#Thank you for sharing so I could also share it!!!

[suliigwp]

Helloooooooo, how are you?? Love your work!!

So I got this idea for Oscar, where they have been dating for years now and everyone always teased him about when he’s popping the question. The fans pick up to it and reader finds it super funny so she posts a video with Oscar like full on sleeping on her chest with the song paper rings but like the soft part at the end. Fans go crazy and his mum Nicole actually urges him to pop the question. What do you think?? You can always change the plot a bit, it’s just an idea, hope you have a great week!!

-(cal me) rudolf or 🐢 anon (if it’s free)

Paper Rings

Oscar Piastri x Reader

SULI:Hii thank you so much for the request! Yes 🐢 anon is free— welcome to the family! I loved writing this, so sweet and ugh I just love this man— hope you enjoy! This ended up wayyyyy longer than what I imagined I would write (this is my fav gif of Oscar I had to use it)

Also this is not proofread so forgive any mistakes lmao

Warnings: talk of dangers of f1

Oscar and Y/N had been together since high school. Their story wasn’t one of wild romance or instant fireworks, but a slow-burning, steady kind of love that grew from shy smiles in crowded hallways and whispered secrets beneath the bleachers. They had been the kind of couple everyone expected to last forever — the golden pair who fit so perfectly it was like they’d been made for each other from the start. And for years, they had been inseparable.

Despite the many years and countless memories they shared, there was one thing everyone around them kept teasing Oscar about — when was he finally going to pop the question?

It started with their close friends and family. At the racing team’s gatherings, Oscar’s teammates couldn’t help but poke fun. Lando would smirk and nudge him during strategy talks, “Mate, been years. When’s the ring going on her finger?” Carlos, never one to miss a chance to tease, joked about how Oscar’s mum was already asking if he needed help picking out the perfect ring. Even Y/N’s best friends would text him with sly messages about the “big question” everyone was waiting for.

Oscar laughed along with it, but deep down, the teasing pressed on him in ways no one could see.

The fans were no different. Social media buzzed with excitement and speculation, creating a frenzy over the couple that had grown up before their eyes. Screenshots of their old photos surfaced alongside edits set to romantic songs, and forums debated which race weekend would finally see Oscar get down on one knee. The pressure wasn’t just from the people closest to him — it was everywhere, loud and relentless.

But what no one really understood was what was holding Oscar back.

It wasn’t a lack of love. Oscar loved Y/N with every fiber of his being. He’d dreamed of forever with her since they were teenagers, and his heart raced faster than any car on the track every time he thought about their future. But there was something else — a weight he carried quietly.

Since those early days, his life had been a constant race, both on and off the track. The world of Formula 1 was unforgiving, full of unpredictability and risks that could change everything in an instant. He wanted more than anything to be the man she deserved — stable, strong, able to give her a future without fear or doubt. But how do you promise forever when tomorrow is so uncertain? When every race could bring glory or heartbreak?

The truth was, Oscar was terrified of failing her. Of not being enough.

Late at night, he would lie awake, clutching the small ring box hidden beneath his pillow — polished and perfect, a silent promise waiting to be made. But every time he imagined getting down on one knee, doubt crept in, filling his chest with cold hesitation.

His mum, Nicole, saw through the cracks, even when he tried to hide them. On video calls, her voice was gentle but firm, “Oscar, darling, you’ve been dating Y/N since you were kids. Isn’t it time you made it official?” She teased and encouraged, reminding him how much they all loved Y/N and wanted to see them take the next step. Oscar would laugh nervously, promising he was thinking about it. But he wasn’t ready to say more.

Y/N, too, sensed the tension beneath his smiles. She wasn’t in a rush, never had been. Their love wasn’t about grand gestures or deadlines. It lived in quiet moments — Oscar’s hand slipping into hers during long waits at airports, her sketching his tired face after races, the way they’d curl up together on their couch, wrapped in blankets and the comfort of simply being with each other.

But she knew. She knew he was scared. Not of her, but of the weight of forever.

It was late — the kind of still night when the rest of the world felt like it had slowed down just for them. Oscar was completely exhausted, his body finally surrendering after a long day of training and travel. He’d collapsed onto the couch beside her, and before she could even say a word, he had rested his head gently on her chest, eyes closing as his breathing deepened into slow, even rhythms.

Y/N sat perfectly still, careful not to disturb him. She looked down at him with a tenderness that made her chest ache in the best way. His hair was soft and messy from the day, falling loosely over his forehead and around his ears, and she couldn’t resist the impulse to reach out.

Her fingers moved slowly, as if not wanting to break the spell, threading gently through the dark curls above his temple. The warmth of his skin beneath her palm made her heart flutter — quiet and steady, like the steady beat beneath it.

Oscar shifted just slightly, his breath hitching for a moment before he relaxed again. Encouraged by the calmness of the moment, Y/N let her hand trace a gentle path from his hair down to the curve of his cheek, brushing softly against the smooth skin there.

Almost immediately, Oscar nuzzled closer, pressing his face deeper into her palm and the warmth of her touch. It was such a small gesture, but it spoke volumes — a silent conversation of comfort and trust that had grown between them over the years.

She smiled softly, the kind of smile that didn’t need words, just the pure knowing that this moment — this quiet, unguarded closeness — was everything.

She took out her phone and started recording.

The soft, fading notes of Paper Rings drifted in the background, delicate and warm, wrapping around them like a gentle promise.

Y/N shifted slightly, careful not to wake him, and continued to stroke his hair, her heart full in a way she couldn’t quite explain.

There was no rush, no grand declaration needed right then. Just this — Oscar asleep in her arms, safe and at peace, and the world reduced to the simple rhythm of their shared breath.

Morning light filtered gently through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. The world outside was waking up slowly, but inside, time seemed to have paused just a little longer.

Y/N lay still, feeling the steady rise and fall of Oscar’s chest against her side. His head was still resting on her, the faint warmth of his skin seeping into hers. For a moment, she just let herself soak in the quiet — the kind of quiet that feels like home.

Her fingers were still tangled in his hair, now softer in the early light, and when he shifted just enough to nuzzle into her again, a sleepy smile tugged at her lips. He wasn’t fully awake yet — just caught in that beautiful space between dreams and reality.

Careful not to disturb him, Y/N reached for her phone, her thumb hovering over the screen as she scrolled through the overnight notifications. The video from last night had exploded in views — thousands upon thousands of hearts, comments filled with love and excitement, and ring emojis flooding the feed.

Her phone buzzed relentlessly, texts lighting up the screen. Friends teasing, fans gushing, and then — a message from Nicole, Oscar’s mum, flashing bright and urgent: “When’s my boy gonna put that ring on your finger?!”

Y/N laughed quietly to herself, the sound soft but filled with warmth. She brushed a stray lock of hair from Oscar’s forehead.

Oscar’s eyes fluttered open slowly, the morning light warm and soft against his face. For a moment, he didn’t move — just took in the weight of Y/N’s body beneath his head, the steady rhythm of her heartbeat grounding him in a way nothing else could.

His fingers twitched, still tangled lightly in her hair as he blinked up at the ceiling, feeling the peaceful calm of the moment wrap around him like a blanket.

Then, ever so gently, he shifted—nuzzling deeper into her, burying his face just a little more against her skin, as if trying to hold onto that feeling of safety and quiet a little longer.

A soft smile pulled at the corner of his lips as he whispered, barely louder than a breath, “Morning.”

He opened his eyes fully then and glanced down, catching sight of Y/N’s smile. His heart swelled — that little smile she wore, the way her eyes lit up even first thing in the morning, it made everything feel like home.

Oscar let his hand cup her cheek softly, thumb brushing over her skin in the gentlest of touches, before he spoke again, voice still thick with sleep, “I’m never waking up from this.”

The moment Oscar and Y/N’s little video went viral, it was like a switch flipped. Suddenly, no one—friends, family, even fans—could stop teasing him about the one thing everyone had been quietly (or not so quietly) waiting for: when was he finally going to propose?

It started small. At training sessions, his teammates would nudge him with raised eyebrows. Lando, always the cheeky one, smirked and said, “Mate, it’s been years. You planning on popping the question before you retire, or should we start a countdown clock?”

Oscar just laughed, brushing it off, but the grin never quite reached his eyes. Y/N caught it too—the way he’d glance at her sometimes when the teasing started, half-amused, half-worried.

At the paddock, journalists began picking up on the hints, asking the question slyly during interviews. “So, Oscar, fans are dying to know—when’s the big moment?” they’d press, flashing that knowing smile.

And then came the texts and calls from family. His mum, Nicole, was the worst. She didn’t hold back. “Honestly, Oscar, what are you waiting for? You have a beautiful girlfriend, you love her—do the right thing, darling.”

Oscar would groan every time. “Mum, I’m not ignoring you, I just want it to be perfect.”

“But you’ve been saying that for three years!” she shot back, totally unfazed.

Y/N watched it all from the sidelines, amused and affectionate. The whole world seemed to be in on this joke except Oscar himself.

One night, at a small gathering with their closest friends, the teasing hit peak levels.

“Come on, Oscar,” Hattie teased, eyes twinkling mischievously. “You’re not getting any younger, and neither are we. You planning on letting Y/N keep stealing your hoodies forever or are you gonna make it official?”

Lando chimed in, “Yeah, I’m starting to think you’re scared of the big question. What’s holding you back?”

Oscar rubbed the back of his neck, trying to laugh it off. “I’m just making sure it’s the right moment, alright?”

Y/N leaned over and whispered, “Or maybe you’re just nervous.”

That made the room burst into laughter, and Oscar’s cheeks flushed.

Despite the teasing, Y/N knew what was really going on. It wasn’t fear or doubt holding him back—it was the weight of the promise he wanted to make. The years they’d spent together, the ups and downs, the quiet moments and the big ones.

Still, every joke, every question, every nudge only made the anticipation grow, and somewhere deep inside, Y/N knew their perfect moment was coming—she just didn’t know when.

...

The house was quiet that afternoon, sunlight slanting through the curtains in golden strips. The buzz of the earlier crowd—friends coming and going, family lingering over coffee and conversation—had finally faded, leaving just Oscar and his mum in the kitchen.

He was standing by the sink, rolling a glass of water between his palms, while Nicole sat at the kitchen table, watching him with that look only a mother could give. Patient. Knowing. Unapologetically nosy.

“I’m surprised you stayed behind,” Oscar said, glancing at her. “Thought you’d be the first to head back to the hotel.”

Nicole shrugged, sipping from her cup. “Wanted to see you. Just you. Just my son.”

He gave her a small smile, one she didn’t miss was a little tight around the edges. She set her cup down.

“Oscar.”

“Hmm?”

“You’ve been quiet.”

He exhaled through his nose. “Just tired.”

She let that settle for a moment before asking, gently, “Is it about the proposal?”

Oscar didn’t answer right away. He didn’t have to—his silence said enough.

Nicole stood and crossed the kitchen, resting a hand lightly on his back. “Can we sit for a minute?”

They moved to the small couch in the sunroom, where the late afternoon light painted everything in a soft, fading warmth. Oscar leaned forward, elbows on his knees, glass still in his hands.

“I know everyone’s been teasing you,” she said carefully. “I’ve done it too.”

He chuckled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. You and literally everyone I know.”

Nicole tilted her head. “And I know you, sweetheart. When something means a lot to you, you overthink it.”

Oscar was quiet, his thumb moving over the rim of his glass.

“I want to do it right,” he said softly. “Y/N... she’s everything. We’ve been together since we were kids. She knows me better than anyone. She’s been patient through it all—through the races, the travel, the constant being away. I come home exhausted, sometimes barely there at all, and she never makes me feel guilty for it.”

Nicole listened, eyes soft, waiting.

He sighed, deeper this time. “And I think that’s part of what scares me.”

She tilted her head slightly.

“I’m always gone,” he continued, his voice low. “Race to race, country to country, time zones and airports and hotel rooms. And when I’m not away, I’m still not really... here. My head’s always somewhere else—on the next turn, the next performance, the next interview.”

His throat tightened. “It’s not fair to her. It hasn’t been for years. I’m in this career that asks for everything—my time, my focus, even my body. It’s dangerous, Mum. I know I don’t talk about it, but it is. One crash, one wrong move, and everything could change. Or end.”

Nicole reached for his hand, wrapping hers around his.

“She never complains,” he said, a little brokenly. “She just waits. Supports. Smiles and makes it easier. And I just keep taking and taking, and what if marrying her—what if making her my wife—means she gives up even more of herself?”

Nicole’s heart ached at the way he said it, like he was carrying guilt for simply being loved too well.

“Oscar,” she said gently, “you don’t protect someone by keeping them at arm’s length.”

He looked at her, eyes glinting with emotion.

“She already chose you,” Nicole continued. “Every day. Every race. Every long-distance call, every night she watched you on a screen instead of next to her. That’s not changing if she’s your girlfriend or your wife. She knows what she signed up for—and she signed up for you.”

“But what if something happens?”

“Then she’ll grieve with your name on her heart,” Nicole said, voice strong despite the crack in it. “Just like you would for her. That’s what love is. Not running from the risk—choosing each other anyway.”

Oscar swallowed hard.

“You don’t have to be perfect,” she added, “or wait for the perfect moment. You just have to be honest. And if what’s holding you back is fear—then let her be the one to hold you through it. Like she always has.”

Silence stretched for a beat.

And then Oscar leaned back on the couch, eyes burning, head gently tilted toward his mum’s shoulder.

“I’m just scared.”

���I know,” she whispered, resting her cheek against his hair. “That means you care.”

...

Oscar hadn’t told anyone about the ring.

Not at first. Not even when he bought it two years ago, alone in Monaco during a break between back-to-back races, standing in a quiet little boutique with too much white and too many mirrors. He remembered the way the glass counter reflected the tiny gold band, delicate and simple, with a solitaire diamond — exactly how you would’ve wanted it. He remembered the way his thumb had hovered just slightly before he nodded at the jeweler, heart racing harder than it ever did in a car going 300km/h.

He hadn’t told anyone because the moment had been his. Just his.

Because even though the teasing had started back then — from his mum, from his friends, from half the bloody paddock — something in him wasn’t ready yet. Not because of you. Never because of you.

Because of his job. His life. The travel, the danger, the days he spent exhausted and strung out from back-to-back flights. Because being a racing driver meant sometimes being absent, and you had never asked for anything more than his presence, even when he could barely give you that.

And part of him — some quiet, scared part of him — had convinced himself that maybe you deserved better than a boy who left more often than he came home.

So the ring stayed in a drawer. Wrapped in its velvet box, tucked away in a zippered pouch behind spare cables and old credentials. He’d check on it sometimes — carefully, reverently — opening the lid and staring at the soft glint in the light. Sometimes, after particularly long races or lonely nights, he’d whisper things to it.

“She’s still it. Still everything.”

But he never moved.

Not until a month ago.

It started with that video — the one you posted without thinking. Oscar dead asleep, face smooshed against your chest, hand curled around your wrist like he’d found the only thing worth holding in the world.

He’d woken up to chaos.

Hundreds of thousands of likes. Comments. Reposts. TikToks dissecting the lighting. Tweets demanding a proposal. Memes of him asleep with “husband material” scrawled over his forehead.

You were so sweet about it, always scrolling past quickly when you were scrolling on your phone together about him proposing, to not give him any pressure.

And that was what made it impossible to wait anymore.

So, for the first time in two years, he pulled the ring out — hands slightly trembling, breath caught in his throat.

And then he did something he never thought he’d do.

He showed your best friend.

You weren’t home — you were out running errands, and he’d texted her on a whim, asking if she could stop by, not giving any context. She arrived with suspicious eyes and a grin, teasing him instantly.

“She’s not pregnant, is she?”

“What—no! Jesus—just come in.”

She barely had time to take her shoes off before he was pulling the little velvet box from behind the fruit bowl, practically hiding it in his palm like it was some illicit secret.

And when he opened it —

She gasped.

Hand to her mouth, eyes already shining.

“Oh my god.”

Oscar’s jaw tensed, nerves kicking in hard and fast. “Do you think she’ll like it?”

“She’s going to sob,” she whispered, voice thick. “Are you kidding me? You’ve had this for how long?”

“A while.”

Then, softer: “I just didn’t know if I deserved her yet.”

That was all it took.

Suddenly, your best friend was crying. Not loud, but that quiet, overwhelmed kind — blinking fast and biting back a full sob. Oscar froze, unsure.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“No,” she said quickly, stepping forward and pulling him into a hug. “No. You idiot. She’s going to marry you in ten seconds if you ask.”

He held onto her, feeling something heavy shake loose in his chest.

“She waited for you,” she murmured into his shoulder. “She always would have.”

Oscar didn’t cry. Not then. But something welled in his throat as he looked down at the little box in his hand — the one that had sat in the dark for too long.

Now it was time to let it see light.

He was ready. Finally.

To ask.

To hope.

To begin.

...

Oscar sat on the couch with his laptop open, not racing footage or telemetry data for once, but a blank Notes page titled in all caps:

THE PLAN.

It felt so serious typed out like that. He almost laughed — almost. But his heart was beating a bit too fast for that.

Because it was real now. He was going to ask you to marry him.

And if there was one thing he wasn’t going to do, it was wing it.

He rubbed at his jaw, glanced at the velvet box beside him, and typed the first bullet.

1. Location.

He wanted it to be somewhere meaningful. Not over-the-top. Not something grand or wildly public. It had to feel like you. Like the two of you, in your quiet little world where love lived in the silences and shared glances.

Your high school back garden where you had your first kiss? No, too far.

The rooftop where you watched fireworks two years ago on New Year’s Eve? Maybe.

But then he paused. Thought harder.

He ended up circling back to the simplest answer.

Home.

Your shared apartment. The one filled with plants you insisted weren’t dying (even when they definitely were), the kitchen that still had “his and hers” mugs from high school, the faint dent in the hallway wall from when he crashed into it during a Mario Kart race.

Home, where he had found the softest version of himself because you’d made space for it.

He typed:

→ Living room. Candles. Dim lighting. Quiet. Just us.

2. Time.

She’s always busiest on Thursdays. I’ll do it on a Sunday evening, when she’s sleepy and soft and doesn’t expect anything. Maybe after a movie, or her favourite dinner.

His fingers hesitated before typing:

→ Sunday. 8PM. Movie first — something she loves. Then dinner. Then quiet.

3. Distraction plan.

He needed help setting up. Someone to make sure the candles weren’t setting off the smoke alarm, that the lights were dimmed, the playlist queued.

He’d already talked to your best friend. After the ring reveal, she’d sworn a blood oath of secrecy and offered to help with anything. He sent her a text while typing the next point:

→ Best friend will take her out earlier in the day. Mani-pedi + coffee excuse. Gives me time to set up.

4. Ring placement.

Not in his pocket. Too risky. He had a history of losing things in couch cushions.

He considered the idea of hiding it in something — a dessert, a coffee cup — but then physically recoiled.

No.

You’d murder him if he accidentally made you swallow the engagement ring. Rightfully.

Instead, he decided:

→ Box in drawer by the record player. I’ll go get it when it’s time.

5. Speech.

He hadn’t written it yet. But he knew the beats.

Talk about the first time he saw her — not the version everyone knew, not the cutesy “we were high school sweethearts” part — but the real moment.

The time she stayed after his karting practice with a juice box in her hand and said, “You looked miserable. Thought you might need sugar.”

The moment he knew: this girl was going to wreck him.

How she’d been the only thing constant, solid, and warm through years of jetlag, failure, podiums, and pressure.

How scared he’d been to ask — not because of her, but because of everything he wasn’t sure he could promise.

And how now… he was finally ready.

→ Just speak from the heart. Don’t fumble. Unless she laughs — then laugh too.

6. Playlist.

Because he knew her. Because he loved her.

Because if he didn’t pick the right songs, she’d tease him forever.

He opened Spotify and started a new list: “for us.”

First on the queue? “Paper Rings (Acoustic),” because she still hadn’t realized how much that one post meant to him.

Then a few of the songs they’d fallen asleep to on long flights. A bit of Hozier. A soft Japanese track she’d taught him how to pronounce.

→ “for us” playlist. Final check. No ads. No shuffle. Don’t mess this up.

7. Contingency plan.

Because Oscar Piastri was nothing if not prepared.

What if she cried too hard to answer?

What if he dropped the ring?

What if she thought it was a prank?

He typed quickly:

→ Hug her. Don’t rush. Let her answer on her own time. Don’t panic.

And then, finally:

8. The after.

He wasn’t going to post right away. He wanted it just for them — just for one night. Maybe they’d tell your best friend first. His mum next. Then the rest could come.

But he did have a folder of photos ready. All of them candid. All of them glowing. Like the one where she kissed his cheek while he was still brushing his teeth. Or the blurry one of her asleep on his chest with the sunlight painting her face gold.

→ Just us, first. Always.

Oscar leaned back.

Looked at the list.

And exhaled.

He was going to ask you to be his forever.

And for the first time in years, there wasn’t a single doubt in his heart.

But there had always been one thing lingering at the edge of it all — one thing he couldn’t skip, couldn’t avoid.

Asking your dad.

You and Oscar had been together since you were sixteen — practically grew up alongside each other. Your parents had seen every version of him: the awkward teenage boy with racing posters in his backpack, the one who nervously shook your dad’s hand at the front door in a too-big suit on your Year 12 formal night. The kid who once broke your mum’s favourite vase and nearly passed out apologizing.

They’d watched him grow.

Which somehow made this even more terrifying.

So when he texted your dad and asked if they could get coffee — “just the two of us, if that’s alright?” — Oscar already felt his palms getting clammy. Your dad replied almost instantly: “Of course. I’ve been waiting.”

That didn’t help.

The café was quiet, tucked into a leafy corner of your neighbourhood. A place your dad liked — Oscar knew because he’d driven past it on slow Sunday mornings with you in the passenger seat, talking about nothing.

He got there early. Sat at a corner table and fiddled with the coffee cup sleeve until it nearly tore.

And then your dad walked in, wearing the same calm, unreadable expression he always had. Friendly, but firm. Warm, but never too easy to crack. The kind of man who didn’t say much unless it meant something. Just like you.

“Hey, Oscar,” he said with a nod, sitting down across from him.

“Hi, sir,” Oscar replied, voice a little tight.

Your dad looked at him for a long second, then smiled, just a little. “Relax. You’re not here for a job interview.”

Oscar laughed — nervously — but still.

They chatted first. About racing. About travel. About the state of his car lately and how your dad had been watching from the sidelines and still yelling at the screen when strategy made no sense. It was easy. Familiar.

Until the conversation lulled.

And Oscar knew.

This was it.

He sat up a little straighter, clearing his throat.

“I… I wanted to ask you something,” he started, rubbing his palms against his jeans beneath the table. “Something important.”

Your dad leaned back slightly. Watching. Listening.

“I’ve loved Y/n since we were kids. And I know that sounds too young to be sure, but I’ve known every version of her — every birthday, every laugh, every bad day where she still managed to smile — and I’ve never once doubted her. Not once.”

He swallowed.

“And I know this job… it’s a lot. It takes me away. It’s dangerous. It’s unpredictable. But she’s never made me feel like it was too much. She’s stayed. She’s supported me. She’s been my home through all of it.”

Oscar paused. His voice softened.

“And I want to marry her. If… if you’re okay with that.”

The words hung in the air. He could hear the tiny café speaker humming something low and jazzy in the background. He hated how loud his heartbeat sounded in his own ears.

Your dad didn’t speak right away.

He looked down at his coffee. Then back at Oscar.

Then he nodded.

And said, “I’d be honoured to call you my son.”

Oscar blinked. “Really?”

“I’ve watched you love her for years,” he said, his voice steady but warm. “And I’ve never worried. Not once. That means something.”

And for the first time since Oscar sat down, he breathed — really breathed.

Your dad smiled and added, “Now, if you hurt her, I will kill you.”

Oscar’s laugh cracked through the nerves, shaky and full of affection. “That’s… fair.”

They clinked their coffee cups like glasses. Two men who had never needed many words — only trust. And now, they had it.

Later that night, Oscar drove home with both hands on the wheel and that velvet box sitting in the glove compartment like it had been waiting too.

He was ready now.

Really ready.

And you had no idea what was coming.

Say the word, bestie, and I’ll write your best friend seeing the ring again, and the moment Oscar stands in the living room, hand shaking, heart thundering, ready to ask.

...

The sun poured in soft and gold through the windows, spilling across your sheets like something out of a dream. You were still curled beneath the duvet, face warm against your pillow, when a knock came at your bedroom door — three soft taps and then a cheeky voice you knew too well.

“Get up, princess. We’ve got a date with some hair masks and overpriced lattes.”

You groaned, smiling into the pillow. “Do I have to?”

Your best friend poked her head in, already dressed in a flowy linen dress, sunnies on her head, and a grin that looked suspiciously like she was up to something.

“Yes, you have to,” she said. “I booked us the works — nails, hair, brows. I’m talking pampered-to-the-heavens kind of day.”

You blinked sleepily, pushing your hair out of your face. “Why?”

“Because,” she said, sauntering in and yanking your blanket off dramatically, “you’ve been an exhausted little marshmallow lately, and I need my best girl back. This is long overdue.”

You laughed, kicking your legs in protest before finally sitting up, stretching your arms over your head. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I’m lucky you haven’t figured out this is all an elaborate ploy to get you glowing for a very specific reason.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” She smiled too hard and practically dragged you into the bathroom.

The salon smelled like citrus and jasmine and felt like stepping into heaven. Everything was light and airy and crisp — soft music playing, staff already greeting you with cucumber water and complimenting your skin.

Your best friend leaned into the receptionist’s desk and said, “She’s the bride.”

You blinked. “The what?”

“I said ‘divine.’ She’s divine,” she corrected smoothly, elbowing you with a wink.

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re acting so weird today.”

“I’m acting fabulous, babe. Relax and let me spoil you.”

And you did. The two of you sat side by side, heads tipped back over sinks as warm water ran through your hair and a stylist massaged your scalp with something that smelled like vanilla and orange blossoms. Your eyes fluttered shut. You let yourself drift.

Your best friend took secret photos of you with a soft smile on her face, heart clenching just a little because you have no idea. You have no idea that the love of your life has been texting her every twenty minutes asking “is she happy? is she relaxing? does she suspect anything?”

You were glowing.

After your nails were done (a pale blush pink she subtly nudged you into choosing), and your hair was blown out in soft waves, you sat in front of the mirror, blinking at your reflection.

“God,” you said, softly. “I feel like… I don’t know. Like I’m floating.”

Your best friend came up behind you, resting her hands on your shoulders.

“You look like magic.”

You turned to look at her, eyes soft. “Thanks for today.”

She swallowed, heart skipping. “You deserve the world.”

And when you leaned in to hug her, warm and sleepy and full of love, she had to blink away tears.

Because you still had no idea.

And Oscar Piastri was about to give you everything.

...

Oscar had been pacing.

Not nervously — not exactly. Just that kind of buzzed, excited pacing that meant his heart wouldn’t quite stay calm. His socks were half sliding on the wooden floors as he moved around the flat, adjusting and readjusting the little details.

The living room looked like a scene out of a love song.

Candles — the expensive kind he knew you liked, the ones that smelled like fig and honey — were flickering gently across every surface. Your favorite flowers — not red roses, but the weird little white ones you always called “the ugly pretty ones” — were everywhere, tucked into vases and glasses and little jars like a secret garden had exploded in their apartment. The playlist had been curated to within an inch of its life, starting with the soft stuff you always hummed to in the car and slowly building toward the songs that felt like him and you — lazy days and road trips and the night you moved in together.

In the middle of the drawer beneath the record player. Waiting for the right time.

He hadn’t even opened it today — he didn’t need to. He knew exactly what it looked like. Simple, clean. The band was warm gold, nothing flashy, but the diamond was clear and bright. The kind of ring that didn’t try too hard. The kind that felt like you.

It sat there quietly, like it knew its moment was coming.

Oscar stepped back, hands on his hips, staring at the table like it might suddenly ask for his blessing.

“You ready, mate?” he muttered to himself, voice soft and full of something breathless.

Then came the knock on the door.

His breath caught.

He checked the time. Perfect. You were early.

He made it halfway down the hall before stopping, raking a hand through his hair. He turned around, sprinted back, and grabbed the tiny bouquet of baby’s breath he’d forgotten to put by the door — the one he wanted to give you the moment you walked in, for no reason at all. Just because.

Another knock. This one softer. Familiar.

His heart was pounding.

He opened the door.

And there you were.

Hair done, face glowing, a soft pink gloss on your lips and that look in your eyes — the one that always landed right in his chest. Your tote bag hung off one shoulder. You still had the little paper wristband from the salon tucked on your wrist like you forgot it was there. You were a little windblown from the walk up the stairs.

He couldn’t breathe.

You blinked at him. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he said, voice cracking a little.

Your eyes narrowed. “Why are you being weird?”

“I’m not—” He cleared his throat. “I just missed you.”

You softened. “It’s only been a few hours.”

He stepped aside, holding out the little bouquet.

“For you.”

You blinked, smiling at the crinkled paper wrapping. “What’s this for?”

“Nothing. You just look really beautiful.”

You raised a brow. “Oscar Piastri, are you trying to distract me?”

He laughed, nervous and giddy and warm all over. “A little bit.”

You leaned in to kiss his cheek — something so casual and familiar it made his chest ache — and stepped inside.

You didn’t notice the candles at first.

Didn’t notice the playlist, or the flowers.

But he watched as it all slowly hit you.

Your steps slowed. Your eyes flicked around. Your mouth opened slightly.

“…What is this?”

He closed the door behind you and didn’t answer yet. He gave you time to take it in — to see the apartment the way he saw you. Soft and glowing and full of meaning.

He stepped up beside you, heart wild in his chest.

Your fingers tightened around the bouquet.

“Oscar?” you said again, barely above a whisper.

The air felt too heavy. Like your lungs had forgotten how to stretch all the way. Like the walls had inched closer without warning.

He looked at you gently, but you couldn’t hold his gaze for more than a second. Your eyes flitted around the room — the golden light, the candles, the record spinning something soft and slow in the corner, the colors that didn’t belong to an ordinary night.

You took one step inside, then stopped. The silence stretched too far.

“Oscar,” you said again, quieter this time, “what is this?”

You weren’t angry. You weren’t even crying yet. You were just still. Too still. Like your body was trying not to feel it.

Oscar’s voice came soft. “It’s okay.”

You shook your head, almost imperceptibly. “I wasn’t— I didn’t know—”

He stepped closer, slowly, carefully, like he didn’t want to startle you. His hand reached for yours, fingers warm and familiar. “Hey. You’re okay. I promise. Just breathe, sweetheart.”

You tried. You really did. But your chest barely moved.

You blinked again, fast. “Why does it feel like this?”

“Like what?”

“Like something’s… about to change.”

His smile was soft, almost sad. “Because it is.”

You finally looked at him. Really looked. Your eyes were wide, your lips slightly parted, your hands shaking around the stems of the flowers.

He laughed quietly, brushing his thumb over the back of your hand. “God, you’re so quiet right now. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You didn’t answer. Just stared.

He took a breath.

And then, still holding your hand, he began.

“There’s a ring in the drawer — wrapped up, hidden, waiting for the perfect day. But then last weekyou walked through the door in that new green dress and I saw you, so happy, and something inside me just said, Why are you waiting?”

You made a small sound, like a breath that didn’t land all the way.

He kept going.

“I’ve watched you walk into so many rooms, and every single time, I’ve fallen in love with you all over again. And I think—” his voice caught a little, “—I think part of me’s been falling since the first time you looked at me like I wasn’t something to be afraid of.”

Your other hand had risen to your chest now, fingers pressed lightly against your collarbone.

Oscar stepped closer, his words steady even as his eyes grew glassy.

“You always say you’re too much. Too sharp, too complicated, too careful. But do you want to know what I see?”

You nodded, barely.

“I see a girl who laughs with her whole chest when she forgets to be scared. Who stays up late sending pictures of weird clouds. Who holds my hand like it’s the only thing keeping her tethered and still pretends she’s not the softest person in the room.”

A quiet laugh escaped you — wet, stunned — and you shook your head slightly, as if trying to keep yourself upright.

Oscar held your hand a little tighter, his thumb tracing small circles over your skin.

He exhaled slowly, voice a little steadier now. “You know, my job… it’s not easy. It’s demanding in ways I can’t always explain — the travel, the pressure, the constant chase for perfection. Some days I feel like I’m barely holding myself together, and other days I blink and another month’s passed.”

He paused, his voice going quiet again.

“But even in all of that — even when I’m jet-lagged or exhausted or reading strategy notes at 2 a.m. — I still find myself thinking about you. Wondering if you slept okay. If you ate. If something made you laugh.”

You looked down, your breath catching.

“I know I’m not always going to be around in the way you deserve. And I hate that. But I promise you… I’ll try. I’ll try with everything I have to be present, to be there in the moments that matter. I’ll call. I’ll write. I’ll show up — even if it’s in the smallest ways. Because loving you isn't something I want to fit in between races. It's something I want to build everything else around.”

He smiled, soft and sure.

“You’re not a break from my world. You are my world.”

He took a breath.

And that’s when he broke.

Not panicked. Not messy. But decisive.

Like he’d just made a choice in real time.

He turned.

Walked straight down the hallway.

Your heart tripped into your throat. “Oscar—wait, where are you going? What are you—”

But your voice died as soon as you saw it.

The little velvet box in his hand.

He returned slowly, chest rising and falling like he’d been holding this moment in for too long — too many days, too many almosts.

And when he met your eyes again, everything inside you lit up and collapsed at the same time.

“No,” you breathed. “No, you’re not—you’re not doing this—”

“I am,” he said, voice soft but steady. “I really am.”

Your hands were trembling now, bouquet forgotten and held too loosely, fingers clenched and released over and over again like your body was trying to keep pace with your heart.

“But—but you said not yet,” you whispered.

He looked down at the box in his hands. Then back up at you.

He opened it.

And your knees almost buckled.

The ring caught the candlelight in a quiet shimmer — not flashy, not huge, but perfect. Intimate. Him.

You couldn’t move.

You couldn’t breathe.

“I don’t want to wait anymore,” Oscar said, eyes never leaving yours. “I’ve been holding onto this ring for three years. Always thinking there’d be a better time, a better way. But nothing feels more right than right now. You, standing here, losing your mind because I lit a candle and played our song.”

He laughed, but it was breathless. Full of adrenaline. Full of you.

“I love you,” he said. “I love you so much it hurts. And I want to spend the rest of my life proving it to you.”

You blinked rapidly, tears clinging to your lashes, one already streaking down your cheek.

“Oscar,” you whispered, but it came out like a plea.

He stepped forward. Got down on one knee.

Your breath caught, completely and entirely gone.

“Will you marry me?”

There were no theatrics.

No grand speeches.

Just him — knees to the floor, hands shaking, heart in his throat, ring in a box that had been waiting far too long.

You didn’t even realize you were crying until your hands covered your mouth and a little laugh bubbled out through the shock.

He smiled up at you — really smiled — like every part of him was in this.

“Yes,” you choked out. “Oh my god, yes.”

The moment hit like a wave.

You dropped to your knees in front of him, hands on his face, kissing him before he could even slide the ring onto your finger. You were crying and laughing and holding onto him like gravity stopped working.

“I thought I was going to pass out,” you whispered against his mouth, shaking.

He laughed into the kiss, forehead resting against yours. “Same.”

And when he finally did slide the ring on — slow, reverent, like it meant everything (because it did) — your hand trembled in his.

“Perfect,” he murmured, kissing your knuckles. “Finally.”

The music kept playing in the background.

But the room had never been so quiet.

Because nothing needed to be said.

Not anymore.

...

Liked by hattiepiastri, lando, f1, mclaren and 7.7M others.

oscarpiastri: perfect.

lando: HOLY SHIT CONGRATS

danielricciardoso: THIS is what all those mysterious “plans” were?? crying, shaking, throwing champagne 🥂

yourbestfriend: IM SORRY YOU DIDN’T EVEN TELL ME FIRST?? I FIND OUT WITH THE REST OF THE WORLD?? 😭😭😭 I HATE YOU (I LOVE YOU CONGRATS)

mclaren: Our team’s real winning moment 🧡

oscarpiastriupdates: I KNEW IT I KNEW IT I KNEW IT 😭 the candles, the playlist, the strawberries... WE CLOCKED IT MONTHS AGO

username1: not him captioning it like that and making me cry on a THURSDAY

username2: this is why I can’t have nice things. men like him are taken.

username3: the softest launch. the deadliest impact. RIP me.

username4: no press release, no video, just “perfect” and a RING??? be serious oscar we’re fragile

username5: tell me she said yes and then immediately started crying and making it his problem

username6: the “perfect” wasn’t about the photo. it was about her 😭😭😭

Taglist, comment to be added; @angstynasty @cryinghotmess @mits-vi @dramaticpiratellamas @mimisweetz @mrssaturday @chiara8104 @moonlight-girls-posts @linnygirl09 @rue-t @danielricroll @the-vex-archives @trees-are-books @blodwyn4u @yoruse @ccrickett-t @l-a-u-r-aaa @multifans-things @woderfulkawaii @azrinableuet @mayax2o07 @everyday-is-sunday365 @devilacot @faithxyu

[w0nderland42]

this post is closing in on 10k and it’s really quite enlightening reading through the notes.

the most frequent reactions are from people from Not America agreeing that the cultural force of american pride has detracted in some tangible way from their knowledge or recognition of their own history. there’s so many links and references in the notes now, for so many different places. i had a scroll through some of them, that i could find versions of in english. the world has such a rich queer history, and i am inspired by all of the people saying they’re going to go and research more of their own histories. there have been resources shared from all six permanently inhabited continents (none from antartica, yet…), including a lot (relative to the usual zero) from the regions most frequently glossed over in our global queer histories; africa, the middle east, southeast asia, the pacific, and south america. every single person who’s shared a queer historical figure’s name, or a book or other source, or a historical event from their country or culture is doing an important thing by helping to dismantle the US pride hegemony.

the next most frequent reactions are from americans pissing on the poor, and claiming that either it’s not their fault individually because [nebulous reason missing the point] and/or that i’m racist (someone even said fascist lmao?) because the two people i mentioned were Black and latin american… it’s not the fault of those two women nor myself that americans have chosen their faces and names to put at the front of their imperialist pride. cultural imperialism doesn’t have to LOOK racist! you can be unintentionally culturally imperialist and look woke! a lot of the people who do this are queer and liberal or even leftist. the problem is forcing american queer history on the rest of us. shoutout to the Black and latine people in the notes who’ve rightfully pointed out that that’s a bullshit rebuttal. I’ve also noted the autocorrect typo on Marsha’s name, and fixed it, thanks for the heads up.

sort of the point of cultural imperialism is that the people doing it don’t notice it on an individual level. of course you don’t feel like you’re responsible! of course you struggle to see it when the rest of us point it out! that’s by design! if the rest of the world is saying something is a real experience that they’ve had, and you say “well i don’t see it / i’m not responsible for it,” that is blatant denial of a very real issue.

finally, for the love of god, stop using they/them for me, a trans woman who exclusively uses she/her. my pronouns are front and centre on my blog! funny how the people calling me racist and transmisogynistic for Using Examples are also frequently degendering me in the process, huh?

anyway, this vent was never intended to go viral, i posted it on a quiet afternoon after a conversation with a friend about our queer history here. i’m glad it has, though, because glossing over the americans swinging and missing, the breadth of history and knowledge being shared in the notes is a wonderful thing.

i get that americans love their cultural imperialism, but it really does piss me off that june is “international” pride month just because something happened in the united states.

in aotearoa, june isn’t our pride, it’s theirs. marsha p johnson and sylvia rivera are their historical figures, not ours. the phrase that “you owe your rights to Black trans women” is true there, but here we owe our rights to (mostly) Māori historical figures. i have the freedoms i do because of the legacy of an entirely different set of people operating in an entirely different context at entirely different times.

But because of american cultural imperialism, most queer people in Aotearoa don’t even know our own queer history. Carmen Rupe, Ngahuia Te Awekotuku, the Dorian Society, Gillian Laundon, Georgina Beyer, and the Wolfenden Association are some of our queer history. We should know their names! we should know what they did for us! but because of the power of the american imperial machine, we don’t.

our national pride month should be july, the month that the Homosexual Law Reform Act passed in 1989. our two largest cities hold their pride festivals in february and march, respectively. american queer history has very little (or nothing, depending on who you ask) to do with our queer history. anecdotally, from my own queries, queer youth in aotearoa know more about american queer history than our own.

anyway, happy pride, americans. i’m truly sorry that most of you don’t see the negative impact your nation’s culture has on the rest of the world. and to the rest of the world reading this, try searching for your own country and culture’s queer history, don’t accept the american narratives as your own. we deserve our own histories divorced from the cultural hegemony of the USA.

[somemismatchedsocks]

DO YOU HATE PAYING MONEY TO WATCH SONIC???? I GOTCHU BRO!

I just spent the last week on my crusty (but trusty) $50 gently used Chromebook and a USB that dates like 2010 to make a Google drive of all the Sonic Cinematic Universe Movies AND the Knuckles Show !!!!

Enjoy!! Captions are pending, they might start going up maybe by tomorrow morning. They are auto generated, so please excuse the mistakes. I don't really have the time to manually go through it all. (I mean if someone actually ends up writing a transcript, I will take it-) Also, this is the highest quality I could manage without setting my chromebook on fire because I still need it for work and stuff lol

Anyways, hope this helps someone out there (me) who likes watching the same thing over and over again (me) and is really into Sonic (me) and don't want to pay (me).

don’t gatekeep the fun, share with your friends and family!!! 💙💙💙💙💙

EDIT: i'm looking for someone to proofread the captions once they're finished. The ones rn are auto generated for convenience but i'm typing them up by hand rn. Also, If anyone actually is up for writing the captions, feel free to! I could use the help. But basically for proof-readers, i'll send you the script. It looks something like this:

and you just have to watch the movie and side by side compare.

Thanks!!!!!!

[letsdosciencetoit]

WIP Wednesday - 5 + 1 BuckTommy - Part 2

Five times the 118 finds out that Tommy is married, and 1 time they find out Buck is, too.

Part 1

2. Maddie

Post partum after baby Robert has been both easier and more challenging than before. 

It’s easier now because covid is a distant memory, there’s no city wide black out, they have a house, and they have a well-established network of family and friends who might as well be family stopping by and helping out.  She knows what she’s doing, and what to expect to an extent, too.

It’s harder, too, though.  When Robert cries, she can’t drop everything to help him, because she has Jee to consider, too.  Jee is 4, and craves her independence, but also needs help and is prone to meltdowns that seem to be without provocation.

As hard as it was on Chimney, Buck leaving the 118 has been a godsend to her.  He’s on a different shift than Chimney now, so he’s able to come by when Chimney is working and help her with Robert and Jee. 

Buck is more than happy to take baby Robert off her hand so she can spend some one-on-one time with Jee.  He’s happy to help get Robert down to sleep so that he and Jee can bake cookies in the kitchen.  Buck always seems so happy and full of energy when he comes to visit, but when the kids don’t occupy him, he’s more quite than she’s used to. 

She used to be able to read Buck better than she can now. Something shifted when she implied he had feelings for Eddie. She’s aware she maybe overstepped, but before she could consider apologizing she’d lost her voice, then Bobby died, and then Robert was born, and she just hasn’t been able to check in the way she wanted to.

Buck has Robert and Jee at the park while Chimney is playing basketball with the other first responders. Maddie takes the opportunity to have a shower, unload the dishwasher, and then puts her feet up to catch up on a little sleep. 

She wakes an hour later to Jee climbing into bed with her.  She opens her arms and pulls Jee to her.  “Where are Robert and Uncle Buck?” she asks, her voice a little gravely.

“Unky Buck is making sure Bobert goes for a nap,” Jee offers, and Maddie knows she’s going to be so sad when Jee finally starts saying their names properly.

“Do you want to have a nap with me, Jee?” Maddie asks, brushing Jee’s hair out of her face. 

“No mommy. I want to watch Bluey,” Jee declares, like Maddie was crazy for thinking otherwise.

Maddie gives her daughter another squeeze, and moves to push herself up off the bed.  “Okay sweetheart.  Lets get you a snack, and we’ll get Bluey on the TV for you.”

When they come out of the room, Buck is backing out of Robert’s room, pulling the door shut with a quiet click of the latch.  He grins softly at Maddie, and she has no doubt that Buck loves her kids as if they were his own.  

“Out like a light,” Buck offers.  “He was absolutely in love with watching the leaves on the trees.   The fresh air and stimulation did him some good.”

 “Jee looks like she had a good time, too.” Maddie smiles back.  “Thanks for this. Do you want to stick around until Chimney’s back? He’s going to pick up Thai for dinner.  I can ask him to grab something for you too.”

Buck gives her a rueful smile and a small shake of his head. “No, thanks Maddie. I’ve got to grab some groceries.  I’m planning on cooking dinner at home tonight.  Tell Chimney I say hi, though.”

***9-1-1***

Chimney gets home about 45 minutes after Buck has left.  He’s practically vibrating as he walks through the door, and Maddie has come to realize this means he’s learned something he doesn’t want to know and he needs to share the burden.  She keeps quiet, knowing he’s going to spill as soon as he gets his bag put away.

“Tommy’s married!” he blurts as he comes back into the kitchen.  Jee is thankfully distracted and painting.  She periodically still asks about “Unky Tommy,” and Maddie doesn’t want to have to explain to her again why they don’t see him any more.

“I’m sorry,”  Maddie responds. “Tommy’s married?  To who?”

Chimney shook his head.  “I was a little blindsided, I didn’t think to ask.  All I know is they got married a month ago, and he looks so disgustingly in love.  Do we need to tell Buck?  We can’t tell Buck, can we?  We just got our fridge space back.”

Maddie pauses, and thinks it over for a second. “Buck finally seems to be in a good space with his new station.  I don’t think we need to mention anything to him.  It’s not like the two of them really cross paths these days.”

Chimney deflates. “I want to be happy for Tommy. He seems really happy.  I just wish it wasn’t at Buck’s expense.” 

Part 3 Part 4

[hyruling]

omggggggg 58 + 60 for the intimacy prompts mwah mwah mwah 🥰🥰🥰

60. sitting in their lap

—

“Dude. I know you heard me call seat check.”

Chim shrugs, tucked into Buck’s spot between Eddie and Maddie on the couch, smugly eating the popcorn that Buck and Eddie had been sharing before he got up to pee. “I heard no such thing.”

“You’re blocking the TV,” Ravi complains, but Buck ignores him. 

“Come on, you all heard me. I was only gone for like, three minutes.”

“Wife privilege trumps seat check rules,” Chim argues, tossing popcorn in his mouth with a shit eating grin. He wraps his free arm around Maddie, who’s focused on the movie and studiously ignoring them both. 

“That’s not a thing—”

“It is when it’s our first night out of the house since the baby was born,” Chim argues. “Or I could use the captain card if you prefer.”

“Abuse of power,” Ravi mutters, and Buck points to him excitedly. 

“Yes, exactly, thank you Ravi!”

“I think you should use it though,” Ravi continues to Chim, and Buck gapes while Chim does a stupid fist pump. “We’re missing the climax of the movie dude. Just sit on the floor.”

“Easy for you to say from your high horse in the comfy armchair. The floor is hard on my leg,” Buck says. It’s only half true, but he’ll use whatever excuse he can to win one over on his brother in law. 

“You sit on the floor all the time,” Hen interjects from her spot on the loveseat, curled up cozily with Karen, also ignoring them. 

“Irrelevant,” Buck says with a dismissive gesture. “The point is, I called seat check, and what kind of society are we if we can’t even respect the sanctity of—”

And Eddie, who until now had been silently observing with an amused grin, rolls his eyes and sighs, “Dios, come here.”

He wraps a big hand around Buck’s wrist and tugs until he has nowhere to go but Eddie’s lap. Buck falls limply down, trying not to crush him at the last second by throwing an arm across the back of the couch. Eddie situates him across his legs, his back against the armrest next to Eddie, and if he weren’t struck so dumb by the whole thing he would put his feet in Chim’s face just to be annoying. 

“Happy now?” Eddie mutters in his ear.

“Uh,” Buck says intelligently. 

Eddie’s hand settles on his knee, the other resting behind Buck’s back along the armrest. Everyone’s eyes are on them when Buck looks up, but Eddie’s are on the screen. His cheeks are a little pink, but otherwise he appears normal. 

“Wow,” Chim says after a minute. “An instant Buck-Off button.”

“Shhh,” Eddie hushes him before Buck has a chance. “Some of us are watching the movie.”

Chim shakes his head with a short laugh and finally turns his attention back to the screen, and the rest of the room follows suit.

Buck is, ostensibly, also watching the movie, but he has no idea what’s happening. Gun to his head he couldn’t name a single actor in it, despite having watched the last hour and a half before Eddie rewired his synapses. All he can focus on is Eddie, the feel of his chest rising and falling against his arm, his thumb rubbing unconscious little circles against Buck’s elbow, the heavy weight of his hand on his knee.

“You okay?” Eddie whispers after who knows how long, quiet in Buck’s ear. 

Buck turns. Eddie’s eyes are dark in the dim room, his face much closer than Buck anticipated. He nods and tries to get a grip, though Eddie must be able to feel the way his heart is beating with the arm tucked around his back. 

“Yeah, I’m great,” he answers softly. 

“Sure? I can sit on the floor, if you’d rather not—”

Buck is shaking his head before he can finish the sentence. “No, no, this is — yeah, this is perfect.”

Perfect? He cringes internally, but Eddie isn’t fazed in the slightest. In fact he smiles, soft and pleased and all for Buck, and his heart rate kicks up another notch. 

They finish the movie twenty minutes later. Buck’s had to pee for a good fifteen of that, but he refused to get up — he doesn’t have the kind of luck that will afford him a second chance at this. He doesn’t even get up when everyone else stands to stretch and refill their drinks, perfectly content to stay where he is for as long as Eddie will allow it. 

Similarly, Eddie doesn’t push him off the second it becomes acceptable to do so. In fact he encourages Buck to stretch his legs out on the couch with a silent pat on his thigh.

“Am I crushing you?” Buck asks when they’re the only ones still in the room. 

Eddie shakes his head and gives his knee a squeeze. “Nah. You’re kind of like a weighted blanket.”

Buck flushes and looks away. Feels ridiculous, like he’s fifteen again and being flirted with by Cassie McDaniel in homeroom — except they’re in their thirties, and Eddie isn’t flirting. He’s just being Eddie. The New Eddie, as Buck has coined it in his head; the one that came back from El Paso with a twinkle in his eye that Buck can’t quite parse. He’s the same old Eddie but lighter, somehow — more free with his touches and casual affection in a way that Buck very much enjoys, despite the way it’s slowly driving him insane.

Like now, for instance.

“Your ass is kinda bony though.”

Buck scoffs, affronted, and Eddie laughs. His hand tightens on Buck’s knee when he tries to shift his weight off Eddie’s thighs. “Didn’t say you needed to move.”

“Well I’d hate for my bony ass to dig into your perfect thighs.”

“Perfect, huh?” Eddie teases, and there’s that fucking twinkle again.

“Mediocre. Above average. I know you skip leg day at least once a week.”

“How many times can we have this argument?”

“It’s not an argument, it’s a healthy discussion.”

“Core strength is more important than having huge biceps, and as a firefighter, you should understand that—”

“Well those huge biceps have saved a lot of people, didn’t hear them complaining.”

“I’m definitely not complaining either, but my point is—”

“Are you two gonna cuddle on my couch all night?”

They look up to see Hen standing over them, hands on her hips and brow raised suspiciously. 

“Maybe,” Eddie says before Buck can come up with anything. “You got something to say about it?”

“Only that you have your own house to be weird in,” she says with an eye roll. “And that Buck promised to help clean after the fiasco with the fondue last month.”

“Shit, I did,” Buck says, gingerly getting up so he doesn’t hurt Eddie with his bony ass. Eddie squeezes his hip as he goes though and nearly sends him sprawling. He just blinks innocently up at Buck when he whirls on him, self-satisfied little smile on his face that Buck wants to—

Nope. Not going there. He trails off after Hen and decidedly does not think about it. 

He doesn’t think about it when Eddie comes in to help clean, hip checking him at the sink. Or when they say their goodbyes to everyone at the door, and Eddie presses little smacking kisses to Karen and Hen and Maddie’s cheeks that he pretends he’s not wildly jealous of. Or when Eddie leads him to the truck with a hand on his lower back, and keeps it there until Buck rounds the hood to the drivers seat. He doesn’t think about it on the drive home, Eddie quiet in that way he gets sometimes after one too many drinks, and he definitely doesn’t stare at Eddie’s ‘perfect’ thighs when he changes into his sleep shorts and sinks onto the couch next to Buck. 

“That was fun,” Eddie says, relaxing until his head rests on the back of the couch.

“Yeah. Super fun.”

It’s quiet again, only sound coming from the TV playing on low. Buck keeps his eyes glued to it, though he’s not taking in a single thing Mrs. Brady is saying. 

“You’re thinking pretty loud over there bud,” Eddie says during a commercial break. 

Buck chances a look at him, and it’s a mistake. He looks so soft, relaxed against the cushions, wearing a baggy tank and shorts that ride up well above what Buck would consider an appropriate length. Buck looks quickly away. 

“Hey. I didn’t make you uncomfortable earlier, did I?” Eddie asks.

“No,” Buck answers, and forces himself to make eye contact. Eddie looks a little unsure, and Buck quickly shakes his head. “No, I told you it was fine, I promise, I just. I’m tired, I guess. Karen’s sangria always sneaks up on me.”

Eddie nods. “Yeah I know. Wanna share the bed tonight?” 

Buck flushes, and this time it’s definitely not dark enough for Eddie not to notice. It shouldn’t be a big deal — they’ve shared the bed a few times since Eddie and Chris came home, usually after a particularly grueling shift where their exhaustion ran too deep to tolerate the couch, and it’s been fine.

Only the last time it happened, he woke up to Eddie curled around his back, hand curled possessively in the front pocket of his hoodie. And in his half-conscious state Buck had thought, this is how I want to wake up everyday. He’s avoided sharing ever since. 

“Nah, couch—couch is fine,” Buck stutters. 

“Buck. Come on, talk to me, what’s got you so freaked?”

“I’m not freaked,” Buck lies, and turns back to the TV. “I’m not. Just. Brain is too loud tonight, I guess.”

He sees Eddie nod in his peripheral. “Well, I wasn’t kidding earlier you know.”

“About what?”

“You feeling like a weighted blanket,” Eddie clarifies. 

Buck’s head snaps to the left. Eddie looks serious as a heart attack — which, incidentally, Buck may be currently having. 

“So…”

“So,” Eddie echoes.

He inches closer until their thighs are touching. Buck watches in a weird sort of trance as Eddie twists and swings a leg over, hovering above Buck’s thighs. “This okay?”

Buck unsticks his tongue from the roof of his mouth and says, “Yeah—yes. Yeah.”

Eddie smiles and sits fully, and then they’re just staring at each other. Buck keeps his hands firmly to himself, while Eddie’s rest comfortably on Buck’s shoulders. 

“See what I mean?”

Buck blinks, remembers the weird metaphor they’re operating under. “Um, sort of. You’re only—I-I mean there’s only weight on my legs.”

“Good point.”

Slowly, as if he’s anticipating Buck to call their game of chicken and push him off, Eddie leans forward and wraps his arms around Buck’s shoulders, pressing their chests together. Buck feels his chin dig sharp into his shoulder before he adjusts and lays his cheek against his collarbone. 

“How’s that?” Eddie asks, slightly muffled. 

Buck inhales, feels Eddie move with him on the exhale, and it’s — well, Eddie wasn’t lying. Eddie lets his full weight press against Buck and it's comforting, to say the least. Electrifying, because it’s Eddie, and yet as the minutes pass he can feel his heart rate slow, his breathing ease. He feels their chests rise and fall together, Eddie’s warm weight settling him in a way nothing has in a long time — maybe ever. His mind goes pleasantly blank, even when one of Eddie’s hands starts to comb through the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“It’s nice,” Buck answers belatedly, and Eddie chuckles at the sleepy timbre of his voice. “I see what you mean.”

“Right?” Eddie says, scratching gently at his scalp, and it feels so good he melts even deeper into the couch cushions. “You can touch me too, you know.”

“Oh,” Buck mutters, and picks his hands up from where they’d been resting awkwardly next to Eddie’s thighs. He wraps them tentatively around Eddie’s back; Eddie makes a contented humming sound in response. 

They stay that way for a long time, until the late night rerun ends and another episode begins. Buck’s hands drift after awhile, smoothing up and down Eddie’s back slowly, thumbs rubbing circles against his scapula and vertebrae. 

“Hey Eddie.”

He’s half asleep, and Eddie is so big and warm in his arms, and it makes him reckless. Eddie’s ear is so close to Buck’s mouth he can whisper what he hasn’t dared speak out loud. 

“Yeah Buck?” Eddie says just as softly. 

“I need to tell you something. No – don’t, don’t get up.” He wraps a hand around the back of Eddie’s neck to keep him still. 

Eddie huffs but stays put. “You’re not about to tell me you’re moving, are you?”

There’s such an air of dread and petulance in his tone that Buck laughs. 

“No. Didn’t, uh, know you had such strong feelings about that.”

“Well. I do.”

“It’s not that,” Buck says, and Eddie exhales against his neck. “But you might, uh—you might want me to when I—”

“No I won’t,” Eddie interrupts, leaving no room for argument. “Tell me.” 

Buck swallows, hard enough that Eddie must hear it. But he waits patiently, one of his thumbs tracing figure eights on the back of Buck’s neck, and for some reason that is what finally breaks through his thinly guarded veneer.

“I think I’m in love with you.” 

The figure eight stutters to a stop, but Eddie doesn’t move an inch. If anything, he covers Buck with his weight even more, somehow, and Buck feels his nose brush his clavicle. 

“And you think I want you to move out because of that?” 

“I—well, maybe, I don’t want to make you feel—I don’t know. Actually, can we pretend I didn’t say anything?” 

“No,” Eddie says. And then nothing else. 

“I—Eddie you gotta—you gotta say something. Tell me to fuck off, or that it’ll never happen but you value our friendship anyway, o-or that nothing will change between us—”

“Hmm, no. None of those sound like me.” 

“You literally said that last one. Basically verbatim, less than a year ago.” 

“Yeah, but I was lying then. I don’t want to lie to you again.” 

“Eddie, come on, what does that me—” 

But in one swift move Eddie sits up, catches Buck’s face between his hands, and kisses him. 

It’s a short kiss, a dry brush of slightly chapped lips, but it manages to alter his entire worldview in the five or so seconds it last before Eddie pulls away. Buck gets a brief glimpse of his pink cheeks before he tucks his head back against Buck’s shoulder. 

“There you go sweetheart,” Eddie mumbles, voice drawling the way it does when he’s tired. “My knees have about another five minutes of this before I need to get up, let's not waste them.” 

“Okay,” Buck says in a ragged voice that doesn’t quite sound like his. A voice belonging to a mouth that has kissed Eddie Diaz, and therefore irrevocably changed. 

True to his word, Eddie continues to crush him into the couch for another five minutes, until his racing heart slows again and their eyes are half-lidded and drowsy when Eddie sits up. 

“That was nice,” he says with a smile.

“Y-yeah, it was,” Buck agrees, squeezing Eddie’s thighs. “Same time tomorrow?”

Eddie huffs out a little laugh, and though Buck was half joking, Eddie nods and presses his forehead against Buck’s shoulder. Buck drops a kiss to the crown of his head before he can quite stop himself, and Eddie makes that same happy humming sound Buck wants to chase for the rest of his life. 

“Yeah. I’ll see you there.”

—

[stinkylittletoad]

I started writing a bunch in the tags but ultimately decided this was worth a full post response. I have so many thoughts. First, thank you user Felassan for sharing this article via Tumblr. I wasn't going to pay Bloomberg to read it.

This was an incredibly validating read for a number of reasons, but also only furthered my existing anger towards Corporate America (surprise surprise) and EA.

I remember first playing the game, and feeling I had been lied to by the marketing. I clearly remember telling a friend it felt like they were rebranding DA as Fortnite. And then actually getting into the game and.... it was, but it wasn't. It was clearly caught in the crossfire of so many different decisions, and obviously lacked direction and voice, and I'm so enraged for the BioWare team that they were also caught constantly in the crossfire of indecision by higher ups at EA.

It is BEYOND wild to me that EA received criticism early on that people were unhappy with the level of cause/effect and then the DA team was forced to scrape something together that should have been given years more time to work on. Shameful, EA. Shameful.

I still remember seeing critic reviews early on and continually recalling MrMattyPlays' early access review, wherein he said he was hopeful but holding out a true review until he had full access to the game. Wherein he praised the amount of time he got in early access, saying it really was a standalone. And then once the game came out and he gave his full review, saying that the time he was given in early access was so carefully cultivated to only show the parts they wanted you to see. It was NOT a truly representative experience of the full game. That clearly SOMEBODY along the way realized the game was not what it should have been, and cherry picked the way they presented the game to garner better reviews from critics. Well, when you lie to gamers, we're gonna figure it out and be upset!!

Laura Fryer made an incredible video on the Games Industry Bubble that also elaborates on the ways that the industry carefully cultivates critic access to games prior to their release that is well worth the watch. I would rewatch it now and elaborate further but I think I need to set this topic down for a little while.

EA's behavior throughout this development process is the epitome of gaslighting and abuse: yanking them left and right and up and down and then punishing them when they were unable to deliver under impossible odds, holding them responsible for something well out of their control given the circumstances. The failure of Dragon Age Veilguard has NOTHING to do with the IP, the creative and writing teams, or anybody who was actually on the DA team. It has nothing to do, much to the behest of bigot gamers, with the increased visibility and representation of queer and especially trans folx. It has EVERYTHING to do with shitty corporate leadership that prioritizes profit and following trends over allowing creatives to pour passion and heart and life into a tried and true series with millions of eager, passionate fans.

I will never forgive or forget that EA pummeled, bullied, tossed around, and disregarded the Dragon Age series in this way. Thank you to the team of devs that worked tirelessly and under impossible circumstances to deliver the game that this ultimately became. I will treasure it for what it is, remember fondly what it could have been, and dare to hope for a future where this IP can be in the hands of people who will again do it justice from a place of love and passion, and not from a place of rotted corporate greed.

Jason Schreier for Bloomberg reports: 'Inside the ‘Dragon Age’ Debacle That Gutted EA’s BioWare Studio'

The latest game in BioWare’s fantasy role-playing series went through ten years of development turmoil. The failure of Dragon Age: The Veilguard, released in October, led EA to gut BioWare

[note: article is below cut after these tweets]

Jason Schreier: "NEW: What went wrong with Dragon Age: The Veilguard? Why was the writing so tonally inconsistent? Why did it feel so shallow? Why were there so few choices? Really, after ten years of turbulence, it was a miracle that anything came out at all. This is the story [link]:" [source]

Jason Schreier: "The fatal flaw for Dragon Age: The Veilguard wasn't just that it pivoted from single-player to multiplayer and back again. It was that after the second pivot, the team was forced to keep going rather than hit the reset button and take the time to create a new plan." [source]

Jason Schreier re: this old tweet from Casey Hudson: "Fun fact: when I first reported at Kotaku in 2018 that Dragon Age 4 was rebooted to become a live-service game, BioWare studio head Casey Hudson wrote this on Twitter. But it was not entirely truthful. In reality, the game was being designed around cooperative multiplayer, replayable missions, etc" [source] Casey Hudson's old tweet from 2018: "Reading lots of feedback regarding Dragon Age, and I think you'll be relieved to see what the team is working on. Story & character focused. Too early to talk details, but when we talk about "live" it just means designing a game for continued storytelling after the main story."

Rest of post/article under cut due to length.

(bold in the text below is mine for emphasis)

"In early November, on the eve of the crucial holiday shopping season, staffers at the video-game studio BioWare were feeling optimistic. After an excruciating development cycle, they had finally released their latest game, Dragon Age: The Veilguard, and the early reception was largely positive. The role-playing game was topping sales charts on Steam, and solid, if not spectacular, reviews were rolling in. But in the weeks that followed, the early buzz cooled as players delved deeper into the fantasy world, and some BioWare employees grew anxious. For months, everyone at the subsidiary of the video-game publisher Electronic Arts Inc. had been under intense pressure. The studio’s previous two games, Mass Effect: Andromeda and Anthem, had flopped, and there were rumors that if Dragon Age underperformed, BioWare might become another of EA’s many casualties. Not long after Christmas, the bad news surfaced. EA announced in January that the new Dragon Age had only reached 1.5 million players, missing the company’s expectations by 50%. The holiday performance of another recently released title, EA Sports FC 2025, was also subpar, compounding the problem."

"As a result of the struggling titles, EA Chief Executive Officer Andrew Wilson explained, the company would be significantly lowering its sales forecast for the fiscal year ahead. EA’s share price promptly plunged 18%. “Dragon Age had a high-quality launch and was well-reviewed by critics and those who played,” Wilson later said on an earnings call. “However, it did not resonate with a broad enough audience in this highly competitive market.” Days after the sales revision, EA laid off a chunk of BioWare’s staff at the studio’s headquarters in Edmonton, Canada, and permanently transferred many of the remaining workers to other divisions. For the storied, 30-year-old game maker, it was a stunning fall that left many fans wondering how things had gone so haywire — and what might come next for the stricken studio. According to interviews with nearly two dozen people who worked on Dragon Age: The Veilguard, there were several reasons behind its failure, including marketing misfires, poor word of mouth and a 10-year gap since the previous title. Above all, sources point to the rebooting of the product from a single-player game to a multiplayer one — and then back again — a switcheroo that muddled development and inflated the title’s budget, they say, ultimately setting the stage for EA’s potentially unrealistic sales expectations. A spokesperson for EA declined to comment."

"The union between BioWare and EA started off with lofty aspirations. In 2007, EA executives announced they were acquiring BioWare and another gaming studio in a deal worth $860 million. The goal was to diversify their slate of games, which was heavy in sports titles, like Madden NFL, and light in the kind of adventure and role-playing games that BioWare was known for. Initially, it looked like a smart move thanks to a string of big hits. In 2014, BioWare released Dragon Age: Inquisition, the third installment in a popular action series dropping players in a semi-open world full of magic, elves and fire-spewing dragons. The fantasy title went on to win the much-coveted Game of the Year Award and sell 12 million copies, according to its executive producer Mark Darrah — a major validation of EA’s diversification strategy. Before long, Darrah and Mike Laidlaw, the creative director, began kicking around ideas for the next Dragon Age installment — code name: Joplin — aiming for a game that would be smaller in scope. But before much could get done, BioWare shifted the studio’s focus to more pressing titles coming down the pike. In 2017, BioWare released Mass Effect: Andromeda, the fourth installment in a big-budget action series set in space. Unlike its critically successful predecessors, the game received mediocre reviews and was widely mocked by fans. A few months after the disappointing release, the head of BioWare stepped down and was soon replaced by Microsoft Inc.’s Casey Hudson, an alumni of BioWare’s early, formative years."

"Like much of the industry, EA executives were growing increasingly enamored of so-called live-service games, such as Destiny and Overwatch, in which players continue to engage with and spend money on a title for months or even years after its initial release. With EA aiming to make a splash in the fast-growing category, BioWare poured resources into Anthem, a live-service shooter game that checked all the right boxes. One day in October 2017, Laidlaw summoned his colleagues into a conference room and pulled out a few pricey bottles of whisky. The next Dragon Age sequel, he told the room, would also be pivoting to an online, live-service game — a decision from above that he disagreed with. He was resigning from the studio. The assembled staff stayed late through the night, drinking and reminiscing about the franchise they loved. “I wish that pivot had never occurred,” Darrah would later recount on YouTube. “EA said, ‘Make this a live service.’ We said, ‘We don’t know how to do that. We should basically start the project over.’” Former art director Matt Goldman replaced Laidlaw as creative director, and with a tiny team began pushing ahead on a new multiplayer version of Dragon Age — code name: Morrison — while everyone else helped to finish Anthem, which was struggling to coalesce. Goldman pushed for a “pulpy,” more lighthearted tone than previous entries, which suited an online game but was a drastic departure from the dark, dynamic stories that fans loved in the fantasy series."

"In February 2019, BioWare released Anthem. Reviews were scathing, calling the game tedious and convoluted. Fans were similarly displeased. On social media, players demanded to know why a studio renowned for beloved stories and characters had made an online shooter with a scattershot narrative. In the wake of BioWare’s second consecutive flop, the multiplayer version of Dragon Age continued to take shape. While the previous games in the franchise had featured tactical combat, this one would be all action. Instead of quests that players would only experience once, it would be full of missions that could be replayed repeatedly with friends and strangers. Important characters couldn’t die because they had to persist for multiple players across never-ending gameplay. As the game evolved over the next two years, the failure of Anthem hovered over the studio. Were they making the same mistakes? Some BioWare employees scoffed that they were simply building “Anthem with dragons.” Throughout 2020, the pandemic disrupted the game’s already fraught development. In December, Hudson, the head of the studio, and Darrah, the head of the franchise, resigned. Shortly thereafter, Gary McKay, BioWare’s new studio head, revealed yet another shift in strategy. Moving forward, the next Dragon Age would no longer be multiplayer."

"“We were thinking, ‘Does this make sense, does this play into our strengths, or is this going to be another challenge we have to face?’” McKay later told Bloomberg News. “No, we need to get back to what we’re really great at.” In theory, the reversion back to Dragon Age’s tried-and-true, single-player format should have been welcome news inside BioWare. But there was a catch. Typically, this kind of pivot would be coupled with a reset and a period of pre-production allowing the designers to formulate a new vision for the game. Instead, the team was asked to change the game’s fundamental structure and recast the entire story on the fly, according to people familiar with the new marching orders. They were given a year and a half to finish and told to aim for as wide a market as possible. This strict deadline became a recurring problem. The development team would make decisions believing that they had less than a year to release the game, which severely limited the stories they could tell and the world they could build. Then the title would inevitably be delayed a few months, at which point they’d be stuck with those old decisions with no chance to stop and reevaluate what was working. At the end of 2022, amid continually dizzying leadership changes, the studio started distributing an “alpha” build of Dragon Age to get feedback internally and from outside playtesters. According to people familiar with the process, the reactions were concerning. The game’s biggest problem, early players agreed, was a lack of satisfying choices and consequences. Previous BioWare titles had presented players with gut-wrenching decisions. Which allies to save? Which factions to spare? Which enemies to slay? Such dilemmas made fans feel like they were shaping the narrative — historically, a big draw for many BioWare games."

"But Dragon Age’s multiplayer roots limited such choices, according to people familiar with the development. BioWare delayed the game’s release again while the team shoehorned in a few major decisions, such as which of two cities to save from a dragon attack. But because most of the parameters were already well established, the designers struggled to pair the newly retrofitted choices for players with meaningful consequences downstream. In 2023, to help finish Dragon Age, BioWare brought in a second, internal team, which was working on the next Mass Effect game. For decades there’d been tension between the two well-established camps, known for their starkly divergent ways of doing things. BioWare developers like to joke that the Dragon Age crew was like a pirate ship, meandering and sometimes traveling off course but eventually reaching the port. In contrast, the Mass Effect group was called the USS Enterprise, after the Star Trek ship, because commands were issued straight down from the top and executed zealously. As the Mass Effect directors took control, they scoffed that the Dragon Age squad had been doing a shoddy job and began excluding their leaders from pivotal meetings, according to people familiar with the internal friction. Over time, the Mass Effect team went on to overhaul parts of the game and design a number of additional scenes, including a rich, emotional finale that players loved. But even changes that appeared to improve the game stoked the simmering rancor inside BioWare, infuriating Dragon Age leaders who had been told they didn’t have the budget for such big, ambitious swings."

"“It always seemed that, when the Mass Effect team made its demands in meetings with EA regarding the resources it needed, it got its way,” said David Gaider, a former lead writer on the Dragon Age franchise who left before development of the new game started. “But Dragon Age always had to fight against headwinds.” Early testers and Mass Effect leads complained about the game’s snarky tone — a style of video-game storytelling, once ascendant, that was quickly falling out of fashion in pop culture but had been part of Goldman’s vision for the multiplayer game. Worried that Dragon Age could face the same outcome as Forspoken — a recent title that had been hammered over its impertinent banter — BioWare leaders ordered a belated rewrite of the game’s dialogue to make it sound more serious. (In the end, the resulting tonal inconsistencies would only add to the game’s poor reception with fans.) A mass layoff at BioWare and a mandate to work overtime depleted morale while a voice actors strike limited the writers’ ability to revise the dialogue and create new scenes. An initial trailer made the next Dragon Age seem more like Fortnite than a dark fantasy role-playing game, triggering concerns that EA didn’t know how to market the game. When Dragon Age: The Veilguard finally premiered on Halloween 2024 after many internal delays, some staff members thought there was a lot to like, including the game’s new combat system. But players were less impressed, and sales sputtered."

"“The reactions of the fan base are mixed, to put it gently,” said Caitie, a popular Dragon Age YouTuber. “Some, like myself, adore it for various reasons. Others feel utterly betrayed by certain design choices.” Following the layoffs and staff reassignments at BioWare earlier in the year, a small team of a few dozen employees is now working on the next Mass Effect. After three high-profile failures in a row, questions linger about EA’s commitment to the studio. In May, the company relabeled its Edmonton headquarters from a BioWare office to a hub for all EA staff in the area. Historically, BioWare has never been the most important studio at EA, which generates more than $7 billion in annual revenue largely from its sports games and shooters. Depending on the timing of its launches, BioWare typically accounts for just 5% of EA’s annual bookings, according to estimates by Colin Sebastian, an analyst with Robert W. Baird & Co. Even so, there may be strategic reasons for EA to keep supporting BioWare. Single-player role-playing games are expensive to make but can lead to huge windfalls when successful, as demonstrated by recent hits like Cyberpunk 2077, Elden Ring and Baldur’s Gate 3. In order to grow, EA needs more than just sports franchises, said TD Cowen analyst Doug Creutz. Trying to fix its fantasy-focused studio may be easier than starting something new. “That said, if they shuttered the doors tomorrow I wouldn’t be totally surprised,” Creutz added. “It has been over a decade since they produced a hit.”"

Article by Jason Schreier. [source]

[sungbeam]

his girls

jeong yunho x f!reader

in which yunho's the happiest he's ever been.

1.5k words, nc-17, fluff, light swearing, est relationship au, ur married and have a baby, kissing, skinship/intimacy, One very lightly implied suggestive line, mentions of wine, wooyoung w baby TT, like not proofread

a/n: if u look closely, those ARE two diff photos okay 😭 also, this au was born from a dream i had abt seonghwa 😌 (seonghwa, close ur eyes. hongjoong, also close ur eyes—)

It feels almost like eight years ago all over again when Yunho pulls into the driveway. It's late, the crickets have long since begun to chirp their songs, and the lights in the front of the house glow like warm halos.

The only differences are that the house is no longer the one you shared with six other girls in college, but the house you and he bought four years ago; and he's not dropping you off and being forced to part with you—he’s got your hand wrapped in his, forevermore.

Yunho opens his mouth in a big yawn as he kills the engine to the SUV. The headlights that gleam against the garage door flicker to darkness, leaving only the orangey light from the street lamps painting the walkway. The soft song on the radio fades into silence, and he turns his head to look at you in the passenger's seat, head rolled to the side, eyes closed.

A smile, achingly fond, pulls at his lips. He wonders how deeply you're asleep, if he'll carry you inside, over the threshold all over again, his bride.

But he would be remiss to deprive you of being able to walk in and see your baby girl before you turn in for the night.

The hand that is wrapped in his is brought up to his lips, mouth brushing against knuckles, his free hand smoothing up your wrist to feel the metal warming your ring finger. “Sweetheart,” he murmurs lowly.

You hum, facial muscles twitching, as your consciousness slowly begins to wake up.

His lips pull into a grin now. “What were you saying about not being tired?” he teased.

You inhale sharply and sit up; the memories of yours and Yunho's first night out after the baby rushing back. “Fuck,” you rasp, clearing the hoarseness in your throat away. When you turn your sleep-softened eyes to him, he feels his entire body melt. “I'm sorry, Yun. No planetarium tonight, huh?”

“No, but that's okay,” he says with sincerity. Earlier, he had asked a question and glanced over to find you fast asleep. The past year and a half have been the hardest on you and your body, so he's been wanting to take you out for a nice night for a long time. Only, he should have expected that you would be too exhausted to be out later than nine—the wine at dinner likely didn't help much. “We can go some other time.”

He reaches over to brush the hair out of your eyes as you blink away the remnants of sleep.

“I liked tonight,” you muse aloud and reach to unbuckle your seatbelt. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” he chuckles, kissing your knuckles again. His mouth slowly makes its way around the curve of your wrist, lips pressing against your pulse. “I just… wanted you to have a night to relax.”

You twist around in your seat and lean over to cup his face and bring him even closer to you. “I did—have a relaxing night, I mean.”

When you kiss him, he exhales against you. He can feel his brows furrow as he presses into you deeper, his hand burying in your hair to pull you closer, hold you to him. He knows you'll pull away first; you both have a human being to care for now, for goodness sake—he only wishes he could freeze time for a moment longer.

He loves his daughter, the beautiful little girl waiting inside the house for you both, but he loves his time with you, too.

“Doesn't this feel like college again?” you giggle while pulling away.

Yunho's mouth chases you across the center console and steals another kiss. “Mhm,” he murmurs, “we can make it an even more authentic experience by—”

“You're a dog, Jeong Yunho,” you reprimand jokingly.

He grins, licking the taste of your lip gloss off his lips. “Too bad you can't return me without the receipt!” he snickers, the sound only getting louder when you smack your hand against his chest. He catches you by the wrist, sliding his fingers through yours.

You sigh as he leans over and kisses your cheek. “Okay, c'mon, big guy. Let's relieve Wooyoung of his babysitting duties.”

“He'd steal our baby if he could,” Yunho scoffs, shaking his head. Wooyoung had been all too eager to watch over baby June, practically shoving you and Yunho out the door earlier this evening. Who needs to hire a babysitter when you have friends?

The sound of the car doors opening and shutting echo through the quiet neighborhood. The houses on your row are filled with other families, ranging in experience from decades of marriage to newly weds. Yunho can recall the exact moment the two of you decided on this place as your forever home, and staring up at it now with the keys to the front door swinging around his finger, puts a skip in his step.

He rounds the car with a slight jog to catch up to you, snatching your hand and twirling you out of nowhere.

Your squeal lights up the night, and he guides you into an impromptu dip, before pulling you back upright. “You're crazy,” you say to him, breathless.

He smiles as he leans down and slots his nose against yours. “Good thing you love crazy, right?” he replies, voice going low.

He gets butterflies every time he kisses you, and this time—the thousandth time today—is no different.

“You must love me or something,” you jest as you loop your arms around his neck.

“Or something,” he laughs. “Have I ever told you that you're my everything?”

There's a sweet darkness that blooms over your cheeks and he has to use every ounce of willpower not to steal your breath away again. He only smiles, a gesture bursting with love and adoration, and feels the warmth of your cheekbone beneath his knuckle. “Ditto,” you say quietly, returning his smile. “You're awfully lovey dovey tonight, Yun.”

“Maybe it's just 'cause you make me feel like a teenager in love,” he sighs melodramatically. His hands drop down to your waist, and then the two of you are walking up the steps to the front door.

The porch light above your heads hums with soft light, and Yunho turns the key into the lock. Briefly, he thinks of the number of times he will be doing this: coming home from work every day to his girls, shouldering through the door with groceries, opening it for baby June to run through after school, seeing you off in the mornings before work.

His girls. Right.

It rushes through his head like a tidal wave cresting over him, but the smile on his face never leaves and he can't wait to feel the water engulf him.

It's not fear of what's to come, but absolute giddiness.

When the front door opens, warmth pours out onto the porch steps and he can already hear Wooyoung's groan of disappointment. From Yunho's vantage point, he can make out the shape of one large, adult-sized male lying on the floor of the living room beside a much smaller bean of a human being.

“Already?” Wooyoung bemoans as he peers up at the two of you, bottom lip jutting out.

A delighted giggle gurgles out of the little one next to him. All eyes turn to baby June, who's limbs flail in the air as she lights up at the sight of her parents.

“Sorry Woo,” Yunho chuckles, not really sincere, as you scurry over to pick up your daughter. His entire body floods with something fuzzy and soft. He becomes mush at the sight of you cooing at June, his heart tender. “This one fell asleep in the car.”

Wooyoung clambers to his feet and Yunho glances down at the pink apron that is tied around his waist.

“Don't judge me,” his friend squawks.

Yunho raises his hands in surrender. “I didn't say anything!” Now that he thinks about it, there's definitely something warm and sweet in the air… like cookies… Wait, June can't even eat cookies yet— “Wooyoung, what did you make, dude?”

Wooyoung purses his lips, tucking his hands behind his back. “I got hungry. And y'know, your other half likes my cookies, so…”

“You can do anything in my kitchen as long as you clean up and you don't let Yunho in,” you pipe up, gently cradling June as the baby clings to your shoulder with sleep in her eyes.

Like mama, like daughter—Yunho could die of cuteness. His mouth curls into a deep frown-like smile. These are his girls. His girls.

“Oh my god, he's so down bad that he didn't even hear your insult.”

Yunho waddles over to wrap his arms around his girls. Down bad? This isn't news. “Wooyoung, get out before you never get to babysit again.”

Wooyoung shoots him a grin and salutes. “You got it, Boss!”

When he's made a swift exit from the room, Yunho leans his cheek against the top of your head with a happy little sigh. Maybe yours and his evening out is cut short, but being here? This is pretty damn perfect, too.

a/n: pls reblog if u enjoyed !

atz m.list

permanent taglist: @flwoie @vatterie @seomisaho @hqrana @ja4hyvn @outrologist @rikizm @luumiinaa @lotties-readings @winwintea @tinkerbell460 @meosjinnn @hyunjaespresent-deobi @stayarmytinyzenmoa-l @floatingpluto @gyulfriend @jaehunnyy @shakalakaboomboo @eunseok-s @justanotherkpopstanlol @kangfication @pxppxrminty @fluorescentloves @haechansbbg @jaerisdiction @super-btstrash-posts @jundundun @http-gyu @mvvnsseul @mars101 @synthwxve @empire-x @thecarnivaloflies @thatonedemigodfromseoul @jinternationalplayboy @cromernet

[ghostinboys]

— joel miller loved that you were taking pictures during your trip to his hometown. it assured him that this wasn't boring for you and that you actually enjoyed the scenery and the tour of their family's farm. he was extra thrilled when you said you would want to stay for the night in his childhood home, no one really lived there anymore other than tommy (he had commitments in jacksonville, hence the vacancy).

— before bed he had started a fire on the hearth, sharing a finger of whiskey while playfully taking photos of him. "that camera's go'n break if you keep takin' pictures of me," his accent stronger by each shot. you said something about how pretty he was and how you couldn't stop it even if you wanted to. "well somebody's go'n have to take some of your pretty face, darlin'"

smut undercut

— he takes the camera from you and takes a few shots, you timidly hide your face, laughing at how cute he was at trying to find 'the perfect shot'. maybe it was the whiskey, but the two of you found yourselves in each other's arms, lips locked, tongues laced in each others warmth, intoxicated by the coziness and the heat.

— "look at this pretty face," he murmured while taking pictures of your naked body, his mouth had done its work of leaving marks—showing whoever will see these images that he was the one responsible for marking you. "all f'me," he grunts as he enters you.

— you took pictures of him while straddling his thick thighs, tensed and hardened by a day's work, he smelled of alcohol and musk, his skin golden and his facial hair unkempt— he looked so beautiful.

— he took pride in pleasuring you, that despite his age he could still spend hours drawing out loud and obscene cries from your lips. "you take me so well, baby" his muscular arms flexing and while he held your waist, he took the camera and took pictures of you with closed eyes, moaning and whimpering from his cock. he took pictures of the his thick cock ceaselessly fucking your hole. "look how pretty your hole is takin' me, like it was fuckin' meant for my cock,"

— the old creaking of his wooden bed frame concludes with a shared grunt. the two of you in each other's arms covered in sweat, tears, and come. he takes the camera for the last time and points it on the both of you, "this way we ain't forgetting this perfect night," sharing one last languid kiss before the sun rises.

end.

a/n: apologies for the lack of updates :< I hope this blurb can suffice as a sorry hihi like / follow/ reblog please if you enjoyed ! also request if you want anything similar, thank you <3 tag list: @hellsburners @boypied

[touchfoundation]

Incredibly Beautiful altogether, and I adore your amazingly Sexy breasts. Ohh, how do I wish that I could kiss them. They are outstandingly Beautiful and so are everything else about you is. And I also want to dream specifically about your sexy perfect Ass! I wish I could taste every inch of your body. You are very special in every way, and it’s so easy for me to fall completely in love with you. I will be hoping to make love to you in my dreams tonight. I so much adore you and Love you to the core. Thank You for sharing your incredible beauty!♥️♥️♥️😘😘😛😛😋

[daisybvck]

Let’s have a baby!

Pairing: no outbreak!Joel miller x reader

Summary: You and your husband Joel decide to have a baby

Warning: fluff, smut 18+, breeding, domesticity, praise, oral sex (fem receiving), begging. NO SARAH (I love her but she’s not in this)

word count: 5.3k+

Joel lets himself into your shared home almost silently, not wanting to ruin his surprise appearance.

After weeks of working relentlessly after-hours, he'd finally made it back home to you at a normal time, keeping you in the dark about it. He had sent you a quick text earlier, saying he wouldn't be home 'til late again as he usually would when working overtime. Though you never complained or expressed your aggravation to him, he just knew how much you were missing him lately. It was the subtle way your smile would drop for only a second after he'd kiss you goodbye in the mornings before heading out, or how you would sometimes ask him when his next day off would be.

Lately, Joel’s been coming home to the sight of you curled up so sweetly on the couch with the blanket the two of you often shared while lounging around. You obviously had tried to stay up, tried to fight off the sleep to be able to greet him, but your attempts never succeeded. His heart hurts a little when he thinks of you sitting around aimlessly waiting just for him to come home night after night. That alone was the main reason he absolutely fucking hates working overtime. The lack of time spent with his loving wife had started to take a toll on him as well as he'd been catching himself slipping at work while thinking of what you could possibly be up to at that very moment and how he just couldn't wait for his schedule to calm down so he could get back to you at a decent hour for once. And now that day has finally come.

As soon as he walks through the door, he picks up on the amazing smell of something cooking. His stomach growls a little, suddenly reminding him that he hadn't eaten since this morning, as he worked through lunch just to get back extra early. He can't help but smile to himself as he silently walks towards the kitchen, you are always finding ways to spoil him and he couldn't be more thankful to have you in his life. He's never had someone care for him the way that you do, no one who's delighted at his simple presence like you. But, he also has realized that before you, he never had caught his heart skipping a beat at the sight of a single person. He had never thought that he was capable of not only being loved but of loving itself. He never imagined a life full of sweet kisses and nights curled up on the couch, giggling about the shitty movie playing on the screen. but he never wants to go back to being alone, back to a life without you.

Joel lets himself just spy on you for a few seconds.

You were at the stove, humming softly to yourself as you stirred whatever was in the pot. Finally deciding to make his presence known, he makes his way over to you, no longer caring about making any noise, and wraps his strong, muscular arms around your waist as he hugs you from behind. He’s body gone softer over thee years, his belly pushing into you softly. A warm laugh leaves his lips as his sudden appearance started you, causing you to gasp.

"Joel? You're home so early!" you turn to face your smirking husband, prepared to ask him a million questions about his early arrival, but he doesn't even let you get the opportunity to ask them as he places his lips on yours.

You close your eyes, immediately kissing him back. You throw your arms around his neck as he deepens the kiss. His hands wrap even tighter around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer to him, as he just craves to have you near. His lips on yours are a familiar feeling, but you still manage to melt into him each and every time he kisses you. You find yourself a little disappointed as he suddenly pulls away.

"Got off work early today, just wanted to surprise you," Joel smiles, bringing a hand up from your waist to brush a piece of your hair behind your ear.

There was nothing but love and adoration in the man's eyes as he looked at you. For only a brief moment, you see the face of the man you fell in love with all those years back. He's had your heart since the moment you met then and it's his to keep forever.

"And what a lovely surprise," you press a soft kiss to his cheek, "I've missed you a lot lately."

"I've missed you too," he presses his forehead against yours in a loving gesture, "So much."

As if on cue, your mind suddenly reminds you of the food that is likely about to burn on the stove behind you,

"Shit!" you curse, frantically turning around to tend to the dinner you had prepared, which earned yet another chuckle from Joel.

"Go change or something while I take care of this," you wave him off as you focus on trying not to ruin dinner,

"You're distracting me."

He quickly presses another gentle kiss to your cheek, letting out a playful "mhmm," before he starts pressing kisses along your jaw, much softer than before. His lips travel down your neck as you lean more to the side, allowing him better access to your neck. Such a teasing touch that makes you feel as if standing is a chore as your knees grow weak. You let out a soft moan as he sucks gently on your skin. Every part of your body felt as if it were aflame; you were on fire just for him. Your head lays on his shoulder, forgetting the task at hand yet again as your eyes are closed, basking in Joel’s overwhelming presence before it is quickly stripped away. Your eyes immediately flutter open at the lack of his warmth, confused as to where it went.

"Alright, I'll shower real quick," he winks, knowing how flustered he's left you. He loved how within a mere few seconds he can make you completely unable to focus on anything but him.

You huff in annoyance as you desperately try to just simply get your shit together to finish up dinner. Despite forgetting about the food more than once thanks to a certain someone, nothing had actually ended up being burnt to a crisp as you had thought. You let out a sigh of relief, calming yourself down. By the time you’re finally starting to make both your and his plates, Joel returns to the kitchen. Despite being with him for several years at this point, you were practically gawking at him as he walked into the room. He looked more appetizing than the food before you. The way his normally neat curls still a little wet and disheveled and it was undeniably hot in every single way. He had traded in his typical work attire, a shirt, and worn jeans, for a plain white shirt and a pair of sweatpants.

You're practically the only one who's ever seen him in such a relaxed state, as he usually strives to be put together all of the time. It's such a silly thing to be amused by, but the fact that you're the only one who gets to see him like this makes your heart flutter every time you think about it. While he always looks handsome, you think that you prefer him like this. Maybe it's the way you imagine that all his worries strip away with the long hours or perhaps it's the fact that you have come to the conclusion that as soon as the tools go away he's all yours. He no longer belongs to his excruciating job, his worries, his stress; simply to you.

You pull yourself out of your daze in order to walk over to the dining table where Joel had already taken a seat and sit your guys' plates down. Up until this moment, both of you had yet to realize how truly hungry you were.

Joel, who usually takes his time to truly savor his meal, has nearly scarfed down half his plate in a matter of what seemed like a few seconds, and you could say the same about yourself. Despite the ravenous nature of you two, you both still managed to have your typical dinner discussion. You asked about his day at work, which he told you that consisted of the usual and that he lucked out today because he simply didn't have to deal with any of Tommy’s nonsense. You tell him of your day and he listens intently as you proceed to tell him about your day of running errands.

"So I went to the store to get everything for dinner and I saw this sweet little girl who couldn't have been older than like five. She looked so sad, Joel. It was clear she was lost," you frown as you recall the way her eyes were slightly puffy and red as she anxiously scanned the aisle looking for someone who wasn't there, "I just had to help her, my heart just hurt looking at her sweet, little face. Luckily we found her mom, but god, she was so cute. I held her little hand in mine and walked with her until we found her mom."

You continue to ramble on about just how cute the child was, but it falls on deaf ears as Joel has found himself unable to focus on your words any longer. His mind was all over the place as he pictured you walking with the kid, little hand in your larger one as you walked around the store. He finds it so easy to picture it, yet he realizes he's envisioning you with a child that has his eyes and your hair color, a perfect combination of both of you. His heart begins to race as he realizes that he craves a family with you, that he needs to get you pregnant.

You're still talking, unknowingly to yourself, while his mind races about what it would be like to hold a baby created not only by him but the two of you together; a perfect combination of you both. How he craves to know what it feels like to have a tiny hand holding onto his much larger fingers and he feels like he could melt into a puddle onto the floor beneath him as he thinks of you with a baby cradled securely in your arms as you hum a soft lullaby, soothing the child with ease. Sure, he had thought about having babies with you one day, it had been discussed. Hell, even Tommy has asked him more than once if there will ever be "little Miller’s" running around soon. But for the very first time, Joel can picture it so vividly in his mind; he finally wants to have a baby with you right now. It's no longer a thought he saves for the future; no longer a simple wish for a later time.

His attention is brought back to you sitting before him gently waving your hand in front of his face, "Baby?," you giggle as you shake your head at the man, "Are you even listening to me right now?"

"(Y/N)," you perk up at hearing your name roll off his tongue while he smiles softly. his dark brown eyes stare into yours as he pushes his chair back, patting his thigh,

"C'mere."

You practically run from your spot across the table from him, trading in your chair for a seat upon his lap. A smile on your lips as you straddle his waist, throwing your arms around his neck. You feel a large hand press against the small of your back, pulling you close as possible. Your chest pressed against his, his touch alone making you feel dizzy. Joel’s other hand comes up to lovingly cup your cheek. You unconsciously lean into his touch as his thumb begins to stroke your face, his eyes so filled with a look that was undoubtedly full of love as he gazes upon your features. The moment feels so intimate; so many things being said all at once by everything but words. His gentle touch says "You're my everything," his hand pulling you closer whispers "I need you," and the way he looks at you as if you were the most magnificent being he's ever seen absolutely screams "I love you."

"So, wanna tell me what you were thinking about now” One of your hands wanders into his locks as the other moves to his shoulder. He visibly relaxes as you play with his hair.

He blinks a few times, debating how exactly he wants to go about the subject of starting a family. Is it really the time to be discussing this? How would you respond?

"I was thinking about...us," his voice is soft as he speaks.

He swallows as he tries to even think of the right way to put it into words.

"Yeah? What about us?" you giggle as you raise an eyebrow, "That's a little vague there." You take note of his unusual demeanor, but you simply chalk it up to stress from the past couple of weeks. Joel might be great at keeping his emotions to himself, but you've learned to read him like your favorite book.

His heart is racing in his chest as he finally blurts out "! want a baby, (Y/N). What do you think about that?" Okay, so that wasn't how he planned on going about it.

But now that he's put it out there he can't stop the words flying out of his mouth. He's unable to think straight at this point as he rambles on and on. "I can start working less hours, you know. I'm sorry to just spring that on you out there, we don't-" He then was silenced by your lips pressing sweetly against his. In a matter of a few seconds, he closes his eyes, kissing you back just as gently. You love the way your hands roam your back with the softest of touches until you pull away.

"Let's do it. Let's have a baby," His eyes search for any sign of doubt in your answer, but alas he fails to find such. This is real; you want to have a baby just as badly as he does. To think that you were likely struck by the same sweet, domestic dream of starting a family that he had just now seems unbelievably perfect. He smiles so sweetly at your response that you think your heart could burst at the sight. His hand cradles your face with utmost care as he presses his lips on yours gently. The two of you have shared countless sweet kisses, but the absolute love and passion in the way your lips are moving together cannot even be compared to those of the past.

Pure excitement rushes through the both of you at the thought of a little bundle of joy in your lives.

You pull away, taking in the look of what you only can describe as joy upon your husband's face. His eyes search yours for any hint of worry or doubt in yours, but he is unable to find such, only seeing the way your eyes are lit up. "Yeah? You really want this?" he asks, wanting to make sure this entire moment was not a mere figment of his imagination.

You nod your head, reassuring him that this was real. "I want this. Want this more than anything with you," you say with a smile as your hands fiddle with the bottom of his t-shirt.

"I love you so much," he still can't comprehend the fact that he had the privilege of not only calling you his wife but of getting to start a family with you.

"And I love you too. So Joel.." You say with your voice lowering an octave. With a roll of your hips against his crotch, you lean down to whisper right in his ear. "You gonna put a baby in me or what?"

You wish you could take a picture of the way he's looking at you right now. Your words lit a fire in him, driving him absolutely wild. "Fuck yeah I am," he says, and just by the tone of his voice, you knew that he was dead serious.

His lips crash onto yours, much different than any time before this one. His typical smooth, seemingly calculated actions are long gone as he has not a single thought in his head other than giving you exactly what you want, a baby. Joel’s hands wander down to your ass, pulling your hips harshly against his own as he's desperate to feel you against him. The rough and rapid movement of your mouths contrasts the sweet and delicate moment you two had shared merely moments before. His grip on you was firm, making you feel as if every single inch of your body was lit aflame by his mere touch. You let out a pitiful sounding whine when he pulls away.

"Fuck yeah I am," he says, voice raspy as he speaks,

"Gonna fill you up so good, gonna make you a mommy." His lips find their way back to yours, moving in perfect time. He swallows each and every one of the pretty little moans you let out as you grind against his bulge.

There's just something about the thought of you, belly all round with his baby, that has brought some primal urge in him to fuck you until your sweet, sweet pussy is filled to the brim with his load. It's brought out a possessive side of him that neither you nor him have ever seen.

Maybe it's the fact that you, his darling wife, wants his baby. you're all his. His pants tighten at the thought of everyone seeing you pregnant, knowing you're all his and everyone seeing you pregnant, knowing you're all his an that he's all yours.

Soft, wet kisses are littered all over the tender skin of your neck after his hand pushes away any hair blocking his way. The way Joel has every inch of your body committed to memory is evident as his tongue lightly traces over that one spot that drives you wild. A moan escapes you as he continues to ravish your neck, You can't take this anymore, you need him inside you right now.

It takes everything in your being to bring your hands to tug his hair to bring his face out from the crook of your neck to meet your gaze. "Joel. Bedroom. Now."

You can't find even a hint of hesitation to follow your order as he stands from the chair. His arms lift you up whilst holding your ass to support you, and yours are thrown around his neck. The walk from the kitchen to the bedroom resulted in you losing your shirt as it was messily thrown somewhere in between heated kisses. He gropes your ass for what seems to be the thousandth time tonight, tongues moving together in what you'd describe as the most perfect way as he does so. The two of you finally make it to the bed and he lays you down.

Your wandering hands travel down to the hem of his shirt, tugging at it to silently beg him to strip it off. As always, he complies.

No matter how many times he's fucked you senseless, you still feel your face heat up as his eyes look you up and down. He climbs on top of you, nestling himself between your legs. He props his strong arms propping him up on his elbows so that he isn't pressing his full weight on you as he kisses you much softer than he had previously before.

"Wanna give you a baby so bad, (Y/N)." your body shudders at the words, the effect Joel has over you is utterly intoxicating. He shifts his weight into just one of his arms to remove your bra. He can't help but moan at the sight of your gorgeous tits on display for him. His mind wanders to how they'll soon be filled with milk as his mouth latches on your sensitive nipple, sucking gently before pulling away, returning to your other breast to do the exact same. His cock aches in his pants, begging to be inside you at that simple thought. He lets out a groan as he continues his actions and you feel the slick pooling in between your thighs in response.

Anything he says and anything he does has you unable to think, mind clouded by Joel.

A string of saliva connects his mouth to your chest when he finally pulls away, a hazy stare on his face as he looks up at you. He uses the back of his hand to wipe away the wetness on his face and you think you've never seen a sight as lovely as this. After countless nights spent tangled up in the sheets with your husband, you think you've never seen him exactly like this. Something in him had snapped tonight, and you can't bring yourself to say that you didn't enjoy it.

There was something downright pitiful in the way you say "Kiss me. Please," before cupping his beautiful face in your hands, pulling his face back up to yours. His face is now right in front of you, your nose brushing. His kiss swollen lips are just right there, almost taunting you with their proximity.

"God, you're killing me," he sighs breathily before he leans in, finally giving you what you wanted. However, the moment was short-lived as his lips left yours to press soft, wet kisses along your jaw. You mewl underneath and he thinks he could cum in his pants from the noises you make alone. You shiver as his kisses keep trailing down from your jaw to your neck then to your chest and finally he's kissing the right above where you crave him most. Sweet brown eyes keep eye contact with you as he pulls down your shorts in one motion. If you were in your right mind maybe you would be embarrassed at the way your panties were soaked through with your slick. But you're not even able to think about that right now as he kisses your cunt through the fabric, sighing afterward.

Everything inside of him is screaming to lick you clean right there, but he finds restraint. He wants you to beg for it, tease you until you just can't take it anymore.

Joel thinks he could never, ever get enough of the way you get so whiny for him when you're needy.

You squirm waiting for him to just do something. "Be a good girl and stay still for me, yeah?" he says with a quick kiss to your clothed cunt. You instantly nod and spread your legs as much as possible for him. He turns his head to the side to nibble at the skin on your thigh.

His tongue wetting it with the utmost care and affection, and you can barely stop yourself from just taking a handful of his hair and pushing his face to where you needed him most. What a fucking tease.

"Come on, I need to know how bad you want it. You're being awfully quiet."

You throw your head back, frustrated at his teasing. He brings his thumb up against your clit, rubbing it so softly through your panties before trying again. "Be a good girl and tell me what you want." You're turned to absolute mush as you melt, moaning at the slight relief his hand was providing you, but it's not enough.

"Joel, baby, please. Want it so bad. Want your mouth on me. Your mouth, want it." You don't have it in you to speak in full sentences as you keep babbling nonsense upon nonsense. The noise that you let out as he speeds up his movements was something he could only describe as downright sinful.

"You're just too fucking pretty like this. Don't know if I wanna make you come yet, I like this a little too much," he says sweetly, but you huff before spitting out anything and everything to try and convince him to just fuck you with his mouth already. It was almost pure agony waiting for him to finally cave into your needs.

"Please" Tears well up in your eyes as you look down at him, lip quivering a little. He can't bring himself to continue this little game he's got going on when you look at him like that. Who was he to deny you of such?

"I just can't say no to you. Especially when you're asking me so nicely," He says with a wicked smile, and he's finally stripping off your underwear, turning you into a puddle as he tugs the material down your legs. Your legs tremble, eagerly awaiting what's to come next. He admires the sight of your chest rising and falling as you pant. Your clench around absolutely nothing as you're leti just waiting for him to just do something. "So needy for me, darling. Look at you, so wet." His poor baby just needs his cock, but he thinks his tongue will do just fine for the moment. As you're about to start babbling pleas yet again, he's diving straight in between your thighs.

Your hand immediately goes to grasp and pull at his hair as you moan so pretty for him.

His warm tongue drags along your throbbing bud, just how he knows you like it. Now, this is the Joel you know, unlike him just minutes ago, his actions are entirely calculated after years of learning your body even better than you know it. He just lives to fuck you not only well, but what he would describe as properly. He knows exactly what to do to make you come undone by just the movement of his tongue. Everything just feels so good, so amazing when he has you like this. You let out a cry of his name, as he continues. Your hips move with a mind of their own, your promise of staying still is long forgotten at this point. He takes notice of this, strong arms pinning your lower half down with ease. The soft sheets are bunched up in your hands as you struggle to ground yourself, He's practically making out with your cunt, sloppily and it's clear he's enjoying himself as he is relentless.

He moans into your cunt, vibrations sending just that much closer to the edge. You're so close, so close to cumming all over his face, exactly like he wants you to.

"M'so close, gonna cum," You whine and it just spurs him on more so than before. He's devouring absolutely everything you can give him, letting out a moan as he brings you to your high.

You throw your head back with a lewd moan, backing arching off of the mattress as it finally hits you. It's almost violent the way you throw your head back into the pillow, the pleasure was overwhelming. Joel is all that occupies your thoughts as your orgasm takes over.

He’s savoring your sweet taste, unable to get enough of the way you taste on his tongue. You're shameless in the way you moan out for him. He keeps going and going until you're finally pushing him away, unable to handle the overstimulation.

When he looks at you, he believes that there has never been a sight as beautiful as this one. You with sweat glistening on your forehead, hair all sprawled upon the pillow, still trembling from your orgasm. It's what he personally would define as totally fucked out. He doesn't even bother to wipe your cum off his chin before his lips land on yours. You're kissing him back, lazily moving your tongue against his before he leaves you breathless as he sits up from you.

His cock aches painfully in his boxers as he finally is pulling away to remove them and his sweats, the final few layers that are keeping you separated. Your mouth salivates at the sight of him, that gorgeous cock of his has you rubbing your thighs together at the thought of it being inside you. Precome just leaking from the red tip as it twitches just for you.

"I am gonna fuck my baby into you. So perfect for me. You just can't wait for that little cunt of yours to be filled to the brim," he crawls back on top of you, running his tip through your folds as he gives it a few pumps. You let a high-pitched whine out, just wanting him to put it in and give you exactly what you want.

"Gimme your babies, wanna be such a good mommy for you. Just fill me up, please," you whine, wanting him to just stuff his dick inside already. You can't wait any longer now, the thought of him impregnating you was just too much.

"Don't worry sweetheart, I'll take care of it. There's no way I won't get you pregnant, gonna breed you until there's doubt in my mind that you are," Joel reassures you, kissing your forehead with such affection as he lines himself up with your entrance.

God he's missed being inside you. He swears it's like you were made just for him and him alone, perfectly molded to squeeze his dick just perfectly with your walls. He lets you adjust to his length before finally pushing all the way in, hips beginning to thrust into yours over and over again.

You're chanting his name, saying it just to say it as you can't find it in you to form any form of a coherent sentence. You spread your legs even wider for your husband, gasping as his pace fastens. His face is buried in your neck, nipping at the skin as he continues to fuck into you.

"Shit, (Y/N). I love you so much," He groans out as he goes to look at your fucked out expression. Your eyes hazily stare into his as clench around him. It feels as if you're trying to milk his dick dry with the way you squeeze him so nicely. It just drives him crazy to think about it, hell, you in general right now have him in a trance. No other goal in his mind but to breed his sweet, little wife. Every noise you make sounds like music to his ears as he brings a hand down to rub smooth, gentle circles on your clit.

You feel your body growing tense as your second orgasm of the night draws closer, and you know Joel is too with the way his thrusts have begun to grow sloppy and desperate. It's got you seeing stars with each and every time he slides in and out of your hole.

You hear choked moans leave Joel as he's going faster chasing his high desperately. His hands grab your legs firmly, wrapping them around his waist letting him fuck you even deeper than before. The new angle causes something in you to snap right then and there, and the rapid clenching of your walls around his cock sends Joel’s orgasm rushing through his body. Warm cum fills you up deep inside of you, pumping you full just as you had begged for earlier.

After a few brief moments that consisted of the two of you attempting to calm down and recover, he brings a hand up to gently stroke your cheek with the utmost adoration and care.

"You're really going to be such a great mom, sweetheart.

I love you," He kisses your nose, then both of your cheeks and smiles softly at you, "So much."

A/N : Divider by @uzmacchiato

[dodger-chan]

Inspired by this post by @0nemorestranger Hopefully close enough to what you had in mind

Lost Media

Steve didn’t realize he’d been humming along to anything until the music cut off suddenly and looped around to start over. The opening riff played for about three seconds before it cut off again.

“Wait, who’s humming?” The question came from one of Steve’s younger co-workers. A part-timer working his way through college. Steve couldn’t remember his name.

“Uh, that was me. Sorry,” he tacked on the apology as an afterthought.

“You know that song?” the kid asked. He sounded like Dustin.

“It’s called Plane of Shadows. I think it’s a DnD reference,” Steve answered. “Band’s Corroded Coffin. Haven’t heard them in years.”

That wasn’t strictly true. Every once in a while, Steve would play the tape he still had. Think about that one summer he’d spent as an unpaid, unofficial roadie. Daydream about what could have happened if he’d known himself a little better back then.

Not too often. Steve wasn’t that much of a loser.

The kid came over and plopped down in Robin’s empty chair. She was out sick today, getting over the flu Steve had picked up last week.

“It is. A DnD reference, I mean,” the kid said. Steve probably needed a better thing to call him; he was probably Erica’s age. “Shit, one of my friends posted that clip to this metal bulletin board. We've been trying to identify it forever. How do you know it?”

“They’re from the same small town I am. We all went to highschool together.” Not that Steve had known their music in highschool. “I don’t think they ended up with a record deal, but they did have an EP they used to sell at concerts. I can bring it tomorrow if you want.”

*********

Steve brought the tape, along with the souvenirs he’d saved from that summer. A couple of photocopied flyers. An ad clipped from a local Bloomington paper for a concert. A wristband from a bar that had marked him as too young to drink. Also his Walkman. Steve wasn’t sure if kids still had cassette players now that CDs were everywhere.

“This is so cool,” the kid - Brian, apparently - gushed when Steve handed him the shoebox he’d brought it all in at lunch. “Is it alright if I scan these? And can I borrow this tape? I want to digitize it and share the full song with the board.”

“You can do that?” Steve really needed to learn more about computers. Just not from Dustin who couldn’t teach anything without turning into a condescending asshole.

“Yeah, just record from the Walkman like it’s a mic. I’ll burn you a copy of the whole EP. That way you won’t have to worry about wearing out your tape,” Brian offered. “I would never have guessed you were such a metal fan.”

“I’m not, really,” Steve admitted. Brian blinked at him, surprised. And, well, it wasn’t the eighties anymore, and they weren’t still living in Hawkins. “Massive crush on the lead guitarist.”

“Oh, uh, thanks for telling me.” Brian leaned over and patted Steve’s shoulder. “So you and Robin aren’t-”

“Strictly platonic.” Maybe Robin was right and they should get signs for their desks.

*********

It was nearly a month later when Brian grabbed Steve at the water cooler and dragged him over to his desk, saying “You’ve got to see this.”

This was a post on the Brian’s metal bulletin board:

Crazy to hear from a buddy that our old band is a minor Internet sensation. Thanks, all. If you guys had been around back in the day we might have managed a full album. Or maybe not. Gareth’s parents would have killed him if he dropped out and Jeff actually wanted to go to college, so maybe we still would have broken up in ‘87. Regardless, we’re all thrilled our music is bringing joy to today’s metal heads. As the primary songwriter, and with the agreement of the rest of the band, I grant permission to upload and download the entire EP. We think any money we might potentially have made on it is worth less to us than the value of preserving what could have been lost media. Just make sure to credit us if your garage band turns one of our songs into a hit. Anyway, if you guys have any questions about Corroded Coffin, or the songs, reply to this post and I’ll do my best to answer in a timely fashion. Aside to OP: Is your preppy co-worker who had all our stuff a handsome former jock with spectacular hair? Because I’d love to get back in touch with our old roadie. -EM

“Oh my god,” Robin squealed, leaning over Steve’s shoulder as he read. “Please, you have to give Eddie Steve’s email. Or get Eddie’s email to give to Steve. Or both. Both would be best. That way at least one of them will have the balls to reach out first.”

“Eddie’s already reaching out,” Steve said. “And I thought you said it was anti-femminist to use testicles as a proxy for courage.”

“Stop quoting me when I’m being right, Steven.”

“So I should get his contact info for you?” Brian asked.

Steve hesitated. Real life was not some romantic comedy where attraction was always mutual and true love overcame all obstacles in the end. But it wasn’t like he’d spend the last decade pining. Even if it was nothing more than getting a friend back, it would be good to get in touch with Eddie again.

“Sure,” Steve answered. “Why not?”

[maximoffwitch]

Thanks for Noticing!

pairing: emily prentiss x reader

warnings: none, literally just fluff and emily being oblivious

summary: you've been flirting with emily for the past year. she finally notices.

word count: 966

a/n: inspired by that iconic wait, did you just flirt with me? have been for the past year but thanks for noticing! left this open for a pt 2 potentially so lmk (: also nothing can top emily’s undercover look from 52 pickup but the dress i pictured her wearing in this is the one above from her interview with conan 🤭

“Remind me why I’m the one doing this? Again,” Emily huffed as she finished clasping in her earring. 

Hotch had picked Emily to go undercover at a club and play seductress with the unsub. To say she was annoyed would be a massive understatement, especially given you were also a woman on the team, one who specialized in undercover operations. 

“Because you’re so good at it,” you teased, a goofy grin on your face. JJ bit back a chuckle as she reviewed the file in her hand. 

Rolling her eyes at you two, Emily tugged at the hem of the sparkly black dress that clung to her curves in all the right places before flowing past her mid thigh to right above her knees.

“Don’t you think this dress is a little,” she paused to find the most accurate word to describe the garment decorating her body, “too flashy.”

“It’s perfect,” JJ placated, not even looking up from the paper she was reading. “(Y/N/N) agrees with me.”

You nodded along to the blonde’s words, your eyes unabashedly ogling the exposed skin of Emily’s legs. “JJ’s right. It looks good.” Pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, you lifted your gaze to meet Emily’s burning one. “Though I think it’d look even better on my floor.”

Emily’s eyes widened and her lips parted. You could see JJ, out of the corner of your eye, look up from her file, her hand barely covering the amused smile dancing on her face. An awkward silence hung in the air, but you kept your eyes focused on the woman in front of you. 

“Did you just flirt with me?” Emily asked, regaining her senses. Her cheeks were now tinted red, and a flush of warmth had crept throughout her chest.

“I have been for the past year,” you quipped, “but thanks for noticing.”

At that, JJ couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped her lips. Glancing over at her, you smirked knowingly. The media liaison had been an audience many times to your flirtatious remarks made towards Emily. She had also been privy to the revelation of your true feelings, not that they were much of a secret considering your blatant flirting.

“Wait, what?” Emily pursed her lips, the shiny pink lip gloss making them appear to be in more of a pout.

“Seriously, Prentiss.” You raised a brow and lightly shook your head. “I thought you were a profiler.”

“But, I–” she paused, an array of memories flashing in her mind. 

All the nicknames you had for her flooded her memory. When you first joined the team, it started easily with you calling her “Em” and even testing the waters with “Milly,” which received a stern glare. But then you got bolder, calling her “pretty lady” and “baby girl,” taking a page out of Morgan and Garcia’s book. And as the two of you got to know each other better – after a number of girls’ nights out and also sharing hotel rooms during cases on the road – you softened, calling her names like “honey” and “darling.”

It didn’t stop at the pet names though. Your flirting encompassed everything from teasing jokes to clever innuendos. 

“Do you come here often?” “I literally work here (Y/N).”

“You’re lucky I like you’re so cute” “I wouldn’t say luck has anything to do with it.”

“Stop distracting me, Em.” “I’m literally just sitting here.”

“Why don’t you let me take you out sometime, Prentiss?” “Like with a gun or on a date?”

Emily’s mind reeled as everything finally clicked into place. Every word, every glance, every smirk; it all seemed so obvious now. She suddenly felt even more exposed, standing in front of you in a skimpy dress, her oblivion on full display.

Her arms instinctively crossed over her chest, not out of modesty, but more to anchor herself against the swirl of emotions rushing through her.

“I feel like an idiot,” she mumbled under her breath, and your expression softened. 

You took a small step forward, but before you could protest, a firm knock stopped you.

“Prentiss, you ready?” Hotch interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. It was time. 

Emily nodded curtly, straightened her spine, and, with a single breath, slipped her professional mask back on. “Let’s get this over with.”

As she passed you on her way to the door, her arm brushed against yours. You inhaled sharply at the contact, her warm skin leaving a trail of goosebumps.

“We’ll finish this later,” she said, her gaze more determined, more confident.

“I’m counting on it.” You smirked, your eyes following her, dropping ever so slightly as Emily swayed her hips out the door. 

Even as she was out the door and long gone out of your sight, you continued to stare after her, a stupid grin plastered on your face. 

“So that finally happened,” JJ said, breaking your reverie with a slight elbow to your side. 

“You’re telling me.” You rolled your eyes playfully and let out a small laugh. “So, you gonna tell me who won the bet?”

“Which one?” JJ teased, a mischievous glint in her eye as she made her way towards the door. The two of you were supposed to be on your way to the club, acting as cover if anything went wrong, but you wanted to know about the other bets.

“Wait, what?” It was your turn to be taken off guard. 

“Let me know how it goes later, and I’ll tell you who won the bets. All of them,” JJ bargained before turning back around and speed walking down the hallway. “Come on, Romeo. We’re gonna be late.”

Shaking yourself back into reality, you grinned to yourself, a nervous excitement churning in your stomach.

You couldn’t wait for later.

[moon-ttokki-x]

ooh could you do 53 & 64 with Hyunjin? you write really well!

. . . hey so this is super angsty bc ive kinda had a shit week so you guys are coming down with me HAHAHAHAH . also thank you for the compliment :>

unclicked - (bf!hwang hyunjin x fem!reader)

pairing: bf!hwang hyunjin x fem!reader

summary: hyunjin has been distant lately and you finally snap.

genre: idol!au, fem!reader, mentions of eating and drinking, kkami mention, mentions of feeling like throwing up, broken glass, mentions of injuries and crying, reader struggles with eating, mentions of neglect and apathy, hyunjin is kinda a jerk in this fic but i also feel bad so . . . you decide who the villain is

a/n: yeah so there's no happy ending, fuckers . . . be warned

🖤 prompts: 53. "Why are you so afraid of the truth?" / 64. "I thought I had everything figured out."

skz masterlist | skz prompt list

You had always been the affectionate type; gentle, loving, yet excitable. The type to ramble about your day over dinner while smiling and piling more food onto your plate, unaware of your lover's smitten gaze; the type that would have your arms open for Hyunjin when he came home from a long day at the company. He forever relished your comfort and the warmth of your body against his, always open to your soft words and cute smiles.

But lately, he had been distant.

Now he was out the door before you had even left the bed; always coming home late and never showing up when you needed him to. Like the time you smashed a glass and texted him asking for him to come home, but he didn't. So you cleaned it up and patched up your hand without him. Or like the time when you both finally had a day off and he spent it with the rest of his members even though you'd already made plans. You got left at home, alone, because all the rest of your friends had plans already and it wasn't like it mattered, anyway, that you were alone.

Not really. You'd chosen to understand rather than getting pissed off at him about it.

You weren't too sure about that decision now.

You sigh and begin to pick up the plates. You'd laid out dinner for two so both of you could sit and eat immediately after getting home, even though Hyunjin worriedly insisted you should eat even before he got back. You never listened, though, always wanting to share a meal with him while you both exchanged details about your days. It was one of your favourite parts of being with him; being able to welcome him home with a warm hug and a plate of good food.

But now it'd gone cold. And you were alone. Again.

The clock on the wall reads 10:43 PM.

Kkami runs up to you as you clatter dishes into the sink; he bounces hopefully around your feet, and you smile before giving him a forkful of the dinner. He yaps and licks it off messily, his high-pitched barks filling the empty apartment.

You don't bother taking any of the food for yourself, simply shoving it all into a plastic container and tossing it onto a shelf in the fridge. You were hungry when you were cooking; the rumbles of your stomach overlaid the noises of a knife against the chopping board and the simmering of the stove, but you just feel drained now. Too tired to eat, too defeated to care about the hollowness in your gut.

You wash up the remaining dishes and stack them neatly in the dishrack. Kkami comes up to you again, hoping for another bite, and you kneel down and scratch his fluffy head.

"Looks like it's just you and me," you say quietly. "Again."

The dog tilts his head, two black eyes in a mass of black and white fluff. He seems to understand, and he flops down on the floor while you run damp fingers through his fur.

"He's been coming home late so often," you mumble absentmindedly, still stroking the little dog. Your fingers pause.

He wouldn't cheat.

Would he?

No, you tell yourself, shaking your head to clear the thought out. Hyunjin wouldn't do that. He loves me, he cares for me. He clings to me every possible moment of the day. There's no way he would ever do something like that.

Then again...

He's surrounded by girls much prettier than I am. Girls that are slimmer, more feminine, girls that are a part of his world. Girls who are artists and singers and dancers just like he is. And it's not like I can measure up to them. I'm just me.

I'm just-

Kkami's incessant barking snaps you out of your thoughts. He's licking your hands, bouncing off the floor and around your crouched figure like a fluffy little pogo stick rather than a dog.

You realise what he's barking at. The salty drop of a tear pools in a little circle on the cold, tiled floor. Your face is wet.

Sniffling, having not even realised you were crying, you wipe a hand over your face, scrubbing harshly, and exhale a shaky breath.

"I'm okay," you say softly to the anxious little animal. "I'm fine. I just- I miss him. I don't know what i did wrong."

Kkami gets up and runs off. You sigh and watch him skid around the corner before standing up. Even the dog doesn't want to be around you.

You stand, wash your hands, then dry them, feeling lost. Suddenly, every movement feels like a tremendous effort. Your body feels slow and you feel a little dizzy. Maybe you should've eaten earlier.

The lock on the door unclicks.

Hyunjin enters the apartment, kicking off his shoes and locking the door behind himself. His hair is getting longer by the day, and he runs a veiny, ringed hand through the black spikiness of it as he drops his bag by the wall. He looks up, surprised, and his eyes meet yours.

You're stuck in place, rooted in fear. You're not sure why.

"Baby?" He says, voice floating over your head. "Why are you here?"

Your heart thuds dully. The first thing he says after coming home late. Again. He doesn't ask about the tears or the crying or the turned-off light or why you're still awake, no, he asks why you're here. Like you're a stray staff member on set rather than his lover at home.

"I live here, Hyunjin," you say coldly. The blood turns to ice in your veins, expression blank and unsurprised. "You would know that if you were actually home more often."

He flinches at your tone. Like he has no idea why you're upset to begin with. Like he hasn't been the sole cause of your misery for the past month. Like none of it is his fault.

He doesn't say anything. His expression betrays his feelings.

"Hyunjin," you say, in disbelief. He's not even trying to defend himself. He's just... standing there. The way you say his name makes you sound like you're begging and you hate yourself for it.

"Y/n, I just..." He runs a hand through his hair again, stepping forward. "I'm sorry, okay? I've been so stressed lately, and the tour preparation has taken so much out of me. I didn't mean to neglect you-"

"So you knew," you snap at him, tears welling. "I didn't say what was wrong, I never told you, but you knew. You knew that I felt alone and unappreciated."

He throws his hands up, exasperated. "I can't be there at your every beck and call, Y/n! I have my own life too!"

"So do I," you shout, voice rising. "I moved in with you so I'd be able to support you better, even if it meant that I had to travel further for work, even if it meant that I would get home later! I have my own life just as much as you do, Hyunjin, and it seems like all of it's going to waste-"

"It isn't!" He protests. "I like having you here-"

"But you're never here!" You cry finally. "Do you even love me anymore? Or do you just want to avoid me like you've been doing for the past month?"

Hyunjin sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Silence hangs over both of you like a heavy blanket, thick and suffocating. You can almost see the tension in the air, solid and unmoving.

He's a blurred shape in front of you, and you feel the hot streaking of tears down your face. You don't move, can't move.

"Y/n..."

You look up. Hyunjin looks defeated, tired, a quiet sort of finality settling behind his features. It makes him look so much older, that boyish charm and cheeky smile nowhere to be seen. And it breaks your heart more than he ever could. At least, you think so.

Your entire body feels rooted to the spot. Hyunjin steps behind the counter and sinks into a chair. The golden glow of the kitchen light above both of you does nothing to soften the moment.

"I really tried," he says quietly. Your heart thuds when he looks up at you, tears welling in his own eyes. "I tried to... Keep loving you."

Your mouth parts in distress, shocked. This isn't real. This isn't happening. "No."

His eyes are red-rimmed but his gaze is firm and set. "Why are you so afraid of the truth? Surely you understand that-"

"No!" You cry. You don't want to hear him say it, say that he doesn't love you anymore-

"I'm sorry," he says, a little louder. His voice cracks. "I just- I didn't know if I could make the time for you-"

"I did," you whisper fiercely. "I made time for you, for us, even when I had to sacrifice myself. Because I loved you more."

"You didn't have to do that-"

"I wanted to," you sob. "I made that choice, Hyunjin. Because I thought that if anyone could reciprocate the effort, if anyone could make me feel like the sacrifice was worth it, it was you."

"It's late," he whispers after a pause. "Please, come to bed with me. We can talk in the morning-"

"No."

Hyunjin goes silent. His eyes meet yours and there you stand, utterly defeated and exhausted, fed up, tired, and all the rest of it. But most of all, in disbelief. Because there's no way you thought this was going to happen. And the worst part is, you know exactly what you're supposed to do next. You knew this was coming, but now that it's here, you feel like throwing up.

He always said you were too independent for your own good.

"I thought I had everything figured out," you say weakly, a bitter smile curling the corners of your mouth. "And I did, but I see now that I'm the problem here. Not you."

A tear slips down Hyunjin's cheek. "That's not true."

"It is," you say, voice strong despite the salty tears streaking your face. "Because after a while, after all the lovebombing and the letters and gifts and dates and kisses, you stopped. Like you got bored of me, like I was just another one of your duties.

And you," you stab a finger at him, "You dragged it out instead of telling me, instead of wanting to fix us. You let me keep putting the effort in because you needed the love more than I did. You don't care about me, Hyunjin-"

"I do!" He cries. "I do care about you, Y/n, please, I love you. You mean so much to me, your effort makes such a difference, I'll do better, okay? I promise. Just please, please come to bed with me. It's late-"

"Oh, I know," you say venomously. "I know it's late, Hyunjin, because for the umpteenth time, your dinner got fed to Kkami instead of you. Because I'm such a fucking burden to you that you stay out late to avoid me."

You turn and grab your coat off the hook by the door. You cast him one last glance over your shoulder, bones made of concrete, limbs like unoiled joints. Tears soak your skin, irritated and sticky and puffy, but you slot your key in the door despite the watery blur in your vision. You squeeze your eyes shut at the sound of his voice. There's a thud and you know he's on his knees.

"Y/n," he cries, a choked sob leaving his throat, raw and strangled. "Please don't leave me. Please, okay? I'll do better."

You turn the key. "We're done, Hyunjin. I'll send someone to get my things."

You slam the door behind yourself, flying down the corridor, almost stumbling in the wake of your misery. Regret and guilt and determination flood your system so suddenly that you actually believe for a second that you might pass out.

But you don't. So you opt for the stairs instead of the lift, too afraid to stop moving, to stop and contemplate, then clatter down the levels, and disappear into the night, not knowing where you're going but knowing exactly what you've left behind.

Up in the apartment, Hyunjin screams.

a/n: oof . div by @kodaswrld

ttokki's taglist: @emilyywhyy @galaxy4489 @hyuneskkami @justsomekpopstuff @wavetohannie @strayingawayy @its-stayville-forever @sillyseob @wickedbutlovely @headfirstfortoro @lov3yv4mps @possum-playground @bear8585 @astraystayyh @m-325 @gnabnahcbby @mbioooo0000 @akindaflora @tsunderelino @hhwangsmoon @crazyforthatbangchandude @bluebellsringinghereandthere @ladylexis @tillaboo @geni-627 @jsngprk-vhs @stellasays45 @de-uns-tempos-pra-ca @luvvchn

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[kujainvidiata]

„Risotto Nero Observes“ - English Translation

(and my long thought session about it)

Thanks to a kind person, I finally have a link to an English Translation of the recently released short novel about Risotto Nero, called „Risotto Nero Observes“, written by Ayato Toya and translated by Hudgyn Sasdarl. It was published in the official JOJO SUMMER Magazine 2025 along with other short novels, also some festuring La Squadra members. But this one here is focusing on Risotto Nero and it is honestly a fantastic read. I would appreciate if you also share it around, so more people learn about more about Risotto Nero, since he is a beloved character of the JJBA fandom.

⚠️TW for: Canon typical violence (also involving children), murder and the whole mafia stuff you should be familiar with.

Below the cut, I will talk about my own thoughts about the short novel of my favorite character in fiction. It is just yapping in the end I needed to write down, but I also tried to analyze some stuff. I am not a native English speaker, so I am sorry for my mistakes in language. I did also not proof read it, so I am sorry for missing words or typos.

I am also adding some art I made of him because why not ✂️

First of all. Hi, my name is Kuja. I am a dedicated Risotto Nero centric artist and also a yumejoshi of him. Maybe you saw my art before if you like this character. If you do, maybe you also know how much this character means to me since he basically changed my life and brought me back into art and is the reason I found a wonderful community. Which is the reason I want to take my time and talk about this novel in my own interpretations and observations.

In short, this novel is exactly what I wanted to read about regarding to Risotto Nero.

It features no romance, introduces all of the members of La Squadra Esecuzioni and their steuggles, new characters and mostly is focusing on Risotto and his thought process, aka. his „observations“ which will be a reoccuring theme in this novel, which makes it a joy to read.

The short novel is timeline wise in the time around Christmas playing shortly after the murder of Gelato and Sorbet, which will also be a central theme.

Chapter 0:

A short scene where we witness Risotto Nero committing another successful assassination. As imagined, he is mostly using the camouflage abilities of Metallica to hunt down his targets. The kind of k1llingd he does keep being brutal and bloody, as we know later on also often to send an example and message from the highest of Passione.

It is interesting how peaceful the scene was written with the festive christmas music in the background which slowly fades into horror as the corpse is getting discovered by the passengers on that festive day.

Highlight of this chapter is for sure the absolutely high contrast of Risotto's deeds. On the one hand taking a life in a cold way, as expected from the leader of a hitman team. On the other we are experiencing a softer side on him, which many fans often speculated about. The target of Risotto's mission was just kicking a young pickpocketing girl away, making her almost fall to the ground and hurting her while Risotto, still invisible, catching her hand. Her only seeing iron powder on her small hands, probably wondering what just happened.

Seriously guys, this scene alone made me as a die hard Risotto Yume tremble in joy since it confirmed a lot of my own interpretations and headcanons about him, like having a soft spot for the younger generation. He did NOT have to help the girl, but he did, without ever getting anything in return since the girl could not even see him.

Risotto then sends a message of the confirmation of the hit to the boss who interestingly immediatly answers. Diavolo, are you camping your phone and computer all day?

Chapter 1:

One of the most interesting chapters for me personally because of the amount we learn about the hitman team again by observing how they interact with each other.

It is early in the morning and the hitman team is interacting not in person, but in a computer group chat, their personalities shining through.

We learn that Risotto Nero is currently residing inside a room which is part of a cheap apartment inside the outskirts of Naples. So is this only a temporary spot? It is written that Risotto brought his computer so it seems like he is only for a brief time living there. Do they have actual homes? Or do the members rather travel between short lived hideout spots from Passione? In the end, it is no luxury how they live. And this story often reminds us about this fact.

The hitman team is discussing about the most recent news recieved from the boss himself, about a new hit of a man called Rossi who plans to flee real soon and that Passione is entering the business of waste disposal. And two of their members should forcefully (a no won’t get accepted) transferred into this new branch: Formaggio and Illuso. Which causes a big uproar in the chat. Not gonna lie, it is very charming how they all are interacting and even throwing jokes in between. You see once again they all seem to have close bonds to each other. The typical duos are interacting, Pesci with his anniki, Illuso and Formaggio and once again Melone and Ghiaccio who really seem to get each other well, how they interact with each other really tells a lot about their dynamic.

Only one is not fully participating and rather „observing“, Risotto Nero, who tries to read in between the messages and how his subordinates are really feeling in this moment.

Also because of the most recent trauma they endured, the brutal loss of Sorbet and Gelato, two members who were tired of being treated like dirt and dismissively by the whole organization. Not respected, awful pay and the high risk of losing their lives on the daily. It is always interesting how sympatheticly La Squadra Esecuzioni is written, sure, they are assassins for the most dangerous Italian mafia but you can still emphazise with them. Many of us probably can relate to these feelings, not being treated and paid properly for the hard work we do and wanting to get their deserved amount. Their coworkers and close friends being sent to another occupation without their consent. Their capabilities not respected. Who wants to be treated like this? Sure, the motives are mostly motivated in an egoistical sense compared to an altruistic like some members of Bruno‘s gang do, which is one of the main differences of these gangs. But this is also why the hitman team feels more close, since they operate and think as a group, they want the best for themselves, the others coming afterwards, contrary to wanting to stop entire branches of their business for a better cause as a whole.

Even the boss is sending them more and more not so subtile threats how they have to submit and be obedient to his will. Like Pesci realizes, the messages are hidden in numbers. „Smorfia napoletana“ as it is called and we learn about which is a very clever stylistic choice of this novel which are basically numbers with meaning. And the boss knows very well what he wants to communicate to his hitman team, that he has the sole power over them.

And then we have Risotto Nero again. Who is, like I mentioned before, rarely participating in the talk and more inside his head and thoughts, trying to form plans, trying to see patterns and things. Now even more than before.

Because he feels guilty. Because he feels responsible for the death of two of his subordinates. He is angry at himself to not catching on clues of their planned rebellion against the organization. For not preventing them. For not hinder their deaths. In the end, he has to grief again. Something Risotto Nero always has trouble to deal and process. Once again there were people close to him taken away from him. By death. Something he now himself is known for. He, as the jet-black executioner of Passione. It is quite ironic.

Risotto really can’t let these thoughts of guilt go, he constantly is tormening himself about his and now decided to be even more keen on his men. To analyze, to think about their next steps, to prevent such a mistake. To observe.

It is not only that Risotto Nero is „surface“ level invested in his men. No, he „couldn't“ lose anyone else. He is responsible, as their leader. But why he can’t lose them?

Is it just because of the team itself? Do endure even more consequences by the boss and being dissolved by being useless? Is it because of the team spirit? Is it because he needs them for being able to work in the first place? Or is it actually because he can’t stomach any more losses? We don’t know anything about the lives of the hitman team outside their job. Do they have friends? Family? Or only each other? It seems they go around quite a lot, and being gangsters is not easy forming honest relationships between them and civilians. And even other teams inside Passione seem to be cautious, even hateful towards them. They don’t seem trustworthy for anyone else outside the team.

Also, this novel also confirms that Risotto truly cares about his subordinates since he is absolutely trying to analyze and insight for their mental states. He knows his team is processing trauma. They are still human. Luckily he knows as well how many of his members can deal with the stress or who of them is capable protecting themselves most efficiently. He thinks a lot, analyzes a lot and tries how to make a change and impact for their benefit and therefore a raise of the group morale. The mention that Risotto is thinking about giving Formaggio missons with a high chance of succeeding, just to improve his mental wellbeing because he alone found the corpse of Gelato…it tells so much about him. Risotto is absolutely observant and does not tolerate his own mistakes and puts on actual effort of being a good leader for his men. He does not want to any bad causality ever happen again between them. And losing them. As their leader, he needs to look out for the hitman team, they only have themselves.

After the team points out how quiet Risotto is the whole time, he tells them to take on this assassination by himself alone. He really is losing himself a lot inside his analytical thoughts.

Chapter 2:

This chapter is more revolving about the setting itself. We get to know the urgent this assassination is, putting pressure onto Risotto who usually keeps a cool head. Risotto will take out this murder of the soon trying to flee Rossi in a very crowded place, directly inside the mansion of this man who is tainted by very crude and unethical businesses himself. To put an example. Don’t mess with Passione. A job suited for Risotto’s brutal Stand capabilities.

The party being thrown in the luxurious mansion was right before Christmas, Rossi is intending to show his new adoptive son, Gennaro, another central character in this story.

This decadent luxury is a nice way to show again the difference of the worlds they live in.

By the way, it is very cute to imagine Risotto Nero inside a proper elegant suit he is wearing for this event. Sorry, needed to let this out.

In the next scene, an elderly couple speaks to Risotto about the over the top interior of the mansion. It made me actually laugh that Risotto was seriously being called „a wallflower“. I seriously can see this, he does not seem like the center of attention of a party. He also doesn't need to, he is supposed to be blending into the scene after all.

Afterwards Rossi appears into the spotlight and talking about the mystery of the „unopenable door“ and also just spewing out some meaningless anecdotes.

Also a rising and uncomfortable heat is described by the pair which is unsually also affecting Risotto Nero himself, which is surprising him. But it the reason is a sense of unease he tries to pinpoint to, until he realizes it is actually Metallica wriggling and moving inside his body and not actual nervousness about the mission itself. They are reaction to something inside this mansion which also is affecting Risotto‘s body. All this while he is planning how to cover the walls in red real soon.

Later on the party, Gennaro, a 14 year old boy is finally introduced to the story and guests, seemingly innocent and youthful, full of enthiusiasm.

Then the party guests were starting a tombola game, an Italian tradition, where we also get to know about the smorfia napoletana again and get introduced to new numbers and their meanings.

While Rossi and Gennaro are playing a farce in front of the crowd, Risotto thinks about the numbers and their meanings, as well as getting further affected by the temperature and discomfort inside his body.

The numbers are really dire and somewhat ironic when we take Risotto‘s backstory into account. 14 and 18, which are ages which his life turned around. 14 meaning „drunk“ and „18“ blood-stained. It is incredibly ironic just how these numbers describe his past, while the 90, before in his apartment room poster, is also appearing on his tombola card as well. His reaction and realizing these numbers was followed by a snort of him.

It really is amazing how much the author of this novel is taking Risotto‘s backstory into account and building onto that or referencing it. He constantly gets reminded of the cruel acts he decided to do many years ago which led him chose a path without any redemption.

Right after this, when the party and speech of Rossi is reaching its climax, Risotto plans to kill him, approaching him to close the Stand distance. It is interesting how he also is pointing on the target. It seems a bit suspicious, but the whole story is constantly describing that the others are not paying any attention towards Risotto Nero anways, he mostly blends in.

Also, Risotto seems to view himself as a „professional“ regarding his job as a hitman, not doing these murders for the fun of it. As long as they are paid and not caused by his own Vendetta. It seems like it is thrilling for him to catch up the ideal chance to carry out the murder for the most dramatic moment for reaching the biggest impact.

But right before Risotto could activate his Stand, the light faded, panic invokes between the guests and he lost track of his target who completely vanished after the lights come back to, the family of Rossi, his wife and Gennaro, worried about his absence and calling the police. But Risotto does not give up yet, further being suspicious of the unopenable door which not even the police who arrived could open.

After many unsuccessful attempts of opening the door and getting a new signal of Rossi outside the mansion, the police leaves again, making the party end.

It is very fascinating to witness Risotto Nero using his brain power to connect the dots and uncovering the secret of this unopenable door, using Metallica again to form objects like forks to the keyhole, which is also fake and therefore detecting a lie of Rossi losing its key. Risotto Nero has such an analytical and smart way to approach matters, trying to stay calm and composed. He knows this mission can't fail, the stakes are high.

Still, he fails to control his feelings once again, as stone faced as he is, a remark even his team mates are using towards him, which is truly sweet in a weird way, how they joke about this with their leader. He got a new message from the boss, who revealed how poorly Illuso and Formaggio will get paid and basically disrespected on the waste disposal branch. Succumbing to his anger, Risotto Nero breaks his phone, not realizing it until he hears the cracking sounds of the broken phone and through his Stand again inside his bloody hand, who seem to express his true thoughts and burning anger, screaming in their usual noises ordinary people can’t hear.

Metallica here in this novel acts very metaphorical as they really seem to be a vessle for his true feelings at times he has trouble expressing at the exterior. Be it the need of a leader of a hitman team, his past trauma or other reasons, but Risotto Nero often seems not in tune about his own feelings until later on. It is heartbreaking in my eyes that the unfair treatment of his men causes such reactions inside him. He does not want such a reality for them, he as a leader can’t allow to fail them again. And he is so sick of getting treated like this by the boss, his resentment growing stronger as well as his own rebellious spirit he tried to bury to protect his team, despite being treated worse every day. It is an endless circle of torment these hitmen need to endure. The boss basically told them to put their lives on the line, it is understable how enraged Risotto gets by that remark.

Risotto‘s appearance also gets briefly mentioned. He seems to have scarred lips, afding to his very rough a gruff apperance. Are these scars because of a neglect of himself of are these results of his past encounters?

But there was an even stronger reason making Metallica roar, the door seems to be connected and controlled with magnetism, also being most likely the reason for his own permanent discomfort on this place, which only faded within the power outage, which he now realized, the dots are connected now inside his head.

Chapter 3

In the end, the police did throw everyone outside before leaving but knowing Risotto and his Stand, He camouflages himself yet again and enters the mansion once more, iron will determonstion to uncover the secret and to carry out his bloody mission.

Inside he not only realizes all the stolen and proudly displayed good from Rossi, but also meets the adoptive son, Gennaro, once again, who detects the presence of Risotto despite not being able to see him. All while Rossi knocks and screams behind the unopenable door.

The mystery as Risotto figured out was an electromagnet inside the door, which is also the cause of his Stand reacting before.

Interestingly this novel confirms another headcanon I had about Risotto since a long time, as he tells Gennaro about the mechanism of the electomagnet which he read inside a book about waste disposal. He really seems like an intellectual and sophisticated person, reason he seems to be naturally curious about a lot of the world and its functions around him.

Gennaro lies about his reason being here, but the knife in his hand reveals his true intention, as Risotto observes, seeing the boy as a hindrance and thinking about peacefully assassinating him as well if he keeps being an obstacle of his urgent mission. Seeing that Risotto thinks about this dark act but not carrying out this murder of a young man, shows his hestitation despite him being a ruthless and experienced hitman. But, he is also seemingly intruiged by him, curious about his motives and the plan of the boy and realizing the benefit of unrevealing the crime of the young man. Also we can see that Risotto very well decides how „brutally“ he will take out a murder of a person.

Risotto lays out his own observations and detective work how the disappearance of Rossi was made possible during the power outage, which was caused by the extreme indoor heating and the lights of the christmas tree.

Quite funny how Risotto also uses his Stand powers to make a metal Tombola piece float in the air, it must have confused the boy to no end, not knowing about the supernatural Stands. He reveals another meaning of the numbers, 77, the devil, which was Gennaro‘s own remark against his new father. The man the young boy planned to kill himself, just like Risotto Nero.

Risotto is seemingly impressed how well crafted Gennaro is in planning his own assassination, but even the boy begins to flinch by the ghostly presence of Risotto, being called a grim reaper, which was also always part of his overall design.

He is curious about the motives of the boy, who wants to reveal the secret in front of Rossi himself, so they release him, with ordering the boy to drop the knife.

Rossi, completely out of breath, storms out of the room behind the door, questioning his son about the reasons of his hostile acts.

Then Gennaro revealed it all, how much Rossi has tormented him all these years after making him witness the torturing and murder of his own mother, just to get adopted by him again, probably making him suffer even more behind the disguise of a noble man, a habit of Rossi‘s twisted games. He even underestimated the boy to remember him after all these years, showing his arrogance and belittlement of others. All while the boy suffered in silcence and played an act, until now the time for his own assassination and revenge has come.

A motive and reason we all know defines Risotto all to well, his whole life. We get a glimpse of a backflash inside Risotto‘s head of the funeral of his cousin, many years ago. His mind turning dark just like his clothes. Full of rage and seeking justice of losing someone caused by another person. A person who will soon endure the same cruel fate, to make up for it again. But at what cost?

Risotto sees himself inside the boy. He was in he same situation many years ago, being 14 as well, his mind and spirit not able to process the loss of a family member. But choosing revenge led Risotto to a path of no redemption, a path of endless crime, just to get disrespected at the daily and putting his own life at risk, just to witness his loved ones getting erased from life again, not being able to counter the perpetrator this time and to submit.

No, this is a scenario Risotto experienced himself, he knows what this path will involve. I am very sure Risotto wants another fate for this boy, despite knowing the cathartic feeling of getting the revenge one seeked out for many years. Would Risotto chose this path himself again when he was reliving time? A scenario we will never know an answer of but here we see him protecting the boy for basically ruining his future life, a life without a real future, filled with crime, surrounded by mostly mean spirited people despite the closest ones.

So he tells the boy leave, threathening him to kill him if he refuses. He will carry out the mission, not only for the job, but also to spare the boy a life full of darkness.

But Gennaro does not accept, he suffered way too much from what Rossi has done, sleepless nights, trauma, feeling helpless, he only wants the release of revenge. The boy shows a strong will of resolve. And Risoto can relate so much, he truly understand what the boy is feeling. He knows these moments, this burning hatred and just bringing justice to end this once and for all. This is affecting Risotto even in such a way, that he lets his guard down, revealing his appearance, making the boy gasp in surprise by his dark and ghostly presence.

The moment of tension and two spitits connecting only got suddenly interrupted by the police forces, not hestitating to shoot on Risotto Nero as a quick act to save Rossi. The leader shortly needed a moment to process what just happened but decided to remove enough iron from the bodies of the officers to make them unconscious - a fairly peaceful decision for a hitman. But is it because he does not want to harm people who are not involved in his job or is it rather to spare the uproar of the corpses of police workers? Maybe a mix, still, it shows quite a new light of Risotto, being surrounded by members of his team who do not spare the lives of people close to their target mission. At least sometimes. Even tho, these hitmen seem all to have their own moral codex they act on.

After all, Risotto Nero is still cruel and cold enough to traumatize the people around his targets with his brutal and merciless killings, like he just wanted to do some hours ago with all the guests and family Rossi. I really enjoy how morally grey Risotto is written which really makes him an appealing and interesting character, and I try to say this as unbiased as possible.

While this short moment of being focused on the police, Rossi takes action and stabs Gennaro with his own knife he dropped earlier, directly into the stomach of the young man.

Now it was finally the time Risotto needed to act, bringing a gruesome end and torturing Rossi with nails made from Metallica‘s powers, making him suffer a long time before he finishes finally his assassination.

It is very symbolic that Risotto basically crucifies Rossi with the way he pierced iron nails through hus hands, it is very symbolic for a multitude of reasons and made me think.

If we think about Christian Religion, the punishment of being cruzified was reserved for the sinners. A way to show dominance and control by the upper hand instances, which is Passione.

It was often used for „low-life“ criminals and slaves back then, basically mocking the luxurious life of Rossi.

The dramatic display of the corpse for everyone to see to give off a warning: do not act like this sinner. It is an open display of Rossi‘s long life of wrongdoings and crime and how he now must suffer the consequences, caused by his sins. Since it is also a tool of enforcing and showing social control, it also fits the method of Passione scaring other gangsters and enemies. They are in control and on the top. They are showing psychological warfare and invoking public fear.

But also, does this act also is an act of mercy to bring salvation to Gennaro? Making Rossi die for his cruel sins to release the darkened spirit of the young man? It is quite interesting to think about this potential interpretation.

Risotto then rushed to Gennaro, picking him up, telling him that Rossi will now suffer for his sins. As Gennaro is seemingly dying in Risotto‘s arms, smiling, he found finally peace of his mind. His last act is showing the tombola card with the number 90 again, and we finally get know its meaning.

Fear.

This is what Gennaro wanted to overcome, feared and suffering by his past, not being able to act, not knowing if the feel of being haunted by Rossi will ever fleet away, now that the boy was adopted by him, probably even abused by new methods of Rossi‘s twisted mind.

Fear is what is haunting Risotto Nero and his team since weeks, enforced by the boss, treating them like dogs, making with the hitman team whatever he feels to, not respecting them, humiliating them. No regard for their talents, always reminding Risotto of his failure as a leader he cannot stop feeling guilty for. He needs to act. He can’t let this continue. But it is fear he also feels, not wanting to lose more of his men. But what is the other path? An endless cycle of ridicule? Risotto has enough. In this moment the brave acts of Gennaro must have inspired him to also put a stop onto all this. He can’t let fear to keep controlling him and his men.

And then, while Risotto is scolding Gennaro in an endearing way, talking to him like as if he was scolding one of his subordinates, like a mentor, he transforms the iron tile inside the boys hand and forms a staple.

Chapter 4

A short time skip. The news were talking about the gruesome murder of Rossi by a gangster and how this gangster also tortured a young boy was saved by a „skilled police officer with a stapler“

…a story wirhout any sense. Only Risotto Nero, Gennaro and the reader know the truth about what happened. Risotto did an heroic act, no one will ever know about, probably not even Gennaro himself, since he was barely left conscious when Risotto stapled his wounds with Metallica.

It is unbelievably tragic but also needed, as Risotto Nero has a reputation to hold. On this day, he took a life but he also saved another. And not only in a physical way, Risotto prevented Gennaro, who returned into a orphanage, to chose the same path as him many years ago. He brought salvation to his tormented and young spirit, finally removing his tantalizer from life. The boy has now again a chance of a normal life, a life, Risotto does not have himself.

Once again, Risotto brought success to Passione, without ever getting properly rewarded, payment as low as ever. Nothing changed. Only Risotto‘s resolve has.

He gathered his men again, this time in person, inside their usual hiding spot we know of. Which seems to be a rare occurance as the hitman team remarks, last time being the day they got these dreadful horrible packages of thin pieces of one of their members.

The waste disposal transfer seems to be on hold, Illuso and Formaggio being spared from changing teams this time, and they begin bantering again. Knowing they are essential to the team and valueing being among them.

This scene also confirms the basically fanon of the fandom that Prosciutto is a smoker - he indeed does.

Suddenly Risotto began to talk, he is resolved. The boss won’t continue to play with them like cheap and disposable puppets. The incident with the determined Gennaro and collecting his strength depsite still being scared, made him realize to act as well. Or else he and his men will keep this vicious cycle of being a team of assassins who despite carrying out the missions with success, still are only good enough to get potentially transferred to deal with garbage. It is a clear message, like the boss always does.

It is finally enough, time to free themselves from the chains.

He swears to overthrow the boss and organization. His will and decision strong as iron. Wanting to claim what has been taken from „HIM“.

This remark seems to be a direct hint on his pride, how much he personally has lost in his life and how sick he is of all this, fighting for a better future, for himself. But also for his team. To avenge the deaths of Sorbet and Gelato, to make their loss not being unresolved.

His subordinates being in silence, making Risotto questioning how they will decide, will they stay loyal to the team or to the organization of Passione? By now, they can only hold themselves only the little clues and whereabouts of the boss, events which unfold in the storyline of Vento Aureo.

Until then, Risotto Nero will continue to observe, to catch every clue to fulfill his revenge and bring dark glory and a better future for his team, them alone, against the remaining world. The stakes are high, him being the leader is responsible for the outcome of this resolve. Unfortunately, we know how this decision will turn out in the end. They were so close but it still was all for nothing, the mostly self motivated team of assassins' fate has already decided and it will lose against the altruistic motives of the gang of Bruno Bucciarati.

Okay, this was long. I don’t know how many of you really did read this. If you did,

Thank you.

As a summary, this short novel is a fantasticly written story about Risotto Nero and his team of hitmen, also shining with hints of fanservice, as confirming many ideas the fans had about them, and letting them all stay in character without ever breaking depsite all the bantery conversations, how close these men are. In the end, they are all they have.

This story really did Risotto Nero justice as a character, not once ever conflicting with the hints we knew about his personality but also expanding on them.

He is ruthless, cold and stone-faced, as we witnessed already in the original source material. But what we learned in this novel about him throws a new light on him, showing also his softer side.

He IS concerned about his teammates, he feels guilty about his failures as a leader, he can absolutely not cope with grief and has trouble managing his outbursts of anger - even targeting against himself and hurting himself. He looks after the wellbeing if his men, concerned about their mental health and respecting their trauma, not ever ridiculing them and their feelings. Risotto Nero is absolutely not emotionless, his inner world and thoughts are rich, which he just isn’t able to express for probably a multitude of reasons. He even shows compassion for strangers. There was no reason to save the girl from falling harshly to the ground, there was no reason to spare Gennaro, he even knows Risotto‘s face and could be therefore a danger in the future.

But he did help them. And the most cruel fact about this is, no one of them or the others, probably not even his men, will know about these acts and truths (only if they will maybe figure it out by themselves by the staples).

He is not a person who wants to be a hero, he knows he isn’t and he will never be, too many lives did he take by now. But, these little deeds to mercy and kindness are probably a secret of him, no one ever needs to know about. He has his own reasons to act, his own way. His own moral code and his own way to act.

This all makes Risotto Nero such a very well written character in my eyes, combining some of the worst human sins but also showing signs of compassion and protectiveness, like preventing others from a path full of pain or wanting to fight for his men, to finally get what they deserve.

I thank the author of this story, Ayato Toya, by a lot. This novel was a joy to read, which I already did by a couple of times. Also thanks to Hudgyn for the wonderful translation, which is very well and clearly written.

This novel probably strenghtened my own feelings for this character by a lot. I can’t express how happy I am this was written at all, if now this story gets and animated adaptation, my life will be complete. Come on, who does not want to see Risotto inside a suit?

Thank you for reading.

Oh yeah, here is my artwork of him again I made for this novel, I did imagine how he might look with a suit.

[backwardshatnick]

𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗌

in which matt still does not know how to tie a half windsor knot.

pairing: influencer!matt x high school sweetheart!reader wc: 1.2k notes: (rewriting) i'm turning this into an au surprise-surprise! inspired by that one role model tiktok & the wedding-italy vlog. credits to those who have done influencer!matt/chris paired with high school sweetheart!reader because i know i have seen them around before and i enjoyed them :) masterlist here. divider by @koosuvi <3

Matt adjusted the collar of his crisp white shirt for the thousandth time, staring at himself through the full-length mirror of the hotel suite, its luxurious bedding covered in torn Prada tissue paper while the soft hum of city traffic and railway bled through the windows. On his neck laid his silver tie, droopy and wrinkled, each crease telling a mocking tale of his failure.

He had tried YouTube, TikTok and hell, even video-called his brothers and father for instructions but to no avail. Every knot that he came up with ended up looking like a sad twist of puff pastry, all ready to crumble and unsnarl within minutes.

The bedside clock glowed a warm yellow hue, signifying the time that Matt was left with to be prepared for the Prada pre-show dinner, an event where he was compelled to look like he belonged— all prim and proper, polished and camera-ready before being bombarded with more pressure to feel in place at the actual Spring/Summer Show.

But he did not have the energy to fake it all tonight.

Sighing, he grabbed the hotel room’s telephone by his bed and started clicking on numbers for the front desk and cleared his throat before a man’s voice was met on the other side.

“Good evening, this is the front desk, Carl speaking. How may I help you?”

“Hi, um. Sorry, but…” Matt stuttered, voice crisp but laced with jittery nerves, “Is there anyone who could help me tie a tie? I know it’s not in the job description but I am really desperate and hopeless right now.”

There was a pause and hesitation in Carl’s voice, “There might be someone from housekeeping who knows. From which room are you calling, sir?”

“Room 832, East Wing. And thank you so much, Carl,” he replied, embarrassed.

A few minutes later, there was a gentle chime of the doorbell resonating throughout the suite, followed by an also gentle, “Housekeeping!” signalling the arrival of Matt’s saviour.

Matt, who was sat on the edge of the hotel bed, immediately stood up to walk over to the door, mind not fully concentrating as he opened the door, “Hey, thanks for coming. I really need—”

He stopped and froze. Shock visible through his expression when his eyes met with the girl in a white iron-pressed housekeeping uniform, hair tied back in a loose braid with a folded laundry cart full of used linen and towels accompanying her. She blinked when she finally looked up to see Matt’s sapphire orbs, lips now curled into a forced smile which clearly was not reflected in her silent eyes.

Her face had hit him like a thousand bricks, his heart undeniably skipping beats but nothing could overpower the dryness of his throat when her name escaped his lips like it was a forbidden word. A mantra that he used to chant but was now cursed to never utter.

“Bloom.”

“Hey, Matt. Still can’t tie a tie, huh?” she responded, tone sarcastic and bitter, but smooth as if it had not been years since they last saw each other.

Bloom stepped inside of Matt’s hotel suite, stride full of confidence, not a hint of dread and fear evident like everything was normal. Like they had never ghosted each other the night of the senior prom when they had spent months and months curating the perfect shared playlist, planning sneaky late night phone calls and movie nights and the one disastrous kiss that left them both scared of craving for more.

Like there was never anything between them.

Matt’s brain buffered, hazed even but managed to murmur a low, “You work here?”

The girl nodded in response, “Attachment program. Just until I finish my semester. Come here. I’ll help.”

He took an awkward step forward to where Bloom was, the distance now close but not close enough to feel each other’s warm breath fan on their skin. His chin reached just below her head, where her glistening sweat had caused the wild strands of her hair to stick, the crystal gem in her earring glinting somewhere else, tempting Matt to fix them for her. His right hand twitched, but he knew better than to scare away the girl who had left him speechless.

Matt looked down to where Bloom’s hands were. Her fingers were steady, as always, quiet and careful and always pristine, the nails never polished any colour but a pale ballet-slipper shade, always cut in an oval shape which complimented the gold ring on her middle finger, a staple jewellery she has worn since the beginning of time.

She did not ask what he was doing, all alone, in a place as luxurious as this, or why he now had decided to keep his facial hair. Bloom simply looped the silk fabric around Matt’s neck like it was any other Wednesday afternoon back in high school, the familiar scent of her berry hand cream wafting around Matt’s nose which brought back the memories that he did not deserve to remember.

When she was finally done, smoothing out the lapels of his black blazer and neat white collar, Bloom gently tapped Matt’s shoulder and stood smiling proudly at her work, “There you go. Half Windsor, The Classic Matt, just how you always liked it.”

Matt swallowed hard, “You remember that?”

Bloom finally looked up at him, and he hated just how much of her that he could still recognise with his eyes and ears closed. She was always the quiet kind, speaks only when spoken to and independent. The type who never needed much, except for maybe the one thing that he never gave her.

A choice.

“I remember a lot of things. You’re good to go,” she replied, the bitterness still not leaving the inflection in her voice.

He felt guilty upon hearing the timbre, “Bloom…”

“I know I should’ve called,” Matt hesitated, “Back then.”

A shrug was given in reply, “We were seventeen. Forget it. You don’t owe me forever,” her voice slightly raised at the last word, hurt now dominating her anger and pettiness.

Matt simply stood in between the doorway, far enough to now only smell the fresh laundry scent which clung on her work clothes, with the silver tie looped in a clean and neat knot breaking the clash of monotone colours of his outfit. Bloom took a step back further away from him, her hands now on the cart, ready to go.

“You’ll look great out there. You always did,” she huffed, reaching for the door handle, “I’m happy you finally found the perfect crowd.”

And then she left. No lingering glance, no second take and certainly no exchange of phone numbers and promises. Just the quiet click of the door where it lacked the habitual embrace and kiss on the forehead, cheeks and lastly, lips.

Just when the door was closed, Matt returned back to face his reflection on the full-length mirror, where the Half Windsor now sat clean against his upper body. Tight and neat. Hand hesitant to touch the knot as he could feel the knot in his chest tighten, too.

[andy-wm]

Still with you

I'm sitting in my hotel room quietly contemplating the nature of love.

Is it the warmth and comfort of a shared look or touch?

Is it the depth of feeling that connects you with someone who will always have a place in your heart?

Is it the the courage and determination to face life's hardships hand-in-hand; to get through the worst of it together?

I think it's all of these.

This meditation on love was sparked by Jimin's instagram both post AND story , and JK's earlier Weverse post.

Both men posted the same photobooth photos, showing them together in their military uniforms.

The fact that Jimin and Jungkook posted the same photos they had already shared with us in their Weverse live says a lot.

Those photos must be really significant.

Jimin posted them twice. He had a tough time, the caption on the reel says. And he wanted to tag JK but couldn’t.

Jimin chose Jungkook's Still With You for this reel.

Still With You is Jungkook's song released for Festa 2023.

***correction, it was Festa 2020, thank you @causesciencethatswhy for the comment. So the idea that he wrote it thinking of MS might be incorrect ***

That got me thinking .... when JK wrote Still With You, had they already planned to enlist together?

I wonder how Jungkook was feeling at the time. If the lyrics are any indication, he was feeling the heavy sense of loss that comes with missing someone you love:

With you I laugh

With you I cry

These simple feelings I have with you

Maybe they are all I am

So tell me when I will see you and look you in the eyes

I will pull you close to me

And say that I missed you

The lyrics also talk about someone who is missing him:

Looking up, the moon is so lonely

It is crying out for somebody

to join it in the sky

And I know morning will come

soon and drown the moon out

But I wanted to be your star and come join you in the sky

It sounds a lot like he has been separated from someone he loves.

Maybe he was thinking about being torn from the person he adores. The one who he is always close to, always aware of, always thinking of.

Maybe that was his fear, when he wrote the song.

Maybe Jimin's dance to Stuck With You was his response to Still With You when they found out they could stay together during their military service.

While i was thinking about all this, a few words came to mind:

Steadfast, devoted, united.

I'd say all three of these apply to Jimin and Jungkook.

And honestly what more could you want in a life partner?