#always the first person to question what he was told

[reidrum]

glory of the snow

note: the return of insecure!reader my beloved <3 i had a bunch of requests to bring her back so i hope we like it! this is really just a gentle reminder from spencer that we should be kinder to ourselves. also i wanted to have them actually fuck but it didn't seem right to fit that in here so ,,, part 2 question mark who is to say. anyways my inbox is always open for any thoughts, comments, questions, musings all of it! love y'all mwah

summary: you freak out when spencer walks in on you accidentally, and he just loves you too much to let it go

cw: smut 18+ minors dni, fingering, masturbation (r, just mentions), heavy petting/kissing, comfort, talks of intimacy issues, self-deprecating reader

wc: 3k

“Oh, sweet girl.”

Three words, maybe two and one syllable, that in any other instance would have had you melting into a puddle at the softness it reared. Words that have so easily turned you into a preening cat but are now aimed at you, albeit no judgement from his end, with no room for escape.

Spencer had come home after a long day of paperwork when he first heard it. He would have brushed it off if it didn’t happen again moments later, and louder. Concerned, he walks toward the bedroom, a flush rushing to his face as he comes to recognize what it is. A small crack of the door allowed him the glorious sight of you in the center of the bed, hand between your legs, eyes shut in ecstasy. You’re mesmerizing to him and he really can’t bring himself to look away, and he doesn’t notice himself subconsciously leaning on the door causing a faint creak that alarmed you to his presence. In that moment, however, he’s less worried about scaring you, and more about the overwashing look of shame on your face.

The soft creak of the door pulled you out of your daze, screaming when you saw the figure behind the door. Your eyes are bulging out of their sockets nearly, heartbeat still racing with adrenaline from when you haphazardly threw the blanket over yourself. You were conflicted, but getting caught doing something that is a common and completely normal instance in relationships really shouldn’t make you feel this guilty. Although you do know the guilt was created by a previous version of you where you had told Spencer that you wanted to take the pace of your relationship slowly, and had little to no desire to engage in such activities for the time being. Or so you said.

He cautiously steps closer, careful not to startle you further, “I’m not upset, or anything.”

You’re not upset either, you’re mortified. “I lied to you.”

“You did…but I don’t think you meant to, right?”

There had been a time where you were tangled all up in him, and poor Spencer, his hands were in the wrong place at the wrong time to no fault of his own and entirely yours, and your shutdown was unavoidable. The blood in your veins seized up like crystallizing water turning into ice, paralyzing both the physical and mental before you could realize.

Intimacy for you was a complicated concept. While it wasn’t novel or unwanted, physical intimacy was something you struggled to accept with open arms. Call it a consequence of your self perception, but it was hard to accept the soft touch of love when you felt like you didn’t deserve it. Spencer never minded, although his heart ached to make you see yourself the way he saw you, he was always more than willing to meet you where you were.

It almost pains you with how understanding Spencer was of the whole situation because you knew any other person would be deeply upset. Every other person was upset.

Spencer never was just any other person, you suppose.

“I don’t know how to explain this.” Another lie, you could easily explain the reason.

It’s not that you weren’t ready, it’s that you didn’t feel like you looked ready. The thought of subjecting Spencer to the one dark cornerstone of your being in the early days of being together seemed illogical and burdensome, and so it was more simple to play it off as wanting to take a slow pace.

But, as biology would see it you have needs and your boyfriend just happens to be so detrimentally attractive that the simplest act has been sending you into a hot fit as of late. The culprit this time was an innocent mirror picture of him at the store trying on new trousers. You had no chance.

You had found that your intimacy issues lie within extending it to others, and less with yourself. The solution of you finding release on your own quickly became a habit when you realized there was no fear on your own. There’s no one to let down if you’re alone.

Spencer perches at the foot of the bed, flat hand outstretched on the blanket towards you but keeping a comfortable distance, “You don’t have to explain anything, honey.”

“No I know, but—fuck—I should.” you bury your face, choosing to only speak to him from behind your hands for now, maybe forever.

He takes a moment to take inventory of your physical being—you don’t look in pain. Clearly you didn’t sound in pain. Your face is flushed, and though he’s sitting a little far from you, the heat radiating from your body hits him like a space heater.

“Sweetheart…I’m not upset.” he repeats, in hopes a reminder might provide reassurance.

It doesn’t. “You’re never upset at me, it’s concerning.” you mumble.

“You make it kind of hard to be upset at you, ever really.” Spencer braves and lays a hand on your leg.

You take a deep breath, the cold of his hand grounding you more and more. Spencer senses the calm it’s bringing you and rubs circles into your calf.

“Can you tell me what you’re feeling?” he asks gently.

What are you even feeling? You ponder for a moment—anxious, nervous, bad.

“Embarrassed.”

“Honey, there’s nothing embarrassing about masturbating. In fact, it’s more than healthy to do it to keep cortisol levels low,” he explains, “I just don’t know why you didn’t…want to tell me.”

The guilt swirls in your gut, hearing the twinge of hurt buried beneath the comfort he’s laid out for you. He just wants to help you, but you won’t let him in and that hurts him more.

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“How so?”

“It’s just…I…Look it’s…You’re just so hot—“ you slip out, clamping your hand over your mouth before leaking any more intrusive thoughts.

A faint smirk ghosts his face, “I’m…hot?”

“No—Well, yes. I just…ugh.”

“Okay, okay calm down,” he scoots closer and gently brings the hands covering your eyes to rest in your lap, “You don’t need to be all secretive, you know I’d never judge you.”

“I know,”

“I just thought you wanted to wait.”

“I do.”

“But, not with me? It’s okay if it's not with me.”

“Spence, I do. It’s not that.”

“Am I missing something?”

You gulp, “I just…it’s a personal problem. With me. Not you.”

His brows furrow, “Like what, baby? Do you need to see a doctor?”

“Yeah, if a doctor can fix my shoddy self esteem and make me like myself again.” you chuckle.

He doesn’t laugh. 

The pause he takes seems to be ages long before he speaks again, “Angel, how long have you been feeling like that?”

You’ve been caught red-handed, water filling up the tank faster than you can tread, “It’s nothing, I was just joking.”

“Hey,” he says with a rare firmness, “How. Long?”

You deflate under his hard gaze, “A…while…long enough… for it to feel like a…like a default setting, I guess.” you trail off.

Spencer couldn’t hide the hurt on his face if he tried. Not hurt from your lack of admission, hurt that you had felt like this for so long, dealt with this for so long on your own, and he didn’t even know.

All he ever hoped and wanted was for you to be happy, and if he could be the source of that he would ask for nothing more in life. So to hear about you struggling with this, that you felt like you had to keep it to yourself, was heartbreaking.

Spencer remains in his head a little too long as he’s broken out of it by your small voice, “Are you sure you’re not mad?”

He sighs and moves to sit next to you, making sure he stays above the blanket for your comfort. His back is against the headboard of the bed, and he raises his arm a little, gesturing for you to fill the you shaped crevice. You hesitantly move into the space, hating how you feel every move you’re making is calculated, but all of that goes away the second your head meets his chest and his hand comes up to comb through your hair, the other smoothing your arm down, and all you’re left with is him.

“I promise I’m not mad,” he whispers softly, “Just wish you told me. I would have helped you.” He’s intentional in his wording—would, and not could. Could implies he has a choice, a want to do or not do something. I could have helped you, or I could have not helped you. Would is finite, he is doing it because it is programmed in him that caring for you is a need. I would have helped you because it is the only thing I know to be certifiably true, that you deserve to be cared for.

“It sounds stupid out loud but I was afraid you wouldn’t like me the same if you saw me like…that. It seemed logical for me to remove that option altogether.”

His heart aches painfully, and he wishes he could take everyone who’s made you feel that way to target practice. “You are the most beautiful girl in the world. I would spend every day of my life proving that to you.” he utters with unequivocal resolve.

You sigh out shakily, “You’re too kind to me.”

“I’m always kind to you. You deserve kindness. You deserve a lot of things actually…” he trails off.

“Like what?” you ask.

“Well, did you um—” he trails. You look at him quizzically, he continues, “Like before I came in did you…finish?”

Oh. “Oh. I…I don’t think I did, actually. It’s okay though, no big deal.”

He stares at you intently, “Do you want to?”

Your eyes widen, “Spence oh, no it’s okay really you don’t have to do that.  

“You’re encouraged to say no if you feel even an ounce of doubt, but I’m offering because I love you and I want to show you that you can feel safe with me, even when you feel otherwise.”

The familiar sting returns to your eyes as the tears pool up. You’re not used to anyone putting this much effort and concern for your comfort, it’s a novel feeling but if Spencer is willing to handle you with as much care as he is, you’re ready to welcome that sentiment in with open arms.

“Yeah, yes.” you waver.

He grins and leans down, gingerly pressing his lips to yours. His hand ghosts from your calf to your knee, testing the water before moving more intent. An unwelcome yet familiar onset slowly rises, trying to break through to you, “Wait—“

He retracts his hand immediately, “You okay? We can stop if you need to.”

You shake your head. “No, no I’m fine. I just need a second.” you breath out, trying to self regulate. 

He pulls back his hand but you stop him, “No keep it there, it helps. I just…” You don’t know how to phrase it. You think it’s because you’re not in control. When you’re alone it’s only you at the helm calling the shots. But when it really comes down to it, the lack of control is nothing compared to the lack of predictability that comes with the former. Explaining that out loud was daunting to even think about.

Yet Spencer understands what you need, because he always knows what you need. His hand returns to your knee, giving it a soft squeeze, “You tell me to stop whenever you need to.”

He continues kissing you while smoothing his hand up your leg, making wide and sweeping motions across the plush of your thigh so you can feel where he is and where his hand is going. The gesture is comforting and makes you feel grounded, but your head is in a dreamy haze at how good Spencer’s hands feel on you.

The haze leaves through your lips as Spencer feels you sigh against him, feeling you relax more and more as the seconds go by. His hand reaches your upper thigh, fingers ghosting on the inside. “Is this okay?”

You nod, feeling your nerves idling like a distant wave in the ocean. But Spencer’s presence is a lighthouse shining through the fog and guiding you to his shores while the calm washes over you.

His fingers lightly trace the fabric of your panties, ones that you had slid back up your hips upon his entrance into the room. The motion causes you to jump and he pulls back to gauge your reaction. When he sees no fear in your eyes, more so stunned by your wide eyed gaze, his fingers move with more precision, adding more pressure to your clothed core.

A gentle gasp leaves you as he strokes up and down your slit. You’ve given up on continuing to kiss him, the feeling of his hands being too overwhelming to have both sensations at the same time. You tuck your head into the crook of his neck, your body involuntarily curving towards him as he draws symbols on you with his index. Your breathing gets heavier and faster the longer he goes, and soon small moans begin to escape you.

He drags his finger to the top of your panties and toys with the band, faintly asking, “You still with me, sweet girl?” You preen into the crevice of his neck as he keeps talking, “Want me to keep going?” 

He feels you nodding into him as you breathlessly whisper, “Please.”

His finger dips below the fabric and travels down to your entrance, gathering the slickness and spreading it all over you. “Fuck,” he curses softly, “Look how wet you are, baby.”

You whimper at his words and Spencer ascends to the heavens if there even is one, and if there is it’s the one where you sound like that for him. He circles back up to your clit, paying special attention to the bundle of nerves before sliding back your slit and repeating the whole sequence a few more times.

Your moans are coming out at a steady pace, and he’s been prodding around your entrance for some time now, teasing and edging you closer. “Gonna put a finger in now, okay? Doing so good for me, baby.” he murmurs.

The feeling of his finger entering you is satiating. But it’s not enough, and you need more. “Spence,” you manage to get out, “Can take another one, please.” His eyes shut tight as he revels in your desperation for him, and how cynical he must be to love having you at his mercy this much. He would confess the darkest of sins if you asked him in that tone, and he has no choice but to oblige. He stifles a groan at how easily the second finger slid in, his other hand moving up to play with your hair and cradle your head close to his chest as he works his ministrations.

The familar coil builds in your gut, but at an intensity you’ve never felt before. His fingers move in and out of you urgently, his thumb returning to your clit. He’s a man determined to get you there, and your moans and cries of his name only spur him on further. After a few minutes your moans and cries turn into whines and babbles, and he knows you’re close.

His head leans down to croon in your ear, “Shh, it’s okay. I got you, sweet girl. You can come, ‘m right here.”

It’s enough to push you over the edge and you come harder than you ever have on your own, the waves of your climax overtaking you completely. Spencer continues to pump his fingers through your orgasm, talking you the whole way down. Mutters of praises and kisses flow through your subconscious as the euphoria high takes its peak and you come back down to this realm.

His hand smoothes your hair back as you continue to pant against his chest, words unable to find you.

“You okay?”

You finally catch your breath, “That was—fuck—the most insane orgasm I have ever had.”

Spencer beams at this. For one, his obvious and impressive skills that have stunned you into oblivion. And two, because you look so relaxed. The stark difference of your anxiety filled face from when he first came into the room to the blissed out daze you have right now makes his heart swell five sizes up.

He hugs you closer and whispers, “I’m so proud of you, angel. Thank you for trusting me.”

Sleep is fighting you hard as you laugh airily and tuck yourself under his arm again, “I don’t know why I thought that would be scarier.”

He sighs, his smile faltering but still fond, “Past experiences and self perception complicate the anxiety around sex and intimacy. It’s a natural response based on your lived experiences.”

“Oh.” you mutter, slight deject in your tone.

“But we can work on it, if you want.” he adds, “It’s all up to you with what you’re comfortable with and how you want to do it. If you’ll allow me, I’d love to help you in any way I can, angel.”

You really don’t know how you got so lucky. Someone so kind, and patient, and willing to be with you as you navigate these things you normally would have kept to yourself. You feel grateful to be able to bare a piece of yourself to him, and know that he would receive it with open arms, wrapping it up and handling it with as much care as he can bear.

You cuddle closer, and mumble before your eyes succumb to sleep, “Love you. So much.”

Spencer looks down maybe two seconds later and you’re already out like a light. He chuckles softly to himself and whispers, “I love you more than you’ll ever know, sweet girl. Good night.”

[missarchive]

american jesus² ☆

spencer reid

part one

summary; Spencer continues to spoil you with thoughtful gifts and lavish attention, each gesture reinforcing the growing bond between you both. Despite the lingering questions and unspoken emotions, Spencer becomes more protective and possessive, revealing his vulnerability and need to care of you. As you begin to navigate the complexities of your unconventional arrangement, the lines between business and genuine affection begin to blur, leaving you both caught between desire and uncertainty.

cw; +18 minors dni, sugar baby/daddy dynamics, inexperienced reader, pleasure dom spencer, fingering, dirty talk, munch!spencer, unprotected p in v, multiple orgasms, reader calls spencer "sir"

an; thank you for so so much love on the first part! as always, feedback is greatly appreciated. P.s. this is written with jesus reid in mind <3 xoxo

You exchanged messages almost daily after that. His words were always careful, deliberate, as if he’d spent hours considering each one. He asked about your life—not in a prying way, but with genuine curiosity. He wanted to know your interests, your struggles, the little details that most people overlooked.

In return, he offered glimpses of himself. He told you about his love of books, how his job kept him busy and isolated, and how he’d joined the site not for anything shallow, but because he craved a connection that he hadn’t found anywhere else.

As the days turned into weeks, your messages grew longer, more personal. You learned that he didn’t like crowded places, that he drank too much tea, and that he had a habit of quoting obscure facts when he was nervous.

But despite the growing intimacy of your conversations, there was always a wall between you—a hesitance to reveal too much. Neither of you had shared your real name or details about your work. It wasn’t unusual for this kind of arrangement, but it made everything feel more fragile, like the wrong word could shatter whatever it was you were building.

And then, one night, he sent a message that changed everything.

@ thefourthdoctor; I’ve been thinking... I’d like to meet you in person. If you’re comfortable, of course.

Your heart raced as you read the words. You had been expecting this—waiting for it, even—but now that it was here, you weren’t sure what to say.

@ laceandliterature; Are you sure? 

@ thefourthdoctor; I am. But only if you feel ready. I don’t want you to feel pressured.

You hesitated, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. You wanted to meet him—you couldn’t deny that. But there was a part of you that was afraid. What if he wasn’t what you expected? What if you weren’t what he expected?

@ laceandliterature; Let’s take a little more time. I’m not saying no. Just... not yet.

@ thefourthdoctor; Of course.

@ thefourthdoctor; I’ll wait as long as you need. No pressure.

The conversation continued, and for the next week, things went back to normal—if what you had could even be called that. But the thought of meeting lingered at the back of your mind, growing stronger with every message he sent, every piece of himself he shared.

One night, as you lay in bed, scrolling through his messages, you made up your mind.

@ laceandliterature; Okay, Let’s meet.

@ thefourthdoctor; Are you sure, angel?

@ thefourthdoctor; Yes. I want to meet you, Spencer.

After a few more exchanges, you settled on a quiet café in the city—neutral territory. He insisted on keeping things casual, saying he didn’t want to overwhelm you. If anything, he was a gentleman.

The night before the meeting, you barely slept. You went over everything in your mind a hundred times, questioning your decision, wondering if you were making a mistake. But when the time came, you found yourself standing outside the café, heart pounding as you pushed the door open.

The first time you met Spencer in person, it wasn’t anything like you expected. You had imagined someone cocky, a man accustomed to throwing his money around to get what he wanted. But Spencer wasn’t that. Not even close.

He had chosen a quiet café for your meeting, one tucked away from the bustling city streets, its low lighting and intimate atmosphere offering a sense of privacy. When you arrived, you saw him sitting at a corner table, his long fingers wrapped around a cup of tea, his gaze fixed on a well-worn book.

You almost didn’t approach him. He looked so out of place, like someone who had wandered in by accident, unaware of the implications of what this kind of meeting entailed. But then he glanced up, and his eyes met yours.

You’d recognise those eyes anywhere. They were just as captivating as they had been in his profile picture—intelligent, kind, and curious, but with an edge of something deeper, something darker.

“Hi,” you said, hesitating at the edge of the table.

Spencer stood quickly, his movements awkward but endearing. “Hi. Please, uh, sit. I—I’m Spencer.”

His voice was softer than you expected, but there was a certainty to it that made you feel at ease. As you slid into the chair across from him, you couldn’t help but study him. He was... handsome. 

His hair, a dark cascade of curls that fell just past his shoulders, framed his face like the softest of shadows. Each strand seemed to have a life of its own, unruly and free, yet perfectly suited to him, like a secret kept between the universe and his skin. The golden highlights that kissed the tips caught the light in a way that made him seem almost ethereal, as if sunlight was always seeking to touch him, to linger just a little longer.

His eyes—those eyes—the colour of moss after rain, deep and mysterious, filled with an intelligence that left you feeling both seen and understood, and yet so very far away. There was a quiet intensity in the way they studied everything around him, always searching, always analysing, as though the world was a puzzle he had yet to fully solve. But when they turned toward you, it felt like he was letting the world slip away, if only for a moment, letting you glimpse the tenderness he rarely allowed anyone to see.

His face, pale and angular, was sharp with youth and burdened wisdom all at once. His lips, though soft and pale, would part when he spoke, revealing a mix of shyness and urgency, like every word he shared carried weight. The stubble that traced the sharp edge of his jawline only emphasised the boyishness that lingered beneath the layers of genius and mystery. But it was his smile—rare and fleeting—that truly made your chest ache, a smile that cracked through the fortress around him, like the sun breaking through clouds.

There was something effortlessly magnetic about him, something that made you want to inch closer to understand the stories written in the lines of his face. And yet, just as quickly as he drew you in, there was always an invisible barrier, a space between you and the man that you were still trying to figure out. Spencer Reid was an enigma wrapped in vulnerability, each glance, each gesture, leaving you wanting more of the puzzle to unfold.

The first few minutes were stilted, filled with polite small talk about the weather and the café’s menu. But as the conversation flowed, the tension between you began to ease. Spencer wasn’t like anyone you’d ever met. He spoke with a quiet intensity, his words precise and thoughtful, and he listened just as intently, as if everything you said held a weight he couldn’t ignore.

And then, inevitably, the topic shifted to why you were both there.

“So,” he began, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his napkin. “I’m not, um... particularly experienced with this kind of arrangement.”

You raised an eyebrow, surprised by his candour. “You mean being a sugar daddy?”

He winced slightly at the term but nodded. “Yes. That. I—I don’t want you to think that I see this as transactional, at least not in the way it’s usually framed. I’m looking for... connection, I suppose. Someone to talk to. To spend time with. And if financial support is part of that, then I’m happy to provide it.”

His words caught you off guard. Most men on the site were upfront about their intentions—dinners in exchange for companionship, gifts in exchange for discretion. But Spencer’s tone was different. He wasn’t trying to seduce you or impress you with his wealth. He was just... honest.

You leaned back in your chair, studying him. “And what do you expect from me?”

He hesitated, his eyes flicking away for a moment before meeting yours again. “I don’t have expectations. I only have... hopes. That you’ll be honest with me. That we can build something that feels mutually beneficial. And if, at any point, you’re uncomfortable, you can tell me. No strings, no pressure.”

There was a sincerity in his voice that made your chest tighten. This wasn’t a game to him. It wasn’t about power or control. It was about something deeper, something more human.

“Okay,” you said, nodding slowly. “I think we can make that work.”

Over the next few weeks, your relationship settled into a rhythm. Spencer was generous, but not in a way that felt overbearing. And then there was the money.

He transferred it to your account without fanfare, always with a note attached. For groceries. For that art class you mentioned. For you.

At first, it felt strange, accepting so much from him. But Spencer never made it feel transactional. He never demanded anything in return, never made you feel like you owed him. It was simply his way of showing he cared.

The calls became a nightly ritual. He’d ask about your day, encouraging you to share every mundane detail as though it were the most important thing in the world. He never interrupted, never rushed you, and his thoughtful responses made you feel like the centre of his universe.

In return, you learned more about his life. He told you about the pressures of his job, the long hours, the cases that weighed on him. But he never dwelled on the darkness. Instead, he focused on the small joys: the satisfaction of solving a puzzle, the camaraderie of his team, the books he escaped into when the world felt too heavy.

And then there were the gifts.

It started with little things: a beautifully bound notebook because you’d mentioned wanting to journal, a box of your favourite chocolates, a scarf in your favourite colour. But soon, the gifts became more extravagant.

A delivery driver showed up at your door one afternoon with a box containing a designer handbag you’d admired in passing. Another day, you received an email confirming that Spencer had paid off your car loan, the subject line reading simply: You deserve this.

“Spencer,” you said when you called him that night, clutching the phone tightly. “You didn’t have to do that. I never asked for—”

“I know you didn’t,” he interrupted gently. “But I wanted to. Please let me do this for you.”

It was hard to argue with him when he sounded so sincere.

The next time you met in person, he handed you a small velvet box across the table. You opened it to find a delicate gold bracelet, simple but exquisite, the kind of thing that felt like it belonged in a museum.

“Spencer,” you whispered, your voice catching. “This is too much.”

His expression softened, his fingers brushing against yours as he helped you fasten the bracelet around your wrist. “Nothing I give you will ever feel like enough,” he said, his voice low and earnest. “But I’ll keep trying.”

He spoiled you in other ways too. He insisted on picking up the check whenever you went out, no matter how much you protested. When you mentioned that your laptop was acting up, a brand-new one arrived at your doorstep the next day.

But it wasn’t just about the money or the gifts. It was the way he made you feel cherished, valued, as though your happiness was the most important thing in the world to him.

One night, as you lay in bed after a long call, you found yourself smiling at the thought of him. It was more than just an arrangement now. Somewhere along the way, you’d started to care about him—not for what he could give you, but for who he was.

The low hum of your phone’s speaker filled the quiet of your bedroom as you lay sprawled across your bed, Spencer’s voice soothing and familiar on the other end of the line. Tonight’s call had started like all the others—a mix of light teasing and genuine curiosity—but somewhere along the way, you felt the tone shift.

“Can I ask you something?” you ventured, fiddling with the bracelet he’d given you, its delicate chain glinting in the soft light of your bedside lamp.

“Of course,” Spencer replied, his voice gentle.

“How do you afford all of this?” you asked, hesitant but unable to keep the question bottled up any longer. “The gifts, the...everything. I mean, you’re so generous, and I don’t want you to think I’m ungrateful, but I can’t help but wonder.”

There was a pause on the other end, long enough for doubt to creep into your mind. You opened your mouth to take it back, but then he spoke, his tone thoughtful.

“It’s a fair question,” he said softly. “I suppose I owe you an explanation.”

You heard him exhale, the sound heavy with something you couldn’t quite name.

“I wasn’t always this...comfortable,” he began. “For most of my life, I never cared much about money. I didn’t really need to. My job covered the basics, and I didn’t have anyone to spend it on—not until now.”

His words made your heart tighten.

“What kind of job?” you asked tentatively.

“I was with the FBI,” he said, and though his tone was steady, there was a weight behind the words. “I worked as a criminal profiler for over a decade. It wasn’t easy, but it was...fulfilling, in its own way. We dealt with some of the worst humanity has to offer, but knowing we were helping people made it worth it.”

You sat up a little straighter, the revelation catching you off guard. “That sounds...intense.”

“It was,” he admitted. “But I loved it. The work gave me purpose. Until I got injured in the field,” he said quietly. “A knee injury. Nothing life-threatening, but bad enough that I couldn’t keep up with the demands of the job. I had to retire early.”

You could hear the mix of resignation and lingering frustration in his voice, and it tugged at you.

“I’m sorry,” you said, meaning it.

“Don’t be,” he replied, a hint of a smile creeping back into his tone. “It gave me time to focus on other things—like figuring out what I wanted out of life. I realised I’d spent so much of my time chasing after criminals and trying to make the world a safer place, but I’d never really lived for myself.”

You bit your lip, unsure what to say.

“I had money saved up,” he continued, his tone matter-of-fact. “I never spent much on myself. Just the necessities and the occasional book. So, when I found myself with all this extra time and money... I didn’t know what to do with it. And then I found the site.”

The mention of the website—the place where your strange, beautiful relationship had begun—sent a rush of warmth and something like embarrassment through you.

“I wasn’t looking for anything romantic,” he said quickly, as though reading your mind. “I just wanted...connection. Someone to talk to. And then I found you.”

You smiled, your heart softening. “And now you’re spoiling me rotten.”

Spencer chuckled, the sound low and warm. “I don’t see it that way. I like taking care of you. It makes me happy.”

You felt your cheeks flush. “You don’t have to, though. You’ve already done so much.”

“I want to,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I spent years putting my energy into a job that left me drained. Now, I finally get to do something that feels good. Something that matters to me. And you matter to me.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, and you felt your chest tighten with emotion.

“Spencer,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes?”

“Thank you,” you murmured, your heart full.

“For what?”

“For being you.”

The silence that followed was warm, comfortable, filled with the unspoken understanding that no matter how unconventional your relationship was, it worked. For both of you.

The next time you saw each other, things were different. You could feel the air between you crackling with an electric charge. The conversation flowed easily, but there was an undeniable tension lingering beneath the surface. Every touch seemed to hold more weight, every glance more meaningful.

After dinner, Spencer invited you back to his apartment. You could tell he was being cautious—he didn’t want to rush anything—but you could also feel that he was testing boundaries, subtly claiming his space. As you sat next to him on his worn out leather couch, his hand brushed against yours, and it felt like the world narrowed down to just the two of you. The quiet intimacy of the moment was powerful, and you both knew you couldn’t keep pretending that your relationship was just a simple arrangement anymore.

His voice broke the silence.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about us,” he said, his words low, careful. “About what we’re doing, and what it means. I can’t keep giving you everything and pretending it’s nothing. It’s not just about the money or the gifts anymore. I want to be more than that for you.”

You felt a surge of emotion, something between excitement and fear. This was what you had been afraid of—the moment when you’d realise that you wanted more, that this wasn’t just some transaction for you either. And you could see in Spencer’s eyes that he was struggling with the same feelings.

“I don’t want you to think that I only care about the money,” you said, your voice quiet but steady. 

Spencer’s gaze softened, and for a moment, there was something vulnerable in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before.

“I know,” he whispered, his hand slipping into yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “But I can’t stop myself from wanting to give you everything. I’m not used to feeling like this. Like I’m needed. I’ve spent so much of my life in control, always keeping my distance... but with you, it’s different.”

You squeezed his hand, understanding what he meant. You didn’t need him to explain further. There was an unspoken connection between you two now—a bond that was undeniable, something more than the surface-level arrangement you’d initially started with.

“I want to give you everything too,” you said softly, leaning in closer. “But you have to promise me something—promise me that this isn’t just about the money. Promise me that you actually want me.”

Spencer’s eyes held yours with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine, his gaze so deep it felt as though he could see every hidden part of you. The air between you thickened, the unspoken tension finally reaching its breaking point. He took a slow step forward, the warmth of his body enveloping you, and for a heartbeat, everything else ceased to exist.

His hand lifted, cupping your cheek in a soft, yet possessive way, as if he was both cherishing and claiming you all at once. “I promise,” the gentle brush of his thumb over your skin sent a flutter through your chest, and before you could process it, his lips were on yours.

The kiss was slow at first, tentative, as if both of you were testing the waters, savouring the newness of it. But the moment you responded, the kiss deepened, urgency flooding in. Spencer’s lips moved against yours with a fervour that mirrored the racing pulse in your veins. His hands, once gentle, now framed your face with a desperate kind of need, pulling you closer, as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

Every touch, every press of his lips against yours, was electric. You could feel the raw intensity of everything he was holding back in that kiss—the longing, the desire, the tension of months spent on the edge, waiting for this moment. And when his tongue traced the line of your lower lip, a quiet gasp escaped you, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss further, drawing you in like a magnet.

Your hands, almost instinctively, found their way to his hair, fingers tangling in the strands that had once teased you from a distance, now so close you could feel the weight of them. His hair was soft, the strands slipping between your fingers as you tugged him closer, urging him to kiss you more fiercely.

As he kissed his way down your body, you could feel the anticipation building inside of you. You loved how he savoured you, like a piece of art he needed to take his time with. His fingers slid along your inner thighs, spreading you open for him. He groaned, his breath hot against your skin. “Fuck, baby,” he murmured against your clit. “Look at you. Already dripping wet for me. What am I gonna do with you? Perfect, perfect girl.”

Your breath caught in your throat as his tongue swirled around your clit, the sensation of his warm mouth sending waves of pleasure through you. You arched your back off the couch, your hands tangling in his hair.

“Please,” you begged, your eyes squeezed shut as you felt the pressure building. “Please, sir. Please make me cum.”

Spencer moaned, his tongue dipping inside of you before returning to your clit. Teasing it gently with his tongue, his fingers slipping inside of you, working you open. You were already close, your walls tightening around his fingers as he fucked them into you slowly. Picking up the pace, his mouth latched onto your clit as you fell apart, your body trembling with your orgasm. 

Spencer didn’t give you a second to catch your breath before he was kissing you again, his tongue pushing past your lips to taste you, tip of his cock nudging against your cunt. You weren’t even sure when he’d taken his clothes off, not that it mattered now. You whimpered as he slid inside of you, his cock stretching you open. He pulled back slightly, hips rolling against your own. “Keep your eyes open,” he commanded. “Need to see your face when you cum. Need to see what I do to you.”

You nodded, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he picked up the pace. He was relentless, slamming into you with deep, powerful thrusts. 

You weren’t used to coming more than once in a row, with your poor excuses of previous partners, but with Spencer, it felt natural. He pushed you higher than you knew was possible, taking you to the edge of sanity every time you were together. And when you came, it was like a floodgate opened up, and all of that pent-up desire came pouring out of you.

He was whispering things to you, things that made you blush and preen, words that made you feel beautiful, wanted. You’d never felt like this before. You felt like a completely different person with him, someone who was capable of more than you ever thought.

“That’s it,” he encouraged. “Give it to me, princess. Let me feel you. Fuck, you feel so good around me,” he kissed you deeply as he drove inside of you, the pressure inside of you growing. “Cum for me, angel. Cum all over my cock.”

You heard him through a haze, your body trembling and shaking as the second orgasm rolled through you. You felt his cock pulse inside of you as he came, his teeth sinking gently into your neck as he rode out his own release. Wrapping your arms around him, you pull him as close as possible as you hold onto him, his body pressing into yours.

Pressing soft kisses to your shoulder, he whispers into your skin. “Stay the night?” He asked. “I don’t want you to leave yet, just got you here.” His voice was soft, gentle, and you found yourself melting into his embrace. You didn’t want to go either. You wanted to stay like this, wrapped up in his arms, for as long as possible. And that terrified you more than anything else. “Please?”

He looked at you, his eyes dark and sincere. Your heart fluttered at the look he was giving you. It was one you’d never seen before, one that made your breath catch in your throat.

 It was a look that said he wanted more, and that scared you. But it also filled you with a warmth you couldn’t deny.

“Yeah,” you said finally. “Okay.” And as Spencer pulled you back into his arms, kissing you gently, you realised that you might just be in trouble. He was already pulling you in, tempting you to stay. You were already falling for him, and there wasn’t a damn thing you could do to stop it. “I’ll stay.” You agreed.

 “For tonight.” You added. You weren’t going to admit to more than that, not yet. “Just tonight.” Spencer nodded, his lips returning to yours.

You knew it was dangerous, you knew you were playing with fire, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

You wanted to be his, even if it was just for one night. You wanted to let him own you, let him love you. Even if it was just temporary, you wanted to feel that love for as long as you could. You knew it would hurt in the end, but you were too far gone to stop it now.

And when he whispered your name against your lips, you almost believed that it was real. That this wasn’t just temporary, but forever. Almost. You allowed yourself to be swept up in the moment, to believe the things he whispered to you. To believe that maybe this was it.

Maybe he was your forever, and you were his. Maybe this was something that could last longer than just one night.

Won't you take me to heaven tonight? You know you're my weakness American Jesus, save me You're the greatest love of my life

[cheshirewrites]

Luka gives the girl a thorough look over, noting her knotted hair, the dirt smudged on her cheeks, and the thread-bare state of her clothing. Holes in the knees of her trousers, patches on her elbows (clearly hand sewn, he knows that much), even the fabric of her bandana fraying at the seams.

She looks like an ordinary girl, one who has faced far too much peril during his father's rule.

"Are you certain?" Luka asks his guard for a second time, because he doesn't want to be wrong about this. Doesn't want to put the weight of the world on a little girl because of a false prophecy. "You're sure-"

"Yes, my prince," Fox says, grinning their sharp grin. "My love, my dear, you know I wasn't misinformed. The Misses aren't wrong about things like this."

And they're right, of course.

Ari and Dahlia were the best advisors a prince could ask for.

So when the two of them found a prophecy, claiming that a girl who shared his birthday would grow to hate the world, would try and burn it to the ground if she was left alone? Luka just wanted to find the girl and hold her close, apologize for everything he hadn't done and everything he hasn't changed yet. Prophecies are complicyed, after all, and Luka refuses to look at someone and only see the bad in them.

People deserve more than that from their prince, their king, their- whatever title Luka gained when Fox convinced a Dark Lord to overthrow the throne.

( After all, Fox is the best person Luka knows, and Gods know that Fox isn't innocent, no matter how sweetly they may smile. )

"Do you want some cake?" Luka says, and he knows how strange it must look. The prince and his guard, offering you cake in your own home, and on your birthday, at that. "I promise it isn't poisoned or anything, my aunties Dahlia and Ari made it, and both of them think poisoning is a cheap way to fight."

The girl stares up at him for a long, long moment, until something like amusement creeps onto her face. "Sure," she says, taking a few steps closer. "I've got some questions, though, and I want answers."

Luka grins at that. "Of course!" He says, almost shouting. "Can I ask you one, tiny thing first?" A nod. "What's your name? The Aunties told me a few things about you, like where to find you, but they left that out, and-"

The girl holds up a hand, and Luka falls silent. His grin turns sheepish. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it, Princey," she says, grinning. "The name's Cassandra, but most people just call me Cass. Now-" Cass leans forward, crossing her arms across her chest- "Tell me about these aunties of yours."

"They're actually the reason I'm here!" Luka says. "Ari and Dahlia -- yes, that Ari and Dahlia, the long dead Hero and Dark Lord, it's a long story -- told me I needed to find a girl who shared my birthday, and well," his voice trails off, "you might wanna sit down for this bit."

Cassandra -- her name is Cassandra! --gives him a questioning look, but sits down at her table anyway. "I'm seated, Princey," she says, nearly sounding reassuring. "What terrible news do you have to deliver? You look like you're gonna tell me the world is ending, for fuck's sake."

Luka looks at Fox pleadingly, but his partner only shrugs. Both of them know that this is Luka's responsibility, even if Ari would be the best at it. She is the one who found the prophecy, after all, and Fox has told him word for word what she said to them that day they first met.

Their exchange isn't subtle, though, and Cassandra's jaw drops. "You're kidding me," she says, her voice perfectly even. "The world isn't actually ending, right?"

"No!" Luka says, and this time, he does shout. "No, no, nothing like that. It's just-" He hesitates, trying to find the right words. Knows that there aren't any right words, not when it comes to prophecies and royalty and the like.

It's better to be straightforward, right? Luka thinks to himself, and then takes a deep breath. That's what Dahlia always says.

"How do you feel about prophecies?"

You are a poor girl selling flowers. Today is your birthday but no one knows. When you return home you find the prince of the kingdom waiting for you with a birthday cake. "Are you sure this is the one?" He whispers to his advisor.

[keferon]

"Once Swindle says Blurr’s name out loud, there will be no going back. Swindle has no doubts Onslaught will approve. He has no doubts Blurr will say yes." - A closer look at what might have been going through Swindle's mind at the end of Blurr Chapter 3

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

Swindle’s hand moves subconsciously to grasp the phone in his pocket as he thinks.  It’s not his work phone.  No.  This is a phone with only five numbers in it.

Swindle can feel Onslaught watching him across the desk.  He shifts to cover the extra time it’s taking him to respond – to think.  Not that Onslaught is likely fooled.  They know each other better than just about anyone else could.  But the act is such a habit that it’s impossible to drop. 

And Swindle does need to consider this -- carefully.  Because he knows exactly the kind of person Onslaught’s looking for.

Five numbers in the phone.

Only four of them are active.

And that number could drop at any moment.  That’s been the reality of their lives for years now.  Ever since Vortex. 

Swindle doesn’t even entirely know why he keeps Vortex’s number in the phone except perhaps out of habit.  It’s not as if he’s actually expecting to ever use it again, whatever Ons might say about ghost activity in his accounts.  Swindle has never received a ghost call.  He never expects to. 

One number is dead.

Three others are at risk.  Always have been.  That’s reality.

And the last…. 

Does Swindle really want to add the last number – the only outsider to make the list -- to their reality?  That’s the question he has a fraction of a moment to answer.

Because once he says Blurr’s name out loud, there will be no going back.  Swindle has no doubts Onslaught will approve.  He has no doubts Blurr will say yes.

That thought makes something twinge in Swindle’s gut.  He knows now, as they’ve gotten older, that Blurr was never quite as naïve, never quite as ignorant to the realities of the world outside his own privileged lifestyle as Swindle had believed him to be when they first met.  But still, the exact extent of what Blurr does and does not understand about Mecha is known only to the man himself. 

Swindle has never told Blurr their secrets and he has no intention of starting now.  It has always been nice to have someone who Swindle can act like he’s living a normal life with, even if just for an hour or two.  Swindle will lose that, he knows.  But they’ve all lost things before.  They will lose things again.  That’s reality.  They’ve already come this far.

Onslaught says they need someone to act as a social shield between the average pilot and the higher ups.  Someone who can be recognized as the person behind the machine.  Someone who can bring attention to basic issues like mech safety.  Someone far enough on the outside to still believe in things like the goodness of people and the heroic premise of saving humanity that Mecha has built up.  (Someone that hasn’t had that belief stamped out of them by years of the training and the testing and the unceasing, caring violence of the war.) 

Blurr meets all their criteria, Swindle knows.  Blurr will agree if Swindle asks, even as Swindle knows he will have no idea exactly what it is he’s signing on to. 

Blurr can act as their shield.  And Swindle – Swindle will take on the responsibility of shielding Blurr from the truth.

Ooohhh fuck oh I love this gmdmfjjgkd

The inactive number PLEASE. It's. Yes. Swindle would bitch about Vortex being huge pain in the ass and then keep his number saved after his death. I'm fine

Also Swindle basically destroyed his last little island of normal life when he got Blurr involved and I can easily imagine he would often regret it. He would also question the decision A LOT after the incident with the fire.

Damn...Imagine hating the shiny smiley guy who lured you into literal hell and then one day looking at yourself and thinking - I'm that guy now...

Side note. Because I can't stop thinking of it. What if Vortex decides to call Swindle during the whole Shockwave situation? You know..like. When he breaks free from Shockwave's mind control he also breaks the programming that was preventing him from moving without a pilot? And for the first time he has actual freedom to do whatever he wants?

What if he tries to call Swindle? What if after all those years Swindle's phone rings and for a second Swindle can't even fucking believe his eyes when he sees who is calling? Just. You know haha. Just a thought:)

[viaxslz]

﹙ ♡` 𓈃 BASEBALL 𓏵⠀

享受 ! .°. ݁₊ 𐙚 f!reader (I think), cw: established relationship, y/n is kinda dense abt baseball,help seungmin, pet name, they kiss like two times, they’re just so lovey dovey in love, not proofread :P, requested, was meant for the 100 event, 2.1k WC

Request: I was thinking a Seungmin fluff just about spending the day at a baseball game together, but the reader lowkey knows nothing about baseball, so he has to explain little things to her during the game, and by the end, she starts to love it as much as he does.

VIA: I have one more request which was meant for the 100 followers event which I cancelled bc (you see the reason right now) so after these, this might be the only time I’ll do request, for the person who requested so sorry it took about hundred years (I’ve had this request since September 💀😭)

Seungmin and Y/N walked hand in hand to the baseball stadium, the warm sun shining down on them. Seungmin was practically bouncing with excitement, his eyes shining with enthusiasm.

"I'm so glad we're doing this," he said, squeezing Y/N's hand. "I've been waiting all week for the game."

Y/N smiled and leaned into him. "I'm happy to spend the day with you," she said. "But I have to admit, I don't really get baseball."

Seungmin's face lit up with a grin. "That's okay," he said. "I'll teach you everything you need to know. By the end of the game, you'll be a baseball expert."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "We'll see about that," she teased.

As they found their seats and settled in for the game, Seungmin began to explain the basics of baseball to Y/N. He told her about the different positions, the rules of the game, and the strategies involved.

Y/N listened intently, asking questions and giggling at Seungmin's silly analogies. Seungmin was happy to oblige, enjoying the chance to share his passion with the person he loved.

As the game began, Seungmin and Y/N cheered and clapped along with the rest of the crowd. Y/N was still a bit lost, but Seungmin was always there to guide her, explaining what was happening on the field.

As the game began, Seungmin's excitement was palpable. He leaned forward in his seat, his eyes fixed intently on the field.

"Okay, so the pitcher is winding up... and here comes the ball!" Seungmin exclaimed, his voice rising in excitement.

Y/N watched with a smile as Seungmin provided a play-by-play commentary of the game. He explained the different types of pitches, the strategies of the players, and the rules of the game.

At first, Y/N was a bit lost, but Seungmin's enthusiasm was infectious. She found herself getting caught up in the excitement, cheering along with Seungmin as the home team made a great play.

"Baby! Did you see that? The shortstop made an amazing catch!" Seungmin shouted, pumping his fist in the air.

Y/N laughed at Seungmin's antics, feeling happy to see him so carefree and joyful.

As the game continued, Seungmin's commentary became more and more animated. He jumped out of his seat to cheer, spilled popcorn on himself, and even did a little dance in the aisle.

Y/N couldn't help but giggle at Seungmin's silly behavior. She was having the time of her life, and it was all thanks to Seungmin's infectious enthusiasm.

As the game continued, Y/N turned to Seungmin with a curious expression. "Min, why do the players wear those funny pants?" she asked, giggling.

Seungmin chuckled and explained, "Those are baseball pants! They're designed to be comfortable and flexible, so the players can move around easily."

Y/N nodded, taking in the information. "Oh, okay. That makes sense. But why do they have those stripes on the sides?"

Seungmin grinned. "Those are just a design element. Some teams have stripes, while others have different patterns or logos."

Y/N smiled, feeling a bit more knowledgeable about the game. As the innings passed, she found herself getting more and more into the game. She cheered along with Seungmin, asked more questions, and even started to recognize some of the players.

Seungmin noticed Y/N's growing enthusiasm and smiled. "You're getting into it, aren't you?" he asked, nudging her playfully.

Y/N nodded, her eyes shining with excitement. "Yeah, I am! This is actually really fun."

Seungmin beamed with pride. "I told you it would be! Baseball is an amazing sport."

As the game neared its climax, Y/N found herself on the edge of her seat, cheering and chanting along with the rest of the crowd. She was having the time of her life, and it was all thanks to Seungmin's infectious enthusiasm.

As the game reached the middle innings, Seungmin and Y/N decided to take a break and grab some snacks. They walked to the concourse, hand in hand, and joined the line for the concession stand.

As they waited, Seungmin turned to Y/N and smiled. "I'm so glad you're enjoying the game," he said, his eyes shining with happiness.

Y/N smiled back, feeling a flutter in her chest. "I'm having a great time," she said. "Thanks for explaining everything to me."

Seungmin leaned in, his face inches from Y/N's. "Anytime," he whispered, his breath tickling her ear.

As they reached the front of the line, Seungmin ordered them a plate of nachos and a couple of drinks. They took their snacks and found a spot to sit, watching the game from a different angle.

As they sat there, Seungmin suddenly stood up and pulled Y/N into a romantic kiss. The crowd around them cheered, thinking it was a kiss cam moment, but Seungmin and Y/N didn't care. They were lost in their own little world.

Y/N's heart skipped a beat as Seungmin's lips touched hers. She felt a rush of excitement and happiness, knowing that this was a moment she would never forget.

As they pulled back from the kiss, Seungmin grinned at Y/N. "I love you," he said, his voice filled with emotion.

Y/N's heart melted at his words. "I love you too," she replied, smiling up at him.

The rest of the game was a blur for Y/N. She was too busy basking in the glow of Seungmin's love to pay attention to the score. But she knew that this was a day she would always treasure, a day that would stay with her forever.

After the kiss, Seungmin and Y/N were both grinning from ear to ear. They decided to take a break from the game and explore the stadium.

They walked around the concourse, taking in the sights and sounds of the ballpark. They played a few games at the interactive exhibits, with Seungmin showing off his baseball trivia skills.

Y/N laughed and teased him good-naturedly, enjoying the lighthearted atmosphere. They took silly photos together, making funny faces and poses in front of the ballpark's iconic signs.

As they walked, they stumbled upon a stall selling all sorts of baseball-themed treats. Seungmin's eyes widened as he scanned the menu, and he promptly ordered them a plate of loaded fries, a giant pretzel, and a couple of churros.

Y/N giggled at Seungmin's enthusiasm, happy to indulge in the tasty snacks with him. They sat down at a table, munching away and people-watching as the crowd bustled by.

As they ate, Seungmin turned to Y/N with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Want to try something really adventurous?" he asked, his voice low and conspiratorial.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What is it?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.

Seungmin grinned. "I'll show you," he said, pulling Y/N to her feet and leading her off towards the next adventure.

Seungmin grinned mischievously as he led Y/N to a small food stall tucked away in a corner of the concourse. "I want to try something new," he said, his eyes scanning the menu.

Y/N raised an eyebrow as she read the options. "Fried crickets?" she asked, her voice skeptical.

Seungmin nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, I've heard they're really good! And we can't leave the stadium without trying something adventurous."

Y/N hesitated for a moment, but Seungmin's infectious enthusiasm eventually won her over. "Okay, fine," she said, laughing. "But if I start to gag, it's on you."

Seungmin chuckled and ordered them a plate of fried crickets, along with a side of spicy sauce. They sat down at a nearby table, and Seungmin picked up a cricket and dipped it in the sauce.

"Here goes nothing," he said, popping the cricket into his mouth.

Y/N watched in amazement as Seungmin chewed and swallowed, a look of surprise on his face. "Wow, that's actually really good!" he exclaimed.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Really?" she asked, picking up a cricket and dipping it in the sauce.

She took a tentative bite, and her eyes widened in surprise. "Hey, this is actually pretty tasty!" she said, laughing.

Seungmin grinned, happy to have shared the experience with Y/N. "I told you it would be good!" he said, high-fiving her.

As they finished their snack, Y/N turned to Seungmin with a smile. "You know, I never would have tried that if it wasn't for you," she said.

Seungmin's face lit up with a warm smile. "That's what I'm here for," he said, taking her hand in his.

As the game entered its final innings, the energy in the stadium began to build. Seungmin's favorite team, the home team, was trailing by a run, but they were determined to make a comeback.

Seungmin and Y/N were on the edge of their seats, cheering and chanting along with the rest of the crowd. The tension was palpable as the home team's batter stepped up to the plate.

"Come on, come on!" Seungmin shouted, his voice hoarse from cheering. "You can do it!"

Y/N laughed and joined in, cheering and clapping along with Seungmin. The batter swung his bat, and the crowd erupted into cheers as the ball soared through the air.

"It's going, it's going, it's going!" Seungmin shouted, his eyes fixed on the ball.

Y/N watched in amazement as the ball sailed over the outfield wall, scoring a home run and tying the game. The crowd went wild, cheering and chanting as the home team's players celebrated on the field.

Seungmin and Y/N were hugging each other, screaming with excitement. They were both jumping up and down, waving their arms in the air.

This was it, the moment they had been waiting for. The home team was going to win the game, and Seungmin and Y/N were going to celebrate together.

As the home team's closer took the mound, Seungmin and Y/N were on the edge of their seats, cheering and chanting along with the rest of the crowd. The tension was palpable as the closer wound up and threw the final pitch.

The batter swung and missed, and the umpire shouted "Strike three!" as the crowd erupted into cheers. The home team's players rushed the field, celebrating their victory as Seungmin and Y/N hugged each other, screaming with excitement.

As they celebrated, Seungmin turned to Y/N and pulled her into a romantic kiss. The crowd around them cheered and whistled, but Seungmin and Y/N didn't notice. They were lost in their own little world, basking in the excitement and joy of the moment.

As they pulled back from the kiss, Seungmin grinned at Y/N, his eyes shining with happiness. "I'm so glad we got to experience this together," he said, his voice filled with emotion.

Y/N smiled back, her heart full of love for Seungmin. "Me too," she said, snuggling into his side. "This has been the perfect day."

Seungmin wrapped his arms around Y/N, holding her close as they watched the home team celebrate their victory. They stood there for a long time, basking in the joy and excitement of the moment, their love for each other shining brighter than the brightest stadium lights.

As the celebration died down and the crowd began to file out of the stadium, Seungmin and Y/N reluctantly said their goodbyes to the ballpark. They walked hand in hand out of the stadium, already making plans for their next adventure together.

The sun was setting over the horizon as they walked, casting a warm golden light over the city. Seungmin and Y/N walked in comfortable silence, enjoying each other's company as they basked in the glow of their perfect day.

After a while, Seungmin turned to Y/N and smiled. "You know, I think this has been one of the best days of my life," he said, his eyes shining with happiness.

Y/N's heart skipped a beat as she looked at Seungmin, her love for him overflowing from her heart. "Mine too," she said, smiling back at him.

Seungmin's face lit up with a warm smile, and he pulled Y/N into another romantic kiss. As they stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, Y/N knew that this was just the beginning of their perfect adventure together.

PERM TAGLIST 📌🔖 ──── @the-sea-called-history02 @oc3anfloor @intartaruginha

[cherryxbooo]

Nothing lasts forever

Summary: Being a dedicated McLaren engineer with a cold demeanor means one thing: judgment. Trusting and opening up to a certain driver leads to a bigger mistake.

Reader x Oscar Piastri

Genre: Angst

I had always dreamed of working for McLaren.

The team’s history, the legacy, the championships, everything about it had captivated me since I was a kid.

I’d spent years idolizing the drivers, the engineers, the people who made it all happen.

And then, there I was.

Standing in the paddock, a part of the machine I had once only watched from the sidelines.

The air felt thick with history, with success, with the roar of engines and the buzz of anticipation.

It was everything I had ever wanted.

But, as much as I tried to convince myself it was everything I had dreamed of, there was something that gnawed at me.

There was an ache deep in my chest that no amount of triumph could soothe.

I had arrived, but the reality? The reality was a constant weight on my shoulders that I wasn’t prepared for.

I’d imagined walking into the garage, feeling the excitement of the team, and being welcomed as one of their own.

But instead, there were whispers.

Quiet, cutting whispers that followed me like a shadow.

I could feel the eyes on my back, the scrutiny, the judgment.

It didn’t matter how many hours I put in, how many sacrifices I made.

The rumors about me spread faster than the engine roar on the track.

I wasn’t the “right” kind of person.

Too focused, too ambitious, too cold.

Too much of everything that didn’t fit their ideal.

And it stung.

Every word. Every glance. Every offhand comment.

I tried to tell myself to ignore it. That they were wrong, that I had a place here because I earned it.

But each passing day, each race weekend, it felt harder to believe that.

The weight of their expectations, their judgments, it was like suffocating under a blanket of misunderstanding.

The worst part was when the comments came from the people I thought I could trust.

From the people I worked alongside. The people I shared ideas with.

How many times had I stayed late, just to make sure everything was perfect? Just to be sure I was giving it my all?

And yet, it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough.

The world outside the track didn’t care about my dedication.

They cared about who I was, who they thought I was, and who I wasn’t.

It felt like every tiny detail of my life was scrutinized, dissected, and criticized.

So, I built walls.

Higher and higher, until they were towering around me. I kept my head down, kept my focus laser-sharp, kept to myself.

No one was going to see the cracks forming inside.

No one would ever know how often I lay awake at night, replaying everything, questioning my worth, wondering if all those whispers were true.

Was I too cold? Too intense? Too much of something that no one could accept?

Could they see me as I truly was, or was I just a puzzle piece that didn’t fit the picture they had in mind?

Then came Oscar.

The new guy, the fresh-faced rookie with that infectious energy.

He had that spark of hope, that belief in things I had lost along the way. He didn’t see the walls I built.

He didn’t seem to care about the rumors. To him, I was just another teammate. Another person to work with.

He didn’t judge me for how I carried myself, didn’t dismiss me for my focus. Instead, he laughed with me.

He challenged me in the best ways, without making me feel like an outsider.

For a while, it felt like maybe, just maybe, there was someone who didn’t see me through that lens of judgment.

Someone who saw me.

Oscar didn’t care about my reputation or the harsh words spoken behind my back.

He saw the work, the effort. And for the first time in a long time, I felt... like I mattered.

We started talking more.

Late-night debriefs, sitting alone after everyone else had gone to bed, dissecting the race, talking about what went wrong and what we could have done better.

I listened to him, really listened.

He told me about his journey to Formula 1, about his struggles to prove himself, about his dreams.

And in turn, I opened up. I shared my frustrations. My doubts. I talked about the battles I fought every day just to be here, just to be seen.

I never expected him to understand, but he did.

He didn’t judge.

He listened.

One night, after a particularly brutal race weekend, we found ourselves alone in the garage.

The others had already left for their rooms, and the garage was eerily quiet, save for the hum of the equipment.

I was staring at the car, my mind a whirlwind of calculations and what-ifs.

Oscar walked up to me, leaning against the tool chest, arms crossed, his usual easy smile softened.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice gentle.

I didn’t turn to him immediately.

I didn’t trust myself to speak.

“I just... I just can’t stop thinking about what went wrong. There were so many little things that could’ve been fixed. If I had just—”

“Y/n,” he interrupted, his voice firm but not harsh.

“You’re one of the best at what you do. Don’t let one bad weekend define you.”

I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. “Easier said than done, right?”

He chuckled softly, pushing himself off the tool chest and walking closer to me.

“I get it. But you can’t carry that weight on your own. You’ve got a team here. Me included.”

The sincerity in his voice hit me harder than I expected.

I finally looked up at him, and for the first time, I saw not just the rookie but someone who genuinely cared.

Someone who wanted to help. It was almost too much to take in.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” he added quietly, almost as if he was afraid of scaring me away.

I swallowed hard, feeling something stir inside me, something I hadn’t let myself feel in years.

Hope.

I nodded, unsure of how to respond. “I... I know. It’s just hard.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, his eyes softening.

“But you don’t have to have all the answers, all the time. Sometimes, it’s okay to lean on others.”

His voice lowered.

“Especially if that means leaning on me.”

I felt a warmth bloom in my chest, a sensation I hadn’t allowed myself to experience in so long.

Maybe it was okay to let someone in.

Maybe Oscar was the one person who could help me see things differently.

The next few days were full of more small moments that made my walls tremble.

We found ourselves in those quiet spaces between races, just talking.

I’d laugh at his dry humor, and he’d listen as I explained things I thought only made sense in my head.

He didn’t rush me. He didn’t expect anything from me except honesty.

One evening, as we sat on the pit wall, watching the sunset after another long practice session, he nudged me gently with his shoulder.

“You know, for someone who’s supposed to be the ice queen,” he said with a teasing grin,

“you’re actually kind of fun to hang out with.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at my lips.

“I’m not that bad, am I?”

He raised an eyebrow, pretending to think it over.

“Maybe just a little. But that’s what makes it fun.” He nudged me again, this time making me laugh out loud.

It was a soft, genuine moment.

And for the first time, I allowed myself to feel it, really feel it.

The connection we were building was something I didn’t expect, something that was slowly chipping away at the walls I had so carefully crafted.

Oscar was breaking through, piece by piece. And it scared me. But in the best way possible.

But nothing lasts forever right?

The morning sun was just beginning to rise, casting long, amber-hued shadows over the paddock.

The air was still cool, with a slight breeze stirring the flags and team banners fluttering gently in the wind.

The hum of the pit lane was just starting to pick up as teams were making their final preparations for the day’s race.

Oscar and Lando stood by the car, both immersed in the quiet but urgent task of fine-tuning the machine that would carry them into the competition.

Oscar, his focus unwavering, leaned over the rear wing, adjusting a setting on the aerodynamics.

His fingers moved with practiced precision, checking measurements, recalibrating.

He didn’t take his eyes off the components as he made the final tweaks.

The team relied on him to deliver his best performance, and he wouldn’t let them down.

Lando, on the other hand, leaned casually against the car, arms crossed, watching Oscar work.

There was an easy-going air about him, a stark contrast to the intensity radiating from Oscar.

Lando's eyes followed his teammate’s every move with a small, amused smile on his lips.

It wasn’t that Lando wasn’t focused; it was just that he had a different way of working, more laid back, like everything was under control even if it wasn’t.

After a few moments of silence, Lando spoke, breaking the quiet concentration.

“I have to admit,” he said, his tone light but thoughtful, “Y/n’s not as bad as I thought.”

Oscar glanced up from his task, a small, surprised smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Yeah? I’ve noticed that too. She’s... unique.”

Lando chuckled, nudging him playfully with his elbow.

“Unique, huh? You mean cold and distant?”

he teased, a smirk tugging at his mouth.

Oscar’s expression softened, and he straightened up from the car, wiping his hands on his overalls as he met Lando’s eyes.

His smile faltered for a second, but only for a moment.

“She’s not cold,” he said, his voice quieter, more serious.

“She’s just... guarded. And I think once you get to know her, you’ll see a different side.”

Lando raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical, and took a step toward him, crossing his arms as he leaned in slightly.

“Really? You’ve spent a lot of time with her, huh? I didn’t think you’d put up with her cold demeanor. I mean, how do you even manage it? She’s like a brick wall sometimes.”

Oscar’s fingers tightened on the tools he was holding, but he didn’t let the tension show on his face.

He took a breath before speaking. “It’s not like that. She’s actually very sweet once you get past the walls she’s built.”

His voice softened, as if speaking about something fragile.

“There’s more to her than people realize. People don’t take the time to see that.”

Lando frowned, narrowing his eyes as he stared at Oscar, clearly unconvinced.

“Sweet? Dude, you’ve got to be kidding. I don’t know if I’m buying that. I mean, have you seen how she reacts to people? Most of the time, it’s like she’s trying to push everyone away. She doesn't smile, doesn't really talk unless she has to.”

Oscar hesitated, the flicker of unease in his chest threatening to break through, but he pushed it down.

He didn’t want to let Lando’s skepticism affect his thoughts about Y/n.

He could feel something real there, something that couldn’t be captured by just looking at the surface.

“I think you’re wrong,” Oscar said, his voice firm, though the unease lingered at the edge of his words.

“She’s just... been through a lot. I can see it in her eyes. She’s been hurt before, but she’s not who people think she is. She just needs someone to understand her.”

Lando’s face darkened slightly, his expression hardening as he stepped closer, his voice lowering to a more serious tone.

“You’re really going to let her fool you, huh? What if she’s just using you, Oscar? What if she’s trying to win you over for something, like fame, or to get information out of you? People like her, they’re good at manipulating others. They know how to get what they want, and you might just be her latest target.”

Oscar’s pulse quickened at Lando’s words. His grip on the tools tightened until his knuckles went white.

His initial instinct was to push back, to tell Lando that he didn’t know Y/n like he did, but the words hit a little too close to home.

He tried to control the rising heat in his chest, not wanting to let it spill over.

“No,” Oscar finally said, his voice quieter, though the defensive edge was still there.

“I don’t believe that. She’s not like that. You don’t know her the way I do.”

Lando’s gaze shifted, his brow furrowing as he leaned in closer, his tone shifting to something more insistent, more urgent.

“Come on, man. I’m just looking out for you. You’re still new here. She’s smart, and she’s got a way of getting people to like her, but it’s all for a reason. Maybe she’s just trying to get close to you for some advantage. I’m just trying to warn you before you get too deep in. You should keep an eye on her.”

Oscar felt a tightening in his chest, a flicker of doubt threatening to cloud his judgment.

He wanted to trust Y/n, to believe that the connection they had was real, but Lando’s words were like a seed planted in the back of his mind, something he couldn’t ignore.

He shook his head, trying to shake off the feeling.

“I don’t think I need to be worried about her,” Oscar replied, his voice firming again, though his hands were still clenched.

“She’s been nothing but professional with me, and I trust her. I’m not going to let something like this ruin that.”

Lando sighed, his posture relaxing just a fraction, though his concern was still evident.

“I hope you’re right, mate,” he said, his voice quiet but serious.

“Just keep your eyes open. You might be seeing things through rose-colored glasses right now, but trust me, people like her don’t change easily. Don’t let yourself get hurt.”

Before Oscar could respond, the team was called for practice, the urgency of the situation pushing the conversation aside.

Both drivers were pulled into the whirlwind of final checks and preparations for the race.

But even as they walked toward the garage, Oscar couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that Lando’s words had left behind.

He tried to push it to the back of his mind, but the doubt lingered, simmering beneath the surface.

He caught a glimpse of Y/n as they made their way to their cars, and for a moment, he found himself wondering if maybe, just maybe, Lando was right.

Could she really be hiding something?

Or was it just the fear of getting too close to someone who had built walls around herself for so long?

Oscar didn’t know, but what he did know was that he wanted to figure it out, he couldn’t just dismiss her like that.

He took a deep breath and forced the thought away.

The race was about to begin, and there was no room for distractions now.

But as they took their positions for practice, Oscar couldn’t shake the lingering doubt that now danced at the edge of his mind.

Later that afternoon,

after the chaos of the post-race debrief, I was given a simple task, one that I had done countless times before.

I was asked to grab some papers from the drivers’ room that had been left behind after a last-minute meeting with Oscar.

It's an easy. Simple. Routine. Right?

I pushed the door open to the driver's room, the quiet atmosphere inside making me feel alone for some reason.

I started sifting through the papers on the desk, the disarray mirroring the mess in my head.

Coffee cups, race schedules, notes from the meeting, all scattered in a haphazard way.

Then, my hand brushed against something, and before I could react, I heard the unmistakable sound of a phone hitting the floor.

A loud thud.

I froze.

Oscar’s phone.

My heart skipped a beat as I bent down quickly, my fingers shaking slightly as I scooped it up.

I checked it over anxiously, my mind racing.

It seemed fine, no cracks, no shattered screen. Just a small scratch on the corner, nothing that couldn’t be fixed.

I let out a quiet sigh of relief and, for a split second, considered just leaving it there on the desk.

Maybe pretending it hadn’t happened would be easier than facing him.

But before I could even make the decision, the door swung open.

Oscar stood in the doorway, his gaze immediately locking onto the phone in my hand.

His eyes flicked from the phone to my face, his expression shifting in rapid succession, surprise, confusion, and then something darker, something colder that made my stomach churn.

“What are you doing with my phone?”

His voice was tight, almost accusing.

I felt a lump form in my throat.

“I—I'm sorry, I knocked it over, and I was just checking to see if it was okay.”

His eyes didn’t soften. If anything, they hardened.

His jaw clenched as he stepped into the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click that felt like the final barrier between us.

“Why were you going through it?”

His words cut through the air like a knife, and I could feel my pulse racing in my ears.

“I wasn’t going through it,” I quickly explained, trying to remain calm despite the panic rising in my chest.

“I swear, Oscar. I wasn’t—”

But he wasn’t listening. He cut me off, his voice rising with frustration.

“I just don’t get it,” he muttered, more to himself than to me.

“Lando was right, wasn’t he? You’re just trying to get something out of me. Trying to manipulate me.”

I stood frozen, the words hitting me like a punch to the gut.

My head spun as I tried to process what he was saying.

“What? What are you talking about?”

Oscar’s gaze was cold, distant, like a stranger’s.

He took a step closer, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“I know what Lando said,” he spat, his words laced with frustration.

“You’re trying to win me over, aren’t you? Maybe you just want to get close to me for some advantage, information, fame, whatever.”

Each word stung like a slap. I felt my chest tighten, the weight of the accusations suffocating me.

I had spent so long building trust with Oscar, trying to make him see the real me beneath the walls I had built.

But now, it was as if all that effort had meant nothing.

“Oscar, I don’t know what he’s told you, but I swear, that’s not it. You have to believe me,”

I pleaded, my voice cracking despite my best efforts to keep it steady.

But his gaze hardened further, like an impenetrable wall had been built between us.

“I don’t know what to believe anymore, Y/n. I thought I understood you. But now… I don’t know.”

The words cut deeper than anything he had said before. I felt them settle in my chest like a heavy stone, each one sinking further into the pit of my heart.

The silence that followed felt unbearable. Neither of us moved, the air thick with unspoken words and hurt.

Finally, Oscar broke the silence with a sharp exhale, his frustration palpable.

“I don’t want to argue with you right now.”

And just like that, he turned and left, slamming the door behind him with a finality that echoed in my chest.

The sound of the door closing felt like the door between us had been shut permanently.

I stood there for a long moment, frozen in place.

My mind raced, but the only thing that kept repeating in my head was how completely shattered I felt.

It wasn’t just the argument, or the mistrust, it was the way everything I had worked for, everything I had built with Oscar, had just come crumbling down in an instant.

And for the first time in a long time, I was completely alone.

Hours had passed since the argument, and the weight of it sat heavily on my chest.

The tension between Oscar and me still lingered in the air, suffocating and sharp.

I had kept to myself in the aftermath, buried in data and numbers, trying to escape the clamor of my own thoughts.

I needed the distraction, anything to keep my mind from spiraling further into the uncertainty of everything that had unfolded between us.

But as I walked down the narrow hallway, heading toward the garage, I heard the familiar voices of Lando and Oscar in the distance.

Their voices cut through the stillness of the hallway, and without meaning to, I found myself slowing down, drawn to the conversation like a moth to a flame.

I tried to stay calm, but something in my gut told me I wouldn’t like what I was about to hear.

“…She’s just so cold,”

Lando’s voice was low but carried a certain finality, like he was trying to convince Oscar of something he already believed.

“I’ve tried to get close to her, man, but it’s like she doesn’t even care. She’s got this wall up that I can’t get through. It’s exhausting and childish.”

Oscar’s response was quieter, but still audible.

There was a hesitation in his voice that I hadn’t expected. “She's cold... but I guess that's just how she is”

My heart thudded painfully in my chest, the pressure of the situation suddenly too much to bear.

I thought, no, hoped, that Oscar might defend me, at least show some understanding of who I really was, what I had been through.

But instead, it was like he was agreeing with Lando.

And with every second that passed, the pain inside me deepened, unbearable and raw.

Lando’s voice cut through the silence again, sharper this time.

“Whatever, man. Just keep an eye on her, alright? I’m telling you, she’s got her own agenda. You can’t trust someone like that. She’s been playing everyone, and I’m sure you’re next.”

I stood frozen in place, my heart sinking.

Oscar was quiet for a moment, and I could feel the crackle of tension in the air, even from where I stood.

Was he really considering what Lando said? Was he starting to doubt me too?

Finally, Oscar spoke, his voice quieter than before, but there was an edge to it now, like something had shifted inside of him.

“Yeah, I’ll keep an eye on her. She seems suspicious and untrustworthy.”

The words hit me like a physical blow.

My stomach twisted painfully, and it was like all the air had been sucked from my lungs.

That was it. He didn’t defend me. He didn’t trust me.

He was agreeing with Lando’s words, buying into the idea that I was some sort of threat, someone who couldn’t be trusted.

The space between us that had once felt so close now seemed impossibly vast, like an insurmountable chasm had opened up between us.

I felt the sting of betrayal rush through me, even though I tried to swallow it down.

My mind raced. How could he believe that? How could he think that of me, after everything we had shared, the small moments of connection?

It didn’t make sense.

It wasn’t like me to be the one who couldn’t be trusted, but here I was, questioning everything.

Turning on my heel, I quickly walked away, the sound of their voices echoing behind me, but I couldn’t bring myself to face them.

I could feel the tears welling up, but I refused to let them fall.

Not now. Not when it felt like I had already lost everything.

As I made my way back through the hall, my stomach twisted with a kind of emptiness I couldn’t describe.

That was it. Oscar had chosen Lando’s side without hesitation. And that hurt more than anything.

The realization settled over me like a heavy blanket, and I couldn’t shake the feeling of being completely alone in a place I thought I had found some semblance of belonging.

I had hoped for more from Oscar, but now, I wasn’t sure what was real anymore.

What had we even shared if it could be so easily dismissed by someone who barely knew me?

Later that evening,

I found myself walking toward the tech area, my mind still reeling from the aftermath of everything.

The weight of the argument earlier that day had left me hollow, like a piece of me had been torn away and I couldn’t find the strength to patch it back together.

I wanted to drown out the pain, to lose myself in the data, in the work that always kept me busy.

But then, as I rounded the corner, I saw him.

Oscar.

We came face-to-face in the hallway, and for a moment, neither of us moved.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly between us, the world around us fading as the air between us thickened with unspoken words.

My heart raced, pounding in my chest, the weight of the moment pressing down on me like a thousand-ton brick.

The silence felt suffocating, every second of it making me feel smaller, more exposed, more vulnerable.

I could barely breathe.

Finally, he spoke, his voice hesitant, as if testing the air.

"Y/n, I want to talk about earlier. Please."

I couldn’t even look at him. His words felt like a distant echo, like something I couldn’t quite reach.

The sting of everything he’d said to me earlier, the doubt, the mistrust, burned too fiercely in my chest for me to react calmly.

I shook my head, my throat tight as I tried to hold it together.

My voice came out barely above a whisper, thick with emotion.

“What’s there to talk about? You don’t believe me. You don’t trust me.”

Oscar’s face softened, his eyes filled with something I couldn’t quite name, but it didn’t matter.

The pain in my heart was louder than anything he could say. He stepped closer, like he couldn’t bear the distance between us.

His voice was pleading, desperate for me to listen.

“That’s not true. I said those things out of anger, out of frustration. Lando’s words... they got to me. But I swear, I don’t think you’re using me. I—”

I cut him off, my voice breaking with the weight of my emotions. I couldn’t let him spin it.

“No,” I whispered, shaking my head furiously.

You’re just like everyone else. You heard one thing, and you turned your back on me.”

His steps faltered, and for a moment, I saw something like regret flash in his eyes.

But it didn’t change anything. Not anymore.

The damage had been done, and I couldn’t pretend it didn’t hurt.

“Y/n, please,” he said softly, reaching out, his hand hovering near my arm.

“I didn’t mean it.”

But his words felt hollow now.

I didn’t want to hear him apologize. Not when everything I had worked so hard to build between us seemed to have shattered in an instant.

I felt the tears welling up, burning my eyes, threatening to spill over.

My chest felt tight, suffocating under the weight of everything I had been trying to keep buried.

“You did,” I whispered through the tears. “You believed it. And now I can’t trust you either.”

Oscar’s hand dropped as if the weight of my words had physically knocked it from him.

The space between us seemed to stretch, a chasm that no words could bridge.

His eyes flickered with something like frustration, but I couldn’t find the energy to care.

“You’re always so defensive, always so closed off,” he said, his voice sharper now, tinged with anger.

“It’s exhausting. I can’t keep up with this anymore.”

I felt the sharp sting of his words, but there was something else beneath it.

Something that twisted in my chest.

“Maybe it’s because you don’t want to,” I choked out, my voice cracking with emotion.

“Maybe you just don’t want to understand.”

Oscar’s eyes turned cold, and his voice rose, filled with a rawness I wasn’t prepared for.

“You think you’re so much better than everyone, don’t you? You act like you don’t care, but deep down, you’re just scared. Scared that you’re not good enough. You’re scared of getting hurt, so you push everyone away. And it’s pathetic.”

I froze.

His words hit me like a punch to the gut, and my breath caught in my throat.

I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t move.

I was frozen in place, each syllable echoing through my mind, digging into the parts of me I tried so desperately to keep hidden.

The parts I had tried to lock away from everyone, including myself.

And now, here he was, exposing them in the worst way possible.

I trusted him, but he used my trust in him against me.

My worst fears, my deepest insecurities, laid bare before me in the cruelest possible light.

I didn’t want to cry. I couldn’t. But the tears came, hot and fast, and I couldn’t stop them.

I had built so many walls around myself, so many layers to protect the fragile parts inside, and now they felt like they were crumbling away with each word Oscar spoke.

Oscar’s expression faltered as soon as he realized what he had just said.

His eyes widened in horror like he couldn’t believe the words that had just left his mouth. This wasn't him.

He reached out to me, but the instinct to pull away was stronger than anything I had ever felt.

My body jerked back, my anger and hurt boiling over in that single moment.

“No,” I spat, my voice venomous and raw. “Don’t touch me.”

His hand dropped like a stone, and I saw the regret washing over his face, but it didn’t matter.

Not now.

Not after everything.

It seemed like he was regretting everything the minute he realized he was losing me.

But the damage was already done, and there was no taking it back.

I turned away from him, the weight of everything crashing down on me as I walked away, the tears falling freely now.

My heart felt like it had been torn in half.

I didn’t look back, because I knew if I did, I’d crumble.

The pain was too much.

I was almost out of the hallway when I heard his footsteps behind me.

He was following me.

“Y/n, please,” Oscar called again, his voice breaking through the distance between us.

“I’m sorry. I was wrong. Please, just let me explain.”

But I couldn’t. I couldn’t listen to him anymore.

I had trusted him and believed that he saw me for who I was, and now… now he had shattered everything.

My heart felt raw, bleeding from the wounds he had inflicted.

I stopped in my tracks and turned to face him.

“You want to apologize now?” I asked, my voice trembling with the pain I could no longer hide.

“It’s too late, Oscar. You’ve already made your choice. You’ve already believed the worst about me.”

Oscar stepped closer, his face full of regret. “Y/n, I—”

“No,” I interrupted, shaking my head, my heart breaking in two.

“I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep trusting people who turn on me the second something goes wrong. I’ve had enough.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came.

The silence stretched between us, and I could see the conflict in his eyes. But it didn’t matter.

The damage was already done, and I couldn’t forgive him, not now.

Not after everything.

With a final, bitter glance, I turned away and walked off, the tears still falling as I left him standing there, his apology hanging in the air between us, unanswered and unaccepted.

But one thing was for sure: I had to put myself first.

The end

[arcticdementor]

I read where you say

I think many of them view institutions the same way. You can just tell people something, and then they have to believe it.

and my first thought was that this is how public school works (and per Chris Arnade's Dignity, modern society selects for "front-row" elites who thrive in that sort of environment). The teacher tells the students stuff, and the students are graded on how well they can parrot it back. As I found out personally in grade school, one of the worst things you can do in class is successfully correct the teacher, whether by pointing out and correcting an error in her math, or citing a more up-to-date source for some bit of science. The "right answer" is not the correct answer, it's the answer the teacher wants to hear.

But more generally, this sort of narrative control, in the Jimian "warriors vs priests" model, the core of "priestly" power. Every society has had it to some degree. You say:

Media isn't supposed to be a top-down command and control system that people obediently follow.

but plenty of people say that it is. What the Catholic Church was for the middle ages, what state churches were post-reformation — somebody has to preach the Official Truth (and there's always an Official Truth) to the masses. Who replaces the church in preaching the dogma to the masses if not the media?

I've seen plenty of people (particularly after the November election) look at people's declining trust in institutions like the media, and see it as a serious problem… not of those institutions, but of the people who have stopped listening. They basically fall into two (similar) categories.

First is that the institutions are "trustworthy" — not in the sense that an individual is trustworthy, in that they have a reputation for being honest and well-informed, but in that they are inherently worthy of trust by virtue of being institutions. The broad distrust in institutions we see today is bad for society, they argue. Indeed, society depends on a certain level of trust in institutions for cohesion and proper functioning… and therefore, since that trust is necessary, people are obligated to give it. You owe it to society to trust the institutions no matter how many times they get it wrong, how many times they lie. Those who have stopped trusting the media are immoral, because they are shirking their moral obligation to society to shut up and believe whatever they're told.

The second, which I've seen a couple times post-election, has come from people asking how so many could have voted for Trump despite the media pointing out how he's Hitler and Harris is the only acceptable choice, looking at how many people don't listen to said media, and refining the question to how so many people could willingly choose lies over truth. When pointed to the fact that the people in question don't see it that way, a few responded by asserting that since the media and such are the "truth-telling" institutions, whose job is determining the truth, this framing remains the correct one regardless. When pushed back at with the poor job these "truth-tellers" have been doing, they clarify that they didn't mean it in that sense, they meant it definitionally. That their job isn't to determine what the truth is in the sense of searching for what is true and what is false, but in the sense of choosing what is true and what is false — that they are "truth-telling institutions" in that whatever they tell people is definitionally "true." That "truth" is simply whatever the authorities say it is, anything to the contrary is "misinformation" and "lies" by definition, and anyone who denies such "truth" is edging toward treason.

Calling something "der sturmer," saying something is a "racist moral panic," throwing around words like "taken-style hero"... None of those things will work. Shaming won't work.

Maybe not, but they're a necessary first step before escalating to harsher measures that will. After all, the Inquisitions generally gave heretics a number of opportunities to recant their heresies ("heresy" itself distinguished from mere error by being defined as "the obstinate denial or doubt of a truth that should be believed"), only handing over ("relaxing") the unrepentant heretic to the civil authorities for execution.

Shaming didn't work on the original Der Stürmer… but you know what did, right? You have to first establish that the people driving the "racist moral panic" aren't accidental racists who can be shamed into improvement, but obstinate racists immune to shame, thus justifying more coercive measures and outright punishments. If this is like a "der sturmer-style campaign" then obviously everyone promoting that campaign is comparable to Julius Streicher… and deserving of the same fate.

You have to re-establish trust.

No, you don't. You just have to punish heresy severely enough that none dare openly dissent.

Who do I trust on this issue? Who do I think has impeccable credentials and has established the right commitments and allegiances over the years?

Go back to the classroom. There may be people you trust more on a topic than your teacher, books you trust more than the textbook. But if you want to get a good grade, which one's answers are you going to put down on your homework and tests?

well, there's been a tremendous amount of reputational damage to group reputation management in the United States over the past 10 years, and especially over the past 4.

Yes, and? The only reputation you need to manage is your reputation for punishing all disobedience. Oderint dum metuant.

How can you convince me?

The same way they "convinced" Germans to stop being Nazis? The same way Gul Madred got Picard to briefly see five lights instead of four?

The British elites don't have to convince anyone. They'll just keep on doing whatever they want, no matter how unhappy the peasant masses get, because the peasant masses are powerless, and can't do anything about it.

Regarding Rotherham, since it's come up again...

If I had a daughter, and a group of men doused her in petrol and threatened to set her on fire, then what would matter to me is making sure that never happened again.

This is what is moral and right. Children are small and weak. Stopping such a thing is what a parent owes their child.

If that requires changing the ideology of the entire country, then my life's work must be changing the ideology of the entire country. This is simply the work that has been entrusted to me. Whether it succeeds or not, I must attempt it.

There are people right now asking others to refrain from criticism in order to protect the reputation of the Labour government.

My contempt for such people is off the charts. But I can now see the empty space. Many of them are morally underdeveloped. What it means is that they consider Labour their tribe, and they are obediently protecting the tribe.

[yunimayie]

primal play with chuuya would be so hot

cws. n. chuuya x fem!reader, suggestive content, primal play, reader getting chased and outsmarted, pet names, teasing, he's a bit of an ass, not edited.

wk. 512 (short lil drabble)

ᰔ love, may. no you're absolutely right about this. he would LOVE the thrill of it since he's more action paced. this doesn't necessarily have nsfw in it so im not gonna tag it as such. btw i made this star divider do u guys like it💀.

“pace yourself,” said your boyfriend with a lit cig, “ten minutes.”

the small acres of warehouses line up similarly to the suburbs. under the poorly lit up path, you ran on command, looking behind to see chuuya walking in a different direction. you didn't know where exactly he was going or what his plans were, but you didn't let that thought distract you for much longer.

prying eyes follow your body language—it told him you were brittle, anxiously waiting for the time to run up. his cigarette long abandoned in the ashes of mist. “seven!” you hear him shout, the fog limiting your vision greatly. shit, you didn't know where to look. every alley, narrow or wide, served a purpose for chuuya, and an indisputable amount of junk covering his back.

the rustle of air leaves you stranded in your place, the cold giving you a blanket for the foreseeable future. forcing your legs to function, you knew that being found in a maze of clutter and perfectly aligned buildings was akin to zero—for a normal person. chuuya nakahara was not a normal person, in mafia territory. “six,” he resumed, “clock's ticking sweetheart.”

again, with the yelling! “i k-know!” you stammered, cursing in your head for your fumbling composure. the five minute mark was near and you're already losing. “baaabe!” chuuya sniggered, “don’t run! oh no, honey, ‘lemme catch up!” a laugh echoes through the isolation, footsteps mingling with yours in the white abyss—closer—that's it, you ran. without looking back, shoes cackle the pavement below.

his closeness had you thinking, wasn't he supposed to wait ten minutes before starting his chase? asking right now was a big leap of faith considering you're the prey. “fouuur!” he sang from afar. taking your chances you halt, heart pounding as loud as his steps that trail after the path you winded. “moving is crucial, doll.” his face finally catches up to his voice. even through the gloom, white couldn't water away the colors painted on the canvas.

picture perfect bitch.

your shoulders were hunched, backing away step by step as he redrew every erasure with his black leather shoes, the ink messy and spattered compared to your light and neat lines. “is it three now?” you were keen in your crumbled resolve, questioning things now did you no good, but chuuya always liked to be challenged. he tapped his chin, arms crossed like a curious child, “hmmm, i'd saaay closer to... two.”

great. so it was still three—“why aren't you waiting at the car then?” you popped your tongue, biting the flesh after you blurted out your ah-ha! thought. he doesn't answer, alternatively showing a tight-knit smile that got you into his bed in the first place. a quick turnaround would've shown you that was the end. no more running.

it took you approximately ten minutes to reach the fence that cuts off a cliff from the sea crushing rock. ten minutes for you to corner yourself, and fall in line to your beloveds’ predictions. his lips move, too slowly for your comfort, “one.”

@ yunimayie—everything is owned by may, she doesn't appreciate copyright breaches | navi.

hihihaye!! may here, got another one of my wips up and actively being written atm 🙏‼️ if u wanna be tagged js lemme know 🤭 fyi, the censoring is my little note.

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

I think William and Kate are real people and real people go through stuff and not everything is sunshine and roses, so I do agree that going through a big thing like cancer may have changed their relationship in ways we won’t even know. However, there can a be a hundred different reasons for small interactions and we can’t know for sure what they’re feeling in that moment.

For example, my friend who is casual with her interest in the royals saw that video of William and the kids waiting fot Kate and just thought it was funny and cute and didn’t think much about it. But I guess for us, maybe we know better or maybe we’re just more prone to overanalyzing their actions? Idk.

Anyway, as I said there can be a hundred different reasons. William may have been aware of how her “hurrying Kate” was perceived the last time (during the Jordan wedding) and wanted to avoid something similar. However, I think he used to have more gentle ways of reminding Kate to hurry before, so there’s that. But maybe it’s possible Kate has told him she doesn’t like being hurried no matter how he does it and he’s simply following her wishes.

Also, this is Kate’s first time to talk to the public since Christmas 2023, so maybe William had that in mind and didn’t want to be seen hurrying Kate in any way because he understood the public would want to talk to Kate. Maybe he also knew a lot of people would want to talk to Kate about her diagnosis, and William isn’t really the type to open up to the public during walkabouts about big personal things like that. He keeps it light: anecdotes about the kids or their dogs, Aston Villa, dad jokes. He probably didn’t want to be cornered and ambushed about a question about Kate’s illness that would make him vulnerable. Or maybe Kate wanted space to talk to the public about by herself. I also did notice that he was constantly looking for her or trying to see where she was during the walkabout.

I also think we can’t always interpret the change as William being callous as if William is the only one wearing the pants in the relationship and everything relies on the change in his feelings. In my own personal opinion and imagination, I think Kate has become more vocal about her boundaries. And if something has changed in their dynamic, I think it’s Kate wanting more individuality in the relationship. But idk this is just a feeling. I know I’m doing a lot of projection and I can’t be sure about my interpretations.

Anyway, maybe it could even be something as mundane as William having stomachache and needing to go to the bathroom and that’s why he was in a hurry lol. As I’ve said, there could be a hundred different reasons.

To be honest, I'd completely forgotten about the Jordanian wedding.

I was thinking about this moment from one of the garden parties.

(This is one of my favorite photos of them. I love how happy Kate is. I love the firm hand William has on her, like he knows if he lets her go she'll wander away again. I love how ladylike her trailing hand is posed. I love the soft feminine pink of Kate's suit contrasted with the sharp black of William's suit. I love everyone in the background cheesing at them. I love how Mary Poppinseqsue it feels.)

[goorehound]

Silco / Viktor Chapter 2

chapter 1

ao3

Still workshopping how I want this to look, so if anybody has any feedback please let me know! And for the people who showed interest in chapter 1, I’m voluntelling you to read this (and share your thoughts if you’d like!) @hextechdystopia @eyeofclaws @greaseofficial @dubiousbread488 and the last person it won’t let me tag lol.

Summary:

Silco, a newer (and far from proud) resident of Piltover, is struggling to raise his freshly teenage daughter Jinx in the uppercity after a messy divorce. Teenagers are difficult, and a new school is always an adjustment.

Viktor, a begrudging and very overqualified high school teacher (after a falling out with his old business partner) is desperately trying to keep his promising student afloat. If only her father were not such a stubborn bastard that refuses to work with him.

Lately, broaching certain conversations with Jinx had become more of an art form, learning when to apply pressure and when to offer her space to fill the silence of her own volition. And Silco had been waiting patiently, until all that remained in Jinx’s bowl was the dregs of her overly sweet cereal. Perhaps the time to apply some pressure, then. “I asked you a question.” He prompted quietly, eyes examining her expression.

Surprise graced it first, brows raising high - then confusion, as they lowered back down into a furrow. “Oh. I forgot.” She spoke as he brought a spoonful of porridge to his lips, exhaling an amused breath at her absentminded behaviour. Often, she had more important things going on to bother focusing on measly breakfast conversations.

“Vandalism. At school. Have you done any?” He asked, giving up on his breakfast. Eating in the morning only ever made him nauseous, but he’d learned the hard lesson that if he skipped a meal then Jinx would follow suit and it was really not worth the bickering. Modelling certain behaviours and healthy habits was sometimes the only way to encourage Jinx, which he’d grown accustomed to. She loved to mimic. He recalled her, chubby cheeked with wide eyes, following his every footstep. Trying to brush her teeth exactly like him, giggling whenever he smiled, copying how he built his blocks into a tower. His little shadow. Oh, simpler times. It was cute the small ways in which that fixation lingered.

“Sometimes.” Jinx shrugged noncommittally, pulling him from his reminiscing. “When I get bored, I guess, doodling on the wall or whatever.” Minor, then - but she did have a very specific art style, and colour scheme, unique enough to be noticed. Not worth the hassle it could turn into. Jinx partaking in graffiti was not alarming in and of itself but the fact that it was at school? He thought he had warned her thoroughly of the risks of being placed in a Piltover school. Jinx slurped loudly from her bowl as he pondered this.

“I see.” Silco brushed a hand through his hair before rising from his chair and collecting their dishes, once she had drained the remnants of her own. “Perhaps we should be more cautious at school, hm? Like we discussed.” He spoke calmly and with an air of finality. “It isn’t worth the risk, you know how uptight they get about their decor.”

Clearly this did not sit well with his daughter, and he heard her irritated groan above the droning sound of the sink as he rinsed the silverware. The sound alone told him exactly with what level of dramatization that she had rolled her eyes, and he braced himself for whatever complaints would follow. “Who cares? I don’t even want to be at this stupid school.”

This had become a recurring theme of conversation over the last two months, and there had been an uptick in frequency as of late. Silco could admit that he was tired of this back and forth, he did not feel he’d had enough hours of sleep to handle this once more. He only hoped his patience would win out.

“You were excited to start. It will take some adjusting, but the opportunities at this school will be a benefit.” Silco scrubbed the washcloth within the bowl in a soothing rhythm, focused intently on it. It was already pristine.

“I don’t need it.” Jinx barked back, and Silco could feel the daggers she was glaring into the back of his head. Scrubbing the lip of the bowl, there could be food caught in the chips.

“You don’t need school?” Silco asked incredulously, fingers hesitating in their compulsive cleaning. That was new. The complaints had only ever before indicated that she may want to be in a different school, perhaps back in Zaun - but no school at all was an interesting development.

“No. Vi hasn’t done school since she was 15,” Jinx pointed out, proud of her statement. As if she’d caught Silco out in some way with this fact. “And Pops is fine with it, he even helped her get a job.”

When the bowl clattered to the bottom of the sink, Silco knew he would not be proud of whatever words flowed out next. He was a man of great restraint, but there was something about a teenager that tried the patience in a way nothing else could - especially when the teenager was your own. It seemed as though she had a sixth sense for what the most aggravating, skin crawling thing she could say next to push him to his limit.

“That is because your sister lacks any potential to be anything besides a hired muscle, or a mindless drone in the mines, and she is as witless as your Pops.” Silco bit out ruthlessly as he dried his hands off, already feeling the regret curdling in his stomach. These were not helpful things to say, and he knew it. “I will not hear another word about you not needing school, child.”

The silence was suffocating. Exacerbated by the drip, drip, drip of the sink in front of him, and he really must fix that. Jinx could fix it, if he asked, but somehow now did not seem like the most opportune time. He should really turn around and face the music, much as he loathe to admit he’d made a glaringly obvious mistake. Akin to a bull in a china shop when it came to parenting he was recently developing the outstanding talent of shoving his foot in his mouth.

Jinx’s expression was as devastated as he had imagined, pinched somewhere between distraught and wrathful. Being the cause for such strong and conflicting emotions on her face felt like a swift blow to the kidney.

“Grab your bag, please, you will be late for class.” Silco spoke quietly, watching her lip tremble to hold something back. Either tears or a shouting match, he was sure. “We can pick up whatever snack you would like on the way over.” He added to hopefully balm over some of the anger.

“You suck.” Jinx said with finality as she threw herself out of the chair, hands balled into fists and body jittering with restless energy. He hoped he could talk her down before she unleashed this rage on some unsuspecting student. Or teacher. Silco had made quite a mess of this morning, hadn’t he?

“I’ll meet you in the car.” Silco replied without acknowledging the minor outburst, going about adjusting his vest and hair as he snatched his keys off of the ring. The walk down from the top floor of their apartment would give him time to calm, to simmer down until guilt won over frustration. He would take the morning off, he told himself soothingly, and he would get in some more sleep.

—————

After picking up an ice cream, without a single comment from Silco about how that was a terrible way to start the day, they drove with Jinx’s music blaring at an impressive level. It eased her nerves, he thought, noises reflecting back the chaos that was her beautiful mind. Also, it proved useful to drown out Silco’s voice entirely, which he assumed was a big part of the reasoning behind it.

When they pulled up to the lot is when he turned the music to a tolerable level, making an attempt to meet Jinx’s eyes. She was putting very good effort into pretending he was not present.

“I’m sorry for what I said about your sister, and Vander.” Silco watched some tension seep from her shoulders. Normally not a man to often make genuine apologies, but Jinx was ever the exception. “Your sister struggled with school, and it wasn’t fair of me to use that against her.”

“She is smart.” Jinx finally conceded and looked over, no longer existing in a realm where Silco was a buzzing mosquito with nothing important to say. “And I don’t want to be here.”

Silco heaved a breath and reached over to fix a flyaway hair in the sea of blue atop Jinx’s head. “We can talk about that more later. Play along for now, hm? Check out the library. Take advantage.”

Jinx did not seem necessarily happy in regards to the fact that he did not immediately bend to her will and withdraw her from classes that moment, but she no longer seemed to be trying to make him explode with her thoughts when she deigned to acknowledge his presence. So, that was progress.

Some form of assent was muttered as she left the car, and Silco gratefully unpaired her phone from the stereo system to play something a bit less abrasive on the ears.

Absolutely he was due for a nap, as much as that aged him to say, he could not wait to be wrapped in his duvet and dead to the world for the next few hours.

[champagnecherryblossom]

• Behind Closed Doors: His Shyness, Your Awakening •

Pairing | jisung x fem!reader

Word Count | 1,048

Summary | Having not been told about the shy, quiet men, you were in for a rude- or should I say, eye-rolling-awakening. Behind the doors of your shared apartment, you are welcomed with nothing but pleasure.

warnings | non idol au, dom!jisung, fem!reader, clit rubbing, free use (?), deceiving?, raw fucking (wrap it up), pet names (love mostly), overstimulation.

A/N - honestly, I feel like Jisung would fuck hard despite the image he gives out. Ykw I mean? Anyways enjoy aha 🧎‍♂️‍➡️

After moving into your new apartment, you were unaware of the roommate that came with it. At first he was a shy and quiet guy, asking questions with a politeness . He made sure that you were comfortable even when he had his buddies over.

It was all great, that was until he started to act weird. It was a subtle change, he became more flirty. It wasn't long until he started acting like a hormonal teenage boy, at first it was funny- at least that’s what you thought. But somewhere along the line of being his roommate, it went beyond just that. Small touches turned into long lingering ones that made your skin crawl with desire and need.

Today wasn't any different, when you heard the door open and close with a soft click and a long deep sigh coming from no other then Han Jisung. Your body tensed, that familiar crawl on the skin sent a shiver down your spine.

"Jisung, is that you?" Your voice thrumbled slightly, the palms of your hands damp. You almost forgot that you were in the kitchen doing dishes.

Although there was no reply you got a hand to your waist and the movement of your hair to expose the skin of your neck as your reply. It wasn't long until you felt light kisses on your neck, the feeling sending a wave of pleasure through you. You were a bitch for neck kisses and Jisung took advantage of that.

"A heads up would be nice, you know?" You said in an airy tone, your head slightly tilted to the side allowing Jisung more access to your overly sensitive neck.

"A heads up? No need, me walking in through the door should be enough as a heads up." Jisung spoke against your skin, his hands began to roam over your body in that familiar rhythm. It was gentle and smooth until it became needy and rushed. It was now that you realized that his day was nothing but stressful.

With a bite on the neck you whined, the feeling making you thrumble and limp in his arms. Pushing you against the kitchen sink, his hard on pressed against your ass. His movement desperate, his breath hot as he pants against your ear.

"I had a rough day... can you handle it?" Jisung asked, his voice overly sweet laced with need. Oh how badly he wants to bury himself inside you, to use you like his personal cum-dump— which you were, when he wanted that is.

With a hum and the press of your ass against his confined cock, Jisung wasted no time on slipping his hand into your joggers. You were already damp with your arousal, your black laced panties allowing Jisung to feel more of your wetness and the uniqueness of your mound.

"Wait..." You moaned out, Jisung chuckled under his breath.

"We haven't even started, love." Oh how much you loved when he called you love, Jisung chuckled again. His fingers rubbing you through your laced panties, he groaned. God he just loved how wet you got for him, even in the slightest touch he gave.

"I know... I know..." You breath out, your hips bucking against his fingers to get the friction you desired. Jisung was more then happy to give you what you wanted, so with a swift move Jiusng took off your joggers and panties. Goosebumps appear on your ass cheeks and legs, the sight making Jisung moan with desire.

Griping your ass, Jisung squeezed and pulled as he spreads you. The view made his mouth water, he did this a few times before he finally slide his hand down to your wet and needy pussy.

"Oh god..." You knew Jisung played guitar but you always seem to forget just how good his fingers were, he rubbed your clit with precision before he slides his two fingers into your hole, the feeling making you jolt slightly before you began to fuck yourself on his fingers.

Jisung watched with a smirk, his free hand undoing his pants as best they can. Curling his fingers you moaned, your body hunched over the kitchen sink as your movements become more needy.

"Ah, ah, ah. Not yet, love." Jisung said with a menacing smile as he pulled out his fingers— bringing them to his mouth and licking them clean. Nndoing the rest of his pants, Jisung pulled out his average size cock. The thickness made up for what you thought he lacked, either way you loved his size and would without a doubt sit on it time after time.

In a quick move, you found yourself being stretched opened. The feeling made you moan, you felt as if a bitch in heat. Jisung noticed and didn't hesitate to pound into you, his hips snap in rough, quick thrust that made you see stars. Your eyes roll back, to focused on the pleasure you were receiving you didn't noticed how Jisung’s left hand kneaded your breast and his right between your legs playing with your clit, timing the rubs with his thrusts.

"Ji-jisung~!" You cried out in pleasure, your legs becoming wobbly as you began to fuck yourself on his cock. Groaning Jisung pushed you more against the kitchen sink before his hands grip your hips.

His thrust rough, quick and unforgiving as he fucked the shit out of you, this was definitely not what people would think of when you say you had a shy and quiet roommate, 'had' being used loosely.

Each thrust jisung did— he pulled you onto his cock, hitting deeper into your heat. The feeling was so overbearing that you came on the spot, a loud whiny moan slipping pass your lips. Jisung only smirked as his movements didn’t slow or come to a stop, he was going to keep going until he was satisfied.

"That didn't take long huh?" You pant, your hand reaching back to move him away but instead you moved him closer despite already coming. Jisung laughed as he fucked into you harder.

"We're not done unless I say so, love." His leaned forward and whispered into your ear. “Can you do that for me?” He added knowing just how much you would let him use you as he pleases.

[xoxorealitygalore]

Trust and Believe

Trust and believe me

You're gonna need me

Trust and believe me

She'll never be me

Authors note: I’m nervous as hell! This is my first time writing…well I mean publishing one of the many stories that I’ve written in my Google docs on here. This is one of my goals for 2025. So let’s see how it works out for me. Enjoy.

summary: Keyshia and Joe had a seemingly perfect life together after marrying in 2010. However, as their careers grew, so did the strain on their relationship. When Joe cheats on Keyshia. The emotional fallout from the incident leaves their relationship hanging in the balance, with Keyshia questioning if they could ever recover from the betrayal.

TMZ EXCLUSIVE

KEYSHIA ANOA’I

ARRESTED FOR ASSAULTING WOMAN

In Roman Reigns's Penthouse

Keyshia Anoa’i spent a not-so-pleasant Monday morning in jail ... after allegedly assaulting a woman who apparently spent the night with Keyshia's husband WWE wrestler Roman Reigns.

Keyshia showed up at the swanky penthouse building in Miami at around 5 AM. We're told she came to Miami to surprise her husband after being on tour for two months.

Our sources say ... she got into the penthouse and she saw another woman and went nuts.

We're told Keyshia attacked her ... leaving scratches and knots all over her face. Cops were called ... and Keyshia was arrested for battery.

She was just released on $46,000 bail, which her husband paid.

We called Reigns and Keyshia's reps ... so far no comment.

Keyshia Anoa'i, a soulful R&B singer with a string of chart-topping hits, had always prided herself on her relationship with Joe Anoa'i, better known to the world as WWE wrestler Roman Reigns. Since their marriage in 2010, they had built a life together—one that, from the outside, appeared perfect. On the surface, they were the picture of success and love, navigating the pressures of their high-profile careers while raising a family. But as the years went by, the cracks in their relationship began to show. The more their careers flourished, the more the distance between them seemed to grow.

Joe’s career as Roman Reigns had skyrocketed. His fame and schedule with WWE meant long stretches of time on the road, and his larger-than-life persona brought both admiration and envy from fans and fellow wrestlers alike. Keyshia, on the other hand, had continued her journey as a chart-topping artist. Touring, recording, and engaging with her fans had become a huge part of her life, but it also meant being away from Joe for extended periods.

The couple's physical separation, driven by the demands of their respective careers, slowly became emotional as well. What started as occasional misunderstandings soon evolved into deeper issues. Trust, communication, and intimacy—key components of any relationship—were fraying at the edges. Joe’s long absences and late-night workouts at the gym were often coupled with his refusal to share much about his personal life. He bought a penthouse in Miami without consulting Keyshia first, something that, in hindsight, symbolized the growing distance between them. He would justify it as his need for space, a private place to unwind after a grueling schedule. Keyshia didn’t think much of it at first, but deep down, it only served to fuel the quiet fire of suspicion she had begun to feel.

Over time, those suspicions grew. Keyshia had always trusted Joe, but there was something about his behavior that began to feel off. His late nights, his constant phone calls, and his cryptic responses when asked about his time away made her wonder if there was something more going on. It was the kind of feeling that gnawed at her insides—a woman's intuition that something wasn’t right. She had asked him about it a few times, but each time, Joe brushed her off, assuring her there was nothing to worry about. But Keyshia’s gut told her otherwise.

On the night in question, Keyshia had just finished her twentieth show as a part of her five-month tour, Trust and Believe Tour, and decided to surprise Joe at his Miami penthouse. She was exhausted, but her mind was consumed with thoughts of reconnecting with her husband, of finding a sense of closeness that had been missing for so long. She’d gotten a few days off and felt it was the perfect opportunity to show him how much she still cared. However, what she didn’t know was that Joe had been keeping secrets—secrets that would soon be laid bare in a shocking way.

Keyshia arrived at the penthouse, a place she had visited only occasionally over the years. She felt a flutter of excitement as she stepped out of the car and walked toward the building. She imagined the surprise on Joe’s face when he opened the door to see her. Perhaps they would have a romantic evening, catch up on lost time, and rebuild the emotional connection they had once shared. But as she approached the door and inserted the key card, everything changed in an instant.

Keyshia stepped into the penthouse and froze. The sight before her took the breath right out of her chest. There, in the living room, was Joe—her husband—sitting on the couch with another woman. The woman was leaning into him, and Joe appeared to be speaking to her in a way that was far too intimate for a simple friendship. The woman’s eyes widened in shock at the sight of Keyshia, and Keyshia’s heart dropped. The floor beneath her seemed to disappear, and all at once, years of confusion, pain, and suspicion crashed down on her.

Her first instinct was to confront Joe, but the anger that surged within her was overwhelming. She felt her fists clench at her sides, and before she could think, she marched toward the woman and pushed her away from Joe. In the heat of the moment, words failed her, and all she could do was physically lash out. She slapped the woman’s face, threw punches, and clawed at her in a fit of rage. The betrayal, the hurt, the disbelief—all of it culminated in an uncontrollable outburst. Keyshia wasn’t thinking about the consequences; she was thinking only about the woman sitting with her husband, a woman who had crossed a line that Keyshia had never expected.

The woman screamed in surprise and tried to back away, but Keyshia was relentless, shoving her toward the door, her hands swiping and scratching. "Stay the fuck away from my man," Keyshia spat, her voice dripping with venom. "I better not evee catch you around my husbans again! Slut bucket!"

In the chaos, Joe stood up, trying to intervene, his voice raised in an attempt to calm the situation. But the damage had already been done. A neighbor heard the commotion and called the police, who arrived shortly afterward to find Keyshia still at the scene, her emotions running wild. The officers quickly subdued her, arresting her for misdemeanor battery. The police report would later note that Keyshia had struck the woman multiple times and caused visible scratches on her face. As the cuffs were placed on her wrists, Keyshia’s mind was a swirl of emotions—confusion, anger, and heartbreak. It wasn’t just the sight of Joe with another woman that cut her so deeply, but the years of tension that had been building up between them. This, she realized, was the breaking point.

At the police station, Keyshia was left alone in a holding cell for what felt like an eternity. The time felt like a blur, and every second she spent behind those bars was another moment for her emotions to spiral. She had always been known for her composed and graceful persona in the public eye, but here she was—gripped by raw emotion, fighting to make sense of the man she had married, the man who had been her partner for over a decade. Joe had always been her rock, her protector. But in that moment, he had shattered her trust in a way that felt irreparable.

Hours later, Joe arrived at the police station to bail her out. He appeared tired, his usually sharp features softened by concern and frustration. His presence was both comforting and maddening. He had been the one to create this mess, yet now he was here, trying to smooth things over as though nothing had happened. When Keyshia saw him, her anger flared up once more, but she fought to control it. She had no idea what she was supposed to feel at that moment—anger at Joe, at the woman, at herself—or a combination of all of it.

"Keyshia, you can’t keep doing this," Joe said softly, his voice strained as they walked out of the police department together.

"You’re telling me what to do? You’re the one cheating while I’m on tour, Joe!" Keyshia snapped, getting right up in his face. Her voice was trembling, but it was also fierce. Every word she spoke was filled with pain. How could he do this to her? To their family? She had trusted him, loved him, and this was how he repaid her?

Joe sighed, his frustration evident. "Chill, we ain’t even leave the police department yet."

Keyshia’s heart felt like it was breaking all over again. She wanted to scream, to hit him, but instead, she just exhaled deeply, the fight leaving her body as quickly as it had come. She felt drained, emotionally and physically. She had never imagined that their love story would end up like this, not in a million years.

The drive back to Joe’s penthouse was silent, filled only with the sound of the engine humming in the background. Keyshia stared out the window, lost in her own thoughts, while Joe kept his eyes on the road. There was no quick fix for what had happened, no simple apology that could erase the betrayal Keyshia had felt. But as the minutes passed, she couldn’t help but wonder: Could they find their way back from this? Was there still hope for them? Or had the damage been done beyond repair?

For Keyshia, the road ahead was uncertain. The life she had built with Joe, a life she had once believed in so fully, now felt like a house of cards, teetering on the edge of collapse. Would they find a way to rebuild, or would this be the end of their story? Only time would tell.

[the-sea-called-history02]

How Stray Kids say, “I love you,” without saying it (hyung line)

Genre: fluff

Warnings: mild cursing

Bang Chan

Spoils you

This man loves nothing more than to spoil the ever-loving shit out of you. He knows he can’t always be there, and the guilt of that eats him alive all the time, so he takes every chance he gets to buy you any and everything he can. You’ve told him a million times that he shouldn’t buy you such expensive gifts, but he won’t have any of that. You’re his whole world outside of Stray Kids, and he just prays that his gifts can make up for the time he has to be away from you.

“Jokingly” calls you the boys’ mother

Originally, it was Jeongin who started the joke because you had asked him to do something around the house, to which he responded with an eye roll and an, “okay, mOm,” but it kind of just stuck, and Chan can’t get enough of it. He’s someone who prioritizes family over everything, so any chance he can include you in that, he will take it in a heartbeat.

Lee Minho

Craves your touch

He might not seem like it, but skz themselves have said that Minho is the most romantic member. He’ll try to be subtle about it, but you’ll somehow always find his hands on you in some way. Whether it be lightly squeezing your hand, tracing his fingers across your back, or even a little boop on the nose, he’s always finding some sort of reason to touch you.

Defends you

If there’s one thing Minho NEVER plays about, it’s how precious you are to him. Therefore, he is most certainly not going to tolerate anyone speaking poorly of you. He will be the first to block “fans” that have something hateful to say about your relationship. It dumbfounds him that people who don’t know either of you think they can comment on the most important person in his world and then act buddy-buddy with him. He won’t think twice about lashing out if it’s for you.

Seo Changbin

“Did you eat?”

Such a simple question that holds so much meaning to Binnie. Like Chan, he wants you to know that he’s always thinking about you, even when he’s a million miles away. He also wants you to know that the pressure to be “perfect” that he faces day-to-day should never be a burden you face, and that starts with having a healthy relationship with food and your body. (Plus, he’s lowkey looking for ideas on what he should have for lunch, so please send him food pics.)

Credits you in his songs

After all the late nights you’ve pulled just to keep him company while he works, you deserve a spot in the credits just as much as he does, in his mind. Especially if he’s writing a love song because who else could he have ever written that about? Might even give you a stage name if your relationship is private so you can both laugh at stay going out of their minds, theorizing who this new writer working with skz is.

Hwang Hyunjin

OOTD’s

Loverboy™ has 3 passions. Art, dance, and adding to his portfolio of daily photos of you. He stops you anytime you’re about to leave the house to get a quick pic of your ootd, whether it’s just sweats and an old t-shirt, or a full evening gown, he has an insatiable appetite for the goofy, awkward poses you do anytime he whips out the camera. To him, every photo of you is more precious than gold, and he is not above throwing a mini tantrum if you forget to send him daily pictures while he’s on tour.

Collects your drawings

You could have the art skills of a three-year-old on crack, but this man would still take your napkin doodles and keep them in a special scrapbook. Draw on his arm, and he’ll proudly wear it like a badge of honor, taking pictures so he can still have it after he has to wash it off. Definitely the type to drunkenly get one of your quick sketches tattooed and not have a single regret about it in the morning.

[trixy812]

012 🌸🤍Never Change

Tags: Nanami x fem!reader, angst, tw: bullying, yuuji Itadori ooc??

Synopsis: A note from the past rekindles memories of quiet kindness and unspoken feelings.

An: This is a short fanfic that means a lot to me. I went through bullying in high school—people called me ugly and laughed at me for it. It left me deeply scarred, and even now, I can’t look at myself in a mirror when I’m out at a party or anywhere that isn’t home.

The idea for this story came from a joke I made to a friend. I told them that if my fiancé had met me in high school, he probably would’ve bullied me too (he’s always been one of those popular, well-loved guys). My friend surprised me by saying, “I don’t think so. He would’ve fallen deeply in love with you and protected you.”

And, well, here we are! Of course, I had to throw in some angst because I know you all love that. This is my longest author’s note yet, but I really wanted to share this with you. Thank you! 💕

🅼🅰🆂🆃🅴🆁🅻🅸🆂🆃

Elementary school was a battlefield for you. You loved anime unapologetically, your heart worn on your sleeve, but that only made you an easy target. Whether it was pulling out a manga during library hours or raising your hand in class to ask the questions others were too afraid—or too bored—to ask, you always seemed to draw unwanted attention. And with that attention came the snickers, the muttered insults, the cruelty.

Except for him.

Kento Nanami wasn’t the type to stand out. He wasn’t loud, nor was he the kind of person to rush to someone’s defense with bold words or dramatic gestures. He was quiet, observant, and more often than not, detached. But you’d catch his gaze sometimes—a brief flicker of acknowledgment, a moment of stillness in the sea of chaos.

At first, you thought he didn’t care. He never said anything when others taunted you, never stepped in to tell them to stop. But then there were the little things. The way he’d linger just long enough to block someone from snatching a manga out of your hands. The way he’d redirect the attention of the class with a clever remark when your questions were met with ridicule. The way he’d sit across from you in the library, his quiet presence a subtle barrier against anyone who dared to interrupt your peace.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

You didn’t spend time together outside of school. You were classmates, occasional companions in a sea of indifference. Yet, in those fleeting moments, his quiet kindness felt like a lifeline.

What you didn’t know was that Nanami was watching. Not just you, but the people around you. The way they treated you, the way they laughed at things they didn’t understand, the way they mocked someone who only wanted to be herself. It wasn’t just unfair—it was senseless. And little by little, his view of humanity began to sour.

"They’re awful," he thought. "They’re all awful."

But you weren’t.

You, with your boundless curiosity and your unapologetic love for what you loved. You, who didn’t hurt anyone but bore the brunt of everyone’s disdain. You weren’t awful.

And maybe that’s why he stayed close in his own way, orbiting your world like a distant but steadfast star.

But then, one day, he was gone. When high school began, Nanami didn’t come back. He disappeared as quietly as he’d stayed, leaving no trace behind. You moved on—or at least, you thought you did.

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

It was a quiet afternoon when it happened. You were reorganizing your shelves, pulling out old books you hadn’t touched in years. That’s when an old English dictionary slipped from your hands and hit the floor. As you bent down to pick it up, a folded piece of paper fluttered out.

You unfolded it, and the words, written in neat, careful handwriting, made your breath catch.

"Please, never change. Thank you for everything, and always follow your dreams."

Your heart stopped.

Nanami.

The memory of him surged back into your mind like a tidal wave, sweeping away the years of distance and burying you in moments you thought you’d forgotten: the way he’d glance at you with quiet understanding, the soft curve of his rare smiles, the steady, unshakable presence he carried wherever he went.

And now, this.

Tears blurred your vision as you read and reread the note. Had he really written this for you? How had you never noticed before? How had you never realized what he meant to you?

That’s when it hit you.

You had loved him.

Maybe not in the childish way people talk about first crushes, but deeply, profoundly. You had loved the boy who sat quietly in the library, who didn’t laugh when others did, who saw you when no one else cared to look.

And now, this note. His words—thank you for everything—felt like they came from another world, another time. You hadn’t done anything for him. If anything, you owed him.

Suddenly, the idea of finding him consumed you. You had to see him again. To tell him what he meant to you. To thank him. And maybe—just maybe—to find out if he still carried any piece of those quiet, shared moments in his heart.

It wasn’t easy. You scoured social media, old directories, anything that could give you a clue. Weeks passed, and just when you were about to give up, you found it.

A photo.

It was a photo of two people: a blond man with a serious expression standing beside a younger man with pink hair, smiling brightly. The caption read: "Nanamin."

You stared at the photo, your chest tightening. It had been so many years. Could this really be him?

With trembling hands, you messaged the owner of the account, explaining your connection and asking for help. It was a risk—you knew you sounded desperate—but you didn’t care. You needed to know.

To your surprise, the reply came quickly.

"I can meet you at the station tomorrow. I’ll explain everything then."

When you saw Yuji Itadori, the young man from the photo, his face was kind but somber. He introduced himself and hesitated, as if searching for the right words.

"I know why you’re looking for Nanami-san," he said gently. "But I don’t think I can give you the answer you’re hoping for."

Your stomach churned.

"Why not?" you asked, though part of you already knew the answer.

He looked at you, his expression heavy with grief.

"Nanami Kento is dead."

[icarianncarrionn]

“He was… he told me that if I broke your heart with anyone, my ex or whoever, there would be consequences.” Hari sighs. “And I told him that if he ever talked about the mother of my children that way again, I would punch him in the mouth.” He’s really not sure what sounds worse in hindsight, the threat or the defence. “In the moment, all I was thinking was… fuck this, she’s not here to defend herself, she’s engaged - fine, he hates me, but why is he dragging her through the mud too?” He explains, slow shake of his head like he’s chiding himself instead of relaying the information.

“I’ve always been better at defending other people than myself. But he wanted me to defend this, us, not… I could have handled it better, in a few ways. And I will apologize to him, when he and Tisha are done out there.” But something else sticks in his mind, something Nick said before he asked- “But you are the person I wanted to say all that to. About... what you mean to me. At least, the first person. It’s too important to say it in an argument, to prove something to your brother. I had to say it to you.”

Tisha chews on the inside of her cheek for a moment, trying to collect her thoughts. "No, you shouldn't have. You would have reacted just as badly if Hari brought up your ex wife, whether he was looking out for me or not. And I would be just as mad at him for implying that you'd break my heart by going back to her." Is what finally comes out, as if this reframing will make a difference. "And I would want you to defend her, if you felt her character was being questioned. Snowden… Nobody here is anybody’s first love. Singling out Hari for being divorced is hypocritical and you know that. His youngest is ten years old, his ex is going to be in his life for a while.”

I am not the first person you loved. You are not the first person I looked at with a mouthful of forevers. It’s not the time for poetry, but it flares into her mind anyway. “You two probably would have liked each other if you spent tonight getting to know each other instead of looking for reasons not to. And now Nick has to decide if he can be with someone that his big brother hates, and that fucking sucks."

"I already did." - Ask him to apologise. Nick folds the piece of cardboard up and carefully puts it in his pocket. "And I think I'm not the target audience for what you want to get off your chest." Disappointment more prominent in his voice than the anger from just seconds ago.

He breathes slowly, deeply, to further calm his nerves, and perhaps it was a welcome excuse to stall. "Do you want to know what Rafael said to me? He told me to find someone who values and respects me, and that you wouldn't. I want... I want to understand what made him say that. What you told him. Because if he thought so before, he would have told me sooner." And perhaps this all is just a huge misunderstanding and everything's going to be fine, right?

"You're wrong," Rafa says, "You and Nick are all I had on my mind all evening. You're both the reason I apologised." Not exactly a splendid achievement on his part, that much he knows, so he doesn't contest her assessment. He's not lying though. Now he's not. Unlike in the game when he told half truths for Tisha in response to both Hari's and her questions. Perhaps it would've been better if someone had caught him lying though, being drunk would make this all alot easier to deal with.

"To be honest, I wanted him to get mad. To get really, really mad at me," Rafael opens up, "But for a vastly different reason. I expected him to give me a 'how dare you think I would ever do anything that could hurt your brother'... you know... I didn't expect him to defend someone else's honour instead. I got... I dunno, jealous? On my brother's behalf. Because Nico won't complain. You could tear his heart out and stomp on it and he would still call you every Christmas, Birthday, Easter..." Would? More like does.

Rafael shakes his head, hands deep in his pockets. He tries not to move around to show that he actually cares, that he's anchored in the here and now and not five thoughts ahead and around the bent. Because that is what boys who can't sit still are told and that notion is too deeply ingrained in his brain. "I wanted to rile up your brother" (and he did) "and I riled up myself. I shouldn't have said what I said. But me realising that now won't make me magically like Hari. Or him like me. I'm sorry."

[grandwretch]

everyday i think about about how k. a. applegate was like im going to write a child soldier who is completely brainwashed by his militaristic society and he believes in eugenics and is an asshole and im going to make you love him more than you have ever loved a fictional character because to you he is everything that he hates and then because love is not enough to deprogram what his society has done to him im going to kill him for it