#for people who are wondering what this is

[webism]

pornstar!shiu who started out as your agent. he’d book your gigs, stand and watch with cigarette in hand as you were fucked on film for a fat check that he’d take a cut of.

pornstar!shiu who would take you out for celebratory drinks after landing larger acts—be it a shoot for a dirty magazine or a collaboration with the current biggest name in adult film. shiu is good at getting you in—and he doesn’t much mind watching your artwork either.

pornstar!shiu who helps you set up a secondary source of income: an onlyfans. he helps you garner an audience, set your prices and start looking for guest stars. he lines a few up, lets you pick from them and even pours them a drink when they come over to film. shiu lets you have privacy with these shoots, but insists on staying in the house just in case anything goes sideways: they never do, though. most of the guys you film with are put off by the look shiu gives them when they first walk in. mean.

pornstar!shiu who slowly starts to get sick of accommodating the men you film with. it's just work, sure, but he doesn't get jealous like this of the girls that his other client Toji works with. he doesn't watch their videos back on repeat to make sure their hands don't wander where they aren't welcome. he doesn't fuck his fist at night thinking about him. it's just a you thing.

pornstar!shiu who gets an email one day from a well known pornstars agent practically begging to hitch up a collab between you and him. satoru gojo is a name shiu has heard plenty times before, be it through the business side of being your agent or through his computer speaker when he's edging himself to mindless porn in the dead of night. he knows he fucks good, seen it first hand.

pornstar!shiu who knows you're excited for this shoot, to finally get to try out the guy known for giving real orgasms in hopes of a more raw shoot. shiu almost feels bad when he tells you, twenty minutes before your shoot, that gojo can't make it. that he's sick with something nasty and you'll have to reschedule if his calendar opens up for you.

pornstar!shiu who listens to you whine about how you promised your online audience something good tonight. nods as you beg for him to find someone else on such short notice. he pretends to scroll through his phone and send a few texts as you stress your pretty mind over leaving your followers hanging. shiu can't help but smile at your desperate pout when he tells you that no one can make it on such short notice... but that he does have another idea, albeit an unconventional one.

pornstar!shiu who, within twenty minutes, has your face pressed into your pillows and his hand forcing your arch so he can fuck you just that little bit deeper. the moans you let out, even though they're muffled by your satin pillow, are nothing short of pornographic. it's fitting, and pulls a smile onto shiu's face because he's hearing better moans from you than he thinks gojo could ever pull. and god you feel better than he'd ever imagined: he wonders how he'll ever lay down for another person again know that he's felt you wrapped around his cock.

pornstar!shiu who insists it's just a favour: just work. he's given you five orgasms and a dirty movie to show for it too. you two fuck for an hour and he showers at your place before helping you edit and post it over dinner. it's casual, nothing awkward, but when the comments start rolling in about this new man that makes you cum like none other has, you swear he blushes.

pornstar!shiu who quickly becomes a regular on your page. goes from being your agent to somewhat of a partner in film. over the course of a few weeks, you have more money than you know what to do with: people keep subscribing to watch you cum on his cock in the mindless way it seems only he can pull from you. your library grows daily, with videos of him fucking you on the kitchen counter, whipped cream eaten straight from your chest, to videos from his perspective as he takes drags of a cigarette while you get your fix from your lips wrapped around his thick cock. he's somewhat of a pornstar himself now.

pornstar!shiu who, for someone who insisted this was just work, gets into the habit of kissing you through your orgasms. or conveniently forgetting to press record so that your marathon sex session on his couch stays for his eyes only. or starts leaving things at your house on the off chance to have someone else over to film with, so they'll see his hair gel or large shoes by the front door and realise you're spoken for, even if he doesn't have the right to speak for you.

pornstar!shiu who's asleep in your bed one night, his cock still nestled deep inside of you after making love to you for the first time. you're littered with lovebites and your mind is hazy with feelings you never thought you'd have for your agent of all people. the night is dark, and as you're cockwarming the man who is much more than just a co-star to you, your phone dings. he stirs, and you check it to find a message from Satoru Gojo, who is asking after you. he says he's upset you didn't get to film together the other week but he hopes you're feeling better. your sickness seemed pretty nasty, from what your agent said when he cancelled on your behalf.

what a shame!

[ms-demeanor]

Hi, I share your strong pro-medicine, pro-vaccines, anti-woo beliefs. I also have chronic digestive issues and insurance that won’t cover the useful specialists. The gastroenterologists I’ve encountered are helpful for making sure my insides look okay but they don’t seem to have much training around nutrition and food science. Nutritionists are unlicensed and I find them about as trustworthy as chiropractors, and I can’t get insurance to cover a registered dietician. The internet is saturated with pseudoscience junk and “miracle cures”, and in moments of desperation I’ve fallen for some of them. Luckily I haven’t been harmed by anything so far, but I don’t think they helped much either.

I was wondering if you or your followers have any resources on IBS and/or GERD that are scientifically sound and written for a general audience? Or advice for identifying when pop-sci-style “food science” articles are a scam?

I deeply regret to inform you that I was so annoyed by this exact problem that I literally went back to school to start working on getting a degree in nutrition and got two and a half years into a second bachelor's degree before realizing I wouldn't be able to get into any programs in my area that I could afford because the local state schools aren't accepting second bachelor's applicants. (Cal State Chico, I love you and you are too far away, it's not meant to be)

Nutrition information online is completely infested with woo and I am hesitant to point people toward one of the good resources I used to reference because it is politically batshit.

If you are looking at a food science article on the internet and are trying to figure out if it's a scam the big red flags to look out for are:

anything claiming to be a silver bullet; there are no silver bullets, no magical treatments, no one weird food that will fix the problem or one weird supplement that will make everything better.

Over-emphasis on a specific type of diet (diet as in "all the food that a person consumes" not as in "weight loss tool") for a general population. It's irresponsible to recommend a rigorous, restricted diet to a wide variety of people because people are so different that one diet that works for one person (say a vegan diet) might be unhealthy or difficult to manage for another person who would thrive on a different diet (low fat, low carb).

Anyone who tells you to cut out an entire food group or macronutrient is a liar who is trying to get your money. Unless it is your personal medical doctor who is saying "you need to stop eating grains" you do not need to stop eating grains and should not stop eating grains. You also do not need to stop eating fat, or eat only protein, or cut all fruit out of your diet. (caveat: there are some conditions that require a very low fiber diet, but even on that diet there are some fruits you can eat)

Beyond that, what you can do to make sure you're getting the best information possible is:

look up the author of any article you're looking at and see what else they've written; check what their qualifications are. See the people they interact with or have collaborated with. If they work heavily with people who are, say, antivax or proponents of raw milk, you should not trust their work.

If you see something that claims to treat your condition or help with nutrition, search "[subject] research study" or "[subject] scholarly research" and see what comes up. Read at least a few papers on the subject and see if there's a consensus or if there are broad disagreements. Get into the habit of looking up the impact scores of journals and researching the history of the journals.

Learn to recognize the woo keywords with your particular illness. For celiac that's "leaky gut," and any article I come across that discusses "leaky gut" gets extra scrutiny because sometimes there are legitimate reasons to describe a "leaky gut" but more often there are woo nonsense reasons. One really good way to figure out what the woo keywords for your illness are is to search "[your illness] + [woo huckster]", so "celiac + joseph mercola" or "celiac + the food babe." (those are good starting places to see what woo is popular around anything nutrition based, really; nothing those two say is trustworthy) you can also try "[your condition] + [specific type of medical woo]" with, like, "chiropractic" and "homeopathic" and "holistic" in the second box.

Be wary of positive assertions without evidence. If someone is making an affirmative statement and they aren't providing a citation, be suspicious.

Anyway. Good luck. It sucks out there.

[specialmouse]

I hate doing this. It feels like I’m trying to pitch a family’s lives to dispassionate, detached investors.

Today I spoke with Khaled, Ghada’s younger brother who helps her run their campaign, and as I sent him a draft he said something incredibly sobering. I had asked you to raise $500 in 2 weeks because it seemed realistic—and he said, it needs to come sooner, this isn’t urgent enough. My heart dropped when I realized what I had said. I’m tired of capitulating to the whims of reblogs, of finding the language that most appeals to your generosity.

Khaled and his family are freezing to death. His niece, Iman, has osteoporosis and needs leg braces. She is 6 years old. What more do I need to say, and how should I say it? What other pictures of these elementary school children do you need to see? Do you need to see them bleed for you to merely share the post? How much more trauma is necessary until it opens your wallet? I don’t want to shame you—I am trying to wake you up. The reality is that I could say this about any campaign from Gaza. I could say it about Fadel’s, I could say it about Ola’s, or Hanan’s.

But I have gotten to know Ghada’s family and their stories over the past month and it has become personal. When I eat, I wonder if little Amir was able to do that today. When I put on my shoes, I wonder if my sweet Iman is struggling to walk. I see elders in the street and think of Nabil and Fatima, how hard they have worked for their family’s happiness for it all to be stripped away from them. I see families laughing together and think of Ahed and Mohamed, who must witness their beautiful children shiver and cry for their old lives in the bitter cold. I see men my age and think of my dearest Khaled, who did everything right, got his degree and his job and planned his future, and still is forced to wake up at dawn every day to carry water back to his family.

Maybe that’s what you need—you need to realize that the people you see around you are the same as the people in Gaza. Maybe it is hard behind a screen. Maybe the methods we are forced to employ annoy you, or make you feel guilty. The only way to assuage the guilt is to help. If you have the money, please send it. If you can’t, please share. I don’t know how else to combine words anymore to appeal to you, without downplaying the severity and urgency of this.

€8,001/€20,000 - DONATE. JUST DONATE, PLEASE.

@rickybabyboy @sayruq @officialspec2 @nabulsi @valtsvolts @komsomolka-blog @r0zeclawz @chokulit @3000s @ot3 @90-ghost @apas-95 @punkitt-is-here @i-am-a-fish @b0tster @vampiricvenus @turtletoria @tamamita @omegaversereloaded @catsgifsarefun @teaboot @sawasawako @feluka @spongebobssquarepants @skipppppy @paper-mario-wiki @xgoldenlatiasx @postanagramgenerator @memingursa @certifiedsexed @afro-elf @11thsense @spacebeyonce @fools-and-perverts @dailyquests @neechees @evillesbianvillainarchive @taffybuns @nyancrimew @thatdiabolicalfeminist @beserkerjewel @tpwrtrmnky @beetledrink @spaghettioverdose @grox @minmos @paparoach @jackalopescruff @slimetony

[dcxdpdabbles]

Holiday request: child support

John is in a meeting with the Justice League when Clockwork comes knocking. It's a regular update on security and safety procedures, the kind of boring stuff John would have customarily skipped out on, except that this meeting also covers how to provide younger teams support.

Teams that his son was a part of. If Danny was ever on a mission, that could have ended in him passing simply because some wanker didn't know how to find him or how to help him in time?

So here was John, half slumped over his chair as Batman droned about procedures and policies. He had barely gotten through Wonder Woman's long lecture on support combat.

He was thinking of grabbing a coffee- John's been working on his drinking after making a promise to try and get sober for his son- so he was replacing the urge for alcohol with coffee. It was one of the hardest things he's ever done.

Thankfully, he knows some spells that help with withdrawals. It's better than the alternative, even if some days are shitter than others.

"Hello, Johnny," Coos, the Ancient being of Time, flouting before him in his human form. John can feel every hero's jaw drop even as he smiles awkwardly at the other parent of his child.

"Clockwork." He greets, eyes taking in the gorgeous features of Time. He nods his head towards the bag, flouting by Clockwork. "Lovely to see you as always. Got a gift for me?"

"Hmm." Clockwork flouts down, landing on his feet and surveying the room. His pure red eyes sparkled in amusement as the awestruck members of the Justice League. Even Batman seemed momently thrown- though if that was because of Clockwork's beauty or the insane amount of power pushing down on all their souls was anyone's guess.

"I've come to spend a weekend with my son. And you, I suppose, if you do not mind housing me." Clockwork says, at last, patting the bag. John feels his mouth go dry. Yes, he slept with Acient before and wouldn't be opposed to another round, but Clockwork wasn't his average ex.

Clockwork held the entire multiverse at the tip of his fingers, suspended on his amusement, and it could all be destroyed with a mere snap from the other. If he found disproved of even the slightest thing about how John was raising Danny, he could kill billions of people, or worse, he could take Danny away.

John feels cold dread grip his heart even as he laughs. "Of course, I can house you. I hope you won't find being in the human world too much hassle."

"Oh no. I have the perfect disguise to blend in with the humans." Clockwork assures, pulling out a pair of fetching glasses and a white cane. He places them on his head and taps his stick on the ground before grinning. John finds himself instantly spotting the same cocky curve to Danny's own grin, and his heart swells.

"Now, where is my boy? It's been years since I last saw him." Clockwork pauses before shrugging his head. "Or it's only been nine months in this realm. Still a long time for my son."

The Ancient snaps his fingers, ripping a portal open to the front of Danny's school. He offers his arm to the blond man, nodding toward Gotham Academy. The soft ring of the dismissal bells rings as students start pouring out of the front door in drones. Classes for the day have just ended.

"Come along, Johnny. Guide me." John shoots the Leauge an apologetic smile, knowing they will understand how important this visit is. He loops his arm through Clockwork, while heaving the man's bag over his other shoulder. The soft tapping of Clockwork's cane on the ground is the portal's only sound before it slams closed.

It cuts off the explosion of noise the Leauge makes, but with all those overlapping voices, John has no idea who said what.

Danny walks out of the school with Damian, Jon, and Colin, laughing and beaming at the younger boys. Clockwork pauses for a few seconds before he beams.

"You're doing a great job, Johnny." The Ancient says just as Danny's gaze locks on them. His face fumbles with ripples of emotion before lighting up in glee. He races towards them with a gutted shout, "Father!"

Clockwork opens his arms just as Danny slams into him. John steps back, but the Ancient grabs the sleeve of his trench coat and drags him into the hug.

"A really great job." The non-human whispers into John's ear. He feels a soft caress against his magic as if Clockwork was brushing the hair out of his face. His heart flutters softly, even as Danny beams at them, and various teenagers panic at his boy's beauty.

Something tells John that having his ex visiting won't be as bad as he initially thought.

[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.

[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.

[cherrygirlfriend]

pairing: frat!rafe x tutor!reader synopsis: reader attends a frat party where the theme is to dress up as your type warnings: fluff! wc: 1.3k i got this idea from the wonderful @rafeyscurtainbangs and it had me dead because it's so funny and i can picture him wearing that… i also tried out a new kinda formatting for funsies ^_^ also i'm surprised i’ve never posted for frat!rafe? anyway first fic for 2025!

you'd never really been much into parties, your best friend constantly trying to get you to go to some of the various parties the social butterfly had gotten invited to, but you simply held up the book you were in the middle of and let out a soft hum as a way to say that you had your own plans. after some more pleading, lexi always gave up trying to convince you to come and left you in your own devices, returning in the early hours of the morning, trying to be as quiet as possible yet waking you up every time.

but this time, all the girl had to do was mention the frat party she was going to that night when you let out a sigh and told her you'd come with her. maybe there was a second reason you wanted to go, other than to just please your friend.

"we're having a party this friday."

you chuckled, turning your gaze from the book in front of you to the boy next to you, "you're in a fraternity, rafe. i'm pretty sure that happens every friday without exception."

your words caused the boy to roll his eyes, yet the small grin you'd grown to like still remained on his lips as he repositioned his backwards cap, "yeah, but it's a themed party. you should come."

"why?" you furrowed your brows in suspicion and confusion as to why he'd want you to attend, "what's the theme?"

"you're supposed to dress up as your type."

"and what are you going as? some kind of variation of jennifer from jennifer's body? or regina from mean girls?" you let out a small snort.

"guess you'll have to come if you wanna find out." the boy poked your forearm with the rubber end of his pencil, licking his lips, "i wanna see what kind of guys you are into. i bet it's some thrifty hipster dudes or some broody bad boys that secretly get hard for poetry and emily dickinson and shit."

you felt your cheeks warm from the memory as you placed the backwards cap on your head. you looked in the mirror, clad in loose jeans that hung low on your hips so it'd show off the calvin klein logo on your underwear, and a sweatshirt adorning the logo of your university. the outfit you wore looked just like something rafe would wear during one of your tutoring sessions. hell, he probably had.

lexi looked at you with raised brows, the muscular girl who usually wore dark, baggy clothes looked strange in the blue sundress she'd borrowed from you, her biceps basically protruding from the short sleeves, the girl's short black hair pulled up into a tiny attempt at a ponytail, wearing some simple makeup that you'd helped her apply.

"you're going as a frat guy? to a frat party?" she snorted, taking in your ensemble, "damn, you date so little that i had no idea that's the type of guy you were into."

you rolled your eyes, throwing her the handbag that she'd asked you if she could borrow, "and you're going as...?"

"a straight girl." lexi said, her usual shit-eating grin taking over her lips.

"in that case, you could've just worn like, a grey hoodie, those flared leggings, and a pair of white nike air force ones. most straight girls here do. i think you've failed at your assignment."

"shut up."

you were surprised by how many people actually dressed up according to the theme, especially over the number of frat boys wearing different types of skirts and dresses, some of them even sporting poorly done makeup looks on their faces.

having gotten separated from lexi almost the moment you arrived to the party, you were now leaning against the living room wall, hiding a part of your face behind a red solo cup half-full of some sort of concoction you'd found as you looked around. you'd always been better at standing aside, observing what everyone else was doing, rather than trying to join in.

you lifted the cup to your mouth and drank some of the nasty liquid, nearly spitting it out when you spot rafe chatting to his friends, just about managing to swallow it before you keel in laughter.

he stood confidently in a grey cardigan strewn over a white button-up that was so small on him it actually turned into a crop top, showing off the lower part of his abs, a faint happy trail as well as a defined v-line leading to a short black pleated skirt, his calves covered by black socks that ended just below his knees.

it seemed that your amusement had caught rafe's attention, as the moment you'd finally managed to straighten yourself up, the boy was strutting over to you, his hands on his hips in a way that almost caused you to go into another laughing fit.

"what's so funny?" rafe asked with lifted brows as he reached you, looking over your outfit with a pleased look on his face before gesturing to his own, "you don't think i look hot?"

"oh, definitely. the hottest." you snorted, bringing the drink to your lips and taking a small sip before pursing your lips in thought, "so, what's your type? britney spears?"

the boy's brows furrowed at that, "huh?"

"you look just like her in one of her music videos." you explained, your lips falling open in shock as his eyebrows continued to remain furrowed, "you don't know 'baby one more time'?"

"i haven't seen it." rafe shrugged, "what, you can't recognize who i'm trying to dress as?"

"i can't say i do. who?"

"i'm dressed as you."

you knew that if you were able to see yourself, your eyes would comically widen the moment the words left rafe's lips; and as you looked at him up and down, you realized, that his outfit was something you'd usually wear; just more lewd. "you're... dressed as me?"

"yeah. and clearly you're dressed as me."

"based- based on what?" you laughed incredulously, feeling your cheeks light up, bringing the cup to your lips and drinking just so you'd be able to hide a part of your face from the boy.

"well," rafe snatched the cap on your head, placing it on his instead, making his entire ensemble look even goofier, as he took hold of the front of your sweatshirt. "i'm pretty sure i've worn this exact same outfit."

"that doesn't mean anything… plenty of guys wear this." you mumbled from behind your cup, only to have rafe grab it from your hands, your eyes widening as you watched him finish it in one swallow, scrunching up the cup and throwing it on the floor somewhere.

cupping your chin with his finger and lifting it up so you were looking up at him, rafe brought his face closer to yours, his ice-blue eyes looking into yours in a way that made you feel like you were naked as his lips twisted into a knowing grin, "it doesn't?"

"n-"

before you could finish denying it, rafe's lips were pressed against yours; your eyes still wide open when his free hand slid to your waist, pulling you closer to him.

slowly, you felt yourself melt into the kiss, your eyes automatically closing as your lips moved against his. your hands were pressed against his chest, slowly moving down to feel his defined abs over the sheer button-up.

you could feel rafe's grin against your lips before he even pulled away, looking down at you with a knowing look on his face, the boy licking his lips causing you to bite down on your lower lip, your head spinning from just kissing him.

"so, that didn't mean anything, huh?"

[cheyisagirlkisser]

Flowers (Headcannons)

Sevika x fem! reader

Warnings / content: 18+ content, brothel worker reader, brief mentions of casual sex with other brothel workers, soft sex, tribbing, Sevika’s daddy issues, afab reader.

A/N: This is short. I may do more with this trope but it depends on if you guys like this post, idk how I feel about it yet so…

୨ৎ Sevika who is one of the only clients of yours who gives aftercare. You’re not to used it, most of the guys you sleep with for money only pay you through Babbette and leave. Sevika holds you in her big arms, rubbing your back silently. It's not a comfortable silence, but rather a vulnerable one in which she is afraid to say she feels more.

୨ৎ Sevika who previously fucked brothel girls in the most detached ways possible, simply bending them over and leaving afterwards. She knew it was wrong, but sex was just a way to blow steam for her.

୨ৎ Sevika who fucks you like you're her wife, though. Smothering kisses all over your shoulder as she moves her hips, she is truly more intimate than any other client is. You're too used to men coming for a blow and leaving, but that isn't the case with Sevika.

୨ৎ Sevika who believes "love at first sight" is the stupidest shit she has ever heard of, but... you're beautiful, and you remind her of flowers. Flowers don't usually grow in the undercity, so she simply felt the need to gently pick your petals one by one and water your roots when she finished. You never question why this rather brash-looking woman is so soft for you, but if you did, she would simply tell you she likes "slow sex." If only you knew.

୨ৎ Sevika who stopped seeing her other girls a week after you. You filled her mind with visions of rose metals and soft waterlilies, and it didn't help that your perfume smells like a damn flower shop. She finds herself thinking about you only now, to the point that she doesn't care about blowing off steam. You and your sweet hums when she squeezes your waist, your skin so malleable under her touch.

୨ৎ Sevika who thinks about more than just the sex. Since you’re a brothel worker, she unfortunately doesn’t get much time with you besides that. Still, she thinks about the moments when it’s just quiet between the two of you. The moments leading up to it are stuck in her head like a loop, and she can’t help but think about the one time she got bold enough to hold your hand after sex. Much like a flower, you gave her a soft, warm smile. You squeezed her hand, and it made her heart burst.

୨ৎ Sevika who wonders why a sweet girl like you works at a brothel. Not that she would ever judge people for that, since she knows from her own experience how hard surviving is. You probably just need to pay your bills, put food in your mouth. She knows that. Still, she doesn’t like thinking about how tiring the job must be. Most women she knows who do the job don’t seem very happy on shifts, and yet you smile and laugh with her. Could it be that you feel what she feels?

୨ৎ Sevika who eventually stops coming to the brothel to sleep with you, rather finding herself stalling the sex unless you both wanna have sex, and at some point she pays just for sessions of talking to you. She likes getting to know you. She gets excited when you tell her how much you love cooking, and you inform her of your favorite flower. It’s one you have only seen once, but you hope to see it again someday.

୨ৎ Sevika who accidentally tells you she loves you during sex one day. You’re underneath her as she grinds her pussy against yours, and there aren’t any exaggerated moans like you fake with other customers—just soft, delicate gasps. You seem so caught up in your pleasure, like you’ve forgotten this is a job and not..something else that you haven’t acknowledged yet. Sevika is mesmerized by your facial expression, too. Your eyes like to find hers and make that connection, and you’ve leaned in for soft, intimate kisses multiple times just this round. Naturally, the words slip.

“I love you.”

୨ৎ Sevika who shouldn’t be surprised when you say it back, but is. She doesn’t have the best self-esteem. For the better part of her life, she dealt with her old man putting her down for everything he could. She got comments on her appearance: her nose, her lack of femininity. All of the things that you adore, thought she struggles to understand how. Still, she won’t refuse your love. She wants you to be hers.

୨ৎ Sevika who works her ass off for a single flower. Piltover goods are not cheap, and she was charged extra just because the vendor simply could. But the one flower she could afford is just as beautiful as you described it to her. And of course, it reminds her of you.

୨ৎ Sevika who asks you to actually be her girlfriend with the flower. It’s not much, and yet you tear up when it happens. She is given the softest hug in return, and all of the soreness in her back from working extra for the flower was suddenly gone. It was all worth it.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Holiday request: single dad

Bruce admits that he is unsure of the seriousness of his relationship with Daniel Fenton. He had never meant to run into the man after the parent-teacher conference. Yes, his introduction had a breath of fresh air, but Bruce was not naive.

It may have all been a trick, and Fentong was merely waiting to try to get closer to him or his money later on. He has always been optimistic about the good in man's hearts, but Bruce is also familiar with the equal darkness there.

That's why spotting the man in a busy cafe was such a shock. Bruce had gone on a walk between meetings, wanting something sweet to tie him over for the follow-up one.

He walked into a random family-owned place with a spicy smell. Bruce had been browsing the menu when he heard the soft melody for Fairy Tale Ending by Dumpty Humpty. Looking around a pillar, he found Daniel Fenton bobbing his head to the music while tapping away on his old beat-up laptop.

The cashier sees him staring and smiles apologetically. "We don't usually have people here, so we let him play his music. If it bothers you, I can ask him to get his headphones on."

"Oh no. I actually like the band." He assures her, paying for his drink and dropping a ten in her tip jar. He glances at Fenton again, then points, "What is he drinking?"

"Gingerbread Latte and a chocolate croissant," She responds easily, and at that moment, Bruce knows she hasn't recognized him. Not that he expects everyone on the street to point him out in a crowd, but it does mean she won't take pictures of him.

She doesn't know the photos could get her some money from down-on-their-luck gossip rags. He considers Fenton a little longer before nodding at her. "Can I have a gingerbread Latte? The exact same as his."

"You got it."

Bruce doesn't know what urges him to approach Fenton with the two drinks- though the cashier giving him a wink might have clued him in and clears his throat just as Fenton gets to the chorus. Blue eyes blink up at him. "Oh, Mr. Wayne. Hi."

"Good afternoon," Bruce starts, which causes Fenton to snort. With good-natured humor, he grins up at Bruce, and Bruce feels his intrigue rise just a few notches higher.

"Good afternoon to you as well, milord." The man says, one hand over his chest, bending his neck a little in a mock bow. "Has thy golden carriage brought to thy to me?"

"Having a golden carriage is a privilege for only the Roayl family. My carriage is made of silver, I assure you." Bruce laughs, stepping closer. This is different from the cashier. Fenton knows who he is, but he simply doesn't care.

Bruce is merely Bruce to him instead of the wealthiest man in the city and the country. It's....well, it's liberating, like being reminded that there are good and wonderful things still left in life. If this is how Fenton makes him feel only after the second meeting, what else could Bruce experience if he formed a bond with him?

Fenton's eyes catch the extra drink Bruce holds, lighting up when the other man offers it to him. He accepts the cup, offering the chair opposite from him. When Brue sits down, he asks about what he was writing where. Fenton admits to being a fantasy novelist and moves the conversation to what they enjoy reading.

Bruce arrived late to his next meeting but felt lighter, and a phone number scribbled on the back of his hand just like when he was a teenager and traveling states away to attend Dumpty Humpty Concerts.

The rest, like they say, is history.

Danny had quickly become a part of his life. It was odd how giggly the other man made him feel. Danny was a good balance to Bruce's brooding. Ironically, while Bruce believed the best in humans, keeping a calm center persona, Danny was cynical and bubbly. He assumed people were terrible, but there was no reason to give them any mind, and he was unapologetic for being himself.

After their third date, Bruce has worked up the nerve to ask Danny to be his boyfriend, only to have the other man laugh. "I thought we were boyfriends?"

"I didn't want to assume."

"Well, aren't you a gentleman? Look at those soft hands. You've never seen a day of work. Gentle-handed man," Danny teased while watching the people around them. Bruce knew there wasn't any real danger, but Danny had a habit of watching their surroundings in public places.

He didn't like being caught unaware. Bruce thinks he's in love. The thing is, Bruce has thought that before, and every single time, his relationship had fallen through.

He had a hand in it, but that didn't mean his partners never broke his heart one way or another.

But this time, things would be different.

Dick had pointed it out when he ran into the two at the grocery store. Danny had invited him to help pick out dinner while Dani had been on an overnight field trip at the planetarium. His eldest had cornered him when he returned the next day, smiling widely.

"Danny seems excellent. He's like an undercover goth dating an undercover prep. You both are literally the opposite of each other and seem to like spending time around each other."

Bruce wasn't entirely sure whether it was a bad or good thing, but he was happy that his kids approved of him dating again. He did get a little nervous about Damian, only to find out his youngest had come to idolize Dani, and that only made him hope the relationship would work out even more.

He could see it now, Danny tapping away on his laptop while Dani painted next to him in the Wayne Manor yard- Both preferred to be in nature- on cozy weekends. His children crowding the breakfast table while Danny sang songs from bands he'd never heard.

Birthday candles are being blown out with the cheering family. Christmas mornings followed the candle lighting of Hanukkah on the previous eight nights. Graduation ceremonies that will bring Bruce to tears despite claiming he has trained too hard to do so. Boyfriends and girlfriends, the two could tag team into scaring while their children regretted ever bringing them over for an introduction.

Danny would be the last thing he saw when he closed his eyes before bed and the first thing he saw in the morning light.

Bruce wasn't sure how their relationship was going, but he hoped, oh, he hoped.

[norikuna]

you've reached norikuna's masterlist / minors dni! compiled jan. '25

𓂅⭒ ִ fics 𓏲 ִֶָ

GOJO SATORU.

she told you that she celibate, she told me i could nail her shit — college!au, friends to lovers, nsfw ᵎᵎ you wish gojo satoru would stop trying to ask you out. not that you don't like him, but dating the one guy that you're smacked silly about would mean that he could break your heart and leave you in ruins. so it's best to keep some distance right?

just meet me at the apt! — hookup/strangers!au, sorcerer au! nsfw ᵎᵎ your ex, that sleazy and no-good scumbag won't stop posting tacky mirror selfies on instagram, arm around his fellow cheater-in-crime. so, christmas eve finds you morose in a dodgy dive bar. why not tumble back into bed with that random, gorgeous stranger you just met?

i love you so matcha — fluff, angst, sfw ᵎᵎ green was the color of life, and gojo satoru, in all his contradictions, carried life in the way he loved recklessly, laughed shamelessly, and held you like the universe began and ended with you.

cream soda — rivals to lovers! nsfw ᵎᵎ you've always known that gojo satoru is a real piece of work. arrogant, haughty. definitely has a praise kink for when people always call him 'the strongest.' but you're not even friends anymore, so this isn't any of your business...right? what you didn't know is just how nasty he is, caging you in front of a mirror to lick away blood that he spilled from the veins of another man, one who dared to touch you.

i love you, i'm sorry — ex!reader, angst, suggestive ᵎᵎ gojo was always charming, maddening and impossibly brilliant. a gift and a curse to the world. the love of your life, the loss of your life, the one that got away. you can only sit alone with his cold, lifeless form and wonder where it all went wrong. how do you mourn a star that burned itself out for the sake of the sky?

greedy — age gap, nsfw ᵎᵎ pretty, prodigal, and teasing. how far can you push your former teacher before he snaps? gojo's about this 🤏 close from releasing a hollow purple on the world

ditto — best friend!gojo, angst, fluff, sfw ᵎᵎ brave, lucky, courageous. these are the words that people bestow upon you when the dust has cleared, and the king of curses is no more. you disagree, for if you were lucky, gojo satoru would still be standing at your side. instead you've been left to stare at the ocean shoreline on your own, without your best friend (the love of your life) by your side.

GETO SUGURU.

bed chem — established relationship, nsfw ᵎᵎ ditching your friend's christmas condo party for your scrumptious, needy boyfriend? yes please!

born to die — ex!geto, lovers to enemies, nsfw ᵎᵎ it's been three years since suguru left all you had ever known, crumbling it into the fine dust of the earth. a suspiciously timed mission from gojo leads you right into the arms of the man you swore to kill. well, fuck him right?

RYOMEN SUKUNA.

achilles come down — true form!sukuna, wife!reader, sfw ᵎᵎ you had given the king of curses what he had wanted the most, an heir, borne of the wife that he loves. but for one typically vicious and unshakeable, you wonder why sukuna is left so shaken by how much your daughter takes after him. you wonder at how the vast ribcage of a demon and a cold killer, who can make the sun rise in the west if he so wished, was once the ribcage that held the beating heart of a young boy, with little space for him, or his mother, in this world.

so it goes — wife!reader, nsfw ᵎᵎ newly-wed life is hardly what you expected it to be, its hardly a surprise. after all, how many people find themselves bound to the notorious king of curses? but after a frosty few weeks, sukuna finds the easiest way to win you over is when he's on his knees, and between your thighs.

TOJI FUSHIGURO.

that's so true! — dilf!toji/neighbours!au, nsfw ᵎᵎ you vowed to yourself that you would rock toji fushiguro's world as a new year's resolution. but it's christmas eve already, and the year is almost over. by hook or by crook, you're gonna that gorgeous, buff older man in your bed tonight.

mama, a diva behind you — dilf!toji, sfw ᵎᵎ toji loves his son, he really does. unfortunately, young megumi is less than receptive when it comes to toji's efforts to impress the pretty neighbour who just moved into the apartment down the hall. or five times megumi actively made toji's love life worse. and the one time he actually helped.

CHOSO KAMO.

what? like it's hard? — college!au, sfw. ᵎᵎ you were the glittering prom queen, the crème de la crème of the school's social heirarchy. and yet, choso kamo, the quiet boy with no friends shattered your heart. you wish you could hate him forever but it's hard when he's your partner in med school three years later, and he's hot now.

last friday night — best friends to lovers! nsfw ᵎᵎ it's been seven days since you wobbled into your apartment and almost threw up on your best friend. seven days since you confessed your love to him. seven days of radio silence as you've done your best to shut him out, hoping that the earth swallows you whole. there's no way he's going to want anything to do with you now!

cheri cheri lady — bf!choso, nsfw ᵎᵎ its hard not to be endlessly fond of your sweet boyfriend. he's quiet, unassuming but sweet, oddly so for a half-curse. but god, you want to jump his bones so bad.

NANAMI KENTO.

youngblood — mythos!au, hades&persephone ᵎᵎ tba

note — this masterlist is for all 'proper' fics, and not drabbles or thirsty thoughts. all other works can be found under the tag /daphworks.

[rosessndri]

i don't usually get into politics because I am not very knowledgable on it, but when it comes to Cuba, I will refuse to have people glorify its politics. As a Cuban immigrant who came to this country at 6 years old with family still there, I will tell everyone who is willing to listen that Cuban policies, politics, and the Cuban government is the biggest piece of shit in the entire world. As someone who lived it, who has gone back to visit family, and still lives it everyday when speaking to family who ask me for financial help almost monthly, Cuba is SHIT. Do not believe any propaganda for Cuba being a wonderful place to live in and a government to learn from. Its laws and culture has destroyed many generations and many dreams.

I never knew what running hot water felt like until I came to America, I had to shower with a bucket. I never knew what toothpaste and I mean good toothpaste was like until I came to this country. I never knew what it was to not worry about having enough to eat or just being able to eat in any corner until I came to this country. I never knew what shoes without holes felt like until I came to this country. I never knew what a good education taught be dignified and intelligent people was like until I came to this country. I remember my first mistake I made here in school and the fear and panic I felt when I thought I was going to be hit with my teachers ruler on the soles of my feet. Instead she made me get up and move my green card from good to bad.

I will never forget the feeling of knowing that I had access to any and every medication I needed even if it meant going into bankruptcy instead of having to die over a simple UTI like my aunt who needed rocephin but they had none in Cuba. I will never forget the gratefulness expressed to me by family members and friends when I bring them medicine and medical supplies I have to get off Amazon.

The happiness and joy as little kids filled their socks with candies and cookies because they can't afford any sweets.

The stories and pain I could share of so many from this piece of shit government. I know there's change needed in America, and I know that there has to be a better way, but I can promise you that the Cuban government and its policies and politics are NOT THE WAY.

[kiranerysismyhero]

imagine a bajoran teenager living on ds9 who's trying to decide what to do with her life and feels compelled to get closer to the Emissary, but gets the sense that Sisko is a little uncomfortable with being approached in that way, and she's a little young to join the bajoran military and try to get stationed under him, so she looks for another pretense to like have a conversation with him or something

and she overhears Jake talking about playing baseball with his dad, and maybe at the temple she overhears Kira talking about going to the holosuites with them for a baseball game, and she gets the sense that baseball is Important

so she gets up her courage and approaches him on the promenade some time when he doesn't seem too busy, like "excuse me Emissary, I wonder if you would allow me to ask a favor of you."

and Sisko tries not to look like he's steeling himself

"I would like to learn about Baseball."

and he gets this big grin. and tells her what day and time to show up to Quark's for the next time he and Jake are gonna play (and ngl maybe part of him is thinking she's closer to Jake's age than Mardah is...)

and like as they're doing warmups, and she's taking things Very Seriously trying to learn the ropes, Sisko makes an offhanded comment about how Cestus III would be the place to be if you really wanted to get immersed in the sport. and of course she takes this a lot more seriously than he meant it. like a direction in life given to her from the Prophets, directly from their Emissary.

so after all of one (1) time playing baseball in a holosuite she approaches Kassidy to learn more about Cestus III and works like a short internship under her to earn passage there. and shows up in like Pike City or someplace like "hi, does anyone around here hire non-federation citizens? i don't care what type of job. also when are baseball tryouts?"

and like after several years spent getting good, bc she approaches the sport with y'know religious devotion, she returns to her people. and starts a training camp on Bajor that's like basically a monastery. like teenagers who want to pursue religious studies but can't sit still long enough to have hope of becoming a ranjen, they get sent to her to learn to practice Baseball

like imagine a young adult with a really elaborate earring and also like the baseball shoes and the short pants tucked into tall socks going "you know, waiting for a sign from the Prophets is a lot like playing left field..."

[sxorpiomooon]

What is 2025 going to be like for you? A pac reading

Paid readings

Check out my other readings

Pile 1-

oooo you are going to be in your divine feminine era the ones who are trying to get pregnant might receive good news this year! However there's an evil man that I'm sensing that you must be careful about 🙏 this man is devil incarnate 🙏 ain't gonna do y'all any good to waste your time on this man and it won't be good. Now this is the fun part there's gonna be two guys and there will be a test and one of them is going to be a guy that I've told you about earlier and the other one will be completely opposite- will love to spoil you, very successful and well reputed, business and money minded, very stable, patient and gives you the princess treatment. It's almost as if you have to recognise and be precise about what you want. Lord I also think you guys might marry this guy or this will be very long term. The entire spread makes sense now my pile one choose wisely and you'll be set for life.

Pile 2-

Good year career wise and socially. I see you guys meeting new people and having fulfilling experiences with them. I keep hearing "fill your own cup" this pile will attend alot of parties or social gatherings this year and guess what you'll be the star of each and every one of them. You will meet new people that will turn out wonderful for you and you will go to new places too for some reason I'm seeing alot of travelling as well. You will also de well creatively this year are some of y'all sag risings in solar return lmao alot of travelling and spirituality. You will be making very significant and big amount of progress in your life whether it's going to be in the friendship aka personal sector or the professional sector. Alot of you have these shit on vision board bc I'm having visions. Alot of you will travel overseas I'm seeing crossing a river or ocean.

Pile 3-

This pile seems very exhausted with themselves especially of the mistakes that they've made or make so much that they almost wait for them to happen now. This year's gonna be chill for you guys it might start with you guys being bored actually the first half you might be more onto observing other people and what's happening I'm seeing y'all chugging alot of liquid and drinks this year tho? Very hydrated the body is going to look fabulous. Oooo there might be a focus on eating and drinking healthy I'm seeing matcha y'all got that grey clothes vision boards LmAAAAO those apple headphones😭😭😭. However I'd wish for you guys to use more kinder language with yourself? And I understand that discipline is important but discipline does not mean torturing yourself. Give yourself some breaks and don't get too obsessed with the idea of something. Learn to let go of it a little bit and have it chase after you I heard focus on the progress not on the result. This year you are going to make great progress tho I actually see you guys checking out your boxes and finding out that you've actually fulfilled all of your new years resolution. Huge self improvement this year. You go pile three!!!

[thebatmnn]

Putting out an important reminder, as an autistic person myself. For the longest time I've also hated autism speaks, and have dunked on them just as most educated people do. But my autistic partner, who lives in Canada, shed some light on something I missed. What other major companies do autistic people have? What support do we realistically get, without something as visible as autism speaks? My brother is a high support needs autistic person, without the accommodations he gets in school thanks to Autism Speaks, and the wonderful deaf support groups in our area, he'd be struggling.

Now think. How many high support needs autistic people live in Canada? What will they do without the most recognized and influential autistic resource out there?

They'll struggle.

They'll struggle and they'll not have support.

We'll need to either find something to bring Canada Autism Speaks back up or get another, better company quick. For the sake of high and medium support needs autistics who will be bullied and fail in school and everyday life without the help this, albeit not so good corporation, 's help

Autism Speaks Canada is "concluding its operations" on January 31st 2025!

[im-so-normal-iswear]

Hello Could I request a one-shot of yandere Shadow (Sonic boom) x Fem introvert reader

A/n: i honestly havent watched sonic boom yet, ive only warched a few episodes, haventvgitten ti shadow yet so these are probably not too accurate! (◞ ‸ ◟ㆀ)

Yandere!(boom)Shadow x shy reader

Life in Village is quiet, which suits you just fine. Usually its loud with everyone sticking their noses in everyone elses business.

You’ve always been more comfortable on your own time. It was just very tiring interacting with people. So you preffered times at night when everyine was asleep and you could wnjoy the peace. But lately, something feels… off.

At first, it was subtle. A shadow passing by your window at odd hours, the sensation of being watched when you were about to go to bed. You chalked it up to paranoia. After all nothing ever happened.

One evening, as you settled in on your phone, the hairs on the back of your neck prickled. You looked up, your eyes darting around the room. Nothing. Yet the feeling persisted. You tried to shake it off, maybe you were being paranoid? Yeah, that was it. Right?

Definitely...

...

It started innocently enough. Shadow appeared one day at the market, standing off to the side, arms crossed as he surveyed the area. He didn’t approach you, didn’t say a word, just stared. You couldn’t help stealing glances at him, wondering why someone like him was here.

The next time you saw him was at the edge of the forest near your home. He didn’t hide, didn’t make excuses for being there. He simply stared, his eyes locking onto yours.

Silence.

You stood looking back in stunned silence

He stepped closer, hyo movements deliberate. "You..." he began, his voice low as he trudged over.

As he stepped forwars you took steps back instinctively.

Shadow tilted his head, studying you like a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. "You don’t waste time on meaningless chatter. You don’t seek the approval of others. You’re quiet... I respect that."

You blinked, taken aback. "Okay. Good to know?"

He smirked faintly before vanishing into the woods, leaving you with more questions than answers.

From that point on, Shadow made his presence known in subtle but unmistakable ways. A flicker at the corner of your vision. Footsteps trailing behind you, only to stop when you turned around. You had fewer and fewer times you truely felt alone.

It was unsettling, and frankly terrifying, but what were you going to do about it?

One evening, as you returned home, you found your front door unlocked. Panic surged through you as you cautiously stepped inside. Everything looked normal, at first. But then you noticed the changes. Your bookshelf, usually a mess, had been meticulously organized. The blanket on your couch was folded neatly. And on your kitchen table sat a steaming cup of tea.

"Who’s here?" you demanded, your voice wavering.

Shadow emerged from behind you, his expression unreadable. "Relax. You’re safe."

"What are you doing in my house?"

"Dont worry about it," he said simply, as if breaking into your home was the most natural thing in the world. "You should feel honored i wentbthrough the trouble of cleaning up your mess"

You stared at him, your mind racing. "You can’t just-."

"Shut up. I didn't do all of this for you to be complaining."

"But I didn’t ask for this!"

His gaze softened, but there was a dangerous edge to it. "You don’t have to ask. I know what’s best for you."

From then on, Shadow started inserting himself in everything you did. Every aspect of "your life" was slowly but surely going under his control. He'd give you small gifts, things he thought you would like. He'd insist on taking you from place to place. He even scared off a group of villagers who had tried to strike up a conversation with you, his glare alone enough to send them running.

"Why are you doing this?" you asked one night, exhausted and defeated.

He looked at you like the answer was obvious. "Because you’re mine. You’ll see," he said quietly, his tone passive aggressive. "One day, you’ll understand. No one can protect you like I can. No one can love you like I do."

A/n: hopefully these werent too out of character as ive only seen one clip of him in sonic boom

[meanbossart]

Sorry if you’ve already answered this, but I’ve been wondering what would happen if DU Drow and Astarion were the only people in their party. If they never met any of the others and only had each other for company on the way to Baldur’s Gate.

Btw I love your art! I’m obsessed with the way you draw characters and their expressions in your style.

Ohhhhh god. I think that would be disastrous.

My personal belief aside that Astarion is by no means an idiot (not that I'm opposed to participating in the smooth-brained jokes - but, generally speaking, I think I might give his intellect more props than most), he is obviously not at his best at the start of the campaign at all. He is operating out of desperation and it's only halfway through the game that you get to see some of that emotional intelligence that I'm so fond of. And even so, he still requires a successful persuasion check at the end of his quest not to commit undead genocide (and I think he's the only companion who needs a check at all regardless of circumstance or approval).

Then we have DU drow who has no attachments to anyone around him, a penchant for murder, very little skill for self reflection and a proclivity towards latching onto one person and falling obsessively in love, assuming that the person in question knows how to play him - and Astarion would know how to play him.

Lest we forget, Astarion had practically no influence on DU drow's decision to oppose Bhaal. He just kind of goes along for the ride until you hit the point of no return, and only THEN he's like "Oh, uh, maybe this wasn't such a good idea". Shadowheart is the biggest factor on DU drow's decision to oppose Bhaal, with Aylin and Jaheira making for honorable mentions.

Ironically, DU drow's "base" personality (which he has access to thanks to his memory loss) tends to oppose religion, gods, and organized systems as a whole, but I think if it were only him and Astarion alone, they would feed each other's hunger for strength and power enough that DU drow would arrive into act 3 with absolutely no doubt about what he must do. He would very easily revert back to his old, domineering personality and do whatever he thinks he must to establish his status, and most importantly his power over his loved ones, lest what happened with Orin ever repeat itself.

This circumstance would be perfect for the eventual Bhaalist DU Drow + Spawn Astarion scenario. Which just makes it all the worse that Astarion would have had a HEAVY hand in steering him in this direction. And the cherry on top; he has no one else to turn to here.

On the flipside - this could potentially turn into a situation where Astarion keeps DU drow small enough to where he's able to Ascend, while his Bhaalspawn partner either refuses his father out of fear or loses the duel against Orin. I don't know how viable this is, since Astarion very much needs a strong and confident DU drow if he wants Cazador to die - but I guess anything is possible.

The point is, if left to their own devices there would be nothing stopping either of them from pursuing their very single-minded goals, and I don't think there's a scenario they BOTH come out on top either. Between DU drow's obsessive behavior and been-burned-before attitude, and Astarion's distrust and fear of losing control again, they would constantly wrestle for the opportunity to keep the other under their own thumbs.

And hell. All of this assuming they didn't kill each other on night two.

Thank you for the ask and for your kind words! Hopefully this isn't too depressive/disappointing of an answer, LOL.