pajama pants. A faltering groan caught in his chest.

“Needier that I thought this morning,” he remarked. His warm hands drifted down to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over dark, pebbled nipples. You sighed into his mouth in response.

You heard the cocky grin in his voice, but for once, you didn’t care. You did need him. You wanted him to fuck the stress and chaos out of you.

…Well, he’d caused most of it, but still. He was gonna damn well fix it.

And he aimed to do just that, with his hands sliding farther down your body with purpose, grabbing the waistband of your pajama pants and roughly sliding them down, along with your panties. Your bare ass felt cold against the tile counter, but you didn’t have too much time to think about it with Ben’s thick fingers probing between the wet, glistening folds of your pussy. He soon found what he was searching for, circling firmly over your clit.

Your hips raised off the counter as you whimpered against his lips and ground yourself against his hand. You broke from his kiss to bury your face in his neck. Ben’s free hand grasped your hip and pulled you right to the edge of the counter.

There he held you down, his brows furrowing in concentration. His fingers sought your entrance and slipped inside you with ease. By now, he knew what angles would have you squirming, writhing, your body arching into him, while your inner walls clenched around his hand.

“Fuck. That’s right, baby doll. I’ve gotcha,” he said roughly, continuing to fuck your pussy with his fingers. His thumb rubbed against your clit between strokes.

The coil in your lower belly began to tighten, the delicious throbbing deep inside beginning to make your thighs shake. But just as you felt yourself tipping over the edge, Ben withdrew his fingers from your sopping channel.

You struggled to catch your breath in shock. Your head raised from Ben’s shoulder to glare at him. When your mouth opened to deliver an indignant protest, he silenced you with his mouth claiming yours. Your nails bit into his shoulder in retaliation, even though you knew it wouldn’t hurt him in the slightest. In fact, it only curved his lips into a smirk against yours.

You slapped him on the shoulder, immensely frustrated, but also laughing. “You’re such an assh—”

Before you could even finish cursing him, he gathered you up again and lifted you off the counter. He walked you over to the couch in the living room. He would’ve loved nothing better than to lay you out across the two-seater table in the kitchen, but he thought the shitty old wood might just give out under the strain of him fucking you. So the living room was a close second, and in this tiny-ass apartment, it was barely a few feet more to walk.

He laid you out underneath him on couch, and it groaned and squeaked under both of your weight. You squeaked too, if for a different reason. It had Ben smirking down at you. He freed himself from the confines of his pajama pants and coated his rock-hard arousal with the leftover wetness coating his hand.

“I approve of the scene change,” you said breathlessly, once again stroking his arms. Your fingers slipped over every dip and plain of muscle.  

“Didn’t think you wanted to be fucked on some cold tile,” he said, even if the sentiment behind his words warmed you. You were pretty sure he didn’t used to care about that. At least, before he met you.

He grabbed your hips, lined himself up to your entrance, and his cock breached you smoothly, pushing into you until his hips fit snugly against yours.

“Oh, fuck,” you choked out, your thighs squeezing around his frame.

“Feel good, sweetheart? All fuckin' filled up,” Ben teased, a bit breathless himself. You were a tight fucking fit. He slid out of you experimentally, drawing a moan from your lips. You nodded.

“Yeah, baby. So good,” you freely admitted, panting all the while.

Ben’s hot gaze drew over you as he continued moving hard and fast inside you. He took in your every bare curve, the way hot breaths and sexy moans fell from your lips with every thrust, the way your hair fanned out underneath you and hung off the side of the sofa cushion, the way your hands still explored him and touched him, demanding, but still loving.

For that, it was all the more tantalizing against his skin, warming even the darkest places he tried not to show you.

And every drag of his cock inside you stretched your inner walls in the most delicious of ways. It wasn’t just that he was able to fill you to the fucking brim. He also just knew his way around a woman’s body. He knew you, and he knew exactly how to make you come undone. Even quick and dirty on your couch, he made you feel brand new. 

He was right, damn him.

The coil deep inside you snapped. Pleasure crested through you and made your inner walls squeeze him tight, fluttering and pulsing with warmth. You came hard on his cock, hard enough to milk his release shortly after for all he was worth.

His forearms fell to the cushion on either side of your head. You were basically being smothered, but for the moment you didn’t mind. You just held his sweat-slick body against yours while you both caught your breath, each of your heartbeats falling back into a steady rhythm.

He was always so damn warm. It was nice, considering how cold it was this winter, but the thought always made you a bit sad. It reminded you of the power housed in his chest, and every memory he caged there as well.

You laid a gentle kiss on his shoulder. In return, his lips found the side of your head and hesitated there.

“You’re not going to work,” he said. It was more an observation than anything else.

You laughed breathlessly and shook your head. “Nope.”

He nodded. “Let’s go out for breakfast.”

You could get behind that. Your kitchen was finally clean, which meant your kitchen was closed until further notice.

“Shower first,” you stipulated.

You felt Ben’s smile grow against your dewy skin. “All right.”

You sighed, and he guided you to your feet along with him. You had a feeling “breakfast” was going to be lunch by the time you and Ben finally escaped this apartment.      

AN: Lol hope you had fun with this one! Let me know if you'd like to see more of these two! 💚💚

Spanish Translations:

Es que él es bruto, mija. Es como un animal con ropa.

It’s that he’s stupid, my daughter. He's like an animal with clothes.

However, “bruto” can also mean brutish, crude, and/or like a beast, so it fits in more than one way. 😂

Sabes que, …

You know what, …

La sirvienta

The servant (or maid) (female)

Join Patreon 🌟 Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories, send me requests, and more!

Jacklesverse Bingo 2024 Masterlist

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Soldier Boy Tag List

@spnwoman @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @adoringanakin @rizlowwritessortof @chernayawidow

@midnightmadwoman @deans-spinster-witch @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78

@deansbbyx @sarahgracej @this-is-me19 @kazsrm67 @jacklesbrainworms

@waynes-multiverse @my-stories-vault @syrma-sensei @alwaystiredandconfused @globetrotter28

@mrsjenniferwinchester @charmed-asylum @waywardxwords @k-slla @deanbrainrotwritings

@jackles010378 @deans-daydream @deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog @just-levyy

@leigh70 @kmc1989 @ghostslillady @siampie @jessjad

@beautyvaliant @mimaria420 @kaleldobrev @pieandmonsters @twinkleinadiamondsky

@stoneyggirl2 @sl33pylilbunny @spnfamily-j2 @mostlymarvelgirl @artemys-ackles

@chevroletdean @winchestergirl2 @a-lil-pr1ncess @winchester-whiskey @spnbabe67

@cheynovak @megara0224 @yoongi-holland @illicithallways @perpetualabsurdity

@deansimpala @impala-dreamer @jc-winchester @k4marina @atenea585

@kayleighwinchester @samslvrgirl @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @star-yawnznn @number1whorehome

@g0ldfishd00dles @10ava01 @sixxteenbullets @tayl0rfanatic @everything-is-all-clear

@suckitands33 @cookiechipdough @trashmoutth @riteofpassage77 @mxltifxnd0m

@bleuatlas @luci-in-trenchcoats @valerinapetrova @spnaquakindgdom @podiumackles

@ladykitana90

@lamentationsofalonelypotato (I believe you said you would like to be tagged in this one. If not, I'm sorry, friend. Please disregard! 💚)

[clairoscharm]

puns & kisses

pairing : ellie williams x fem!reader

warnings : none, i can’t think of any… uhm pet names (babe, baby)

credits : @anitalenia @fawniiky @cafekitsune

DAILY CLICK

DON’T BUY TLOU

WAYS TO HELP PALESTINE

You know how Ellie is -she'll share every fun fact she knows, and right now, she's in full swing.

The two of you are strolling down the street, her hand intertwined with yours, stealing warmth from the chill in the air. Dinner at the little spot near your shared apartment had been perfect, as always.

It's your favorite place to eat, close enough to home that you'd both rather walk. Besides, Ellie never misses an opportunity to spend more time with you, and you secretly adore that.

As you walk, Ellie keeps tossing out puns and fun facts, her laughter filling the crisp night air.

"Babe, did you know T-Rex had such short arms?" she beams, her eyes sparkling.

Before you can answer, she cuts you off with a pun, grinning mischievously. "It's probably why it couldn't even give a good high-five!" She bursts out laughing at her own joke, as terrible as it is.

All you can do is smile, your heart full of affection for her. Her jokes might not land, but you don't care. You love her--quirks, puns, and all.

Without realizing it, you're staring at her, completely lost in the moment. Ellie notices, her laughter fading into confusion. So lost in thought that you didn't hear her calling your name-or, well, if you count the pet names as your name then sure.

You couldn’t help but smile, watching her eyes sparkle. Ellie’s quirks were what made her, well… Ellie.

"Baby," she says, her voice tinged with worry as she waves a hand in front of your face. "I swear to God, you're scaring me right now."

Her concern pulls you back, and you can't help but chuckle softly. How could anyone be this effortlessly lovable?

She opened her mouth to say something, but before the words could form, you leaned in and kissed her.

The kiss was soft and tender, filled with the unspoken love you carried for her.

Without thinking. your hands gently cupped her cheeks, pulling her closer as the kiss deepened, your hearts racing in sync. But then, Ellie pulled back, gasping for air, her eyes wide with a mix of surprise and wonder.

“What was that for?” she whispered, voice trembling with curiosity and something deeper.

You shrugged, a teasing smile on your lips. “Just… you.”

“Me?” she repeated, her brows knitting. Then, mock indignation: “Oh, my God. Was that to shut me up?”

Her words hit you like a jolt, and your heart sank. How could she think that?

You kissed her because she was utterly irresistible, rambling on with those endearing fun facts of hers.

You kissed her because you loved the way she laughed at her own puns -so unapologetically unfunny yet so undeniably her.

And, most of all, you kissed her because you couldn't help it.

"I kissed you because you're adorable," you replied, trying not to laugh at Ellie's worried expression.

Ellie blushed, realizing that she was overthinking earlier and thought you hated her. Dramatic much?

"Really?" she asked.

"Really"

You added, "I just like kissing you." Your response is simple, but the soft smile curling at the corner of your lips says everything.

Ellie giggles, shaking her head at your answer, her fingers tightening around yours. Her hands are warm, her palm soft, fingers perfectly interlaced with yours.

You both continue walking in comfortable silence, the cold wind brushing past, but it's as if the world is fading away. The busy street hums around you, yet all you can focus on is the soft rhythm of Ellie's breath beside you.

Then, breaking the stillness, she begins another pun-this time about space.

Her laughter bubbled up again, filling the night, and you let yourself get lost in it. For all the facts, the puns, the silly jokes—this is home. Ellie is home.

© clairoscharm 2024

[leonardcohenofficial]

i have a lot of thoughts about what dynamics would be like with a reshuffling of doctor + companion pairings would look like and you're all going to hear about them now

as i have previously noted i think that nine and martha would have gotten along famously and that we all deserved to see christopher eccleston and freema agyeman being sexy together on screen. i don't think nine and donna would have necessarily hit it off as well as she did with ten and that potentially a nine AU "the runaway bride" would have been the end of it. nine and amy's relationship would either be pretty similar to the ninerose dynamic OR if he showed up having crash landed in her garden and then came back a la eleven the nineamy dynamic would be even MORE sexually charged and also nine would find rory entirely insufferable. i actually think that the nineclara dynamic would be closer to ten and donna's (rather than ninerose or twelveclara) but generally drier in terms of humor. i think nine would like bill but bill wouldn't be as big a fan of nine LOL

ten and amy and rory is far too much chaotic energy in a way that is different than what we got in series five but i would still like to see it ESPECIALLY with river song in the mix. tenclara to me feels like a middle ground of his relationships with rose and donna but i don't think i would ship it. i think ten and bill would be a SUPERB duo and also quite funny

eleven with either rose or donna are dynamics that i think would absolutely not work because they both would instantly get annoyed by him LOL. i could see martha seeing eleven and his equal parts of manic energy and self loathing and going "i can fix him" and then very quickly discovering that That Will Not Be Happening and still exiting the TARDIS but i think eleven would have been much kinder to martha on the whole than ten was or at least more appreciative of her and her brilliance. i think that eleven's energy would be a bit much for bill but i think she would enjoy traveling with him for a shorter period of time

twelverose is another dynamic that i think we all deserved to see on our television screens AND i think rose would be more into twelve versus the other way around but also if there are twelverose stans out there i deeply respect your beliefs. twelvemartha feels very platonic to me but has potential to be one of the deepest connections out of the ones named here. just for catherine tate and peter capaldi bantering ALONE we deserved twelve and donna but also i think that would also be great fun. i don't think it would be hostile but i do not think twelve would enjoy amy and rory nor vice versa LMFAO

[the-offside-rule]

Mick Schumacher (Alpine WEC) - A Ferrari Affair

Requested: yes

Warnings: none

The cold London air was crisp as Y/n Irvine stepped out of the sleek black car, her Ferrari jacket zipped up against the chill. A sea of fans gathered outside the O2 Arena, waving banners, flags, and memorabilia as they eagerly waited for a glimpse of their favorite drivers. Y/n adjusted her collar, the embroidered number 7 catching the light, a tribute to her father, Eddie, who had debuted with the same number in his F1 career.

Beside her, Mick exited the car, dressed casually but with a quiet confidence. Their relationship had blossomed in recent months, but most fans still assumed they were just lifelong best friends. As the pair moved toward the entrance, the crowd erupted into cheers. "Y/n! Over here!" shouted a fan holding a Ferrari flag. She grinned, turning to Mick. "Go on inside. I’ll catch up after saying hi."

"Not a chance." Mick replied with a smirk, following her to the barricade where fans eagerly waited. Y/n signed autographs and posed for pictures, her warmth and genuine smile making each interaction feel personal. Mick lingered nearby, and a few fans called out to him too. "Mick! Can we get a photo?"

"Of course." He replied, stepping up with his easygoing charm. As they continued toward the arena’s entrance, Y/n nudged him. "Didn't know you still had fans." She joked. Mick chuckled. "’m just your entourage. They want the Ferrari star."

Inside, the atmosphere was a mix of glitz and nerves. Drivers, team personnel, and media buzzed around as the launch event got underway. The drivers had a brief respite before the red carpet event, giving Y/n a moment to chat with her Ferrari teammate, Charles. "You look nervous." Charles teased, adjusting the cufflinks on his tailored suit. "I’m more nervous about surviving the carpet." Y/n quipped. "You always make it look so easy."

"That’s because Alex does all the work." Charles joked, motioning toward his girlfriend, Alexandra, who was chatting with a group of Ferrari personnel. When it was time for the red carpet, Charles led Alexandra out first, the pair effortlessly posing for the cameras. The photographers shouted instructions as flashes lit up the room. "Our competition is literally a pair of models." Y/n whispered. Mick scoffed. "It's not a competition, why is everything with you a competition?" He chuckled. "It's more fun that way."

Then it was Y/n’s turn. She motioned for her parents, Eddie and her mother, to join her. Mick walked just behind them, his expression calm but proud. "Big smiles, everyone." Eddie said as they stepped into the lights. The cameras clicked furiously, capturing the Irvines in their element. The photographers then called for just the drivers and their plus-ones, prompting the Irvine couple to step aside. Mick hesitated, glancing at Y/n. "Looks like you’re stuck with me." She teased, pulling him into place beside her. "That doesn't sound too bad to me." He replied quietly as Charles and Alex came back. The quartet posed together, exuding elegance and charisma. The photographers murmured among themselves, still assuming Mick and Y/n were just close friends.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Backstage, the drivers returned to their dressing rooms to change into their race suits. Y/N sat in a chair as makeup artists and hairstylists worked around her. Mick stood with her parents, chatting casually, while Sylvia, Ferrari’s PR lead, addressed the room. "Y/n, you’ll likely get a question or two about your father’s time at Ferrari. It’s a nice tie-in, but make sure to highlight your own story and what you’re bringing to the team." Sylvia advised. Y/n grinned. "They’ll probably ask if I think I’ll get a championship before Dad did." Eddie smirked. "Where’s yours?" Without missing a beat, Y/n quipped. "It's coming, oul' fella, whereas your's must've got lost in the post." The room erupted into laughter, the tension dissolving.

As the makeup artist finished the final touches on Y/n’s look, smoothing out her bright red Ferrari overalls, Sylvia gave the final rundown. "Charles and Y/n, you’ll be the second-to-last team to go on. Stay close to the stage. The two of you will introduce the car and field some questions."

"Sound job." Y/n replied, exchanging a look with Charles. "Try not to say the Red Bull looks shit." Charles whispered. "Sure it's a drinks can on wheels." Y/n shot back, grinning. As the car reveals began, Y/n and Charles stood at the side of the stage, commenting on the other teams. "The Aston looks good." Charles noted. "You'd think Adrian would've changed the colour." Y/n joked.

When it was finally Ferrari’s turn, the F1-75 was unveiled in a dramatic display of lights and music. The sleek, scarlet car gleamed under the spotlight, its aggressive lines and unmistakable heritage drawing gasps from the audience. Charles and Y/n stepped forward, microphones in hand. "Charles, Y/n, welcome to London." The crowd erupted into cheers as the pair waved. "How has the off season been treating you both?" The interviewer asked. "Pretty good, but it's time to get back to work now. We are here to fight and here to win." Y/n replied, drawing more cheers from the fans. "Speaking of fighting and winning, let's put our attention on the car. I mean, it's a thing of beauty."

"It looks fast." Charles said simply, earning a laugh from the crowd. "The team has worked so hard on it, the engineers, aerodynamicists, car design, they have all been working hard in the factory."

"And what do you think, Y/n?" She sighed, thinking of a response. "Just to add to Charles there, it's more than fast." Y/n added. "It’s a Ferrari. This car represents so much history, and I’m excited to be a part of that legacy." The questions continued, and finally, the faithful question was asked; what does this mean to be following in her father’s footsteps.

"It’s surreal." She admitted. "My dad spent a few great years here, and now I have the chance to build my own story with Ferrari. I can’t wait to see what this season brings." Charles chimed in, "It’s also great to have such a historical name back in the sport. Y/n brings a fresh perspective, and we’re already working well together."

After the event wrapped, Alexandra and Mick made their way toward the stage. A fan with a phone captured the moment as Alexandra greeted Charles with a kiss. In the background, Mick approached Y/n, wrapping her in a tight hug before kissing her softly. The fan uploaded the video, and within hours, social media exploded with excitement.

It’s like something out of a fanfiction!

Y/n and Mick are the couple we didn’t know we needed!

Childhood friends to lovers ahhhhh

[dykedvonte]

I think no one on the Tulpar but like Swansea would bring something good to a Thanksgiving party.

Anya's busy with studies and finding work so she never has time to prep and just buys premade food. It's like always too frozen because she forgot to thaw it or burnt because she took it out to not forget and forgot about it still in the oven. Curly is hosting but I doubt he has like anything fun to do in his house so its always awkward conversation until someone brings up politics and he is forced to mediate the conversation. Daisuke is like not used to having to bring something and is confused that like seven bottles of like fucking Faygo Orange is not a meaningful or wanted contribution. Don't get me started on Jimmy the king of bringing himself and taking the most plates at the end, if not a whole tray or he brings the shittiest, will soak through paper plates known to man. Swansea made like not even the turkey or a main dish but like a random side that does not pair well with the burnt food, soda or even being for thanksgiving, he just brought what he liked.

Like it would end with Curly having to order take out and even then something goes wrong cause no one can agree where to get it from.

[jhilsara]

Of Bookstore, Coffees, and Late Nights pt. 4

Sunshine!Reader/Southern!Reader/Plus Sized!Reader

Pairing: Fem!reader x Spencer Reid

Summary: Welcome to the holiday special! Set during season 8 you spend Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas with Spencer.

Word Count: 8k

Warnings: Canon typical BAU themes, sick family members, holiday family fighting, (no Maeve...this is my fanfic and I say Spencer's had enough trauma)

Previous|Next

Halloween   

Spencer had convinced you to go out with him, JJ, and Will. They were going to take Henry trick or treating and then go off to a bar their team frequently ventured into.  

Spencer and his team had recently landed from a case and Spencer was grinning from ear to ear. Apparently, Henry had not wanted to go out on Halloween, but something changed his mind. Spencer refused to tell you what Henry’s costume was, declaring it a surprise.   

Spencer had picked you up and you two were in your own costumes. You dressed as Katniss Everdeen from the new Hunger Games movie. You had dragged Spencer to go see it after you had him read it during one of their earlier book exchanges. Spencer was dressed as Doctor Frankenstein. Large white lab coat and ridiculous googles.   

“Are you sure this is okay? I mean, I don’t know them that well.” You asked nervously.   

Spencer just laughed and nodded. “I’m more than sure. JJ and Garcia have been hounding me to make time for you to hang out with them.”  

“Because they like me or because they want to profile me?” You asked skeptically.  

Spencer shrugged, “Honestly, could be either, both, or none of the above. But, JJ knows you helped Will from bleeding out so, you’re solid in her book.”  

“I thought we agreed to not ever talk about the bank again?” You mumbled.   

“I know I know; I won’t bring it up again.” he said with a grin.   

You rolled your eyes, knowing well it wouldn’t be the last time.   

Once they arrive at JJ and Will’s house Henry answers the door and immediately you melt at the sight. Little Henry was dressed as Spencer, badge and all, and you had to bite your tongue from almost crying.   

JJ popped up behind Henry and smiled at the two. “Nice costumes.” she said looking them over.  

“Uncle Spencer, do I look like you?” Henry asked excitedly spinning in a circle.   

Spencer leans down to pick up Henry, “You look just like me! I think I’m looking in a mirror Henry.”   

The blonde boy giggled and hugged his uncle.   

“Come on in, we’re almost ready to go. Will’s just finishing the dishes.” JJ said, ushering them in.  

Will come’s around the corner with a rag in his hand as he looks for the source of noise, “I thought I heard y'all.” He said smiling.   

Will comes up to you arms open for a hug, “Hey.”   

you immediately hugged him, “Hey Will.”   

You smiled when he pulled away. Will raised his hand to Spencer, who was still holding Henry. 

“Can you watch him so we can go change real quick?” Will asked.   

Spencer nodded, “Absolutely, go don’t worry about it.”  

“Promise we’ll be quick; our costumes are easy.” JJ said with a grin.  

The two hurry off to their bedroom and Spencer sets down Henry.   

“Are you excited to go trick or treating bud?” Spencer asked softly.   

Henry nodded in excitement. “Mommy and Daddy are going to be my back up.”   

You just smiled as you watched Spencer interact with Henry. He easily kept him entertained and was overall, just great with the kid. you almost think you should have Spencer do some magic at the shop for the kids during the day sometime. He just easily knows what to do. It’s charming.   

JJ and Will come around the corner and are in all black suits and sunglasses. You gave a loud guffaw of a laugh, having to cover your mouth.   

“Oh, now this is just a stereotype.” Spencer said, trying to look upset, but his smile gave him away. 

“What? We can’t poke fun at ourselves?” JJ said with a small spin in her fake FBI suit. A massive plastic badge hanging from her hip.   

Spencer just shook his head.   

“I feel spiffy, this isn’t a bad suit for a costume.” Will said looking over his sunglasses.   

JJ laughed and then clapped her hands together looking at her son, “You ready Henry?”  

Henry bounced in excitement and ran up to his parents.   

“Wait, wait, before we go let me get pictures of you guys. It’s so cute.” You said, fishing out your phone.  

Will, JJ, and Henry pose. Will and JJ make a Mr. And Mrs. Smith pose back-to-back that has you giggling.   

“Perfect.” she smiled as she finished snapping a few pictures.   

JJ moves to open the front door and ushered everyone out, “Come one we’re burning the night away!”   

Henry had about an hour and a half of trick or treating in him before he started dragging his feet.  

“You tired big guy?” Will asked his son as he picked him up.   

Henry nodded slowly, fighting to keep his eyes open.   

“It’s bedtime for this one.” JJ said kissing the crown of Henry’s head.  

Will adjusts Henry in his arms. “We’ll go put him to bed, we’ll meet everyone at the bar.”   

Spencer and you nod, waving them off.   

“He’s the cutest kid I’ve ever seen.” You coo watching them walk off.   

Spencer nodded, “He absolutely is.”   

“You’re so good with him.” you crossed your arms. “Maybe you should lead a reading time or do a magic show at the bookstore.”   

Spencer looks down at you, “Now you’re just extorting me for labor.”   

You giggled, “I give you plenty of free coffee to warrant asking you for story time with the kids in the bookstore.”   

Spencer makes a face. “Definitely extorting me.”  

“I’d say it’s more a barter and trade system.” you said with a grin.   

“Whatever, come on.” He laughed, grabbing your hand to lead you off to go to the bar.   

You feel your face heat up from Spencer holding your hand, you go quiet and just let him lead you.   

Once at the bar, Derek and Penelope are already seated in a back booth. Penelope spots the two first and she stands waving them over.   

Penelope immediately grabs you from Spencer. “We need shots!” she declared as she dragged you with her to the bar.   

Derek just laughed watching them leave.   

“How many drinks has she had?” Spencer asked with a laugh.   

“None. She was waiting.” Derek responded with a chuckle.   

Penelope and you stand at the bar waiting to order shots. While they wait for the bar tender Penelope takes this time to chat you up.   

“I can’t believe Spencer hasn’t brought you out until now! I mean- there was the wedding, but I’ve been begging him to let me hang out with you!” Penelope pouts.   

You laughed, “Well, my schedules a little crazy. I’m always working at night so I can’t really go out like this all the time.” you told her.   

Penelope nodded, “Right, you run a late-night cafe and bookstore, right?”  

You hummed in agreement. “Yeah, I do. It’s a lot of fun and the inside is super comfortable. If you ever want to drop by, feel free to! I’d love for you to come by.” You told the blonde.   

Penelope’s face bursts into a big grin. “That sounds great. I’ll make sure to take you up on that.”  

Finally, the bartender makes his way over to them.  

Over at the booth, JJ and Will finally made it in. The group is chattering amongst themselves, waiting for Penelope to come back with you.   

JJ looked over to spot them at the bar, and she took an opportunity.   

“So, Spence...” she started with a conspiratorial tone.   

Spencer immediately froze and gives JJ a knowing look. “Why do I already not like where this is going?”  

“It’s nothing serious just...” her eyes avert over to the bar, “Do you like her?” she whispered loudly across the table.  

Derek started to laugh, looking at JJ with a raised brow. “Are we really about to press pretty boy on his love life right now?”   

Spencer’s face is tinted pink as his eyes widen. “JJ...” he sighed.   

“Spence.” She replied with a deadpan stare.   

His eyes flickered over to try to see if Penelope and you were coming back. Hoping he could escape this grilling.   

“I’m not gonna let this go, so you can answer here or at work with Rossi and Hotch in the room.” She said with a smirk.   

Spencer sighed and looked down at his hands on the table. “She’s wonderful, and when she was a hostage, it really hit me in that moment that she’s important to me.” he murmured.   

“She’s too sweet though...and I’m, me.” He said quietly.   

Derek and JJ make a face. They didn’t believe that for a second. Before they could reply though, Penelope bounced back with you in tow.   

“This conversation isn’t over Spence.” JJ murmured.  

“Oh, everyone’s here!” Penelope shouts, moving to hug JJ in excitement.   

Penelope shoots a playful glare at Spencer, “You better move boy genius because my spot is next to big man.”   

Spencer rolled his eyes but slid over to get up. Penelope shot him a dazzling smile and moves to saddle herself next to Derek. Spencer gets back in the booth, and you slide next to him. With everyone in the booth, they’re basically brushing against each other. Your leg is pressed against his and you feel like you’re burning up. It could be the alcohol or your nerves, you’re unsure.   

The night goes on and you drink far more than you probably should have. You're a light weight and Penelope Garcia just kept ordering shots for her, you, and JJ.   

The three women are standing outside in the cold air chattering away while they wait for the others to close out their tabs.   

You’re swaying on your feet humming a mindless tune and Penelope’s leaning against you.   

“You’re so sweet- I understand why our boy wonder would keep you to himself.” Penelope giggled.  

You shook your head, “No no, it’s not like that.” you giggled.   

“Oh please,” JJ rolled her eyes her own smirk on her face. “You two were giving each other eyes all night.”   

You gasped, “No we were not! He’s my best friend.”   

JJ and Penelope give each other matching looks before humming in acknowledgement.   

“I’m serious! I know what a sarcastic mmhmm means, I invented it.” You said with a frown.   

The doors open and the three, much more sober, men come out.   

“Come on baby girl, time to say goodbye. You need your bed.” Derek said pulling Penelope off you.   

“Oh, my bed sounds fantastic!” she said excitedly, letting Derek lead her off.   

“We better get going too, your momma can’t stay all night.” Will mentions to JJ.   

“Bye Spence, bye Y/N!” JJ waved goodbye.   

Spencer turned to look at you, and you’re still swaying a bit. Spencer wraps an arm around your waist to keep you steady and starts to lead you back toward the subway.   

“Come on, let’s get you home.”   

You immediately leaned your head on his shoulder wrapping your own arm around him to keep yourself balanced.   

“You’re my favorite person Spencer.” you murmured as they walked down the street.   

He chuckled softly, “You’re mine too.”   

“No, no, I’m serious.” you said your words a bit slurred.  

“I know.” he said softly.   

You looked up at him, your eyes furrowed, “No, you don’t.” you said it a bit more seriously. “You’ve done more for me than I can explain.” you whispered.   

Spencer paused and gently moved his free hand to press you closer to him, petting your head. “I think it’s the other way around.” He murmured into your hair.   

The two stand there, your face pressed into Spencer’s shoulder for a while. It takes a cold breeze to make the two of you separate.  

“Let’s get you home before you catch a cold.” he whispered, gently moving you forward again.  

You just nodded, looking at your feet as they walked, trying to hide your flushed face.   

Thanksgiving   

Thanksgiving was always awkward. You only remember Thanksgiving being fun when you were between five and ten. After your mother cheated, Thanksgiving had been... rough. To put it politely.   

Even after your parents' divorce, they would still try to get together for Thanksgiving, but something tends to always go wrong.   

There was the year you refused to come out of your room because you didn’t want to see your mother. So, Bridget tried to feed you under the bedroom door. Then there was the year that Bridget got food poisoning because their mom didn’t cook the chicken breast for Bridget all the way through. That one was rough. She was eleven and violently puking for three days straight. Or the year that Lauren brought her new boyfriend over. He had tried to make Bridget and you call him dad while Big Joe was sitting right there.   

Thanksgiving has just not been their Holiday.   

This year you had invited Spencer. He wasn’t going to Vegas to see his mother until Christmas, and he was just going to spend it alone. You offered for him to just spend it with you and Big Joe, it was always just the two of them recently. So, it wasn’t a big deal. Just a chill lunch, watch the parade on the tv, and send Spencer off with leftovers.   

At least, that was your plan.   

You're in the kitchen with Spencer, cutting veggies for the stuffing when the doorbell rings. You stand straight looking at Spencer in surprise.   

“I’ll get it!” You shout to your dad, walking briskly to the door.   

Upon opening the door, you see your baby sister. It’s such a shock it takes you a second to register what’s happening.  

“Birdie?” You blinked in confusion and rubbed your eyes trying to see if you were seeing things.   

“Happy Thanksgiving!” Bridget’s boyfriend, Jamie, says excitedly and leans in to give a hug.  

“Oh!” Jamie wraps you in a massive hug, squeezing you tightly. “I’m so happy to finally meet you and Bridget’s dad!”   

You looked at him a little puzzled before turning to Bridget. “I thought,” You sighed trying to even your breathing. “I thought you were spending the holidays with Lauren again?”   

Bridget just shrugged, “Changed my mind. Now can we go in, it’s freezing out here.”   

You step aside to let them in and are bewildered that your sister even showed up. You make your way through the living room and stand next to your dad in his wheelchair. His eyes were half closed, a light snore as the television played the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.   

“Daddy, daddy wake up. Birdie’s home.” You whispered.   

Big Joe jolts a bit and grumbles, “I wasn’t asleep.”   

“Sure, you weren’t daddy.” You patted your dad’s shoulder. “Anyway, Birdie’s here with her boyfriend Jamie.” You said making Big Joe look over at the two standing awkwardly in the doorway.   

His face breaks into a grin, “Well, come in Pidgeon, no need to be shy.” He struggles to sit up a little straighter in his chair.   

You look over at your sister and Jamie. Her boyfriend is all smiles, you swore if he had a tail, it would be wagging. Jamie walks over to shake your dad’s hand and introduce himself.   

Bridget on the other hand, has her feet planted firmly to the floor. Unmoving. You watched her closely and saw just how pale Bridget was as she looked at their dad. She hadn’t seen their dad in a long time. She mostly just called, if that, but this was the first time in maybe two years that Bridget was standing in the same room as her father.   

You look back at Jamie and her dad as they chatter. You see how thin her dad’s gotten. It’s not news to you, nothing about his health was. They were already on borrowed time, your dad truly beating the odds. As you look over at your baby sister, you realize that the last time Bridget saw their dad he could still walk easily. He only barely needed the wheelchair for bad days.  

Bridget was in shock.  

“Y/N! I need some help back here!” Spencer comes around the corner from the kitchen, covered in flour. He’s holding his hands up like he’s innocent.   

“Oh, good god, Spencer, bless your heart. I’m coming!” you told him shooing him off back to the kitchen.   

You go to Bridget and nudge her, “Birdie you and Jamie can keep daddy entertained right? I’m still cooking.”  

Bridget just nodded slowly making her way over to the couch.   

You sighed and went back into the kitchen.   

“Spencer, I said to add a little flour to make a rue... not a half cup.” you laughed looking at him.   

Spencer cleaned his hands with a small rag and looked over at you with a displeased frown.  

“I need exact measurements, not... your southern shorthand.” He murmured.  

You rolled your eyes and looked at the pot that was supposed to be your rue for the macaroni and cheese. You see the powder in the pot and shake your head.   

“Southern shorthand’s about to make the best food you’ve ever eaten.” you told him with a raised brow.  

“Grab me a clean one please. This one can go in the sink.” you point over to under the counter.   

Spencer easily does that and moves to cutting and peeling potatoes.   

“Was that your sister?” he asked.  

You hummed in acknowledgement. “Yup.” you said with a pop of the P.   

“Isn’t it a good thing she’s here?” he asked tentatively.  

You sighed, “I mean,” you leaned back on your heels biting the inside of your cheek. “Yes. It is good. I just...” you turned to face him.   

“Spencer, you didn’t see her face. It was like she didn’t recognize him.” you hissed in a whisper.   

Spencer paused on peeling the potatoes and gave you a deadpan look. “Because she didn’t. When was the last time she really saw him?”  

You paused, “When daddy could still walk on his own... She's only seen him in the chair once.” you sighed heavily.  

Spencer moved closer to you and held your arms in reassurance, “She’s in shock. Just, give her some time.” He offered.   

You nodded and rolled your sleeves up, “I’m just gonna focus on cooking right now.”  

By the time you and Spencer finish everything the parade is over, and your sister has set up the small dining table. You and Spencer slowly bring out the food and your dad rolls himself up to the head of the table.   

“What do you want to eat dad?” You asked him after everything was placed on the table.   

“Everything, it’s Thanksgiving! I could eat a horse.” he said with a hearty laugh.   

You shook your head at your dad but filled his plate. After you set his plate in front of him, everyone else builds a plate for themselves.   

“Magpie, you still make homemade cranberry sauce?” Bridget asked, eying the small plate.   

You nodded, “Yeah, you never liked the canned stuff.” you replied like it was obvious you’d make it the way she liked.   

“I haven’t had Thanksgiving with y’all in years...” Bridget said.   

You just shrugged. “It’s not that hard; besides, I’ve gotten so used to making it.”   

Bridget bit her tongue. You and her dad hate cranberry sauce. Bridget was the only one who ate it. You don’t have to tell her you made it every year with the hope she’d come.  

“Well, it’s the first time I have both my girls here, so let me say grace just this once.” Big Joe said with a smile.   

Everyone nodded and closed their eyes.   

“Dear lord, thank you for this meal. Thank you for blessin’ me with daughters who care so much. Thank you for providin’ them with such kind folk who care for them like I do. Please bless us today with the kindness and health to go on another year, amen.”  

Big Joe smiles at his daughters and motions for them to eat. “C’mon let’s not let this go to waste.”   

Their family meal was awkward.   

You and Bridget flank the sides of their dad and Spencer and Jamie sit across from each other. The men trying to keep polite conversation while you and Bridget just stare at each other.   

“This meals good Magpie, better than mom ever makes.” Bridget complimented.   

“Well mom barely ever really cooks. I’m sure she just catered.” You bite back.   

Spencer moves his hand to grip yours under the table. You sighed, “Thanks though, I try.”  

Bridget turned to her boyfriend giving him a look that said, ‘I told you so.’   

Jamie coughs, “So, you run a bookstore?” he asked.   

You nod, “Yeah, I co-own it with a friend of mine. Part bookstore part cafe.”  

“It’s a great shop, my favorite in town.” Spencer added.   

You snorted, “You just say that cause I give you free coffee.”  

“Oh, is that where you two meet? That’s romantic, a warm cozy book nook.” Jamie asked leaning forward.   

Your and Spencer’s faces both burn deep burgundy colors.   

“No no-”  

“It’s not like that-”   

“We’re not dating-”  

“He’s my best friend we’re not-”   

You start talking over each other going back and forth. Finally, they both just shut up.   

“We’re friends. He’s not my boyfriend.” You finally said, avoiding Spencer’s eyes.  

“Oh, I’m so sorry, we just assumed-” Bridget slammed her elbow into her boyfriend's side.   

“Sorry.”  

It’s an awkward meal.   

After everyone eats Spencer and Jamie clean the table, rinsing off the dishes and loading them in the dishwasher. You and Bridget bring the leftovers into the kitchen, placing them on the counter.   

“Can we talk?” Bridget asked with a nervous look.   

You nod, unsure of what your sister wants to discuss. Bridget coughed looking at the two men, “Alone .”  

“Ohhhhhhhhh.” Jamie and Spencer quickly make themselves scarce to leave the sisters alone.  

Bridget moves to start packing up the leftover food. A nervous habit she picked up from their mother, she had to do something with her hands. You go to help her, trying to make whatever conversation this turns into less awkward.   

“We need to talk about daddy.” Bridget whispered.   

“We or you?” You asked with a raised brow.  

Bridget sighed and looked at you, “I’m trying to have a serious conversation here.”  

“Really? Because as I remember it, I’ve been trying to have a serious conversation with you about this for a while. The last time we discussed this you told me ‘Fuck you.’” you replied with a fake smile.   

Bridget sighed and stared holes into the food she was packing into the glass Tupperware.   

“I was scared ! No one wants to think about their dad dying!” She tried to say with a strained voice, her movement becoming more aggressive.   

You slam your hands on the counter, “And you don’t think I’m scared Bridget?! I’m fucking terrified everyday I’m gonna wake up and find that he didn’t!”   

You're breathing heavily, trying to stop the burning you feel at the corners of your eyes, you know yelling isn’t helpful right now, but it feels right.  

“You chose to take care of him, he’d be better off with a full-time team! You are such a miserable bitch sometimes!” Bridget yelled right back.   

Bridget’s anger has always been fierce and loud. While yours has always been passive. You can’t stand her trying to lecture you right now.  

“I’d rather be a miserable bitch than a fucking coward who can’t even look daddy in the eyes.” You bite back.   

Bridget throws her hands up, “You know what? Have a great fucking Thanksgiving. I’m not doing this right now.”   

You crossed her arms, “Run away, like always.” you murmured under your breath glaring at the floor.  

Bridget took a deep breath before turning toward her older sister, “I am trying. It might not be when or how you wanted, but I am trying.”  

You didn’t respond expect for a flinch when you heard the front door slam behind her sister.  

You stood alone in the kitchen and leaned over the sink.  

“Magpie...”   

You sigh, your dad’s tone tells you something's weighing on his heart, and you know it’s about Bridget.   

You take a deep breath and try not to break into a sob. “Daddy-” your voice shook.  

“Don’t hate her, Bridget isn’t like you.” Big Joe tells you, his voice gentle.   

You are very aware that the walls are thin, and your dad heard you argue with Bridget., hell, everyone heard your argument with Bridget. That doesn’t make it any less hurtful or true.   

“I don’t hate her; I just hate how she ignored you for so long and just-” you paused looking up. “It’s not fair.”  

“What’s not fair?” Big Joe rolled closer. He was using his soft dad voice, and it was the straw that broke your back.  

Your lower lip started to shake, and you could feel the hot tears running down your face.   

“All of it! None of it is fair, why... why did you have to be the one who’s sick?” you sobbed.   

He grabbed your hands and held them tightly. “Magpie, the world’s not fair. No one made me sick, it just, it happens.”   

“You’re my dad... I’m not ready to give you up.” you hiccupped through your tears.  

Big Joe moves to stand on his shaky legs, he wraps you in a tight hug. You can feel how much smaller he’s gotten. The muscle deteriorating in his body.   

He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, “I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. Okay? I’ve been beating the odds, right? I can keep going.” He told you.  

He pulled back to brush away your tears, “Don’t be mad at your sister... When I do go, you’ll have each other, you should take care.” he said.   

“Bridget’s not cut me out of her life Magpie, she calls me every day when I’m in the doctor’s office.” He reassured you.   

Your eyes widen, “She does?” You’re surprised.   

Big Joe nods. “We don’t talk about the doctor’s visits or anything, but she calls every day, and we catch up. I know too much about Jamie by the way; he’s a chatty Cathy...”   

“I didn’t know that.” you said with a frown.   

Your dad shrugged, “I didn’t think it was important. It obviously was, you’ve been holding too much in Magpie.” he said softly.   

You looked down a bit embarrassed. “You don’t have to bear the weight of the world on your shoulders... you’ve been doin’ that since you were thirteen. It’s not your job; your job is to live your life.”  

You nodded, rubbing your face to dry the tears.   

“Why don’t you go out with that nice friend of yours? I’ll be just fine right here.” He said referring to Spencer in the living room.   

“Oh god, Spencer.” you sighed covering your face, “I look awful...”   

Her dad chuckled, “He won’t mind. Now go on and get.” He grumbled.   

You give a soft laugh, “You just want to watch the game in peace.” you said knowingly.   

“Hell yeah, I do, you never liked football. I don’t know who raised you.” he joked, wheeling himself into the living room.  

You follow behind him and into the living room. Spencer’s pacing circles in front of the couch. He only stops when he hears them come in.   

“We’ve been kicked out.” you joked. You grab your coat and your purse, “Dad wants to watch the football game, and I have no interest in that.” you told him seeing Spencer’s confused face.   

He nodded and grabbed his own coat, “Happy Thanksgiving Joe.”  

Your dad nodded, “That’s Big Joe to you boy.” He teased Spencer.   

You rolled your eyes and walked out with Spencer following behind. Outside the front door you felt Spencer gently grab your arm.   

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.   

You swallowed hard, “I’ve been better...” you murmured. “but I should probably apologize to Birdie for grilling her like that." You bite your cheek in thought.  

Spencer shrugged, “You don’t have too immediately. It takes two to fight.”   

You snort, “You’re the best, you know that?” you said moving to wrap your arm around him as they walked.   

Spencer easily slides his own arm around your waist, “I’ve been told a time or two.” he responded smugly.   

You rolled your eyes, “Okay okay, remind me to not boost your ego again.”   

Spencer looked down at you and smiled softly. Your eyes were still rimmed red from crying, but you looked better than when you had come out of the kitchen. Spencer could hear the argument between the two sisters vividly. The walls of the apartment where thin and the animosity between the two women had been brewing all afternoon. They were bound to explode.   

He rubs soothing circles into your back. He knows you’ll work it out. You're too bright to be dimmed so easily.   

Christmas   

Christmas morning was always fun. The past couple of years it’s been hard. It’s just been you and Big Joe, and honestly it just reminded you how lonely you were. Thanksgiving was always awkward, but Christmas has always been fun. Even when your mother was visiting, you still found some joy at Christmas. Now? You just longed for one where it wasn’t just the two of them.   

There was going to be a Christmas that would just be you... you weren’t ready for that.   

You missed baking cookies, trying to make gingerbread houses with Bridget, and curling in front of the fireplace wrapped in a million blankets watching those 70’s claymation holiday specials. You and Bridget’s giggles filling the living room as you slept in a fort made from couch cushions and sheets.  

You missed being a family.   

You sighed and turned the oven on, getting ready to make a small turkey for you and Big Joe. You had other food to still prep, and you were ready to just give up and order a pizza.   

Halfway through boiling the eggs you heard a loud knock.   

“Magpie were you expectin’ that friend of yours?” Her dad shouted.  

You wipe your hands off and pokes your head into the living room, “No... I think he went to Vegas to visit his momma.” you said, walking toward the door.   

“Surely to god it’s not a solicitor on Christmas?” you asked.   

You open the door and see Bridget and Jamie. You stand there a little surprised. You hadn’t talked to her since Thanksgiving when they had a massive blow out argument.   

“Y/N! Merry Christmas!” Jamie exclaimed holding what looked to be a pie in his hands. His smile was genuine as it reached his eyes.   

“Merry Christmas Jamie...” you said in surprise.   

Jamie walked past her but not before making a face at Bridget.  

“Merry Christmas Big Joe!” Jamie’s voice carried off into the room.   

Bridget’s holding a bag and looks embarrassed to be standing in front of you.  

“I brought a peace offering...” Bridget said passing the bag over to you.   

You raised your brow in question but opened the bag anyway.   

Inside were two gingerbread house kits and a champagne bottle.   

“I thought we could, maybe, try to bring back an old tradition...” She murmured looking at you hopefully.   

“Birdie-” You started but she cuts you off.   

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to freak out at Thanksgiving...I just... I’ve been trying so hard to think that daddy was gonna be just fine.” Bridget’s voice cracks.   

“I- I can’t picture that the strongest person I know has to be rolled around in a chair, ya know?” she said, her voice watery as she tried to blink back her tears.   

“Daddy’s sick Bridget. He’s already lasted longer than most, but...” you took a deep shaky breath of your own. “We only have a little time left with him.” you whispered.   

“I know.” Bridget said firmly. “I’m gonna show up.” she promised.  

You look down at the gingerbread houses and back at your baby sister. You pulled Birdie into a tight hug.   

“Better late than never.” You whispered.   

“I missed this.” Bridget said holding onto her sister.  

“I missed you Birdie.”  

The two sisters walk into the apartment together. You set the bag down under the tree.   

“I’m cooking if you want to help?” You asked her.   

“Ohhhhhh no. I don’t cook. I’m awful- you want Jamie.” Bridget said pointing to her boyfriend.  

Jamie stands and mock salutes you, “Sous chef reporting for duty!”   

You rolled your eyes and motions for him to follow you.  

While Jamie’s in the kitchen, it makes the task so much faster for you. Faster than even when Spencer helped her. Jamie clearly knew how to cook and obviously made meals for your sister. The two busted out the mashed potatoes and deviled eggs easily. What would have taken you half of the morning and afternoon took you and Jamie just the morning to finish. It was great to have an extra pair of hands that knew what they were doing.  

When you put the rolls in the oven to bake, you notice Jamie’s hand fidgeting in his pocket.   

Now that you thought of it, his hand was constantly shooting down to check that he still had whatever it was in his pocket.   

“If ya got a ring in there for Birdie, I’d suggest being less obvious.” you joked with a light laugh.  

Jamie freezes and his face erupts into a bright red shade, “How... how did you know?” He stuttered out.   

Your brows shoot up as you whip around to face Jamie. You look between him and the doorway and don’t hear anything to suggest Bridget heard them.   

“I was joking!” you hissed out. “You’re serious?”   

“Of course I’m serious! I love Bridget.” he whispered to you. “I wanted to propose with her family there, but it was either you guys or Lauren, and Bridget is fighting with her right now.”   

“They’re fighting?” You asked in quiet surprise.   

Jamie nodded, “Bridget called her after Thanksgiving and I don’t know much, but it was a screaming match over the phone.”   

You make a face. “Sounds like mom.”   

Jamie nodded in agreement.   

“Well, let me see it!” you demanded, holding your hand out.  

Jamie rolled his eyes but fished out the small box and handed it to you. You excitedly opened the box, and your eyes lit up. You passed the small velvet box back to Jamie.   

“I think she’ll love it.” you said with a genuine smile. “So, are you proposing today?”   

He nodded. Your face beams. “I’m so excited for you guys. Truly.”   

“Just gotta find the right time.” He said holding the box tightly.  

“There’s never a perfect time... just maybe do it before me and Birdie start building gingerbread houses.” You suggested.  

“Why?” Jamie tilted his head in confusion.   

“Because she brought champagne and we’re light weights.” you patted Jamie’s arm.   

“Go on in the living room, I’ll finish up and get ready to serve soon.” You offered.  

Jamie nodded and smiled, “You’re a good sister.”   

You shrugged, “Not really, but appreciate the sentiment.” you teased.  

Dinner goes wonderfully. Much better than Thanksgiving. You serve everyone their food and the conversations are lively and exciting.   

“Your momma called me,” Big Joe said turning to Bridget.   

Bridget freezes, like she used to as a kid who was caught, and she looks up at her dad.   

“What about?” she asked.   

Her dad gave her a pointed look, “You’re fightin’?”   

Bridget rolled her eyes. “I got into it with her, it doesn’t matter.”   

“She said you were fightin’ about me.” She sighed and looked at her dad.   

“Well, what she neglected to tell you daddy, was she was trying to tell me how to take care of you. As if she knows anything more than Magpie does.” Bridget said stabbing her turkey aggressively.   

Their dad nodded, “She did not tell me that part.”   

“Sounds like Lauren...” You murmured shoving potatoes into your mouth.   

Bridget gives you a pointed look, “Please, I don’t want to argue over mom right now.”   

You put your hands up in surrender. “I won’t. My lips are sealed.”   

After dinner they transferred to the living room and finally do a gift exchange. There weren’t a lot of presents, just a handful for each other. Plus, the gifts you made for your friends.   

You already got your gift from Bridget, but you gave her a present. It was homemade cookies that were Bridget’s favorite as a kid. You got Josie to bake them for her.   

“This is my apology for Thanksgiving...I shouldn’t have cornered you.” You said softly.   

You smiled at your sister and Bridget went to wrap you in a hug.   

Bridget and you both had a few presents from your dad, all of which were cute and sentimental.   

Finally, Jamie gets ready to give Bridget his present. He hands Bridget her gift and it’s a beautiful print of the night sky and stars the day they met. While Bridget’s too busy looking at the print and getting teary eyes, Jamie drops to his knee.   

He doesn’t even get the words out before Bridget immediately breaks into a sob.   

Jamie gives a soft laugh, “Bridget Daniels, will you marry me?”   

Bridget nods aggressively and throws herself at Jamie. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly. “I had a whole speech prepared but then you started crying.” He chuckled into her neck.   

“You know I’m a crier!” she blubbered, fat tears rolling down her face.   

Jamie just laughed and pressed a kiss to her cheek.   

You were filming the whole time on your phone the second Jamie gave Bridget her first gift.   

“Congratulations!”   

“Well, what a good excuse to pop open the champagne you brought!” You teased pulling the bottle from the gift bag.   

Bridget gasped, “Oh yes! Grab it!”   

A few hours later you are three glasses deep in champagne and are trying to delicately place gumdrops strategically on the roof of your gingerbread house.   

Bridget’s also three glasses in and keeps giggling as she looks down at her hand.  

“Biiiiiiiiiirdie!” You drawl out looking over at your sister and her half-built house.   

“Stop gigglin’ about your mushy love life and build! I don’t want to win because you half assed it!” You pout, sending a playful glare at your sister.   

Bridget stuck her tongue out at you, “Magpie don’t be ugly. I’m two sheets to the wind and you know it!” Bridget said her accent seeping out of every syllable.   

You just laughed loudly, snorting, “We’re both two sheets to the wind!”   

The two are rolling on the floor filled with giggles. Jamie is sitting on the couch next to Big Joe in his chair just smiling at his fiancé.   

“I haven’t seen them this giddy since they were only up to my knee.” Big Joe said with a gruff chortle.   

“I told her to just apologize... Bridget’s so stubborn. She won’t ever admit that she looks up to her sister, but she spends a lot of time talking about her. Especially after that bank robbery she was in...”   

Big Joe nodded; a scowl crosses his face at the memory of the bank robbery. “That was the worst day of my life.”   

Big Joe turned to look at Jamie, “Did you know that boy from Thanksgiving is an FBI agent? He saved her.”   

Jamie’s eyes grow big as saucers. “What?”   

Big Joe nodded, “He saved my baby girl. I’ll always remember that.”   

Jamie grows quiet thinking it over, “...and they aren’t dating?”   

“Nope.”   

You and Bridget are back to working on the gingerbread houses, with deadly focus as they build. Your hands are shaking as you pipe icing for decoration on your house. Bridget is holding her breath as she places small colored candy pieces as fake lights.   

“Are you decorating the yard?” You asked her. You're looking at the cardboard base with laser focus.   

“I want to make a snow man, so yes.” Bridget replied.   

You sighed. “Fine I guess I’ll do something...” you pause biting your cheek in thought.   

You ruffled through the bag of candy and came across the Sour Patch Kids. You gasp in excitement and start putting the small child shaped gummies all over the base.   

Bridget looked over and pouted, “Hey! Those were for us to eat not decorate!” she whined.  

You rolled your eyes, “Birdie don’t get your panties in a twist- here I only grabbed three!” you said, handing over the bag to your sister.   

Bridget frowned, “Liar you used like, ten.” She said flipping you off.   

“I’ll eat them! It’s my share.” You exclaimed with a sigh.  

Bridget shoved the candy in her mouth, “You better, these are expensive.” She mumbled with her mouth full.   

Before you can respond there’s a knock on the door. You bolt up and go to answer. Still tipsy you wobbled a bit before standing straight. You open the door, and your eyes widen as you see Spencer on the doorstep.   

Your face is flushed from the champagne, and you’ve thrown a garland around yourself like a scarf, you looked a little ridiculous. Not to mention the remains of broken candy and frosting on you.   

“Merry Christmas.” He said, Spencer’s eyes slowly roam your form, and an amused smile formed on his face.   

You tried to wipe off whatever remains of the gingerbread house were on you, “Merry Christmas Spencer. I didn’t know you were coming by?” you said flustered.   

Spencer shrugged, “I couldn’t make it out to see my mom this year, I’m not staying long though.” He said turning to pull something from his satchel.   

You stand in the doorway wringing your hands and tilt your head in curiosity.   

“Here!” he exclaimed, finding what he was looking for, he handed over a small, wrapped gift to you.  

You gently grabbed the present from him, “I have yours inside- I can go grab it real quick.” you offered.  

Spencer shakes his head, “No it’s okay. Open yours first.”   

You can see how eager he is, so you do as he requested. You gently peel the wrapping paper off and it’s a jewelry box. You opened it and gasped seeing inside.  

“Oh wow... Spencer...” you whispered, the breath knocked out of you as you looked at the gift.   

It could be the champagne, or it could be that you are quick to cry, but your eyes well up with tears brimming and ready to fall.   

“You don’t like it-” He whispered as he moved to grab the box.   

You pull back away from him. You cradled your gift close, “No, Spencer this is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever got me.” your voice cracked as you looked up at him, your tears falling.   

You tried to wipe them away, “Sorry-” you hiccupped, “I’m a little drunk.”  

Spencer just smiled at you.   

“God, now your present sucks in comparison.” you murmured looking at the beautiful necklace he gave you.   

Spencer snorts, “It’s not a contest.”   

You rolled your eyes and grabbed the necklace, turning your back to him.   

“Will you help me put it on?” you asked quietly.  

Spencer comes up behind you and his hands gently grab the silver chain. His hands are warm in comparison to the cold metal touching your skin. His touch is feather light as he focuses on clipping your necklace. His breath tickles the nape of your neck, and it sends a shiver through your body.   

“Sorry, it’s been out in the cold.” Spencer said, thinking your full body shiver was from the metal.   

You don’t reply, not trusting yourself. He fumbles for a moment, but the necklace is on. A beautiful magpie feather pendant rests against your collarbone.   

You turned back to him and tilted your head. “How... where did you even get this?” you asked holding the pendant in your hand.   

“It’s a long story, but I've been looking for a magpie present for a while.” You looked down at the ground with a shy smile.   

“I mean, that’s what your family calls you right? Magpie.” He whispered.   

You smiled, “It’s special...for me and Birdie.” she murmured quietly.   

“I thought so.” He replied softly, “I finally saw that in a store a while ago and it just, it made sense to me.” He said softly.   

You looked up at him and gave a tiny smile, “Thank you Spencer, this was really sweet.” you pushed up on your tip toes to give him a kiss on the cheek.   

“Wait right here, let me grab your gift.” you told him.   

You don’t see how red Spencer’s face is.   

You quickly rush inside and grab Spencer’s gift from under the tree. Bridget and Jamie are nowhere to be found but you can hear idle chatter in the kitchen.   

“Magpie,” You turned to see your dad looking at you expectantly.   

You tilted your head, “What is it daddy?”   

“That boy, the one at my front door,” He started.   

Spencer. Big Joe was talking about Spencer. You bite your lip. There’s too much alcohol in you right now to have whatever conversation this is. Not to mention Spencer’s probably freezing.   

“Spencer?” You asked for clarification.   

“Yes! Him... Magpie, are you in love with him?” He asked.   

You almost choke. You start coughing and look at your dad with wide eyes.  

“Where did that come from?!” you exclaimed.   

“Now, I ain’t stupid. I might be sick, but I got perfectly working eyes.” he said with a frown.   

You sputter for a second, “What makes you think that? He’s my best friend.” you cross your arms defensively.  

“Y/N.” Big Joe said sternly, giving his daughter a firm look. “I’ve seen how you look at that boy.”   

“Daddy,” you sighed. “I don’t have time to date- I have the store and you-”  

“Don’t use me as an excuse to not live your life, Magpie.” he said softly. Her dad reached out to hold your hand.   

You took a shaky breath, “Daddy- I can’t, I have to go give him this present. I can’t do this right now.”  

“I’ve seen how he looks at you, friends don’t look at each other like you two do.”  

You go silent and bite your lip. You look down at the gift in your hands, “I think I do... but I don’t know if I’m ready.” you whispered.   

Big Joe motions for you to bend down, opening his arms for a hug. You set Spencer’s gift over to the side and wrap your arms around your dad.   

“If you’re gonna fall in love with anyone, I’m glad it’s him.” He whispered as he hugged you tight.   

You pulled back and gave a sniffle, trying not to cry anymore.   

“I have to go, he’s probably freezing.” you told your dad, grabbing Spencer’s gift before walking back outside.  

You quickly rushed back to the door, Spencer still standing there, hands in his pockets.   

“Sorry, dad stopped me.” you said, handing him a box.   

Spencer nodded and gently opened the box. He pulled out a small diorama that was the size of a book. It was Sherlock Holmes apartment.   

“It’s for your bookshelf. It’s like a little decoration. I thought Sherlock would be perfect.” you said softly.  

“This is perfect, thank you.” He whispered looking at the details.   

“There are a few loose items that are still in the box. Once you set it up it’ll look great.” you added.   

Spencer put his gift back in the box and looked at you with a warm fondness that took your breath away for a moment. You’re still tipsy and feel warm all over and he’s looking at you with those big hazel doe eyes that have mesmerized you.   

“Stop looking at me like that...” you murmured, your hand playing with the magpie charm on your neck.   

Spencer chuckled, “Like what?” he tilted his head.   

You frowned, “Like, I don’t know, your big puppy eyes... like I’m doing something special.”   

Spencer tilted his head and stepped closer, “You are special.”  

Your face heats up in a flush, “Merry Christmas.” He pulled you into a quick hug before turning to leave.   

“Merry Christmas...” you murmured watching him leave.   

You lean against the door when you come back inside and cover your face.   

You heard murmured whispers from the living room and giggles.   

“He’s cuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuute.” Bridget’s voice drifts toward you in a high-pitched tone.   

“What are you? Twelve?!” You groaned walking back into the living room.   

“Mmmmm maybe?” Bridget said with a giggle and threw her arms around you.   

You rolled your eyes and tried to stop the flush from creeping down your body. 

[bidisasterevankinard]

I respect the results on the poll I've seen, but I'm still think it's Tommy who should reach Buck first. And i kinda think that's why Eddie and Hen were taking Buck's phone and they showed us Tommy's bubble. Tommy will reach Buck first if he would be back

First, because Buck was fighting for them in 7s, not letting Tommy get away from him after bad date and breaking his closet FOR TOMMY. If he wasn't sure, wasn't already so deep he wouldn't do it, he would keep himself closed longer till he's ready. But he did. Bc Tommy was more important

Second, Buck twice told Tommy he wants future with him, when Tommy was firstly, just interested. But interested in what? By his 8x6 I'm, and i think Buck, make a explanation that he always saw himself and BUCK as placeholders till they will break up and go look for their last . Buck didn't hear that Tommy loves him. Ne never heard Tommy saying he wanted future with him. No, Tommy even a little cruelly broke Buck's dreams about it too

And i kinda hope we will see Tommy chosing to chase Buck, not because Buck gave him chance first, to come and talk and ask about another chance for them

And it can be actually really beautiful made in kidnapper arc as B or C plot. Maddie's kidnapped. Tommy hears about it and comes to help. He's paired with Chim. They talk about Maddie and Tommy says he is jealous about their love. He hopes to find smt like that. And Chim says how much they fought for it. How Maddie run, he chased, then they decided it's better to be friends, but then Maddie came to him with promise to never run again. And Tommy sees himself in Maddie bc even tho she kissed Chim first, and she asked him on a date first, she was the one running. He kissed Buck only when he was actually sure it's smt that can happen, and even his 8x5 rn can be interpreted as him just being here not bc Buck is a little injured but bc Tommy wants to have more fun time, especially with how he was making fun of Buck with curse. Rn Buck can interpret that Tommy was coming for him bc a) that's what Tommy does for everyone (you know like flying inro hurricane) and b) bc Buck was "just to have good time" for Tommy nothing serious. Especially because Tommy never actually chased him first. HE ASKED EDDIE FOR AT LEAST KARAOKE, but he couldn't do the same with Buck after tour? Not just "hey, here's some variants that actually sound just like me trying to be not rude. nothing more. Don't aks about it"

So yeah, rn Buck maybe wants to call Tommy but he's scared he might be broke even worse. And Tommy should be at least once but first to do smt to make their relationship work in BAD TIMES. And then Buck can be here for him for everything he needs. Help with smt, move really slow etc in other episodes of 8b where they will patch their relationship on second go

But first step should be done by Tommy

[hollowed-theory-hall]

What do you think cooking looks like in the wizarding world?

As in, how many modern ameneties do you think they're incorporating? We can assume they have things like a toaster, since they eat toast all the time in the books (unless there's a toasting spell) but I highly doubt the wizards have a dishwasher, since magic can fulfill the same function and the Weasleys don't use one.

Other things, like microwaves, are a little more unclear to me, since there's definitely a spell to reheat food, but microwaves also have some unique properties in HOW they cook that gets you things like mug cookies. And how would they be cooking rice? They'd probably have to stovetop it right? Which seems a lot more inconvenient than a microwave or a rice cooker.

Adding into that, there are unique ingredients wizards have access to with magical plants and animals that might require a different approach to cooking them. Do you have any thoughts on that front?

Do you think certain foods that are less common in the muggle world are really common in the wizarding world? Or vice versa?

We also know house elves do a lot of the cooking and chores for families that have them, but how much magic is involved in that process?

It also seems like even with magic involved, it takes Molly a lot of time and effort to cook. That might just be because she has to cook so much to feed everyone or because they eat everything homecooked, but I feel like it's an indicator that cooking with magic doesn't make the process that much easier, just different. Instead of a dishwasher you're using your wand and all that.

And speaking of homecooked, what kind of pre-packaged meals do you think exist in the wizarding world, and what would prep for that look like?

Sorry, this was like 12 questions in one, I just had more thoughts the more I looked at it.

I saw this ask and I was immediately super interested to answer it because it raises some fun world-building details. Now, I'm gonna say, right out of the gate, I think wizards use close to 0 (zero) modern amenities in cooking. They have spells, stoves, ovens, tools like knives, and that's basically it.

I'm gonna start with the toast since you can make toast without a toaster. All you need is a frying pan (or oven, but I use a frying pan).

So I assume that's how wizards make toast as Mr. Weasley clearly treats toasters as a muggle contraption he has no clue how to use:

Sitting on top of Mr. Weasley’s overflowing in-tray was an old toaster that was hiccuping in a disconsolate way and a pair of empty leather gloves that were twiddling their thumbs.

(OotP)

(I want to note about toast in a frying pan, as someone who makes it occasionally, the taste and consistency of the bread is so much better in a pan than in a toaster. You fry it with butter (or olive oil) so it doesn't get dry like in a toaster. It's great, you should try it)

And you don't need a rice cooker to cook rice, you can make rice in a pot on the stove with water, that's a thing people do (by people, I mean me, I never owned a rice cooker). Like, people made rice before the rice cooker was invented (as they made toast before the toaster was invented). But, I'll note I don't think rice is a standard part of the cuisine in Magical Britain, at least it doesn't seem to be served at Hogwarts or at the Weasleys. The staple carbs we see served most often in the books are potatoes, I believe (potatoes are probably the most mentioned food that isn't candy).

Like toasters, wizards have no idea what a microwave is or how it works:

Back in the kitchen, Moody had replaced his eye, which was spinning so fast after its cleaning it made Harry feel sick. Kingsley Shacklebolt and Sturgis Podmore were examining the microwave and Hestia Jones was laughing at a potato peeler she had come across while rummaging in the drawers. 

(OotP)

They don't even know how to work a potato peeler which is interesting since they do peel potion ingredients. I assume they are used to just using knives and scalpels to peel ingredients and not peelers made for the job. Basically, wizards still cook like in the 19th century in terms of tools and amenities.

I was always under the impression they have heating, cooling, and preserving charms (since they don't have fridges) that replace many amenities. Though I assume preserving charms won't really work like a fridge, they would keep the food as it is, if it's warm, it stays warm so you won't even have to reheat it!

And any heating charm would likely not be able to cook like a microwave, neither would it heat like an oven or a stove (I imagine it'll have an effect similar to an air fryer if I had to guess) and they don't seem to have ready-made microwavable food either, so, they won't really need a microwave. I mean, all the food we see is homemade from scratch. Besides, pre-made meals just don't fit the vibe of the Wizarding World.

To continue the discussions of household charms, there is a charm that make dishwashers unnecessary:

She [Molly] flicked her wand casually at the dishes in the sink, which began to clean themselves, clinking gently in the background.

(CoS)

As for it taking Molly time to cook even with magic, well, I think that has more to do with the cooking than the effort. Like, magic probably makes quite a few of the processes necessary for cooking (peeling, mixing, dicing, etc.) easier, but cooking still takes the same time. Like, if you need a certain amount of minutes to heat up water to a boiling point in a given heat, magic doesn't make a difference. If it takes 2 hours for something to bake in an even heat in the oven, it would still be 2 hours even if the heat source is magical. The heat is still the same heat. That's why, I think, magic doesn't really affect the time it takes for something to cook.

(I will note it's possible mixing, dicing, and peeling might need to be done by hand too considering they do all of this by hand for potions. But I think they can be done by magic mostly because potion-making is different from cooking and it's likely spells for this aren't as exact and precise as doing it by hand, especially for young and inexperienced wizards and witches. Also, a severing charm exists, and making a spoon mix a cauldron for you is very similar to making utensils clean themselves, which is something we know they can do. So, I think this is more a matter of personal preference of whoever is cooking)

House-elves need to cook the way wizards do. They don't have any unique magic that can speed things up. Certain things take a certain amount of time to cook and no magic can help it. There are pots and pans in Grimmauld Place that Kreacher uses to cook:

The kitchen was almost unrecognizable. Every surface now shone: Copper pots and pans had been burnished to a rosy glow; the wooden tabletop gleamed; the goblets and plates already laid for dinner glinted in the light from a merrily blazing fire, on which a cauldron was simmering. 

(DH)

He still needs to cook in pots just like Molly does. So house-elf magic doesn't make much of a difference, I think.

As for common foods, I don't really know. We see potatoes and meats are very common, so, I'd say wizard cuisine is probably very local and doesn't have as much modern or international influences as the muggle one does. Wizards don't have fast food, nor do the ones in the UK seem to eat Asian food, for example. The food we see in the series is all very British. So, I think the cuisine would really be very local and based on stuff grown/raised locally by wizards (and perhaps muggles on occasion) for the most part. At least, that's the impression I got.

As for magical ingredients in food, well, most magical plants and herbs have magical properties used for potions. Many of these are properties you don't want your food to have, so I don't think magical plants are used for cooking often if at all.

Same with magical creatures as most of them are illegal to capture and kill. So, I don't see them as part of the cuisine either.

These are the thoughts I have on this at least.

[atoriv-art]

What are your thoughts on Sasuke x Gaara

beautiful showstopping saved my life we love you sasugaa <333

ok to actually answer: i think they have a very compelling dynamic! i really really like their chunin exams era with gaara being weirdly obsessed with sasuke because they're both "damaged" to put it in some way!

i wish we got to see sasuke's opinion about it a little more, especially since it comes at a time where he's starting to come around to the idea of using his power to protect and not just kill itachi, but this "i relate to your pain and i need to make sure my pain (and to gaara, therefore my power) is still bigger and more powerful" dynamic is soooo fun to me as an introduction point between them! i find it a lot more compelling than what it got interrupted by 😅

i understand the value of having gaara see someone who is Literally just like him (ie also a jinchuriki), but imo having him deal with someone who he perceives as Emotionally just like him (ie traumatized, angry and lonely) was already excellent...

also!!!!!!!!!! i'm not a fan of how sasuke is characterized in the five kage summit in general (or rather how he's demonized by the framing of it all. i love a good public meltdown. his evil laugh lives in my brain) BUT i looooooooove the scene with gaara confronting him i was NOT expecting it when i was watching it the first time and it was like an angel smiled down upon me.

and and and (guy who gets to bring up the naruto games again) they do a fun reversal of their original dynamic there it in the ninja storm games, with sasuke being the one to flaunt his pain and power against gaara

LIKE SORRY I JUST THINK IT'S FUNNN!!!! they have a lot in common and deal with it similarly but when gaara's at his lowest sasuke's starting to get better, and that gets flipped later on: when gaara's figured himself out it's sasuke who's completely spiraling... hehehehe!

ok ill put the rest in a read-more. jesus

i get why the pairing isn't very popular (sasuke has like, two of the biggest pairings soaking up all of the fandom attention span alkdsmak) but i cannot standddd the weird consensus that they don't like each other 😭 gaara showed in that scene that he does still hold some amount of respect and empathy for sasuke, enough to offer him a helping hand when he was at his lowest, and sasuke himself was engaging in the conversation much as he disagreed with gaara... it's gaara who starts the fighting back up, not sasuke!

imo gaara's words to naruto later on that get twisted into a "girl dump him" speech (😒.) are obviously meant to serve as a warning to manage expectations, because he Knows his friend is still not going to give up on sasuke and might not even particularly want him to, but he's speaking from the kage angle as opposed to what he personally would want

gaara CRIED for sasuke and stopped the fighting specifically to talk to him for fuck's sake he doesn't HATE him, his siblings have to convince him to give up on trying to talk to him and there's a distinction made of what should be done as a kage. and while i have a thousand things to say about how i don't love how the manga handles its kage characters wrt framing them as Generally Good, i do think it's notable that it's this that makes him give it up

"personal feelings" meaning, his siblings can recognize that gaara doesn't fucking want to fight him and would really prefer to talk this out. I think about this a lot sorry KSMDKSMDK so much of the consensus is that gaara, specifically, can't stand sasuke and for WHAT.

and as a sidebar i think their insistence on calling e/o by their full names/titles ("Uchiha Sasuke" / "Gaara Of The Sand") is so fucking funny.

i know what you are. also:

sasuke engaging in battle banter. OPEN YOUR EYES

ANYWAY!

i actually think that of my "quirky" pairings (the sasugaaneji triad that is.) it's the one with the most canon basis and it's not even close. however it's also the one that i notice people engaging the least with ASKJDNSAKD which is obviously fine it's just a little funny to me