#whether it is my birthday or christmas

[navybrat817]

My daughter while we were at dinner: "Guess what, Mama?"

Me: "What, sweetie?"

My daughter: "Dada got you TWO perfumes for Christmas."

Me: "...Is that right?"

My hubby: "... Didn't I tell you NOT to tell her?!

My daughter: "I didn't tell her WHAT perfumes you got. She doesn't know the names or what they smell like. It's still a surprise. She'll be surprised."

[gunkbaby]

merry christmas gunkbabynation! <3

my dad got me morrissey cutout.

[teiasviago]

worst thing abt da2 and origins on my computer is that i can’t use my controller with them :/

[anothermonikan]

i never got burying yourself in your work to avoid all your other problems. until now. save me sweet coding work~

[hcneymooners]

⋆ ambessa headcanons but it's a modern au & she's a ruthless business mogul.

business mogul!ambessa x wife!reader. men & minors dni.

synopsis: what it says on the tin.

cw: implied age difference! explicit sexual content below the cut!

notes: i need her. i am going to lose it. the theme of this marriage is definitely cherry by lana del rey ( listen here. ) and bordersz by zayn ( listen here. )

getting together

one night, a little tipsy and feeling bold, you post a video to social media. you don’t care about the controversy, you declare—you need ambessa so badly.

despite the chaos that follows, your words are so heartfelt, so sweet, that the video practically goes triple platinum overnight.

later, at a restaurant opening, you both happen to be there. she spots you sitting in a corner, all soft warmth and radiant energy.

you look lovely, your wide smile lighting up the room. she notices how your nose scrunches when you laugh and how your dress—loaned as a favor to a designer you adore—dips elegantly at your hips.

with a little... maneuvering, ambessa secures the seat next to you and strikes up a conversation.

you’re so vivacious, so intelligent, and for the first time in a long time, she meets someone who doesn’t greet her with judgment or disapproval.

when you speak, you lean in, your hand occasionally brushing her arm. you’re so intentional, and it utterly endears her to you.

after the event, she goes home haunted by your perfume and the sound of your laughter.

the next morning, her PA reaches out with a dinner invitation to one of your dream restaurants. ambessa had spent the night scrolling through your socials, watching videos over and over.

the married life.

you’ve become a media darling—everyone adores you.

sometimes, ambessa can’t handle sharing you with the world, so she’s left her mark: photos of you often feature dark hickeys blooming across your neck like wildflowers.

your ring is massive, but she insisted you pick it out yourself—she wanted to make sure it was exactly what you wanted.

you call her “bessa,” and she alternates between “my love,” “baby,” or “sweet girl” when speaking to you.

when you leave for trips, whether for work or to visit family, she secretly diffuses perfume oils that mimic your scent throughout the house.

the playlist you share is ridiculously long—so long, in fact, it almost crashed your phone once, but neither of you care.

her desk is cluttered with framed photos of you, and your house has a photo wall that stretches up the staircase.

even when she’s annoyed or upset, she’s impossibly soft with you.

she gets genuinely upset if you don’t use her card to make purchases. like pissed.

“you will want for nothing” was one of the first promises she made to you.

you have to sneak birthday and christmas gifts for her because she always checks to make sure you’re spending her money “as the Lord intended.”

“i didn’t add this card to your apple wallet for decoration.”

she’s deeply affectionate, both in public and private.

she adores nonsexual intimacy—massaging your feet as you tell her about your day, pulling you into her lap while she works, and just sitting quietly together.

when you cup her face during conversations to focus her, it often leads to... wonderful outcomes.

if she catches you pouting, she pinches your lips into a duckbill and laughs. you let it slide because her laughter is so full-bodied, so infectious, you can’t help but love it.

her humor is so dry and witty it takes you a minute to register sometimes, but when you do, you’re in stitches.

she’s always close—sharing water, joining you in baths and showers. you’re rarely apart.

ambessa loves to provide for you. she’s your dictionary, bank account, calculator, calendar, dild—

her gift-giving is unmatched. she remembers things you mentioned wanting years ago, down to the minute you said it. it could've been mentioned 6 years, 2 months, 3 days, 1 hour, 6 minutes, and 23 seconds ago. she still remembers.

she keeps a lawyer on retainer because you’re fiercely protective of her. she acts exasperated but secretly loves it.

if you get sick, she’s terrifying—she’ll track down whoever got you sick and sue them into the ground. when you had pneumonia once, she nearly had a breakdown. it is now referred to as the crashout of the century in your household.

she’s serious about keeping you healthy, even if it drives you crazy. workouts with her are intense.

“just a little more, my love.” “you said that two rounds ago!"

her countdowns are the worst. she swears there’s ten seconds left, but it feels like eternity.

speaking of households, you don’t play when it comes to your family.

you’re fiercely protective and, let’s be honest, a little conniving when necessary.

the pta? you run it like the navy. everyone falls in line when you walk in the room.

once, a kid at mel’s school thought it was a good idea to bully her. you pulled up, found the kid, and made sure they’d never even think about messing with her again.

after that, everyone was a little afraid of mel and kino’s stepmom. you never heard another peep of bullying.

when it's good—it usually is—it's wonderful. but there were compliated moments in the beginning.

ambessa’s rise to the top wasn’t exactly clean. there were deals in shadows, strategies that left her enemies ruined. you should’ve felt more conflicted, but you found it difficult to care.

but then she announced she was running for office, and everything changed. you hated what she was doing to win—how ruthless she was, how far she was willing to go.

it led to the biggest fight you’d ever had. you left, heartbroken, and stayed with your parents for weeks.

mel had never seen her mother so undone. ambessa was quiet, distracted, a shadow of herself.

mel flew out to see you, desperate to fix things. when you saw her, the grief on her face mirrored your own, and it shattered you.

you forgave ambessa immediately—not because she was blameless, but because you hated what it had done to both of you.

she will always choose you and the kids above anything.

the marriage bed.

it's a workout in here, too.

she gon’ put that baby inside of you.

you are a bit of a perfectionist and stressed about doing it wrong and she literally could not have cared less.

she loves to lace your hands together when you fuck.

the first couple times you sleep together she treats your body like a land she needs to learn, to map.

she prefers to be dominant but sometimes you just need it and she allows you to take control.

you adore her strength and you are not slick about it because your favorite positions reflect it: mating press and amazon press, specifically.

she’s a munch and she likes humiliating you so that usually entails spreading the lips of your pussy to watch it drool for her, spiting into your cunt, pushing your legs out or up so that it’s completely bare to her.

you're enamored with her breasts. 

even outside of sex sometimes you just squeeze or hold them.

she says you’re being ridiculous but then will take off her top and reveal the most insanely tight sports bra. her tits are practically spilling into your mouth all on their own.

you can no longer go to the gym with her bc it will get crazy.

impact play. 

straps you down. you are not walking for at least two days.

once she begins, she will be finishing. no breaks. so don't tease unless you can commit.

will most definitely keep fucking you even she gets a work call + sometimes if you try to be quiet she’ll loop a hand under the thin fabric of your g-string and bounce you fast and hard on her cock until you’re moaning shamlessly.

you love kissing her so she’ll make out with you until your lips are so swollen and your words are slurred.

the best sex you had was in the bathtub one evening.

you were slipping and sliding but a swat team couldn’t have pulled her out of you.

you held onto her tightly, felt her back ripple, and to this day you swear you saw the gates of heaven. you knew if you came to be before them without her, you'd hold the gates to let her in.

she’s always telling you to take it and forces you to look at the ring you’re making around her cock.

when you’re ass up she’ll consume you until you’re shaking.

she loves making you squirt; it’s like a challenge for her.

when it happens she’ll drop her mouth open and moan so loudly it makes you flush.

she then begins to finger you and the overstimulation really works you up.

she loves to put you on your side with a leg raised so she can snap her hips hard against your ass and hear the squelch.

you love when she does this because her tits are against your back and she’s just so fucking big and warm. you feel safe.

you’re usually so sweet but during these moments you curse like a sailor.

“fuck fuck fuuuuuck. holy shit, bessa.” “such a dirty girl.” 

one thing about her fingers? they’re going in your mouth and you’re gonna gag on them.

super thoughtful with aftercare.

massages every part of your body and intersperses the pressure with tender kisses.

you always fall asleep to affirmations of how beautiful and loved you are.

you are her angel, fallen and found by her hands.

© hcneymooners.

[pathologicalreid]

christmas (baby please come home) | s.r.

in which Spencer isn't home to put his kids to bed on Christmas Eve, but they wake up to a surprise on Christmas morning

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: spencer's first post prison christmas, frankensteined the plot of "surface tension", the same family as "here with me", crying, christmas word count: 3.19k a/n: merry christmas!! this is kinda like my gift to you, mostly since it's been sitting in my brain for forever!!!!!!! i love u all! also happy first day of hanukkah if you celebrate <33

“But Daddy’s not home,” your daughter whimpered as she shuffled under her covers, she looked up at you with wide, curious eyes.

You carefully smoothed out the top of her floral comforter, “I know, baby,” you whispered, reaching up to pinch her cheek affectionately. You’d let them stay up late to watch the Santa tracker, but eventually, Finn fell asleep on you, and Livvy’s yawns were enough to convince you that it was bedtime. “You still have to go to sleep. Santa will come whether Daddy’s home or not, and we’ll just do the gifts from Mommy and Daddy when he gets back.”

At three years old, Olivia was beginning to understand Spencer being gone the same way Eleanor did; she knew his absence was entirely out of her control, and that didn’t sit well with your middle child. You knew you had gotten incredibly lucky when Spencer had been home for Finn’s birthday and Livvy’s had fallen during his sabbatical, but you also knew that you were due for a missed holiday, you just wished it could’ve been Thanksgiving or New Year’s.

You kissed her forehead before leaving, making sure to leave the door open a crack so the monsters wouldn’t get her before you went to Nell’s room. “Hey, honey,” you whispered, closing your eldest’s door behind you before going to sit on the edge of her bed. She had her own Christmas tree set up in the corner of the room, the artificial purple tree providing the glow that her nightlight normally would. “Are you ready for bed?”

Nell was lying on top of her covers, staring at her still ceiling fan as she ignored your question. While Livvy was just starting to understand what it meant when Spencer was gone, Nell understood it best, and she had for years now. She’d understood when Spencer was in prison, and she understood that he was missing Christmas now.

Slowly, you laid down next to your daughter, propping your head up on the bed and smoothing her hair back. “It’s still Christmas,” you tried to reassure her, but part of you knew that it was a thankless effort, there was nothing you could tell her that would fix her father’s absence. “We can call Dad in the morning while we open presents,” you offered, hoping she’d appreciate you coming halfway. “If he’s not busy, maybe we can video chat, and you can show him everything Santa brought you.”

“It’s not the same,” she told you, furrowing her brows and turning away from you on the bed.

Sighing, you pressed a kiss to the back of her head, “I know, Nellie. I know it’s not fair that he doesn’t get to be here for Christmas, but Daddy will come back.” There was a sense of urgency in your voice; you were afraid that if your five-year-old lost the joy in Christmas, you’d somehow failed her as a mother. “He’ll be home for your birthday, I promise,” you whispered.

“You can’t promise,” she reminded you, knowing that you and Spencer were generally very specific about your promises, leaning toward the ‘I promise I’ll try’ variety.

You hummed in response, “I’d pinky promise you that. Dad will be home for your birthday.” You held up your pinky finger, waiting for her to roll over and reciprocate.

Eleanor rolled over, holding up her pinky finger while brown eyes watched you apprehensively, “Okay,” she breathed, hooking your fingers together and kissing them.

As soon as Spencer told you about the bureau’s contingency to him returning to the BAU, you’d done the math. Eleanor’s sixth birthday would fall near the beginning of his next sabbatical, so you didn’t hesitate to make this promise. “It’s time for bed, my girl,” you whispered, smiling at her softly as she pulled the sleeves of her Christmas pajamas over her hands. “Santa can’t come if you’re not asleep,” you reminded her, sitting up on the bed and getting up, tucking her purple comforter under her chin before you made your final stop of the night.

You’d brought Finn to his room before getting the girls settled, but now that you knew they were alright, you came back to his room. The white noise machine was going, and he was fast asleep in his crib. His pacifier, which you were trying to wean him off of, had fallen from his mouth and onto the sheets, so you set it to the side. To you, the second Christmas was always more exciting than the first, now that he was fourteen months old, he had the dexterity to help open presents.

Ruffling his hair, you kissed him goodnight, just like you’d done with the girls, and you left his room, closing the door so that no one would disturb the light-sleeping baby.

There was a late night ahead of you, but first, you settled yourself onto the couch in the living room and pulled out your phone. Upon opening your messages with Spencer, you couldn’t help but be disappointed to find that there was nothing unread. You thought about sending him a text telling him that you all miss him but eventually decided against it. You didn’t want to make him feel guilty. At least, no more guilty than he likely already did.

You turned on the TV, quietly playing a Christmas movie as you began the festivities. All of the gifts had been expertly hidden in the master bedroom, split between being shoved under your bed and in your closet, but a new playhouse for the girls had been dropped off earlier. It was too big for your room, so your parents had stored it in their basement in the interim.

That would be a struggle to bring in from the garage, so you decided to start small, pulling all of the kids’ stockings from their hooks and laying them out on the floor before going upstairs to get the stuffers.

With the movie playing, you filled the stockings with treats and little toys. A few times you imagined your phone buzzing, but each time there was nothing on the screen. The loneliness started to set in as you rehung the stockings, making sure the kids’ names faced forward above the fireplace.

This wasn’t your first Christmas alone, Spencer had been in Idaho for Olivia’s first Christmas, but neither of the girls remembered it.

They’d remember this one, you thought to yourself, walking back up the stairs to grab a load of boxes. Thankfully, they were already wrapped, but you did have to avoid getting ribbon in your mouth as you carried the armful of gifts down the stairs.

Masterfully, you adjusted them beneath the tree, trying to visualize where they’d all end up in the end as you heard something distantly, but you brushed it off as someone leaving your neighbor’s holiday party. You stood up, wiping your hands on your pajamas as you evaluated your handiwork, shrugging before you turned around for the next load, “Oh,” you breathed, watching the handle on the door from the garage turn.

The door opened slowly, revealing your husband on the other side, his black peacoat draped over his arm and purple scarf looped around his neck. He hooked his car keys on the key hook before he noticed you, brown eyes finding your pajama-clad figure. His lopsided smile was all-knowing as always, he knew he had surprised you. In fact, it had been his goal.

You remained exactly where you were, watching him from the den as he put his shoes away and hung up his outerwear. It was almost as if you’d convinced yourself he was a mirage, and any sudden movements would cause his visage to dissipate. “Hey,” Spencer said, cocking his head at you as if he were confused why you hadn’t come any closer to him. He peeked around you to look at the tree, “Did the kids get to bed okay?”

Instead of answering him, your body naturally responded to what seemed like the miraculous appearance of your husband by producing tears. At first, they just welled along your lash line, but as they started to fall, you buried your face in your hands.

Spencer was there, not only in the house but also taking the initiative to approach you, he wrapped his arms around your torso, taking your tearful form under his care, “Is everything alright?” He asked, slowly dragging his hand up and down your spine, humming as you reciprocated his embrace and pressed your face into his shirt, drying your eyes and taking in the moment.

“Everything is wonderful,” you responded, your voice muffled by his shirt. He smelled like stale dark roast and the jet, but you were too relieved by his arrival to truly mind.

Tightening his grip briefly, he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, “Right, well. You’re crying, so I had to make sure,” he murmured, swaying gently to the music coming from the film.

You loosed a breath of relief, “I can’t believe you’re here. The kids were miserable at bedtime, Nell wouldn’t even talk to me until I told her you’ll be home for her birthday,” you informed him, keeping your arms wrapped firmly around him while you tipped your head back to see him.

Spencer nodded in understanding, reaching up a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, “We made the arrest at eight and wrapped up around nine. Somehow, Emily convinced the pilot to leave in the middle of the night, and we were on the jet by ten. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve spent holidays in worse places, but I’d rather be here with you than in Milwaukee.”

“I will kiss Emily Prentiss on the mouth,” you told him candidly.

He raised his brows curiously, “Mhm, and what about me?”

Grinning, you pushed up on your tiptoes and pressed your lips to his, an amalgamation of a welcome home and a Merry Christmas kiss, but you pulled away before you could get carried away. “Merry Christmas, Spencer Reid, we have work to do,” you told him, taking on a mock seriousness as you nodded your head toward the Christmas tree, which only had a fraction of your kids’ gifts beneath it.

“Merry Christmas, darling,” Spencer reciprocated, pressing one more kiss to your lips, “Let’s get started.”

Spinning out of his grip, you found you had much more pep in your step with his arrival, beaming as the two of you went through the house as quietly as possible, gathering the gifts for the kids without rousing any suspicion. Even grabbing the playhouse from the garage didn’t seem like as much of a task with him around.

You adjusted the stockings as it neared two in the morning, Spencer returned from upstairs with the last few gifts, having changed his clothes into pajamas that neatly matched yours—a family set that was a gift from your Penelope. “They look great,” Spencer assured you, pushing his glasses up on his nose as he stood back, admiring your handiwork.

Walking backward until your back was against your chest, you tilted your head to the side, appraising the mountain of gifts beneath the tree, “Do you think we went overboard this year?” Between the gifts from Santa and the gifts from the two of you, the heap was rather intimidating.

“No,” Spencer answered, “bigger kids, bigger gifts.” He put his arms around your waist, resting his chin on top of your head, “besides, they’re good kids.”

You hummed in response, leaning into him ever so slightly. Part of you felt like Spencer was still experiencing guilt surrounding the three months he spent away from you and the kids while he was in prison. No amount of time at home or therapy would ever absolve him of that guilt, but it never hurt to try, “Hey,” you whispered up to him, “I got you something.”

He frowned down at you, “I thought we said no gifts this year?”

Scoffing, you walked over to the home office, “We say that every year and neither of us ever stick to it, so go get whatever it is you got for me.”

Spencer rolled his eyes, but even so, he made his way upstairs to where you knew a gift was hiding in his bedside table. Upon his return, he faltered at the large box you’d placed on the coffee table and held up the small box in his hands; you beamed at him as he eyed the behemoth of a present.

He handed you the smaller box, instinctively, you admired the wrapping before starting to open it, recognizing the jewelry box before you had even discarded your wrapping paper. “Oh, Spence,” you said, looking at the necklace in the box, a dainty chain with five small gemstones on it. His birthstone and yours, followed by Nell’s amethyst, Livvy’s sapphire, and Finn’s tourmaline all strung next to each other, “it’s perfect,” you told him, lightly touching the gems with your fingertips. You’d mentioned wishing you had an everyday necklace a few weeks ago while getting ready, and he must’ve been listening more attentively than you’d thought.

Finally, you had him open his gift, and he was entirely speechless as he opened the cardboard flaps. His mouth gaped as he lifted one of the books in his hand, the title and edition identical to one that had been previously ruined in your house. “Fuck,” he cursed, looking from you to the books and back again.

You shrugged, “It’s not all of them, but a pretty good amount of them. Some of those editions are proving difficult to recover, but I’ve—” You’re cut off, startled by Spencer pressing his lips to yours. “I’m still looking for some,” you said breathlessly once he pulled away.

Spencer seemed unsure of what to do with himself; you’d managed to find replacements for three-fourths of the books that had previously been burned by an accidental fire set earlier this year. The only time your marriage had ever been on the rocks was when Diana lived with you, but even then, you’d been planning this surprise. “You are…” Spencer started, uncharacteristically at a loss for words, “This is incredible,” he told you, shaking his head in disbelief, setting the book down in the box and nearly tackling you in a hug.

Laughing, you buried your face in his shoulder to muffle the sound, “I love you,” you murmured to him, his body now next to yours on the couch.

“I love you too,” he said, looking at you with glassy eyes. “Wow,” he said, sniffling, “I need to get you something else. A necklace isn’t enough,” he told you, likely already thinking of options for addendums.

You shook your head, “Trust me when I tell you that your being here is worth all of the rare books in the world to me,” you reassured him, running your fingers through his hair. Humming, you adjusted your head on the pillow, “Are you gonna fall asleep like this?”

He nodded, “If you keep playing with my hair like that. How long do you think we have until they wake up?” He asked, keeping his eyes closed while you peeked over him to check the time.

Last year, Finn had woken up the whole house on Christmas Day at four in the morning, and seeing as it was nearing three, you wondered if it was worth sleeping at all. You continued combing through Spencer’s hair, “Do you want to go upstairs?”

“This is a really great couch,” he mumbled, already falling asleep on the couch, leading you to grab the blanket that was thrown over the back and haphazardly drape it over the two of you.

Unfortunately, it felt like you’d gotten no sleep at all when you heard the first stirring upstairs, “Mommy,” Olivia called out, which would likely wake up Finn and Nell.

You got up from the couch, waking up Spencer in the process. Your poor husband, who was probably already running on little sleep, got up and folded the blanket you had been using, returning it to its home while you went upstairs to get the kids.

Livvy’s eyes went wide when she saw you come from downstairs, “Did Santa come?” She asked you, nearly bouncing with excitement.

As you expected, the door to Eleanor’s room swung open, revealing your sleep-deprived five-year-old in her rumpled pajamas, “Yes, Santa brought gifts for everyone,” you answered, ruffling her hair before going into Finn’s room, hoping to wake him gently before the voices did a less delicate job. “Hi buddy,” you whispered, looking back to see the girls gathered at the door, completely unaware that their dad was waiting for them downstairs. “Merry Christmas,” you said softly, his scrunched face not processing what you were saying, but happy to see you, nonetheless.

You picked him up from the crib and herded the girls to the stairs, letting them lead the way down while you carried the baby. Right behind them, you watched the realization dawn on their faces as soon as they caught sight of Spencer, “Daddy!” Nell shouted, leading her little sister as they ran to him.

Laughing lightly, you let a squirming Finn down, running to Spencer in the same way the girls just had. From a distance, you watched as all three of your kids entirely bypassed the gifts under the tree and on the mantle and went straight to what was more important—their father was home for Christmas.

Spencer crouched down to get Finn, and at the same time, Livvy jumped in excitement, leaving Spencer falling backward and sitting on the ground while the kids formed a less-than-graceful dog pile on the floor. You took that as your cue to join in on the festivities, kneeling on the floor next to the familial pile, uncontrollable giggles emanated from everyone involved.

You wrangled the two littles in your arms, giving each of them dozens of kisses and receiving more laughter in return as Eleanor settled down. Your eldest took her moment of alone time and laid her head on Spencer’s chest, the grin on her face overtook the rest of her face, “Best Christmas ever,” she whispered before rolling off of him, Spencer instinctively lifting his hand so she doesn’t hit her head on the leg of the coffee table.

Nellie sat up giving you a toothy grin, sticking her tongue through where she was missing a front tooth. Everyone took notice of Olivia pointing at the tree, her mouth shaped like an “o” in awe, “Can we open that one?” She asked, pointing to the largest present in the stack—which, of course, had her name on it.

“Stockings first,” Spencer said, leading to a pout from your middle child, but it was quickly wiped away when he kissed the crown of her head. Your husband got up first, taking Finn from where he was tucked into your side, and set him on his hip, “Okay, who wants their stocking?”

Everyone’s hand went up—including yours.

[luveline]

I absolutely adore your Spencer x Hotch!sister fics! <3 Can we possibly see the dynamics if it were switched? A Hotch x Spencer's Older Sister fic, pretty please? But no worries if not! Thank you, hope you have a good day!

Was Spencer’s sister always this shy? Hotch can’t remember (and he can’t stop himself from flirting, just a little). fem, 1.4k

“Reid?” Hotch asks. 

Spencer grins at his phone. 

“Reid.” Hotch clears his throat. “Spencer.” 

Spencer puts his phone down on the desk, but he doesn’t seem to have heard Hotch either way. When he realises Hotch is standing by his desk, he perks up. “Hotch, can I ask a favour?” 

Hotch had been about to ask Spencer a favour, but it’s fine. “Sure.” 

“Uh, my sister is supposed to meet me for lunch in half an hour, but she doesn’t really like restaurants and I’m– me. Do you think she could come to the office?” he asks. 

“Sure, Reid. That’s fine, she just needs a visitor card.” 

Hotch can’t remember the last time he saw you. Probably when Reid first started tailing Gideon a few years ago, when you’d made the trip from Vegas to Quantico to see how he was settling. It was a brief introduction, and, while you may possess a few more practical graces than your brother, you were far shyer at the time. You didn’t mind shaking Hotch’s hand, but you struggled to maintain eye contact after. 

You don’t look much like your brother for reasons he’s never cared to ask, as Hotch has never placed much value on how family comes about. He doubts Spencer does either. But you stay in Vegas with your mother, and Spencer sees you three times a year. Birthdays and Christmas. And today, apparently. 

“What’s the occasion?” Hotch asks. 

Spencer smiles again. “I think she’s gonna move here, with me.” 

“Yeah?” Hotch isn’t the prying boss, but he’s a nosy friend. “Everything okay?” 

“Things are great, I mean.” Spencer has the expression of someone deciding what they can and can’t say. Eventually his eyes clear, and Hotch feels satisfied at the realisation that trust has settled tightly between them. “When I decided my mom needed help, Y/N, she hated that, and maybe she resented me, but– I used to worry she hated me, but she doesn’t.” 

“I don’t think she could,” Hotch says easily. 

Spencer nods. Whether he agrees is up for debate, though. “If t’s finally hit her that mom’s sick forever, so she’s feeling out her options.” 

“That must be a hard thing to realise.” 

“Yeah. But things really are great, she’s here now, her stuff is coming tomorrow, and– and maybe she’ll stay for a while.” 

Hotch likes excitement on Reid (when it doesn’t impede their most important work, that is). Truthfully, there’s so much to worry about that Hotch can’t admit to worrying about Reid as much in recent years, and yet he’s relieved to hear that there will be more Reid’s in a hundred mile radius. 

“I’m glad,” Hotch says honestly. “She’s more than welcome here. If she can cope with the photographs in the conference room, the round table is all yours.” 

Hotch retreats to his office and forgets about it for a while, submerged in his own lunch and a certain seven year old’s birthday planning. Jack wants a clown, and a cake with Cars, and he really wants a bounce house. Which is great, but Jack decided he wanted the bounce house last night, and his party is at the end of the week. Hotch makes a bunch of phone calls and finally gets to take a victory lap forty five minutes later. 

He steps out of his office, enticed by the sound of laughter. Spencer laughs like he’s surprised ninety percent of the time, and yours is no different. It’s clear to the listening ear who taught Spencer how to laugh. 

“I love it, I don’t ever want to hear a bad word about it,” you say through peels of it, a breathy, smiley warmth to you as a chair creaks from within the conference room, “and I mean that. Please don’t tell me any facts.” 

“I know so many you’d like to hear!” 

“I don’t doubt it, but please, as a favour? You can tell me about everything else.” 

“Processed cheeses–”

Hotch turns the corner as you put down a sandwich. “Okay, fine. I’m done, are you happy?” you ask, your smile fading into a more polite one as you meet Hotch’s eyes. 

“I didn’t get to say anything.” 

“Some things are better left unsaid,” Hotch says. He doesn’t interrupt, only says it into the quiet, and he doesn’t bother with fanfare. It’s just to alert Spencer of his presence. “Y/N,” Hotch adds, “hello. It’s good to see you.” 

He’s alarmed by your reaction —your eyes widen in your seat, hands hidden beneath your thighs, and your lips part ever so slightly. “Agent Hotchner,” you say softly, almost weakly. 

He’s not that intimidating, is he?

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” he says. 

“You’re not interrupting, I was just telling her about the dangers of processed cheese. They’re so irregularly salty that the sodium has to be marked as a cause of heart disease on FDA approved packaging for the service industry,” Spencer says. 

“I’m sure some every now and then won’t hurt,” Hotch says, attempting to offer you a friendly smile. “Spencer tells me you’re staying here for a while, that’s great. How are you liking the weather? It must be a change from Nevada?” 

You look peculiarly hot. “It’s different,” you agree.

Voices ring from the bullpen. 

Spencer stands up. You stand with him, but Spencer says, “Sorry, is that Morgan? He said I have to go and get him when you’re here.” 

“Spencer–”

Spencer’s already leaving. “He threatened me, actually,” he’s saying, more to himself than either of you as he departs. 

You wring your hands. 

Hotch worries his brows are giving him away. You’re acting strangely, but maybe he’s too much. He is a special agent, sometimes the other parents at Jack’s school get antsy around him like they’re worried he can tell they haven’t paid their last parking fine. Maybe you’ve a secret crime you’ve committed. 

He watches you more closely, to your flustering. 

No crime, Hotch thinks, but a secret. Even from Spencer. 

“So how’s your day, Agent Hotchner?” you ask softly. 

It’s actually quite sweet, the way you say it. Your nerves are cute. 

“Busy.” The expected answer. “I’ve been trying to plan a birthday party between paperwork.” 

“For Jack?” 

He smiles with more gentleness. “Yes, for Jack.” 

“He was, um, a newborn, when we last met. Just a couple of weeks old, I think. How old is he turning now?” 

“Seven.” 

You breathe out. “Wow. Seven years.” 

Seven years, and your crush on him remains. That’s what he’d forgotten —when you visited Spencer at the time, even Gideon had mentioned your frazzled, almost dizzy disposition whenever Hotch was around. And Gideon tended to focus narrowly on work at work, so Hotch had known he wasn’t making it up. 

At the time it had been cute, but awkward too, and infeasible. He’d been dedicatedly married and in love with his Haley. And if he weren’t, your age gap might’ve been a little non-functioning, Hotch well into his thirties, and you a fresh twenty-five. 

Today you’re older, and more beautiful. Something about you has shifted, a blossoming into your features, and Hotch actually has the ability to notice it now. 

Your Spencer’s sister, he remembers suddenly. Probably not a woman he should flirt with, some subtle compliment lost on his tongue. 

“You look the same,” you say. 

He laughs. “That’s kind and untrue. I’m getting old.” 

The look you give him then is a shock and a pit, long the long forgotten twist of butterflies. “No,” you say, looking down at your hands, “I wouldn’t say that.” 

“What would you say?” he asks. 

You’re saved —poor girl, he doesn’t know what he was thinking, you can barely hold your head up— as Morgan bounds up the stairs and into the conference room. He gathers you for a hug as though he knows you better than he does, and Hotch loses sight of your face. 

Unknown to him and unseen, Morgan’s greeting is white noise. Why does he talk like that? you think to yourself desperately. He’s asking you all those questions with this weight to them, and he’s so calm! I’m going back to Vegas. 

“How long are you staying?” Morgan asks. 

You laugh weakly and accidentally catch Hotch’s eye, who smiles at you nicely. 

“Oh, I don’t know. A couple of weeks, maybe.” 

Longer, if you have reason. 

[virgobingo]

more insight on miles’ puerto rican heritage for your fics or fanart

- traditional quinceañeras (or as they are often called by puerto ricans quinceañeros) are really not that common anymore, most girls nowadays have pool parties or go on a cruise. if miles were to go to one of his cousins’ 15 birthday party, chances are it would be casual— no big poofy dress (his mom probably had one like that though)

edit: some people disagree on this. depends on how traditional your family and friend group is I guess, as well as which part of the island you’re from. on average, it seems to be a far bigger deal amongst some other latines. in my class in pr only 3 out of approx 30 girls had a big event like that. not a single one of my cousins had a traditional quince either so you could say I’m partly biased bc of my own experiences. i personally just had a big pool party

- plantains are a big part of our diet. also, pr being an island in the caribbean, coconut is in a lot of our desserts. if miles had to pick a favorite fruit I hc he’d pick either one of the two lol also please google our food, our food isn’t actually spicy so much as savory

- we “celebrate” thanksgiving like other americans. it’s about the only time we eat oven roasted turkey. for winter holidays (christmas eve/day, new years eve/day, three kings day/eve) oven roasted pork. chicken might be offered as a second option for people who don’t consume pork for whatever reason

- you’re pretty much taught how to dance as soon as you can walk. most of us have basic rhythms down. chances of miles dancing with his mom or friends at parties? astronomically high.

- the reason why our flag is everywhere, besides pride, is ‘cause it was illegal to own it. look up the gag law that prohibited us from even displaying it at our homes. so it’s actually an awesome detail in these movies

- this is my opinion/a fun fact but I feel like miles is basically an homage to black and puerto rican (specifically nuyorican) solidarity around the 70s-80s during the creation of hip-hop and rise of graffiti as a form of expression (you can easily read up on this or watch shows like the get down to learn more about this if you’re curious)

- whether you’re “nuyorican” or “from the island” spanglish is common so miles’ mixing english and spanish isn’t odd bc even rio does this as miles points out in the party scene. he isn’t a “no sabo” kid so much as someone with a strong accent. he understands his mom perfectly

- race ≠ ethnicity. there are plenty of black people in and from Puerto Rico, and miles’ pr family in the spiderverse films are designed to be for the most part afro-latine. so I wouldn’t really call him biracial

- the puerto rican day parade wouldn’t be a thing he skips, he’s gifted a special suit for it in a comic run. his puerto rican heritage is important to him!

[aquasoftware]

His baby. ⪩✿⪨

No warnings just Nanami being a dad (fluff) + ML.

Girldad!Kento, who pulls the classic "Go ask your mother." When his daughter wants something but eventually gives in, shaking his head with a slight smile once she brings out the big doe eyes and pleading combo. "I'll see what I can do." He says as he acknowledges her request.

Girldad!Kento, who supports his daughter's little dreams and gives her wads of cash to start her snack business at school, then once she quickly sells out, she finds hidden colorful sticky notes at the bottom in her big tote bag telling her how proud he is.

Girldad!Kento, who teaches his daughter how to save money when he finds out she spent most of her earnings on Doordash and Roblox.

Girldad!Kento, who covers his red face in embarrassment when his daughter dolls him up for a tea party, wearing a comically large powder pink tutu paired with a plastic silver crown as she records tik-toks forcing his two left feet to dance.

Girldad!Kento, who proudly wears his daughter's homemade bracelets that she made from a gifted hobby lobby bracelet kit to work anytime he gets handed a new one, not at all caring about the idiotic snickers he gets from his co-workers. Kento's favorite bracelet that he'll forever keep safe is one that has lettered black and white charms saying "Best dad."

Girldad!Kento, who never gets tired of the crafted macaroni gifts, whether it's on a card for his birthday, a picture frame for Christmas, or a macaroni necklace for Father's Day to him, it's always the thought that counts.

Girldad!Kento, who gets spoiled by his wife and his daughter, receiving two packed lunches for work. He was intensely observant of his daughter's latest interest, which this time became those junior cooking shows eager to try out a new recipe. Yet although it wasn't the best tasting food in the world, he still scarfed down his daughter's cooking as if it were his last meal.

Girldad!Kento, who awakens to the horrified cries of his precious child, begging "Papa, there's a monster in my room; can I sleep with you and mama tonight...?" He couldn't deny that, swiftly enough you both accepted her with open arms in your shared bed.

Girldad!Kento, who encourages his child to do a sport, feeling his heart melt as his little girl picks ballet.

Girldad!Kento, who spam calls you while you're at work so you can guide him through doing makeup for her ballet recitals. "That's the last step? Okay, I promise I'll get some videos for you, honey!" He reassures you, understanding that you don't want to miss a moment.

Girldad!Kento, who humiliates his poor daughter at the recital jumping up and screaming "That's my baby!"

Girldad!Kento, who never misses a PTA meeting or a parent-teacher conference meeting.

Girldad!Kento, who knew no amount of pep talks from you could prepare him for his baby getting her first period, halfway panicking in Walgreens, snatching up every sanitary napkin possible as soon as he got the text, picking her up from school early due to how bad it got getting her favorite comfort food to cheer her up afterwards.

Girldad!Kento, whose heart absolutely shattered hearing the sentence "Papa, I'm way too old for dolls now." What did she mean she was ready to give up Monster High and Barbie's? The saddened blonde refused to let his baby grow up even though he knew he had to.

Girldad!Kento, who almost sheds a tear when he finds out other cruel kids have been picking on her, calling her ugly, so instead of a typical lecture, he gave a warm embrace reminding her how beautiful she is.

Girldad!Kento, who will sob his eyes out at every single graduation, including elementary, middle, high-school, and soon eventually college, needing at least five boxes of tissues to himself at her middle school graduation, not even being able to fathom how he'd handle her high school graduation.

Girldad!Kento, who loves his daughter unconditionally.

8/28/24 11:59pm

[gotta-winwin]

childhoodbestie!chan x reader

a/n: putting an angst warning + spoiler here right now so be warned ❗dino just gives off downbad!childhoodbesties! vibes sooo hard + a shameless parallel to the beloved laurie from little women. my love you will always be famous.

childhoodbestie!chan who’s been following you around like some gremlin since birth. It helped that your two families lived awfully close together, leading to you bumping into Chan every time you went out.

childhoodbestie!chan who has been in your class at school from preschool all the way to your senior year of high school. some people mistake the two of you for twins and teachers have long since been used to the fact that the two of you came as a duo. It’s not uncommon for you to be asked “where’s chan?” whenever he wasn’t right next to you - as if you’re somehow supposed to know where he wandered off to. (you usually do)

childhoodbestie!chan, who has been copying off your homework since homework was required. It’s gotten to the point where he doesn’t even need to ask, shamelessly copying your work from the other side of the desk. He’s mastered the art of reading upside down just to copy off of you easier. 

childhoodbestie!chan, who shares all his food with you without complaint. It’s second nature, how he unconsciously offers you anything he’s eating, not even pausing through whatever anecdote he was ranting to you about.

childhoodbestie!chan, whose friends are naturally your friends. You don’t really remember when he got adopted into a massive friend group of 12 other boys, but hanging out with them became natural and you integrated into the group as a vital member. 

childhoodbestie!chan who still cries into your shoulder every time someone breaks his heart. His childlike innocence and sweetness has not changed despite the constant mishaps with love, and neither has his instincts to run to you every time he needed a solution - or a hug. 

childhoodbestie!chan who ignores how he’s loved you since he first learned how to ride a bike. He pretends he doesn’t remember the way you teased him for not knowing how, racing past him in the purple bike his parents had given you for your birthday. He ignores the fact that he’s been in love with you since you were both six. 

childhoodbestie!chan, who leaves his house no matter what ungodly hour it may be to go pick you up. He never questions why you need a lift, never mentions the puffy eyes and pouting lips you sport as you shuffle into his car. He knows you’re both still young and stupid and figuring things out - he’s fine waiting, waiting for the day you really see him. 

childhoodbestie!chan, who knows you still see him as the same little boy who you had to defend on the playground. No matter how hard he tries to remind you that he’s grown - fending off jerks for you at the bar, loudly bragging about his sexcapdes to remind you he’s a full grown man (albeit not his brightest move), even carrying all your luggages up the stairs in one go - he knows it’s not enough. 

childhoodbestie!chan, who has a cute story behind every gift he’s ever gotten you. Whether it was for your birthday or christmas or even valentines (he was your valentine one year for fun and he still cherishes that moment), he has a little backstory and anecdote for why he got you it. 

childhoodbestie!chan, who knows your likes and dislikes by heart. It’s gotten to the point where his friends find it a bit concerning, when he will randomly point at something and go “oh, Y/N loves that” or “Y/N would have killed to see that.” His friends know his heart is cracking a little each time he brings you up so casually, knowing it’ll never be in a you talk about your girlfriend all the time type of way.

childhoodbestie!chan who watches as you fall in love with someone else. 

childhoodbestie!chan who can only listen and watch as someone else treats you right, feeling happy that you’re happy yet still feeling a little slighted. He can’t help but admit to himself that maybe he actually thought you’d fall in love with him one day. 

childhoodbestie!chan who’s the only male bridesmaid at your wedding. He makes sure the day goes perfectly, despite feeling like he wants to die in the process.

childhoodbestie!chan, who admits to jeonghan one night half-drunk and through tears that he could've sworn you'd love him eventually. that 20 years was enough to love him. right?

childhoodbestie!chan, who knows childhood bestie is all he’ll ever be. 

[fairestwriting]

Hello there! Love your writing! How about my sweet Savanaclaw boys finding out that their crush (or S/O) sleeps cuddling a plushie of their respective animals (like a wolf for Jack). Thanks! I love Jack so much :)

me while jumping at the opportunity of writing the man: i hate leona

Leona Kingscholar

He is canonically a very smart and perceptive guy. But somewhere in my heart I just know he wouldn't fully make the connection for a while. Just trust me on that one.

Kind of pokes fun at your "cat" plushie. What's with that thing, Herbivore? Aren't you a little too old for stuffed animals? Though he steps back if it makes you genuinely upset, which isn't what he's going for, he's just being an ass as a joke again. A part of him thinks it's really endearing, even before it really clicks for him.

He kind of feels vaguely jealous of the plushie. If you bring it while you two are sleeping together he'll pull the what do you need this thing for, I'm right here kind of shtick.

Confused on why you sleep with a plushie in the first place, more confused about why this stuffed cat looks so weird... oh, wait.

He's stupidly proud when it actually clicks. Of course he won't tell you it went over his head for the longest time, but all of a sudden, he's all smug whenever he sees you with the plushie, saying you could've just called if you missed him so much.!

Ruggie Bucchi

Takes a hot second to make the connection, but a lot less than Leona. The delay is mostly because he's never expected to see a hyena plushie of all things.

Actually loves it because it reminds him of the kids back home a little. He asks where you bought it, how much it was, tells you a little story about a kid he knew who wanted one just like that.

He won't explicitly ask to hold it but you should offer it, he loves your little buddy, he's already said you should come to him if you ever need to get a tear patched up. Doesn't even have it in him to make a joke about it being childish, at most tells you he'll keep it a secret if you look embarrassed.

When he does notice though, while poking at the plushie's little ears absentmindedly, he's the one who gets flustered. Oh no, that's really cute kind of realization.

He wants to sound cool when he says that, you know, if you want to sleep with him, you can just invite him over, but he does fail pretty hard. He can't help it, though, it's just way too endearing to him.

...Besides, he's already offered to co-parent the toy. If it doesn't have a name, it's just a matter of time before Ruggie asks and "jokingly" comes up with suggestions.

Jack Howl

Only one who thinks it might have to do something with him... but he's kind of too flustered to say anything about it for a good while.

He bashfully reassures you there's nothing wrong with keeping plushies around even if you're not a kid, maybe letting it slip that he thinks the little wolf is pretty cute... then pretending he didn't say anything.

Jack overthinks it a bit. Wolf plushies aren't that uncommon, right? You probably had it before you met him. He's too shy to ask if you had it before you met him.

He'll settle on... asking about the plushie itself. It might not have anything to do with him, but he knows pretty quickly that he wants it to. If you're not dating yet, he'll use the almighty excuse of asking about it because he needs to get his little siblings a gift.

Either way, though, the next excuse he gets, whether it's Christmas or your birthday or whatever, you find yourself with a very neatly wrapped box in your hands, and Jack nearly hiding behind it. Just saw it in a shop near home and thought you might like it, he says.

Whether your previous plushie was based on the exact same type of white wolf he is doesn't matter. If it is, it's getting a twin. You bet he scoured the shops to find it, blessing his luck on wolves being animals plenty of people love. He has a small, shy smile on his face when you take it.

if you wanna support my work, you can buy me a ko-fi or commission me!

[rootedinrevisions]

Better Late Than Never

SUMMARY: After years of friendship and one too many broken promises, Glen realizes he might lose the person who means the most to him. As he works to prove he’s ready to be the man she deserves, she wrestles with whether to risk her heart on the one person who’s been there all along.

The actress named is an OC that I gave a random name to. She is not based on any real life actresses or any co-stars Glen has ever been asscoiated or worked with. Just a random OC for the purpose of the story.

A/N: Thank you to the person who sent this request in. I am so sorry it's taken literally months to get this written. I hope it's worth the wait and that you enjoy it!

As always I'd love to hear what you guys think! I love seeing your comments, reblogs, and thoughts/feedback on my writing!

WORD COUNT: 11.1k

TAGS: In Comments.

The smell of cinnamon and freshly brewed coffee greeted you as you stepped into the cozy café, escaping the brisk December chill. The place was buzzing with holiday cheer—soft jazz versions of Christmas carols played in the background, and twinkling lights were strung across the windows. You tugged your scarf loose as your eyes scanned the room.

And then you saw him.

Glen was seated at a small table near the back, his broad shoulders hunched slightly as he scrolled through his phone. His hair was messier than usual, a few strands falling onto his forehead, and he was dressed down in a flannel shirt and jeans, looking every bit like the guy you grew up with rather than the Hollywood star the rest of the world saw.

As if sensing your gaze, he looked up, and his face lit up with a grin that made your heart stutter. He stood, opening his arms wide.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite munchkin,” he teased, using the nickname he’d given you in high school.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile spreading across your face as you walked toward him. “Still holding on to that old nickname, huh?”

“Always.” His voice was warm, and before you could protest, he wrapped you in a bear hug, lifting you slightly off the ground. “Wouldn’t call you it if you weren’t so short.”

You laughed as he set you down, the sound muffled against his chest. “It’s good to see you,” you said, looking up at him once he released you.

“Good to see you too,” he replied, his smile softening as he held your gaze. “It’s been way too long.”

The two of you settled into your seats, the café’s warmth and the hum of conversation making it feel like no time had passed at all. Glen slid your drink across the table—a latte, just the way you liked it.

“You remembered?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course. You’re predictable,” he teased, winking. “Although I almost got you a peppermint mocha just to mess with you.”

“Ha, ha,” you said dryly, taking a sip of your drink. It was perfect, of course. “So, what brings you back to Austin? Don’t you have some big premiere to attend or a magazine spread to shoot?”

“Please,” Glen said, leaning back in his chair. “It’s Christmas. Had to come home for the holidays.”

“True,” you said, glancing out the window where people bustled by, their arms full of shopping bags and scarves wrapped tightly against the wind. “Austin does Christmas pretty well. Even without snow.”

Glen smirked. “You’re still holding out for that miracle snowstorm, huh?”

“A girl can dream,” you shot back with a grin.

The conversation drifted easily, filled with updates about his work, your job, and mutual friends. It wasn’t until you mentioned your upcoming birthday that his playful expression turned more serious.

“So,” you said, casually swirling the foam in your cup with your spoon, “my birthday’s in a couple of weeks. You still think you’ll be able to be here?”

His brow furrowed for a moment, as if the thought of missing it hadn’t even crossed his mind. “Of course I’ll be here. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

“Really?” you asked, trying to keep the surprise out of your voice.

Glen leaned forward, his expression earnest. “You’ve been there for every big moment in my life. There’s no way I’m skipping yours.”

A warmth spread through your chest, and you quickly glanced down at your drink to hide the blush creeping up your neck. “Well, in that case, you’re invited to my very fancy celebration.”

“Fancy, huh?” His lips quirked into a grin.

“Super fancy,” you said with a smirk. “We’re talking margaritas, tacos, maybe a dive bar. Real high-class stuff.”

Glen’s grin fell as his face scrunched up in mock horror. “Please don’t tell me we’re spending your birthday at that awful dive bar on South Congress.”

You burst out laughing. “What, you don’t miss sticky floors and karaoke with questionable sound systems?”

He shook his head, leaning back in his chair with a dramatic sigh. “I’m just saying, with a couple of phone calls, I could get us into literally any place in Austin. Rooftop bars, private clubs—your pick.”

You rolled your eyes. “And spend the night dodging people trying to take selfies with you? No, thanks. Besides, you know those fancy rooftop bars aren’t my style.”

Glen chuckled, his playful grin returning. “Fine, munchkin. Dive bars and tacos it is. But don’t come crying to me when someone tries to serenade you with a terrible rendition of ‘Don’t Stop Believin’.’”

You smirked, raising your cup in a mock toast. “It wouldn’t be my birthday without it. Besides, it’s not about where we are. It’s about the people I’m with. My favorite people, to be specific.”

Glen pointed his spoon at you, smirking. “You really don’t have to keep buttering me up, you know. I already told you I’m coming. Whole weekend, no distractions. I’m all yours.”

You raised an eyebrow, skepticism creeping into your expression. “No distractions, huh? Not even work?”

He held a hand to his chest in mock offense. “What kind of friend do you think I am? I told my team: no calls, no events. You get my undivided attention. Pinky promise.”

He held out his pinky, and you laughed despite yourself, hooking your own around his. His hand was warm, and the contact lingered just a little longer than necessary before he pulled away.

“You better not bail on me, Powell,” you warned playfully, but there was a faint edge to your voice.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, his expression softening. “You’ve been there for me through every big moment in my life. I’m not missing yours.”

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten, and you quickly glanced down at your drink, trying to hide the warmth creeping into your cheeks. It wasn’t fair how easily he could make your heart skip a beat without even trying.

“Now, tell me about this party. How many people are we talking? And how many of them are single?” Glen said, flashing you a wink. 

You rolled your eyes, smirking. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“And yet, you still put up with me.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to fade away. It was just the two of you, laughing and teasing like you always had, but the thought lingered in the back of your mind: maybe, just maybe, you wanted more.

* * * * *

A FEW WEEKS LATER

Your room was a mess of clothes—sweaters, jeans, and dresses strewn across the bed in a chaotic attempt to find the perfect outfit. You stood in front of the mirror, holding up a navy blue dress, then tossed it onto the growing pile with a sigh.

“Too dressy,” you muttered to yourself, reaching for a soft cream sweater instead.

Dinner with Glen wasn’t supposed to be a big deal, but still, you wanted to look nice. It wasn’t every day you got one-on-one time with him, especially since his life seemed to revolve around premieres, photoshoots, and packed schedules. Tonight, though—it was just supposed to be the two of you. A low-key dinner, catching up like old times.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand, pulling you out of your thoughts. You glanced at the screen and saw Glen’s name pop up, a text notification lighting up the room. Smiling, you grabbed the phone, already anticipating something cheeky or playful.

Instead, your smile faltered as you read the message:

GLEN: Hey, I’m so sorry, but something came up, and I can’t make it to dinner tonight. I’ll definitely be there for the party tomorrow, though. Promise."

Your chest tightened, and you reread the text, hoping you’d somehow misunderstood. But there it was, plain as day. He wasn’t coming.

You sank down onto the edge of your bed, staring at the message. A flicker of disappointment stirred in your chest, and you tried to push it down. It wasn’t like he’d done this on purpose. Glen was busy—always busy. You knew that.

Still, tonight had felt different. It wasn’t just any dinner; it was the start of your birthday weekend, and it had been his idea to plan something special just the two of you to start the weekend off.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, unsure of how to respond. You didn’t want to come off as upset, even if you were. 

Finally, you typed: No worries. I’ll see you tomorrow!

You added a smiley face at the end, hoping it would mask the sting of disappointment.

Glen’s reply came almost instantly: Thanks for understanding. I owe you one. Tomorrow’s going to be amazing—I promise!

You set your phone down and exhaled slowly, trying to shake off the letdown. It wasn’t the end of the world. You still had tomorrow, and it wasn’t like you weren’t able to make other plans tonight. Maybe you’d text a friend and see if they wanted to grab a drink or hang out.

But even as you stood up and started putting the clothes back into your closet, the nagging feeling lingered. Glen had been your best friend since forever, and deep down, you’d hoped tonight would feel like old times again—just you and him, laughing over tacos and margaritas like nothing had changed.

As you finished hanging up the last of your clothes, your phone buzzed again. This time, it wasn’t a text—just a notification from Instagram. You picked it up, your thumb mindlessly tapping the app out of habit.

The screen lit up with familiar photos from friends, coworkers, and influencers. You scrolled past a shot of someone’s latte art and a blurry concert video before something caught your eye.

It was Glen. The photo, posted by a good friend of Glen was unmistakable: Glen, standing in the corner of a lavish party, his arm casually slung around her. 

The caption read, "Celebrating with the one and only @GlenPowell  and the incomparable @AlannaNorris at her wrap party tonight! 🎬✨"

Your heart sank.

You tapped on the image, zooming in despite yourself. Glen looked every bit the part of Hollywood star—broad smile, hair perfectly tousled, a drink in hand. And then there was Alanna Norris, the co-star he’d been talking about for months. She looked just as radiant as she did on screen: long, dark hair cascading over her shoulders, wearing a dress that seemed to shimmer even in the dim lighting of the party.

Your thumb hovered over the screen as you stared, frozen.

“Seriously?” you whispered to yourself, the word sharp in the silence of your room.

You clicked over to Glen’s profile, hoping—praying—it wasn’t what it looked like. But there it was again, a short video he’d just posted to his story.

The camera panned across a glittering rooftop, strings of fairy lights glowing against the New York skyline. Glen’s laugh echoed in the background as he toasted with a group of people, Alanna sitting right beside him, leaning into his shoulder like they’d known each other forever.

Your stomach twisted.So this was what had "come up."

You locked your phone and tossed it onto the bed, the dull thud breaking the heavy silence in the room.

It wasn’t just the fact that he’d canceled on you for some Hollywood event. It was because it was her. Alanna, the gorgeous, talented, larger-than-life actress Glen had gushed about every chance he got. You’d listened to him talk about her on phone calls, how brilliant she was, how hilarious, how effortlessly cool.

And now, she wasn’t just a co-star. She was at the center of his world tonight.

You sank onto the bed, feeling a lump rise in your throat. It wasn’t like you could compete with someone like that. You were just... you. The girl Glen had known since middle school. The one who knew all his secrets, his quirks, his favorite stupid jokes. But suddenly, that didn’t feel like enough.

Pulling your knees up to your chest, you rested your chin on them, trying to push the image out of your head. Tomorrow was your party. Tomorrow, Glen would be there, and everything would be fine.

* * * * *

THE NEXT DAY

The next morning, the sound of your alarm pulled you from restless sleep. Sunlight streamed through the curtains, but the heaviness from last night hadn’t lifted. Today was supposed to be a good day—a celebration. You tried to focus on that as you showered and got dressed, slipping into a casual outfit for your plans with the girls.

By mid-morning, you were seated in a cozy pedicure chair at your favorite spa, surrounded by the laughter and chatter of your closest friends. The scent of lavender and eucalyptus filled the air, and the soothing warmth of the foot soak should have been relaxing. Should have.

“You’re quiet today,” Maggie said, glancing at you over the top of her magazine. She was seated in the chair next to yours, her dark hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail. “That’s not like you. What’s going on?”

You shook your head quickly. “Nothing. Just tired, I guess.”

“Uh-huh.” Maggie raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it.

“Girl, you’ve been off all morning,” your other friend Taylor chimed in from across the row, her toes painted a vibrant red. “Spill it. What’s wrong? Is it birthday stress?”

“It’s nothing, really,” you said, avoiding their eyes.

Maggie closed her magazine with a snap and leaned closer. “Liar. Something’s up, and we’re not letting you out of here until you tell us.”

You hesitated, your stomach twisting. The last thing you wanted was to drag your friends into your Glen drama. But as the silence stretched, their expectant looks wore you down.

With a sigh, you finally admitted, “Glen canceled dinner last night.”

“What?” Maggie looked genuinely surprised. “Why?”

You bit your lip, debating how much to say. “He said something came up... but then I saw on Instagram that he was at a party for Alanna Norris.”

Taylor let out a low whistle. “Oof. That’s rough.”

“Yeah,” you said softly, staring at the bubbling water swirling around your feet.

Maggie gave you a pointed look. “Wait. You’re upset because Glen ditched dinner, or because he ditched dinner for her?”

“I’m upset because he canceled, period,” you said quickly, a little too quickly.

“Uh-huh,” Maggie said again, her voice dripping with skepticism. “Come on, we’re not blind. You’ve been into Glen for years. Don’t even try to deny it.”

Your cheeks flushed. “I’m not... It’s not like that.”

“Oh, please,” Taylor said, rolling her eyes. “You’ve had heart eyes for that man since high school. And now he’s a big-shot actor, and you’re still acting like he’s just your childhood best friend. It’s obvious to everyone but you.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Maggie cut you off. “Look, we get it. You’re hurt. And yeah, him blowing off dinner for Alanna is a crappy move. But you know Glen—he wouldn’t miss your party for anything. He loves you, even if he’s too dumb to realize how he loves you.”

Taylor nodded in agreement. “Exactly. Don’t let this ruin your weekend. You’re amazing, and tonight’s about celebrating you. If Glen has half a brain, he’ll show up and spend the whole night groveling.”

You let out a small laugh despite yourself, grateful for their attempts to cheer you up. “Thanks, guys.”

“Anytime,” Maggie said, leaning back in her chair as the nail technician started painting her toes. “Now, let’s focus on the important stuff. What are you wearing tonight?”

The afternoon passed in a blur of laughter and pampering, and by the time you and the girls left the salon, your nails gleaming and your spirits lifted, the tension from earlier had eased. The golden glow of the setting sun filtered through the car windows as Maggie drove you all back to your place, the playlist of nostalgic throwbacks you’d put together for the weekend blaring through the speakers.

By the time you stepped through your front door, the mood had shifted to one of excited anticipation. The smell of vanilla candles filled your apartment, mingling with the faint scent of perfume and hair spray as you and the girls scattered to your respective corners to finish getting ready.

“Are you sure about this outfit?” you called from your room, stepping into the hallway in your dress. The shimmering fabric caught the light, hugging your figure just enough to make you feel elegant, but not over the top.

Taylor popped her head out of the bathroom, her lips lined perfectly in a bold red. “Girl, yes. You look amazing. Stop overthinking.”

Maggie appeared behind her, fluffing her curls. “She’s right. You’re the birthday girl—own it.”

You smiled, turning back to the mirror to smooth down the dress and fasten the delicate bracelet Maggie had given you earlier as a gift. The room buzzed with energy as you applied the final touches—adding a swipe of gloss to your lips, slipping into heels that clicked lightly against the hardwood floor, and making sure everything was just right.

As the clock ticked closer to party time, you took a deep breath and glanced at your friends. “Okay, how do I look?”

Taylor gave you an approving once-over. “Like a total knockout.”

“And like someone who’s about to have the best birthday ever,” Maggie added with a grin.

You laughed, feeling their support buoying you. Whatever happened tonight, one thing was certain: you wouldn’t face it alone.

* * * * *

The hum of conversation and clinking glasses surrounded you as you sat at the long table, margarita in hand, trying to match your friends’ enthusiasm. The restaurant was buzzing, its warm lighting casting a golden glow over the colorful decor. Everyone you invited had arrived, chatting and laughing, and the margaritas flowed freely. 

Everyone except for Glen.

You glanced at the empty seat next to you, the one you’d saved for him. Twenty minutes had passed since the reservation time, and while you’d tried to hold on to optimism, your patience was wearing thin.

The waiter approached again, balancing a notepad in one hand and a practiced smile on his face. “Are we ready to order, or would you like a little more time?”

You hesitated, glancing at your phone for what felt like the hundredth time. The screen lit up with no new notifications, just the same string of unread messages you’d sent Glen earlier.

YOU: Hey, are you on your way? 

YOU: We’re already here! 

YOU: Everything okay?

With a sigh, you set the phone face down on the table and nodded to the waiter. “We’re ready to order.”

As everyone began calling out their selections, your mind wandered. Glen had canceled dinner with you last night, and now he was a no-show for your birthday dinner without even a text to explain. You tried to shake off the pang of disappointment creeping into your chest, but it lingered. You couldn’t help but wonder how much you really meant to him if he couldn’t be bothered to show up for this.

The waiter left with your table’s orders, but the mood around you was still light and cheerful—at least for everyone else. You swirled the straw in your margarita, staring at the melting ice as your friends chatted around you. 

You glanced down at your phone again, lighting up the screen. Still nothing. Your chest tightened with a mix of frustration and disappointment.

“Okay, that’s it,” Maggie said suddenly, pulling your attention away from your phone. She folded her arms, giving you a knowing look. “Hand it over.”

“What?” you blinked, startled.

“Your phone. Give it to me.” Maggie held out her hand, her expression leaving no room for argument.

You frowned, clutching your phone tighter. “Maggie, come on, I’m fine. I’m just—”

“Obsessing,” she interrupted. “You’re obsessing, and it’s driving you crazy. Glen’s not here, and if you spend the rest of the night staring at your phone, waiting for him to magically show up, you’re going to miss all the fun. So, hand it over.”

Taylor leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand as she watched you with an amused smile. “She’s got a point. You’re spiraling, babe.”

You let out a sigh, holding your phone against your chest. “He probably got caught up with something. You know how busy he is—he’s always working or—”

“Or going to parties for his co-stars,” Maggie cut in, her tone sharper than before. “Yeah, we know. And yet somehow, he still managed to ditch your birthday dinner. I’m sorry, but that’s not okay.”

Taylor raised her eyebrows, backing her up. “Mags is right. This isn’t about work, and you know it. You don’t need to make excuses for him.”

You hesitated, the sting of their words hitting harder than you expected. “I’m not making excuses,” you said quietly, though even you didn’t sound convinced.

“Babe, you are,” Maggie said, her tone softening slightly. “I get it, okay? You care about him. But he’s not here. And we are. So stop letting him ruin your night and let me take the damn phone.”

You bit your lip, glancing between Maggie’s outstretched hand and your phone. The last thing you wanted was to let Glen off the hook, but part of you still hoped he’d show up. That maybe he had a good reason for being late. That maybe—

“Mags is right,” Taylor said, leaning back in her chair with a sigh, crossing her arms in a way that said she wasn’t budging on this. “You need to forget about him for now. Besides, you know he’s going to show up tomorrow and flash that stupid grin of his, and you’ll forgive him in a second.”

The words hit harder than expected, and a small laugh escaped from the table, though it wasn’t as lighthearted as it should’ve been. Everyone was looking at you, their eyes full of sympathy, but the teasing tone only made you feel more exposed. Your face flushed, and you fiddled with the edge of your napkin, not wanting to meet their eyes.

“I don’t—” you started, but your voice wavered. 

You didn’t want to admit it out loud, but deep down, you knew Taylor was probably right. You’d forgiven him before. The way he could flash that charming smile, act like nothing happened, and suddenly, all would be forgiven. You hated that it worked on you, every time.

Maggie raised her eyebrows at you, a knowing smile on her face. “What? You think we don’t see it? Girl, you always forgive him.” She leaned forward, her hands clasped together on the table as she tilted her head, her tone softening a little. “You care about him, but right now, he's not here. And you deserve better than waiting around for someone who’s too busy to show up for you on your birthday.”

You didn’t have a response for that, not immediately. Part of you wanted to defend him, explain that there had to be a reason, but then you realized—he hadn’t even sent a text. Not a word, not a single message to let you know he was running late.

“You know, you’re right,” you said quietly, the sting of the truth washing over you like a cold wave. “I always forgive him, no matter how much he lets me down.” You forced a laugh, but it didn’t reach your eyes.

Maggie’s smile softened, and she nudged you gently with her shoulder. “Because you want to see the best in him. But right now? You need to let go and stop thinking about him. Just for tonight.”

Taylor, always the playful one, smirked and added, “Let’s be real here. He’s gonna show up tomorrow, all sorry and sweet, and you’re gonna melt, like you always do.” She winked.

That earned another small laugh from the rest of the table, but you felt your cheeks burn. You could feel the heat rise up your neck, the familiar twinge of embarrassment that always crept in when they were right.

“I’m not that predictable,” you mumbled, even though you knew it wasn’t true. Your friends had seen you with Glen enough times to know exactly how you’d react.

“You are, and it’s adorable,” Maggie said with a smirk. “But for now, let me take care of this for you.” Before you could protest, Maggie reached over and snatched your phone out of your hands with the speed of a ninja, tucking it safely into her purse before you even had a chance to stop her.

“Hey!” you protested, reaching out instinctively. “That’s mine!”

Maggie looked at you, her expression all business. “Not anymore, it’s not. Trust me, you’ll thank me later.” She grinned, her eyes sparkling mischievously. “We’re here to celebrate you, not him. So, no more phone checking, no more waiting around. Tonight is about you, birthday girl.”

You rolled your eyes, but deep down, a part of you appreciated her determination. The thought of not having that distraction tugging at you was oddly comforting.

“Fine,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’ll try to have fun. But if he doesn’t show up tomorrow—”

Maggie held up her hands in mock surrender. “Don’t worry. We’ll deal with that when it comes. For now, focus on the people who are actually here, okay?”

Taylor raised her glass. “Exactly! We’re going to make sure you forget about him. For tonight, you get to be the center of attention.”

A slow smile crept across your face as you lifted your own glass. “I guess I can get on board with that.”

And just like that, the conversation shifted back to lighter topics. But even as they joked around, you couldn’t help but wonder: Would you really be able to forget about him?

The night had shifted. After a couple of drinks, some terrible karaoke performances, and endless rounds of laughter that made your stomach ache, you finally felt yourself beginning to relax. 

The weight of Glen’s no-show was still there, lingering like a stubborn cloud, but your friends had done a good job of distracting you. You sat at the back of the dive bar in a cozy booth, the group of friends scattered around you, making the most of your birthday despite the slight disappointment that had marred the night.

“Okay, but if you’re telling me that was your best dance move, I might need to revoke your birthday privileges,” Taylor teased, nudging you with her elbow as she leaned back in the booth. She was a little tipsy now, her cheeks flushed and her grin wide. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“I’ll have you know that was art,” you teased back, rolling your eyes but feeling lighter than you had when you first arrived.

The night had gotten progressively easier to bear. It wasn’t the dinner with Glen you’d hoped for, but your friends were here, and you knew they wouldn’t let you wallow for long. You took another sip of your drink and leaned back, letting yourself enjoy the music, the chatter, and the familiar, laid-back vibe of the dive bar. It was the kind of place where time seemed to stand still, and no one cared what anyone else was doing.

Just as you were about to reply to another one of Taylor’s jokes, you noticed Maggie was starting to make her way to the bar, probably to grab another round. You were about to call out to her when your gaze shifted, locking onto a figure that made your heart skip.

Glen.

You could see him scanning the room, his tall frame immediately standing out from the crowd. He was wearing that familiar smirk, the one that made you feel both crazy and happy at the same time. Your stomach tightened, and even though you were trying to enjoy the night, the disappointment washed over you again.

But then, something unexpected happened. Maggie, who’d been walking toward the bar, paused as she caught sight of Glen. Without missing a beat, she took a few steps toward him, intercepting his path just before he could make it toward your table. You could see her arms cross, her posture shifting into one of those rare, no-nonsense stances she had when she was about to call someone out.

You couldn’t hear the conversation from across the room, but you could see the way Glen’s smile faltered as Maggie leaned in. Her body language was firm, her expression serious. Glen’s hands went up, trying to appease her, but Maggie wasn’t backing down.

After a few moments of what seemed like intense conversation, Maggie pointed over her shoulder toward your booth. Glen glanced over, his gaze immediately landing on you. His face softened, but Maggie quickly cut him off, saying something else before gesturing toward the door.

GLEN’S P.O.V.

Glen was halfway to the booth when something—or someone—stopped him cold. He turned to see Maggie, of all people, standing in his path, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. She didn’t look pleased.

“Look, I get it,” he started, trying to brush past her with a smile, but she was having none of it.

“Do you?” Maggie’s voice was sharp, her tone cutting through the music and chatter of the bar. She didn’t give him an inch, holding her ground.

“Yeah,” he said, his smile faltering. He had hoped tonight would go smoother, but as soon as he bailed on dinner last night, he knew he was going to have to face this. “I know I messed up, okay? But it wasn’t like I didn’t want to be there—things just...came up.”

Maggie didn’t flinch, her arms still crossed tightly over her chest. “You know better than this, Glen,” she said, voice firm. “She’s been waiting for you, and you cancel on her, then don’t even bother to show up for her dinner tonight. You can’t just waltz in here like nothing happened.”

Glen’s gaze softened. He could feel his stomach twist with guilt. He should’ve been there for you—he knew that. But in the back of his mind, he was still rationalizing everything, trying to make it make sense. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt her,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I swear, I’ll make it right. Just—let me talk to her.”

Maggie’s eyes narrowed further, and she leaned in, lowering her voice as if she wanted only him to hear. “She better have your full attention tonight, or you can turn around and leave. No excuses, no more half-assed apologies. She’s been let down enough by you already.” Glen opened his mouth to respond, but Maggie wasn’t finished. She jabbed a finger toward the door, a clear, no-nonsense gesture that left no room for negotiation. “You get it right tonight, or I’ll make sure she never gives you another chance.”

Glen’s stomach dropped, the weight of Maggie’s words sinking in. He was used to being the charming, smooth-talking guy who could talk his way out of things. But this? This was different. Maggie wasn’t just looking out for her friend—she was looking out for someone who deserved better than his latest screw-up.

“Alright,” Glen said, nodding, his voice tight. “I get it.”

Maggie gave a single, sharp nod, satisfied, before turning on her heel. Glen watched her walk back to the table and, for the first time all night, felt the real pressure of the situation. He couldn’t screw this up again. Not with you. Not tonight.

He swallowed hard, steeling himself for what came next.

YOUR P.O.V. AGAIN

Maggie came back to your table just moments later, her face a mix of amusement and mild annoyance. 

“Well,” she said, dropping into the booth next to you, “he knows he’s going to have some explaining to do. But I think he got the message.”

You blinked at her, trying to mask the surge of conflicting emotions that had hit you all at once. “What did you say to him?”

Maggie took a long sip of her drink, not missing a beat. “Told him it’s not cool to bail on you like that, especially not when you’re trying to celebrate your birthday.”

You stared at her, a little wide-eyed, unsure if you should feel relieved or mad. Part of you felt grateful for Maggie’s boldness in standing up for you, but another part felt like you should’ve been the one to confront him. But that didn’t matter now.

“Well,” Taylor said from across the booth, glancing over at you with a grin, “at least he knows he has to earn his way back into the birthday girl’s good graces. If he’s smart, he’ll make tonight all about you. And then maybe he’ll show up tomorrow with a damn good explanation—and maybe a gift.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, the weight in your chest starting to lighten. You weren’t sure what was going to happen with Glen. You weren’t even sure what you wanted to happen.

Glen took a deep breath, steeling himself as he made his way toward your booth. His heart hammered in his chest, his mind racing with a mix of regret and nervous anticipation. The guilt from the previous night was still fresh, but this—this was his chance to make things right.

As Glen neared the booth, your eyes locked onto his. You straightened your posture, resisting the urge to immediately brighten at the sight of him. Instead, you leaned back slightly, arms crossed, attempting to project an air of indifference.

"Decided to show up, huh?" you quipped, your tone light but edged with subtle annoyance.

Glen paused, his lips tugging into that familiar, crooked smile—the one that always seemed to chip away at your resolve. “Of course I did,” he replied smoothly, his voice warm but tinged with something softer, almost hesitant. “You didn’t think I’d let you have all the fun without me, did you?”

You raised an eyebrow, determined not to let him off the hook so easily. “Could’ve fooled me,” you shot back, your words casual but pointed. “I mean, you’re only—what? Several hours late?”

The flicker of guilt in his expression gave you a small sense of satisfaction, but before you could revel in it, Glen crossed the final steps to you and, without warning, wrapped you in a bone-crushing hug.

“Wait—Glen, I—” you started to protest, but the words dissolved as his arms tightened around you, pulling you against him. His embrace was warm, firm, and so familiar that it disarmed every wall you’d been trying to build in those few seconds. Despite yourself, you melted into him, your hands sliding up to rest against his back, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

The scent of him washed over you, and you felt your resolve crumble. There was a comfort in his presence, a steady reassurance that you didn’t realize how much you’d missed until now.

“I’m sorry,” Glen murmured, his voice low and close to your ear. “I shouldn’t have missed dinner. I shouldn’t have been late. That was on me, and I know I messed up.”

You wanted to stay annoyed, to hold onto the frustration that had simmered since the night before, but the sincerity in his tone—paired with the way his arms tightened around you like he couldn’t bear to let go—made it impossible.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his dark eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your heart skip. “I mean it,” he said, his voice soft but insistent. “I’ve put my phone on Do Not Disturb. Tonight is all about you, and I’m not going to screw it up again. No distractions, no excuses. Just you.”

For a moment, you stared at him, torn between wanting to push him away and wanting to pull him closer. “You’ve got a lot to make up for,” you muttered, your voice lacking the bite you’d intended.

“I know. And I promise I will.” 

He gave you a quick squeeze before letting go, and you couldn’t help but feel the absence of his warmth as he stepped back, his smile now tinged with that boyish charm that always made it hard to stay mad at him.

With a small, tentative smile, you sat back down, Glen following suit as he slid into the booth beside you. His presence was comforting now, though the distance between the two of you would take some time to bridge fully.

It didn’t take long for your friends to start giving him a bit of a hard time, teasing him about how long it had taken him to show up. But he took it all in stride, shrugging with that playful grin of his that had always been hard to resist. He made light of the situation, joking that Maggie had given him a “talk” that was definitely more intimidating than any red carpet interview he’d ever done. The table erupted in laughter, and you couldn’t help but chuckle too.

Glen fit in like he’d always been a part of the group. He didn’t just charm you—he charmed everyone. Your friends, the boyfriends, the husbands—everyone seemed at ease with him, and for the first time tonight, you felt a bit of the tension dissolve. It wasn’t perfect, but it was good. You were starting to enjoy yourself again.

“You know,” Maggie said, her voice cutting through the chatter as she leaned toward you, “I never thought I’d see the day, but I think Glen’s actually winning me over.” Her teasing smile made you roll your eyes, but you couldn’t deny that there was something endearing about the way he was engaging with everyone.

Glen grinned, clearly pleased by the compliment. “Well, I aim to please,” he said smoothly, sending a wink Maggie’s way before turning to Taylor’s boyfriend, Lucas, who had just shared a funny story about a mishap at work. Glen jumped right into the conversation, laughing along with the group, and before long, the entire table was at ease, chatting, laughing, and passing around drinks.

As the evening progressed, your glass had been refilled a few times, and the warmth from the drinks had made you a little looser, more relaxed. But you could feel the buzz starting to hit you, the tipsy weight settling in, and you knew it was probably time to call it a night soon.

A voice from the other side of the table broke through your thoughts. “Another round, anyone?” Lucas asked, his hand raised toward the bartender.

You smiled but shook your head, giving a small chuckle. “I think I’m good for now,” you said, but your voice was a bit more playful than you intended. “I need to slow down if I’m getting myself home tonight.”

As soon as the words left your mouth, Glen’s gaze snapped to you. His brow furrowed for a moment before his lips curled into a smirk. “Oh no, no, no,” he said, shaking his head as he placed his hand on your arm in a gentle but firm way. “Not happening. I’m not letting you drive after all that tequila. I’m driving you home tonight.”

Your eyes widened for a moment, surprised at his sudden offer. “You’re taking me home?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “

“Yeah, me.” Glen replied smoothly, his voice playful. “I’ll make sure you get home safe and sound.”

You glanced over at your friends, who were all nodding in agreement, clearly amused by Glen’s sudden shift into ‘knight in shining armor.’ You couldn’t help but smile a little, the warmth from the alcohol making the whole situation feel lighter.

“Alright, fine,” you said with a sigh, giving him a playful look.

The night had started winding down, the boisterous laughter and endless rounds of drinks giving way to softer conversations and a general sense of contentment. You leaned back in the booth, your cheeks warm from the tequila and the laughter that had filled the evening. The air in the bar felt a little heavier now, and you knew it was time to call it a night.

Maggie glanced at her phone and let out a low whistle. “Alright, it’s officially way past my bedtime,” she said, sliding out of the booth. “You’re lucky we love you, or I wouldn’t still be out at this hour.”

You grinned at her, your head buzzing just enough to make your movements feel slower. “I appreciate your sacrifice, Mags.”

One by one, your friends began gathering their things, exchanging hugs and goodbyes. Glen stood off to the side, his hands in his pockets, patiently waiting while you said your farewells.

Taylor, always the protective one, lingered a little longer. She turned toward Glen, her expression a mix of playful and serious. “You’d better take care of her, Hollywood” she said, jabbing a finger in his direction.

Glen raised his hands in mock surrender, a grin on his face. “I’ve got her.”

Taylor narrowed her eyes at him, clearly still skeptical, but you stepped in before she could say anything else. “Taylor, I’m fine. He’s fine. Stop trying to scare him.”

“I don’t scare that easily,” Glen quipped, but his tone was lighthearted, and even Taylor cracked a smile as she gave you one last hug.

With the goodbyes finally wrapped up, you turned back toward Glen, feeling a little unsteady on your feet as you grabbed your jacket.

“Okay, let’s go,” you said, your voice softer now, the buzz of the evening starting to settle into a tired warmth.

Glen didn’t say a word, just stepped closer and gently placed his arm around your shoulders. The gesture felt surprisingly natural, his hand resting lightly as he steered you toward the door. You could feel the heat of his touch through the fabric of your jacket, grounding you as the two of you walked out of the bar.

The cool night air hit your face as you stepped outside, and you breathed it in deeply, relishing the way it sobered you just slightly. Glen’s arm stayed firmly around you as he led you to his truck parked just down the block.

“Did you have fun?” he asked, glancing down at you, his voice soft against the quiet of the night.

You tilted your head up to meet his gaze, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, I did,” you admitted, your voice a little hazy but sincere. “Even if you did crash the party.”

He chuckled, his grip on you tightening just slightly as if to steady you. “Is it crashing when I was invited?”

“It is when you show up late. Maggie had basically uninvited you, you know?”

Glen laughed softly, the sound warm and deep in the stillness of the night. “Maggie never liked me much anyway,” he teased. “Pretty sure she was just looking for an excuse.”

You rolled your eyes, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “That’s because she thinks you’re too cocky for your own good.”

He smirked, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Well, she’s not wrong. But if memory serves, you kind of like that about me.”

You snorted, pretending to be unimpressed, but your smile gave you away. “Maybe I’ve just gotten used to it.”

Glen stopped walking for a moment, pulling you gently to a halt as well. His hand slid from your arm to your lower back, steadying you as you swayed slightly on your feet. “Used to it, huh?” he murmured, his tone playfully skeptical. “Guess I’ll take that as a win.”

You glanced up at him, the soft glow of a streetlamp illuminating the curve of his jaw and the faint stubble dusting his skin. “Don’t let it go to your head,” you warned, though the faint smile tugging at your lips betrayed the sharpness of your words.

He grinned, leaning in just enough to close the distance between you. “Too late.”

Before you could respond, he began walking again, his arm still snug around your waist. The rhythm of your steps fell into an easy cadence, and the quiet between you felt comforting rather than awkward.

As his truck came into view, Glen broke the silence. “So, Maggie’s got her opinions about me,” he said, his tone light but curious. “What about you? Think I’m too cocky for my own good?”

You glanced at him sideways, your expression caught somewhere between teasing and genuine. “I think you’re...” You trailed off, pretending to give it serious thought. “Complicated.”

“Complicated?” He raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “That’s not exactly glowing praise.”

“It’s not an insult either,” you countered, shrugging.  “It just means you’ve got layers.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You make me sound like an onion.”

You laughed, your voice light and unguarded. “Maybe. But onions can be sweet, too.”

By the time you reached the truck, Glen had that playful smirk back on his face, but there was something softer in his gaze as he looked at you. He opened the passenger door, his hand brushing your arm lightly as he helped you climb in.

“Sweet, huh?” he murmured as you settled into the seat. “I’ll take that.”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth blooming in your chest was impossible to ignore.

The truck came into view, and Glen pulled his arm away just long enough to open the passenger door for you. He held out his hand to help you climb in, his touch steady and warm.

“Alright,” he said once you were settled in. “Let’s get you home.”

You leaned back in the seat, your head resting lightly against the window as you watched him round the front of the truck to the driver’s side. There was something about the quiet way he moved, the care he took in making sure you were okay, that made the lingering frustration in your chest soften just a little more.

As the engine roared to life and the truck pulled away from the curb, you couldn’t help but glance over at him, a thousand thoughts swirling in your tequila-clouded mind. 

The hum of the truck’s engine filled the quiet as Glen drove through the mostly empty streets, the city lights casting faint shadows on your face. You felt the tequila working its way through your system, loosening your thoughts and your tongue. The warmth in your chest wasn’t just from the alcohol—it was Glen’s presence, steady and comforting, that made you feel safer than you wanted to admit.

You glanced over at him, his profile illuminated by the passing streetlights. “You know something?” you said softly, your words slurring ever so slightly.

“What’s that?” Glen asked, his eyes flicking toward you briefly before returning to the road.

“I think you might be my favorite person,” you admitted, leaning your head against the window and smiling to yourself. The words felt easy, natural, like they’d been sitting on the tip of your tongue for years.

Glen let out a low chuckle, glancing at you again with an amused expression. “Your favorite person, huh? That’s a big title to hand out. What about Maggie? Or Taylor?”

You rolled your eyes, though the smile stayed on your lips. “I’m serious,” you insisted, turning your head to look at him. “You’ve always been there for me. You show up when it matters. Well, except for last night.” The teasing lilt in your voice faltered at the end, the weight of your lingering disappointment creeping back in. 

Glen’s playful smirk softened, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. “About last night—”

You cut him off with a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “It’s... I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” he said firmly, glancing at you again. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”

You hesitated, your fingers twisting in your lap. The alcohol buzzed in your veins, giving you just enough courage to let the words slip out before you could stop them. “All I want is for you to look at me the way you look at her.”

Glen’s brows furrowed as he processed your words. “Her? What are you talking about?”

You huffed, leaning back against the seat and avoiding his gaze. “Alanna. Last night. You were looking at her like she hung the moon or something.”

His confusion deepened as he shook his head. “I wasn’t—wait, you saw those pictures? You think I—”

“Forget it,” you muttered, waving a hand dismissively. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter,” Glen said, his tone insistent now. He glanced at you, his voice softening. “Hey, talk to me. Please.”

You bit your lip, debating whether to keep the rest of it bottled up or just let it out. Before you could second-guess yourself, the words spilled out in a rush. “I love you, Glen.” The air in the truck seemed to still, your confession hanging heavily between you. You didn’t stop, the floodgates open now. “I love you, and I hate it. I hate that I feel this way because you’re... you’re the total package, Glen. And I’m just... me. You’re way out of my league, and it’s stupid, and I wish I didn’t feel this way, but I do.”

For a moment, Glen didn’t say anything, his silence deafening. Then, he let out a light laugh, shaking his head. “Okay, you’ve definitely had too much to drink. You’re just saying that because you’re tipsy.”

His attempt at brushing it off felt like a slap, and your chest tightened painfully. You laughed bitterly, though it sounded more like a choke. “Right. I’m just drunk.”

“Hey, I didn’t mean it like that,” Glen said quickly, his tone shifting to concern.

“It’s fine,” you said sharply, turning to stare out the window, your body stiff with regret. “Just take me home. Please.”

Glen opened his mouth to say something else, but the set line of your jaw and the way you refused to look at him made him think better of it. The rest of the drive was silent, the easy warmth from earlier replaced by a tense, aching quiet.

When Glen pulled into your driveway, you were already unbuckling your seatbelt and reaching for the door handle, eager to put some distance between you and the awkwardness still hanging in the air.

“Thanks for the ride,” you said quickly, your voice clipped as you stepped out of the truck. You didn’t wait for him to respond before heading toward your front door, your keys jingling in your shaky hand.

“Hey, wait up,” Glen called, catching up to you in a few long strides.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, fumbling with your keys. “You don’t need to come in. It’s late. You should go.”

Glen’s hand gently closed over yours, stilling your movements. “Hold on a second.”

You froze, your heart pounding in your chest. You couldn’t look at him, couldn’t bear to see the pity or confusion—or worse, the rejection—in his eyes.

“What?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You said you love me,” Glen said, his voice equally soft but steady. “Did you mean it?”

You let out a strained laugh, trying to tug your hand free. “Like you said, I’ve had too much to drink. Don’t read into it, okay?”

“Stop,” he said, his tone firmer now. He stepped closer, his presence warm and steady. “Don’t brush it off. I need to know. Did you mean it?”

Your throat tightened as tears prickled behind your eyes. You swallowed hard, shaking your head as if that could somehow make the whole moment disappear. But Glen wasn’t letting go—not of your hand, not of this conversation.

“Fine. Yes I meant it,” you finally bit out, your voice trembling. “I do love you. Happy now?” You felt the tears welling up, threatening to spill over as you stared down at the ground, too embarrassed to meet his gaze. “It doesn’t matter, Glen. You don’t have to say anything. Just... let’s forget this, okay?”

Glen didn’t let you retreat. Instead, his hand tilted your chin up, gently forcing you to meet his eyes. His expression wasn’t one of pity or discomfort—it was something softer, something that made your breath catch.

“You think that’s a bad thing?” he asked quietly, his thumb brushing lightly along your jaw.

You blinked, stunned by the question. “What?”

Glen took a small step closer, closing the space between you. “You think loving me is a bad thing?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out.

“I’ve liked you for a while now,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I didn’t…I was scared you didn’t feel the same way, and I didn’t want to risk losing you.”

Your breath hitched as he reached up to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. His touch was so gentle, so tender, that it made your heart ache.

Impulsively, you leaned in, closing the distance between you and Glen. But before your lips could meet, he gently stopped you, his hands coming to rest on your shoulders to keep you from leaning in further.

“Not like this,” he said softly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You frowned, your cheeks flushing. “Why not?”

Glen chuckled, his thumb brushing lightly over your shoulder. “Because you’ve been drinking. And I don’t want our first kiss to be something you regret or something you can blame on tequila.”

You pouted, the alcohol in your system making your emotions harder to control. “I wouldn’t regret it.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” he said, his smile growing as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “But I want it to happen when you’re sober. When you’re completely sure about what you want.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”

Glen laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Yeah, I’ve been told.” He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “We’ll talk more in the morning, okay? Get some rest.”

You sighed, but a small smile tugged at your lips as you nodded. “Fine.”

“Goodnight, munchkin,” he said, his voice warm.

He took a few steps down the path toward his truck, hands shoved deep into his pockets. But something in the air stopped you, a shift in the quiet between you both that pulled you back.

“Glen?” Your voice came out more fragile than you intended, halting him in his tracks.

He turned, brows furrowing in mild confusion. “Yeah?”

You shifted your weight nervously, feeling the weight of the moment. “Would you... stay? I mean, just for tonight. On the couch,” you added, the words tumbling out faster than you'd meant.

His brow raised, caught off guard. Then a smile tugged at the corner of his lips, soft and understanding. “Are you sure?”

Heat rushed to your face, and you swallowed. “Yeah, I just—” you glanced down, unsure how to explain. “I’d feel better with you here. That’s all.”

He studied you for a moment, then took a step back toward you, his smile gentle but sincere. “Okay,” he said, his voice low. “I’ll stay.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, offering him a small, grateful smile.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” Glen said as he put a hand on your back and guided you through the dimly lit hallway.

“You don’t have to,” you murmured, your words a little slurred as you swayed on your feet. “I’m fine.”

“Sure you are,” Glen said with a teasing smile, but his tone was gentle, careful, as though he was holding back. “But humor me, okay?”

You reached your bedroom, and he paused just inside the doorway, his hand still warm at the small of your back. He lingered there for a moment, watching you with an unreadable expression. “Think you can manage, or do you need some help?”

You nodded, though your movements weren’t exactly graceful. A soft chuckle escaped Glen’s lips as he crouched down and carefully removed your shoes, setting them neatly to the side as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I’ve got it,” you said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed and fumbling with your jacket, your fingers a little uncooperative.

“Uh-huh,” Glen replied, his gaze never leaving you. His eyes softened as he watched you struggle with the zipper for a moment before he stepped closer, his hands moving with a calm efficiency as he undid it and eased the jacket from your shoulders.

He straightened, giving you a pointed look. “Want to argue about this too, or can I just help you?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. Glen’s grin widened, and he moved to pull back the blankets, gesturing for you to lie down. You sank into the mattress, the cool sheets pressing against your warm skin like a balm. His hands were gentle as he tucked the blanket around you, slow and deliberate, as though trying to make you feel as safe and comfortable as possible.

“Comfortable?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper now.

You nodded, your eyes fluttering shut as the exhaustion of the night started to pull you under. “Thanks, Glen. For… everything.”

He lingered for a moment, his gaze soft, his eyes searching your face as if trying to memorize the moment. Then, his fingers brushed a stray lock of hair from your forehead, warm against your skin.

“Get some rest,” he murmured. “I’ll be right out here if you need anything.”

He straightened, his presence still warm in the room even as he moved toward the door. He pulled it halfway shut behind him, the sound almost imperceptible. You barely had time to notice before sleep claimed you, his presence lingering like a comforting weight, filling the quiet space with an unspoken promise.

* * * * *

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the cocoon of blankets wrapped snugly around you, a comfort you didn’t remember arranging for yourself. Blinking against the soft morning light filtering through the curtains, you took a moment to orient yourself. 

The events of the night before came rushing back in fragments—Your confession, Glen’s confession, your own vulnerability.

With a groan, you rolled onto your side, pressing your face into the pillow. Embarrassment washed over you in waves, but it was tempered by something softer: the memory of Glen tilting your chin, his thumb brushing your jaw, and his quiet admission that he’d been in love with you for a while.

Pushing yourself up, you padded out of your room, your footsteps quiet on the hardwood floor. You froze when you reached the living room.

Glen was sprawled out on the couch, his long frame somehow folded in a way that almost looked comfortable. A blanket you vaguely recognized from the back of the closet was draped over him, and his face was soft with sleep, his features relaxed and boyish. His arm rested on his chest, rising and falling in time with his even breaths.

Your heart squeezed, a rush of warmth and affection flooding through you. For a moment, you just stood there, watching him, your lips curving into a small smile.

Shaking your head, you tore your gaze away and headed to the kitchen. You busied yourself with the coffee maker, the familiar routine grounding you as your thoughts raced.

The sound of footsteps made you glance over your shoulder. Glen appeared in the doorway, his hair adorably mussed and his eyes still heavy with sleep. He leaned against the doorframe, a lazy grin tugging at his lips.

“Morning,” he said, his voice gravelly.

“Morning,” you replied, turning back to the coffee maker. You focused on pouring two mugs, hoping the act would calm the sudden flutter in your chest.

The silence that followed was heavy, charged with the weight of unspoken words. You handed him a mug, your fingers brushing his briefly, and he murmured a quiet thanks.

As you sipped your coffee, Glen set his down on the counter, crossing his arms as he leaned back against it. His gaze was steady, unwavering, and it made your stomach flip.

“So,” he began, his tone casual but his eyes serious, “are we going to talk about last night?”

You stiffened, your grip tightening around your mug. “What about it?” you asked, your voice a little too light, a little too forced.

Glen arched a brow. “You know what I’m talking about.”

You sighed, setting your mug down on the counter with a soft clink. “I think I made a fool of myself, and I’d rather just pretend it didn’t happen.”

His expression softened, and he took a step closer. “You didn’t make a fool of yourself.”

You avoided his gaze, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. “Look…I said a lot of things I probably shouldn’t have.”

“You mean the part where you said you love me?” he asked, his voice gentle.

Your head snapped up, your cheeks flushing. “Glen—”

“Because if you did mean it,” he interrupted, his tone earnest, “then we really need to talk about it.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of his gaze making it impossible to look away. “I... I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I just—last night, it all came out. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

Glen’s lips quirked into a small smile. “You seemed pretty clear to me.”

“Glen,” you said, exasperation creeping into your tone. “This is exactly what I was afraid of. I don’t want to ruin what we have. I can’t lose you. And I can already tell that things are different. You’re being all weird about it.”

He stepped closer, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him. “You’re not going to lose me,” he said firmly. “But we can’t just ignore this.”

You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest. “What if this changes everything?”

Glen reached out, his fingers brushing yours. “Maybe it’s supposed to,” he said softly.

The honesty in his eyes, the quiet strength in his words—it made your chest ache. You wanted to believe him, to trust that taking this leap wouldn’t send you crashing to the ground.

“Okay,” you said finally, your voice trembling. “Let’s talk.”

A slow, relieved smile spread across his face. “Good. Because there’s a lot I need to say.”

“Why don’t you start? What do I need to know about what you said last night?” He asked.

Your heart pounded as you scrambled for something coherent to say. “I, uh… I wasn’t sure if we needed to… I mean…”

Glen’s amused chuckle cut through your nervous rambling, and you looked up to see his familiar grin. His hazel green eyes softened as he stepped closer, plucking the mug from your hands and setting it on the counter.

“Hey,” he said gently, tilting his head to catch your gaze. “Relax. You’re overthinking this. It’s just me. Just talk to me.”

You swallowed hard, trying to tamp down the wave of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. “I just don’t know if you—if we’re—”

Glen interrupted again, this time by pulling you into a warm, steady hug. His arms wrapped around you like they belonged there, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

“Okay let’s try something else. I meant everything I said last night,” he murmured, his voice low and steady near your ear. “Did you?”

“Yes.” You hesitated, your cheek pressed against his chest, his heartbeat a steady rhythm against your own. “But…where does that leave us?”

Glen pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders. His expression was earnest, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced with something deeper, more serious.

“I’d like to see where this goes,” he said simply, his tone confident yet careful. “If you’re okay with that.”

Your chest tightened, warmth spreading through you like sunlight breaking through clouds. “I’d like that too,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

A slow smile spread across Glen’s face, one that made your knees feel a little weaker. He reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.

“Good,” he said softly, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheek. 

Then, as if drawn by some invisible force, he leaned in. You met him halfway, your lips finding his in a kiss that was both familiar and completely new. It wasn’t rushed or hesitant, just easy and natural, like it had always been meant to happen.

When you finally pulled back, your forehead rested against his, and you couldn’t help but laugh softly. “So… does this mean you think you’re officially off the hook for last night?”

Glen chuckled, his hands sliding down to your waist. “I don’t know about that. I think I’m gonna have to work a little harder to earn full forgiveness.”

You smirked, your hands resting lightly on his chest. “You’re lucky I’m a sucker for you, Glen.”

“And you’re lucky I plan on spending a lot of time making the last few days up to you,” he replied, his tone playful but his eyes shining with sincerity.

Before you could come up with a witty reply, Glen’s expression shifted, the teasing glimmer in his eyes giving way to something more intense. He leaned in again, his hand cupping your cheek as his lips pressed to yours.

This kiss was different—deeper, more deliberate. Your heart skipped a beat as warmth bloomed in your chest. Without thinking, your arms lifted, wrapping around his neck and pulling him closer, as if letting go wasn’t an option.

Glen’s hands slid to your waist, his touch firm yet careful, grounding you as he gently pulled you against him. The world around you seemed to melt away, leaving only the two of you in the quiet kitchen, bathed in soft morning light.

When the kiss finally broke, you stayed close, your forehead resting against his as you both caught your breath. A faint smile tugged at Glen’s lips, and his thumb brushed lightly against your jaw.

As the morning light filtered through the kitchen window, the air between you felt lighter, filled with the promise of something new and exciting. Whatever came next, you had a feeling it was going to be worth the wait.

[pathologicalreid]

milk and cookies | s.r.

in which you and Spencer try to bake gingerbread cookies with your daughter, the operative word being "try"

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: toddler tantrums, cookies, presents, christmas, talks about having another baby, it's not explicit but this is technically jareau!reader word count: 1.02k a/n: i put off doing my own christmas baking to write this so here we all are!! i hope you enjoy it!! now, i have pie to make and gifts to wrap!

In hindsight, you should’ve called it off the moment the bag of flour fell on the floor, but Mila had asked for gingerbread men. The last thing you were going to do was disappoint your daughter this close to Christmas.

You weren’t entirely sure she was going to like the taste of the cookies, but she hadn’t stopped asking about them since she saw them in one of her cartoons. At the very least, she’d enjoy decorating them, but you’d likely have to make some regular sugar cookies after this batch was done. Spencer was a fairly impressive chef, but he didn’t show the same aptitude when it came to baking, leaving you to take the lead.

Your focus on the baking and Spencer’s focus on you had left Mila unattended for just a moment too long, which led to the all-purpose flour on the ground. You assured Mila that it was fine while Spencer got the broom and dustpan. “We’ll still have enough, honey,” you consoled her, wiping away tears as quickly as they fell.

She reached out her arms, and with tears in her eyes and a pout on her face, you couldn’t deny her comfort as you picked her up from her stool and let her wipe her eyes on your sweater. “Cookie,” she whimpered softly, looking sadly at the empty countertop while Spencer rid the dustpan of flour. “Daddy, cookie,” she said mournfully, the kind of misery that could only be depicted by an almost three-year-old imagining a world without cookies.

“I know, princess. We’ll get you your cookies,” he told her, putting the broom back in the closet and rounding the counter to kiss her cheeks. The two of you had debated whether or not it would be okay to purchase a tin of gingerbread men, but a previous agreement to give your daughter nothing but the best holiday experiences led you to this point.

It certainly didn’t help that she was now old enough to understand what Christmas meant: presents and treats.

After her first year of life, you’d needed to put the kibosh on random gift-giving, particularly from Garcia. Though you still gratefully accepted Rosemary’s hand-me-downs from Matt and Kristy, Christmas and her birthday were the only times Mila was allowed to be spoiled. Of course, you and Spencer were more than willing to spoil her year-round.

The three of you resumed working through the dough, falling a bit short on the flour, but Spencer assured you it would be just fine. “What if they don’t turn out?” You asked, letting Spencer wrap his arms around your waist from behind as the two of you watched Mila twirling in her dress in the light emanating from the Christmas tree.

“Then you’ll insist on going back to the store to get the right ingredients,” Spencer whispered, swaying gently to the sound of the holiday music, a record gifted to you by Rossi when he insisted that you needed to raise Amelia with “real” music.

You hummed, “And how do you know that?”

“Because I know you,” Spencer reminded you, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “Do you think she’ll be okay knowing we didn’t get everything on her list?”

Your face warmed as you recognized the implication, “I think she was influenced into adding that to the list.” Turning around, Spencer kept his eyes on Mila while you looked up at him. Penelope had acted as the scribe for your daughter’s Christmas list. Naturally, the words ‘brother or sister’ were scrawled on the bottom of the list in glittery gel pen.

Spencer’s hands squeezed your waist gently, “Maybe next year?”

Before you had a chance to respond, a small voice rang out from the living room, “Mommy!”

You spun around, watching your toddler run to you, her two braids bounced on her shoulders as she skidded to a stop. “What is it, sweetheart?”

A shy smile spread on her face, putting her arms behind her back as she prepared herself to ask for something, “Peek?” She asked, pointing at the oven, which currently had your first batch of gingerbread women in it.

Nodding, you leaned over and turned on the oven light, letting your toddler gaze into the oven, startling you when she screamed at the sight of them.

Instinctively, Spencer reached down and scooped her off of the floor, resting her on his hip while you opened the oven to see the misshapen cookies. “Oh,” you said, the dough had spread out on the sheet, creating one slab of what was a sorry excuse for a cookie, “it’s okay, Mila.”

There must’ve been even less flour than you thought, and your daughter wasn’t standing for it, “They’re ugly!” Her exclamation took you by surprise, no more than the tears currently streaming down her face did. Gingerbread cookies were obviously not a welcome treat in your household, this is the second meltdown they’ve caused.

“I’m so sorry, honey,” you said, setting the cookie sheet on the range and setting a comforting hand on her back. You watched as she wiped her tears on Spencer’s shirt, “It’s okay, they’re just a little deformed.”

She turned back like she had an answer for you, but as soon as her eyes caught on the cookies, her face crumpled again. Somehow, your lack of flour had managed to completely devastate your two-year-old, and it was putting a pit in your chest. Spencer walked her into the living room, making sure the gingerbread blob was out of sight.

“Hey,” you whispered to her, tickling her side gently, “How about we make sugar cookies instead? Mommy’s really good at sugar cookies.”

Apprehensively, she nodded, balling up her tiny fists and rubbing at her eyes before reaching out for you. She rested her head on your chest, her eyes starting to shut as you swayed, “Ugly cookies,” she whispered.

What she couldn’t see was the smile that you and Spencer exchanged, holding in your laughter. While you understood that she was expressing her emotions the only way she knew, you couldn’t help but be amused at the phrase “ugly cookies.”

[leeknow-thoughts]

୨୧ POLY!MINLIX X READER HEADCANONS

𝝑𝝔 cw : bullet point format, smut under cut, sfw and nsfw sections, mommy kink (everyone act surprised), sub and dom dynamics, some sub!reader and some dom!reader, pegging, mxm action, poly!minlix, petplay, rimming, some stoned! sex, some stoner!minlix

𝝑𝝔 SFW :

oh my fuck literally the best bfs everrrr

just so so so much love??? it's almost overwhelming???

Minho is so gentle and he takes so much pride in knowing every single stupid thing about you and lixie

oh oh oh he also thinks it's so cute when you and Lix give him nicknames

AND LIX :c MY LIXIE PIXIE :cc

he gives so so so so much love just all the time

whether it's bc he's cuddling into your side at night or he's making you brownies or he's buying you cute little gifts

"oh I saw this and I thought you'd like it!" - Lix (as if the gift isn't an EXPENSIVE ass designer bag or perfume or novelty item)

oh yeah Minho buys you and Lix jewelry a lot... like gets you 3 matching sets for Christmas, birthdays, holidays, new years, anniversaries, etc.

but Minho is a simple man, he lovesssss quality time

oh yeah aquarium dates SO MANY AQUARIUM DATES???

the kitties love looking at the fish

oh oh oh and Lixie loves physical touch???

so the 3 of you are cuddling in bed and probably either playing Mario Kart on the Nintendo switch (which always gets complicated bc Felix rages everytime he gets hit by one of minho's red tortoise shells) or watching a movie (it can't be a horror movie bc lix will cry, and it can't be a movie where an animal dies bc Lix will cry, and it also can't be a detective movie bc Lix will get bored halfway through) or taking a little cat nap (Minho curses, tosses, turns, and talks in his sleep so most of the time he is waking you or lix up, but you 2 don't dare say anything bc it would make Minho feel bad)

oh oh oh and you never have to step foot in the kitchen bc mimo lovesss cooking for you :c

so much praise??? you could literally just breathe and they'd be telling you just how much they love you??? LIKE HELLO?!--

also also also they FUND your hobbies and interests

oh, you like an anime series?? Guess who bought you 5 new figurines of your favorite character just so you'll smile? Lixie did!!! it doesn't matter that it costed a ridiculous amount of money bc it made you smile and that's what matters to Lixie!!

oh, you want to visit Japan someday?? Guess who booked a flight there just bc he loves you sm?? Minho did!!!

oh oh oh they're def sharing their clothes with each other and with you

they think you look so cute in their clothes

𝝑𝝔 NSFW :

the most versatile duo ever oh my fuckkkkkk

oh yeah, two mommys... when they're dominant at least

felix is def nicer when he's dominant :c he's so sweetieful, he's brushing back your hair and kissing your forehead while Minho fingerfucks and spanks you

also also also pet play with them :c

a pair of cute kitty ears and a cute little butt plug??? maybe even a pretty little collar??? oh yeahhhhh

oh oh oh and they're just so full of love for you :c constantly worshipping you like you hung the fucking moon

ORAL FIXATIONNNNNN holy shit lix has the craziest and most insane oral fixation

he's CONSTANTLY sucking on your tits <3

oh oh oh ohhhh and Lix loves sucking on minho's fat cock <3

lix has the CUTEST little cock :c and lovesss when you and Minho take turns kissing it :3

OMG AND Lix lovesss getting pegged and getting his ass fucked by minho??? oh yeahhhhh he'd KILL FOR IT

also also also rimming with the two of them??? letting Minho sit on your face while you lap at his cute little hole?? IF I EXPLODEEE

oh oh oh and minho loves fingering you while you lay on his lap, especially if you have your kitty stuff on, oh oh oh and while lixie humps his leg??? LITERAL HEAVEN

and they're subby too ??? :c

subby Minho needs to be spoken of more bc yeah :c

after a long day of dance practice and Minho is tired and you and lix just want to help him feel better?

sit him down on the couch and let Lix ride him while you let him suck on your pretty tits <3 he'll love the two of you forever

oh oh oh and fuck minho's cute little hole while Lixie sucks on his cock?????

they're just so full of love for you and it shows <3

also SHOWER SEX!!! this is the only form of a quickie that they like is early morning shower sex

also also also wake and bake + sex??? they loveee especially on their mornings off or their days off?? they're taking turns eating your sweet cunt as the sun comes up >:3

[emlovessid]

@into-the-jeggyverse for the bingo prompt hide and seek, 665 words bingo masterpost

Dating your best friend's brother is great. Until you break up.

Because unlike other break ups, where you never have to see them again, there's no escaping them when they're – you guessed it – your best friend's brother. You see them at birthdays and pub trivia and Christmas.

And dinner on a random Thursday evening in October.

Dinner itself had been fine, James sitting next to Remus and Regulus sitting next to Sirius, Teddy a delightful and welcome buffer between them all.

"Alright, Teddy. Count to ten and then you come find us, okay?" Sirius says, ruffling his hair.

Covering his eyes with his small hands, Teddy begins to count, "One, two, three…" and they all scatter.

James makes a beeline straight for the hallway closet where Sirius and Remus keep their coats and umbrellas. He's just gotten settled, sitting down cross-legged in the space, when the closet door opens and Jesus Christ—

"Oh, shit. Sorry," Regulus says, eyes looking everywhere but at James.

He steps back and is seemingly about the close the door again when they hear Teddy shout from the kitchen, "Ready or not, here I come!"

Their eyes are both wide as they meet, before Regulus makes a split second decision and steps into the closet beside James and closing the door on them both.

James isn't sure whether he wants to laugh or cry. Maybe both.

It's one thing to be amicable with your ex from a distance, when there's other people around and you don't actually have to interact with them beyond a polite hello and goodbye. But it's a completely different scenario to be sitting in an enclosed space with your ex, your side pressing up against a body you still know like the back of your hand, even though you have no right to.

"Sorry," Regulus says eventually, his voice quiet. "I heard Ted and I panicked."

Chuckling, he says, "Can you imagine the horror? Losing hide and seek to a four year old."

"Oh, piss off," he laughs.

And just like that the tension between them breaks, the air around them feeling less heavy. It almost feels like they're them again.

"This feels like old times, eh? You and me, both in the closet," James says and immediately regrets it, cringeing at his own joke.

"Wow, that was bad, even for you."

"I know. Please forget I said anything," he groans.

"Gladly."

They're quiet again for a moment, Teddy's voice distant as it travels from the other end of the house.

"It does kind of feel like old times though, you cooking tonight. God, I've missed your carbonara," James says with a wistful sigh.

He's not expecting Regulus to respond with, "I miss you folding my laundry. I've never been able to get the t-shirts right."

He should leave it at that, but his mouth is already moving and the words are tumbling out, "I miss your shampoo, it always smelled better than mine." This is where he should really, really stop talking, but the words just won't stop, rolling off his tongue before his brain has even registered what he's about to say. "I miss how you'd bite my lip when we made out. The noises you'd make while I was fucking y—"

He's cut off by lips on his, a warm weight in his lap as Regulus throws a leg over him to straddle his waist. James doesn't waste any time reciprocating, hands settling on Regulus' hips as he licks into his mouth. The moan he lets out as Regulus bites down on his bottom lip is obscene, all thoughts of the game of hide and seek they're actively playing wiped from his mind as his hands slide down to grip Regulus' arse through his jeans.

And then the closet door opens.

Teddy is giggling as he shouts, "Found you!"

But Teddy's excitement is overshadowed by his dads standing behind him; Remus laughing and Sirius shaking his head as he mutters, "I fucking knew it!"

[mire1li]

Reader as Alastor's Mother part 3

So I took a little while oops Part 1!, Part 2!

𓋼 You brush his hair every morning. He pretends to find it annoying but he secretly loves it.

Whenever you'd brush his hair, you'd sometimes mention how short it was and that you couldn't do any hairstyles with it, which, on one hand, was good for his pride, but on the other hand, made you sad which also made him slightly sad. So he made the very rational decision to grow his hair out for you so that you could style it one day!

"Alastor, is your hair longer than before?"

"Hm? Is it?" he would never admit he did it for you! 𓋼 At one point, you were in the lobby with everyone else and you started wondering about Alastor's ears since he never actually mentioned anything, of course, you remembered Charlie's constant pleading to pet him, to which he always refused with his typical "Ha! No.", which made you more curious, if perhaps you could get away with it as his mother.

So, only naturally, you placed your hand atop his head and pet him, his ears lightly twitching. Charlie squealed. Of course she did.

"Oh my gosh! Can I do that too?!" she asked

"Haha! Absolutely not."

She wasn't very happy. She ended up pouting the entire day, Vaggie having to comfort her. To Charlie, it was like someone telling her not to pet a cute cat! Absolutely heartbreaking 𓋼 On that specific day, you also asked if he had a tail, and considering he had ears, it would make sense for there to be a tail too. Of course, silly Alastor was too embarrassed to answer in front of everyone, so he avoided the question!

"You're very positive today, Mother, did something good happen?"

"Nothing in particular, so about your tail-!"

"That's for me to know and you to… maybe, find out, Mother!"

You asked him about it again when you two weren't around the others, so he decided to show you! it was a nice revelation. 𓋼 You noticed that the shadow Alastor has following you around all the time, sometimes disappears, so you used that opportunity to go meet Lucifer as he invited you for tea countless times, and who are you to decline such a kind invitation?

When Alastor realised he couldn't find you anywhere in the hotel, he panicked and searched every inch of it multiple times, until Vaggie had finally had enough and asked him what happened.

"What are you doing, Alastor?"

"Searching for my Mother! She's gone missing, you see!" of course, he had a menacing look on his face.

"She mentioned she was going out for a while"

"Oh? And did she say… where?"

"Nope, well anyway, good luck!"

Yeah, Vaggie just left him. So he waited for you patiently at the hotel entrance. When you finally returned, he clung to you like his life depended on it, asking you many questions. 𓋼 I feel like whenever the Overlords had important, confidential, meetings, Alastor would immediately return to the hotel and tell you all about them, whether it be out of spite or fun. You definitely enjoyed knowing all the things going on in hell. 𓋼 You and Niffty put makeup on him when he was asleep and pinned his hair back (Alastor was pretending to sleep, just letting you two do your thing). Angel started laughing and giving him silly nicknames when he saw his hair, which inevitably caused him to shake his head very fast, removing the pin from his hair. 𓋼 Your first birthday with everyone. Of course, Alastor threw you a party. It was meant to be a surprise but considering he’s always with you, you found out because he was more secretive than before (you managed to guilt-trip him into telling you what he was hiding) 𓋼 For Christmas (if you celebrate it), you decorate Alastor with Christmas lights! He says he hates it but he definitely doesn’t, although it certainly made him a little bit scarier when he did that spooky thing with his eyes!

"Mother. Please do explain again why you decided to put christmas lights on me."

"You're more colourful this way!" you turned the lights on, so that now they were switching between multiple colours

Angel and Niffty ended up hanging a few baubles on his antlers too, before he noticed. 𓋼 Charlie had asked about your time alive so you began telling her, and everyone else who was listening, about some silly stories! When Alastor came into the lobby and heard you telling an embarrassing story about him, his ears lightly twitched and flattened against his head. He was just a little bit embarrassed.

Of course, he tried to leave again, unnoticed, however, the all-too bubbly charlie saw him and invited him to join.

"Alastor! [Name] was just telling us stories, come join us!"

"No"

"Alastor, darling, Charlie is being very kind! You need to be around these souls more! Come join."

Of course, he can't say no to you, so he ended up sitting by your side as you continued to tell the story about him, you lightly pet him and hugged him from time to time. Although his ears still stayed flat against his head. 𓋼 You wanted to make a flower crown, but since no flowers actually existed in hell, you had to make do with other things (paper). Yes, you made paper flowers and then turned them into a makeshift flower crown, which you then placed on top of Alastor's head.

"Mother?"

"Darling, I made you a paper flower crown!" 𓋼 Alternatively, you may've decided to sneak out again to find Lucifer.

"Luci, can you sneak us into Heaven?"

"Heaven?! Why?"

"I need flowers"

"Why would you need flowers?"

"To make Alastor a flower crown!"

Yeah, he wasn't too excited about that idea but he still agreed, although it did take a bit of… bribery…

"I'll… give you a kiss if you agree!"

"Let's go!" he opened the portal immediately and took you with him.

In the end, you got all the flowers you needed (after being chased out by Lute and Adam), so you were both… somewhere in hell, for sure.

"So… about what you said, before I got us into Heaven…"

"Oh, right!" You never specified where you'd kiss him so you simply kissed his cheek, he was a little disappointed but it's alright, you got Alastor a lovely flower crown! 𓋼 I feel like he would've been very afraid of spiders when he was alive, and then you were left with the task to exterminate any that entered your home (whether or not you were also afraid) 𓋼 You were quite a fan of new technology (though not completely obsessed), it made life far easier for you, though Alastor always 'confiscated' everything when he was around as he wasn't too keen on it.

"Mother, I don't see what you like about this device so much."

"It's simple to use and makes things quite a bit simpler than back when we were alive."

"I think it's pointless."

"Yes, you've always been a fan of radio… I see that obsession has stuck, even after death"

"It is not an obsession, Mother. I prefer 'fascination'!"