#and I wanted more people to be aware of it

[teaboot]

Growing up, how was your relationship with the fundamentals of conscious existence?

My earliest memory of what I would call self-awareness occurred spontaneously in the middle of my fourth birthday party, where I suddenly became alert to my existence as a separate entity surrounded by other conscious beings.

This presented to me as not dissimilar to simply being brushed along the flow of a river- experiencing life as a serious of flashbang moments and instants and sensations, like meditating to music until the individual notes break into sounds that follow no rhythm and are only noise- no past or future, only now- and then suddenly finding yourself holding a paddle in the belly of a boat with no idea what to do next.

I remember running to the body that felt safest, who I did not recognize as anything else, and asking it who all the strangers around us were. The person that I learned was my mother told me they were my aunties and uncles, and I was being silly because I KNEW them, and why was I so shy all of a sudden?

Learning to articulate myself after that instant, I remember, was immensely frustrating. Learning your first language, as I remember it, is wuite a bit like how Ive been told recovering from brain damage feels like.

YOU know what you mean. YOU know what you're saying. But there are holes where you reach for something you know MUST be there and find nothing, and must find a way to communicate using only what you have at hand. Except there are always faces looking at you, talking down to you, asking you to do tricks for them to prove you really are a real human person.

I loved art, and I'm very good at it, but GETTING good at it was the worst. I'm told I started with scribbles at six months or so, before I could walk, and at three and four I remember being immensely frustrated that I could see in my head exactly what I wanted to produce, and I didn't know how to PRODUCE it.

And simple shit, like drawing shapes and circles, developing fine motor skills. You FULLY UNDERSTAND THE ASSIGNMENT, but your hands are soft and wobbly and don't cooperate. Getting your mouth and body to obey your directions is hellish, especially when all the appliances and furniture and installations around you are built for someone easily triple your size.

Chairs are hard to sit in when you're small and cant touch the ground. Your legs dangle and you cant scoot closer to the table, and the backrest is so far back you cant use it for support, and the table comes up past your chest so your chin is amost in your plate and your dumb clumsy hands cant hold a big spoon or fork in a way that feels natural or elegant so you end up smearing shit EVERYWHERE and getting yapped at for having your elbows on the counter.

Reading people was interesting. Most people are condescending and plastic when you're small, and you can tell when they're being saccharine and fake, but you're told the polite thing is to believe what they say and be polite back. I used to try using big sentences on purpose just to het them to leave me alone. "What a pretty girl! Can you say Hello?" was the most common ask I can recall. Id answer with the floweriest thing I could think of, usually, "I'm very well, thank you for asking, how are you?", because people only ask you interesting questions after you do well enough on their tests to prove you're people.

Being small was very tiring, and very frustrating, and becoming aware of myself in my own head probably made everything a lot worse overall.

No regrets, though. From what I can recall, life is far more enjoyable when you're aware of it occurring. Time can't slow down until you know it's there, I think

Being a baby full of instincts felt like living as a live grenade. Being a child was far harder, but more Full. More Human. A LOT more like adulthood than infancy, and I was very determined to remember that.

If any of that makes sense

[lyricwritesprose]

If I recall correctly, Gordon is lowkey frustrated that he never manages to beat Batman to the check.

Which makes a lot of sense. I mean, by this time Batman is Gordon's friend, however weird a friend he may be, they have faced the most nerve-wracking things Gotham has to offer and they've faced a lot of them together, the least he can do is pick up the tab once in a while. I mean, okay, clearly whoever Batman is, he isn't hurting for cash . . . unless he spent all of it on that car . . . actually Gordon knows by this time that Batman is more than slightly fanatic about what he does and he might be spending all his money on cars and batarangs and sleeping on the floor when he's not out batting—or possibly the urban legends are right and he sleeps upside down? Well, whatever the case, Gordon will pick up the check this year. Definitely. He just wants to, okay?

Meanwhile, of course, Bruce never lets anyone pay for anything, because he is aware that for other people money runs out and he doesn't want that to happen. So he is willing to use every skill he has, including the ninja stuff, to make sure that Gordon doesn't get the check first.

It doesn't occur to either man to split the bill.

Holiday Knights The New Batman Adventures

[thebroccolination]

GMMTV ISN’T CONTRACTUALLY FORCING THEIR ACTORS INTO THE CLOSET

Recently, I saw a fan from the U.S. claiming on TikTok that GMMTV contractually forces their queer actors to keep their sexual identities a secret. Why else would there be so few openly queer actors???

So, first of all, it’s not like the few openly queer actors in GMMTV had to break some corporate closet door to escape, and then GMMTV went, “Aw, shucks. Well, I guess y’all win. We’ll keep paying you, you little rainbowy scamps.” There are only a few of them because being openly queer in Thailand’s media industry is still fucking hard.

Fluke Natouch of Until We Meet Again (and OhmFluke 1.0) fame left his agency years ago to work freelance so he could navigate his career on his own terms. When openly gay director New of Studio Wabi Sabi approached him to offer the role of Pharm, Fluke very actually asked New if he was sure he wanted an openly gay actor in his series. This was a conversation that two openly gay men had! No sexualities whatsoever were hidden in the having of this conversation! Or in the public recounting of it later!

Fluke asked New this because there are still roadblocks for openly queer actors, and as a freelancer, he knew this. Some sponsors are hesitant to have a queer face on their commercials, and some of the industry’s upper management are old bigoted guys holding the purse strings. Why do you think so many of these guys have to appear straight-presenting?

Interfans contribute to the glorification of heteronormativity, too. How many times have I seen interfans lusting over the KinnPorsche actors as “real men” or excusing Joss’s myriad issues over the years because he’s “so hot”?

How many femme actors are given roles with complexity? How many are shunted into comedic roles or tragic figures? How many interfans point at Pharm and complain that He Cries Too Much? You’ve all seen it. “P’DEEEEEAN.”

Regardless of what interfans claim to want, the series that tend to do best nowadays feature straight-presenting actors. Bad Buddy, 2gether, My School President, KinnPorsche, etc.

Ironically, the series that lean hard on queer themes tend not to do as well.

So you can see why most choose to keep at least a veneer of heterosexuality or else keep the glass closet door closed.

New cast Fluke and Cooheart in Until We Meet Again because Studio Wabi Sabi was both agency and production company owned by New, and New could do whatever he wanted. SWS was very much a safe haven for queer actors of all levels of openness.

And regardless of my complaints about New’s directing and perpetual insistence that he do all the editing and sound design himself (stop, man, I’m begging you, learn how to delegate), he has been working for years to create a welcoming space for queer actors in an industry that is still extremely cautious, and I’ll always respect him for that.

As much as people love to hate a corporate body, GMMTV’s myriad flaws are more based in the categories of “terrible organization” and “poor management” and “haphazardly throwing a thousand medicore, half-baked projects at a wall until one of them sticks by chance and then celebrating that surprise hit into the ground”—not “forcing their actors into the closet.”

As far as I’m aware, the only khuujin (“imaginary couple”) in the industry who’s Openly Dating is PorscheArm, and they were already out and together before the fame, so they’re more Public Figures Advocating for Social Progress than they are BL actors. I’d say ZeeNuNew are borderline, because while they seem increasingly more cavalier with their subtlety, even they’ve been excruciatingly careful in their labeling over the past few years. (“Are you a couple?” “You could call us that.”)

And there’s a reason for the caution. Things are changing for the better, but progress is slow.

In an early, post-SOTUS interview from 2016, infant actors KristSingto were point-blank asked by TV hosts if they’re “normal” with a heavy insinuation that they’d be mocked and laughed at unless they asserted their heterosexuality in front of a live audience. Not exactly a warm and kind environment to say, “Actually…” As the first in the line of fire, KristSingto were constantly bombarded with invasive questions and suspicion and homophobia, and it’s only been nine years since SOTUS aired.

Now, you’ve got the evolution of hosts making lewd innuendos at khuujin and trying to “trick” them into Coming Out for content. Yet, all the khuujin seem to know how to play the game Juuuust Right to avoid saying anything concrete and damning, leaving just enough crumbs for fans to pick up on and enjoy.

Because look how the few openly queer actors are treated. Bruce Sirikorn Kananurak’s best-known role is framed villain Aey in Lovely Writer, and Gun Korawit Boonsri is regularly cast as Sassy Gay Side Character. Cooheart gets variety in his roles, but he’s with Studio Wabi Sabi under New, an openly gay CEO who famously allows his actors a ton of freedom in their image. And it says a lot to me that Cooheart didn’t make the move over to GMMTV along with his colleagues last year.

So, y’know, of course I’m not saying GMMTV is paradise. While he was with SWS, Boun said he wanted to get tattoos but New advised him against it because it might have limited potential roles. So New didn’t forbid it, he just cautioned Boun against doing it. Meanwhile, he implied recently that he’d like to dye his hair blond again, but GMMTV has to approve things like that. Hence, you’ll hear about some GMMTV actors who just get a tattoo done or cut their hair without telling anyone and then they show up for work with an insouciant shrug; the beg forgiveness>>>ask permission move.

So GMMTV does have some stupid public image rules, and they have also discouraged certain actors from interacting with each other in case it drives their profit margins down (see: The Chronicles of Management Driving KristGun Apart—I’m making a post about it, don’t worry). And I’m sure the Grammy Powers That Be go ://// if a GMMTV actor says, “Hey, I’m thinking of telling the world I’m bisexual tomorrow,” and go, “Maybe don’t though.” It’s just not something they’re Contractually Obligated to hide; it’s more common sense.

Like I said, GMMTV’s real crimes in my eyes are things like 1) repeatedly trying to push men like Foei and Joss who’ve proven themselves to be toxic nightmares to women and queer people over and over throughout the years, 2) overworking their most popular actors to physical and mental exhaustion, 3) barely promoting their GL productions despite their obvious popularity, 4) shoving their Not Singers onstage with zero vocal training, 5) prioritizing trends over quality, 6) having Zero Plan of what to do Most of the Time, 7) hiring on more and more actors without hiring enough managers to support them, and more.

There’s no “you gotta be Heterosexual-Presenting or else” clause in their contracts. They’re just actors in a conservative Asian country where marriage equality has only recently been recognized, and that’s not even close to having social equality. Plenty of western actors don’t want the extra baggage of being Openly Queer (see the Kit Connor debacle), let alone in a country controlled by military and monarchy.

Thailand isn’t a queer paradise.

Hell, look at Japan: they invented BL and GL and their government isn’t even close to recognizing marriage equality. To the majority of Japanese people, BL and GL are embarrassing subgenres that “Normal People” (ie: what heterosexuals are called in Japan—yes I’m serious) would never publicly admit to enjoying. I know this because I was a Queer Foreigner in Japan for eleven years and my whole existence was weird.

As far as I’ve heard from friends who work with GMMTV, it’s a far more progressive company than many interfans give it credit for. Many of the staff are openly queer, a ton of their directors are openly queer, and their actors who are queer are either open with the understanding that there are limitations to that choice or closeted to protect their job opportunities. Once you’re Openly Queer, you’re pushed into a very different and much smaller box, and they all know it.

So y’know. GMMTV actors aren’t All Straight, and the ones who are queer aren’t Closeted by Force. GMMTV is just a company of people with a wide tapestry of nuance, just like you’d expect from any large organization of artistic and business folk producing queer media for a general audience.

In 2025, let’s please abandon the myth that GMMTV is an evil kpop company. <3

It’s a sloppy, poorly run nightmare factory. :D

EDIT: Also, director X confirmed on Twitter last year that GMMTV has no anti-dating policy.

[simpjaes]

Thoughts on jealous Jay? Like is he gonna give silent treatment and then fuck you senseless or talk it out calmy and be a cutie and sulk like a baby till you give him attention and needs alot of affirmation (ITS A HORRIBLE ASK I DONT KNOW HOW TO DESCRIBE IT OKAY IM SO SORRY)

Oh.....oh. what if...both?

WARNING: could be considered dub con to some people, be aware of that. not proof read.

Three days.

It's been three whole days since your boyfriend last spoke to you, and your mind has been running in all sorts of directions to determine why. Three days, that's how long it took you to get it. That's how long it took you to wonder if Jay is planning to break up with you over it.

Over Sunghoon, and the way he called you mid-sex with Jay all those nights ago. He was just asking if you took notes during the last class since he skipped, that's all. You didn't even answer the call, but it's the fact that Jay glanced over at your ringing phone and saw his motherfucking name.

It was eleven at night. Why did he have any reason to call you so late? "Jay..." You make the same attempt you have been making each day, every hour, as much as you can to try and get him to respond to you.

And it's the fact that he still shows up every day like usual, like he's not mad at you. Yet, he leaves every night without a work towards you, not a goodnight kiss, not a hug, not even a "sleep well." "Are you going to break up with me?" You meekly add, noting how he doesn't even glance in your direction and, instead, sits on your couch as if you're the one invading his space. For the first time in three days, she shoots his eyes to you, narrowing them. Finally, some emotion. Yet, still...no words. No reassurance. Nothing to make you feel better, or to indicate that Sunghoon is the reason, or that he's not breaking up with you. Instead, you find yourself backing away from him as he storms up at you. Back, back, back until you're hitting the kitchen counter and unable to escape from him. He says nothing, he doesn't even kiss you, and instead you feel his hands pulling your shorts down too fast to argue. Then, you're being flipped around, further proof that he can't even stand to look at you right now. And, so, you let him. Whatever he needs, whatever he wants if it means he will finally go back to normal. You're thankful he does too. Though it hurts knowing it took him plunging into you from behind, pressing your face into the cold counter to actually open up about why he's upset. He had to treat you like you mean nothing in order to remember you matter, much, much more to him than either of you can imagine. And now, as you sit somewhat numb against his chest, he whispers the warmth back to you. Apologetic, guilty for having let his jealousy get the best of him. "Baby, I-" He pauses, knowing there's nothing he can do to erase the fact that he just fucked you without any care or gentleness. "I had it my head that you...were going t-" "It's Sunghoon, isnt it?" You blurt, looking at your boyfriend and the way he pouts and relishes in his own guilt. There's a small nod from here, a shameful one. "You ignored me for three days over Sunghoon?" Another shameful nod, proving to you just how insecure your boyfriend is and how much he probably needs you to reassure him that there's no one like him in your life.

[csainzsgirly]

soooo carlos x ex bestfriend reader

trying to win her back after he royally fucked up his chances with her

lots of pining, angst + delicious smut when he finally worms his way way back into her heart

smut (18+), p in v, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, carlos being super hot as you remember him being a twink when he was younger, him being down bad and doing everything to speak to you.

also: I usually don't write angst, so sorry if its baddd :(

Waking up on the first of January at six in the morning without a pounding headache and a throat as dry as a desert, was a first for you. But it was a very welcome first. No big party on the last day of the year, no throwing back many glasses of wine and switching to vodka halfway before throwing up your guts in a nasty club bathroom. You felt slightly tired, yet energized at the same time as you got out of bed. It was freezing, goosebumps instantly showing up on your skin when you made your way to the windows on bare feet. Orange and red pastels, a thick blanket of snow, and the Dolomites were greeting you when you shoved the curtains aside. The sun was starting to rise above the mountains, the valley slowly starting to wake up. Leaving Madrid for this - snow, winter, a ski resort, wasn't what you originally had in mind for 2025.

But you had to leave. There were so many bad memories that clung to the city you were born in, where you had always stayed because you were afraid of change, afraid to go somewhere new and step out of your comfort zone. It had felt cringe to tell yourself: this was going to be your year, however, you needed to grab life by the balls for once. You threw on a knitted sweater and pushed your feet into some fluffy slippers, making your way to the kettle to get some tea and warm up the place a little. You had moved to Val Gardena mid-December to start working at Lum D'or, a luxurious chalet in the Dolomites. Cleaning other people's mess wasn't exactly a luxurious job, but it paid very well, especially as the chalet was ridiculously expensive and the people who were staying there often left big tips. This job is supposed to be temporary, to help you on your feet again. You want to go far, far away as soon as you managed to fill your bank account to the brim.

The owners of the chalet, Mr and Mrs Lombardi, were nice and put in a good word for you when you went apartment hunting in the valley. You signed your contract two days ago, after they were satisfied with your work. It was easy, the area was beautiful, and the people here didn't know you. It was easier to hide your emotions, it was easier to be someone you were not. Mrs. Lombardi let you know last week that new guests would arrive on the first day of the new year in the afternoon. The guests had provided her with a list of provisions, which you had ordered and which will arrive today as well. Among the guests was an athlete, she told you, but you were aware that celebrities and sport icons often came here. You would probably barely see them anyway.

After having a cup of tea and some breakfast, you showered and got dressed to face the cold. The chalet was a ten-minute walk from your apartment. The cold air was biting into your cheeks, snow scrunching under your boots. You unlocked the door of the chalet, going through your usual routine - starting up the fireplace in the living room and turning on the heating, making sure the marble kitchen was spotless and mopping the tile floor again. You fell into an easy rhythm of non-stop cleaning for an hour, until the truck with the provisions arrived. The driver helped you unload it into the hallway, from which you would carry it to the kitchen and divide it over the fridge and the drawers. It took more time than you thought it would, but it was barely past twelve, so you had enough time to go upstairs and finish the beds. The chalet hosted eight guests in four bedrooms, and you were notified that all rooms would be occupied.

You were lost in thought while folding the towels and checking the bathrooms, not noticing the cars turning up on the driveway. You were busy with the last bedroom, vacuuming the rug once more and doing the same to the lounging set on the balcony. "Excuse me?" a knock on the door and a voice behind you nearly gave you a heart attack. You clutched the pillow of the chair to your chest, looking over at a man standing in the doorway with his suitcase. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," he smiled politely. "I assume it's okay we are arriving already?" The guests were early, great. "Hi, of course," you breathed, calming down your heartbeat. "I will be gone in five minutes," you said. "Take your time, don't worry," he said, parking his suitcase around the corner. "La limpiadora todavía está aquí, ningún intruso o algo así." Great, Spaniards. And they were over three hours early.

You reached for your phone in your back pocket, seeing a text from Mrs. Lombardi on your screen: Dear, the guests are on their way already. Is the chalet ready?

You gnawed at your bottom lip and quickly replied to her that you were finishing up and would offer them assistance in case they needed it, before leaving.

You took the vacuum cleaner with you and placed it in storage again, hearing the guests downstairs. They were speaking in Spanish, suitcases rolling in, car doors slamming close. You fixed your shirt a little, walking past the other bedrooms to do a quick check and make sure you hadn't forgotten anything in the rush. You pulled the bedding a little tighter over the mattress, fluffing up the pillows a little more and checking the bathroom a last time. You were glad you did, as a couple of towels were left unfolded. Footsteps in the hallway and towards the bedroom told you to hurry. "I'll be out of your hair soon!" you called from the bathroom, stacking the towel before swiftly moving to the other. "Please, don't worry." You froze in your spot, recognizing the voice. The deep, rich sound, the accent when he spoke English.

"I just wanted to apologize for our early arrival, I'm aware that wasn't communicated well, so I-...," he stood in the doorway, looking at you with the towel in your hands. You hadn't seen Carlos in years. You hadn't talked to him in years. He had become a stranger to you, and you had prayed for the universe to keep it that way. But the universe seemingly had other things in mind. "Y/N," he said softly, brown eyes clearly confused and surprised at the same time. You fixed your posture, bitterness filling your mouth. "Mr. Sainz. It's a pleasure to host you in Lum D'or. Please let me know if there's anything I can do for you and your guests before leaving. Else, I will return during my working hours listed on the schedule in the kitchen." The words rolled off your lips in a practiced way, and you put down the last towel a little harder than you meant to. Carlos was still staring at you. "If there's nothing I can do for you, I'd appreciate it if you could step aside," you said, brushing past him soon after.

Your fingers were trembling when you walked down the stairs, taking a deep breath. He was the reason you wanted to leave Madrid behind you as far as you could. Everything fell apart when he left Madrid to race in Formula 1. He had promised you you were part of his dream, but instead he had left and didn't call once. Your friendship was over, as if it never existed in the first place. It had left you heart broken when you were nineteen. And now you were the cleaner of his goddamn holiday chalet. You slipped into your boots and your jacket, leaving through the back door to not disturb his friends. The cold air cleared your mind up a little, and you just hoped, you really hoped, that these three weeks would be over soon and your life would go back to the way it was: Carlos Sainz-less. The thought of it caused your heart to squeeze in your chest, and a lump in your throat became hard to swallow.

You got into your apartment again, relief spreading through your body. Your eyes were burning with salty tears. Seeing him again hurt more than you thought. There were things he wanted to say, you could see it in his eyes, but you knew nothing would ever be good enough to fix how you felt about him and what happened. It felt like you had never been good enough for him, like you weren't worthy enough of being a friend while he traveled the world for Formula 1. Not once you were invited to come over, not once you were texted with an update about his life. All calls went to voicemail. He wanted nothing to do with you, and now you wanted nothing to do with him anymore. It was the hardest thing ever, especially as he was a God in Spain and on every billboard and poster in Madrid. His face was on every corner of your hometown, whether it was an ad at the bus station or one of his race cars in the Santander location a block over.

Ten years later, he was still everywhere.

You turned off the nerves when you went back inside the chalet the day after they arrived. No cars on the porch told you they were all gone, and you hoped to get everything done before they'd come back. Carlos and his friends seemed to be neat. You followed your usual routine again, cleaning the kitchen and the living room before moving up to the bedrooms. You made the beds and cleaned the bathrooms, rolling up the towels like yesterday. You entered the room where Carlos was staying, swallowing hard as you looked around, seeing his belongings. You were about to leave, when your eye caught something laying on the desk in the corner. It was a chocolate bar, one you used to love as a kid. Spanish candy from the old days, candy you and Carlos used to share when you were younger and you were watching him at the karting track. A note was scribbled next to it.

Solías amarlos cuando éramos niños.

With a scoff, you shoved both the note and the chocolate bar in the bin next to the desk. But Carlos wasn't easily defeated. He knew you were avoiding him and you were purposely coming in later to do your work without having a chance to see him. The next two days, he left you flowers or something else that reminded you of your friendship when you were kids. He left more notes, asking you to please let him talk to you, to let him explain. They ended up in the bin every time. You just wanted these three weeks to be over as soon as possible. You felt relieved each time you entered the chalet and it was empty, meaning another day would pass by without you having an awkward encounter with Carlos. Today, however, was different. You thought everyone was out of the house, but you never noticed Carlos was having a recovery day in the heated pool and the sauna.

He nearly scared you to death when he suddenly showed up in the bathroom, a towel around his waist, ready to get into the shower. Your cheeks heat up as your eyes meet his defined chest, strong shoulders and firm arms. "Don't leave," he softly said, already anticipating your next move as soon as you saw him. "No," you pull your arm back as he reached for it. "Y/N... Please, can we just talk?" he asked. "We can't," you said. "I'll come back later to finish the bathroom." His touch burned through your shoulder when he reached for you again. "Five minutes is all I'm asking for," Carlos said, towering over you as he took a step closer to you. You felt the counter of the sink press against your lower back. "You need to stop," you bit. "You left me ten years ago after we were friends since birth. You hurt me," your finger pricked into his chest. "Stop hurting me and leave me alone," you added softly, swallowing hard.

His hair was still a little damp, raven strands messily hanging over his forehead. His features were more defined, more manly, more handsome. You always new Carlos Sainz would grow up to be a hearthrob. He learned to control the scruff on his face, his chest smoothly shaven. The brown eyes remained the same. He was hurt, you could see that, but so were you. "I'm sorry," Carlos said, stepping back. "I want you to know that," his voice was soft as well. "You should've let me know earlier," you said, trembling a little. You looked away from him and made your way out of the room, not looking back before leaving. "Wait!" Carlos' footsteps were audible on the stairs. He was dressed in a couple of sweats quickly, and he moved a sweater over his head while following you around the corner. "I need your help with the coffee machine," he blurted out.

"You-... What?" you asked, your coat already in your hands, ready to leave. "It's not working properly. The owners told me to ask you," Carlos said. "It looked like it was working just fine this morning," you reply. "Well, it stopped working after this morning." He pushed his hands in the pockets of his sweats, a stubborn look on his face you clearly recognized from when he was younger. You drop your coat without a word and move to the kitchen to check up on the coffee machine. It was a ridiciously huge thing, and you were sure they had plucked it out some kind of extravaganza coffee place. You switched the machine on and watched it run warm before you selected the button to make a cappucino. "See, it's not doing anything," Carlos said, standing so close behind you, you could feel the heat radiating from his body. "You're hovering," you mutter. "I'm not," he replied. "Did you give it some time to work?" you asked.

"Of course I did," he stubbornly said. "Did you think of refilling the water tank or do I need to do that for you too when I'm here in the morning?" you look at him from over your shoulder, an annoyed scowl visible on your face that caused the corners of his mouth to go upwards. "You did this on purpose," you state soon after, taking a large cup to refill the water tank of the coffee machine. "I swear I didn't," Carlos held his hands up in defeat, not able to stop the grin from showing up on his face. "What's so funny, then?" you shove him with your shoulder. "You still do the thing with your eyebrow when you're annoyed with me," his face softens a little again. You don't reply to that, instead putting the cup under the machine and letting it make a coffee. "It's working again," you say. "My shift is over," you add, making your way to the hall again to get your coat and bag and leave. Carlos watched you leave, knowing he needed to break down the wall you built around yourself further.

He continued leaving things you loved for you in his room. Every morning, you found something else on the table or the desk. He left more flowers, candy, small gifts. You wanted him to stop it, because you weren't going to give in. His holiday in Val Gardena was almost over, and you couldn't wait for the moment he and his friends would pack everything and leave, so you could continue your life and not think about him again. The problem was, you started to become curious for what he left for you every morning. You stopped throwing everything in the bin. You kept the notes he wrote with them. And it needed to stop. You could sense Carlos was around the house when you made your way upstairs. You started on the other rooms before arriving at his. He was outside on the balcony, reading something while having a coffee. Something shiny was waiting for you on the table.

It was a necklace with a little helmet, his helmet. The one you used to wear when you were a kid and joined him every weekend at the track. You were convinced you had lost it somewhere.

"I kept it," Carlos says, standing in the doorway. The cold air from outside caused you to shiver, and he was quick to close the door behind him. "You don't have the right to do this to me," you reply. "You're leaving in two days, and then what?" you continue. "Then give me a chance to explain," Carlos steps closer to you. "Nothing you say can fix it all, Carlos, don't you get that?" you slightly raise your voice. "You think a couple of presents will just make me forget what happened?" his eyes briefly look away from you. "I was young and stupid, okay," Carlos started. "And I'm sorry," he said. "And I was scared," he admitted. "Scared of dragging you into my crazy life. I don't regret that, but I deeply regret never speaking about it and just leaving." The tension in your shoulders sunk slightly. "The truth is, I didn't know how to tell you. I got a new phone, my socials were handled by a manager, everything changed."

You swallowed hard, unsure what to do or what to say. "I went back to look for you, but your parents said you moved and wanted nothing to do with me anymore. I can't blame you for that," he let out a humorless chuckle. "Look, I get it if you don't want see me ever again," Carlos continued, taking another step towards you. You had to crane your neck to look into his eyes. "But I wanted you to hear this, my apology, because I owed you one. That's all," he said. His fingers brushed over your cheek. "I've always loved you, and I wish I didn't hurt you so much," his deep brown eyes roamed over your face. "You better not be messing with me now," you whisper, feeling his hot breath ghost over your lips, the tip of his nose against yours. "I'm not, we both wouldn't be able to handle that," Carlos says. "Please," he adds, his lips lightly brushing over yours, making you feel dizzy and lightheaded at the same time. Your fingers curl into the material of his sweater.

"Let me kiss you," he finished, firmly connecting your lips with the most delicious kiss. You had kissed only once before, when you were teenagers and wondering what was so special about it. You hadn't understand back then, but now you did. Warmth spread through your chest, a shiver running up your spine when his hand cupped the side of your neck, the other squeezing your waist to pull you closer. Carlos' tongue licked your lower lip before deepening the kiss, your fingers disappearing into his thick hair, tugging on the roots of the strands. A soft whimper escaped you when his mouth trailed down your jaw, to your neck. "Let me make it up to you," his voice rasped in your ear, weakening your knees. He lifted you up with ease, planting you on the edge of the bed. Your fingers pulled on his sweater, lifting it up as far as you could reach. Carlos tugged it over his head effortlessly, his muscles flexing as he threw the piece of clothing on the floor.

There was no denying that he got hot. Really hot. He leaned down to kiss you again, your hands roaming over his naked chest, feeling the smooth planes of muscles, nails tickling his abs. You were getting rid of your clothes soon after, sitting in front of him in a simple black bra and thong, your face heating up at the way he looked at you. To him, you were breathtaking. You had grown into such a beautiful woman, the pink apples of your cheeks and pretty eyes looking up at him causing his cock to stir in his jeans. Long gone was the slim girl who always carried his helmet around. "You're so gorgeous," Carlos says, warm palms feeling your curves, your hips, the flesh of your thighs. "Always knew you'd grow up a maneater," he teases, a grin tugging on his lips at the giggle he'd pull out of you. You reach back for the clasp of your bra, dropping it on the floor soon after. Your back arches as his thumb brushes over your areola's.

His lips continue their path down your body, hot and wet kisses dropped on your skin before he reached your tits, squeezing and massaging the skin, teasing your nipples with his tongue and teeth. It was enough to create an insatiable friction between your thighs, making you whimper and whine impatiently, especially when his mouth traveled south, but not fast enough. A high-pitched oh! was dragged from your throat when his hands firmly part your thighs and his mouth delves in, tongue burying in your pussy without hesitation, licking up and sucking your clit into his mouth. Your fingers disappear into his hair again, nails scratching his scalp in attempt to push his head even deeper between your legs. Carlos groaned at the taste of your cunt on his tongue, flicking the muscle around your hole before dipping in. The obscene sounds of his wet mouth on your pussy filled the room, bouncing off the walls and having you writhing beneath him.

Your other hand reaches for something to hold onto, the poor pillows suffocating in the grip of your fist before they were tossed aside. "Shit, Carlos," you cry, causing his eyes to flicker up to the image beneath him. You looked so beautiful with your head thrown back, your back arched, hips bucking up against his face for more, more, more. "You taste so good," he praises, taking a playful nibble of your thigh, leaving his mark before his tongue laps and slurps and sucks at your cunt again. His teeth tease your clit before he sucks the nub of nerve endings into his mouth again, white-hot pleasure clouding your vision. Nobody had made you cum like that in a long time, the deliciousness gripping all ends of your nervesystem and making you tremble slightly. Your toes curled, but you felt the butterflies again when he sat up and unclasped the belt around his jeans. Carlos zipped the denim down, getting rid of the clothes he was still wearing, freeing his cock from his underwear.

You grew even hotter under his stare, watching his fist close around his fat cock, which he stroke once or twice before hovering over you. The heat was radiating off his body, your palms feeling his hot skin when your hands moved over his shoulders and to his biceps. He felt heavy atop of you, the weight of his body pushing you deeper into the mattress. He slipped inside you so effortlessly, stilling slightly as he was buried inside you. You fit so well together, he couldn't believe you didn't do this earlier. Carlos withdrew his hips slightly before rolling them into yours again, your teeth biting into his shoulder at how good he felt. His cock was stretching you out, your walls burning a little with both pleasure and pain. Your smaller body fitted perfectly underneath his, his broad back almost making it unable for you to wrap your arms around him and claw at his back. His lips were nipping at your neck again, low grunts audible against the shell of your ear.

You moved together so well, moans and growls getting louder with each slam of his hips into yours. His fingers dug into your hips, into the back of your thighs as he lifted one of your legs higher up, spreading you further open and splitting you with his cock. You felt on the brink of another orgasm already, babbling his name and barely able to form coherent sentences. He was fucking you so well, you felt drunk, spinning out of reality and chasing your climax so desperately. "That's it, baby. Can feel your pussy squeezing me," Carlos grunts in your ear, fingers slipping between your bodies to rub firm circles over your clit. Your lips connect in an intimate kiss, your pussy gripping and sucking him in, desperate for both of your releases now. His cock was throbbing against your walls, and his thrusts got a little firmer, harder, deeper, making your eyes roll back and high-pitched moans harder to control. Your thighs tremble slightly at the intensity of your orgasm, weak moans escaping you as his body tenses in the best way possible before releasing.

Your toes curl again as he slowly thrusts through both of your orgasms. Your thighs are sticky with your mixed juices, which he's still keeping inside with his cock. "The universe brought us together again," he muses against your neck, leaving warm kisses up your skin before he gathered the strength to lift his head. "I think it did," you nodded, roaming your hands over his chest. "I knew it as soon as I saw you when I arrived," Carlos continued. "I'm not planning to leave so suddenly now," he said, caressing your face lovingly. "I want us to work." You look into his eyes, seeing that he truly meant it. "Stay a little longer," you propose. "Don't leave yet. We can catch up before your season starts again." Carlos nods slowly, agreeing with the plan. "Today was supposed to be a recovery day," he hums, kissing your shoulder again. "What time are the others coming back?" you ask. "After lunch," Carlos replied, lifting his wrist to look at the time. "We have some time." You push his chest to flip the two of you around, your heart skipping a beat at the sight of Carlos, your Carlos, beneath you. "Unless you want to recover," your nails tickle his chest slightly.

"Definitely not."

[paulthebukkit]

I agree with most of this... It seems even more clear in season 2 that this is all about capitalism now that the characters themselves aren’t solely preoccupied with fighting each other to the death for scraps, and have become more aware of who really benefits from the whole game.

The Xs and the Os got pitted against each other but they still managed to (attempt to) revolt against the game itself instead of fighting each other, which was cathartic to see… but something I noticed that I thought was interesting is how so many of the Xs supported the revolt while not a single one of the Os were willing to step in, since they were willing to conform to the system anyway instead of punching up. They keep saying “one more game” but their boundless greed and disregard for others would clearly ensure that they’re all dead before the end ever comes.

In season 1, people had a chance to go home and they took it before willingly re-entering the game because their lives outside were so empty. In season 2, that choice isn’t there, and the participants who want out are forced to endure the game anyway because the majority of others are quite literally voting against their own interests. There’s enough money for everyone to live a good life at this point if they vote to leave, yet half the people there instead vote to kill others in the same situation as them for more. I liked what they did in season 1 at the time but season 2 seems a whole lot more relevant right now.

I also think there’s also something to be said about how the people who thrive in the game more than anyone else are the ones who are the most ruthless and manipulative (with some exceptions since this is fiction and we need some characters to root for lmao). We saw this in season 1 with the finance guy who survived until the final game and we’re seeing something similar in season 2 with just about everyone on the Os team. It’s social Darwinism; It’s only natural that people will be rewarded for having sociopathic qualities in a game that favors them.

Seems very relevant to capitalism now more than ever

[ms-demeanor]

I appreciate you starting a conversation about the harms of homeopathy, and I just want to mention that homeopathy/alternative medicine is also largely BS when it comes to treating our pets. A lot of essential oils and herbal remedies are toxic to cats and dogs even in small quantities, but people still try using them as flea and tick prevention because they don’t want to use “toxic” medicine that actually works. CBD isn’t FDA approved for dogs because it’s not been proven to be effective and safe, but a lot of folks have pushed me to try it for my dog because he’s on medication for extreme anxiety. Some folks will seek out animal chiropractors to “treat” their dog’s IVDD or hip dysplasia instead of pursuing pain management or surgical treatment. People think that vets look at their pets and see dollar signs instead of an animal needing treatment and turn to snake oil salesmen instead. It’s maddening.

Yeah that makes me fucking crazy.

@drferox and @why-animals-do-the-thing are great resources on tumblr who have spent a ton of time discussing animal woo in the past; both have slowed down on posting because life is hard and tumblr is tumblr, but both have done a lot of excellent writing about things like animal training, raw pet food, vaccination, and how to be a good human to your pets. If you've got questions about animals, search their archives and you're probably going to find a ton of useful information.

Folks, I swear veterinarians aren't coming for your wallets and they are generally criminally under-compensated for the work that they do. They're brilliant professionals who are driven by passion and fucked by the market.

Sorry i went to go find some studies on dogs and cbd and i ended up finding a reprint of a small study from the american holistic veterinary medical association and I found this on the pdf and i'm going to murder somebody

for those who are not aware young living is an essential oil mlm largely targeting mormon housewives that was started by a man whose child died being drowned at birth in an at-home-water-birthing incident and who himself likely died of cancer he tried to treat with essential oils.

This is one of those things that's like a big flashing neon sign that the study/journal you're looking at is a hot pile of bullshit.

Anyway. Yeah. Research supporting the safety and effectiveness of CBD on dogs is pretty thin on the ground. Your pets depend on you. The choices you make determine their health and wellbeing.

Listening to woo-peddlers who tell you not to vaccinate, or who hype up untested "healthy grain free diets," or who promote and sell cbd in absence of evidence of its effectiveness is putting your pets hands in the health of someone who doesn't care about your pet, they just care about profit.

Also, while I'm here: don't feed your dog grain free foods unless they have a diagnosed allergy, grain free foods can lead to liver and kidney problems, dogs are more omnivorous, not obligate carnivores like cats and grain is not bad for their diet nor unnatural for them to eat, and there are very few brands that have done decades of feeding tests on dogs (Royal Canin, Hills Science Diet, Pedigree, Eukanuba, and Iams) and none of them are Blue Buffalo.

Appeals to nature are extremely common in online woo discussions of pet food and vet care. Your dog is not a wolf and does not need to eat like a wolf. Your cat is not a lion and does not need to claim territory like a lion.

Vaccinate your pets, don't let them wander, feed them tested diets, and listen to your vet's advice on their care.

[salemlunaa]

ᥫ᭡∘˚That extra push for pure consciousness ᥫ᭡∘˚

The secret to being victorious like those with the success stories…

∘˚ᥫ᭡PART I | THE VICTORIOUS

Now that it’s 2025 a lot of you have had enough, although time is a concept you’re a little mad at the fact that you didn’t induce pure consciousness last year and you’re NOT taking no for an answer this time around.

Now when we look at this community. Amidst the complaining and some negativity, there are so many success stories, those who were victorious.

Those who went to bed with a body they hated and woke up with their desired look. Those who went to bed in a one bedroom apartment and woke up in a mansion. Those who went to bed hating their family and friends and woke up with their desired relationships with their desired people. Those who went to bed with nothing to their name and woke up with a fat ass bank account.

Those who with their backs against the wall and their outer man experiencing the most treacherous of circumstances made it out of the trenches with one induction of pure consciousness.

You wanna know how to get there. Spoiler alert: you ARE there

∘˚ᥫ᭡ PART II | THE LINK BETWEEN THEM ALL

Before you will ever follow the path of being successful, you must realise what they all had in common.

They realise they that all this complaining was doing nothing for them. They decided that in that moment they had their dream life, no matter what they saw, they were a master at inducing pure consciousness. No matter what the 3D showed their outer man, their inner man was victorious.

No more reaffirming failures, no more revelling in the fact that they fell asleep while trying a few times. No more doomscrolling. No more looking at others success stories wondering when it was gonna be them when it could be them NOW.

They realised it was time for them to adopt a new mindset: That the state of pure consciousness is just first nature to them. That they are gods no matter what. That as god, the 3D and time doesn’t exist to them, nope! not real anymore. That circumstances weren’t a thing anymore. That the void state is the easiest thing a person can induce. That pressuring themselves for a timecrunch is pointless because their inner man doesn’t experience time and they get everything they want instantly. That pure consciousness is just a state consciousness that is something as effortless as being in the state of awake and the state of asleep.

It doesn’t take long to flip your thoughts. So many people with success stories have said so many times that if they knew how easy it all was, they would’ve done it sooner. Challenges are nice but you don’t need to spend weeks on them, never did never will.

∘˚ᥫ᭡ PART III | THE APPLICATION

Another thing they did was fucking apply. You’re tired of hearing that? great! because bloggers are SO tired of repeating it.

Yes failure and procrastination can be comforting. This is a great community, but don't stay here longer than you need to. And yes memes about how you "woke up in your cr again 🙄" and how little time you actually spend trying to shift awareness can be funny and relatable. But those who have success stories under their belts had to choose between comfort, relatability + aesthetically pleasing scripts and actually living their dream life. And to be victorious you must make that choice too.

So go do it, stop this dumbass belief that you are exempt from the success of inducing pure consciousness. Yes, you are the operant power and your reality relies on you and you alone, HOWEVER, if so many can do it, it's evidence that you can too. No more looking at those success stories for motivation or looking at them in jealousy when that can be you now.

To be victorious you must think like them. Believe you are successful and you will be. No you’re not “faking it till you make it” YOU ARE SUCCESSFUL. you ARE one of them.

Believe and assume like a victor and you will be one, the 3D will always conform. That’s law.

🍦🩰 To be victorious like the others, you must believe it now.

[lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom]

Hello! I would like to make a request about Dae-Ho, a character I love. I would like the story to show how Dae-Ho and the reader develop a special connection during the games, despite being on opposite sides. She is part of Thanos' team, but they still interact frequently. On one of those nights, they kiss and promise to get to know each other better once it's all over. However, that promise is not fulfilled because she dies in the carousel game.

I hope this story fits the bill. Happy holidays! <3

Anything Is Possible?

KANG DAE-HO X READER

Summary- You are number 230's, rapper Choi Su-bong, sister. Just because you are on 'Thanos Team', does that mean you can Dae-Ho cant get together? Will you survive long enough?

Warnings- Squid Games, Angst, mentions of blood, murder, and death

A/N- I combined this ask with another anon request, "badass reader and daeho! maybe she is related to 100 and that's why the romance is kind of forbidden but she doesn't agree with his actions and thinks daeho is very cute. I would love a first kiss between the two, which she initiated and he was all embarrassed but really excited" I hope y'all don't mind, they were very similar!

Word Count- 4,605

"What is your problem!" You found yourself yelling at your brother. While this was not uncommon, the situation surely was. Thanos the rapper, or just known as Choi Su-bong to you, had pushed several people down on purpose. This killed them in the Red light, Green light game.

"You killed them!" You continued, though he did not seem to care.

"Look, as far as 'The Thanos' is concerned, each body means more cash for MOI!" He spoke, uncaring.

"Oh, and if it was me, would you let me get shot!" You crossed your arms, eyeing him up and down.

He looked around, checking for any guards. He then slipped out his cross form under his shirt. You knew he had some kind of drug in there.

"Look, if it will shut you up, you can have one. But keep your mouth closed!" He ushered his cross in your direction. You rolled your eyes.

"I'd like to at least be aware of my surrounding in a death defying game!" "Shhh, Shhhh!" His face scrunched up as he looked at you, offended. He thought someone might have been drawn to your choice words.

You scoffed and walked off, sitting on the edge of a bed to catch a train of thought.

With a puff, you pressed your head into your hands. Could you really go on like this? Risking your life? Then it hit you, your life was over either way. Loan sharks were bound to kill you the second you left... Might as well go out with a bang?

The gruesome thought lingered until you felt the bed sink next to you.

"Thanos, I don't want to-" You looked up to not see your brother. Instead a man with a '388' on his jacket.

"Well I'm not sure who 'Thanos' is, but are you doing okay?" He looked genuinely concerned.

You started at him for a second, "Like fifty people just died..."

He faltered, "W-well yeah... Obviously you aren't okay... I just, I saw you arguing with that guy... The one with purple hair." You sigh again at his response. Well, this might be the last conversation you ever have. Why not be an open book!

"That's my brother. He thinks since he got one hit song, he can boss anyone around." You again rolled your eyes at the thought of him.

"Oh... I see. I-I have three older sisters, I know how it can get." He said, trying to offer you some sort of condolence.

You gave a side smile at him, appreciative of his efforts. "Thanks... What got you into these games?" You figured there's no reason for 'proper exchanges.' What was the point anymore?

He seemed ashamed at the question. "Sorry, if it makes you feel any better- I'm about 30 million won in debt. Some online crypto coin my brother swindled me into. Lost big time." You explained.

He shook his head, "No, no, its fine. See, I was a marine. Couldn't find a job after I got out. Guess I just got carried away with the wrong people... Got into some bad loans."

You gave a sympathetic face. "That sucks..." He just nodded sheepishly.

A silence fell between you two, but it wasn't awkward or annoying. It just...was.

"Well, uh, which are you going to vote?" He asked like it had been on the tip of his tongue all day.

As the Guards had told us earlier, we would get a chance to vote before the next game. Stay or Go.

"My brother seems pretty adamant on staying... And I honestly don't think it would be smart to piss him off anymore. He's got me in his little clique already." You didn't really know which one you would have chosen if the vote was anonymous.

He nodded in understanding. "I mean, I don't have a groupie or anything. But, you could stick with me if you wanted."

Your heart fluttered. Looking up at him, you seemed to just notice how handsome he was... Then reality hit.

"I deeply appreciate that... But I think you might have better odds without me. Choi- uh Thanos, would probably do something to you... I don't really want to risk it, I'm sorry." You knew that you really did want to be on his team, but you also knew how your brother was.

He had a slight look of defeat on his face, "I get it. I feel confident about the next game. I mean, if they're all children games, how hard can it be? I'll vote the same as you."

You agreed, "Then, maybe I can talk to Thanos? See if he wants another member?" You smiled at him.

He opened his mouth to speak, happily, but the two of you were interrupted when the pink guards came back in. Letting everyone know it was time to vote.

"See ya on the other side." You said, standing up to rejoin Thanos. Plus his newly acquired group of 3.

"Yes ma'am!" He responded, giving a small salute. You just laughed as you glanced at him a last time.

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

"Are you crazy!" Thanos whisper-yelled at you, turning the two of you away from the group. "Are you tryna embarrass me in front of my boys!" He scolded you like a child. His arms and shoulders going up.

"It's not that big of a deal, he was a marine, he could be good for us." Thanos just "tsked' in response.

"No. We are already perfecto. No more room." He said as-a-matter-of-fact. His arms making an 'X.'

You turned and looked at the two men staring at you. "Thanos, there are four of us in total. What if the next game is five players!"

"Huh, and what if its four! Then I'd be pushing YOU out, Cause of ya mouth." He made faces at you, then laughed loudly. "I'm just joking sistah! I'd only do that if you really pissed me off.... We are sticking to four." His expression turned serious.

"Fine."

At a mere coincidence, you turned around and saw '388' staring at you. You mouthed a 'sorry' and shook your head. Signalling Thanos said 'no.'

He nodded, then smiled at you anyways. At that, you watched him walk over and sit with a group of 'X's.

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

The lights soon went out. You laid back in your bed, trying to get some kind of sleep. It was useless, especially when you heard a 'psst' right next to you.

You turned your head, playing cool, even though it did startle you a bit. "Shh, It's just me." The voice rang familiar, and when you squinted your eyes in the dark your made out number 388's face. He was on his knees, crouched down next to your bed.

"What are you doing!" You whispered at him, sitting up quickly. Thanos and his two members were just a bed away.

"Shhhh, I have something to tell you." He said, his hands were waving slightly, a nervous tick.

You eyed him, moving closer. "What?"

"One of the guys has played these before. He said he won the games...That he knows which one is next."

Your hands rise to rub sleep from your eyes, "Really? You think he's telling the truth?"

With a frantic nod he continues, "It was the guy who knew about the Red light, Green light. Number 456."

You looked down, "Why are you telling me this..." You questioned, unaware of any kind of unconditional kindness.

"I want you to survive, why else?" You locked eyes with him. They were honest and pure.

"Well, what's the next game?" You didn't know how to respond to such generosity. For all he knew you would stab him in the back. Not that you could bring yourself to, not after he snuck over to tell you.

"He said its Dalgona. Ya know, the game where you scratch out the candy shape?" You knew the game, having played it in your youth.

"Make sure you pick the Triangle. It's the easiest one." You nodded.

At that, a shuffle made both of you turn your head. Thanos moved in his sleep, rolling over. His eyes were closed, but he was now facing you.

"You better go, in case he wakes up." You warned, not wanting any drama.

His head shook in agreeance, he raised to walk off.

"Wait!" You whispered, he looked back. "What's your name?"

"Dae-Ho. Dae-ho Kang."

"Thank you, Dae-ho..." The corners of your face rose, almost grinning at yourself saying his name.

He gave a small wave of his hand, another salute. You suppressed a giggle, and laid back down. Sleep came easier this time...

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

"Welcome to your second game, this game will be played in teams. Please divide into teams of five in the next ten minutes."

You looked around, Dalgona was not a team game. Had Dae-Ho lied to you? No, why else would he sneak over in the middle of the night. It didn't make sense. Maybe 456 was lying?

"Should have listened to me, now we have to find another person." You remarked to your brother, smugly.

"Trust trust, my skeptic sister. Thanos has got this under control!" He spoke about himself, immediately levitating to the closest attractive women. You, once again, found yourself rolling your eyes.

"Señorita, excuse me?" You wanted to physically face palm at his attempt at a pickup line.

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

Quickly enough, time selection was up. Everyone was orderly sat in their groups. Conveniently, Dae-Ho and his group sat behind you.

"Dae-Ho." You called, moving to be in his range of sight.

"Ahh, hey!" He said, excitedly. His demeanor changing from skittish when he saw you.

"So, what happened to Dalgona?" You asked, not blaming him- just curious.

He gave an unsure face, equally as confused. "He said the games must not be the same. I'm sorry."

"What for?" You beamed, knowing it was not his fault.

He laughed, "I guess I don't know.."

You just shook your head humorously. "Which game are you going to do?"

"Uhmm, Gong-Gi... My sister's played it a lot, so I'm used to it."

"They've got me doing spinning top. I was never any good at Gong-Gi." You made a glance to Thanos, he was high out of his mind. You caught him slipping Nam-Gyu a pill. He didn't notice you talking to Dae-Ho.

"I wish you the best of luck!" He gave a quick bow of the head.

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

The game went smoothly enough. Though, it took much longer than Red light, Green light. Watching all of the teams go one at a time was excruciating.

A handful of words exchanged with Dae-Ho while waiting was calming, it grounded you. He had nothing to gain by helping you, he simply did. It was flattering.

You and Dae-Ho had figured out that his team was going last. It was nerve-wracking to think about him not making it. No one had ever effected you like this before...

Eventually your team went, suffering frequent verbal degration from Thanos and Nam-Gyu. Thankfully your team made it with 8 seconds to spare. Too close for your comfort.

The worst part came when you had to wait. You felt like you could hear a large clock ticking right by your ear.

Would Dae-Ho's team make it? You didn't doubt his Gong-Gi skills, but he was dependent on the skills of his team mates as well. It was terrifying to think they were shot with not enough time to complete the games.

You couldn't bare Thanos bantering, he complained about every survivor. It just made you more paranoid about Dae-Ho's possible death.

Trying to settle your mind, you stepped away from your group, preferring to sit by yourself on the edge on the steps. You picked at your nails, praying he would make it.

Minutes and minutes went by. No one had come out in a while. Was the game finished? Did they die?

Just as you were about to return to your brother hopeless, one last group appeared.

A gasp left you as you watched Dae-Ho's team emerge. You stood up, cheering with a handful of other players. Your hands were clasped gleefully In front of you.

Dae-Ho's gaze was fixed on you, he chuckled. His first raised in victory.

You gave him a salute back.

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

You managed to slip away from Thanos. He was too busy hitting on Se-Mi. You were grateful for her, it took some of the pressure and attention off of you. You had to remember to thank her later.

"Dae-Ho!" You called out, he turned around and stepped away from his group.

"You were amazing! You went 'Wooshhh' and got the top first try!" He was practically bouncing on his heels. He mimicked the process of spinning a top with his hands and body.

"Thank you, Thank you." You pretended like you were bowing to an applauding audience.

"How did Gong-Gi go?" You asked, antsy. He rubbed the back on his neck.

He grinned deep, "Would you believe me if I said I got it first try too?"

Your face lit up, "Really!"

"I swear it!" He placed a hand across his chest.

You gave a quick clap to him, "I knew you could do it!"

You felt like a schoolgirl again. Talking to Dae-Ho made you feel like a blushing bride. He was such a ray of light and hope for you.

"What do you think the next game is?" He questioned, taking a seat on a step by the large doors.

You thought for a second, "I don't know, Maybe some kind of mind game. Since the last two have been really physical."

He nodded, "Yeah, maybe, maybe. Thats smart thinking."

You joined him on the step facing him. While you were about to change the conversation, you overheard a few people talk about what they were voting next. It reminded you of the real life-or-death situation you were in.

"So, d'ya think you're going to change your vote?" You became more solemn.

"...Yeah, I just... The others have convinced me. I mean, truly, I shouldn't have voted 'stay' in the first place..." He looked down, almost as if he had disappointed you.

"Honestly, Dae-Ho... I want to leave too... But, but, what if I press 'leave', and we still have to continue the games. Then Thanos would be pissed, and deep down I need him. He's still my brother." You hated the fact, but you were scared of what Thanos would do.

Dae-Ho thought for a moment. He mumbled something you didn't quite catch. "What?" He stood up.

"I can protect you. Honest. With my life." Your breath hitched, you stood up as well.

You shook your head, a lump forming in your throat. "Oh Dae-Ho... That's just the thing. I can't have you risking your life. Not for me."

He gently lifted your hands into his. "You are worth risking my life for."

"Dae-Ho, you don't even know my name." Your voice quivered.

He nodded quick, "Then lets change that. What's your name." You bit your bottom lip before telling him.

"Now, I can defend you from Thanos. He won't do anything to do." He ended with your name, it sounded angelic coming from his mouth.

"I'm sorry... I just... can't." You let go of his hands, fully set on walking away. But, he stopped you. He grasped your shoulder.

"Please don't go. I'll stop talking about it, I swear." He pleaded. He truly just wanted to be with you, he was content with you.

And you were with him.

You closed your eyes, shook your head. You fought off any kind of objection. "Okay."

The two of you talked and talked, time ran past. You no longer seemed to worry about the games, just that you knew you wanted to stay with Dae-Ho.

Until, the large doors opened and the pink guards once again announced a vote.

You said a quick 'goodbye' to Dae-ho, hoping the games wouldn't continue. Even if you never saw him again, at least he would be alive.

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

Much to your dismay, the games would continue another round. The vote wasn't even close this time. It was almost relieving, knowing that your vote was not the determining factor.

Once again, the lights went out to signify the night. You noticed teams were huddling together for protection, taking shifts and keeping watch. It was getting more serious as each hour went by. You could not find rest, feeling extremely uneasy.

While you tried to find some sort of reassurance in Thanos, he was fast asleep. You decided to take your chance and go see Dae-Ho. Just as he had done for you.

You knew the general area where his group was, but couldn't make out specific people in the dark. Not from your distance.

You racked up the nerve to quietly shuffle over. Your socks helping to muffle any noise.

"Shh, someone is coming." You heard a man whisper, it was 456. You could see the large numbers next to the 'O' on his jacket.

"I-is Dae-Ho with you..." You ask, shakily.

"And what do you want with him?" A man next to 456 spoke, defensively.

"I- Hes my friend, I need to talk to him." You tried, fiddling with your fingers.

"Yeah, Sure he is. You're probably trying to get in and take one of us out, huh!" The man 390 rose, acting like he was ready to fight.

You stepped back, "No, really, I swear I'm not!"

You heard your name, a confused Dae-Ho crawled out from under a bed. "Dae-Ho, please tell them in not trying to kill any of you."

"What?" He was still weary from sleep, rubbing his eyes. Once he saw the position you and 390 were in, He quickly stepped between the two of you.

"No, No, she wouldn't do that. Really, whatever shes saying she's telling the truth." Dae-Ho came to your rescue.

"Can we talk Dae-Ho?" You stepped closer to him, both of your hands gently resting on his arm. He nodded rapidly, stepping away from his group.

The two of you found a cluster of abandoned beds, and sat on the floor between them

"Are you okay? Did someone hurt you?" He looked you over for any visible infliction's.

"No, no I'm fine..." You pulled your knees to your chest. "I just wanted to see you." You felt silly once it left your lips.

His face flushed beet red, you could even tell in the dark. His hair falling in his face made you reach a hand out and brush it back. "O-oh"

"You never told me what you think the next game is, Dae-Ho." You needed a distraction.

He shook his head, like he was getting some thoughts out. "I have no idea... I just hope its an easy one. Gi-Hun, uh 456, said that they've already played Tug-of-war, Marbles, and some kind of glass stepping game. So, uh, I would assume none of those would repeat."

"I'm glad I missed Tug-of-war... That would mean the number of survivors would be half..." You thought.

He changed the subject, beginning with your name. "What's wrong? I know you said you wanted to see me, but, I guess I don't understand why."

"Dae-Ho, I don't really know why either. I just, wanted to be with you. I feel safe with you. I feel like I'm alone anytime you walk away..." You blinked away a stray tear.

Dae-Ho was lost in thought, he had thought his feelings weren't reciprocated. Maybe they were after all?

He didn't have time to speak, because you have lounged yourself forward in a burst of confidence. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and pushed him to the floor. He was laid on his back with you on top of him, as you pressed a hard kiss to his lips.

His eyes widened, his body went rigid. When you pulled away to look at him, he stammered. "I-I, Uhm."

At his reaction you pulled away quickly, "I'm so sorry, I thought-"

"Can you please do that again." He was now giddy, a fat smile on his face. Excitement radiated out of him. "A-are you sure.. You seemed so..."

"No, no, you just caught me off guard, please, please kiss me again." He scrambled to a sit, hoping you would come closer again.

With a refound joy, you moved closer. This time you went slow, making sure to bask in the moment. You once again wrapped your arms around Dea-Ho's neck, pulling him in for a kiss.

"You're perfect.." He mumbled against your lips. Though, he felt something wet on his face. He pulled away, his eyes soft, "Whats wrong?"

You sniffled, "Promise me. Promise me, that after everything is over, that we will find each other." You asked, pressing your cheek against his.

"I swear it, I swear we will meet after the games." He leaned in for another kiss.

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

"Welcome to your third game. The game you will be playing is Mingle."

Okay, this one seemed safe. You had a large group, this can work. You tried to be positive, you had someone to look forward to after the game.

"Heyyy, we'll be mingling together. Doesn't that sound like so much fun?" Thanos went on, trying to hype everyone up. The only one who was just as high as him was Nam-Gyu. It worried you that he wasn't fully aware of his surroundings, but at least he wasn't on your tail about everything.

"Please step onto the center platform. When the game starts, the platform will begin to rotate, and you will hear a number. You must form groups of that size, go into the rooms, and close the door within 30 seconds."

You nodded, understanding the rules. Everyone gathered to the platform. You noticed groups staying together, huddling close.

While following Thanos, you passed Dae-Ho's group, you caught his eye and gave him a small salute. It seemed the two of you now had an inside joke.

"Let the game, begin."

At the jump and pull of the platform, you almost lost your balance. You reached a hand out and held onto your brother. He looked over at you, for a split second he actually seemed like your brother. He was there for you.

That's until a muffled snort came from Nam-Gyu. Thanos pushed your hand off, laughing at you.

You sighed and thought of a smart remark, but the platform stopped spinning and a 'Ten' rang out.

Thanos laughed loudly, "We needa four!!" He screamed, shaking his face all about.

"Were four!" A man yelled back, and Thanos took off running. Your eyes widened and you ran after him. "Run, Hurry!" You yelled at Se-Mi, who had stopped to grab Min-Su.

Luckily everyone had made it to the room, just as the door shut the timer went off. The door locked shut. You peaked out of the doors small slit. You didn't see Dae-Ho. A good sign.

Multiple gunshots rang out, each making your body jolt.

"Ha Ha! My family! We did it!" Thanos bantered, clapping some of the men on their backs.

When the doors finally opened again, you looked around. You looked and looked for Dae-Ho. Finally sighing in relief when you saw him. He ran over to you.

"You're okay, thank God!" He hugged you, you held him tight.

You swallowed hard, "It's not over yet. I'll find you after the next round!" You said, quickly finding Thanos again.

"Yeahhhh! Easyyy!" Him and Nam-Gyu joked back and forth. They started dancing to the music as the platform started rotating again.

'Four'

Thanos stopped and looked at his group for a minute. "Gyeong-su, you're with me!" He grabbed his hand, pulling him.

"Damn!" Nam-Gyu said, gripping your arm and pulling you. While you were happy to be chosen, you were worried for Min-su and Se-Mi.

"Lets goooo!" Thanos yelled once we were all in the room.

"Thanos what was that! Gyeong-su over me!" You pointed your finger at him.

"I swear I thought I was pulling you! Besides, you gotta stop running your mouth. You made it, you're fine!"

You couldn't believe what he was saying. Sure, he talked a lot about leaving you. But it was always just talk? Right?

The door opened once again, you were thankful to be away from Thanos. Your new objective was to find Dae-Ho now.

This time, the second you saw him- you ran to him. You no longer cared about what Thanos thought, nor what he'd do.

"I'm so happy to see you." Dae-Ho mumbled into your hair, which his face had been shoved into right after you ran into his arms.

"I have to stay with you, Thanos tried to leave me. I can't make it with him." Dae-Ho didn't hesitate, and pulled you over to his group.

Though, Thanos didn't like that. "Yo, brotha. What're you doing with my sister!" He tried to shove Dae-Ho, but he was bigger and stronger.

The platform started to spin.

"Leave her alone, you obviously cant take care of your sister." He ushered you behind him.

"I don't know what you're talking about bro! I save her, shes only alive because of me and Nam-Gyu!" He argued, leaving out the crucial part of information where he wasn't the one who grabbed you.

"It doesn't matter anymore. I will keep her safe now, you can mind your own business and get along with Nam-Gyu."

They continued to yell and argue over the carousel's music, it was difficult to hear them. Until,

'Three'

Thanos gripped one of your arms, Dae-Ho held another.

"Thanos, let go!" You yelled, trying to pull from his grasp.

It was chaotic, screaming was heard around you. "Dae-Ho, this way!" Two men yelled out, Dae-Ho twisted his head but didn't move.

Your stomach dropped. You couldn't be the reason Dae-Ho would die. You were all running out of time.

"Dae-Ho, go. Please! I'll go with Thanos and Nam-Gyu!"

"I'm not leaving you!" He was adamant about protecting you. Damned everyone else.

"If you don't go, we will all die. Time is running out!" Dae-Ho battled internally, you let go of his hand.

"Go! It's okay, I'll see you in a minute!"

He didn't want to leave, he couldn't. But you made him. When he slowly walked backwards, you let out a relived sigh. You then turned to run with Thanos. Nam-Gyu was already in a room, his yelling ushering you two forward.

It was going to be okay, The three of you in a room. Everything was fine. There was time.

Until, Nam-Gyu moved out of the way... Gyeong-su was behind him... There was already two in the room. Thanos ran in, not thinking twice.

Your running came to a stop right outside of the door. Where Thanos himself had closed it on you.

A "NO!" Was heard from across the room. It was Dae-Ho. He tried to come to you, but he was too far.

Player 456 and player 001 were pulling him into a room. Forcing the door shut. You could see Dae-Ho looking out of the door slit, his hands peaking out as well.

You didn't turn to see what Thanos might have been doing. You didn't care. Not anymore.

You just wanted your last moment to be looking at the most handsome man you'd ever met. His soft eyes were filled with tears as he watched you.

You weren't upset, not scared, not nervous. Not anymore.

It would all be over soon.

You gave him one last salute before a loud bang rang out.

A/N- Not going to lie ya'll, I ate that up. But I still love hearing y'all's constructive criticism! Please LMK if you want to be added to my tag list, TYSM for reading!

Dae-Ho Taglist- @fuzzyscissorsmakerpie-blog @thethreeeyed-raven

[positivementalaxolotl]

I want to be clear here that sometimes cats that are suppose to be indoor cats escape the house. I have had this issue before *We have broken windows, and he likes to dash out when people crack the doors open. He also knows how to open certain doors and windows as well*

There was a point in time where someone found my cat, and just took him. They drove him out 3O+ minutes away to their house. The only reason why we were able to get him back was because 2 of this persons friends were walking by one of my posters I posted outside my house on a sign. On my way back from posting other missing posters, I saw them and we had a pleasant conversation about him and getting him back. I am not mad or anything about them taking my cat back to this strangers house, I am actually very thankful that had he not been brought back to me, that he would have had another loving home to go to.

Every time I have gone online to try to find my cat on one of the MANY times he has escaped my house, people have assumed that he was an outdoor cat, even when in the same listings I very specifically state that he escaped and is an indoor cat. I have been yelled at, I have been lectured, I have had strangers come to my house and yell at me about how I must not *really* love my cat, and then had people online tell me I am entitled because I do not want strangers to come to my house and yell at me. This is a combination of because of people choosing not to read the posts they are seeing, people thinking that this kind of behaviour in any context is okay, and people being horrible to those in poverty.

I have had people recommend a *low cost* vet that was almost an hour away, and cost more than a vet that I could walk to and from if need be. And then promptly scream at me because I had just lost my job and could not get my cat to the vet that same day to take care of his neuter.

I am VEHEMENTLY against outdoor cats. Not only is it god awful for the cats involved, but its an environmental issue as well. Both of my cats are indoor cats, one of them just has not been neutered yet and likes to run outside the moment hes able to when its warm outside. I know the risks of him being outside. I am fully aware. I am lucky enough to be in a relatively safe area where my cat feels safe enough around the wildlife to use the deer as protection against me. He DOES also always come back within 12 to 24 hours after leaving. The only times he has not was when he was taken by a person, or when it was raining outside, and usually he will hide nearby if that is the case. He does go over to other peoples houses, but its not a thing where he spends more and more time there. He just likes to explore and get the girls.

The point of what I am saying here is that if you want your cat to be a fully or near fully indoor cat, just keeping them inside isnt enough. My boy nearly crushed himself shoving an air conditioner out the window to escape. The BEST thing you can do for any cat to make sure they stay in your area is to NEUTER them. That way they are less likely to run off, and if they do, then they are less likely to travel far or get into fights with other cats. If you see an intact cat outside, yeah it may be a stray. But it is ALWAYS best to make sure that it does not belong to someone who is trying to keep them indoors. If you find the owners keep them outside, then... Cat distribution system. The only cats I would say should stay outside are feral cats, or cats that were raised outdoors and strongly do not do well indoors, but have a safe place to stay outdoors.

*I am planning on getting him taken care of here soon I just need to make everything work first*

I can think of a really easy solution to this problem.

[reiding-writing]

YOU OPENED YOUR REQUESTS?? omg a wonderful start to the new year!! ignore if this doesn’t speak to your soul— but would you be able to write a good old fashioned best friends to lovers, mutual pining fic for reid? i’m a sucker for the “he fell first, she fell harder” trope, like he’s been in love with her since day one and their friendship has always toed the line of something more, but she’s an oblivious genius and doesn’t realize how deep their affections for each other run……. and like when she realizes her feelings (like a brick to the head) she starts DISTANCING HERSELF OOH A LITTLE ANGST THERE and reid is like :(( what did i do :(( but it’s ok bc they smooch and make up in the end

263 DAYS — SPENCER REID!

a lot can change in 263 days.

spencer reid x fem!reader | 7.3k | flangst | masterlist.

a/n — writing longer fics like this is so fun but also so long, but it’s been nice to get back into it 🙂‍↕️

WARNINGS | friends to lovers, emotional distancing, brief (almost) argument, reader gets injured and goes to the hospital (but recovers fine), happy ending

DAY ONE

You step into the conference room of the Behavioral Analysis Unit, a mixture of nerves and anticipation twisting in your stomach.

The space feels both larger and smaller than you'd imagined—a sprawling table, chairs scattered in quiet disarray, and a dozen tiny details you'd only seen in crime documentaries and shadowed profiles on paper.

The faint scent of coffee and something metallic—maybe old ink—hangs in the air, grounding you. You take a slow, measured breath, trying to steady yourself.

You’re here. You made it.

“First day?”

The voice is soft, inquisitive, and it pulls your attention immediately. You glance to your right and meet the eyes of someone who seems equally curious and cautious, like a bird assessing whether you’re safe to approach.

He’s lanky, taller than you expected, with an untamed mop of brown hair and a pair of shoes that look like they’ve seen a decade’s worth of pavement. Spencer Reid, you realise.

“Yes,” you manage, your voice steadier than you feel. “And you must be Dr. Reid.”

He smiles at the title, though it seems more reflexive than genuine. He shuffles forward a step, hands awkwardly held together behind his back. “Just Reid. Or Spencer. Whichever you prefer.”

You offer your hand to him, nervous, but inviting. “Nice to meet you, Reid.”

He nods quickly, eyes flickering over your hand like he wants to take it, but he doesn’t. “Sorry, I don’t uh— germs—”

“Oh,” You pull your hand back a little too quickly, awkwardly stuffing it into your pocket. “Sorry, uh—”

“No, no, it’s not you, I’m just— conscious about it,” He presses his lips together in what almost a smile, a silent apology.

You mirror it. “It’s nice to meet you anyway,”

“You too,”

His gaze flicks over you, not in the usual appraising way you’ve grown used to from strangers, but more like he’s cataloging details he can’t quite put into words. There’s no judgment in his eyes, just pure, unabashed interest.

“You’re nervous,” He says, then winces. “Sorry. That sounded... obvious. I just meant—it’s normal. Most people are their first day. Especially here,” His voice lowers slightly, conspiratorial. “It can be... intense.”

A laugh escapes you, light and involuntary, breaking the tension in your chest. “Not exactly comforting, but thanks for the honesty,”

This time, his smile reaches his eyes. “I’m not great at comfort, but I excel at honesty.”

You find yourself smiling back, even as a small voice in the back of your mind whispers that you shouldn’t let your guard down so easily. Not here, not yet.

But something about Reid—his sincerity, the way he tilts his head like he’s trying to solve a puzzle only you can provide—makes it hard to resist.

“So, what brought you to the BAU?” he asks.

The question is simple enough, but the weight behind it is clear. He isn’t just asking out of politeness; he genuinely wants to know. You consider your answer carefully, aware of the dozen eyes that will likely follow your every move today.

“Truthfully? It’s… been a dream for years,” you admit. “I’ve always been fascinated by the psychology of it. How people work, why they do what they do. And... I guess I wanted to make a difference,”

His expression shifts, softens, like you’ve just handed him a piece of yourself and he knows better than to drop it. “That makes sense,” he says quietly. “You’ll be good at this,”

The confidence in his words surprises you. “You don’t even know me,”

“Not yet,” he says, and there’s something almost playful in his tone. “But I’m usually good at reading people. Comes with the job,”

“Any initial impressions?”

He hesitates, and for a moment, you think he might deflect. But then his gaze meets yours again, steady and unwavering. “You’re smart. Observant. But you second-guess yourself more than you need to. And... you’re kind. I think you’ll see things others might miss because of that,”

The honesty in his voice leaves you momentarily speechless. Kind isn’t a word you’d ever considered an asset in this field, but the way he says it makes you wonder if it could be.

“Thanks,” You say, and mean it.

Before he can respond, another voice cuts through the room. “Reid! Stop monopolising the newbie and get over here.”

You glance over to see another man—broad-shouldered, with a gruff boyishness to him. If you had to guess, you’d say that Derek Morgan.

Reid offers a small, apologetic shrug and gives you a quick, almost shy smile before moving to join the others.

As the team gathers around the table, you feel his presence more acutely than you should, like an invisible thread connecting you even when you’re not speaking. Every so often, you catch him glancing your way, his brow furrowing as if he’s trying to figure out a particularly tricky equation. And maybe he is.

Over the course of the day, you learn what makes Reid so extraordinary.

The encyclopaedic knowledge, the way his mind works at lightning speed, piecing together patterns and details that no one else sees.

But you also notice the little things—the way he fidgets with a pen when he’s nervous, the way his voice speeds up when he gets excited, the way he looks at you like you’re the most fascinating mystery he’s ever encountered.

By the time the day ends, you’re exhausted but exhilarated, your head spinning with new information and possibilities. As you gather your things, Reid approaches you again, his movements hesitant but deliberate.

“You did well today,” he says, and there’s no trace of condescension in his tone—just genuine praise.

“Thanks,” you say, feeling a warmth spread through you that has nothing to do with the compliment itself and everything to do with who it’s coming from.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then, as if unable to stop himself, Reid blurts out, “You’re going to fit in here. I can tell,”

You tilt your head, studying him. “And you’re sure about that? Already?”

He nods, his gaze earnest. “I don’t know how to explain it. I just... I feel like you belong.”

The words linger between you, heavy with a meaning you can’t quite name. You smile, soft and unsure, and he mirrors it, his expression a little brighter than before.

As you walk out of the building together, the weight of the day finally settling on your shoulders, you can’t help but think that maybe Reid is right.

Maybe you do belong here.

DAY ONE-HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-NINE

The BAU has a way of warping time. Six months can feel like six years, and yet, it can pass in the blink of an eye.

By now, you’ve settled into the team, carving out a place that feels solid, even comfortable. The initial nerves have faded, replaced by a quiet confidence that surprises even you. But the biggest surprise is Reid.

Somewhere along the way, he’s become your constant. Late nights poring over case files often turn into coffee runs, his impossibly detailed book recommendations have all but taken over your nightstand, and your shared chess games have become an unspoken ritual, the board tucked into the corner of the break room practically reserved for the two of you.

It’s not that you don’t notice the way he seems to gravitate toward you—it’s just that you don’t think much of it.

Reid is Reid: attentive, brilliant, and endlessly curious. If he listens a little more intently when you speak, if his smiles linger longer than necessary, if he remembers details you barely recall sharing, well, that’s just how he is. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

The morning starts like any other.

A case has just wrapped, leaving you with a rare, precious day in the office to catch up on paperwork and recover. The bullpen hums with low chatter and the rhythmic tapping of keyboards, but your attention is elsewhere—specifically on the chessboard in front of you.

“Check,” Reid announces, his tone smug but his face a careful mask of neutrality. He leans back in his chair, arms crossed loosely, his expression daring you to find an out.

You narrow your eyes at the board, studying the positions like your life depends on it. “I don’t like you very much right now,” you mutter, earning a soft laugh from him.

“You don’t mean that,” he says, his voice warm.

“Don’t I?” you quip, your fingers hovering over your knight. You’re stalling, and he knows it.

“Take your time,” he says, though there’s a playful glint in his eye. “It’s not like you have anything else to do today.”

You glare at him, but there’s no heat behind it. “You’re enjoying this too much,”

“Maybe a little,”

The banter is easy, familiar. It’s become second nature by now, a rhythm you fall into without thinking. Finally, with a dramatic sigh, you move your knight, narrowly avoiding defeat.

Reid’s brow furrows as he examines the board. “Not bad,” he concedes.

“I’ll take it,” you reply, leaning back in your chair and stretching.

“Lunch?” he asks, already rising to his feet.

“Let me guess,” you say, smirking. “Thai food again?”

“It’s efficient,” he says, as though that explains everything.

“Efficient isn’t the same as exciting,” you tease, but you grab your jacket anyway.

The walk to the nearby restaurant is brisk, the February air biting against your skin. Reid falls into step beside you, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

“Did you finish that book I lent you?” he asks, glancing at you.

“Not yet,” you admit. “But I’m close. You were right—it’s better than I expected,”

He grins, and you feel a flicker of satisfaction at the sight. “Told you. It’s all about the narrative structure. Did you notice how the author—”

“Reid,” you interrupt, laughing. “Save the lecture for later. I’m still processing and I have a feeling you’re going to spoil the ending,”

He huffs but lets it go, his grin lingering.

—

Back at the office, you dive into the endless pile of paperwork waiting on your desk. Hours pass in a blur of forms and reports, the steady hum of activity around you lulling you into a comfortable rhythm.

It’s only when a steaming cup of coffee appears in your peripheral vision that you realize how long you’ve been sitting there.

“Thought you could use this,” Reid says, setting the cup down beside you.

You blink up at him, surprised but grateful. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“I know,” he says, his lips twitching into a small smile.

He doesn’t leave, instead pulling a chair up beside you and settling in. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the quiet companionship as natural as breathing.

“You know,” you say, glancing at him, “you don’t have to babysit me.”

“I’m not,” he says simply. “I like being here.”

There’s something in his tone that makes you pause, a softness that feels almost... vulnerable. But before you can dwell on it, he shifts the conversation, asking about your latest case report.

The moment passes, but it stays with you, an echo at the back of your mind.

—

The day winds down with another chess game, this one more competitive than the last. The bullpen has emptied out, the rest of the team long gone, leaving just the two of you and the faint hum of the building’s heating system.

“Checkmate,” Reid announces, his tone triumphant.

You groan, dropping your head onto the table. “I give up. You’re officially unbeatable,”

He laughs, the sound soft and unguarded. “You’re getting better,” he says, and you know he means it.

“Flattery won’t save you next time,” you say, sitting up and meeting his gaze.

His smile falters, just for a moment, and there’s something in his eyes you can’t quite place—something intense and unspoken. You tilt your head, about to ask if everything’s okay, but he looks away, busying himself with packing up the chess pieces.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asks, his voice carefully neutral.

“Of course,” you say, watching him.

As you part ways for the night, that look lingers in your mind, and for the first time, you wonder if there’s more to Reid’s attentiveness than you’ve allowed yourself to see.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND FOUR

It starts with the little things.

You notice Reid’s uncanny ability to anticipate your needs long before you voice them. A cup of your favorite tea waiting for you on your desk after a long day.

A book you mentioned in passing, slipped into your bag with a handwritten note on why you’d love it. The way he finishes your sentences, not out of impatience, but because he’s somehow always attuned to what you’re thinking.

It’s Reid being Reid, you tell yourself. He’s observant, that’s his job. It doesn’t mean anything more than that.

But then there are the things he shouldn’t know. Like how your nose crinkles when you laugh too hard, a detail even you hadn’t thought about until you catch him smiling faintly at the sight. Or the way he hums along, almost unconsciously, to the songs you sing under your breath while focused on paperwork.

You’d dismiss it as coincidence, but Reid doesn’t believe in coincidences.

It’s a cold, gray morning when the call comes in—a double homicide in a rural town that has the local police out of their depth. By mid-afternoon, you’re knee-deep in the case, the clues coming together like pieces of a grim puzzle.

You and Reid are tasked with canvassing a suspect’s property, a sprawling, dilapidated farmhouse that creaks ominously with every step. It’s quiet—too quiet—and the sense of unease prickles at the back of your neck.

“I don’t like this,” you mutter, glancing at Reid.

He nods, his hand hovering near his weapon. “Neither do I. Let’s stick together,”

The words are barely out of his mouth when it happens. A figure bursts from the shadows, wielding a machete with reckless desperation.

You react instinctively, your weapon raised, but the suspect moves faster than you expect, slamming into you with full force.

Pain explodes in your side as you hit the ground, the breath knocked from your lungs. Reid’s voice cuts through the chaos, sharp and commanding.

“FBI! Drop the weapon!”

The suspect hesitates for a fraction of a second—just long enough for Reid to act. His shot is precise, disarming but not lethal, and the suspect crumples to the ground, writhing in pain.

Reid is at your side in an instant, his hands trembling as he presses them against the slash on your side, stumbling through the order for a medic on his radio.

“You’re okay,” he says, his voice tight with panic. “You’re going to be okay.”

You manage a weak laugh, wincing at the pain it causes. “You can’t get rid of me that easy, Reid,”

His eyes dart to yours, wide and filled with something that looks an awful lot like fear. “Don’t joke,” he murmurs. “Please don’t joke.”

His hands are gentle but firm as he applies pressure to the wound, his lips moving in a quiet stream of reassurances you barely register. “Just breathe. Help’s on the way. You’re fine. You’re fine.”

The world blurs at the edges, but through it all, you feel him—his presence steady and unyielding, anchoring you to the moment.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND SIX

You wake in a hospital bed, the sterile smell of antiseptic filling your nose. It takes a moment for the haze to clear, and when it does, the first thing you see is Reid.

He’s sitting in a chair beside you, his posture stiff, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. He looks exhausted, dark circles under his eyes and his hair messier than usual, but when he notices you stirring, his expression softens with relief.

“You’re awake,” he says, and there’s a faint tremor in his voice.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” you say, your voice hoarse.

His laugh is soft, almost disbelieving. “You have a talent for understatement,”

He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and for a moment, he just looks at you. There’s something in his gaze—something raw and unguarded—that makes your chest tighten.

“I thought—” He stops, swallowing hard. “I don’t know,”

“I’m alright, Reid” You offer gently.

He nods, but his jaw tightens as if he’s holding back a thousand words. “You scared me,” he admits finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

You reach out, your fingers brushing his arm, and the tension in his shoulders eases slightly. “I’m okay,” you say, and though the words feel inadequate, they seem to bring him some comfort.

For the rest of the night, he stays by your side, his quiet devotion more reassuring than any words could be. And for the first time, you start to wonder if there’s more to Reid’s attentiveness than you’ve allowed yourself to see.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND THIRTY-SEVEN

The BAU rarely has time for unwinding, but tonight is one of those rare evenings. A case has wrapped early, the unsub is in custody, and Hotch decided to reward the team with a dinner at a cozy Italian restaurant not far from Quantico. The room is filled with laughter, the clink of glasses, and the scent of fresh bread and marinara.

You sit sandwiched between Morgan and Reid, your wine glass half-full and your plate of pasta nearly untouched. The conversation flows easily—Morgan cracking jokes, Garcia spinning outrageous anecdotes, Rossi offering sage commentary.

You chime in when prompted, but your mind is elsewhere, your attention flicking between your teammates and the warm, intimate glow of the restaurant.

It’s when the laughter swells again, this time at something Garcia said, that you notice it.

Reid’s gaze.

He’s looking at you, not laughing, not even smiling, just... looking.

It’s not the way someone glances at a friend or colleague. His eyes hold something deeper, something unspoken but achingly clear. Admiration. Longing. Affection so palpable it steals the breath from your lungs.

The realisation hits you like a freight train, or perhaps a brick to the head, straight into your brain like it’s punishing you.

Every late-night chess game. Every quiet conversation over coffee. The way he remembers the smallest details about you, the warmth in his voice when he says your name, the way his presence feels like a comfort you didn’t know you needed—all of it comes crashing into focus.

How had you missed it?

But the thought doesn’t end there. Because as much as his gaze stirs something in you, it also forces you to confront the ache you’ve felt for months.

The way your chest tightens when he smiles at someone else. The way your pulse quickens when he’s near. The way your stomach flips at the simplest touch—a brush of his hand against yours, his knee grazing yours under the table.

Oh no.

Panic bubbles in your chest, threatening to spill over. You tear your gaze away, your hands fumbling for your wine glass as you take a too-large sip. It does little to steady you.

“Hey,” Morgan says, nudging you lightly with his elbow. “You good? You’ve been quiet,”

“I’m fine,” you say quickly, the words too sharp, too rehearsed.

Morgan raises an eyebrow, but thankfully, Garcia swoops in to demand his attention, sparing you further interrogation.

Beside you, Reid shifts slightly, his knee brushing yours again. The touch is electric, sending a jolt straight to your heart. You chance a glance at him, and for a moment, you think he might say something, but instead, he simply offers you a soft, almost hesitant smile.

It’s that smile—sweet and unguarded—that undoes you.

You force yourself to focus on the chatter around the table, the way Garcia’s voice rises animatedly, the way Rossi’s laughter rumbles like distant thunder.

Anything to keep from drowning in the realisation that Spencer Reid, your closest friend and the person who knows you better than anyone, has somehow become the centre of your world.

And worse—much worse—is the fear that you’ve been blind to his feelings for so long, that your obliviousness might have hurt him in ways you don’t yet understand.

By the time dinner ends, your head is spinning, your chest tight with emotions you don’t know how to name, let alone confront.

As the team begins to gather their things and head for the door, Reid lingers beside you, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. “You sure you’re okay?” he asks softly, his voice tinged with concern.

You force a smile, though it feels brittle. “Just tired. Long day,”

He nods, but the worry in his eyes doesn’t fade. “If you need to talk—”

“I’m fine, Reid,” you say, a little too quickly. A little too sharply.

His expression falters, and guilt twists in your stomach. You want to explain, to tell him that your panic has nothing to do with him and everything to do with the fact that you’ve just realised you’re in love with him. But the words stick in your throat, too raw, too terrifying to voice.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you manage, grabbing your coat and heading for the door before he can respond.

As you step into the chilly night air, the weight of your realization settles over you, heavy and inescapable.

You’re in love with Spencer Reid. And you have no idea what to do about it.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND FOURTY-TWO

The days that follow are a blur of avoidance and self-doubt. You bury yourself in work, volunteering for extra tasks, lingering at your desk long after everyone else has gone home. When Reid suggests coffee or a quick game of chess, you make excuses—paperwork, errands, a headache.

“It’s not you,” you insist each time, forcing a smile that you hope looks convincing. “Just busy.”

But it is him. Or rather, it’s you. The truth feels too messy, too raw to share. You can’t bear the thought of risking your friendship, of letting your feelings slip and watching the warmth in his eyes dim with awkward discomfort. It’s easier this way, you tell yourself. Cleaner.

It doesn’t feel cleaner. It feels awful.

—

Reid is nothing if not perceptive. You know this, and yet it still catches you off guard when he notices your distance almost immediately.

At first, he’s subtle about it. A furrowed brow when you brush past him in the bullpen without stopping to chat. A quiet “Are you okay?” when you excuse yourself from a team lunch, claiming a nonexistent phone call.

But as the days stretch into weeks, his concern deepens.

One evening, after a particularly grueling case debrief, he approaches your desk with a tentative smile, holding out a steaming cup of your favorite tea.

“Peace offering?” he says lightly.

You glance up, surprised, and for a moment, the warmth in his expression makes your resolve waver. But then the weight of your feelings crashes over you again, and you force a polite but distant smile.

“Thanks, Reid,” you say, taking the cup without meeting his eyes. “But I really need to finish this.”

He hesitates, the smile slipping. “Did I... do something?”

The question hits you like a punch to the gut. You look up, startled, and find him watching you with a mixture of confusion and hurt that makes your chest ache.

“What? No, of course not,” you say quickly, too quickly.

“Then why—” He stops, his hands fidgeting with the strap of his bag. “What’s wrong?”

Your heart sinks. “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it,” you lie, but even as the words leave your mouth, you know he doesn’t believe them.

“Right,” he says softly, his gaze dropping to the floor.

The silence between you stretches uncomfortably, heavy with everything you’re not saying. Finally, he nods, stepping back.

“Okay,” he says, his voice tight. “I’ll… let you get back to work, then,”

As he walks away, a knot of guilt tightens in your chest. You want to call him back, to explain, to apologise, but the words won’t come. Instead, you sit frozen at your desk, watching him retreat with his shoulders slightly slumped, and wonder if you’ve just made the biggest mistake of your life.

—

That night, Reid lies awake, staring at the ceiling of his apartment as your words echo in his mind.

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.”

The lie is so transparent it hurts. He replays every recent interaction, searching for the moment he might have crossed a line, the moment he lost you.

Did he hover too much? Was he too pushy with his invitations? Did he say something wrong?

The thought that he might have ruined your friendship gnaws at him, an ache that refuses to fade. He tries to focus on the logical, the facts: you said he hadn’t done anything.

But facts don’t explain why the laughter in your eyes has dimmed, why the easy rhythm of your friendship has crumbled into awkward silences and forced smiles.

He doesn’t sleep that night, and by morning, he’s no closer to an answer.

But one thing is clear: he can’t lose you. Not like this.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND FOURTY-NINE

It’s late when the team finally returns to Quantico, the exhaustion of a long case settling over everyone like a heavy fog. You’re the first to escape the bullpen, eager to retreat to the quiet sanctuary of your apartment. But just as you grab your coat, a voice stops you.

“Can we talk?”

You turn to find Reid standing behind you, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his expression a mix of worry and determination.

“Reid, I’m really tired—”

“Please.” His voice is soft but insistent, his eyes searching yours. “Just a few minutes.”

You hesitate, your instinct to avoid clashing with the ache in his voice. Finally, you nod, letting your coat drop back onto the rack.

He leads you to one of the empty conference rooms, closing the door behind you with a quiet click. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the silence stretching taut between you.

“Did I do something to upset you?” he asks finally, his voice trembling slightly. “Because if I did, I—I don’t know what it was. And I need to know, because you’ve been distant, and I—” He falters, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I miss you.”

The raw honesty in his words nearly undoes you. “Reid...” You take a step back, panic rising in your chest. “You didn’t do anything. I’ve just… been busy.”

“Busy?” he repeats, his voice laced with disbelief. He looks up, and the hurt in his eyes is like a punch to the gut. “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?”

You stammer, searching for an excuse, but the words feel hollow even as you speak them. “It’s just... work has been overwhelming, and I haven’t had time, and—”

“Stop,” he says softly, cutting you off.

You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest.

“I know you,” he says, his voice steady now, though there’s an edge of desperation beneath it. “I know when something’s wrong, and something is wrong. You don’t avoid people because you’re ‘busy.’ You don’t avoid me unless there’s a reason.”

You swallow hard, your throat tight. “I’m not avoiding you—”

“Yes, you are,” he says firmly. He takes a step closer, his expression earnest, pleading. “I just... I need to understand. Did I do something to push you away? Did I say something, or—”

“No!” The word bursts out of you, louder than you intended. You see him flinch slightly, and your resolve crumbles. “No, Reid, you didn’t do anything.”

“Then why?” he asks, his voice breaking. “Why are you pulling away from me?”

His hurt expression cuts you to the core, and for a moment, you consider telling him the truth—laying it all out, messy and terrifying as it is. But fear holds you back, the fear of ruining everything, of crossing a line that can never be uncrossed.

“I can’t,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “I just... I can’t.”

His brow furrows, confusion clouding his features. “Can’t what?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy and unanswerable. You take a shaky breath, forcing yourself to meet his gaze, and what you see there—hurt, confusion, and something deeper, something vulnerable—almost breaks you.

“I’m sorry,” you say softly, the words barely audible. “I’m so sorry.”

And before he can say another word, you turn and walk away, leaving him standing alone in the empty room.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND FIFTY-THREE

You don’t even remember the drive to Reid’s apartment. The streets blur past in a haze of headlights and cold January air, your heart pounding like a war drum in your chest.

The weight of your own cowardice has become unbearable. His hurt expression haunts you, replaying over and over, the echo of his words a constant refrain: “Why are you pulling away from me?”

You can’t do this anymore. You can’t keep pretending you’re fine when every moment away from him feels like a slow unraveling.

By the time you reach his door, your nerves are frayed to the breaking point. You hesitate for a moment, your hand poised to knock, before finally forcing yourself to take the leap.

Three short raps echo in the quiet hallway.

The door opens after a moment, and there he is—Spencer Reid, standing in sweatpants and a rumpled t-shirt, his hair slightly disheveled, his expression wary but softening the instant he sees you.

“Hey,” he says, his voice uncertain.

“Hi,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

His brow furrows slightly. “Is everything okay?”

“No.” The word slips out before you can stop it, raw and unfiltered. You take a shaky breath, clutching the strap of your bag like it might anchor you to the moment. “Can I come in please?”

He steps aside immediately, his concern deepening as he watches you.

Once inside, you pace the small living room, your hands trembling, your mind racing. Reid stands by the door, watching you with a mix of confusion and apprehension, his arms crossed loosely over his chest.

“Okay, you’re scaring me a little,” he says gently. “What’s going on?”

You stop pacing, your back to him, and close your eyes for a moment, gathering every ounce of courage you have. When you turn to face him, the words tumble out in a rush.

“I have been avoiding you,”

He knew that. But hearing you say it tears him up just a little.

“because I’m an idiot,” you continue, your voice trembling. “Because I thought it would be easier to push you away than to deal with the fact that I—” You falter, your throat tightening, but you force yourself to continue.

“I’m in love with you, Reid.”

His eyes widen, his lips parting in surprise, but you keep going, afraid that if you stop now, you’ll lose the nerve to finish.

“And I was scared. Scared of ruining our friendship, scared you’d look at me differently, scared of losing you. So I distanced myself, and it was stupid and selfish, and I’m sorry.” Your voice cracks, and you take a shaky step toward him. “I’m so sorry, Spencer.”

For a moment, the silence is deafening. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, just stares at you with an unreadable expression.

“Say something,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “Please?”

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he takes a step toward you. Then another. And another, until he’s standing so close you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

“I’ve been in love with you since the day we met,” he says softly, his voice trembling with emotion.

Your breath catches in your throat. “What?”

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” he continues, his eyes searching yours. “You’re brilliant and kind and funny, and you make me feel like I’m not... like I’m not so different. I didn’t want to risk losing you, so I kept it to myself, even though it killed me to see you pull away.”

His words hit you like a tidal wave, a rush of relief and disbelief and something achingly tender.

“Spencer...”

He steps closer, his hand lifting to cup your face, his touch impossibly gentle. “You don’t have to be scared anymore,” he whispers. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Before you can respond, he pulls you into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around you like he’s afraid you might disappear. You bury your face in his shoulder, the familiar scent of him—coffee and faint traces of his shampoo—wrapping around you like a balm.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur against his chest, your voice muffled.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands still resting on your arms. “Don’t be,” he says, his gaze soft and unwavering. “We’ve both been scared. But we don’t have to be anymore.”

You nod, a tear slipping down your cheek, and he brushes it away with his thumb, his touch lingering.

“Does this mean I can invite you to coffee again without you running away?” he asks, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

You laugh, the sound shaky but genuine. “Yeah, yeah that’d be nice—”

His smile widens, and before you can overthink it, you lean in and press your lips to his.

The kiss starts tentative, a soft brush of lips, as if both of you are testing the waters, unsure of what to expect after so long of keeping everything bottled up.

But as the seconds pass, as your heart beats faster and your pulse races with the rush of finally having everything laid bare between you, the kiss deepens.

It’s overwhelming, more than you ever imagined. The gentle pressure of his lips on yours sends waves of warmth through you, and it’s as if everything else—everything you’ve been afraid of, everything that’s kept you distant—melts away in that single, perfect moment.

The tension, the months of pining and longing, spill into the kiss, filling the space between you with everything you’ve been holding back.

You slide your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, and he responds instantly, his hands moving to your waist, holding you tightly as if he’s afraid this moment might slip away. His lips are soft but eager, the kind of kiss that says everything words couldn’t express.

The world outside this room fades into nothingness—the hum of the city, the quiet night air, the noise of your past self-doubt—all of it is gone. It’s just you and him now, tangled up in each other in a way that feels so natural, so right.

You pull back slightly, breathless, and when you look at him, the expression in his eyes is one of pure awe. He’s looking at you like you’re something he’s dreamed of for so long but never thought he’d get to touch.

“You,” he breathes, his voice barely a whisper, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,”

You laugh softly, still reeling from the intensity of the kiss, the electric feeling of his arms around you. “I think I have some idea,” you say, smiling through the haziness of your emotions. “I’m not that oblivious,”

He smiles, a little sheepishly, and presses his forehead to yours. “Yeah, well… I guess we’re both just really good at pretending.”

“Not anymore,” you say, your voice filled with newfound certainty. “No more pretending. No more running. From now on, it’s just... us.”

Reid’s smile widens, and he nods. His hands move to cup your face, the touch tender, reverent. “I promise,” he says softly. “I promise, I won’t let fear get in the way again,”

You nod, your chest swelling with relief. You feel the same. Fear won’t keep you apart any longer.

The transition from being friends to lovers feels seamless, like something that was always meant to happen but only needed the right moment to click into place.

There’s no awkwardness, no second-guessing. It feels like this was the way things were always supposed to be, as if every conversation, every shared laugh, every moment you’d spent together was building toward this.

“You know,” he says quietly, a hint of playfulness returning to his voice, “I think I’m starting to like this ‘not pretending’ thing.”

You chuckle, your heart full, and pull him into another kiss, this one more relaxed, more comfortable. There’s no rush now—just the simple, perfect feeling of being in his arms, of knowing you don’t have to hide anymore.

When you pull away again, you rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “I love you,” you murmur.

“I love you too,” he replies, his voice a little thick with emotion. “I’ve loved you for so long.”

The words are simple, but they carry the weight of everything you’ve both been through.

And as you stand there in his arms, the world outside his apartment feels like a distant memory, something far away that no longer matters. All that matters is the feeling of being together, of stepping into the future with him, side by side. No more fear. No more distance. Just you and him.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND FIFTY-SIX

Returning to work after that night feels surreal, like stepping into a world that’s familiar but somehow brighter, sharper. Everything feels new, but also so wonderfully right.

The team notices almost immediately. They’re profilers, after all.

It starts with the little things—your hand brushing against Spencer’s as you both reach for the same file, the soft, shared smiles exchanged across the bullpen, the way you instinctively gravitate toward him during team meetings.

Morgan’s eyebrows shoot up the first time he catches Spencer stealing a glance at you, his expression so openly fond it borders on dreamy.

“Something you want to tell us, Pretty Boy?” Morgan teases one morning as Spencer sits at his desk, clearly distracted.

Spencer startles, his ears turning red as he fumbles with his pen. “I—uh, no, nothing.”

From her desk, Garcia narrows her eyes suspiciously, then looks at you, her gaze bouncing between the two of you like she’s connecting the dots. “Wait a second. Are you two—?”

“We’re not talking about this,” you say quickly, though the smile tugging at your lips betrays your attempt at sternness.

“Oh, we will talk about this,” Garcia says, grinning triumphantly. “Just as soon as I gather my emotional support snacks.”

Hotch and Rossi, ever the professionals, don’t comment, but the knowing looks they exchange speak volumes.

So does the HR form that magically appears on your desk the same afternoon.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND SIXTY-THREE

A quiet afternoon, as the team prepares for a lull between cases, Spencer walks into the bullpen holding a carefully wrapped package. The sight of him—nervously shifting from foot to foot, his hair slightly mussed, his tie askew—makes your heart ache in the best way.

“Hey,” he says softly, approaching your desk.

“Hey,” you reply, setting aside the file you’ve been working on. “What’s that?”

He holds out the package, his fingers brushing yours as you take it. “It’s for you,” he says, a little shyly. “I’ve had it for a while, but… I was waiting for the right moment,”

Curiosity piqued, you carefully unwrap the package, your breath catching when you see what’s inside: a first-edition copy of a book you’d mentioned offhandedly months ago, a rare find you never thought you’d own.

“Spencer,” you breathe, running your fingers reverently over the worn leather cover. “This is—this is incredible.”

He shrugs, his cheeks flushing pink. “I remembered how much you loved it, and, well… I wanted you to have it,”

You stare at him for a moment, overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness of the gesture, by the quiet devotion it represents. Setting the book aside, you rise from your chair and step closer to him.

“Thank you,” you say, your voice soft but filled with emotion.

Before he can respond, you lean in and kiss him, your hands resting gently on his shoulders. It’s not your first kiss, but it feels just as electric, just as full of promise.

When you pull back, his eyes are bright, his smile soft and radiant. “I think I like this ‘new chapter’ we’re in,” he says quietly, his voice tinged with affection.

“Me too,” you reply, your heart swelling as you brush a stray curl from his forehead.

As you return to your desk, the book resting on the corner like a talisman of everything you’ve built together, you steal another glance at him.

He’s already immersed in his work, his brow furrowed in concentration, but when he catches you looking, he smiles—one of those rare, unguarded smiles that makes your chest ache with how much you love him.

This is where I’m supposed to be, you think. And Spencer would agree.

[strwberri-milk]

a fic where MC gets a promotion and so she prepares a nice candle light or whatever romantic dinner to tell Zayne about her promotion. On the other side, a nurse from the Hospital already told Zayne about mc's promotion and now Zayne thinks mc doesn't find him important, he just starts having sad upset negetive thoughts and even gets angry at her...but when he gets home he finds the romantic dinner setup and MC waiting in a beautiful dress.....angst to fluffy maybe slightly suggestive too

Ty<3

just a heads up i dont really write fics unless i come up w the premise myself! so heres jsut the standard hc format i use! also kinda messy of that nurse ngl but why you going around talking to his coworkers like that [eyes] /lh also i dont acc see him getting angry so ive messed w this a little bit to fit how i see him!

Zayne doesn't react when the nurse gives him the news. He doesn't want to come off as angry or anything but he also is aware that you have a positive relationship with the people he works it from the sheer amount of times you come to visit him.

He does start checking his phone a little more frequently, waiting to see if you'll text him anything that gives him a hint about what that nurse was mentioning. He knows you were gunning for one at work but had no idea what was happening as you'd been silent about it as of late. He did want to ask about but was trying to wait for the perfect moment, not sure when that would be. He tries not to let the notion that you forgot to tell him something that important bother him too much and is...generally successful as long as he's busy with work.

The drive home has him trying to figure out how to broach the topic, so distracted he almost breezes right past you in the kitchen. You stare at him, confused by the focused look on his face until he meets your gaze, raising a brow at your attire and the dinner you have set up. You immediately tell him the great news, any sour emotions he might have felt dissipating.

In bed after celebrating, Zayne finally asks why you told his colleagues before telling him. It takes you a second to register what he's talking about. You finally put the pieces together, telling him that you didn't mean to - you were just waiting for him one evening and were so excited so when you recognised the nurse you couldn't help but spill the beans. You'd thought you'd sworn them to secrecy but clearly not, making a mental note to be more careful next time to avoid any future misunderstandings. Zayne's just happy to have cleared it up, knowing all along it wasn't intentional but glad to hear you say it anyway.

[dixons-sunshine]

To The Place I Belong | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: The world could be cruel. Especially now, as dangers lurked behind every corner in the forms of both the dead and the living. However, despite all of that, Daryl found his solace in the two people he loved most—you and your daughter.

Genre: Fluff.

Warnings: None.

Word count: 1k.

A/N: Requested—or well, a spark of inspiration given by— @holdmytesseract. I hope you like this, my love!

The chilling wind blew through Daryl’s hair as he looked out the window of the truck. Rick was driving the vehicle, the former sheriff’s deputy silent as he focused on getting them both home safely. The gates of Alexandria loomed closer, the promise of safety, of security, a mere few yards away.

You and Hazel were almost within reach.

The vehicle soon came to a stop within the gated community. The sun had just begun its slow descent into the horizon, the ball of flames disappearing behind the mountains. Daryl and Rick both simply left all the supplies on the truck and took different paths to their own homes, the found brothers both silently agreeing that sorting through everything and taking things back to the pantry could wait until the morning. Although Daryl usually would have taken on the task himself and worked late into the night to finish it, he could not be bothered to do so that night. It could indeed wait until the next day.

Daryl’s boots made dull thuds against the pavement as he made his way towards the all too familiar porch. He carefully climbed the few steps that lead up to the front door, and slowly turned the doorknob that would lead him to his own private sanctuary, his escape from the horrors of the world run by the undead.

The crossbow-wielding archer was instantly greeted with the amazing aroma of freshly cooked stew. It made his stomach rumble, making him aware of the fact that he had not eaten anything that day. He had slipped from the bed at the crack of dawn when the house was completely silent. You had still been asleep when he had left for the planned scavenging trip with Rick, your baby girl also still deep within the realms of slumber in her crib in her nursery, dreaming of whatever babies dreamt about.

Daryl smiled his signature half smile when he approached the kitchen and saw what you were up to. You were humming to yourself as you went about tidying up the space, your efficiency being hindered by the fact that you held Hazel in your embrace as well. However, as you had said many times before, it did not bother you. You loved your little munchkin with all of your heart. A little more time spent on cleaning meant nothing in comparison to the love you held for your daughter.

“Somethin’ smells amazin’,” Daryl spoke up after a good twenty seconds of simply observing you.

You spun around at the sound of your husband’s voice, a loving smile gracing your features. “You’re back.” You laughed lightly when Hazel eagerly wriggled around in your arms, her babbles incoherent but clearly getting her point across—she wanted her dad. “Looks like someone missed you.”

Your husband smiled and stepped forward, plucking Hazel from your arms and gently holding her against him. “Hey, babygirl,” he cooed to her softly. “Did ya miss me?” All Daryl got in response was a little adorable giggle. “Well, I certainly missed you, Hazelnut. You ‘n your mama.”

“And we missed you,” you voiced softly, stepping up to stand beside Daryl. You reached out and stroked Hazel’s head tenderly, still in awe—even all those months later—by the fact that you had created such a beautiful human being with the man you loved so much. “We missed you so much.”

Daryl’s heart fluttered in his chest. “Yeah?” he asked rhetorically.

You nodded nonetheless. “Yeah. You were gone for far too long. Isn’t that right, Baby?” Your lips twitched up at the coo you got in response from Hazel. “You should probably just forget all your responsibilities and spend all your time here with us.”

“S’that right?” Daryl asked, turning his head to press a soft kiss to your temple. “’Cause I ain’t against that plan at all. Y’sure you can handle me twenty-four seven?”

You laughed and nodded. “I’m sure a couple more hours of you everyday won’t kill me,” you joked, nudging his shoulder with yours.

Daryl simply chuckled and shook his head. “Well, when ya put it like that, how m’I s’posed to say no?”

“You can’t,” you began playfully. “You can try to decline, but your attempts will be futile. It will be met with resistance in the form of kisses and baby cuddles.”

“Oh, god. Please no. Not the baby cuddles,” Daryl gasped in mock fear. “How s’anyone s’posed to survive the baby cuddles? M’doomed.” He tickled Hazel’s stomach, laughing with her when she squealed happily.

Your heart swelled with love as you watched the two people you loved most. Daryl had come so far. He had grown from that man you had first met at the quarry to he one you got to see now every day. The one you got to love and cherish. The one you got to call your husband.

You smiled softly when Hazel let out a big yawn and lowered her head to rest against Daryl’s shoulder. “I think it’s time we get her to bed,” you said, placing a gentle hand on your archer’s arm.

Daryl shared a look with you, one that voiced more than words ever could. “Alright.”

You both worked together to put your little girl to bed. It was relatively easy to do. One lullaby with some gentle rocking and she was out like a light. You watched as Daryl slowly and carefully lowered Hazel into her crib, before lowering himself down to press one final kiss to her forehead. It was a sweet gesture, one that spoke volumes of his love for the tiny human being that rested within the crib.

You quietly closed the door behind you when you and Daryl left the nursery. Daryl opened his mouth to say something, but it was cut off by the unexpected feeling of your arms wrapping around him. He easily returned the gesture, holding you tightly against him.

“I missed you,” you spoke up, your voice muddled as you nuzzled your face into his chest.

Daryl smiled. “Missed ya too, Sweetheart.” And he meant that. Despite only being apart for a few hours, he had missed you. He had missed Hazel. He had missed his little family. After years of wandering around and wondering where he fit in, he had found it. He had finally found the place where he belongs. His home.

You.

[purlturtle]

For people asking how to find a good balance between staying informed and not obsessing, here's what has helped me most:

Follow only two news outlets: a national one and a local one. Neither are prone to click-baity headlines, which helps as well. Both are reputable and middle-of-the-road in terms of political bias.

Follow them not on social media, but more like "reading the morning newspaper and watching one news show at night" style: I have an RSS feed app that congregates the headlines from the above two sources, and I check it once in the morning and once at night (if that). This means I'm not inundated everywhere all the time, but at a time of my choosing.

Corollary to this: no notifications on my phone. I get notifications for messages from specific people, for emails in a very strongly spam-protected account, and that is *it*. Anything else, I see if and when I decide to open the respective app. *I decide*, not someone pushing notifications. Not even for Tumblr. It's all off.

Mute any keywords for news that trigger you (if you feel like you mustn't, here's your permit: I herewith give you express permission to protect yourself from any such topic), as well as news that upsets you - especially if you can't do anything about it and it doesn't impact you. I have A LOT of American news buzzwords and names blocked, because I am not US-American, don't live there, can't vote there, and it just upsets me and I can't do anything about it.

If I do see posts about something like that that weren't caught by my blocklist, I mute them individually (thanks, Xkit!), or add a new word to the blocklist.

This includes fundraising posts, if that upsets you (for example because you don't have money to spare or don't have the spoons to vet such posts). Again, if you need permission to look away, let me give you it: you don't have to, if it upsets you. Not even to signal boost! Protecting your mental health is worth it. I have closed my asks completely, and messages for people who don't follow me - I was getting just oodles of fundraising asks that I could not mentally handle, and had to cut that out of my Tumblr experience.

I also block or unfollow users that have doom-y vibes, mean vibes, who mainly blog upsetting stuff. And I make it a habit to reblog, on my own blog, political posts only if they have at minimum something actionable attached to the upsetting part, such as templates to write to your representatives, reputable petition links, etc.

I come to Tumblr to have a good time. It is valid to curate your Tumblr experience in such a way that you *have* a good time here. And this is the way I have chosen. Last but not least:

In the lead up to elections in your area, if and when you want to be informed about who you vote for, by all means take a specific time frame (say, an hour every Saturday or something) to look up candidates and what they're running on, as well as past decisions they've made.

Picking a time frame for this will help you not obsess, and still get the info you need.

Make that time frame as small as necessary to work for you, and stick to it.

Check the reputability of the sources you find!

You are allowed to not fill every waking hour with upsetting shit. You are allowed to look away. (I *liberally* block any post who tries to "raise awareness" by trying to guilt-trip me into looking. That shit is not worth anyone's time.) You are allowed to find good news and surround yourself with them. You are allowed to rest and recuperate and laugh and be merry; you don't have to (make yourself) suffer because the world is bad for someone else.

Yes, practice compassion. But, view your own compassion as a finite resource (because it is! Compassion fatigue is a thing!), and be mindful where you turn it to!

Really been mulling this over a lot lately.

[dearru]

twelve grapes | o.miya

pairing: ts!miya osamu x gn!reader | sfw | cw: slight manga spoilers, alcohol, atsumu sucks and kita is here too, a lot of yearning and unresolved feelings, no use of yn | genre: hurt/comfort sorta but also idk just read it and you’ll see | wc: 3.3k (3330) | mlist

synopsis -> in attempting to follow an age-old tradition, you begin to confront some repressed feelings you have for your best friend.

TWENTY MINUTES UNTIL MIDNIGHT, and you’re buzzing with anticipation. Tonight was the annual New Year's party, and the air was alive with excitement. Laughter fills the room, and you navigate through the crowd, ignoring the feeling of sweaty partygoers pressing against your body. Normally, you’d hate pushing through a crowded group of people, but tonight, you’re on a mission. You need to find Kita– the reluctant host of this year’s party and your longtime friend. 

When you find him, you call out, bounding over to where he’s resigned to nursing a bottle of water on the couch, looking entirely overwhelmed by the festivities. You giggle at his current state as he lifts his head sluggishly, eyes half-lidded and fighting sleep. If he weren’t the host of this event, you’re sure he’d already be snuggled under his warm bedsheets, sleeping the Holiday away. 

He hums, sitting up to give you his full attention despite his exhaustion. 

“Do you have grapes?” you ask. 

“Grapes?” He tilts his head, “I have some in the kitchen.” And like the good host he is, he rises from the couch. It’s a half-hearted attempt but appreciated nonetheless. 

Shaking your head, you gesture for him to sit back down, “I can get them; it’s okay!” 

Nodding, he looks almost relieved as he points toward the kitchen. “Top shelf of the fridge.” He says, smiling appreciatively. 

Before you can go, you feel a hand grip your shoulder. Turning, you see a familiar mop of blonde hair and a mischievous grin staring back at you. 

Atsumu Miya– who is another one of your long-term friends, unfortunately. 

“Who’s goin’ to the kitchen?”  The setter slurs, cheeks flushed, “Get me another beer, yeah?” His eyes are glazed over, and the scent of what you presume to be the copious amounts of alcohol he’s consumed wafts off him. The odor is prominent and slightly bitter. You fight the urge to shake your head in knowing disappointment. 

“I think you’ve had enough.” Kita scolds, calm but firm. Atsumu puts a hand up in submission and mutters something under his breath, still holding onto you. 

Chuckling, you untangle yourself from his grasp, glancing toward the kitchen. “Couldn’t get you a beer even if I wanted,” You tease, “I’m gonna stay in the kitchen ‘til midnight.”  

Yawning loudly and plopping down on the sofa next to Kita, Atsumu peers at you curiously. “Midnight? ‘Samu gonna be there too?” He snickers, nudging his former teammate. Kita shoots him a warning glance and then shifts his gaze to you. It’s warm and empathetic. 

You stiffen. The sound of his name has your heart skipping a beat, and Atsumu’s question echoes loud in your ear like the pop of a champagne cork. Everyone’s been drinking tonight, so maybe it’s the liquor and crowd getting to you, but you suddenly feel aware of how your breath catches.

You and Osamu are friends– best friends, even– but recently, you’ve started to notice things about him that maybe best friends shouldn’t notice. Like the way his hair tousles in an annoyingly effortless way or how he rolls his sleeves up just enough for you to get a glimpse of his arms, toned and strong. You try your best to push the thoughts away because you two are friends, and it’s wrong to think of friends like that. 

Try as you might, it’s more difficult said than done. Especially when you two spend every free moment you have together. Even after spending long, laborious nights slaving away at Onigiri Miya, Osamu always stops by your apartment, doggy bag in hand. He tells you it’s just to make sure you’re eating, but you know the casual drop-ins are an excuse to have hour-long chats together in the dead of night. You never mind, but it makes you wonder if he thinks about you in the way you think about him. 

It’s wishful thinking, you tell yourself, He’s got better things to worry about than you. It’s best practice to not have false hope, and you’ve tried your best to not let all the inner turmoil affect the way you act.

When Atsumu mentions his brother, you feel a wave of discomfort that betrays how desperately unbothered you want to seem by him. You want to laugh it off, but the words don’t come out in the effortlessly cool way you imagined in your head. 

“Why would we be together at midnight?” You ask. The words are rushed, and you cringe at how the pitch of your voice raises. The weight of his accusatory gaze makes you feel like a dying animal being stalked by a vulture. He’s onto you, and you can’t do anything about it. 

Letting the silence hang in the air for a moment longer than what’s comfortable, Atsumu sighs, chuckling and leaning further into the cushions, “If yer not with ‘Samu, then what’re ya doin’ in the kitchen?” 

You breathe a sigh of relief at the change of topic. “I’m doing the twelve grapes tradition.” 

“Twelve grapes?” Kita asks.

You smile, confidence returning to you, “Yeah! I read about it online. You eat twelve grapes under a table, and it’s supposed to bring good luck for the New Year.” 

Snorting, Atsumu crosses his arms, “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Biting your inner lip, your eyes narrow. You’re used to his blunt comments, but they still get under your skin sometimes. You try not to let it show. 

“Don’t be rude,” Kita sighs, then looks to you, voice softening, “Just don’t choke when you’re eating them, okay?” 

“I won’t.” You assure him while glaring at Atsumu, who’s still laughing under his breath. 

Making your way to the kitchen, you hear Atsumu call out, mockingly cheery, “Yer gonna look dumb bein’ all alone at Midnight!” 

You pause and then shake your head, continuing to the kitchen. What do you care if you’re alone? The one person you’d want to ring the New Year in with had probably left the party by now to get ready to open his restaurant in the morning, anyway. 

It’s not a big deal. 

TEN MINUTES UNTIL MIDNIGHT, and you feel stupid. 

In spite of Atsumu’s taunts, you’ve slipped away into the kitchen to escape the boisterous crowd that gathered around the living room. They’re all anxiously awaiting for 12:00 AM to strike together, and you’re by yourself. Bass from the loud music seeps through the thin walls and pulses through your head, amplifying your growing discomfort. You try to focus on how the quiet hum of the stove subtly masks the muffled sounds of laughter and the premature clinking of glasses from the other room. It would be nice, you think, to take a break from the party— if it weren’t for how alone you felt. 

This is silly.

Opening the fridge, you sigh as you feel the cool air hit your face, the chill sobering and harsh. You’re grateful for the obsessively organized way Kita stores his groceries; it makes it easy to find the grapes. They’re exactly where he said they’d be, tucked away on the top shelf. Grabbing the container, you set it down on the counter, gently plucking the fruit from the stem. As you place twelve into a bowl, the simple task is marred by a feeling of unbelievable doubt. You try to fight off the creeping sensation of dread overcoming you. 

Is this a dumb idea? 

You pause, thoughts wandering. You think about how this tradition is said to bring luck and success in all areas of life, it was exciting at first, but now it feels like an absurd notion. Why did you want to do this in the first place? 

As you continue to prepare the grapes, you try to settle the unease you feel. This tradition is supposed to be fun, but now you feel like it represents something more. Something bigger. 

Silently, you hope Atsumu will come and drag you away from this nonsense. It was always easier to ignore the thoughts when you were around others. 

But more than that, you wish for something else– Osamu. Looking down at the dish, you wish he would come and tell you how he feels. Reassure you there’s some merit in your thought. 

If that happened, you wouldn’t need the grapes anymore. It would prove that you had more than enough luck on your side. 

You really wish he was here. 

His lack of presence only emphasizes the emptiness of the room, and your heart lurches with the desire for him to be here with you. It’s pointless; though, you’re sure he’s gone home by now, and you’re still here with nothing but a bowl of fruit and unanswered questions.  

Running the sink, you wash the fruit, hoping it’ll help you calm down. But you realize that pushing down these thoughts is a futile task. You can’t keep pretending like you don’t feel this magnetic pull to him– you can’t keep acting like you don’t need him. 

You love him too much to ignore it anymore. 

FIVE MINUTES UNTIL MIDNIGHT, and you wonder if you should forget your idea and return to celebrate with the others. 

You haven’t gotten under the table yet. Instead, you’re standing idly by the counter, staring at the grapes with more intensity than they’re worth. With the magnitude of your previous realization sitting heavy on your chest, you wonder if this tradition holds the key to anything. 

Could it help you learn to navigate your now undeniable feelings? 

The thought of grapes being the answer to all your problems is such a silly idea that you giggle to yourself. It takes some of the weight off your mind. 

And then, with comedic timing, you hear Osamu call your name. 

Snapping your head to the doorframe, you see his figure walking towards you, the door swinging closed in his wake. The clock in the room ticks steadily, but time seems to move slowly. Though a typically reserved person, his presence feels large and looms over you, causing your heart to pound with want. 

Clearing your throat, you pick the bowl up, holding it tight to your chest like a shield. 

“I thought you went home,” You say, face warm. 

It’s almost time now, but Osamu’s sudden appearance has thrown a wrench in your plans. 

“Nah,” He waves his hand dismissively, “Just crashed on Kita’s bed for a bit. Shop was busy. Needed to recharge.” 

You hum mindlessly, finding it hard to focus. Adorning a fitted shirt and a simple pair of jeans, it makes you almost mad at how he doesn’t have to try, and he still looks good. 

You’re so screwed. 

“How’d you know I was here?”  You ask, tapping your fingers against the dish. The cool porcelain touches your fingertips and sends a rush down your spine. 

“‘Tsumu told me.” He explains, “ ‘S ‘cause he heard I was lookin’ for you.” 

Your heart stutters. “You were looking for me?” 

“‘Course I was,” He replies, amused. He says it like you’re silly for thinking otherwise. Lips turning into a slight grin, he shrugs, “‘S almost Midnight.” 

He steps closer, not seeming bothered at all. His gaze locks on yours, and you feel like it’s on purpose. When he tries to reach for a grape, you quickly jerk the dish out of reach. Osamu looks at you curiously. 

“What’re you doin’ here, anyways?” He asks, a playful glint in his eyes. There’s something else, too– but you can’t place it yet. 

You hold up the bowl, feeling a bit ridiculous having to explain yourself, “I’m— uh, gonna eat twelve of these under a table.” 

His gaze has your mind reeling. Tilting his head, he peers at you, “Why wouldn’t ya just eat ‘em right now? Grapes ‘re good.” 

You giggle at his simple nature. Of course he’d want to eat the snack as soon as possible. Trying to play it cool, you swat his hand away. His hand brushes against yours and makes you shiver. 

Clearing your throat, you avert your eyes, “It’s ‘cause people say if you eat them under the table at midnight, you’ll gain success in all areas of life.” You pause before quickly adding, “Even romance.” 

You regret it as soon as you say it, but you can’t do anything about it now. 

He raises his eyebrows, “Ya want a boyfriend?” 

“It would be nice, I guess,” You stammer, embarrassed but relieved to say something truthful about your feelings for once.

“I didn’t know that,” He hums thoughtfully.

An agonizing silence hangs in the air. The only noise comes from the increasingly rowdy crowd in the other room. 

Osamu breaks the still before you can. 

“So why aren’t ya under a table yet?” He asks, looking down at his watch, “‘S almost time.” 

Smiling sheepishly, you look down at the floor, “Well, I was gonna do it, but now I’m insecure ‘cause Atsumu said I’d look dumb being all alone.” 

He scoffs, “Don’t listen to ‘Tsumu– he’s the dumb one.” 

You chuckle, “I guess, yeah, but still, I’d feel better if I could’ve found someone to do it with me. Kinda like a solidarity thing, y’know?”

“Yeah,” He agrees, then grabs the bowl without warning. You lunge to grab it back, but he holds it just out of reach when you get close. Looking around the room, he seems like he’s considering his options. You whine. 

“Samu! I need those!” 

“Ya wanna do it right there?” He asks, ignoring your plea and pointing at a cozy table hidden in the nook of Kita’s kitchen. His voice is low and laced with a teasing energy. 

Taken aback, you stop your efforts. You stare at him. 

Was he going to do the tradition with you?  

He starts to walk away, and you stand there, confused. He looks over his shoulder, still holding the bowl out of your reach, “Well,” He says, “Ya comin’?”

“I…” You swallow, heart filling with something hopeful, “You’re serious?”  

“Dead.” He quips. 

And because you could never say no to him– and you also really did want to do the tradition— you haphazardly scramble to grab more grapes from the counter since Osamu had stolen yours. 

Kita would just have to forgive you for eating all his food. 

ONE MINUTE UNTIL MIDNIGHT, and your body warms from being in such close proximity to Osamu. If it were anyone else, you’d laugh at how the two of you barely fit under the small table, your knees awkwardly bumping and arms pressed together. But because it’s him, the closeness hurts. Your hands are so close that you ache to reach out and touch him. Every small movement sends a jolt of electricity through you. The faint scent of his cologne– sandalwood, you think– clings to his person and makes your pulse quicken.

Everything feels so trivial with him next to you. This moment shouldn’t feel as intimate as it does, but you can’t help it. 

Looking at the grapes, you wonder why he’s doing this. Did he feel bad for you? Is that why he wasn’t somewhere else, celebrating with his brother and other friends?

It’s all too much. At this rate, you’ll die before the clock strikes twelve. 

You have to say something. 

“I didn’t know you believed in stuff like this.” You say, careful to keep your voice steady. 

He turns to you, and you can feel his breath on your face. The sudden nearness steals your own breath away. 

He’s so close. 

“I like eating grapes.” He shrugs, his voice as calm as you wish you were. Pausing, he parts his lips to speak, eyes glimmering with something unspoken, “And maybe I need a little luck too.” 

You’re too eager to know what he’s talking about to hide your embarrassingly shrill speech, “Luck? With what?” 

His gaze holds yours, and for a second, you feel like he’s about to say something important– but he doesn’t. 

Instead, he gives you a sly smile. “I guess you’ll have to wait and see if it works,” He says. It’s teasing, but there’s something else in his eyes. It makes your heart lurch. 

His words settle over you like the weight of the sky, crushing you with their ambiguity. It’s cruel, how vaguely he speaks. Doesn’t he know what he’s doing to you? How he makes you feel? All you can do is gape at him, the air filling with so much tension that you’re sure he can feel it too. 

The countdown starts in the other room and delays your inevitable spiral. Nodding at him, you look at the grapes in front of you, preparing yourself for the task you originally set out to do.

You’re so focused that you miss how Osamu’s still looking at you. 

ONE MINUTE PAST MIDNIGHT, and you’ve both finished your grapes. The faint echoes of drunken cheering filter in from the other room– a signal that it’s time to leave the kitchen and rejoin the celebration. Despite this, neither you or Osamu have moved from your places under the table. You’re still so close. The sound of your shaky breaths dance together, and the heat of his touch burns your skin. 

He hasn’t stopped looking at you. 

You try not to meet his gaze. It’s charged and entirely too intense for you to even begin to wrap your head around what it all means. Maybe you’re looking too deeply into things again. But you don’t think you are. 

Eyes darting around the room, you settle on looking at the clock. Its ticking has sped back up to a normal pace, and you focus on the calming rhythm. 

It’s useless, though. You can’t ignore him. Not for long. 

“What?” You breathe out, still not looking at him directly. 

“Nothin’,” He echoes, voice equally quiet. 

You swallow, finally allowing yourself to indulge in the intimacy of having his complete attention. Examining his face, your eyes widen. He’s really staring. You squirm from the intensity of the situation, accidentally bumping his side. You squeak out a “Sorry!” And he laughs. It’s full of warmth and affection, and it makes the hairs on your arm stand. 

Your breath hitches. Has he always acted like this with you? 

He says your name and smiles softly. Gaze pining you in place, dark eyes filled with intent, “Ya think we’ll both get what we want this year?” 

Your stomach flips.  

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask. The closeness paired with the intensity of his stare is almost unbearable. You’re sure he can see your heart beating out of your chest if he hadn’t picked up on it already.

He shrugs, “Dunno.” Then he gets up from under the table, brushing dust off his knees. The ghost of his touch lingers on your skin, and you have half the mind to tell him to come back. Under the table, it felt like you two were in your own world, but now you’re worlds apart. 

His hand falls in front of your face to help you up, and you accept it just to feel him touch you again. 

It’s silent for a moment as you two stand next to each other. You’re still close, even though you don’t have to be. 

“Hey,” Osamu says softly, voice cutting through the tension, “Happy New Year.” 

You blink at him, chest tight, “Yeah, Happy New Year.” 

He hesitates, just for a moment, mouth opening like he wants to say something more, “I…” He starts but then shakes his head, “I think a lot’s gonna change this year.” 

You ache from everything left unspoken and what could be. An indescribable feeling settles over you, and your mind races with possibility. This year is a fresh slate– a chance for something new.

With luck on your side, maybe that something new could be with Osamu.

—a/n HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!! This was supposed to be a 500 word drabble for a multi-character post, but I got a bit carried away…whoops! I hope you guys enjoyed regardless. I know longer fics don’t typically do well on tumblr, so If you read everything, I’m very grateful! I hope the Holiday season treated everyone who celebrate well :3.  

–a/n #2: according to mexican tradition, you’re supposed to match your underwear to what aligns with your desire for the new year. you and osamu both wore red aka the color of love. do with that what u will. (@cherrysurf gave me this idea!) 

[married-to-google-translater]

Hello, I would like to ask for an imagine of Leona and Jamil in a self-aware AU, being in love with a reader, who has one of them as a favorite (you can decide if you want Yandere or not)

Okaaaaay~ I hope u enjoy this :3

Yandere Leona Kingscholar

Leona wouldn't care much about being a game character.

He would care more about not being able to cuddle with the real you.

This dude is very chill...

At least until he realizes that some other people can flirt with you.

Leona would definitely not approve of this.

He would have to come up with something.

However, knowing that he is your favorite character would calm him down a bit.

Oh Leona would be really smug if he was your favorite.

He would really rub it in Malleus' face.

You would improve his self-esteem a lot.

Too bad you're not in their world.

This would really annoy him.

Leona would be rich...

He might not have experience with how the code works, but he could certainly hire someone to figure it out.

His family would get the bill :3

You would get a lot of edited interactions.

R.I.P Malleus' screen time.

Leona is not sure how, but he will find a way for you to be together.

Yandere Jamil Viper

Well, this would be a shock.

Jamil had never thought of himself as a game character.

He doesn't know how to deal with this at first.

However, things will get better with time.

Jamil believes that you still understand him better than anyone else.

Also knowing that he is your favorite makes it a little easier.

Jamil would have to explain all the time that his ability to hypnotize does not work in another world.

Believe Jamil would have tried.

If he got paid every time people think he would be richer than Kalim.

However, Jamil is not rich...

This would annoy him a lot because he can't bribe anyone to modify the code.

Jamil might try to learn on his own.

After all, he would be pretty smart.

If your game crashes when you try to put another character on your home screen, you know who to blame.

Jamil would probably want to find a way to enter your world so you could be together.