#was thinking about just deleting this ask

[whatsverstappeningnow]

how f1 drivers react

to your ex texting you out of nowhere

drivers mentioned: MV33, LN4, OP81, AA23, CS55, CL16, LH44, GR63

max verstappen

It's an awkward thing to bring up, but you didnt want to hide it. Eventually, you try to casually mention it while Max is making and he just… stops moving.

“What do you mean, he texted you? Why?”

He places the knife down and turns slowly to face you. He doesn’t overreact, but he does ask to see the message... and rereads it probably too many times. He's dead silent as his eyes scan the few words over and over, jaw clenched and eyesbrows furrowed.

“He knows you’re with me, right?”

And you assure him that he does. You're instragram is overrun with Max content and photos of you two together. I would be impossible to miss. Your relationship was anything but a secret.

"Fucking loser," he mutters to himself, voice filled with an almost cartoonish frusteration that makes you laugh lightly. The sound of it makes him crack the tiniest smile.

He doesn’t question you. Doesn’t blame. Doesn't ask why he isn't already blocked. He just hates that your ex would try to get in your head again.

“Want me to block him for you?” You agree. Max does it without a second thought.

He’s extra affectionate after: hand on your thigh, quiet forehead kisses. But it's not out of insecurity, its just to remind you he won't let anyone come into your life to hurt you again.

“He had his chance. He doesn’t get to come back into your life after what he did.”

lando norris

He sees your phone light up and casually leans down to read out the name to you, assuming its one of your friends or family checking in. All colour leaves his face when he realises why he recognises the name.

“Wait. Is that who I think it is??”

Suprised by his text youself, you tell him he's right. Immediate chaotic disbelief fills him, he can't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all.

“Man really thinks he can slide back in after I showed up? Delusional. Completely delusional!”

He's mostly joking, but at least 25% serious, when he offers to message you ex himself. Even suggests sending back a selfie of you in his hoodie just to drive the point home that your his now.

“Should I post a photo of us kissing? No? Okay. But like… I could. For fun.”

His arms curl around you from behind and his head comes to rest on your shoulder, whispering soft things in your ear to make you laugh and forget all about the text.

“He’s not worth the time, babe.”

oscar piastri

You mention it offhandedly while cuddling up on the couch, sit-com reruns playing quietly i nthe background, and Oscar just blinks.

“He texted you?”

He's quietly offended. More on your behalf than anything. He knows what this guy was like and he hates knowing that he's trying to be in your life again.

Doesn’t say much, instead he just holds you a little closer, a little tighter. He helps you delete or block, if you want to. But he doesn't push. It's 100% your decision. He doesn't feel threatened by this guy, just frustrated by his existence.

“You don’t owe him anything. Not even a reply. You know that.”

But it's impossble to miss how he becomes subtly more clingy for the rest of the day.

It's his way of marking territory without letting any jealous words slip out: holding your hand more often, brushing your hair back, soft kisses to you neck while you speak in hushed tones. More couch cuddles and a movie marathon are a requirement that night.

He's not jealous. Just protective.

“If he texts again, let me know. I’ll handle it.”

carlos sainz

You tell Carlos immedietly. The thought of keeping it a secret doesn't even cross your mind.

“He what?”

He leans back on the couch, crosses his arms, and raises one eyebrow like your ex just insulted his mother, his hair and his driving all at once.

“After all this time? What does he want, cariño?”

Doesn’t yell. Doesn’t joke. Just gets that dangerously calm tone. He's mature about it all but there is a distinct edge to his voice.

“No more replies. He had his chance. He doesn’t get to know you anymore.”

Kisses the inside of your wrist as he whipsers to you, holding you close.

“You don’t need to look back when I’m right here.”

You block him, Carlos doesn't have to even ask.

alex albon

He tries to play it cool when you mention it, its still early morning and he's wiping sleep dust from his eye as he speaks.

“Oh? That’s… random.”

He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He tries to make a statement of 'not caring' and maturity by not asking to see the text. But later, once all the humour of the day has worn off, he sheepishly asks to see.

“Just making sure he doesn’t think he's got another chance with my girl. I wanna know what he thinks is so important to say that he had to text you.”

While his eyes scan the screen, he softly reminds you that you don't owe him anything. Not a reply, not a conversation. Nothing.

Gives you a hug from behind while you delete the message (more for his peace of mind than your own).

While he feels slightly bad for his jealously, he trusts you enough to laugh about it later on. He brings you snacks and cuddles to shift the mood, the safest boy to be loved by.

charles leclerc

When you show him the message, flipping the phone around for him to see while sat across from him at the breakfast table, and Charles’s smile disappears instantly.

“No. No, no, no.”

Suddenly he's up, pacing. Annoyed, but because he’s mad for you.

“If you don’t want to answer, you shouldn’t. He doesn’t deserve a response,” he says confiendly, like a knight trying to defend your honor.

He stops suddenly in his tracks, wide eyes, and looks over at you.

"I mean, you don't want to respond... right? Ma chérie?" A hint of fear colours his words as his eyes search yours for answers.

Once you reassure him that you have no feelings for you ex, and definitiely do not want to be hearing from him, you block his number together.

Charles visibly relaxs once you do.

"He is stupid, non? It took him so long to realise what he lost. It is too late for him now. I have you all to myself." The kiss that comes next is just as sweet as his words.

lewis hamilton

You tell him while you’re out for a walk. He doesn't stop, no, but he... definitely slows. Like his mind is trying to catch up with your words.

“He reached out?”

Voice is low, calm. He's mature about it, even if the thought makes him uncomfortable. He makes sure you know this is about how you feel, not how he feels.

Listens carefully. Lets you speak.

“You okay?” he asks first. “I know he wasn't great to you. Do you want me to handle it?”

You know he won’t act unless you ask him to... but if you do... your ex will never try that again. It's a delisciosuly good thought, but you tell him you can handle it.

"Ok," he smiles and takes your hand, kissing the back of it as he picks up the pace again, "I trust you."

Later that night, he's holding you against his chest in bed, and you catch him looking at you like you hung the moon.

“He’s trying to come back because he knows what he lost. But I’m never letting go of what I found.”

george russell

“He did what?” The words come out sharper than he intends, you're sure of it. And while the anger isn't aimed at you, for a moment it feels like it is.

“Sorry. I just… he shouldn’t be contacting you. That’s so out of line.”

His expression quickly softens when he sees your face. “Hey. No, I’m not upset with you, love. Just at the situation. At him.”

He just stands beside you as you decide what to do, he doesn’t push. Doesn't force. Just supports. His hand rubs comforting circles on your lower back as you talk it all out.

“You want me to help you block him? Or I can just sit here while you do it. Or we can just delete it. Balls in you court, love.”

When he's curled up with you later,it's all warmth and soft affection. Soft kisses to your cheeks and lips, brushing you hair softly behind your ear.

“He doesn’t deserve your energy, or your time. I’ll always protect that.”

requests open <3

[kxsagi]

“𝐢 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧”

a/n: everyone say thank you, landon! he hurt me and now i wrote angst. i’ll never forgive his bitchass for cheating on liz (yes i’m still mad about it) and i pray that she heals fast and thoroughly 🙏

ft. itoshi rin, isagi yoichi, itoshi sae, kaiser michael, shidou ryusei, mikage reo, nagi seishiro, karasu tabito, bachira meguru, ness alexis

itoshi rin

he doesn’t say he misses you. instead, he shows it by keeping everything the same. your mug is still by the sink. your shampoo still in the shower. 

he trains harder than ever, but there’s a hesitation in his eyes, like he’s searching for something beyond the net, like scoring without your "good luck" feels hollow. 

he deletes your contact but memorizes your number. blocks you, but checks your socials with a burner. his pride won’t let him reach out, but gosh, he wants you to notice he’s suffering. 

sometimes he thinks about bumping into you “by accident.” at a café. bookstore. anywhere. but he never goes because he’s scared you’ll already be with someone else. 

he dreams of you. and in those dreams, you always leave again. 

isagi yoichi

he blames himself. rewatches every conversation in his mind like game tape. where did i go wrong? where could i have passed better? loved better? 

he still talks about you like you're part of his life. "she loves that song." "she would’ve liked this." even though the room goes quiet after. 

he keeps every gift you gave him. your first silly drawing, the bracelet you made at some street fair. it’s tucked in his drawer like sacred things. 

you told him once he overthinks everything, so now, ironically, he overthinks that, too. did you mean it as a joke? were you serious? were you already halfway out the door? 

he wishes you’d just tell him you hate him. because silence is worse. silence is hope’s cruel cousin. 

itoshi sae

he lets you go with a poker face. you’d think he didn’t care. but it’s the first time in years he misses a penalty kick. 

he deletes your pictures. not because he doesn’t care, but because he does. too much. and seeing your smile in that yellow-tinted light makes his chest cave in. 

he scrolls through your old texts when he's drunk. replies to them like you're still there. never sends them. 

he never begs. never asks you to stay. but every time someone mentions your name, there’s a flicker of something behind his eyes, like grief dressed in quiet clothes. 

he used to be bored of everything. now, he’s just tired. especially of pretending you didn’t matter. 

kaiser michael

you were the first person to tell him he didn’t have to perform all the time. that you liked him even when he wasn’t loud, golden, brilliant. 

he didn’t believe you. not really. until after you left. now the silence around him feels unbearable, like a stage with no audience. 

he flirts more now. louder, emptier. it’s all performance, a desperate echo of who he used to be when you were around to bring him down to earth. 

he keeps expecting you to walk in, roll your eyes, say "you’re so dramatic." but you never do. 

sometimes, he talks to you when he’s alone. not the real you, the memory version. and she’s always a little kinder than he deserves. 

shidou ryusei

he doesn’t cry. he doesn’t talk about it. but suddenly, the fire in him feels more like self-destruction than passion. 

on the field, he’s a menace. fouls more. gets carded more. you were the only one who calmed him down, reminded him of softness. now there’s no balance. 

people call him reckless. a lunatic. but they don’t know he’s trying to feel something. anything. 

he won’t admit it, but your absence tastes like metal in his mouth. bitter. sharp. 

sometimes, he punches the wall and pretends it’s not because he remembered your birthday and realized he has nowhere to send the gift. 

mikage reo

he’s always had money, always had power. but losing you? it’s the first time he couldn’t buy his way out of pain. 

he tells himself you’ll come back. that it’s just a break. that if he levels up, scores more, shines harder, you’ll notice. 

goes to the places you loved together, always ordering your favorite drink and leaving it untouched. “just in case.” 

he practices apologies in the mirror, over and over. never sends them. because every version feels too small for what he broke. 

his smile is still perfect, still charming, but if you look too close, it doesn’t reach his eyes anymore. 

nagi seishiro

he doesn't understand why you're gone. he replays the breakup like a confusing side quest with no clear ending. 

sleeps way more than usual. not because he’s lazy, but because dreaming of you is easier than being awake without you. 

when he plays games now, he keeps losing. rage quits more often. "it's boring," he says. but it’s really because the person who used to sit beside him is missing. 

keeps your shirt. cuddles it like a plush. doesn’t say a word when reo comments on it. 

still texts you sometimes. “this meme reminded me of you.” “you’d laugh at this.” you never reply. he still sends them. 

karasu tabito

he jokes more than ever. laughs louder. flirts harder. but his humor has a sharpness to it now, like he’s constantly daring the world to notice he’s hurting. 

people say he's “the same as always,” but they don’t see him standing outside your apartment for 30 minutes just to walk away with a heavier heart. 

started journaling again. you told him once that writing helped with healing. he writes like you’ll read it one day. 

won’t admit it, but he plays dirtier now. more aggressive, less patient. “love made me soft,” he says. like it’s a curse. 

he misses your voice. not just your words. the sound of you saying his name like it meant something. 

bachira meguru

he paints you. over and over. sometimes with wings. sometimes with broken glass in your smile. always with love. 

still talks to his "monster" about you. "you think she hates me now?" "do you think i scared her off?" 

he’s still sunshine to everyone else, but when he's alone, the silence is suffocating. 

your absence changed his art. darker colors. messier strokes. people praise his “emotional evolution,” but he just misses being happy. 

he goes to the park where you first kissed and sits on the swing for hours. waiting. just in case you remember, too. 

ness alexis

he always said you made him feel seen, not just as a shadow to kaiser, but as his own person. now that you’re gone, he forgets how to exist without comparison. 

overcorrects. becomes louder, flashier, more dramatic. like if he’s impressive enough, you’ll regret leaving. 

still wears the cologne you bought him. even though it makes him nauseous with memories. 

he swears he’s over you. but the second someone mentions your name, his hands start to shake. 

keeps your photo as his lock screen. “aesthetic,” he says. “nostalgic,” he means. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[queermarzipan]

SOURCES btw bc I just found this post again and remembered there had been a reply like this (might've actually been this one) & that I hadn't looked into it:

Here is an FAQ page from the company that owns Vantablack-the-process that was deleted from their website but persists on the Wayback Machine. In case you can't find the right Q/A combo (though there are only, like, ten lol), here is a screenshot:

So, the manufacturers of Vantablack are "exploring its use in works of art" by giving exclusive rights to one particular artist. Kind of completely different from Anish Kapoor "hoarding" access to a pigment because he's just oh so elitist. As a bonus, here's a Guardian article about how the collaboration came about — Kapoor saw an article about the discovery of Vantablack and called Surrey NanoSystems to ask them to allow its use in artwork - something it was NOT originally being developed for - and paid for the privelege to be the one they worked with for this experimental use of the product.

As a bonus, I also checked out every one of the links Stuart Semple presented in his invitation to kiss the Bean for Kapoor's birthday.

This seems like a genuinely dickish move on Kapoor's part, but maybe that's just my anti-copyright brain: https://www.google.com/amp/s/news.artnet.com/art-world/anish-kapoor-sues-china-bean-sculpture-324704%3famp=1

THIS seems like it's nothing?? to do with him actually???? The park management just seems to have massively overreached, of their own volition, in order to make money off the Bean? https://boingboing.net/2005/05/27/chicagos-bean-sculpt.html

Again, this seems to be a genuine grievance felt by real people in London over the blocking of their view: https://www.change.org/p/kieron-williams-stop-anish-kapoor-taking-away-our-light-and-colour

The claim associated with this link is just... unreal. Anish Kapoor, as stated above, is the sole person who can use Vantablack artistically for maybe-controversial but very understandable reasons, and this is just literally. the result of him collabing with another company to make a watch using vantablack: https://www.hodinkee.com/articles/mct-vantablack-hands-on

Aaaand this is literally just a description of what has already been said about this — Vantablack is useable only by Anish Kapoor, the art world is upset by his "hoarding" even though its use in art at all was his idea that he brought to the company and he has to, presumably, have access to a fucking factory setting to even use it - something that, again, it is understandable the company would not want to give to multiple people - and Stuart Semple is "fighting back" with his own pigments. 👏👏👏👏👏: https://www.wmagazine.com/story/anish-kapoor-stuart-semple-blackest-black

I also found these links while I was looking for those and think they're valuable in their own right:

Anish Kapoor sued the National Rifle Association in America for using the Bean in an anti-gun control propaganda video: https://news.artnet.com/art-world/anish-kapoor-nra-settlement-1412923

Aaaaand another Tumblr post SOLEY about Anish Kapoor's "side" in this that is a bit long due to responses missing the point and repeated explanations but absolutely worth the read (the WHOLE read) nonetheless: https://tikkunolamorgtfo.tumblr.com/post/187879717596/okay-im-really-curious-because-im-not-in-the#notes

if you’ve ever wondered what it’s like to live in the midwest, this is it. 

[batilenima]

Clark starts showing up in Gotham more often; no League business, no emergencie. Just there. At first, Bruce brushes it off, Superman dropping by during patrol? Suspicious, but not unheard of. But then it's every night.

He doesn't say much, just watches from rooftops, eyes glowing faintly in the dark, hovering just out of reach. Bruce jokes about it "Are you patrolling or shadowing me now?" but Clark just smiles, quiet and unreadable.

Then the boundaries start to slip. Bruce finds a repaired gauntlet in his gear that he didn't fix, he cave's firewall flags an attempted intrusion. So precise it could only have come from someone with super speed, and when he gets shot during a takedown, Clark is there in seconds, face storm dark with rage, voice low as he tells the shooter: "You touched something that you shouldn't"

After that, Bruce finds a file in the Watchtower labeled only "Wayne" and it's encrypted, he deletes it without opening it. Two hours later, it's back. Updated.

Clark never admits anything. He's affectionate, attentive, always sweet. But his gifts become… weirdly specific. A rare first edition copy of a book Bruce mentioned once in passing, a watch made from melted down remnants of Bruce's parents' car.

Bruce doesn't ask how Clark got them. He doesn't have to. He knows.

And yet, every time he hears the flutter of a cape behind him and feels a warm breath at his neck and a kiss on his cheek he still says nothing.

Maybe a part of him wants to be 'treasured' like this.

(Well, I think that is clear now that I really like writing about dark/obsessive Clark 🥺)

[crystalquery]

watch closely.

pairing: yelena belova x fem!reader

summary: you're hot, everybody knows it. but this time, it gets a bit too much for yelena to handle.

author's note: this was someone's request, but i accidentally deleted their ask 😭 i hope you can find this sweetheart!

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆𐙚₊

"i mean, it's stupid! allie should have been with hammond. he's a gentleman and doesn't force a girl to go out with him by threatening to harm himself!" you whine. you and john had been arguing for over 10 minutes about who allie from 'the notebook' should have ended up with. but you had no clue john had been goading you, purposely trying to get a reaction out of you for his own entertainment.

"i'd risk my life for you, though doll." bucky mumbles loud enough for you to hear, walking towards you from the kitchen, coffee in hand. the wink he spares you afterward gives you enough to understand his proper intentions. nothing serious, just some fun. going back and forth, you both playfully shove, kick, and hit each other without even causing any harm.

however, you and bucky aren't aware of yelena's eyes glancing between the two of you, almost disapprovingly, as he then caresses your shoulder since you're now cuddled up together, fight forgotten. on the loveseat couch. the name itself is enough to make her nails dig into her palm. she knew bucky would never do anything to harm your guy's relationship, but it still made her brows furrow in annoyance.

it was her idea in the first place, have a day off, and ignore all of valentina's and mel's calls so they don't make you all go on another 'image improving mission that the superfans will love'. but why did you have to look so good? she didn't even think it was possible for someone to look so tantalizing while wearing sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt with lindsay lohans mugshot on it. she couldn't help but glance between the screen and you every once in a while, tempted to crawl on her hands and knees to you.

"hey you, i'm going out. do you need anything?" had already heard the hum of ava phasing through the walls, ava clasped your extended hand that was reached around the back of the couch. you both enjoyed physical contact for different reasons, her for stability, you for comfort, and you found it in each other. your bond was lighthearted and full of love, platonic, and you couldn't help but flirt and tease on occasion. i mean, you're in a giant building full of attractive people. what else are you supposed to do?

the belova girl was nearly about to burst, cuddling up with barnes and now holding hands with starr? she shuffled where she was sat, her current position now uncomfortable. why couldn't you just come over to her? where you belong. the greed she felt in her chest felt almost sickening, but she had no shame in the way she felt, because she knew damn well what you where doing. everyone adored you, wanted you, but they couldn't have you even if they tried.

yelena truly thought you had cast a spell on her. while it did sound cliché, she was genuinely getting frustrated with the amount of time she was spending thinking about you. while working out, while sleeping, and even during a mission (which ended up in a hospital visit). one day, she crumbled. it was 2am, and she caught you in the kitchen eating a bowl of cereal, on top of the counter, wearing nothing but a shear white shirt that reached your thighs. no words were exchanged, but you both could tell how the other was feeling based on how quickly your chest was rising from panting and how yelena's green eyes were now looking almost entirely black. one thing leads to another, as it so often does.

a smirk slowly crept on yelena's face, too zoned out to notice the baffled (and slightly terrified) look she was receiving from john since she was looking in his general direction. she closed her eyes while placing her elbow on the couch armrest and resting her head upon her palm. bob once told her about one of his therapy sessions that he had after recovering from the void incident, grumbling about how useless and boring is was. but she remembered one thing that he had recalled.

"she said to 'go to my happy place'."

most people would think of a beach, a cabin in the woods or maybe a library. she didn't, her happy place was with you. touching you, teasing you, hearing soft moans and gasps leaving your mouth. she inhaled sharply, trying to ignore the fact that if she opened her eyes and saw you she'd have no hesitation to give everyone a free show. just so they know who you belonged too. if the film doesn't end anytime soon she'll need to get someone to chain her up like a dog. the minutes felt like hours and she was slowly losing patience.

after a painful 30 minutes for yelena, the credits started rolling on the film, and bucky politely started cleaning up the mess left behind by john and alexei's earlier shenanigans. a loud and long sigh leaving yelena is what brings you attention to her, observing her and tilting your head in confusion about how relaxed she looks. did your plan not work? slowly, you climb off of the couch and walk backward towards the empty hallway, keeping your eyes close on the ex-assassin.

"Идите сюда" you wince as soon as you hear the words leave her mouth. you have no clue what she's saying, but you know you are in trouble. her eyes are now gazing directly at yours, no show of emotion on her face. trying to shuffle backwards, you make too big of a step and watch as her head tilts and her smile grow in amusement. yelena then jumps from her spot, striding towards you showing no restraint. however, a grin of your own appears. finally! this is what you wanted! yelena knows it too as she sees you lead her directly towards your room. all thoughts of the team completely gone, just you and her, exactly the way she likes it.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆𐙚₊

[ladyzorasmain]

Thank you!!! I grew up watching the original movie since I was a little tot and while it took me time to understand, I knew the movie and it's important details!

My lil brother went to see the remake with my dad, but he only could say he enjoyed Stitch being silly.

I talked with him about the nuance and characteristics of not only Stitch, but everyone in the moive, what the og was about, how vital they all played in their roles, even sharing about the deleted scene of those White American Torists and how they treated Lilo when they were obnoxiously asking her where the beach was.

The most important part of all the movie I mentioned firmly was abour Ohana!

"Ohana means 'Family'. Famly means, 'Nobody gets left behind - or forgotten."

The remake dropped it completely. And while I don't judge my little brother for liking it as he is a fan of Stitch, I wanted to have him think about why he liked Stitch and why the OG movie was so good!

Stitch isn't just funny, he's very intelligent as Jumba claimed, he's elusive, destructive, but being with Lilo showed that he is actually very creative and can grow and change! That he was lonely and wanted to find a family!

God I love this movie and need to go watch it again.

But yes, tangent aside, this remake is an insult to the original.

Strong, independent women are not selfish. They look out for those they care for than just themselves. Nani did everything even with her David helping her, to find a stable job so she can support Lilo!

And it also goes to show, some things just are not for these people. And that is ok! Everything isn't for everyone and some people just don't/ won't get it.

It also show that this remake is just a differnt movie with Stitch being a cover for it.

i've seen so many people (usually women) say about the stitch remake "let nani be happy" in regards to giving up lilo and going to the USA for school

which just like goes to show that people are right you know? white people cannot engage with media that is not about them and watch it to gain new perspective. you see white people do this with ghibli all the time.

in this instance, white people watched the original stitch, absorbed absolutely nothing about the message on colonialism or that nani desperately actually wants to keep lilo, and instead just superimposed themselves onto nani. of course they think she should "just be happy" and leave her sister with the state. of course they think that "she's with a family friend and can portal any time".

there's not even a shallow understanding of the original movie and its themes. there's absolutely no knowledge of Hawai'i and its history and how Hawai'ians feel.

By and large, white people as a group are hyper individualists. it's like a cornerstone of white supremacy. "my wants/desires/needs above all others" and "my comfort above all others". They think Nani deserves their version of happiness. One that's how they navigate real life: sacrificing everything but personal gain under the guise of self care. Acting like abandoning your family and community is only brave and freeing. Painting it like a feminist retelling of the original.

So many proving they are not immune to propaganda. That disney can just wrap up this colonialist retelling of a once profound story and package it to you with smiley stickers and sanitized storylines of the Progressive Woman Who Girlbosses To Happiness and you lap it up because feminist stories are just about Doing What's Best For Me Only apparently. It pivots away from Nani's agency in the first movie. Her desire to do all she can to keep Lilo. And people celebrate it because feminism is when women do What I Think They Should to be Happy.

I don't think enough people listen to people who have been in the system. Or understand how dangerous it is to have it painted as heartwarming and safe. It doesn't matter who Lilo is with at the end of the movie. If you think the state won't disappear children you need to look up some statistics and ask yourself why Nani was so desperate to keep her in the original film.

[writeriguess]

HII!! I wanna request a Katsuki x fem reader where back in their 3rd years before graduation, Katsuki broke up with reader cuz he doesn't want a 'distraction' anymore and someone who'll 'slow him down' when he's going to be a pro hero and ofc reader is heartbroken. Then years later they're both 25 and there was a class reunion where they meet again. Also I would love Katsuki thinking about reader after like a year or two after breaking up with reader and missing her. Fluff pls!! 💕

What We Could’ve Been

You still remember the exact moment he walked away.

It was spring. Late March. The cherry blossoms had started to bloom on campus, fluttering like soft pink confetti as you stood under the tree near the training fields. Katsuki's voice was sharp—firm—but not cruel. That was the worst part.

You had expected an argument. A fight. Maybe even tears, from him or from you. But there had only been silence after his words.

“I can’t do this anymore. You’re a distraction. I don’t need someone slowing me down right now. I need to focus.”

You blinked at him then, trying to make sense of it. Distraction? Slowing him down? You were both in your third year, training to become pro heroes. He was ambitious, yes, always pushing himself harder than anyone. But you had always been by his side, not in his way.

“Katsuki, I never asked you to choose between me and being a hero—”

“Doesn’t matter. I already chose.”

And just like that, he left you standing there.

Two Years Later

It took him a while to notice the absence.

At first, he threw himself into his career. The spotlight, the battles, the interviews, the fame. The thrill of the fight was enough. Or at least, he told himself it was.

But there were nights when the silence in his apartment wrapped around him like a vice. When he’d scroll through his phone, his thumb pausing over your contact. Never tapping. Just… hovering. Like maybe you’d feel it. Like maybe you’d reach out first.

You never did.

And then it started happening more often.

He’d catch glimpses of you in the crowds during patrol. A woman with your hair, your walk. His heart would stutter in his chest, only to plummet when he realized it wasn’t you.

Then the dreams came. Memories, twisted into longing. That dumb grin you’d give him after a long patrol. Your fingers carding through his hair when he collapsed onto your lap on the dorm couch. Your voice whispering, “I love you, Katsuki,” like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He woke up sweating every time.

He tried dating. Once. Maybe twice. It was a joke. No one looked at him like you did. No one challenged him, held him steady, saw through him the way you did. He was a storm—and you had always been the calm inside it.

He didn’t admit he missed you. Not out loud. But he stopped deleting your photos.

Age 25 | Class 1-A Reunion

You weren’t even sure you were going to go.

But Mina had texted you seven times in all caps, and Denki threatened to “physically drag your beautiful ass to the venue.” So now you were standing in a fancy rooftop bar in Tokyo, a glass of wine in hand, smiling at familiar faces.

Everyone looked… older. Stronger. Softer. There were hugs, laughs, a lot of “I haven’t seen you in forever!”

And then, you felt it. That prickle down your spine. That sixth sense.

You turned—and there he was.

Katsuki Bakugou.

Same sharp jawline, hair just slightly more tamed. Black button-down, sleeves rolled up, forearms still stupidly hot. His eyes met yours across the room. Time stopped.

You turned away first.

Your heart was beating too fast. Get a grip, you scolded yourself, reaching for your drink. But then you heard it.

“...Hey.”

His voice. A little rougher. Quieter than you remembered.

You turned slowly. “Katsuki.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets, eyes scanning your face like he didn’t know where to look.

“You look… good,” he said.

“Thanks.” You nodded, polite. Distant.

He shifted awkwardly. “Didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Didn’t know you cared.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them, but his face didn’t flinch. Instead, he nodded, like he deserved that.

“I didn’t, back then,” he said, voice low. “Not enough.”

You raised a brow. “So why are you talking to me now?”

He looked away, jaw tight. “Because I’m a dumbass.”

You blinked.

“I’ve thought about you every damn day since graduation,” he muttered, looking back at you. His red eyes were fierce, but there was something softer underneath. Raw. “I thought pushing you away would help me focus. That I’d be better off without you. But all I did was make it harder.”

Silence stretched between you. The noise of the reunion faded to a dull hum.

“You said I was a distraction,” you said quietly.

He winced. “Yeah. I was wrong.”

“And someone who’d slow you down.”

He shook his head. “You didn’t. You never did. I slowed myself down, being too much of a coward to handle loving you and being a hero at the same time.”

Your breath caught.

“You still love me?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

His eyes didn’t leave yours. “Yeah. I do.”

Your heart twisted. God, you wanted to be angry. To hold onto that heartbreak like a shield. But his voice—his face—it was so open, so painfully honest. The Katsuki you loved was still in there.

“I thought you were gone,” you whispered.

“I was stupid,” he said, stepping closer. “But I’ve changed. And if you’ll let me… I wanna try again. No running. No excuses.”

You stared at him. He looked nervous.

You tilted your head. “You still wake up late?”

“Tch. No.”

“Still make your explosions too damn loud at 7 a.m.?”

“Only on Wednesdays.”

You smiled. Just a little.

He grinned.

“…Fine,” you said, taking a slow sip of your wine. “We’ll talk. But I’m not making this easy for you.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

He reached for your hand then—hesitant, but hopeful. You let him.

And, maybe, the storm had finally passed.

[chigsprincess]

Omg hi!! I love your works, they’re all so nicely made 😽😽!! (Don’t die to a blender pls ur too awesome sauce😋)

Anyways, I have a request (I came up with it late at night so hear me out PLEASE) I was thinking of bllk x reader, where the two get caught hanging out/on a date when the public doesn’t know that they are dating you. I understand if this is not worded correctly and sounds weird, but anywho thank you!!

Exposed

a/n: dw! it sounded totally fine, thank you so much for requesting, and i hope you have an awesome day!

getting caught when your relationship is still private - h.chigiri, r.itoshi, m.kaiser, y.isagi, s.barou

Chigiri Hyoma

One date in a public place couldn’t hurt. You two even chose a remote location for it. Hell, he wore some disguise too. (If you can call sunglasses indoors that.)

You tell him he dressed up like he is about to rob this place. He just pouts.

His fans immediately recognize him tho. Doesn’t even take a full 15 minutes.

“Oh my god, is that him?” whispers someone, followed by the unmistakable click of a camera.

He just lets out a sigh and shrugs “Guess we are trending tonight.”

He grabs your hand boldly, not hiding it, but also not making a big scene, and walks you back to the car with calm confidence.

When a fan asks him: “Who’s your date?” he cheekily replies:

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

then winks and shuts the car door behind you.

Social media explodes. Fans are divided between mourning the loss of their!!!! Princess and zooming in to ID you.

Itoshi Rin

He arrives at the restaurant wearing a baseball cap pulled low, a dark coat, and a stupid mask. He’s not trying to be seen; in fact, he dreads it.

You tease him about being so dramatic: “You act like the paparazzi are waiting behind every menu.”His reply? A low, dry, “They usually are.”

The dinner actually went pretty well, no fans, no media, no nothing, but then came the walk back to the car.

He immediately hears a camera clicking, and, lets go of your hand by instinct.

You start to step away, but he grabs your wrist. Not aggressively, but like he needs you close.

As flashes start to go off, he turns away from the cameras and mutters a cold, “Unbelievable.”

When asked, “Is that your partner?”, he doesn’t answer. Just shoots a piercing glare that shuts the question down instantly.

A week later, he posts a single photo on his, rarely used Instagram story: a picture of your linked hands resting on his lap, no faces, just a caption: “Mine.”

Isagi Yoichi

It’s been almost a month since you two last saw each other, so when he asked you for a date, he kinda forgot you two haven’t announced your relationship yet.

He greets you with a huge smile and an even bigger hug, the kind that lifts you a little off the ground.

A fan across the street spots him mid-laugh, leaning in close to you. They try to be subtle, but the flash goes off. And then another.

He visibly panics for a split second. “Oh nooo,” he mutters, half-laughing, half-dying inside.

His first instinct is to apologize:

“I’m so sorry are you okay with this? I can ask them to delete it! I’m sure they will.”

He knows it’s a lost cause.

You just laugh it off and tell him you don’t mind.

Later that night, he's pacing while scrolling social media, muttering, “Okay, it’s not that bad. I only panicked a little. That’s fine. That’s totally fine.”

You tell him he was cute. He blushes, but replies confidently: “Yeah? Well… I’ve got more moves where that came from.” (Immediately trips over a shoe afterward. Still cute.)

A few days later, he posts a selfie of you both with half your faces cropped out, captioned: “About time I got caught. Not mad.”

Kaiser Michael

He doesn’t wear a disguise. He wears designer sunglasses at night, his hair perfect, jawline immaculate a walking PR headline.

You ask him whether he really thinks this won’t earn him attention, but he just smirks and shrugs his shoulders.

Shameless. hand on your lower back, arm around your shoulder, brushes your hair behind your ear. he doesn’t hide a damn thing.

“Careful. You keep looking at me like that, I’ll forget we’re in public.” You just look at him with a deadpan expression. “Seems to me you already forgot.”

You get caught almost immediately by paparazzi hanging across the street, and fans whispering excitedly nearby.

He kisses you on the cheek right in front of the cameras, then adds “Get my good side, yeah?”

He does an interview a few days later and casually mentions you like it’s common knowledge. “Yeah, they’re amazing. Gorgeous, and smart, makes better coffee than my nutritionist. Don’t know how I landed them, honestly. Actually- no. I do. Look at me.”

You just roll your eyes when you watch it later.

Barou Shoei

He picks a secluded restaurant with private dining options and tinted windows. The kind of place you have to know someone to get into.

When you show up, his whole face melts, his shoulders drop, and his lips quirked up just a little. “There you are.”

You’re leaving the restaurant, walking toward the car, when someone spots him. “Holy shit, that’s Barou!”

Cameras click. Fans whisper. Then one of the braver ones asks: “Is that your partner?”

He steps in front of you immediately. Instinctively protective.

He doesn’t say a word. Just glares so hard that the nearest phone lowers itself.

A few days later, his team’s official social media posts a picture of him post-game. You in the background, holding his water bottle. Fans lose it.

He finally gives in and posts a blurry photo of you wearing his hoodie, with a caption: “Yeah. They’re mine. Stay out of it.”

word count: 882

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Locked Out of Heaven 8

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, age gap, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your father invites a work friend to the neighbourhood barbecue.

Characters: Nick Fowler (Dad’s friend trope)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

On the last stair, you trip. You catch yourself on your hands but can't avoid the noise. You hold your breath and listen to the house. 

You stand up and focus on getting your foot over the lip of the step. You exhale and tiptoe down to your too. You nearly screech as a door opens. Austin walks out, his headset on and his eyes on his phone. You stand against the wall as he passes.

For the first time, you're thankful for his oblivion. You wait until you hear him in the kitchen to move. You flit into tour room and nearly collapse. Holy moley.

You drop your purse and your shoes. You spin and sit down on the end of the bed. You're dreamy and a bit drunk. You're eyes are glossy with fatigue yet your adrenaline is pumping. 

A buzz keeps you from falling back. You blink and sway before you drag yourself to your feet. You stagger to your purse and take out your phone. There's only one person it can be.

Nick's message makes your cheeks burn even hotter.

'Great night with my girl. Sweet dreams.'

You giggle and type in 'good night'.

'I'll sleep good knowing you're mine.'

You're at a loss so you send a smile emoji. His reply is quick.

'No fun without me. Understand?'

You frown. 'What do you mean?'

'The toy. I'll tell you when you need to use it. First. Get some sleep. Send a pick of your pajamas so I know you listened like a good girl.' 

You stare at the message. You have a naughty idea. You think it's too much but you're all bubbly. He'll like it, won't he?

You put your phone down and strip off the skirt and blouse. You stand in just the bra and look down at you body. He seems to like you a lot.

You grab the phone and lean it against your pillows. You sit on your knees and angle so the camera can't catch your full pelvis. You set the timer and pose. Ugh maybe sit up taller. Another shot. No, push your chest out.

That's it. You stare at the photo and shiver. You're not really going to send it, are you?

You tap the arrow and drop the phone. You grab a pillow and hide your face. Oh gosh! You could delete and hope he didn't see.

The phone vibes. You're relieved the ringer isn't on as you fumble to answer the call. You whisper into the speaker.

"Hello?"

"Bad girl. You know I'm driving and you're sending me that." Nick drawls.

"Oh, I'm sorry," you murmur.

"You don't got to be sorry, baby. You gotta warn me. The way you got my mind racing, I nearly swerved out." He growls. "Mmph, I could drive back there and..." he stops himself with a snicker. "Well... I told ya I'd be patient."

"Oh, okay. I... I hope you have a good night."

"With that image in my head, think I will," he purrs. "But princess? Don't think I'll forget that. I owe ya for that one."

You sit in silence, a bit hollow as the alcohol settles in your gut 

"Alright. You better go to sleep. I need you to take care of yourself, baby."

"Alright, uh, um... good night."

"Mmhmm," he hums.

The line clicks and you blow out a deep breath. The timbre of his voice lingers in your chest. You can't believe someone like him is so into you!

You lay in the dark as your lips curve and your chest blooms with heat. More than that, flames lick through you, unabated. You close your eyes and you see him. You want him so bad. You never in your life wanted anyone like you do Nick.

💜

The next morning you wake up with fog in your eyes but otherwise you feel normal. As normal as you can after last night. You're trying not to think of it. You're trying to focus but you just can't stop. Last night was the most exciting thing you've ever done. You snuck out, you drank, you kissed...

For so long, life seemed to pass you by. You languish in your academic purgatory and everyone else gets to go out and have fun and be friends. Finally, you're doing something.

And with him. Everything about him is perfect. His eyes, his arms, his lips. You think about the day you met him, with his shirt off, the way his muscles were taut and rounded. And he's older. Everyone always says that's sexy.

Still, Nick can't change everything. He can't get rid of your dad, he can't extinguish all the expectations, and he certainly can't help with your advanced biology report. Back to boring.

You get your books set out and a tea to sip on as you work on your revised draft. Your phone isn't far. Just right there. You should have it on silent. You don't need the distraction. Even so, you jump when it buzzes. It's not even noon.

You glance over your shoulder and wait. Your dad's home for the day. It's the weekend. You thought he might go golfing but he's been yelling in the yard with Austin. They're probably working on a car or something.

You read the message quickly.

'Morning. Sorry I'm late.'

You dig your teeth into your lower lip, cheeks taut with a smile you can't contain. You send a heart emoji. 'Good morning.'

'Chipper. You feeling ok?'

'Feel good.' You send back.

He sends a wink emoji and the three dots of him typing bubble up beneath. When his message comes through, you reread it several times.

'Wanna feel better, princess?'

You rub your neck. You crane again, paranoid that your dad might sneak up and catch you. You return a question mark.

'Go get the toy.' His next message pops up. You gulp. Another message comes in. 'Baby. You're gonna be a good girl, right?'

Your hands tremble. You type in carefully.

'I'm doing schoolwork. I'll be done soon.'

You tap send and wait. Dread swells in your stomach.

'I didn't ask what you're doing. I told you what to do. Go and get the toy.'

You rock nervously and glance at the window. Hopefully, your dad doesn't find your books unattended. You get up cautiously and cross the room. You flit into the hall and hurry upstairs. As you get to your room, your phone shakes. Shoot.

You answer.

"Are you mad?" You ask.

"Baby girl," Nick tuts. "Not yet. Do you got the toy?"

"I'm in my room. Just looking..."

"Good girl. You just need to do what I say."

"Okay, er, but--"

"But," he echoes bluntly.

"Sorry, sorry. My dad's right downstairs."

"You don't worry about him. He won't know any better, will he?" Nick purrs. "Don't you wanna make me happy? Didn't I make you happy last night?"

You heart pounds and your stomach churns. You feel bad now. He did all that last night and you're arguing.

"I'll be good. I'm just... scared, I guess."

"Baby, it's cause it's new but that doesn't mean it's bad," he chides. "Now, pull down your pants."

You sniff. His command is sharp enough that you nearly drop the phone. You put him on speaker and place the phone on the dresser.

"One sec," you unbutton your fly.

"And your panties," he adds.

"Oh, okay," you push both down to your knees.

"Got the toy?"

You open the drawer and fish out the box from your clothes. "Yes."

"Kay, so, you gotta get yourself wet. How are you feeling?"

"Um... i don''t... know."

"Go on and touch yourself. It'll be easier."

You peek at the door. Your dad is going to come looking if he finds you gone.

"Okay," you reach between your legs. You squeak as you delve between your folds. Your fingers slide along your clit.

"What's going on, princess?"

"I... I'm a little wet."

"You gotta get more. Just... pretend it's me, baby. Hm? Like how I did in the car. Didn't that feel nice? My fingers all over you. The way I pet you good. Rubbed you up..." he rasps. "Mmm, you were so tight. So tight, princess, so I know you need to get nice and wet for me. You playing with yourself?"

"Yes," you quiver as your fingers swirl around in a mimic of what he did the night before.

"Uh huh, and it feels good?"

"Yes, Nick."

"Mmm, alright, well, I don't want you to cum. Not yet." He warns. "Take that toy out."

"Um, okay."

You pull your hand away from your cunt, keeping your wet fingers straight. You open the box and slide out the insert. You remove the toy.

"I preprogrammed it and got it nice and clean. You're going to want to lay down." He directs you.

"Okay..."

"Tell me when you're laying down."

You shuffle back awkwardly, your pants at your knees, and lower yourself onto the bed. You spread out along one side.

"I'm laying down."

"Good girl, now you feel the bigger part of the toy, you're gonna put it in you."

"In..." you repeat.

"Do it nice and slow for me, okay? You take it, rub it against your clit." He guides as his voice drags.

You do what he says, letting out a hum.

"Feel nice. Get it all wet."

You push it up and down your folds. Suddenly, it thrums. Just once. You squeak and he snickers.

"You feel that?" He asks.

"Uh... yeah."

"Good, it's working," he says. "You get it wet."

"Mmhmm."

"Then your going to push it just against your entrance. Wiggle it, okay, don't force it. Breathe. It should be too big. It's a small toy. I made sure."

"Right, I'm trying. It's getting wetter," you stare at the door, expecting it to open at any minute. Despite the shadow of what could happen, your body is tingling.

"Alright, you keep going." He coaxes. "You wanna know why I got you a small one?"

"Um, why?" You exhale as you press against your entrance.

"Cause, baby, I wanna be the one to stretch you out. I wanna feel you around me. How you need me--"

You whine and quickly stifle it as the toy dips into you. Only a little but enough. "It's going in."

"Mm, good girl. Deeper."

"Yes."

"Let me know when it's all in."

"Yes,it... I think... except--"

"The thin part you keep out. The end should go on your pretty little clit," he drawls.

"Oh. Okay," you move around the little flat circle and press it between your folds.

"Now pull your pants up." He intones.

"Huh?"

"No one will be able to tell. You're going to wear that for me and I'm going to play with you." He says.

"Um..." You babble.

"Better not be a no on your tongue," he snarls.

"It's not. I'm just... I'm learning," you sit up and twitch at the tightness of the toy inside you. "Oh, it's..."

"It's gonna feel a bit strange but it'll get better, baby."

You pull up your pants and button them. You walk with legs wide to take your phone. You groan and the toys buzzes on your clit.

"Oooh!" You exclaim and cup your hand over your mouth.

"Feel that?" he asks.

"Yes," you hiss through your fingers.

"How about this?" The part inside you vibrates. You squeak again. He chuckles. "This?"

It happens again, even more intense than the last time.

"Ayeee, yes," you bite your knuckle.

"Mm, you sound so good. I can't wait for the noises you make when I'm inside you. How about you, baby? You want that? You want me inside you?" He slithers.

"Y-y-yes," you stutter, your honesty lighting a new fire in you.

"You want me?"

"Yes," you whimper as you touch your pelvis.

"Yeah? Baby, I want you too. So bad."

"Yes, yes, yes..." you drone, barely able to think as the buzz thrums through you. Suddenly it stops.

"That's my good girl. Now, I know I interrupted you're studying so you go back down and finish," he orders.

"Yes, I... I'll try."

"Alright, you let me know when you soak through those panties," he growls. "Wish I could taste them."

You stop by the door, his words make you jittery. "My dad..."

"I know. Go. I'll be there. You'll feel me."

He hangs up and you sigh. You're relieved but not for long as the toy shakes again. You bite your lip and twitch. You grab the door and wait for the toy to stop before you go out. As nice as it feels, you're not going to be able to focus on your work.

[lalaluna20]

Protocol

paige x reader tw: paige’s concussion, mentions of acl injury. BUT!! it is fluff i promise.

also this post is dedicated to that anon back in november 2024 who asked for fluff and i deleted the request because i thought i was going to delete my account. this is for you! 💜

paige hate concussion protocol. she hates injuries she hates not being on the court or in the gym. yet you make it bearable. you helped her through her acl tear, you helped her through so many injuries. somehow you’re able to make everything that feels so big so small. “paige look at me” your voice gentle but stern. as you cup her face to look at you, your hands soft against her skin. your movements slow, soft and gentle. “baby this is so much small than it seem. it’s the start of your very long and successful career.” your reassuring words are like a warm comfort around her shoulders. “but i need to be there for my team… im letting them down.” underneath all of paige’s confidence nonchalant attitude is still a girl from hopkins who wants to give it all to her dream and teammates. “you are there for them. baby even if you’re not there in person, you’re still there in spirit.” you tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, still as gentle as ever. “i promise your teammates would rather have you at 100% health than see you push and injure yourself even more and just to end up missing more games.” there were a lot of truth in your words, paige couldn’t even deny that. which sucked.

one of paige’s friends were in town and asked paige if she wanted to get lunch together. you offered to take paige, since it’s a good idea for her to get out and not stay cooped in the house. plus it finally gives you a chance to get supplies.

whenever paige gets injured you always make her a “get better basket”. which are always filled with her favorite treats, skincare products, medicine and pt equipment (if she needs them)

paige ends up spending 2 hours with her friend. which was perfect for you since it gave you enough time. you were able to drop paige off, get the supplies, go back home, put it together and leaving you 20 minutes to spare.

when you picked paige up, she was just beaming. so happy she got to catch up with a friend, telling you everything they talked about, how she even went on a tangent about how much she loves you.

once i paige finished talking, you asked her what she wanted to do for the rest of the day. “honestly i don’t know ma, you usually call the shots.” she said in raspy, nonchalant voice, moving her hand to your thigh, a clear indicator she’s happy to be with you again. “i was thinking we could have a movie marathon for the rest of the day.” you could see the bright grin form on her face from the corner of your eye. causing a small smile to form on your lips. “i’d love that ma.”

once you guys make it back to her apartment. you stand in front of the door. “babe you okay?” she asks in confusion. “i have a surprise for you” her confusion turns to curiosity. as you open the door. the layout of the apartment gives clear view of the kitchen island, where the basket is.

the basket was filled with her favorites. trufru packets, skin masks, hand mask, hair ties, a new set of pajama pants, you name it. “i thought a get better basket would be nice over your concussion break” before you know it, paige has you scooped up in her arms. “god i love you. what would i do without you?” her voice filled with nothing but pure love.

after getting your face masks on, setting up the movie (you guys chose to watch disney), and getting some popcorn and trufru. you guys cuddle up on the couch, under the softest blanket. paige holds you in her arms, resting your head on her chest, and her chin resting on your head. “you know i mean it right?” her words drawing your attention from the movie. “you’ve gotten me through every injury, making every inconvenience seem small… i couldn’t ask for any one better to love.” she says softly, as if she was any louder she might cry. she leans down pressing a kiss on you head “i love you” she mumbles, her kiss lingering on your skin.

“i love you too paige.”

taglist: @ashortyluvsports, @itsssports, @d1paigebueckersglazer, @salemsuccss, @laurenmcucm, @pbno5

two post in one day 😱 yes!! i know i should probably be working on finals buttttt the idea popped in and i needed to write it asap.

anyways!!!

i hope you enjoyed!- Love Luna

[everydayspamton]

hello! what'cha gonna do now, since your main goal has been completed? :o)

Hi there! This question has been probably the most frequently asked since I started this project. I've pondered this question for awhile myself... I've typed out and deleted a few responses to it in the past few days. Honestly I'm so flattered that so many people love my drawings and don't want me to stop. It means so much that so many people love and care about Deltarune in the same way I do, and have given so much attention and love to my silly drawings. Making this account and doing this project has been one of my fondest experiences in fandom, I will cherish all of y'alls support for a long, long time. I have however decided that going forward from the morning of June 4th, I will not continue this blog in the same way. I have made 750~ unique drawings of Spamton and I feel like I have pretty much done everything I wanted to do. I will take a small break from this account after the chapters immediately drop (to avoid spoiling myself), and from there on out operate on a biweekly schedule for the foreseeable future. I also will be branching out from specifically Spamton to all of Deltarune! I hope most of you can understand any burnt-out feelings I may have about drawing him, and I hope people who follow for their favorite guy aren't too disappointed. Some of you may notice that I have kept a hands off approach to reblogging and following other accounts but I'm considering changing that as well. I think I should keep this @ though, just for old times/search-ability's sake.

I'm so so very excited for these next few months... I hope you all enjoy what I put out next!

[pillow-coded]

To Have and To Hold — Chapter 6

Summary: Spencer’s rainchecks start piling up, forcing him to finally come clean about his job. When Y/N learns the truth, she realizes her feelings might run deeper than she ever meant them to. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Slow Burn Series (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: subtle control/anxiety behaviors (Spencer trying to over-manage his environment), mentions of Spencer's trauma (drug addiction, kidnapping, prison, etc.) Word Count: 7.8k

Series Masterlist

It was late when I got home.

I had just come back from a case, the second one in less than two weeks, and I was starting to lose track of time in the worst way — in that bone-tired, half-awake kind of way where days blur together and guilt settles in between the cracks.

I still hadn’t told her about my job. And I’m starting to realize I can’t keep hiding it... at least not If I want to keep seeing her. Lately, every excuse I offered felt like stitching lies into a tapestry that was already unraveling. I know I’ll have to tell her soon.

Because these rain-checks are becoming too frequent. Too many "next times." Too many "maybe this weekend" texts that never happen. And I’m scared she’ll think it means I don’t care.

Maybe I’m just overthinking. Probably. I tend to do that.

Still, she texts me. Every day. Even when I’m late. Even when I’m distant. Even when I don’t deserve it. I hate cellphones, I always have, but with her… I check for the messages. I look forward to them. It’s easier than I thought it would be—talking to her.

Especially at night. Once Maddie’s asleep, she calls sometimes. And I’ll just listen. Sometimes I interrupt with facts about whatever she’s saying, and she always laughs like she actually enjoys it.

The truth is, I don’t always call her because I have something to say. Most of the time, I just want to hear her voice. It’s soft. Steady. Like a kind of calm I haven’t known in years.

And lately… I think I miss her more than I’m willing to admit. Even when we’re talking, even when I’m listening. There’s still this ache. Like I want to be closer — but I don’t know how to ask for that.

I thought about what I was going to say three times before I even sent the message. First, when I pulled into the driveway. Again, while unlocking the door. And once more while boiling water for a cup of tea I wasn’t even sure I wanted.

The apartment was quiet — sterile, in a way that used to feel safe. Predictable. But tonight, it just felt cold. Like a room waiting for someone to come home. Like I’d built my whole life to avoid needing anyone… and now, I’m not sure I want that anymore.

I stared at the phone in my hand for too long. Typed, deleted, retyped.

Spencer: Still up?

I sent it before I could think better of it. Followed by another message, quickly, before the silence could start to stretch.

Spencer: I was wondering if you and Maddie might want to come over tomorrow. Just a quiet night. Tea?

I wasn’t expecting her to reply, after all, it was pretty late… but she replied just a couple minutes later.

Y/n: Tea?

Spencer: What’s wrong with tea?

Y/n: nothing

Y/n: just didn’t expect you to drink tea, since you practically breathe sugared coffee.

Spencer: well, I like tea.

Y/n: Maddie’s going to be giddy at the thought of a tea party with you. She’ll even dress up as a princess.

Spencer: Can’t wait.

And I meant it.

I didn’t know what it was exactly — the tea, the quiet, the way Maddie lights up over the smallest things — but something about tomorrow felt… right. Like a step forward, even if I wasn’t sure what direction I was heading.

I stared at our messages for a little while longer. Thought about saying something else. Typing something like I missed you or I’m glad you said yes. But the words stuck in my throat, even in text. Too much. Too soon.

Instead, I set the phone down on the counter and poured the hot water over the tea bag. Chamomile. Mostly because it was the first box I grabbed, not because I liked it. I didn’t even sit down. Just stood there at the counter with the mug in my hand, thinking.

This apartment used to feel like enough. Quiet. Controlled. Predictable.

But lately… it’s just been quiet.

And tonight, for the first time, that didn’t feel like peace. It felt like absence.

I thought about Maddie’s laugh. The way she held onto my sweater like it was the treasure chest at the end of the rainbow. The way Y/n looked at me when I told Maddie that she could keep it.

Maybe tomorrow won’t be anything big. Just tea. Maybe another book reading and some crayons. But that already sounds better than most of my good days.

So yeah.

Can’t wait.

And for once, I meant every word.

Really.

I took a couple sips of my tea before I got too antsy. The kind of stillness that makes you itch — not on your skin, but somewhere deeper, like your thoughts are pacing even if your body’s not.

I put on a CD JJ gave me for my birthday. She said I needed to listen to music made after the invention of indoor plumbing. Her words, not mine. Mostly soft vocals, acoustic stuff. She never picked anything too loud, since she knew I wouldn’t like it.

With that in the background, I started moving. I’d love to say it happened without thinking — some subconscious, effortless burst of inspiration — but that would be a lie.

I was thinking the entire time.

I cleaned. Really cleaned. Not just wiping things down, but checking every corner, every cabinet, every drawer. Anything Maddie could bump into, pull down, swallow, trip over. Gone. I vacuumed. I scrubbed the baseboards. I reorganized the bookshelf she might wander near just in case she wanted something to look at.

After that, I started prepping.

I pulled my softest blankets out of storage. Had to wash them since they smelled like dust and disuse. While they tumbled in the dryer, I set up the old DVD player I’ve had since 2013. The one I’ve been meaning to reconnect but never actually did. I tested it three times, made sure the cables were secure. Gathered every kid-friendly DVD I owned — Finding Nemo, Princess and The Frog, Wall-E — and stacked them neatly on top.

Then came the books. Every children’s book I’ve collected over the years, mostly out of nostalgia or habit, I laid them out across the coffee table like a tiny library. I arranged them by age range, then switched it to color, then finally just left them in a casual pile like I hadn’t overthought it.

And still, it didn’t feel like enough.

So I went online, typed “free printable coloring pages” into three different websites and spent way too long picking the ones I thought she’d like. Dinosaurs, stars, flowers, a couple princesses. I printed them all. Stapled some into makeshift booklets, spread others out on the table beside a brand-new box of crayons I didn’t even remember buying.

I think I just wanted everything to be perfect.

Or if not perfect, then at least… easy. Inviting. Safe.

Like a place she might want to come back to.

Like a place they both could.

By the time I finished, I collapsed on the couch and passed out.

I didn’t even try to make it to my bed — I couldn’t have, even if I wanted to. My legs felt like concrete. My brain was still buzzing, like it hadn’t gotten the memo that the body was done for the night.

There was a stack of coloring pages on the table, a half-folded blanket at my feet, and a faint hum of JJ’s music still drifting through the room.

I don’t know exactly what time I’d fallen asleep, or how long I was out — the last thing I remember was staring at the ceiling and wondering if I’d overdone it. If the tea party setup was too much. If the crayons were the wrong brand.

But I woke up to the sound of a phone call.

Muffled, insistent.

My ringtone — the default one I never bothered to change — echoed from somewhere under a blanket or cushion. It took me a second to even realize where I was. My neck ached from the angle, my arm was completely numb, and there was a colored pencil jabbed under my ribs like it had lodged itself there while I slept.

I groaned as I sat up, blinking against the morning light filtering through the curtains. My apartment looked… full. Not messy, just lived-in. Like I’d been preparing for something real.

Because I had.

The phone rang again.

I dug it out from between the couch cushions, squinting at the screen.

Y/n.

I sat up straighter right away. Ran a hand through my hair like it might help. Cleared my throat before I even answered — like that’d somehow cover the fact I’d just woken up face-first on the couch.

“Hello?”

My voice came out rough. Lower than usual. Tired.

There was a pause. Then, soft — cautious:

“Did I wake you?”

Her tone was gentle, the kind she used when she wasn’t sure if she was crossing a line.

“Yeah— I mean, kind of. It’s okay. I fell asleep on the couch.”

She let out a quiet laugh. “Sorry… I just figured you’d be up, since It’s already two.”

Two? Had I really slept that long?

“Normally I’m an early riser,” I mumbled, dragging a hand down my face. “Last night just… got away from me.”

“Yeah, sounds like it.” A pause. “You kind of sound like you were hit by a truck.”

“Do I?”

“Not really,” she said, teasing. “Maybe just... bumped by one of those tiny grocery carts Maddie insists on using.”

I huffed out a laugh, soft. “Noted.”

There was a quiet beat on the line. Then: “She’s really excited to see you. What time should we come by?”

I glanced around at the apartment — the blanket pile, the stack of DVDs, the basket of books.

“Um… does five work?”

“Five’s perfect.”

Three hours. I had three hours to make sure everything was perfect.

The movies were ready. The books, the coloring pages, the blankets — all set. But then it hit me.

Snacks.

How on earth was I supposed to host a tea party without anything to serve with the tea?

Oh god.

I can’t bake. I can barely cook. What was I thinking?

Think. Think… Why is thinking so hard right now?

Bakery. Right — there’s that bakery three blocks down. I could speed-walk, grab a box of sweets, and still make it back in time to shower, change, and pretend I didn’t panic over tiny pastries like this was a high-stakes diplomatic meeting.

Which, honestly… it kind of was.

The walk to the bakery felt longer than it should’ve.

Maybe it was the way my heart kept picking up speed, like it thought I was late even though I wasn’t. Maybe it was the fact that every step felt like more than just errand-running — like I was collecting evidence. Proof that I was trying. That I could do this. That I deserved this.

Three blocks. Cool air. The CD JJ gave me still playing in my head like a ghost track. I focused on the rhythm of my footsteps, the sound of traffic, the giant list forming in my head. something sweet, something soft, something Maddie would like.

Inside, the bakery smelled like comfort. Like powdered sugar and nostalgia.

I hovered near the glass display, overwhelmed in the worst way. There were too many choices, none of them labeled in a way that made sense to someone who once used a Bunsen burner to toast bread.

Scones. Mini cupcakes. Some tiny lavender shortbread thing that looked delicate enough to shatter just by looking at it.

There were people behind me. Probably normal people with normal lives who bought pastries for brunch or book club. I was buying cookies for a four-year-old tea party and trying not to cry over whether or not a macaron was too fancy.

God, I was spiraling again.

The girl behind the counter smiled at me, patient.

“Can I help you?”

I blinked. Nodded.

“Yeah, sorry. I… need a few things for a tea party. For a little girl. Something fun. Not too sweet. Not too crumbly. And, uh… I think that’s it.”

She smiled like she understood more than she let on.

Fifteen minutes later, I walked out with a small box tied in ribbon. Cookies shaped like stars. A few flower-shaped jam tarts. Something with sprinkles.

It felt like more than enough. And also, somehow, not nearly enough.

I clutched the box like it was fragile — not the pastries, but the meaning inside them. The attempt. The hope. The silent, ridiculous prayer that this time, I wouldn’t mess it up.

That they’d walk through my front door and feel… wanted.

Because they were.

They really, really were.

The walk back felt lighter somehow.

Like the tension had shifted from panic to purpose. Like maybe—just maybe—I’d done something right.

The box swung gently in my hand, and I kept glancing down at it like it might disappear. Like it might vanish if I let myself believe, even for a second, that things were going well.

It’s funny, how something so small can hold so much. Sugar and flour and careful shapes… and yet it felt like I was carrying a question I didn’t know how to ask.

Will this be enough?

Will I be enough?

By the time I got back to the apartment, I had and hour and a half to spare. I timed it. I don’t know why.

Maybe because part of me still couldn’t believe they were actually coming. That this wasn’t a dream or a passing moment I’d overreacted. That she’d said yes. That Maddie would be in my living room. That they’d be sitting on the blanket I’d laid out and holding the mugs I washed twice even though they were already clean.

Maybe this moment wouldn’t mean as much to her.

But to me?

It meant everything.

Letting them into my space — the one place I’ve always kept closed off, always kept safe, always kept mine — wasn’t just about tea and cookies and coloring books. It was about letting the walls down. The ones I built around myself years ago and forgot how to open.

And now, I was welcoming them inside.

I set the pastries carefully on the counter. Adjusted them. Re-adjusted them. Stepped back like I was curating an exhibit instead of just… trying to show I cared.

Then I went to shower.

Not because I was dirty, but because I needed to rinse off the version of myself that still didn’t think I deserved this. The version that kept whispering all the ways I might ruin it. The one that tried to sabotage anything good before it could get too close.

Getting ready didn’t take long.

I slipped on a lilac button-up — simple, soft, something Garcia once said brought out my eyes. I tried to do something with my hair, but no matter what I did, it still settled into the same stubborn mess of curls. I left it. Figured it was better to look a little undone than make it worse.

Everything was in place. Blankets folded. Tea prepped. Pastries arranged. I moved to the living room and tried to calm myself with a book, but it didn’t work. I kept rereading the same sentence.

The clock ticked. I had an hour and a half.

Too much time.

Time to overthink everything all over again. I started picking it apart — the cookie display, the angle of the throw pillows, whether the coloring pages were too juvenile, whether the air smelled too much like cleaning spray. Whether Maddie would notice.

Whether Y/N would.

But before I could spiral too far, a knock echoed at the door — light, followed by a little giggle.

I froze.

Shit.

They’re early.

They’re here.

And my place isn’t perfect. It’s not perfect and I should’ve— God.

“Spencer?” Y/N’s voice, warm through the door. “It’s Y/N.”

“And Maddie!” a tiny voice chimed in.

My breath caught.

Before I could overthink it, before I could second-guess how I looked or whether the apartment was warm enough or if I’d left too many lights on—

I opened the door.

“Spencer!”

Maddie was already mid-bounce, her little hands outstretched, and within seconds, she flung herself at me like I was gravity.

I barely had time to react before her arms wrapped around my leg, face pressed into my knee.

“I missed you,” she mumbled, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

I crouched down so she could actually hug me — not just my leg — and the moment I did, she threw her arms around my neck without hesitation.

My hands moved instinctively — one around her back, the other gently smoothing down her hair. I held her close, careful, grounding myself in the weight of her. She smelled like strawberry shampoo and sidewalk chalk.

And for a moment, I forgot every single thing I’d been worried about.

Behind her, Y/N stood with a gentle smile tugging at her lips, one hand tucked into the pocket of her coat, the other holding a small bag of extra things. She chuckled softly, amused — and maybe a little charmed.

“Correction,” she said with a tilt of her head. “We missed you.”

She missed me.

Not just politeness. Not just convenience. She actually missed me.

“I missed you too,” I said, still stunned, my voice softer than I meant it to be.

I looked at her — really looked — standing in my doorway like she belonged there. Like this was normal. Like it was safe.

And there I was, still crouched, still holding this tiny human who clung to me like she’d always belonged in my arms.

Then Y/N’s voice broke through the quiet, full of warmth and something almost teasing.

“Whoa… Maddie, look. Spencer got everything ready for your tea party.”

At that, Maddie finally let go. She turned around and gasped — a genuine, delighted little intake of breath like she’d just stepped into a fairytale.

She marched past me with purpose, little feet pattering across the floor as she took it all in — the coloring pages spread neatly across the coffee table along with the children’s books, the stack of DVDs beside the television, the neatly folded blankets, the tiny pastries still in their ribbon-tied box.

And at the center of it all: the tea set.

She beamed like it was Christmas morning. “This is going to be the best tea party ever!” she declared, spinning back toward me with wide eyes and flushed cheeks.

“Mommy’s going to be the princess,” she announced proudly, “and you’re going to be the prince!”

“Honey—” Y/N started, clearly embarrassed, her voice hitching on a quiet laugh as she gave me an apologetic look.

But I shook my head gently, smiling before she could say anything else.

“And who would you be, Maddie?” I asked, not to redirect — but to protect it. The moment. Her story. Her joy.

Because honestly… it did feel like a fairytale.

My apartment, usually so sterile and still, was suddenly alive — filled with soft laughter, crayon-scattered color, and the warm scent of jam tarts. And across the room were the only two people who’d ever made it feel like more than a place I went to be alone — one already wearing a crooked plastic crown, the other still standing in the doorway like she didn’t know she’d just rewritten the ending of something I never thought could change.

If this was a fairytale tea party… then they were my princesses.

“I’m going to be a fairy!” Maddie declared, bouncing in place, hands thrown in the air with the kind of certainty only a four-year-old can manage.

“Obviously,” Y/N murmured, biting back a smile as she finally stepped fully inside.

And just like that, the door closed behind them.

“Why don’t you go set up the table, oh magical fairy?” Y/N suggested, kneeling to unzip the small bag she’d brought.

Maddie, still beaming, gave a dramatic curtsy before darting toward the living room setup, completely immersed in her new royal duties.

Y/N straightened up slowly, then turned to me — eyes warm, but lingering with something quieter behind them. Something almost hesitant.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” she said softly.

I shrugged, hands suddenly unsure of what to do. “I wanted to.”

Her gaze drifted up, scanning my face.

“You look tired,” she murmured.

I was. The kind of tired that sinks into your bones — the result of overthinking, overpreparing, and barely catching three hours of sleep on the couch. She could probably see it in the way the shadows under my eyes had darkened, in the way my shoulders didn’t quite settle.

But somehow, standing in front of her — here, in this small moment — it didn’t bother me.

“Yeah,” I admitted quietly. “I just had a rough night.”

Her eyes didn’t leave mine.

“You know,” she said gently, “we’re both more than happy just hanging out with you.”

Not for the tea party. Not for the magic tricks. Not for the stack of DVDs, the coloring books, or the box of pastries.

Just… me.

It caught me off guard — how easily she said it. How casually she handed me that kind of reassurance, like it was obvious. Like it had never even been a question.

I swallowed.

“I guess I just wanted you to feel like you’re not a guest… like you’re at home here,”

She looked at me then — really looked — and something shifted in her eyes. Not wide-eyed or surprised. Just soft. Certain.

“You don’t have to baby-proof your entire apartment for us to feel at home, Spence,” she said. “We already feel at home with you.”

And just like that, I forgot what it was I was even nervous about.

Because that? That was everything.

I opened my mouth to say something — anything — but before I could find the words, a small voice rang out from the living room:

“Table’s ready!”

There was a loud clatter of plastic and the unmistakable sound of a child dragging something across hardwood floors.

Y/N turned toward the sound, smiling to herself like it was a reflex. Like her body was hardwired to respond to that voice with warmth.

“We’ve been summoned,” she said, eyes flicking back to mine.

I nodded, still a little dazed. “Wouldn’t want to keep the fairy queen waiting.”

We walked into the living room together, and I swear — I’d spent hours preparing it, arranging every detail, but seeing her there, Maddie sitting cross-legged on the floor in a swirl of tulle and sparkles, somehow made it all feel brand new.

She had arranged everything. Plastic teacups carefully placed in a triangle, with napkins folded beside each one — uneven and slightly wrinkled, but deliberate. A stack of coloring books sat like menus in the center of the table, and my DVD pile had been repurposed into some kind of throne. She was clearly very proud of that part.

“Spencer, you sit here!” she exclaimed dramatically, pointing toward our spots. “Mommy next to me, and me in the middle cause i’m the fairy queen!”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Y/N said with a mock curtsy, lowering herself beside her daughter.

I followed, settling onto the blanket across from them. Maddie began pouring invisible tea into each tiny cup with absolute seriousness.

“This one’s lemon,” she said, handing mine to me. “Yours has sparkles.”

“Perfect,” I said, taking it with both hands. “That’s exactly how I like it.”

Y/N glanced at me, trying to suppress a grin. “He’s very particular about his sparkle ratio.”

“Oh,” Maddie replied solemnly. “This one’s extra sparkly.”

I pretended to sip it and made a face. “Wow. That is very sparkly.”

Maddie beamed. “You’re welcome.”

She then offered a cookie from the pastry box — one of the star-shaped ones I’d spent too long choosing — and placed it on a napkin in front of each of us like she was hosting a diplomatic summit.

“You guys have to talk,” she instructed, crossing her arms. “That’s what people do at tea parties.”

I blinked. “Talk about… what?”

“Feelings,” she said seriously.

Y/N laughed. “Oh, we’re in trouble.”

But Maddie didn’t flinch. “It’s the rules.”

So I looked across the table — at the little girl in a too-big tutu with frosting on her chin, and at the woman beside her who made my apartment feel like it had finally exhaled — and I said the only thing I could think of

“Speaking of feelings… did you know the brain releases the same chemicals when you’re in love as it does when you eat chocolate or go skydiving?”

Maddie’s eyes went wide. “Even chocolate?”

I nodded solemnly. “Even chocolate.”

Across from me, Y/N tilted her head, smiling like she already knew I was dodging something.

“So what you’re saying,” she said, “is that love feels like dessert and imminent death?”

I pretended to think it over, cradling my tiny plastic cup like it was fine china. “Biochemically speaking… yes. Dopamine, oxytocin, adrenaline. It’s a hormonal free-for-all. Your brain’s basically throwing a party and hoping you don’t notice you’re completely unprepared.”

Maddie giggled, crumbs on her cheeks. “I think I’m in love with cupcakes.”

“That makes sense,” I said. “Cupcakes don’t lie.”

Y/N laughed quietly beside her — the kind of laugh that doesn’t fill a room, but settles into it. Gentle. Familiar.

Then she looked at me, eyes warm, playful — and something else, something softer underneath.

“And you?” she asked, her voice almost teasing. “Is your brain throwing a party too?”

I blinked.

The question was light, easy — a sugar-coated inquiry, but it landed heavy. Not because I didn’t know the answer. But because I did.

I thought about the way my heart had stuttered when they knocked on the door. The way my apartment didn’t feel like mine anymore, not really — not in the presence of glitter crowns and bare feet and soft voices calling me by name. It was the first time they’d ever been here, and yet somehow it didn’t feel like a visit. It felt like they’d always belonged. I thought about how nothing in this room was perfect, and yet everything felt exactly right.

Yes. My brain was absolutely throwing a party — one lit by Maddie’s tiny, tinkling giggles and the quiet hum of Y/N’s soft-spoken voice. A party that didn’t need confetti or music or anything at all, really. Just them.

I smiled, lifted my cup in a quiet toast.

“Well,” I said, “I did have two cookies. So… probably.”

She held my gaze for a moment longer, something unspoken passing between us. And then she smiled too, like she was letting me get away with it — just for now.

The evening passed quickly. Maddie begged to let her eat the entire cookie box, and after some convincing from both her and Spencer — mostly Spencer, with that big-eyed, overly logical persuasion tactic I’ve never seen win a debate until now — I let her have two more.

I was sure I’d regret it. I pictured her bouncing off the walls, breaking something expensive, smearing frosting into Spencer’s bookshelves while he tried to pretend he wasn’t panicking.

But I was wrong.

About an hour later, as the sky outside started fading into that deep indigo blue, she was curled up on a blanket on the floor — crown slipping off her head, one hand still loosely holding a crayon, the other tucked under her cheek.

Out cold.

Which left us — me and Spencer — alone again.

The lights were dim. The tea cups still sat on the table, slightly askew, and the remnants of coloring pages were scattered across the rug like confetti after a quiet celebration. There was a stillness in the apartment now, but not an empty one. More like… the kind that lingers after laughter.

I looked over at him, sitting across from me, knees drawn in like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with the sudden quiet.

He met my gaze for a second — just a flicker — before looking down at the now-cold cup in his hands.

“Pretty sure you’ve been promoted to honorary tea party host for life,” I said softly, because it felt like the kind of night where anything louder might break the calm we’d settled into.

He smiled. “I’m honored.”

“No, really,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “She really trusts you… I don’t know how you managed it, since it’s not something she does easily. But ever since that day in the library— I swear, she never, ever stops talking about you.”

“She doesn’t trust easily?”

“It’s not that,” I said, pausing, trying to find the right words. “I mean—kind of. It’s more that… it’s always been just the two of us. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we really love routine.”

“I’ve noticed,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice.

“I swear, the first time I took her to kindergarten, she was so excited. She had her little backpack on, and she kept telling me she was gonna make so many friends.” I smiled faintly at the memory. “But the moment we got there and I started to leave… she panicked. She just—she bawled. Loud, messy, heartbreaking sobs. I had to carry her out and bring her home with me.”

I glanced down at Maddie’s sleeping form on the blanket — peaceful now, tucked under one of Spencer’s blankets like she belonged there.

“She doesn’t let go of people easily. And she really doesn’t let people in.”

When I looked back up, he was still watching me — quiet, open, listening in that way only he could. Like every word I said mattered.

“She sounds a lot like me,” he said. His smile faltered at the edges, flickering for just a second — and then, just as quickly, it came back, softer this time. Braver, maybe.

“What do you mean?” I asked, though I already had some idea.

He sighed, and I saw it — the tiny tremble in his hands, the way his thumb rubbed anxiously against his palm. Like saying it out loud might cost him something.

“Well… it’s just, a lot of people in my life have left,” he said quietly. “And I guess as a result, I find it difficult to let new people in.”

His voice was even, but the hurt sat just underneath — not dramatic, not even raw. Just worn-in. Familiar.

I reached for his hands, holding them in mine.

They were colder than I expected. Just slightly. Tense, like they hadn’t realized they were allowed to rest.

I couldn’t bear the tremble, the evidence of his hurt, and I just wanted to make it go away — not with words, but with warmth. Something steady. Something quiet.

He looked down at our hands like he couldn’t believe they were real. Like he wasn’t used to being reached for.

“How did we get in?”

The question wasn’t about Maddie or me, not really. It was about him — about the walls he kept up so carefully, and what it meant that he’d let us through.

He stared at our joined hands for a long moment. Then he exhaled, slow.

“I think I tried to keep you at more of an arm’s length,” he said. “But Maddie didn’t exactly give me a choice.”

His voice was quiet, but not bitter. Just honest. Like it was something he’d been carrying for a long time, and only now realized he could set down.

I smiled — not because it was funny, but because it was true. Maddie hadn’t given him a choice. Neither had I, in the end.

“Well, I think you didn’t actually want us at arm’s length…” I said, tilting my head, letting just the faintest smile pull at my lips.

He looked up, almost startled by the shift in tone. I raised an eyebrow, just enough to make it feel like a dare.

“I mean, you tried,” I went on, lightly. “You gave it a valiant effort. All those deflections. The awkward goodbyes. The book recommendations as emotional currency…”

That earned a soft laugh from him — a real one, just a breath under his breath.

“But then you started texting me back,” I said, mock-serious now, “first. You asked how Maddie was sleeping. You bought a whole box of crayons just because she said she liked pink… your arm was never that long to begin with.”

His eyes softened — the kind of look people give you when they don’t quite know how to say thank you without it coming out like something else.

He didn’t deny it.

He didn’t have to.

Because the hand still holding mine didn’t let go.

“You’d think that… but there’s so much about me that you don’t know.”

His voice wasn’t defensive. Just honest. Like he wasn’t trying to push me away — just warning me, in case I hadn’t realized what I was reaching for.

I watched him for a moment. His lashes low. Shoulders tense, even if his hand stayed curled around mine like he couldn’t quite let go of the contact, even if part of him wanted to.

“There’s a lot about me you don’t know either,” I said gently.

He didn’t look up, but I saw the small twitch at the corner of his mouth. Like he wasn’t used to being met halfway.

He nodded, just once, and whispered so softly I barely caught it:

“I don’t want to scare you away.”

“You won’t.”

I said it before I could overthink it. Because I meant it. Because I wanted him to believe it — maybe even more than he wanted to say it out loud.

And for the first time that night, he looked like he almost did.

“You say that…” he murmured, gaze drifting to a spot somewhere over my shoulder, “but trust me… it’s darker than you’d think.”

His voice had shifted — not cold, but cautious. Like he was standing at the edge of something with no guarantee I’d follow.

So I leaned in, just enough for him to feel it — the closeness, the choice, the steadiness.

“Try me.”

The words weren’t loud. They didn’t need to be. Just two syllables — quiet, but sure. Like a match struck in a dark room.

He looked at me then, really looked. Eyes searching, like he was trying to find the limits of my patience, my empathy, my staying power. Like he didn’t believe they could stretch that far — but maybe, just maybe, he wanted to.

For a moment, he didn’t speak.

Then he exhaled, and I watched something subtle shift in his posture. The tiniest crack in the wall.

“You’ve asked about my job several times now, and I have always deflected because, like I said, I didn’t want to scare you away… but it’s getting harder to keep hiding this from you. I need you to know what you’re getting yourself into.”

My heart skipped.

Okay. Deep breath.

Was he about to tell me he was… what? A hitman? A spy? Secretly part of some underground black-ops program where he erases people for a living? Because that was definitely the tone of voice he was using — the slow, serious, this-will-change-everything voice.

I didn’t say any of that, of course.

Outwardly, I nodded, calm and open and collected. Inwardly? Full FBI case file unraveling.

He still hadn’t let go of my hand.

Still hadn’t looked away.

“I work for the FBI,” he said finally. “I’m a profiler with the Behavioral Analysis Unit. We track violent criminals — serial offenders. People who do unspeakable things.”

I exhaled, the tightness in my chest releasing all at once.

“You’re a fed?” I asked, blinking.

He winced like I’d just accused him of something deeply uncool. “I mean—technically, yes. But that’s not usually how I lead with it.”

“No, yeah, sorry,” I said, trying to keep a straight face. “It’s just… you were so dramatic about it. I thought you were gonna tell me you were part of some secret assassin ring or that you had, like, bodies buried under the floorboards.”

“I don’t,” he said quickly, chuckling at the accusation. “I’m not a hitman.”

“Good to know.”

He ran a hand through his hair — a nervous habit by now — and let out a half-laugh, half-sigh. “It’s just… I can’t put to words how dark this job is.”

“What do you mean? You catch bad people, that’s sick. Maddie’s gonna think you’re an actual superhero.”

He smiled at that — small, fleeting — but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I wish that’s all it was,” he said. “But it’s not just the catching. It’s the seeing. The knowing. The walking into rooms that don’t feel like rooms anymore because of what happened inside them. It’s memorizing the way grief folds a mother in half when she realizes her kid isn’t coming home.”

His voice cracked on the last word. Barely. Just enough for me to feel it.

“It’s carrying that home,” he added, softer now. “Even when you try not to.”

My heart sank a little, but I didn’t pull away. I squeezed his hand instead.

“You don’t have to protect me from that, you know,” I said quietly. “I mean, I get it — not all of it, but some. Life doesn’t let you come out untouched. But it doesn’t mean you have to carry it alone.”

His eyes met mine again. Like he was still waiting to wake up from this — from someone staying.

“A lot of things have happened to me in that job, Y/N…” he said, and something in his voice shifted — lower, almost like he didn’t trust it not to break. “I’m not going to involve you in any of them, but I do feel like you should know… and then you can decide if… if this is worth it.”

There it was again — the offer to leave. Not angry. Not manipulative. Just honest. And scared.

Like somewhere deep down, he’d already convinced himself I’d say no.

I didn’t rush to respond. I looked at him.

Really looked.

At the soft curve of his mouth when he wasn’t trying to guard it. At the lines near his eyes — not from age, but from squinting at too many details, reading too much between the lines. At the way his shoulders tensed, like he was bracing for impact.

And then I spoke.

“I already decided,” I said.

Just that.

Because I had.

I decided when he sat with Maddie in the library and made her laugh with nothing but a deck of cards. I decided when he showed up with crayons and cookies and a heart too big for his chest. I decided long before I knew the weight of what he carried — and the kind of strength it took to keep carrying it.

But he shook his head, almost pleading. “No… I have to tell you first.”

I wanted to stop him. Maybe because I wanted to protect the soft thing we were building. The bubble we lived in when it was just us and tea parties and easy laughter. But I didn’t. Because I saw the way his shoulders braced, and I knew this wasn’t just about protecting me — it was about trusting me.

“I… I’ve been shot during a case. Twice. Once in the thigh. Once in the neck,” he started, his voice slow, like the weight of each memory still lived somewhere just under the skin. “I’ve had anthrax poisoning. I’ve been set on fire while trying to outrun a bomb. I wasn’t fast enough.”

I stayed quiet. Let him have the space to say it.

“I’ve been held hostage more times than I can count. I’ve seen the same happen to my team — people I love. One of my best friends had to fake her death because of an unsub. For weeks, we thought she was gone. I mourned her like I’d buried her.”

His eyes dropped to the floor, as if looking directly at me would break the momentum.

“My ex-girlfriend was kidnapped. Killed. Right in front of me. I tried to save her. I couldn’t.”

He took a breath, and this time it shook.

“I was kidnapped too. Years ago. The man who took me—he drugged me. Over and over. Forced me into withdrawals. Pain so sharp I thought it would split me in half. I got clean, eventually. Stayed clean for ten years.”

I could feel my own throat tightening now, but I didn’t interrupt.

“And then, a few years ago, I went to Mexico. My mom—she has early-onset Alzheimer’s. I was trying to get her an experimental treatment. I arranged to meet a doctor. I thought I was helping her.”

His mouth pressed into a line. His voice dropped.

“It was a setup. I was drugged again—against my will. I woke up disoriented. There was a woman beside me. Dead. Stabbed. There were drugs in my car — heroin, cocaine. Enough to ruin me.”

My heart stopped.

“I was arrested by Mexican authorities. I was charged with murder and possession. I went to prison. For three months. Until my team could prove I’d been framed.”

He finally looked at me. And it wasn’t guarded — it was pleading. Like he’d opened every door he’d spent years keeping shut, and now he was waiting to see if I’d walk out.

The silence after was crushing.

I didn’t walk out.

I reached forward, slow and steady, and held his face in both hands.

“Spencer.”

He blinked like he didn’t trust what came next.

Hell, I couldn’t trust what came next — what I felt, what I thought.

On one hand, I was terrified. I hadn’t known it was possible for one person to survive that much pain and still be standing. Still be kind. Still be soft. His life didn’t sound real — not the kind you live, but the kind you watch from behind a screen with your hand half-covering your eyes. Fictional. Unreachable.

And yet, he was sitting right in front of me.

Breathing. Shaking. Still here.

And in that moment, something clicked. A quiet, irreversible truth. I wasn’t falling anymore. I had already fallen — hard. Deep. Past the point of recognition. I had hit the bottom of it weeks ago and hadn’t even realized it.

I was in love with him.

Hopelessly.

And how could I not be?

He was the most impossibly gentle man I’d ever met — not despite his wounds, but somehow because of them. Like every fracture had made more room in his chest for tenderness. Like everything he’d lived through had taught him how to hold others more carefully, more fully.

A heart too big for his body.

And still, he offered it.

To me.

I swallowed the lump rising in my throat and brushed my thumbs over his cheekbones, memorizing the shape of him. The quiet way he let himself be held. Not because he believed he deserved it… but because, for once, he wanted to.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Y/N—” he started, voice catching on something fragile.

“No, Spence…” I shook my head, just slightly. “You don’t scare me. What scares me is how much you’ve made me care about you, in this short amount of time…”

His lips parted like he wanted to argue — or maybe warn me again — but nothing came out.

So I kept going.

“I don’t want to run away from you.”

“I’m not saying you should, I don’t want you to… but I also don’t think it would be wise if you stick around.”

“Well… I was never the smartest in class.”

That pulled something from him — a quiet huff, half a breath of a laugh, almost involuntary. But his eyes stayed serious, searching mine for something he didn’t know how to name.

“I’m being serious, Y/N,” he said. “There’s still so much I haven’t told you. So much I probably can’t tell you.”

“I know,” I said. “I don’t need to know everything right now.”

He blinked, like that hadn’t occurred to him — that staying didn’t mean interrogating. That I wasn’t here to pick him apart.

“I’m not pretending it’s simple,” I added. “It’s not. You’re complicated. This is complicated. But I don’t want to walk away just because it’s hard.”

He looked at me for a long, quiet moment.

Then, softly: “Most people have.”

“Yeah, well,” I said, offering a small, crooked smile, “like I said — not the smartest in class.”

This time, the smile reached his eyes.

And for now, that was enough.

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tag list: @livbonnet @23moonjellies @saskiaalonso @ellaomalalaalala @deltamoon666 @person-005 @reidssoulmate @quillsandcauldroncakes @imaginationfever13 @measure-in-pain @reidrs @reidsjuno @un-messed @happydeanpotter @rhinelivinglife @skye-westwood @xxfairyqueenxx @alrat13

[theskywithin]

🌿 Important Note: Jupiter is About to Bring Blessings, But You Need to Change Your Mindset to Receive Them

Jupiter moves into Cancer on June 7, and it wants to give you something real. Not just inner peace, though that’s part of it. Not just wisdom, though that’s coming too. It wants to give you comfort, softness, support, love, belonging. It wants to help you feel safe enough to finally exhale. But here’s the catch: Jupiter can offer you the whole ocean but if you keep showing up with a cup, you’ll only ever taste a sip. This isn’t about manifesting harder. It’s about getting honest about the parts of you that still brace when something good shows up. The parts that shrink, deflect compliments, that say “I’m fine” instead of “I need help.” The parts that feel more comfortable struggling than receiving. Because receiving takes trust takes presence, willingness to let go of control, believe you’re allowed to feel good without earning it through exhaustion. Jupiter in Cancer wants to nourish the parts of you that were never nurtured. To give you warmth without condition. To remind you that being held is not weakness, that comfort is not complacency, that abundance doesn’t only come when you suffer enough to deserve it.

So this week, ask yourself:

🌿 Where am I still rejecting what I say I want? 🌿 What would it feel like to be supported, not tested? 🌿 Am I ready to make peace with ease?

Because the blessings are coming but they’ll pass right by if the door is closed. So open it. Let life meet you with both hands full. You’ve carried enough... It’s time to receive.

♈️ Aries (Sun and Rising) Let someone else take care of things sometimes. Ask for help with the move, the bills, the emotions. Upgrade your space, get serious about your living situation, and stop pretending you're fine when you're overwhelmed. Receiving starts with honesty.

affirmation: “I am safe to slow down. I receive support, security, and softness without guilt.”

♉️ Taurus (Sun and Rising) Say yes to the invitation. Follow up with that contact. Start the project even if it’s not perfect. Stop gatekeeping your own ideas, someone out there wants to support them. And if you’ve been thinking about buying a car, laptop, or course? It’s time.

affirmation: “I receive new opportunities by speaking up. My ideas are allowed to be heard and paid.”

♊️ Gemini (Sun and Rising) Raise your rates. Ask for the raise. Spend like someone who knows more is coming. Invest in comfort, a better mattress, new clothes, food that nourishes instead of numbs. Start treating your security like it’s already growing, because it is.

affirmation: “I am open to more income, more worth, and more ease. Receiving is my new normal.”

♋️ Cancer (Sun and Rising) Update your bio. Launch the thing. Walk into the room like it’s already yours. This is your moment but you have to meet it halfway. Take the compliment. Say thank you. Stop brushing off the attention you asked the universe to send you.

affirmation: “I am ready to be seen, trusted, and celebrated. I welcome every door that opens for me.”

♌️ Leo (Sun and Rising) Rest on purpose. Delete the productivity app if it’s making you anxious. Take the sabbatical. Say no before you crash. Receiving for you looks like canceling plans and still believing you're worthy. Choose peace even when no one’s watching.

affirmation: “Rest is not a threat to my power. I receive healing and peace without having to earn it.”

♍️ Virgo (Sun and Rising) Start the group chat. Apply for the grant. Text the mentor. You don’t have to do this alone anymore. Receiving looks like sharing your goals out loud and letting people rise to meet you. It’s time to reconnect with the ones who actually get it.

affirmation: “Support is safe. I allow the right people into my vision. I don’t have to carry it all.”

♎️ Libra (Sun and Rising) Stop second-guessing your readiness. You are the expert now. Update your resume, pitch yourself, walk taller. Say yes to the role, the opportunity, the next step even if it scares you. Jupiter’s trying to promote you. Let it.

affirmation: “I am no longer waiting for permission. I receive recognition, respect, and my next chapter.”

♏️ Scorpio (Sun and Rising) Book the trip. Enroll in the class. Tell your story. Publish the work. Everything expands when you stop keeping it small and personal. You don’t have to have it all figured out to be inspiring. Take the leap, the world wants more of you.

affirmation: “I receive expansion by stepping into the world. I don’t have to stay hidden to be safe.”

♐️ Sagittarius (Sun and Rising) Start the healing process you’ve been avoiding. Open the scary email. Go to therapy. Let people in. Money might come from surprising sources this year, but so will emotional support if you stop pretending you don’t need either.

affirmation: “I am safe to trust. I receive emotional support, financial blessings, and deep healing.”

♑️ Capricorn (Sun and Rising) Be vulnerable in the conversation. Sign the contract. Trust the new partner. You don’t have to manage every dynamic alone. You’re allowed to want companionship in business, in love, in life. Let people show up for you.

affirmation: “I don’t need to do it alone. I receive love, partnership, and mutual effort without fear.”

♒️ Aquarius (Sun and Rising) Fix the schedule. Adjust your work hours. Upgrade your workspace. Say no to the clients that drain you. Receiving starts with protecting your energy, not burning it to prove you care. Make your daily life more livable now, not later.

affirmation: “I let go of burnout. I receive structure, support, and work that actually works for me.”

♓️ Pisces (Sun and Rising) Pick up the paintbrush. Go on the date. Share your work. Post the thing. Not everything has to be a masterpiece, it just has to be you. Jupiter’s ready to grow what brings you joy. But you have to stop keeping it secret.

affirmation: “I don’t have to prove my joy. I receive celebration, inspiration, and space to create.”

SUMMER SALE!!! My book is on sale until June 15 !! There's a full preview of the Moon chapter waiting for you 🌙 Click the link below to read and feel into it 💌

[weepwoopwomp33]

Satoru should have never let you leave. Should’ve stopped you from opening that damn door with tendrils of cursed energy — explanation on his lips, flowers in his hands. Couldn’t forget the raw pain in your eyes as you gave him one last look, tears streaming down your cheeks.

All that’s left is raw, blistering self-loathing, eating him alive. 

It’s all he hears at night. Your voice, ragged, hoarse, and tearing at his chest, “You nearly died, Satoru! And you didn’t tell me a fucking thing!”

The memory replays, vivid but fuzzy at the edges. Each time, he focuses on something different, as if fighting to protect them from the hungry clutches of the ticking clock. The trembling of your hands, the tears threatening to spill angry rivers down your cheeks. 

His heart breaks every time, shattering under words left unsaid. 

“Don’t you think I deserve to know these things? That I have the right to need to know? All I’ve ever asked for was the truth.” 

He remembers the weight of your confession, he remembers how he just stood there, helpless. Out of excuses. 

“And don’t you give me that shit about not wanting to worry me. I would rather be right fucking there — holding your broken body — than stand there clueless, watching from the sidelines like I’m nothing.”

He wanted to call you. Desperately. Voice messages that he’s yet to delete — he’ll never delete — talk him to sleep most nights. 

Because it’s not about you, breathless and clearly rushing (if the sound of rustling clothes is anything to go by), apologising for being late. It’s not about your curt, ‘call me when you get this’, before the beep. And it’s not hearing you sheepishly admit that you’ve locked yourself out of the apartment, yet again, and to come home soon, Satoru. 

It’s about clawing himself back to a time where the only constant in his life was you. Where he was yours. And you were his. And the thought of it being anything else was impossible, an alternate universe where down was up and up was down. 

In the years that follow, he saw glimpses of your face in strangers that pass by, shadowed ghosts in the grocery line. His breath hitched when new dates asked about past loves, and the sound of your laugh would ring through his mind. It’s losing its cadence; it sounds muted nowadays. 

But now, the buzz of hundreds of murmuring guests fills the room. Delicate rays of light cascade through glazed windows, illuminating the bundles of wisteria artfully positioned amongst sculpted pillars. He remembers how you gushed about the very same glittering glass, and how you wanted to walk down the aisle to the Howl’s Moving Castle OST — it plays throughout the wedding hall right now. 

But as he looks at the dazzling bride standing before him, he remembers one last thing.

It should’ve been you.

-

a/n: was listening to spring into summerrrrrrr lizzy mcalpine for life actually. i love angst <3 peep the ts reference?

[obscurehousefacts]

Obscure House Fact #9

In the finale of House MD, a deleted scene featured House and Wilson sharing an intimate moment in bed together where Wilson was feeding House chocolate-covered strawberries. When asked about it in a 2014 interview, this is what Robert Sean Leonard had to say:

"I mean, I guess you could really kind of feel the romance in the air [...] I think [the creators] just wanted to keep House and Wilson's relationship kind of ambiguous instead of putting a strictly romantic or platonic label on it, you know?"

[jkwrites-m]

Extra Credit (1.5)

Pairing: uni student!Jungkook x uni teacher!female reader

Genre: smut

Word Count: ~700

Summary: Jungkook falls for his professor. She makes the rules - and he loves breaking them.

Warnings: MDNI, Explicit, 18+, implied smut, cursing, dom!female reader, sub!Jungkook, age gap (both 18+), power imbalance, fixation, power play, slight emotional manipulation, obsession, yearning?,

A/N: i’m in the middle of writing part 2 (like 20% lol) and i was writing this part and realized that i prefer this story in jk’s pov. However!— i didn’t want to just delete this and I didn’t want this sitting in my drafts so here’s a small little peek into Professor Y/N’s mind 🫶

MASTERPOST ♡ LINK TO ASK ♡ MASTERLIST

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He was still lying there, half-breathless, shirt rumpled, lips swollen.

Good.

I leaned closer just enough to press a kiss to his collarbone.

Then I said it- softly, clearly, evenly:

“Don’t think this changes the rules.”

His breath caught.

I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

“Get your things, Mr. Jeon.”

I stood slowly, buttoning my blouse in silence. Cool fingers. Steady rhythm. Nothing rushed.

I didn’t look at him.

Not right away.

When I did, he looked up at me like I’d cracked open his entire nervous system and rearranged it. Like he didn’t know how to come back down.

And maybe he didn’t.

He moved on shaky legs, grabbing his pants, then his bag.

I didn’t say another word.

And when he left, I waited.

Stood in the quiet. Listened to the lock click shut.

Only then did I exhale.

And feel.

I sat slowly in the desk chair, hands shaking now that they weren’t occupied with his skin.

Fuck.

That wasn’t supposed to happen.

It wasn’t supposed to go that far.

I meant it to be nothing- a game.

A flirtation.

Something harmless to entertain me through the chaos of tenure applications and department meetings and endless freshmen who couldn’t tell a base from an acid.

And then he was in my classroom.

Hoodie halfway on. Eyes wide. Voice stammered.

So beautiful it hurt.

And so damn shy.

It wasn’t even attraction at first, it was curiosity.

I flirted. Lightly. A joke here. A glance there.

He blushed.

Every time.

He followed every instruction I gave him like it meant something holy. Sat up straighter when I spoke. Never looked me in the eye for more than two seconds at a time.

It wasn’t just attraction. It was power.

And I liked it more than I should’ve.

I liked the way he shook when I told him not to speak.

I liked the way he listened.

I liked the way he begged.

God, I shouldn’t have let him beg.

I told myself it was innocent. I could enjoy it from a distance. Push and pull. Keep control. Keep it safe.

But the moment he stammered, “Yes, Professor,” with that cracked voice and pink ears?

I knew I was going to break a rule.

And now here we are.

I wasn’t in love with him.

But I liked him.

Too much.

I liked his nervous laugh. His wide eyes. His dancer’s body and how unsure he was in it when I touched him. I liked the way he held still when I told him to.

And I liked that he didn’t try to take control.

Not once.

He gave it to me. Willingly.

I reached for the folder on my desk. Tried to pretend I was still a professor. That my hands weren’t trembling because I had just taken apart a student in the room where I kept my syllabus and my gradebook and my rules.

He moaned my name like it meant something.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to hear it again.

This was a mistake.

A mistake I wanted to make again.

I stared at the folder in my hands for a full minute before realizing I hadn’t read a word of it.

Just lines. Paper. Dead ink.

It didn’t matter.

None of it did right now.

My phone buzzed once- an email and I nearly threw it across the room.

Instead, I picked it up, turned it screen-down, then turned it over again. I didn’t know what I expected. I doubted he’d text.

He probably thinks he should wait for me.

He probably will.

He’s that kind of boy.

God help me- I like that about him.

I unlocked the screen and opened a blank message.

Y/N: You okay?

No.

Too soft.

Deleted.

Y/N: You left your-

No. Liar.

Deleted.

Y/N: Don’t tell anyone.

Too cold.

Deleted.

I stared at the blinking cursor.

Then typed:

Y/N: I shouldn’t have let you stay that long.

It wasn’t a lie.

But it wasn’t the truth either.

I stared at it for a long time. Then I backspaced. Watched the words disappear like they’d never been there.

Locked my screen.

Set the phone down.

And whispered to the empty room:

“I didn’t want you to go.”

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MASTERPOST ♡ LINK TO ASK ♡ MASTERLIST

♡ requests are welcome ♡ taglist ♡

These characters are fictional and do not represent any real-life individuals. Their likeness is used solely for visual inspiration and does not reflect the actual person or their story.

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Posted: 06/01/2025