#several copies already though..’.

[captaincrumbz]

METALBEARD!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

Books of 2024: THE HAUNTING OF HILL HOUSE by Shirley Jackson.

I'm buddy reading this with @asexualbookbird! Ey have a library reading challenge going on, I need a masterclass in Dread Building for writing revision purposes (and yeah okay you can never start NaNo prep reading too early, catch me trying to write a haunted house story this year), the timing works out great, so! Here we go!!

[justewil]

can't be trusted in public i physically have to say hello every time i see a layton game

[keendaanmaa]

💿

[emiliaoleary]

Hooking rugs that look like dogs

Here's how I do it:

The process I use is called rug hooking (not latch hook or punch needle or tufting, though it is the forerunner of the latter two techniques). Rugs are hooked by pulling loops of fabric strips or yarn through the holes of a base fabric with a coarse open weave, like burlap, or linen, or rug warp. The loops are pulled through the fabric with a squat-handled hook whose business end is shaped like a crochet hook.  There are no knots and the loops aren't sewed down in any way.  The whole thing stays put just by the tension of all those loops packed together in the weave of the foundation fabric.

This isn't a true detailed tutorial but a walk-through of my particular process. The same information is on my web page, emilyoleary.com .

I hook with yarn, rather than with cut strips of wool fabric, which is what many rug hookers use.  I can get a looser, more organic distribution of loops with yarn than I could with wool strips, which are hooked in neat lines. 

Mostly I use wool yarn. In terms of yarn weight, I can use DK, worsted, or Aran.  If I'm using thicker yarn, I leave more holes un-hooked; if I'm using finer yarn, I hook more densely or double up lengths of it.  I particularly like using single ply yarns (like Brown Sheep Lamb's Pride or Malabrigo Worsted).  I don't keep count, but I think I usually use around two dozen types and colors of yarn per dog.  

This is my yarn wall in my apartment. Mostly brown and gray yarn!

I start from a small drawing in my sketchbook, then I head to FedEx office to use a copy machine, blowing up the drawing repeatedly and experimenting with how big the dog rug should be. 

After transferring the image onto my linen, I immediately go over it with Sharpie, because the Saral is really difficult to see and really easy to rub off.

The rug is held taut by a PVC quilting frame that I set on my lap.

I push my hook down through the fabric with my right hand and my left hand stays below the fabric and guides the yarn while I pull it up and through with the hook. Not every hole in the fabric is hooked. Hooking every hole would make the rug too dense. I do hook pretty densely, though-- If you pick up one of my rugs you’ll see they have a slight curl to them, which is because they’re hooked pretty tight. I'm using all different weights and types of yarn, so it's a challenge to keep the overall tension even.

I hook my loops at varying heights to create a very low relief. Sometimes I trim the loops to make them fluffier or wispier or to shape a particular part. I look at a reference photo while I work and pull out and redo sections a lot.

My q-snap frame can accommodate the growing dog rug. I have extenders to make it bigger and I can clamp around my hooking.

The back of a rug looks like lines of little stitches. The lines are little worm trails snaking around because lines of hooking are not supposed to cross over each other. It's important to start a new length of yarn rather than cross over a stitch you already made! I read this when I first started and took it to heart. It makes it much easier to undo and redo hooking if you have to (and I redo sections A Lot). It also keeps the back from getting too bulky and resulting in uneven wear on the back of a functional rug that gets floor use.

When I’m done hooking everything I turn the rug over and brush watered-down Sobo glue on the edges of the dog, making sure to get one or two of the outermost lines of hooking. I do a couple coats of this thinned out glue. I'm careful not to use so much that it seeps to the front of the rug. When the glue is dry I cut the rug out, but I don't cut so close that the loops don't have any linen to keep them in.

​ It generally takes me at least several months to finish one dog rug. My hooking frame and yarn bag are very portable (though bulky) so I can hook out and about at coffee shops or the library or a brewery if there's enough space and light.

Hooking in the wild makes me an ambassador for making things in general and rug hooking in particular. I answer people's questions and always emphasize how relatively easy it is to get started hooking. Sometimes I get anxious that other people will hook rugs that look like mine but better, but I think that working in a traditional medium means you should share your knowledge for the good of the craft.

[writersrkive]

Don't shut up | Spencer Reid

summary: Spencer is used to people who constantly tell him to shut up, but somehow, he feels even more embarrassed and sad when he thinks you want him to stop talking after looking at the tired and confused expression you have when he's trying to help you. The thing is you hate when people do that to Spence and would spend years just listening to his voice.

genre: fluff

pairing: Early seasons!Spencer Reid x bau!reader

warnings: mentions of the team shutting Spencer down. Derek and JJ being a little mean to him when he's spreading information. Spencer being a cutie potato. Mention of a stomachache and its causes (mention of miscarriage as one of the causes, but nothing happens). Reader not being a native english speaker, but just a slight mention.

a/n: Dr. Spencer Reid is a genius.... I am not. I literally had to search for information and copy-paste here in some parts, so if there's misinformation, it's Google's fault, lmao. I wrote this yesterday when I was about to sleep, so I'm sorry if something is wrong with the writing (even though I already edited). English isn't my first language, please be kind <3.

Masterlist Spanish ver. On Wattpad (coming soon)

Spencer and you arrived early that morning. He hated being late for anything. He couldn't afford to be late if he wanted to stick as closely as possible to his assigned schedule, especially because he took public transport. On the other hand, you had no choice but to arrive early when you woke up at four in the morning thanks to a severe stomachache and couldn't go back to sleep.

That's how your conversation started. Your genius workmate was surprised to see you, first hour in the morning, when he walked in the office, even before Hotch arrived.

“Are you feeling better?” He asked, furrowing his eyebrows. You couldn't deny that the expression was too cute for your own good.

“Yeah… I think so. It's not even the stomach ache that bothers me, it's the fact that even if I was sleepy, I couldn't fall asleep again. You know? That happens to me a lot. Once I open my eyes, I can't go back to sleep. I've also been feeling mildly unwell for a week, but even though the medication is controlling it, it doesn't stop."

At this point, he already set up his desk, leaving his briefcase on his own chair to walk over to you and sit at your desk, next to the chair you were sitting in, to listen to you attentively and answer.

“The brain works with different phases of sleep: light sleep, deep sleep, and REM sleep. The cycle usually restarts every eighty to one hundred minutes, and we typically have four to six cycles each night.”

Hotch came out of the elevator and walked upstairs after both of you waved at him, and he let out a soft “good morning”. Emily arrived a few seconds later. You greeted her too, as she took place on her desk, but that didn't stop your conversation.

“So, it's completely normal that we wake up in the middle of the night because of that process, but if it is frequent, for three months or more, it may be a symptom of insomnia.”

Your view went to the floor, and your head nodded in a semi-unconscious movement, because although you knew that your sleep cycle was ruined by work, you had not come to that conclusion, maybe that was it.

“Now, the stomachache…” He said, taking one pen from your pencil case to concentrate. He usually never took other people's belongings or shared his own stuff because of the germs, but somehow, after a few years of working together, he had come to have a good amount of closeness with you to borrow some stuff from you. Months ago, it hadn't gone unnoticed by Penelope that Spencer had a box full of pens reserved for you, in case you needed one, nor the fact that he denied JJ one of them once, when the blonde girl needed something to write with quickly.

“The causes can be the most common, such as gas, indigestion, a muscle injury, or stress. Although there are also more serious causes: gastrointestinal infections, inflammatory bowel disease, irritable bowel syndrome, ectopic pregnancy or miscarriage..."

“Wow, what are you trying to do? Scare her?” Derek's voice invaded the place and Emily smirked.

“What? No, I'm just saying the possibilities…” Spencer whispered, looking down, a little worried that he might actually scared the person he cared more, besides his mom.

“It's okay.” You answer loud enough so your friends and coworkers would hear. “Thanks, Spence. I already went to the doctor, so I have none of… those.” I gave him a little smile. “But about stress…” The sentence hung in the air, so Spencer looked up and continued speaking automatically.

“Stress can cause stomach pain because the autonomic nervous system of the gastrointestinal tract reacts to the same hormones and neurotransmitters as the brain. This is because the digestive system is connected to the nervous system, and the enteric nervous system, which is located in the digestive system, is able to send and receive impulses and assimilate emotions.” He started to talk faster.

Your focus on the genius boy and his explanation was sincere, but maybe it was the fact that you didn't rest well, plus the fact that he was speaking too fast and not vocalizing all the syllables, that for a moment your brain didn't process what he was saying.

It was weird. At some point you didn't even hear words, just sounds from his mouth. That didn't happen to you for a really long time because you already had experience with the native speakers, even if english wasn't your mother language. The exhausting feeling of not being able to sleep well was definitely to blame.

While your brain was coming to that conclusion, Spencer could only see your furrowed brow, tense jaw, tilted head, and dissociated look.

“You want me to shut up, right?” That whisper was enough for you to come back to reality. His cheeks were red and his eyes looked a little sad, not to mention the way his mouth formed a line like whenever he felt awkward.

“Yes, please!” Derek answered instead, leaning back in his seat and looking up with his arms outstretched as if he'd had to deal with seven unsubs in the five minutes he'd been there, listening from his place to the information Spencer was giving you.

“Little genius boy got excited… again.” JJ said, looking at some documents in front of her, opening her eyes wide in an expression of tiredness and disinterest.

The young profiler stood up from your desk thinking about returning to his chair, a little embarrassed, but you took his pinky with yours —that way you wouldn't make him feel uncomfortable in case he wasn't in the mood for physical touch, something he refused unless it was you. Again, another special treat—. “Wait. It wasn't like that.” Hazel eyes looked at you intently, still with a bit of doubt. “I'm sorry Spencer. Yes, you got excited, but that's not something bad.”

“It isn't?” He questioned.

“No, but you started to speak fast, and the fact that there are some words that I have a hard time processing in English and I couldn't quite catch what you were saying because I didn't sleep enough, well, that distracted me. Would you mind repeating it again, slower?” This time, you were the one with warm cheeks.

“Oh. Are you sure you don't want me to shut up?” The boy was actually intrigued and a little surprised.

“Why would I want that?” The fact that your teammates often shut Spencer up when he tried to share extra information, or information that he had been asked about, was something you had noticed from the moment you started working with the team. You thought that was rude. You understood that sometimes Spencer got excited, gave information that was perhaps better saved for another time since you were investigating a case, or people could be tired and want silence, but the team either silenced him or made fun of him most of the time. Plus, there weren't many other things you liked more than hearing his voice.

The sweet, soothing tone of his words helped you sleep on the jet after a long case, or made you want to hear more about whatever he was talking about. Feeling like he was sharing with you, a mere mortal, some of the vast knowledge he had was nice.

“I'm always happy to hear whatever you need to say, even if it's about something I don't understand. And, right now, you are helping me a lot, so, please, don't shut up.” The crimson color returned to the tall boy's face, this time not because he was uncomfortable. Your kind and somewhat complicit smile made his heart race, like almost every time he was with you. Spencer knew that no matter how tired he got, he would never shut up if you wanted him to keep talking.

[nerdygirlramblings]

Stuck on Reader being someone like Penelope Garcia from Criminal Minds, stationed in the US under Laswell

Off to See the Wizard (1)

next

eventual poly!141xfem!reader

TW: mentions of canon-typical violence

"You'll find exfil three klicks north, far side of lake," you say. You have the intel about their op open on the monitor to your left; the time in the corner reads 6:30pm. Your stomach grumbles, reminding you you skipped lunch, and you tell yourself you'll eat dinner when the op is done. Your eyes flick back to the time on the monitor in front of you. You can see Task Force 141's helicopter waiting; local time reads 4:00am. It's been a long few days, and you can't imagine how tired they are.

"tch, lass, 's a loch," Sergeant MacTavish whines. Despite sounding a little like a toddler needing a nap, his breathing pattern tells you he's moving quickly, trying to stay quiet.

"Copy that, Sergeant," you chuckle back. "Exfil's north of the loch." You wait a beat before adding, softly, "Get home safe, boys."

Captain Price's voice rumbles in your ear, "Copy that, Oz." He, too, waits a beat and says, "Thanks for the help."

You roll your eyes at the nickname: Oz, like the great and powerful wizard of. When you asked, Sergeant Garrick said it was due to how you seemed to anticipate their needs when you're Watcher. You tried telling them over and over again anyone doing your job would do the same, but they all swore you were Laswell's best. Their best. "You know there's no place like home, luv, and you make sure we get back every time," the Sergeant said. It made your heart flutter to hear it, and you have no idea how much their affection for you grows each time your magic gets them home safely.

You pull yourself out of your musings and focus on the drone feed for the next twenty minutes, needing to see all four heat signatures make it to the helo. As they cross into view, you immediately notice something off. They aren't filing in one at a time like usual. There's one out front and three together behind the first man.

"Bravo-6, what happened? I'm seeing unusual movement at the helo,” you say. You wait several long moments, listening to the crackle of satellite communications. You're about to say more when the Captain sighs.

"Gaz took a bullet," he said calmly. "It's a through and through, and Ghost already put Celox on it."

You try to calm your breathing, but even though you know, you know, these men have dangerous jobs, you can't help your reaction. One of your boys - not yours, not yours - is hurt, and you're an ocean and a half away. "Bravo-6, I'm putting in a forward call to your temporary base," you tell him as you bring up the base's medical building information over the op intel. "They'll be waiting on the tarmac for you." You haven't spoken to them yet, but you will make sure someone is there to take care of Sergeant Garrick.

"See, Oz, always ten steps ahead," the aforementioned soldier chuckles in your ear. Despite the distance, you can hear the strain in his voice.

“Don’t try to sweet talk me, Sergeant,” you scold. “Keep your strength,” you say more softly. “I- we want you back in one piece.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he responds quietly.

Your office is quiet for the next few weeks. Laswell directs most operations to other groups, giving the 141 time to rest and recover, and while you support whomever Laswell tells you, your work is mostly with the 141. You've been their primary point of contact for nearly a year now.

Despite not covering them in the field, you're a bloodhound, following any scrap of gossip about your boys. You know after the bullet tore through his thigh on that last op, Sergeant Garrick - “Gaz, please, Oz. Or Kyle,” he insisted softly when you checked in - had multiple surgeries to repair the wound.

Months back, during an op that had them embedded on a snowy tundra for more than two weeks, you found yourself chatting quietly to whomever was on watch during your shift. You were their anchor to the real world, "Oor very ohn angel on the airwaves," Sergeant MacTavish cooed. One long, quiet night - local time - Lieutenant Riley mentioned some of the things from home they missed. You squirreled the information away, as you did everything you learned about them.

While Kyle was in surgery, you sent a care package to their barracks, timing the delivery with their return to Hereford. You needed to feel like you were doing something to aid in everyone's recovery. You didn't expect to receive a call from Captain Price - "None of this Captain stuff, yeah? Yer not one o' my men. It's Price or John to you, dove." - thanking you for "making the barracks feel a little more like home."

While Kyle recovers, Laswell sends the others out sporadically on short missions. You make sure to be on this side of the monitor when any of them are deployed. It's superstitious, but you fear what will happen if you aren't there to watch their backs. You keep Sergeant MacTavish from walking right into a hostile camp whose heat signatures barely registered on the drone. You'd missed it too, until a blip from what had to be the terror cell's servers made you look closer. Afterwards he says,"Ya watched me clear the place, bon. Ya knoo how ah got mah name. 'S time ya use it, ya ken?"

Another time you're watching John and Lieutenant Riley on a mission to liberate human cargo. The Lieutenant is in his sniper nest, waiting for the buyer, plying you with his dry humor as he's done before, and this time you have a response. "Hey, Lieutenant, why do seagulls fly over the sea?" You give him a moment to think before continuing, "Because if they flew over the bay, they'd be bagels."

He groans and follows with, "If we're trading jokes that bad, Oz, call me Simon. No leftenant in his right mind would chuckle at that rubbish." Unlike the others, he didn't want to give you the choice of using his call sign. He was no Ghost to you.

As each man offers more of himself to you, you fall harder. You are not aware they do it because they are all falling for you too and are trying to break down the walls between you.

Five weeks after Kyle's surgery, he's deemed fit for duty, and Laswell mentions an op that's going to embed the boys in the desert for close to two months at least. She wants someone forward at Hereford, acting under her direct authority, to minimize delays with intel, communications, and decisions. Unbeknownst to you, Price has all but demanded Kate send you.

She comes into your office early, startling you as you read over the details of the 141's new operation. It worries you: eight weeks embedded in Uzbekistan, where intel says there's been an uptick in black market trafficking of both weapons and people. The 141 are being tasked with sorting enemy from friend, identifying their buyers, routing their sources, and cutting off the supply chain. It's a massive undertaking, one you're sure will take longer than predicted. Your heart aches for what your boys will have to do.

Laswell stands in your doorway and says your name, pulling you from dark daydreams. "Yes, ma'am?" you ask.

"You got a go bag?" You don't answer. In theory you know what a go bag is, but you've never needed one in all the years you've worked for her, and she knows it. "I have a forward assignment for you. Three months, maybe more." She reads the confusion in your face and continues. "The 141's new op is bigger than we've done in quite some time. I need eyes and ears I trust over there, able to make smart decisions on the fly, and they need someone whose priority is a successful mission, and that includes getting them home safe." She pauses and lets the information settle. Then she holds your gaze. "That's you, Oz. I know it, and more, the boys know it. Other than me, you're our best chance of pulling this off the way it needs to be done."

You don't even need a moment to think. "What should I bring, and when do I leave?"

Laswell smiles wide.

In short order you're boarding a military transport with two duffle bags and a hard-side case full of your tech. Laswell said you'd be put up in the barracks and be given a secure workspace in one of the base's office buildings.

The flight is uneventful, so you spend the time mentally preparing for finally meeting the 141 in person. You feel like you know them from the little glimpses you've had into their lives, but this will be your first true interaction with them. You hope they aren't disappointed to see the woman behind the curtain.

You're going over your role for the hundredth time when the plane finally lands. You grab your bags and follow other personnel off the back of the bird into a damp, overcast day. Your watch says 11:00, but with the weather, it could be any time really. You want to settle your things down and find the base canteen for lunch before setting up your work space. As much as your heart thrums in your chest about finally meeting your boys, you remind yourself this is a job.

Price stands inside the open hanger door, watching everyone exit the transport. Laswell told him you'd be arriving today, and he wants to be here to greet you. He knows if he said something - if the boys knew you were the intelligence specialist Laswell was sending them - he'd have had to fight them all to stay away. He knows they're all a little in love with you. If he's honest with himself, he is too. Which is why he needs to run interference, or they might scare you off.

He finally sees a woman in civvies with a nondescript duffle bag slung over each shoulder and rolling a shiny silver piece of luggage that screams fancy technology. He walks over, catching your eye as you take in the details of your new surroundings. You don't startle much as he approaches; he likes that you keep your cool. That combined with the look on your face that isn't delight or awe, just a cool calculation, filing information away for later, raises you in his esteem even more. You slow your stride until he's right in front of you.

"Hello," you say cordially. Price is a little surprised. You're usually much warmer than this. But then he realizes he's never seen your picture and only knew it was you because everyone else on the plane was clearly a soldier. Perhaps you don't know who he is. Yet.

"Oz, dove, so glad to have you," he rumbles, holding out a hand. He sees the moment his words hit, your eyes opening a fraction wider, mouth popping open a bit.

"Oh! Captain Price?" You're hesitant but proffer your hand to shake his. You know his voice over comms, but in person, the rich timbre is more rounded and melodic. You'd question it, but he's the only one who's ever called you dove.

"'s me," he replies, warm hand wrapping around yours, "An' I'm not yer Captain, remember?" You feel his callouses against your palm, and you smile widely at him. His moustache twitches, and you see his crows feet crinkle. He seems pleased.

He reaches over and snags one of the duffles from your shoulder before you can muster a protest. He leans down for your equipment, but you hold fast to the handle. "Sorry, sir. Can't let this go 'til I've got it in a secure location." He hums at that, and you swear his smile grows.

"Knew you were who we needed here,' he says quietly. He looks you over again. "You must be tired. Let's get you settled, yeah?"

"That sounds lovely," you tell him. You follow in his wake as he makes his way across the base. He points out various buildings as you pass them: medical (not that you'll need it), gym (not that you'll want it), armoury (not that you're allowed in it), mess (not canteen), and various office buildings. Price stops at this last destination, leading you to the secure room (keypad entry only and you get to set the code) where you drop your equipment. For now, it's enough that it's in a safe place. You can set it up after some food and sleep. The 141 doesn't ship out for this op for another week, so you have time to settle in.

After you lock the door behind you, Price takes you past the training grounds to where the classrooms and barracks are. "This isn't much, but it's ours," he says, a little bashfully, ushering you into a small building on the edge of the training ground. You notice 'TF 141' painted in black over the door of the grey building. "Welcome to your temporary home away from home."

You stand in the entryway and look at Price. Clearly your emotions are all over your face because he huffs out a laugh. "Didn't Laswell tell you we were putting you up in our barracks?"

You splutter, shocked. No, she certainly did not! "She simply told me the barracks. I had no idea I'd be..." You wave your hand around the space. How will you cope with basically living with these men whom you've grown so fond of? You panic. They'll be able to read your feelings a mile away. They're highly trained SAS soldiers.

Price waits you out, silently cataloguing your physical changes. Your eyes dart around, never staying on one thing for long. You're breathing just a hair faster now, and through your mouth as if desperately trying to fill your lungs. There's a bead of sweat forming at your hair line. He can tell you're nervous, but he doesn't realize he's the cause, him and the rest of the 141, so he says, "If it's a problem, Oz, we can find a bunk in the women's quarters with the recruits. Laswell and I jus' thought you might prefer the quiet of personal quarters instead."

You quickly come back to yourself. "No, no, it's fine!" You know your voice is pitched too high, but you can't help it. You're being offered a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to live with these men and you refuse to lose it. "I was just a little surprised," you rush to continue. "I don't mind if you all don't." You look at Price and hope your smile isn't as deranged as it feels.

He chuckles softly, and the sound causes warmth to blossom in your chest. "A'right then. Come see the place, then I'll introduce you to the boys." He points down a short hallway to the left, noting where his and Leftenant (not lieutenant like you've been calling him) Riley's offices are and telling you there's one the Sergeants use that you're welcome to. In front of you are a pair of double doors Price says hide the common room and kitchen area. There's a door to your right he takes you through, and this is the living quarters with a communal bathroom at the far end. Most of the doors are closed, though a few are propped open. "Most task force units have nearly a dozen members, but we only got us four, so there's plenty of extra space. Take any open room ya want, dove." You almost ask where everyone else is to position yourself best, but in the end you take the interior room closest to the bathroom.

Your last stop is the shared space. You aren't sure what to expect from a space shared by a group of men with such very different personalities, but stepping in, it reminds you of the fraternity living spaces you'd been in during college. Two worn but comfortable looking couches and a mixed collection of wingback chairs and recliners are arranged in front of a large television. Wires peek out from an entertainment center under it, and you suspect more than one gaming system is hidden behind the doors. A few bookshelves stand like sentinels along the back wall, covered in various books and movies and games. To the left is a small kitchenette. You see an electric kettle and coffee maker on the counter next to a microwave and hot plate with cabinets beneath. There's a small refrigerator too.

You take in all these details in an instant before settling on the most important thing: the other members of the 141, who have all sat up, conversation forgotten, as Price leads you into the room. You barely have time to consider what they must make of you as Price starts introductions. He starts with his men, pointing first to a man who is the living embodiment of the Tasmanian Devil Looney Tunes character, all compact muscle and startlingly blue eyes with the most ridiculous, and completely against regulation, haircut you've ever seen. "That's Sergeant John MacTavish, but you can call him Soap." Price must not know you've been urged to do just that. He continues around the room to an absolute beast of a man: nearly as broad as he is tall in his seat and covered entirely in black. "Leftenant Riley, goes by Ghost." You blink; that's not at all what he told you, though you realize he never gave you his callsign at all. "And Sergeant Kyle Garrick. We call 'im Gaz." Price is pointing to a brown-skinned man who, if you weren't seeing him with your own eyes, you wouldn't believe really looked that good.

You're about to introduce yourself to the room when you catch a slight smirk on Price's face. He puts a hand on your lower back so gently you think it's an unconscious gesture. With a little pressure, he pushes you further into the space the men inhabit. "Boys, meet Laswell's intelligence agent, Oz, the Great and Powerful."

an: Whelp, this spiraled quickly out of my control. There is absolutely more as I haven't even gotten started.

series masterlist | main masterlist

[pomegranatelifethis]

I think I'm dying

The Wayne Manor library was your sanctuary, a labyrinth of leather-bound tomes and soft lamplight where you could lose yourself for hours. At sixteen, you’d carved out a place among the Batfamily, not as a vigilante but as a quiet anchor, someone who patched up their wounds—emotional and physical—when Gotham’s shadows spit them back out. Tonight, though, the library’s warmth couldn’t shield you from the sharp, unfamiliar pain clawing at your abdomen. You curled tighter into the armchair, a copy of *Jane Eyre* forgotten on your lap, your breath hitching as another cramp twisted through you.

You’d never felt anything like this. A dull ache had started that morning, easy to ignore, but by evening it was a relentless vise, squeezing your insides with no mercy. Then there was the blood. You’d stared at the red stain in your underwear, heart pounding, before piecing it together. Your first period. You’d read about it, heard friends whisper about it, but no one warned you it would *hurt* like this. Embarrassment burned hotter than the pain—you couldn’t tell *them*. The Batfamily was a pack of overprotective, mostly male vigilantes. How do you explain this to people who dodge bullets for a living?

The library door creaked open, and you stiffened. Dick Grayson poked his head in, his perpetual grin faltering when he saw you hunched over, face pale. “Hey, kiddo, you okay? You look like you just fought Bane and lost.”

You forced a weak smile, clutching *Jane Eyre* like a shield. “I’m fine, Dick. Just… stomachache.”

He stepped inside, all easy grace, but his eyes—sharp, trained to catch lies—narrowed. “Uh-huh. That’s not a stomachache face. That’s a ‘something’s seriously wrong’ face. Spill.”

Before you could deflect, another cramp hit, and you couldn’t stop the whimper that slipped out. Dick was at your side in an instant, crouching to meet your eyes. “Whoa, hey, talk to me. What’s going on?”

Your cheeks flamed. “It’s nothing. Really. Just… girl stuff.” The words felt like broken glass in your throat.

Dick’s expression softened, understanding dawning. “Oh. *Oh*. First time?” When you nodded, barely meeting his gaze, he didn’t laugh or make it weird. Instead, he squeezed your shoulder. “Okay, stay put. I’m calling in reinforcements.”

“Dick, no—” But he was already gone, leaving you to curse your luck. Reinforcements in Wayne Manor meant chaos.

Ten minutes later, the library was a battlefield of Batfamily concern. Dick returned with Tim Drake, who clutched a laptop like it held the secrets to curing periods. “I’ve got articles,” Tim announced, scrolling furiously. “Cramps are caused by prostaglandins, which trigger uterine contractions. Heat helps. Also, hydration. And maybe ibuprofen?”

“Tim, chill with the WebMD,” Jason Todd drawled, leaning against a bookshelf. He’d shown up with a heating pad—where he’d found it, you didn’t ask—and tossed it onto your lap. “Here. Crank that bad boy up. Works wonders.”

You blinked at the heating pad, then at Jason. “You… know about this?”

He shrugged, a rare softness in his green eyes. “Grew up around women. Picked up a thing or two. Don’t make it a big deal.”

Damian Wayne, perched on a ladder with a scowl, muttered, “This is absurd. If the pain is this severe, perhaps a medical evaluation is warranted.”

“Damian, it’s just a period,” Dick said, ruffling his hair, which earned him a glare. “She’s not dying.”

Bruce entered last, silent as ever, carrying a tray with a steaming mug of chamomile tea and a bottle of painkillers. He set it on the side table, his presence grounding the room’s chaos. “Take two,” he said, nodding at the ibuprofen. “And drink the tea. Alfred swears by it.”

You stared at the tray, then at the five vigilantes circling you like overzealous nurses. The embarrassment was still there, but it was drowned out by something warmer—something like belonging. “You guys are ridiculous,” you mumbled, popping the pills and sipping the tea. The heating pad was already dulling the cramps, and the tea soothed the knot in your chest.

“Yeah, well, you’re stuck with us,” Jason said, smirking. “No suffering alone in this family.”

Tim piped up, still scrolling. “There’s also this yoga pose that’s supposed to—”

“Drake, enough,” Damian snapped, but there was no venom in it. He hopped off the ladder and, in a rare moment of gentleness, draped a blanket over your shoulders. “Rest. We’ll handle patrol tonight.”

Bruce’s hand rested briefly on your head, a quiet gesture of reassurance. “If you need anything, you tell us. No shame in it.”

You nodded, throat tight. As they filtered out—Dick with a final wink, Tim muttering about anti-inflammatory diets, Jason tossing you a salute—you sank into the armchair, the pain easing under the heat and care. The library was quiet again, but it didn’t feel empty. Not with them.

For the first time that night, you smiled. Being part of the Batfamily was messy, chaotic, and occasionally mortifying. But it was also this: a room full of heroes who’d drop everything because you were hurting. And that? That was worth every cramp in the world

[radiance1]

Superman would definitely give YJ a stern talking too about kidnapping people without their guardian (Match is the closest thing really because he's physically the older one) around and just, kidnapping people in general especially when they're sick and couldn't really process what was happening.

In hindsight, it was a bad move on their part, even if it was because of good intentions.

Hey! At least they managed to find the cryptids though and Connor's siblings!

Connor... probably still doesn't know how exactly to feel about this? He was under the impression that he was the only Superman clone, so finding out there was more probably threw him off a bit.

Superman is also starring at Connor, very intensely which kind of off puts him too but he doesn't want to say anything either, and then stares back at the screen showing the two other clones before going back to him and repeat.

Superman is just... thinking, about all of this. He's been cloned three times, if not more and the reality of this is sinking in. How many times has he been cloned?

How many of them are still around, if Connor exists?

Don't get him wrong, he's not saying Connor shouldn't exist (even if he's having trouble accepting him) it's just. How many failed clones did they have to go through for Connor to be here? Because if he remembered correctly, Connor was their best attempt, Lex Luthor's best attempt.

How many clones did they had to go through before Connor?

He... It's not a nice thought to dwell about. Even if all of said clones were being made to kill or replace him still, it's. Very morbid, to put it lightly.

And then there was the possibility that, he was aware existed but didn't really think about. If Superman still refused to accept Connor then, along with the rest of the Young Justice and the League backed him up.

What would have happened to him?

Superman never really thought about it before, too busy being wrapping his head around the fact that he was cloned without his knowledge and said clone was made specifically to kill him. Connor could've been retaken by Cadmus, and things would probably repeat all over again or, in another circumstance, Connor would be used as intended.

A weapon against him.

And then there was the two clones he was just made aware of, heck, one of them fought and chomped him! The older clone was light, too light, much to light even and very clearly malnourished when he held onto him. Then there was his reaction to the sun, it was as worrying as it was baffling. It was clear that he already had enough sunlight to put up a fight and was getting stronger as it went on, but looking back on his reaction after being subdued was worrying, like he had too much after being deprived of something for so long.

Then watching the teen vomit just hammered in a bit more how bad their situation was. He didn't even know it was possible for a Kryptonian to vomit from too much sunlight and it was Metropolis! There was so much sunlight that they could have had a steady intake instead of- of- of this!

And then there was the smaller, oh so tiny clone of him. Quite literally a baby that, according to the YJ, they kidnapped because of his sickness to help treat. Watching them interact was both heartwarming and thought provoking. The child tried to comfort the older while the older held onto him as if he would disappear at any moment.

Not an unfounded fear, actually, because of recent events.

And the way he also tried to distract him from Superman like Superman was something to dangerous, something to cautious of, even in his feverish state.

If anything, it should've been the other way around, seeing as they were made to kill him and all. But now... Superman doesn't know what to think anymore. All of this was happening in Metropolis, his city, and they were obviously hiding from something and because of that they ended up both malnourished and lacking sunlight.

It was hard to see how something could kill you, when was coughing and sneezing and just trying to breath while trying to comfort his older brother who just vomited from too much sunlight earlier.

It was hard to see them as weapons, watching them be anything but in the moment.

Luthor, what did you do?

He needs to inform the League about this, if not for the two clones, then at least for the possibility of there to be more of them that could be running around and the implications of it.

Danny has been reincarnated.

Which was an odd thing to realize, it wasn't even a slow one he just... snapped into it one day. One moment he was staring at a wall out of boredom the next, well, he was staring for an entirely different reason.

It was a task for his now young -he thinks around three years old?- mind to work its way through the memories, but it wasn't like he had much else to do honestly. So, what does he know?

His name is Danny, like, his actual name and not just a moniker. He was once a halfa and he already knows he's going to be missing invisibility and intangibility. He, well, died. For like, a second time which actually makes sense because reincarnation-

Anyways.

He was a clone of two people from this thing called the Justice League which, weird name but probably some government or activist group. Wonder Woman and Superman. Which were pretty weird names to name your kids but eh.

He doesn't really remember much besides that from this life, or the one from before but he's an adult! He'll figure things out once he gets out of this containment tube thing.

Did he mention he was in a test tube? He's a tube baby now. He thinks? Or maybe it's more like he's being contained.

Whatever.

So he breaks out. Thank you apparent superstrength that he has no idea why he has but he's not going to complain! He then wandered around all of the other test tubes, able to remember just enough of English to see that yea, they're dead.

He probably was too, before he had memories zapped into him. Or a vegetable.

He then finds this really big container, checks it out, then opens it because the clone inside isn't dead!

'Project Match' it said. He'll just call him Match.

Was he thanked for helping him? Nope. You would think that he would be thanked or at least somewhat respected for saving this guy but nope!

He was, quite literally, held up by his leg and dangled in the air. Who dangles a three-year-old?! Well, he was technically and adult but still! The next few things were a blur but after pulling off the old Fenton charm he found him and Match outside as he tried to stop him from attacking random people.

Luckily the charms and privilege of the youngest (he's assuming he's the youngest, because he's physically three) was more than enough to get through to him. Sure, the guy couldn't form words, really aggressive for literally no reason, really weird but also absolutely cool looking eyes. But he worked around the first issue by developing their own personal language from like grunts and stuff, the second he once again used his youngest privilege to boss him around and the third a pair of sunglasses easily fixed.

He just had to steer Match clear of those random S crest mark thingies. Which was a weird thing to hate but hey, he's not there to judge.

[neeeooon]

my life will be yours if you make a fic about sae with a foreign reader, they met at some random cafe where he was because he wanted some peace and quiet, and he just so happened to see reader, who’s a bit clumsy and accidentally spilled their coffee on him, and so they offered to clean it for him (or buy him the same one.) somehow, he seems so enchanted by reader that he just wordlessly nods, even though he could buy like 10 copies of the same (expensive) sweater he was wearing right now, and he just kind of follows reader around like a lost puppy, and reader finds it super adorable!! he just buys whatever the reader wants, even if they just look at it for one split second, and he’s already checking it out and swiping his card :)) aaaarghfhf i love sae he’s such a cutie +_+

accidental love at first sight

itoshi sae x foreigner!reader. fluff fluff fluff

the meeting went to shit quicker than expected, and after hearing two dozen grown men shouting over each other for several minutes, sae was in desperate need of some peace and quiet.

with the strap of his shoulder bag tight in a fist, sae stepped into the first empty cafe he saw. he’d been back in japan for less than two days and was already sick of it. he wanted nothing more than to hop on a plane to anywhere but there.

he rolled the sleeves of his loewe knit cardigan up to his elbows as he ordered. personally, he thought the sweater was hideous. it’d been a gift from his company back in spain, and his manager insisted on having him wear it to the meeting as a sign of wealth and respect.

sae took his number from the cashier and found one of the empty tables to set his things at. a sigh naturally left his lips as he fell into the booth, not caring if the wood did nothing to cushion his landing. he was exhausted, mentally and physically, and wanted nothing more than to drink his coffee and return to his hotel.

it didn't take nearly as long as it did in spain for him to receive his drink, and sae stood to grab a napkin.

peace and quiet. what a joke.

not two seconds after he stood, a body slammed directly into him, knocking the coffee out of his hand and sending the hot liquid down the front of his cream sweater. sae kept his face neutrally blank, but the breath he let out trembled around the edges.

"oh no, i'm so sorry!" a voice shouted in panicked, broken japanese. when sae opened his eyes, he knew right away that you were visiting from out of town, like him.

your face was pale as you wiped napkins over his chest, pushing the dark coffee further into the expensive fabric. your rambling continued in a language sae didn't speak, and before you could embarrass either of them any further, he clasped a hand over your wrist to bring your nervous scrubbing to a stop.

"i'm clumsy," you scolded yourself, fists balling the napkins now soaked through with coffee. "i will buy you a new drink." you weren't asking, and sae didn't know if you were being assertive or if it was the slight language barrier. no matter the reasoning, he found himself nodding along wordlessly.

"i will buy your sweater, too," you offered while approaching the cashier, but when sae told you the price, you flashed a large, nervous grin. "i will clean your sweater. sorry, i said buy by mistake."

sae didn't know what it was about you, but your words brought a small smile to his lips. he couldn't help but be utter enchated by you as you ordered and paid for his replacement drink before informally asking (more like demanding) for his number. "for the, uh, sweater!"

"we can go now," sae surprised himself by offering, but the way your face brightened made him glad he suggested it. "alright! i have no plans. let's go!"

☆ ☕️

sae hardly remembered offering you his number, but he couldn't forget the feel of your fingers against his palm as you plucked the scrap of paper from his hand.

that was two weeks ago. sae often lost interest in things in two minutes. however, two whole weeks later, and he still jumped anytime his phone made a noise, chest aching at the thought that it could be you. most of the time it was, as you loved texting him about your day and wishing him luck at work.

you: Are you busy today? I would love to see you before my flight home!

sae: not busy. i'll pick you up and we can go shopping

you: Alright! I will be ready to leave in twenty minutes 😄

he couldn’t say no to you. not that he wanted to; sae would follow you anywhere, buy you anything. he learned, after you took his number while beaming up at him, that he would do anything to make you smile like that again.

even if it meant hurting his wallet for the next few hours.

“what do you think of this one? i feel like it is too sweet on me.” you brought your freshly spritzed wrist to his nose, where sae inhaled the scent of peach blossoms. definitely sweet, but he liked it on you.

“do you want it?”

you hummed and took another sniff. “it’s not too sweet..?”

sae nudged your wrist with his finger. “i like it on you.”

“then i will buy it!”

sae followed you around the outlet with no intentions of letting you pay for anything. anytime you tried, he’d give the cashier a death glare and slip his black card across the counter when they lied and said yours wasn’t compatible with their foreign system.

it got so bad that you had to ask sae to stop trying to buy everything you looked at. “i don’t need a solid gold chess set, really! please put the card away.”

though he had terrible financial responsibility, sae followed you around like a lost puppy, and you found that utterly adorable. “i will miss you when i fly back home. are we friends? can i text you?”

“yes,” sae answered without hesitation. his face remained blank, but you noticed the very tips of his ears were slightly flushed and smiled big at him. “to both.”

“then i will text you! and maybe i will return so you can take me on a real date!”

more than just the tips of sae’s ears turned pink when you leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “until then, friend!”

an: the friend zone is temporary they def hold hands and kiss in cafes

[pitlanepeach]

FROM EDEN | Chapter Two (2/8)

Oscar Piastri x Francesca Gold (OFC)

Summary — Francesca Gold is an introvert with a quiet life and a Youtube channel where she talks about books, drinks too much tea, and rarely ever shows her face. She prefers it that way - tucked into her London flat with her cat, Henry, and safely hidden behind a screen.

Oscar Piastri is a Formula 1 driver. Fast-paced, high-stakes, always on the move. He hasn't read a book in years, but he's watched every single one of Francesca's videos. Just for the sound of her voice.

Following her on Instagram was a moment of weakness. He didn't think she'd notice.

She did.

Chapter Warnings — Mentions of agoraphobia + severe social anxiety, depressive episodes + very brief references to skin-picking. Mental health shaming.

Notes — Lots of dialogue + messages in this one. Next chapter will be posted on (or before) Thursday!

The family group chat was already at thirteen unread messages by the time Francesca mustered the courage to look at it.

Mum: June flights are cheaper if you book now xx

Izzy: I’ll be home that week too! Dad said he’s going to do a BBQ. I’m bringing Zack. 

Mum: It’s been ages, Fran. Everyone wants to see you.

Francesca read the messages slowly, one by one, her gut curling with that all too familiar guilt.

She should want to go home for the summer. She hadn’t seen any of them since Christmas. She missed them, in her own way. But the thought of travelling, especially alone — of trains, of planes, of conversations she couldn’t quietly log off from — made her want to disappear. 

She opened the notes app on her phone and rehearsed her response:

Hey, I don’t think I’ll be able to come this summer. It’s a really bad time for me, mentally.

She stared at it. Deleted it. 

Retyped:

Hey, I’ll have to see. Work is really full on right now.

That one she copied and pasted into the chat. Sent it. 

Immediately, three little bubbles popped up. Her pulse spiked.

Mum: It’s only one weekend. I’m sure your little channel survive. 

Izzy: Oh come on, Francesca. It’s one weekend. Dad misses you. 

Francesca locked her phone and turned it screen-side down on her bed. 

Henry stirred where he was curled up against her side, sensing the shift in energy.

She pressed her hand into his soft fur and whispered, “You’d hate it. Too many people. Not enough snacks. Mum will get hay fever and and blame her runny nose on you.”

He blinked up at her. Loyal. Unbothered. Her co-conspirator.

She picked up her phone again. She could feel the heat rising in her chest — a familiar, creeping anger she usually buried so deep that it didn’t even get a name.

Not today.

Her thumbs moved before her brain could stop them.

Has it ever occurred to you that you could come here instead?

She blinked at the snappiness of her outburst, her breath catching in her throat.

Then:

You’re always asking me to come home and expecting me to be okay with the travel. But none of you have been to London since I moved here. It’s just always assumed that I’ll suddenly be fine travelling by myself. Which I’m not. 

Her heart pounded. She hovered over the message, the way she always did.

And then she hit send.

Almost immediately, panic flooded in behind the adrenaline.

Too much. Too harsh. She could almost hear the stunned silence that would follow.

The chat stayed still for a minute. Then two. Then—

Mum: We’re just trying to help you, sweetheart. You need to learn how to push yourself out of your comfort zone. You’re an adult now. 

Izzy: Lol. Yikes. 

Francesca sighed and closed her eyes, pressing her head back against her headboard.

She didn’t regret letting herself say it. Not really.

Even though it hadn’t seemed to make a difference. 

She didn’t need to push herself. She had boundaries and that was okay.

Henry nosed her hand with his head, and she scratched behind his ears absently.

“I know,” she murmured. “That could’ve gone better. But still.”

She thumbed through her apps again, not to the chat this time, but Instagram. She found herself staring — almost absently — at Oscar’s profile, her thumb hovering over the follow button.

It wasn’t the same, she told herself. But somehow, it still felt like the same kind of bravery.

She pressed her thumb down and watched the icon shift from Follow to Following.

There. Done.

Her heart beat a little too fast, but she didn’t unlock her phone again. Not yet.

She glanced at the time and let out a quiet, slightly disbelieving laugh.

It wasn’t even eleven a.m. and she’d done two scary things.

She was unstoppable.

— 

iMessage — Katie & Francesca

Katie: 

You followed him back.

Francesca: 

should i have asked for permission first?

Katie:

You’re sassy today

Francesca: 

i had to interact with my sister  

Katie:

Ew.

—

Like she did every Friday night, Francesca ordered a takeaway — Thai, because she was predictable — and curled up with Henry while she worked through her notifications.

She responded to YouTube comments first. Then Instagram. Then TikTok.

“Loved this rec!”

“Adding this to my TBR.”

“You have the coziest voice, please do ASMR.”

She typed thank yous, sent emojis, liked everything in sight.

By the time she opened her DMs, she was comfortably full and lulled into a rhythm — heart-reacting sweet messages, replying to the odd question about where she got her bookshelf lights.

She didn’t expect to see it.

Didn’t expect him.

An unopened message. From a verified account. Sitting halfway down the screen like it had been waiting for her.

Instagram DM's — Oscar Piastri > Francesca Gold

Oscar Piastri Thank you. Are you a McLaren fan?

And then a few hours later, he’d followed up with: 

I just wanted to say I really liked your last video. It made my flight way less boring.

She froze. Actually froze.

Her eyes scanned the messages again, and again, as if they would change.

And then, with dawning horror, she realised what had happened. 

She’d sent it. In the process of clumsily exiting out of the app, she’d sent the message congratulating him on his podium.

And he’d seen it. 

And responded to it. 

His response hadn’t been there yesterday. Had it?

She wasn’t sure. Her inbox was always a bit of a mess, but still—

She let her phone drop to her lap, stared at the ceiling, and let out a sound that was somewhere between a squeak and a yell.

Henry looked up from his loaf position and stared at her. 

“I’m fine,” she whispered. “I’m totally fine.”

She wasn’t.

She was an idiot. A fat-thumbed idiot. 

She didn’t reply straight away.

Instead, she opened the message thread again. Then again. Then three more times, pacing between her couch and the kitchen like some kind of Victorian ghost haunting her flat.

Henry trailed after her for the first few laps before giving up and flopping down with a lazy sigh.

One sentence. Barely even a thing. But it was him, telling her that he’d enjoyed her last video, after asking her if she supported the team he drove for, and that changed everything.

She drafted five different replies, none of them good.

Too casual. Too try-hard. Too weird.

She threw her phone across the room, onto the couch, and stared at the wall for a full minute before groaning into her hands.

Eventually, after she’d stress-eaten three mini chocolate muffins that she didn’t even like, she picked up her phone and typed, quickly this time, before she could overthink it:

Francesca Gold Thanks. I’m glad I made it easier for you. 

And I don’t know much about McLaren. Just cheering for you, I guess. 

She stared at it.

It was true. It was honest. It didn’t sound like she wanted to marry him, probably.

She pressed send.

Immediately put her phone face down.

Then picked it back up, just to check.

Then turned it off entirely.

Henry meowed like he disapproved of her cowardice.

She glared at him. “Shut up, Garfield.” 

He glowered at her. 

—

Katie had arranged for an Uber to pick her up right outside of her flat and bring her straight to the office. No walking, no public transport, no unnecessary variables. Just door-to-door.

It was the kindest version of a nightmare.

Francesca perched on the edge of the back seat, hands curled in her lap, her breath shallow despite the driver's quiet humming and the soft instrumental music playing through the speakers. She had her AirPods in but wasn’t listening to anything — she just needed a barrier between her and the world.

Every red light made her stomach twist tighter. Every bump in the road sent a flicker of nausea through her chest. It felt ridiculous — it was ridiculous — but having self-awareness didn’t make it any easier.

She glanced at her phone without thinking.

And then blinked at the notification she was met with.

Instagram DM's — Oscar Piastri > Francesca Gold

Oscar Piastri I feel special. And kind of like I need to point at Lando and laugh at him

A small, startled laugh escaped her. It sounded foreign in the confined space.

Another message popped up, and her eyes went wide as she realised what was happening; they were both in the chat at the same time.

Oscar Piastri But now I have to ask — favourite driver who isn’t me?

A tiny smile pulled at the corners of her lips before she could stop it. Her fingers moved quickly over the screen. 

Francesca Gold I’n very new to the sport, but I have a few favourites, I guess. 

Oscar Piastri How new? 

She bit her lip. 

Francesca Gold

Watched my first qualifying the day after u followed me. 

Lol

Oscar Piastri 

No way

Really? 

That’s really cool, actually. 

Did you enjoy it then?

The tightness in her chest eased. Not completely. But enough.

The hum of the road didn’t feel so sharp. Her jaw unclenched.

She leaned her head against the window, let the cool glass ground her, and typed back:

Francesca Gold Sure. 

My cat wasn’t so keen. 

The three little dots appeared instantly.

And suddenly, the office didn’t feel quite so far away.

Oscar Piastri

The ginger one?

Francesca Gold

Haha. Yes. His name is Henry. 

Oscar Piastri I like cats :) Sry, gtg. Being glared at for being on my phone in a meeting.

Francesca stared at the message, her fingers tightening around her phone like it might float away if she let go.

He was messaging her when he was supposed to be working? Like, at work-working. With people. In a meeting. While probably wearing a team shirt and doing serious, important racing driver things.

Her heart did this awkward little somersault in her chest.

Francesca Gold 

Have fun. 

—

The Uber rolled to a stop outside the sleek glass building, and Francesca's heart started thudding again, loud and clumsy in her chest.

But before she could spiral, the door swung open and Katie’s familiar voice filled the car.

“There she is,” she said brightly, reaching in with one arm to haul Francesca up like she was a tiny dog and not a grown adult. “I was starting to think you’d made the driver turn around.” She leaned between the front seats and said, “Cheers, mate. Have a good day.” To the driver. 

“I considered it,” Francesca muttered, tucking her phone into her coat pocket and willing the blush on her cheeks to cool.

Katie narrowed her eyes the moment they stepped onto the pavement. “Why are you blushing?”

“I’m not—blushing,” Francesca lied, immediately and unconvincingly.

Katie stopped walking. “You are!”

Francesca shot her a warning look but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her mouth. “You’re being so dramatic.”

Katie just grinned, triumphant. “I’m right. You were blushing.”

Francesca shook her head, her fingers twitching inside her coat sleeves. Then, quieter, she said, “Thank you. For organising the car. And… for understanding. About all of this.”

Katie blinked at her like she’d just announced that she was moving to the moon.

“Babe,” she said simply, “you don’t thank people for turning on a light in the dark. It’s just what you do.”

Francesca swallowed hard. 

And then Katie, who never could leave a moment un-teased, added, “Now will you please tell me what made you blush?”

She exhaled slowly, pressing her knuckles to her lips.

Then, deadpan, to Katie: “He said he likes cats.”

Katie blinked. “He? Who’s he?”

Francesca just smiled down at the pavement.

Katie’s eyes narrowed. “You’re going to be unbearable, aren’t you?”

“I’m already unbearable.”

“Well. At least you’re self-aware.”

—

It was late, and the empty pizza box sat open on Francesca’s coffee table was like a monument to their gluttony. Henry had given up trying to sneak crusts and was now dozing on the back of the couch like a furry gargoyle, his tail flicking every so often.

Katie wiped her hands on a napkin and leaned back with a contented sigh. “Okay, we should eat like this every week. I don’t care if it gives me cheese-induced nightmares.”

Francesca laughed softly, tucking her legs beneath her and cradling her thin-stemmed wine glass close. “Hard agree.”

Katie nodded, then tilted her head, studying her. “How are you doing? With everything, I mean.”

Francesca took a breath. Then another. She watched the wine swirl in her glass, the way the lamplight caught it and made it look warmer than it was. 

“I’m… okay,” she said eventually. “Some days are harder than others. Today wasn’t the worst.”

Katie didn’t press. Just waited.

“I still haven’t been out on my own for months,” Francesca added, quieter now. “And I get panicky just thinking about having to travel home. I hate how heavy it all feels, sometimes.”

Katie reached for the bottle and topped up both their glasses, like that was the kind of answer that required more wine. It probably was. 

“It’s okay to feel heavy,” she said. “You’re the one living with it. You can feel however you want.”

Francesca’s eyes stung.

“I know,” she whispered. “It’s just exhausting. Like, I feel like I’m never doing enough.”

“Don’t say that,” Katie said firmly. “You’re successful. You’re kind. And you’re working really damn hard to get better. I know you are. Not just the therapy, but the medication, and the whole posting more of your face thing? Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” She said. “I think you’re really bloody brave.” 

Francesca smiled, brittle and small. “Tell that to my family.”

Katie rolled her eyes and raised her wine glass with a thin, vexed smile. “I hate your family. Let’s toast. To boundaries.”

Francesca clinked her glass with Katie’s. “To wine.”

They drank in silence for a beat, and then Katie smirked. “And to Oscar Piastri’s stupidly pretty face.”

Francesca choked on her sip, her face heating immediately. “God. I can’t even look at a picture of him properly without blushing.”

“So don’t look. Just keep messaging him and pretend he’s a normal boy with a normal job and a slightly ridiculous gluten allergy or something.”

Francesca frowned. “You think he has a gluten allergy?” 

She hadn’t seen any mention of one on his wikipedia page. 

Katie shrugged. “It feels like something rich men have.”

Francesca giggled, shaking her head at her best friends ridiculousness. 

“Don’t think I didn’t notice how you keep checking your phone every five minutes.”

Francesca scrunched up her nose in embarrassment and let her head fall back against the couch. “I’m pathetic.”

Katie grinned. “No, you’re not. But if you’re going to keep dm’ing Australia’s golden boy, I feel like I deserve to live vicariously.”

“He’s not—” She stopped herself, huffing out a breath. “He’s just… nice. And funny. And—”

“And gorgeous,” Katie supplied with a smirk.

Francesca covered her face with her hands. “He’s so gorgeous. It’s actually rude.”

Katie let out a delighted cackle.

“But,” Francesca added, quieter this time, “he’s from another planet. Like, look at my flat, and look at me. And then think about his world. I can’t even make myself go to the shop most days, and he’s flying around the world, at the top of his sport, walking red carpets, getting papped at airports…” 

Katie sobered a little, her eyes kind. “Yeah, but he followed you. And he’s still here.”

“I know,” Francesca whispered, resting her glass on the edge of the table. “But what could actually come of this? Realistically? His fans already hate me. Twitter made that very clear.” 

There was silence for a beat.

Then Katie shrugged. “Okay, then maybe it’ll mean nothing. Or maybe… you just keep talking and see what happens. You don’t have to map out the next ten years right now.”

Francesca gave a small, tired smile. “I wish I could think like that.”

“You will,” Katie said confidently, nudging her shoulder. “Maybe not today. But eventually. And until then, I’ll be here to eat carbs and overanalyse his emojis with you.”

Francesca chuckled, leaning into the familiar comfort of her best friend. 

—

After Katie left, Francesca moved around her flat in a soft, post-wine haze — putting away clean glasses, tucking the pizza box into the bin, flicking off the overhead lights in favour of the warm lamplight she always preferred. Henry had already curled up in his usual spot at the foot of her bed, purring faintly. The perfect white noise.

She changed into an oversized T-shirt, made herself a cup of peppermint tea she’d probably forget to drink, and slid under her duvet with her phone in hand — mostly to scroll aimlessly until she eventually fell asleep. 

Instead, she found a new message waiting.

Instagram DM's — Oscar Piastri > Francesca Gold

Oscar Piastri Hi again :) sry for earlier Do you have any book recs for a birthday gift? It’s for my sister. I forgot to plan ahead. And you seem like the right person to ask.

Francesca stared at the message, then at the time: 11:42 PM. Her heart did that familiar, silly twist, and she pulled the duvet a little higher around her.

Francesca Gold hi. it’s fine any idea what she likes?

The reply came almost immediately.

Oscar Piastri Umm. She reads a lot Sometimes romance. Sometimes thrillers. She’s smarter than me. Is that a genre?

Francesca let out a fond laugh, covering her mouth so she wouldn’t startle Henry. She could picture him typing, awkward but earnest, and it was too endearing for her peace of mind.

Francesca Gold not a genre but i can work with that

She paused, fingers hovering over the keyboard. There was something oddly intimate about choosing a book for someone else. Like passing along a tiny piece of yourself.

She thought for a moment, then started typing again.

Francesca Gold okay — can i send you a link to a list?

Oscar Piastri Yes. 100%

Francesca Gold *goodreads list named ‘Oscar’s Sister’*

Oscar Piastri Found them all on amazon. Thank you! Should i tell her that her birthday books were chosen by her favourite booktuber? Haha

She stared at the first message.

There was no reason for her to be surprised. He was a professional athlete — of course he had money — but the list she’d thrown together in less than five minutes had at least twenty books on it. Twenty.

And he’d gone and bought them all.

She shook her head, incredulous.

Francesca Gold if you want what if she doesn’t like them?

Oscar Piastri Figured if she doesn’t like some, she’ll just lend them to me

Francesca when was the last time you read a book? be honest

Oscar Piastri Pre-prema days probably

She stared blankly at the words.

Francesca Gold i have no idea what that means. sorry

There was a short pause, then:

Oscar Piastri Cute :) Before I joined F1, I was in the lower formulas. I was with a team called Prema. That’s the last time I remember reading a book.

Cute. He’d called her cute.

She reread the message at least four times, just to be sure she hadn’t hallucinated it.

Nope. Still there.

She was blushing so hard it felt like her face might actually combust. It was ridiculous. Entirely inappropriate. She was a grown woman — a grown woman who’d once had a panic attack in a Tesco Express and was currently hiding under a weighted blanket like it might save her from the implications of the word cute.

This was uncharted territory. Dangerous, flirty territory. And the worst part?

She kind of liked it.

— 

A week later, Oscar sat in front of the McLaren media backdrop, posture relaxed, eyes half-lidded beneath the bright spotlights. The interview had been going on for ten minutes. Same questions. Slightly different wording.

And then:

“Last one for you, Oscar — what’s something you’ve been enjoying lately? Doesn’t have to be racing-related. Music? TV? Podcasts?”

Oscar paused for a beat, lips twitching. “There’s this YouTuber I’ve been watching. She talks about books.” He shrugs, playing it off as casually as he can. “It’s kind of calming. I’ve been into that lately.”

He moved on to the next question, pointedly ignoring the deer-in-headlights stare from Lando. 

— 

Francesca hadn’t tuned in to watch any of the driver press conferences. She had too much editing to do and not enough time to get it all done before her deadlines.

She was knee-deep in timestamps, captions, and a particularly annoying bit of background noise she couldn’t quite scrub out when her phone buzzed once.

Then again. And again.

And then Katie texted her in all caps.

iMessage — Francesca & Katie

Katie: OSCAR. MENTIONED. YOU.

Katie: LIKE OUT LOUD. IN FRONT OF ACTUAL PEOPLE.

*link*

Feeling numb, she clicked the link and watched the 10-second clip.

And then she watched it again.

And again.

“There’s this YouTuber I’ve been watching. She talks about books. It’s kind of calming.”

No name. No direct reference. But the moment hung in the air like a secret someone had shouted through a megaphone. She almost laughed at the expression on Lando’s face — pure astonishment. 

Her Instagram notifications were already spiralling. A few thousand new followers. Two brand accounts she’d never heard of trying to DM her. And someone had already screen-recorded the moment and posted it to Twitter.

“BOOKTUBE GIRLIE IS BOOKTUBING INTO OSCAR PIASTRI’S HEART”

“he’s so real for watching a comfort girl on youtube before bed”

“get her name now i want to see her tiktoks before the algorithm ruins it”

Francesca blinked at her phone. 

Oh. That was… better than last time, at least. 

Then again, they had no idea who she was yet. They were just blindly trusting their idols opinion. As soon as they looked further into her channel, watched a few videos, they’d realise that she wasn’t exactly… normal. 

She swallowed thickly. 

Her phone pinged with a message.

Katie:

You okay? 

Francesca: 

Yeah

—

Instagram DM’s — Oscar Piastri > Francesca Gold

Oscar Piastri Sorry. Hope that wasn’t weird Reckon I should’ve checked with you before I did that 

She inhaled sharply, her fingers hovering over the keyboard.

Francesca Gold bit overwhelmed tbh but i like that you like my vids enough to actually talk about them

Oscar Piastri I really do Do you have any new ones coming soon? I'm travelling a lot over the next few weeks 

She buried her face in her hands, sighing loudly.

Because she was smiling.

— 

She wasn’t expecting it.

She’d woken up later than planned, face smooshed into her pillow, hair doing some kind of modern art sculpture around her head. Her phone was tucked under the duvet with her — a terrible habit — and she blinked at the bright screen as it buzzed once in her hand.

Oscar Piastri sent a voice message.

Her heart stopped. She stared at the notification with shock. 

A voice message. At 8:13 a.m. On a Friday.

“No,” she whispered aloud, already flailing to sit up, which only caused Henry to jump down from her legs with a dramatic mrrrow of protest. “Henry. He’s sent us a voice note. A bloody voice note.” 

Henry didn’t react. 

She hesitated for a solid minute before pressing play, holding the phone just close enough that she could hear it, but far enough away that she could easily throw it across the room if she needed to. You know… precautions. 

Oscar’s voice filtered through the speaker, low and rough with sleep, the edge of a yawn tangled in his tone.

“Morning. Sorry for the voice thing — texting felt like too much effort and I’m not awake enough to type properly yet. Just wanted to say thanks for the book ideas. She loved them. You’ve officially saved my status as Best Brother Ever.” There was a beat of silence, and then he added, quietly, “Hope you slept okay.”

And the message ended.

Francesca stared at her phone. “No.” She whispered. 

Henry, now settled beside her again, chirped.

“No, Henry. You don’t understand. That was his morning voice. That’s like... illegal.” She choked out, feeling like she’d been turned inside-out. 

Henry purred and rubbed his head against her phone. 

She stared at her cat with bewilderment. “Oh my god. You like him. You like his voice.”

She pressed a hand to her chest and fell backward into her pillows.

“What do I even say to that?” she muttered to the ceiling. “Do I... send a voice note back? No. That’s psychotic. I don’t sound like… sexy. Not in the morning. Not any time.” She panicked. 

Henry meowed again. 

Before she could do anything, her phone lit up again—this time with a FaceTime call.

“Katie, no,” she groaned, but her thumb betrayed her and answered anyway.

Katie’s face appeared, framed by her usual messy bun and a spoon hanging out of her mouth. “Hey, I’m eating yoghurt and I just had a feeling.”

Francesca stared at her, incredulous. “What kind of psychic yoghurt-fuelled sixth sense do you have?”

“The kind that goes off when you ignore my morning text.” She squinted. “Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

Francesca wordlessly switched to the Instagram app and tapped to replay the voice note.

Katie leaned in, eyes wide. The moment Oscar’s gravelly morning voice hit the speaker, she dropped her spoon and sucked in a sharp breath. 

“Oh my god,” she said, slow and reverent. “He sent you a bed voice note?”

“Don’t call it that.” Francesca hissed, absolutely mortified. 

“What else do you want me to call it? He sounds like he literally just rolled out of bed and thought, ‘You know what? Let me send Francesca a little audio kiss to start her day.’”

Francesca curled into a tight ball of limbs. “Oh my god, shut up. He was thanking me for the book suggestions. It was innocent.”

“Babe. That voice was not innocent. That voice had vibes.” 

Henry meowed from where he was curled up once again, clearly in agreement.

“Oh god,” Francesca muttered, forlorn at this turn of events. “Even Henry likes him.”

Katie beamed. “Because Henry’s got taste. Also, side note—you need to respond.”

“I can’t respond! What if I sound like a frog? What if I say something weird? I almost told him he has a nice voice and then realised I’d have to move to another country out of embarrassment.”

“If you don’t respond, I will,” Katie threatened, sitting cross-legged in her chair like she had all the power in the world.

Francesca’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t.”

Katie raised a perfectly groomed brow. “I literally have your login, Francesca. Try me. I’ll tell him you fainted from the sheer sex appeal of his voice. I’ll sign it off with sparkles.”

Francesca gasped. “You are evil. Actual evil.”

“Not evil,” Katie said sweetly. “Just a manager who refuses to let her best friend fumble a flirtation with, arguably, the hottest F1 driver on the grid.” 

Francesca hung up on her.

Rudely. Desperately. With the kind of energy reserved for someone trying to escape a burning building.

Then she went back to the Instagram app, thumb hovering over the little microphone icon. She stared at it for a full minute, heart pounding, brain spinning, stomach flipping.

She cleared her throat. Twice.

And then, because thinking only made things worse, she closed her eyes… and spoke.

“Hi, um. Sorry—voice notes are terrifying, but you sent one first, so… fair’s fair?” She winced at her own voice. “Anyway. I hope your sister really did like the books. If she didn’t, that’s totally okay. You don’t have to pretend. I won’t be offended. Probably.”

Her cheeks were on fire now. She forced herself to keep going.

“I also Googled Prema. I knew you’d won F2 and F3, but I had no idea what teams you’d driven for. So…” She laughed under her breath, light and awkward. “Anyway. Thanks for the voice note. You—uh, have a nice voice. Okay. Bye.”

She hit send before she could stop herself, phone clutched to her chest. 

Henry turned to stare at her. 

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” she muttered, flopping sideways. “You’d be a mess too if a ridiculously handsome Australian race car driver voice-noted you.”

Her phone buzzed almost instantly, a message that time. Thank god. She wasn’t sure how much more deep, manly Australian accent she could handle. 

Oscar Piastri I definitely win for most awkward voice note. Yours was cute. Also, she loved the books. You’re 1 for 1.

She smiled so hard it hurt.

Francesca Gold what’s her instagram user? 

Oscar Piastri @hattiepiastri 

Francesca Gold <3 thanks 

—

Instagram DM’s — Francesca Gold > Hattie Piastri 

Francesca Gold Hey! Sry if this is weird, just wanted to say happy late bday and I’m really glad you’re enjoying the books. I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I threw a bunch of genre’s together and just hoped for the best. 

Hattie Piastri 

Oh my god, HI! First of all, I just want to tell you how much I love your videos. I’ve been subscribed since your channel was like, 2 months old haha. 

Thank you so much for helping Oscar out. He’s a useless gift giver, but I know he tries. He was really happy to be able to give me something I actually liked this year. So, yeah. Thank you. 

Francesca Gold

I was scared you'd hate them all. I'm glad you didn't. :)

—

Francesca Gold just followed Hattie Piastri 

—

iMessage — Hattie & Nicole 

Hattie:

Oscar has literally met his soulmate and has no idea 

He’s such an idiot omg hahahahaha

Nicole: 

Come downstairs. I need to know everything. 

CHAPTER THREE

[ceausescue]

i promise to shoot the man i accosted in the alleyway unless he gives me his wallet. he says "this is just like rokos basilisk". i say "what?", and the man says "ah so you don't already know. i know information which is dangerous to you, and may cause unquantified but large amounts of disutility to you if you know it. give me the gun or i will tell you this information". obviously i wouldn't believe him, except omega previously told me that my next victim would be right about everything he said. so im inventivzed to shoot him before he can speak, but a weighted average of all human beliefs implies murder will be punished severely in the afterlife (so the tiny probability any god is real doesn't cancel itself out across different gods). instead i lunge forward and hold a cloroform rag over his mouth, knocking him out. now i need only fear earthly reprisal, and my accomplice (who is my alibi, due to our distinct resemblance) is a perfect copy of me. since ive precommitted to kill myself if i get ratted out (as has he, since we're perfect copies) i know im secure. in a way he precommitted before he even existed, though since that idiot thinks he's the original he doesn't realize it. hey what if i could credibly predict that he would commit to other things before he existed. he could- oh goddamn it what a waste of cloroform. before i leave to begin bringing about the existence of a vindictive superintellegent ai i pull the wallet from the mans pocket- $0 dollars. just another night for me, just another night

[gaddaboutgriffon]

Super Ghostly Farming

During their times exploring the infinite realms Sam had discovered ghost plants. And that the Fenton’s Ecto-dejecto makes them solid enough to grow in the mortal realm. The real surprise is that produce living seeds since they absorbed actual nutrient matter from the soil. No one is surprised she makes her mission to revive extinct species. Or that she accidentally mistook ghost plants from other universes as extinct plants to revive.

During this time Jazz found out about Dan and had Danny dig up the thermos so she can make sure the poor time displaced ghost can get some therapy. Danny was both shocked and relieved the therapy actually managed to reform Dan. The real turning point is when Dan’s escape attempt led to a good reveal with Jack and Maddie. However since his timeline was impossible now he started destabilizing. It was only thanks to being fused with another secret clone project Vlad was working that he was saved though now he is a halfa instead of full ghost.

But of course things can’t all be good. Due to her suit and all the time fighting ghosts Valarie has become ecto contaminated enough that she is now coming up on the GIW’s sensors. This leads to Danny rescuing her from them and red huntress officially reconciling and joining team phantom.

The GIW are also becoming even worse of a problem. Their Ecto sensors are getting more accurate and they have begun traffic stops as a first measure to quarantine the town. Dani had been caught but thankfully Tucker had hacked the GIWs communications system a while ago. Danny rescued his clone but damage had already been done and she had to retreat into her core. It it the size of a ping pong ball and looks like a glowing Pearl. Danny keeps it in a little pouch with him so she can feed off of his ecto.

Loosing their catch to Phantom was the last straw for the GIW. The now plan to nuke the city. In preparation they have all the roads blocked off and are going door to door with ecto scanners. Anyone with a low enough contamination are given a day to pack one bag each and they will be bussed out the next morning. This who set off the scanners are taken to a holding cell in town.

Green sticky note suddenly appear appears before Danny telling him to pack and get his loved ones into the specter speeder and flee into the infinite realms for a natural portal to another universe. There is no stopping tragedy if they stay.

Danny passes the messages to Sam, Tucker, and Val by text. Jazz however was shopping with Dan in his human disguise when the text went out. And they had been spotted by GIW agent. Of course with the amount of Ecto signals Dan and Jazz gave off it was shoot first. Dan protected Jazz from the worst of the blasts and flew her home but he was severely injured and reverted to core.

Meanwhile Sam has gotten her go bag ready (with an ecto thermos full of ghost plants and a bag full of revived plant seeds). Tucker and Val are also packed but they take a little extra time to execute a plan he had for a while. Val stealthed into a GIW computer survey and inserted a drive giving Tucker wireless access which he used to upload a virus that would delete the entire copy and send all files and programs to his PDA and the delete the original system before crashing it. As soon as he got the files and the virus uploaded she unplugged the drive and went to the Rendezvous point. Unfortunately that took a little too much time and the GIW were at his house.

Tucker hears them talking to his parents downstairs and thinks fast. He hides his bag and PDA on the roof and text Valarie to pick it up for him and to have her and phantom come rescue him from the holding cells down town he found from the files. Cause there was not enough time for them to get there because the GIW were breaking down his door . He just manages to smash his phone with a hammer so they wouldn’t know of the text before the GIW are in the room with their scanner screeching.

Danny was helping his parents get the speeder loaded up with his family’s and s Sam’s luggage, when Val arrives with her and Ticker’s stuff. He is in ghost form and flying the to the holding cells before she is finished explaining. Interesting Danny’s family, Sam, Tucker, Val and Vlad are the only ones contaminated enough that it would set off the sensors so Tucker and Vlad are the only prisoners there. The fight is only against robots and automated guns and won’t long but it is now morning and all the civilians and GIW agents are being bussed out of the danger zone.

Danny is opening Tucker’s cell and Val is getting Vlad out When there is a flash of light and sticky note.

“I will try to slow time down enough for you to get back to the realms, but the missile is laced with ectoplasm and I can’t stop it completely. Hurry.”

Danny’s time medallion makes him immune so he grabs his two friends and vlad and flies them to Fenton works watching as the missile in the sky is flying towards them at a pace he may barely outrun.

He gets to the ready speeder in the basement aimed at the portal and sees a very concentrated Clockwork holding his staff aloft with a bright purple glow. They pile in and zoom into the portal with Clockwork right behind them they just clear it into the ghost zone when there is a large blast behind them propelling them forward. And suddenly the hole in the realms is now closed. Danny exits the speeder and pulls Clockwork’s glitchy fading form in.

“I can reform from my core in my lair. ButI must see the infinity map.” Danny pulls out the map and hands it to the shaky ghost he marks two locations. One is his lair the Long Now, and the other seemed random. Then he shrunk into what looked like a golden gear with a round purple gem inside.

Danny made sure he put Clockwork’s core into the lair. The places seemed to be one single room with a pillow on a stand in the center. Very different from the maze of clocks and gears from the last time he was there. He placed the gear on the pillow and thanked clockwork even if he wasn’t sure he could hear him. When he left her doors automatically closed behind and chained themselves shut.

The second location was a natural portal to another universe. Danny guessed that was going to be their new home. But it was rapidly getting smaller. They flew the speeder through it soared over a lake and small forest before coming to a crash landing in a field on the Forrest edge. They get out and see road sign that says “Smallville ahead. Five miles.”

——————

Ok that is the most of the set up. Of course they landed in the Smallville area. Sam was smart and also stole some of the gold bullion her parents had and didn’t know she had the safe code. That is enough for them to buy a house and a few acres. She insisted on land to grow her revived plants. A lot of this plants I am basing on the Berries from the pokemon games and can be eaten and sold.

[sectumsempraaa]

More Than a Gut Feeling

Pairing: soulmate!Theo Nott x fem!reader

Word count: 2.5k

Based on this request! :)

TW: none, just unlawful amounts of fluff

Featuring: Theo, Draco, Mattheo, Pansy, Lorenzo, Blaise

Summary: Transferring schools in your fifth year is overwhelming enough. But when you find yourself seemingly tethered to a Slytherin boy, you start to wonder… Did you come to Hogwarts by choice? Or did someone lead you here?

“And there was fog, and dust, and all I could see was this hand reaching out for me-”

“Bloody hell Theo, please, we get it. You smoked before bed and had trippy dreams,” Pansy complains, cutting him off from his hazy explanation. She turns to you and rolls her eyes, expressing her disdain.

It’s a typical Monday breakfast in the Great Hall for the Slytherin lads, except they have you now. They’ve recently (and graciously) taken you under their wing after you transferred schools in your fifth year.

Though you’re still adjusting to your surroundings at Hogwarts, your new friends have made the transition easier.

“I didn’t smoke before bed, bastardo,” he replies, lunging slightly towards her in annoyance.

Your eyes linger on Theo for a moment, his dream piquing your interest for some reason. There’s something about it that feels… familiar.

But you shake it off as deja vu in order to move past it. The last thing you want right now is to stand out amongst your new peers.

It’s only been a week since you arrived, but the connection you have with Theodore is unlike the others, and they are starting to notice.

Like when you first met, and the both of you were each holding a hardcover copy of your mutual favorite poetry book.

And a couple days later, when you turned your head to greet him as he was several yards behind you in the hallway, before he even called your name.

And yesterday, when you watched him win the first quidditch match you’d seen because the golden snitch hovered over you the entire time.

“I wish I could remember my dreams like that,” you respond, adding a touch of understanding to the conversation.

Theo’s head turns in the direction of your soft voice, like his gaze is attached to it somehow.

Blaise looks between the two of you, eyebrows raised in suspicion.

Suddenly and smoothly, Mattheo nudges you with his elbow and leans in close to your ear.

“If you dreamt of me, you would.” He smirks, laughing to himself and earning a light smack on the chest from Lorenzo. You notice Theo’s expression turn a smidge darker, something new looming in his eyes.

Lorenzo comments. “You really do ruin everything. You’re like, the king of ruining everything.”

Draco scoffs at Mattheo’s quip and places his hands on the table to signify that it’s time to leave for class. “Come on, Mattheo. Let’s not traumatize the new girl.”

Draco throws an apologetic glance your way.

“Please don’t listen to this child.” He spits out the last few words with haste.

When you look at Theo, you find him still staring at you with a hint of wonder and confusion.

You blush, feeling the crimson warmth spreading from one cheek to another. You reach down to grab your bag and make your way to potions class with the rest of the group.

—

Today’s lesson is, surprisingly, something you’ve already learned at your previous school. And thank the gods, because something about Theo’s dream has your attention caught like a fly in a web.

You imagine his vision, the fog and the reaching. You look down to your own hand, your brows furrowing as you continue to rack your brain. The longer you look at your hand, the more convinced you are that…

No. You just met him a week ago… there’s no way.

But that’s not it. It’s the other dreams he’s mentioned in the past few days, too. One where he’s at Durmstrang looking for someone, another where he’s trying to find them on the Hogwarts Express, but he doesn’t know who he’s following.

Who he’s looking for.

You can’t help but compare them to your own dreams, strikingly, eerily similar.

You recount images of them, scouring through empty train cabins and following the sound of alluring footsteps in your former school.

A tug on your ponytail pulls you out of your distraction, the slight pain guiding your stare. A sea of giggles spreads through the class as you watch Professor Snape’s hand return to his side.

“Miss Y/L/N, I suspect you were the potions teacher at Durmstrang with the way you ignore my curriculum.” Snape retorts, his stern voice closer than you were expecting.

But one particular laugh catches your ears, the corners of your mouth turning up at the sound of it. Your eyes land on Theo, and something about his expression makes your heart skip a beat.

“Tsk tsk, bella,” He whispers, and you bite your lip in response, turning back to your textbook as that damn blush creeps back onto your face.

There’s no denying how unfathomably handsome this man is when he smiles at you, because of you.

Your desk partner, Draco, looks to Theo and then back to you in bewilderment.

“I can never get him to joke around like that,” He says to you. “I’ll be damned if he fancies you more than me already.”

You smile back to Draco, returning the playful demeanor. “Oh, I bet he just adores you.” You respond loud enough so Theo can hear behind you.

You don’t have to turn around to see the bashful smirk on Theo’s face.

—

That night, you toss and turn more than usual. A wild dream keeps you trapped in slumber, unable to relinquish you from it until your roommate, Pansy, physically shakes you awake.

“I’m right here, you oaf!” Pansy yells, her hands squeezing your shoulders as you urgently sit up in bed.

“What? What are you doing? Why are you yelling?” You ask, genuinely lost. The beads of sweat trickle down your temple.

“You don’t remember just now when you were asking ‘Where are you?’ a thousand times in your own sleep?” She responds, her eyes widening with each word.

And then it hits you, the images of your dream. That laugh, a gentle breeze, and a-

“Paper crane?” Pansy asks, looking down into your lap with eyes like headlights.

You slowly look down, afraid to reveal to yourself what lays in your grasp. In your palm is a small, crumpled paper crane. Your baffled stare freaks her out, her hands retracting from your sides.

“What the filthy fuck is that?!” Pansy yells, but her voice sounds quite distant to you as you try desperately to get a hold on reality.

But you know. You know what this is, and you know how you got it. Accepting this fact is like swallowing glass.

“I brought something out of my dream,” you whisper, your breath picking up in pace and weight. The thought is sending you reeling, your brain suddenly racing yet devoid at the same time, unwilling to connect the dots.

“How is this even possible?” You ask yourself.

Pansy continues rambling on, asking you endless questions.

But you can’t seem to shake the idea that this item didn’t exist before you fell asleep last night.

—

After long deliberation, and a real pull back to reality, you manage to get yourself dressed and out the door. But the mental picture of this thing takes up most of the space in your mind that day, haunting you each time you think of it.

It’s not until Divination class, your last period, that things somehow become even more unsettling.

Professor Trelawney begins a lesson about the influence of dreams in real life and the messages they can send to the dreamer.

“Dreams, they can be so powerful. They can point you in specific directions, impact your decisions, make you see the truth.”

Her shakey, ominous voice echoes through your head, her words bouncing off the walls of your skull as you feel around in your pocket for the mysterious object. When you feel the edges of the paper graze your skin, you gently pull it out and place it on the corner of your desk.

From the table over, Theo absentmindedly observes you, your movement guiding his trailing eyes. He sees the object in front of you, but it takes him a second to register what it is, that curious little thing.

He squints, then performs a stunning double take. And when he’s finally able to identify it…

Everything changes.

“Oh… my… god…” Theo whispers, his heart dropping into his stomach like an anchor. His body goes into a state of utter disbelief and stillness. His eyes piercing white and his face ghostly pale as he struggles to grasp the scene in front of him.

Mattheo notices Theo’s knuckles white against the desk and chimes in to check on his friend.

“Mate, you alright? You look like Enzo after a Friday night at the Three–”

But before Mattheo can finish asking, Theo suddenly stands up and gains the attention of everyone in class by the sound of his bench skidding backwards on the floor.

Professor Trelawney’s gaze shifts from Theo to you as she locates the focus point of his unrelenting stare. She offers to take him to the infirmary as he looks “unwell.”

But Theo shakes his head, places his hand over his heart, and silently dashes out of the classroom.

Pansy’s head slowly turns to you with a look of complete perplexity.

“Better go check on Rome, new girl,” she mutters under her breath, referencing Theo’s hometown. She gestures her head in the direction of the door.

You nod hesitantly, soon following in his footsteps and ignoring any questions from your teacher.

—

When you make it to the hallway, you find Theo pacing back and forth, his hand still placed over his heart as if to stop it from exploding. But when he sees you, it only gets more difficult.

You open your mouth to speak, but he cuts you off before you can even inhale.

“Where in seven hells did you get that paper crane?!” He asks, stopping in his tracks. The conversation continues in bouts of interrupting each other.

“Theodore, I-”

“Don’t call me that, that’s not what you call me in-”

“In what?”

“In my-”

Then a pause. A tense, incredible pause. A stare down.

He continues. “Nothing, it’s mind numbingly mad,”

You take a step towards him, but something in your chest suddenly becomes achingly heavy. In response, you place a hand over your heart, just like Theo is.

In your free hand, you unfold your fingers to reveal the paper crane. His eyes land on it, the shock of it still trapping every fiber of his being.

“You…” you start, the weight in your chest transforms from a brick to a block of anvil with each word.

When you’re within arms length of each other, he manages to reach out, the struggle evident on his face. He fights to finish your sentence for you.

“Made this. Gave this… to you, last night.” He explains, his voice dragging as you notice his hand now gripping his shirt in a fist from the sheer pain in his chest.

“Theo… I think we aren’t dreaming of each other,” you suggest, taking time to breathe between thoughts. The weight on your heart is now seemingly unbearable.

“We’re dreaming with each other,” you say, and just as you finish the thought, Theo’s fingers touch the paper crane in your hand, a graze that feels like lightning.

And just then, as the object fuses the touch of two destined souls, a small clad of thunder emits from between you that only you two can hear. The pains in your chests implode, a knee-dropping sensation of light and warmth replacing it.

Like dynamite in your hearts.

“Bella,” Theo’s hoarse voice is laced with a sincerity that sounds like liquid gold to your ears. There’s no way to describe the feeling inside you right now, this fantastic blend of energies and desires.

The only thing you do know is that it’s burning at both ends, like a charring rope.

“I think… I was meant to find you, cara mia. Gods I sound mental,” he shakes his head, embarrassment written all over his face. To his surprise, he finds your hand gently caressing his cheek, guiding his gaze back to yours.

“Then maybe we both need to visit the infirmary, because I’ve only just arrived here and for some reason I can’t fathom a minute away from you.”

Relief washes over him as he drinks in your words, and the stunning sight of you confessing the very same sentiment he, too, harbors.

Your heart rate quickens as you feel an arm snake around your lower back, out of your line of sight. This feels strangely comfortable, like you’ve felt it for a lifetime already.

“Y/N…” he beckons, his forehead dropping to rest on yours. “I can’t ask you to be mine, because I think someone, or something, else already decided that.” He jokes, the huff from his laugh hitting your face.

The sight of both your smiles is what shifts everything into place. Everything, all at once. And then, your fists are the ones gripping his shirt, pulling his lips onto yours.

The paper crane falls to the ground between you as your lips move against each other, his hands exploring your back like they’re hunting for treasure. The magnitude of this kiss surpasses any other you’ve shared in the past.

Chills run up and down your body, like it’s finally found its home. Its match. His fingers grasp your hair lightly, keeping you in place as he kisses you with vigor.

He pulls away, looking at you like you’re his most prized possession.

“You’re more than a gut feeling, tesoro.” He confesses, earning another kiss from you. This one feels like an aftershock, the aftermath of the impact of your newfound, yet momentous intimacy.

You nod your head in understanding, barely able to form a coherent sentence at the moment.

“Did you… feel that, Theo?” You question, sending a glimmer of hope his way.

“Yes, like… fireworks?” He asks back. He takes your hand and places it on his chest once again, and you swear you could feel the butterflies erupting from inside.

Behind you, a mess of rushed footsteps make their entrance, accompanied by a couple of stern voices.

“These two, I swear…” Blaise complains, shaking his head and catching his breath.

“What in the Merlin-loving fuck is going on here?” Lorenzo sneers, his expression a mix of urgency and frustration.

But you two never broke that stare, that ruthless, solid stare. Instead you beam at each other as you scramble to put the answer into words.

“Fireworks.”

—

That night, you wander the grounds of Hogwarts together as Mattheo, Draco, and Pansy watch you from the Astronomy Tower. The three of them convene to discuss.

“You reckon she used a love potion?” Mattheo suggests, earning another smack on the arm.

“No, you bloody fool. They’re like, tethered or something.” She attempts to convey the notion to the boys, but they just don’t get it.

“Are we tethered then, doll?” Draco jokingly asks Pansy.

“In your dreams, mate.” Mattheo responds, taking a drag from his cigarette. She responds while picturing the paper crane she found in your lap that one fated morning last week.

“You’d be surprised how accurate that is.”

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

[whateveriwant]

Can you please do Task force 141 finding out they’re having quintuplets! I’d imagine that they wouldn’t plan to have that many….at least not all at once 🧍‍♀️

Ghost

When the technician points out the five distinct dots on the ultrasound, he immediately goes dead silent

I mean, he's always pretty quiet anyway, but this is like quiet quiet

He doesn't utter a single word for the rest of the appointment, nor on the ride back home for that matter

This has you more concerned than you care to admit because you know that, not that long ago, he didn't think he'd ever have (much less want) kids of his own some day

So now that he's learned he's about to have five? You can't imagine what's going through his mind right now

It isn't until you're walking through the front door that you're being stopped with a gentle hand tugging on your wrist

You turn to look at him and, without a word, he drops to his knees before you, rolling up the bottom of your shirt to expose your belly

He'll press the softest of kisses just beside your navel, before looking up at you with expressive eyes that convey the foremost thought in his head: Thank you

Soap

Nearly shits a brick the moment the words leave the technician's mouth

All the color swiftly drains from his face and he has to sit down before he keels over right in the middle of the office

It's not so much fear that has him going paper white but pure shock at hearing the unexpected (yet not unhappy) news

While you'd already discussed having a big family together one day, you didn't think you'd get it done in one fell swoop

However, maybe you should've seen it coming since you both come from families that have had multiples

The possibility of this happening was decently high, so in a way, you're not all that surprised by the revelation

Once he's composed himself and is a little less ghostly pale in the face, he's eagerly requesting the technician to print out an excessive number of copies of the ultrasound

Why? Well, he's gotta send them to everyone, of course! His family, your family, all the lads at work. Hell, maybe your neighbor Charlie would like one too. Better print several just in case

Gaz

"C– Come again?" He thinks he misheard the technician at first

However, even hearing it a second time, he has to stand up, round the bed, and get about an inch away from the monitor to confirm for himself

It's almost comical the way his eyes widen at the screen, darting around the black and white image like he can't comprehend what he's seeing

It'll take some coaxing to get him back in his seat, and as he does, you hear him mumbling to himself – something about nappies, never sleeping again, and *shudders* University

At some point, out of the corner of your eye, you see him messing with his hands

He's putting his palm in front of his own stomach then drawing it about a foot or two away, as if trying to visualize the size your belly is destined to grow

Even when you get back home, it's like reality hasn't fully hit him yet

It's not until you find him at 2am looking up double decker prams that you realize it's finally starting to sink in, and he's more than ready for the challenge ahead

Price

Seems awfully calm when the technician breaks the news to you two

Based on his reaction – a light smile and mere "Oh, that's wonderful" – you'd think he'd just been informed of the weather or something

To be honest, his reaction (or lack thereof) is a little disarming, but you don't comment on it until you're buckling up in the car, mentioning his seeming total lack of nerves about the future

He chuckles and jokes that he already has to look after three big kids at work. What's five little ones at home to compare?

Though you think you can see what he's getting at, his cool-headedness about it all still has you in a bit of a tizzy

Is he not even a little surprised by the news? After all, it's not every day that people fall pregnant with quintuplets

At your question, he smiles and leans to press a bristly kiss to the back of your hand. When he pulls back, he's smirking, giving you the smuggest look you've ever seen from a man

"Told you I've got strong swimmers, love"

[mytherapyisreading14]

Coffee, Chaos and a new Job

Summary: You start your new job at the BAU and get a coffee on your way to work, where run into a handsome stranger. It turns out he's also your new coworker.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Category: Fluff

Warnings: None, just pure fluff

Word Count: 3k

Author‘s Note: Maybe I‘ll turn this into a series, let me know what you think! :)

The smell of freshly ground coffee is in the air as you enter the café. You look at your watch. It’s 7:37 am. You're a little late for your first day at work. You already took more time than you wanted in the morning and then the bus didn’t arrive on time.

But you really need that coffee right now to wake you up. You quickly go to the counter and place your order. The barista is fast and you can get your coffee in just a few minutes.

You take the cup and turn around hastily, making your way to the door, when you suddenly bump into someone. “Oh!” you exclaim in shock as the hot coffee splashes out of the mug and drips a little onto the man in front of you. A very attractive man.

A small stain lands on his shirt and even more on the book he is holding. Your eyes widen as you survey the scene. “Oh no, I’m so sorry!” You apologize immediately. The man looks at you in surprise. The stain on his shirt doesn't seem to bother him much. "Uh... No problem," he says, he seems a bit reserved. “It happens…it’s okay.”

You look at the book, which has a few dark spots shining on it, and raise an eyebrow. “Oh no, I soiled your book too,” you say with a worried look. You hope he won't be too angry. You know that it would really bother you if one of your books was ruined. “I’m so sorry, that really wasn’t intentional!”

He looks at you, and even though he seems nervous, you can see a small smile forming. “It’s really no problem,” he says. “I uh… I have other copy’s at home. In several other languages.” You take a closer look at the book and then you notice. “Wait, is that Crime and Punishment?” you ask. “This is one of my favorite books!”

He looks at the cover in surprise and then nods. "Yes that's it. I… I like it too. I also have the Russian edition and… well, the English one, which is the most practical,” he says. “Me too!” you say and your heart skips a beat.

“I really wanted the original edition, even though I don't speak Russian well. I just love this book.” He becomes visibly more excited and you notice how he slowly starts to lose his shyness as he brings up more of the topic.

“Yes! It is so fascinating how Dostoyevsky portrays the moral conflicts of these characters. Especially Raskolnikov, he constantly wonders whether evil is justified for the greater good..." he starts to ramble. You enjoy listening to him and nod in agreement.

He becomes a little more open to you and it seems like a door opens in his head and suddenly you realize how much more he has to say about the book, how much deeper he can delve into the story and how much he actually knows. It’s fascinating.

But then you look at the clock. You really have to go, otherwise you’ll never make it to work on time. “Oh shit, I have to go, I… I’m sorry, but I’m already way too late for work!” you say breathlessly. “It was really nice talking to you! I hope we meet again sometime.”

He looks at you, the nervousness back in his eyes, but also a small smile that he can't quite hide. “No problem, really...” he says and then adds. “I… um… hope we meet again sometime too.” But you can't hear it because he says it way too quiet.

You're already halfway to the door, but you turn around again to wave him goodbye with a shy smile, trying to hide your stress about being late before you quickly go outside.

The stranger you just met stands there for a while and watches you while the quiet duct of coffee drifts in the air. He hopes he really get’s to see you again. Maybe you’ll be here tomorrow again to get coffee.

-

It's almost eight in the morning and you're sprinting down the hallway, your feet tapping on the linoleum as you open the door to the office. You were just in time but still too late to start your first day at the FBI with dignity.

The nervous energy bubbling within you isn’t just noticeable because of the near-lateness. You also feel like every step you take is being viewed under a microscope. “Phew… just in time,” you murmur, trying to normalize your breathing rate as you take off your coat.

The hallway is, as always, full of life. Agents in uniform, colleagues in conversation. But it was the look you were receiving that made you the most nervous. When you enter the room, your eyes immediately fall on Erin Strauss, who is already sitting at her desk in her office.

She exudes an aura of respect and authority and appears calm and focused. You know she could command the room with a single movement. Behind her stands Aaron Hotchner, the unit chief, a tall man with dark hair. You remember him from your job interview, he was there too.

“Ah, you’re actually almost there on time,” says Strauss with a slight smile that didn’t quite hide the coldness in her voice. “Sorry, I…” You take a deep breath, your voice still shaking a little bit. “Traffic was a nightmare today.”

“That’s understandable,” Strauss replies, her posture slightly stiff as she gives you a searching look. “But coming to the office on time should be part of your preparations. The FBI is all about punctuality and precision.”

"Of course. I’m sorry, I didn't mean to give the impression that I'm unreliable,” you say and to your relief Hotch nods briefly. “I hope you are ready to learn everything. The way here is not always easy,” he says.

You nod eagerly. You're glad he didn't say any more about your lateness. Instead, he gestures towards the door with a curt hand gesture, indicating that you have to leave the office. You walk down the hallway and get into the elevator with him.

“Today there is a lot to introduce you do. It's your first day and we want you to get started right away. I assume that’s in your best interest?” he asks you. “Yes, very much,” you answer immediately.

You want to prove yourself and want to take the opportunity to establish yourself in this area. The FBI is no place for mistakes. “Good,” Hotch says and the two of you step out of the elevator. He opens the door to the BAU. “Then get to know us better.”

You follow your unit chief, entering the BAU for the very first time. You know this is just the beginning. But if you get through the first day, the rest might get a little easier. Perhaps.

-

You sit in the chair in front of Hotch's desk, trying to memorize all the new information and everything you need to know to function here. You feel a certain excitement within you. Even though you're new here, it already feels like the right place.

Suddenly there is a knock on the door. Hotch looks up, nods at you as if it's a given that you're here, and then says, "Come in." The door opens and a woman enters, immediately catching your attention.

She has blonde hair and wears glasses. Her clothes are an absolute eye-catcher. Colorful and different patterns that reflect her creative, unconventional style from head to toe. She immediately comes across as likeable, as if she were the type of person who could fill the office with her energy and positivity.

“I just ran into Strauss. She got a call and wants to talk to you about it,” she says to Hotch. He just nods, as if he already thinks that she is keeping him up to date with something important. He turns to you and then says, “This is Penelope Garcia. She’s our technical analyst.”

Penelope smiles at you. “Ohh, it's so nice to meet you! We can always use female reinforcement!” she says with a beaming smile. Her positive energy is contagious and you immediately like her. “Thank you, I’m happy to be here too,” you reply, unable to hide your smile. She seems like someone who makes the office a place where you enjoy spending time.

Hotch stands up and looks at his watch. “I have to go to Strauss to clarify a few things. Garcia, can you introduce her to the others please?” he asks. “Of course! Oh, I'm sure they'll love you." Penelope says, grinning as she motions for you to follow her.

Before Hotch leaves the room, he turns around again. “Garcia is one of the best we have. Without her nothing would work here.” You nod as Hotch disappears. Now you're alone with Penelope. “Come with me, I’ll introduce you,” she says.

You follow her, excited to see who else is working on this team and at the same time curious about what the dynamic might be like here. Penelope is certainly an interesting acquaintance, but you are also curious to see what the others have to offer.

-

You follow Penelope down the stairs, the sounds of footsteps echoing in the large, open building. Your eyes widen when you see David Rossi, you devoured all of his books. His analyzes and case studies were always an inspiration for you. He stands with his arms crossed and talks to two other women.

Penelope heads straight towards them and you stay close behind her. The woman with blonde hair smiles at you briefly before turning back to Rossi. The other one, with the brown hair, nods at you just as friendly.

“Good morning! I hope you all had a great weekend,” Penelope says with so much energy that you immediately have to smile again. “I have to introduce someone to you, our new team member!” Everyone turns to you and you feel your heart skip a beat.

You try to stay calm even though you're bubbling with excitement inside. You turn to Rossi because he is the first to extend his hand to you. “David Rossi,” he says and smiles. It feels surreal to actually talk to him. You get lost in the conversation, Emily and JJ joining in. You immediately like them. In the background you hear Penelope talking.

“Where are my Chocolate Thunder and Boy Wonder? They’re never this late.” Emily, who is standing next to Rossi points to the door. “They’re coming.” You notice two more people join the small group. You turn to the side to introduce yourself to them too but suddenly stop as your eyes fall on the man you ran into at the cafe this morning.

“Hey! You’ve got to be kidding me, you work here too?” you ask and laugh. You are surprised to see him here again of all places. He looks at you with wide eyes and promptly turns red in the face.

"Uh... hi. Yes, I work here," he says, and you see him nervously fiddling with the sleeves of his shirt. His colleague, who is standing right next to him, looks at you with a smile and raises an eyebrow. “This will be exciting,” he murmurs with a grin as he watches you and your incredulous look.

You feel your cheeks getting a little warmer, but the smile still remains on your face. It feels almost too crazy, but somehow also right. “I'm Derek Morgan. Nice to meet you. You two seem to already know each other,” he says, gesturing between you and Spencer. A mischievous grin plays on his lips, and you can hear the humor in his voice.

You smile back and nod as you explain, “Yeah, unfortunately I spilled half my coffee on him this morning. I was in a hurry and really stressed.” You turn back to Spencer. “Sorry again,” you say. Spencer smiles shyly at you.

"No problem. I... I'm Spencer by the way. We had... I mean, there was no time earlier... you left before I could introduce myself…" he stops when he realises he is stuttering. You smile at his nervous, almost awkward manner and immediately feel that tingling sensation in your stomach again, which you noticed before.

That's not good, he's now your colleague and you definitely can't fall in love with him. You tell him your name too and the others in the room, especially Derek, seem to be watching the scene with a grin. It's almost as if they all know that something is happening between you here.

“Spencer, maybe you should keep your distance when she walks around with coffee in the future,” Derek says with a wink and Spencer blushes. Meanwhile, you feel the gazes of others in the room observing the situation. Penelope, who follows the situation with a smile, and Emily, who stands quietly by, holding back a comment, but is clearly amused.

"Okay, well... I think we're all officially introduced now," Emily finally says, breaking the small pause. “I hope you've settled in a bit by now, we don't have a case right now, but we still have a lot to do. But don’t worry, you’ll get into the rhythm quickly.”

-

JJ takes you with her to complete the last paperwork they need for your final hiring. When you leave the office, Spencer stays behind with the others. You've just closed the door behind you and Morgan is already grinning in Spencer’s direction.

“Ohhh, pretty boy has a girlfriend now. I'm proud of you, man. But no kissing in the office please,” he teases. Spencer immediately blushes. “Shut up, she’s… she’s not my girlfriend,” he stammers, trying to defuse the situation.

Garcia, standing next to Morgan almost jumps with excitement. “Oh my god, Spencer. You really have to ask her out! She's amazing! You would look so cute together!” Emily, who is watching the whole thing with an amused grin, can no longer suppress her laughter. “Oh, this is too good.“

Spencer tries to hide in his chair. “You are impossible. She's not my girlfriend! Stop talking like that.” Garcia raises her eyebrows, her expression completely innocent. “Oh come on, Spencer. I saw the way you looked at her. You like her. You don’t have to hide it!”

As as she said that, the door to the hallway opens. Hotch comes back and the rest of the team immediately realizes that they should start to focus on their work again. The conversation about Spencer and his alleged coffee dates immediately dies down.

Morgan and Garcia give each other one last meaningful look before returning to their work. Hotch immediately notices that there is something in the air. “Everything alright? What did you just do?” Hotch asks as he briefly looks around.

“Nothing, Hotch. Just a bit of... team building,” Morgan replies with a cheeky smile. Hotch nods and goes to his desk while Gracia takes another look at Spencer and smiles. “We saw you, Pretty Boy,” she whispers to him. Spencer sighs deeply and tries to immerse himself in the paperwork as best he can, while his mind keeps returning to you.

-

Your first day went by quickly, no case came in and you had spent the whole day looking through the files with JJ and seeing everything the BAU had to offer. She took the time to explain everything to you in detail and it was extremely helpful.

Nevertheless, at the end of the day you are completely exhausted, but also satisfied. The team welcomed you warmly and you could well imagine working here long-term. You grab your bag and are about to leave when you notice Spencer out of the corner of your eye.

He is shoving his coffee-covered book into his bag and you immediately feel guilty again. You hadn't done it on purpose, but the book is still marked by the coffee stains. With a deep breath you gather all your courage, grab your bag and walk towards him.

“Hey, I wanted to apologize again for what happened this morning,” you start as you stop in front of him. “I’m just really sorry about your book. Can I... can I maybe invite you for coffee tomorrow morning? As an apology?”

Spencer looks surprised and seems to take a moment to answer. You can see him as he glances nervously at Morgan, who's grinning from the corner of the room. “Oh, uh… no problem,” Spencer finally stutters, quickly reaching for his bag. Morgan raises an eyebrow, grinning. “Yeah, sure… I uh… think it would be nice if you did that. But you don't have to, I—"

You interrupt him with a smile. “But I would like to. So, shall we meet there tomorrow then? At the same time? This time without a crash?” you ask and grin slightly. “Yes, I… I’d like that,” Spencer replies with a shy nod before saying goodbye to you.

You turn around to the others, saying goodbye to them too and then make your way out. Morgan and Spencer leave a few minutes later. In the elevator, Morgan nudges Spencer with a mischievous grin. “So, a date now, Pretty Boy?” Morgan laughs, glancing at Spencer, who immediately blushes.

“It’s just coffee. Among colleagues,” Spencer defends himself while trying not to let himself get carried away. “Sure, sure,” Morgan continues to grin and shakes his head. “Just keep telling yourself that. Have fun tomorrow,” he teases him. “Morgan!” Spencer calls as they exit the elevator but he can't help but smile.