#i really did my best with this one and i hope it shows

[towersofviolet]

phrases that work for me in my office job and don't require lying (i know some autistic people struggle with even harmless lies) (also these are how i would say them and i'm very british so tailor them to your way of speaking):

"doing anything nice over the weekend?" (works best on a friday, or earlier in the week if you're not going to be speaking to that person again until after the weekend) - you can then add additional comments based on their response: e.g. they're going to see a movie -> "i've seen the trailer for that, it looks good" or "i haven't heard of that, what's it about?" or "oh i haven't been to the cinema in ages, i should go sometime"

related phrase to the above, for mondays: "get up to anything nice over the weekend?"

note, if asked about your weekend and you just stayed inside playing video games (and don't want to say that), you can say "oh i didn't get up to much, just had a relaxing one"

in general, if they tell you about something they did, aim to ask 1 specific question about it, even if you're not that interested. this shows interest to them and can raise your friendship bar (if you've played the sims you know what i mean). example: if they went somewhere, ask them "was the weather good?" (if it wasn't local/you don't know the weather they got on that day) or (if you do know the weather) you can comment on it like "aw it was a lovely day for it, did you get to spend much time in the sun?"

holidays are basically fancy weekends, so you can ask similar questions tweaked for the event: "was it just you and [family member] for christmas day?" (implied question: did you visit family/friends) or "do you normally do anything for halloween?"

if they say their kid did something, you can ask "aw did they enjoy themself?"

in general (at least in the workplace) people love talking about their kids. try to remember their name and approximate age (infant, teenager, etc.) so you can tailor questions, e.g. if you know their kid is about 15/16 you can ask "is [name] doing their gcses this year?"

times of year you can conveniently ask about their kids: september (start of school year -> "is [name] back at school yet?"), december (christmas if they celebrate -> "has [name] told you what they want for christmas?"), summer (holidays -> "when does [name] break up for the summer?")

caveat: don't ask too much about their kids that it comes off as creepy. if in doubt, wait for them to bring up their kid in conversation first, then ask a related question

weather is another topic, especially if you live somewhere with very changeable seasons

rain/overcast -> (glance out the window) "ah, it looks like it might rain but i didn't bring my raincoat" or (light-hearted tone) "i was planning on going for a walk at lunch but i might stay in now!"

rain after a long dry period -> "oh we've been needing this" or (variant, works best if you have plants) "the plants have been needing this"

sun -> (light-hearted) "what a lovely day, shame we're inside!" or "i hope this weather keeps up for the weekend"

sun after a cold/overcast period -> "the sun's finally out!"

long period of hot sun in summer -> "looks like it's going to be a scorcher!"

very cold period -> "i wonder if we'll get any snow this year"

talk about your commute to work: "the train was really busy today, i couldn't find a seat" or "the roads were so empty, i wonder if the schools are closed today" or (combining weather and commute) "i just managed to avoid the rain. i got to the building just as the heavens opened" (heavens opened = sudden heavy rain)

if a colleague shares a similar commute to you, you can be more specific: "did you get caught in the roadworks on [road name]?" or "was your train alright? all the ones from [your local station] were delayed by at least 15 minutes"

work-related conversation topics are great too! this will need to be tailored to your job/area of work. i work in an office and use lots of spreadsheets so these are things i say:

while working: "my spreadsheet's so slow today, how's yours?" or "i have so many tabs open, i keep clicking on the wrong one!" or "have you done the update? how long did it take to restart?" or "did you see the email from [name]? do you read it to mean [explanation]?"

towards the start of the day: "have you got a busy day today?" or "got many meetings today?"

you can also comment on the time at work: "almost lunchtime! i'm getting pretty hungry" or "only an hour to go" or "wow, i can't believe it's 4.30 already!" (if the day has been busy and passed quickly)

and the day works too!: "monday already, that weekend went way too fast" or (excited tone) "friday tomorrow!" or "how is it only wednesday?"

note: try not to just use negative comments like this, or people may start to see you as negative/a downer. try to inject at least as many positive comments, e.g. if you complain about monday then also celebrate friday! unfortunately there's a cultural caveat here. different cultures will prefer a more positive or negative style of small talk (e.g. people may be expected to moan and complain all the time) so it will depend on the culture of your workplace!

when you're autistic and you learn how to smalltalk it literally feels like you started hacking real life

[nathanbatemanfucker]

Where the Cider’s Warm

summary: you and joel finally talk about what happened in his office that night.

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

contents: 18+/NSFW/MINORS DNI, get together fic, fluff, a little angst, food mention & consumption, kissing, smut, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v

wc: 1,675

an: they’re so awkward and cute and hot, and i adore them. hope yall enjoy 🥹

set the table masterlist | pedro pascal character masterlist

There’s a knock at your door just after six.

You peek through the peephole even though you already know who it is—call it nerves. Joel Miller stands there in his flannel and jeans, a foil-covered plate balanced in one hand, the other shoved awkwardly in his pocket. His beard is a little more trimmed than usual, hair still damp from a shower, and he’s wearing his glasses again. The ones you haven’t been able to stop thinking about since the night he bent you over his desk and ate you out like you were his last meal.

When you open the door, he clears his throat. “Ellie and Dina made brownies,” he says, holding the plate out like an offering. “I supervised.”

You grin, warmth bubbling in your chest. “Brownies, huh? You didn’t burn anything?”

He exhales a soft laugh, a little sheepish. “Almost. Ellie told me I was stirrin’ the batter like I wanted to start a fight with it.”

You step aside. “Well, come on in before they get cold. I made dinner.”

Joel’s eyes flicker to yours, uncertain for a beat before he nods and steps over the threshold. There’s a tension in his shoulders you can’t quite name, but you feel it too—this is the first time you’ve been alone since that night, and neither of you has mentioned it.

You pass him a plate of roasted root veggies, lentils, and the last of your cornbread and pour two glasses of that cider Maria dropped off last week.

He takes a bite, chews, nods like it’s the best damn thing he’s ever eaten. “You cook like you read blueprints. Precise as hell.”

You laugh, a small huff into your wineglass. “I thought you hated my blueprint reading.”

“I don’t,” he says. “Not really. You just get all up close with your mouth and start sounding out numbers like they’re poetry, and I can’t think straight.”

You blink, a smile pulling at your lips as your cheeks warm. Joel flushes and looks down at his plate, jaw working. The silence stretches, but it’s not tense. It’s warm and golden like the candle that flickers between you.

You can’t help it. You have to know some semblance of what’s going on, have to know if you were that vulnerable with him for no reason.

Eventually, you ask, “Did you regret it?”

He looks up, sharp.

“The other night at the site,” you clarify. “It’s just…I hadn’t heard from you since then, not until Ellie said you would drop by tonight.”

Joel’s jaw ticks. He sets his fork down carefully, formulating his response. “Didn’t regret a damn second of it. I just—didn’t wanna show up here like some asshole who thought it meant nothin’. Been tryin’ to figure out what to say.”

His words allow the tension in your shoulders to drain away. You reach for his hand across the table. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pull away.

“I didn’t regret it either,” you say. “I’ve… never done something like that, so open and risky. Not with someone I actually care about and not in a long time.”

“I don’t take it for granted.”

Joel’s thumb brushes the back of your knuckles. His glasses glint in the candlelight.

“I think about you,” he says quietly. “More than I probably should.”

Your pulse stutters and you squeeze his hand. “Then stay.”

His eyes lift to yours, excitement at their center with frayed edges of hope.

“Please.”

It’s clumsy at first, the way you kiss in the kitchen like two people trying not to knock over every emotion inside them. But once your hands find the back of his neck and his mouth opens to yours, it becomes something else, full of need and memory and promise.

You stumble to the couch, breathless and laughing between kisses. Your skirt is already riding high on your thighs, and Joel’s palms slide up and under the hem to cup your ass, like he needs to feel all of you at once.

“You been thinkin’ about this too, haven’t you?” you whisper teasingly against his mouth.

His breath is labored. “Every damn day. You always wear skirts to torment me?” he asks.

“You and only you,” you breathe.

He bends you over the arm of the couch and drops to his knees behind you like it’s a prayer. Your skirt stays on, bunched around your waist, and Joel groans like a man starved when he slides your panties aside and sees how wet you already are for him.

“Fuck me,” he mutters. “Prettiest fuckin’ thing I ever seen.”

His glasses stay on. Fog at the edges, a little crooked, but you catch sight of them when you glance back over your shoulder—and the sight of him like this, glasses low on his nose, face buried between your thighs, has your breath catching.

His tongue finds your clit first, slow and wet, a filthy little circle that has you keening and bracing yourself against the couch. But he doesn’t stop there. He licks higher, messier, spreading you open and tasting everywhere like he needs your taste imprinted on his tongue.

His thumbs hold you open, and then his tongue dips even higher—slick and careful—until it brushes against your other hole. You gasp, a sharp, startled sound, but your body doesn’t pull away. If anything, it arches closer.

Joel freezes for a breath, glancing up like he’s checking for any sign of no. You’re already panting, already rolling your hips back toward his mouth.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “You like that, baby?”

You nod, moaning when his tongue slides back to your clit. The contrast makes your whole body light up, nerves sparking like kindling. You clutch at his hair, ride the wave of his tongue and lips and filthy, reverent devotion.

He gives you all of it. Mouth working you open, tongue returning again and again to every sensitive place he can reach, building the pressure so sweet and unbearable.

“Joel—Jesus—”

He growls, tongue flattening against you again. “Ain’t holy, baby. Just hungry.”

Your moans turn wild; high, desperate, needy. You grind back into his face, and he groans like he can’t help it, his hands bruising-tight on your thighs to hold you there.

“Taste so fuckin’ good,” he mutters. “Missed this. Missed you.”

His glasses press against your thigh, fogging with every exhale, and your hands tangle in his hair as he flicks his tongue over your clit again and again until you can’t hold still.

“So fuckin’ good for me. Sound like a dream,” ge rasps. “

You cry out, eyes rolling, fingers tugging at his soft hair. He devours you, groaning against your skin, tongue relentless until your legs shake and your body locks up around an intense, wrecked climax.

When you collapse into his lap afterward, panting, he kisses you deep and lets you taste yourself on his tongue.

In this moment of still and tenderness you wonder.

“Are you sure?” you whisper, nose brushing his. “You still want this?”

Sure, you want to know if he wants to have sex again, but it’s more than that. There’s weight behind your question, asking if he wants all of this.

All of you.

Joel’s eyes darken behind his glasses. “More than anything.”

You move, reach between you, and tug your panties aside again, letting his cock slide through your slick folds. “Then let me have you, baby. Please.”

Something in the air shifts. It’s no less hungry but he feels himself sinking into your couch, sinking into you. And when you ask him to have him— to have your chance to claim him—his chest hitches, but he nods, eyes roaming you like he doesn’t know which part of you he wants to look at more.

When you sink onto him, you both moan, the sounds melting together.

It’s slow, filthy, and sweet. You ride him with gentle rolls of your hips, taking your time, whispering soft, dirty nothings against his mouth as his hands clutch at you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

“You feel so good,” you murmur. “M’so full, Joel. You were made for me.”

He grits his teeth, head tipping back against the couch. “Fuck. Keep sayin’ it.”

You continue spewing that sweet filth into his ear—how perfect he is, how full you feel, how much you missed him. He groans into your mouth. You kiss him slowly and delicately, swallowing the moan that slips from his lips as you roll your hips.

You ride him gently, hands in his hair, letting the heat curl between your legs again, unhurried this time, thicker. He holds your hips and watches your face, his eyes soft behind his glasses, mouth parted in awe.

When you come again—quiet, shaking, forehead pressed to his—it undoes him. He spills into you with a low growl, arms wrapping tight around your waist, breath faltering against your skin.

Joel breathes hard, glasses askew, beard wet from earlier. He looks completely wrecked. Precious. You smile and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Afterward, he carries you to the bathroom with eass and cleans you up with a warm cloth and smooth murmurs. He helps you back into your panties, presses a kiss to your knee.

Then he carries you back to the couch, stopping in the kitchen to grab you a brownie so he can feed it to you right from his hands.

He tells you how beautiful you are, how lucky he feels to be with you, how next time he’ll cook you dinner.

You lick chocolate from his finger and raise an eyebrow. “You supervised this?”

“Ellie did most of the supervising. I just took credit.”

You laugh. “As long as she supervises dinner, too.”

He grins. “What, you don’t trust me in the kitchen?”

You lean into him. “I trust you. But I’ve seen you wield a hammer not a spatula.”

He pulls you into his lap again, smiling against your shoulder. “I’ll make you dinner and it'll be damn good,” he says.

You press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Looking forward to it.”

> pt. III

lmk if you’d like to be on the joel miller taglist!

nsfw joel miller taglist: @lesbianhotch, @ozarkthedog, @lowrisemiller, @iamthatonefangirl, @campingwiththecharmings, @stargazingcarol, @megamindsecretlair, @nerdieforpedro, @fakeplasticfeels, @for-a-longlongtime, @bubblybubbubs, @jxvipike, @veritable-trash, @yesjazzywazzylove-blog, @lowrisemiller, @ficsavin, @diedorleft, @meetmeatyourworst, @amyispxnk, @marc-spectorr, @luzhesrozes

[figure-it-out7]

Stalker Simon Riley, who just by chance finds you out on his daily run one day, thinks you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, and follows you around (at a good distance of course) eventually following you back home.

Simon, who thinks you're oblivious and pretty (just the way he likes them) and goes into your apartment, (breaking in in simplemans terms) after watching you from a distance becomes not enough, and decides to bug your home.

Who doesn't know you're a total geek with a pretty facade, with skills that totally outweigh his in stalking and security (you've probably stalked others once or twice but no need for him to know that-)

Who doesn't know you've already clocked that he's trespassing, your hidden cameras catching him in every room he walks into (pretty much the whole apartment)

You, who at first wants to call the police, seeing his skull mask balaclava and big size, but decides against it because, who wouldn't want a 6 foot something, built like an Greek Olympian in their house? (Let's be reasonable here, I probably wouldn't, but for the plot-)

So instead, she watches him. How he tiptoes around her house, like a cautious cat, making sure to leave things where he sees them and not touching too much, just putting his 'hidden' cameras and audio devices up in places he thinks are best to hear and see you.

You who, when you get home, try very, (seriously, who puts a camera on an obvious spot on the bookshelf?) very hard not to go searching for the cameras, since he could be watching, and just continue with life as normal. What he doesn't know won't hurt him.

Him, who watches you, day in and day out, seemingly content in doing just that. Not knowing the day he walked through the door, you bugged his phone to find his location, and after that, when he was away on deployment, bugged his home (brother how do you live on the floor and only have the big tv you watch me on in your living room?) So technically it's not him watching you, it's you watching him, finding out who he is and how he lives.

The day he realizes it's the other way around, he's got Johnny and Gaz over, showing them the flat screen TV he's got with all your rooms on display.

Gaz finds it a bit revolting, thinks he should lighten up, and probably take down a few cameras (Really Simon? The hallway?) While Johnny cracks a joke, something along the lines of how Simon could get in trouble with you if you find out, and suddenly you..... laugh?

You, who realizing what you did, go stock still and try go about your business, hoping they didn't catch it, but they certainly did.

Simon, Johnny, and Gaz all sit there, confused, and don't understand why you laughed. How you laughed at that joke that Johnny made. You couldn't hear him.....could you?

Simon, who's now searching his house for bugs and cameras. Who finds at least a good dozen, all hidden in expert hiding spaces (girl, where'd you learn to do that?) And you, who's feeling more and more dread in the pit of your gut everytime he finds one of your hidden cameras.

(Getting this off my chest, whoever wants to continue this, you have my permission. This is meant to be a Stalker unknowingly being stalked type read, so you can keep along the lines.)

[channieschaoscorner]

New Beginnings - Part 2 - Stray Kids x female!9th member

Pairing: Chan x Reader

Summary: You’ve made it to the survival show with your best friend but things are changing. You're friendship is turning into something else and its becoming something neither of you can understand.

Genre: Full on angst (I’m so sorry) 💔

A/N: You guys I need to apologise in advance for this one. No joke, I cried at one point writing this. I feel a little bit evil after the first part was a happy ending by my standards.

I also have like 4 more parts planned out for this so it’s turning into its own series (yay for me, not for your feelings.) I really hope you like it and again I’m so sorry but love you all lots 💕

Part one

Masterlist

────୨ৎ────

The practice room clock blinked 1:42 AM. The rest of the group had long since gone home, too exhausted to keep going. You on the other hand were still there as per usual. You were sitting on the floor, rewinding a part of the track, while Chan sat nearby, notebook in his lap, tapping his pen against the page. He’d come in a little while ago, claiming the excuse of needing a change in scenery.

“Alright,” you said, standing and stretching. “I’ve got five more counts to fix. You still stuck on that bridge?”

“No…” Chan scoffed, even though he was absolutely still stuck on that bridge. “I’m almost done.”

“Bet you I finish this choreo before you figure out your lyrics.” You smirked, walking backwards toward the mirror wall.

“What’s the bet?”

“Loser buys snacks for a week.”

“You’re on.”

You turned the music up and jumped back into the steps while Chan hunched over his notebook, furiously scribbling. Every few minutes, you’d sneak glances at each other in the mirror — catching his eye, smiling when he stuck his tongue out at you.

At one point, you messed up a step and groaned loudly.

Chan looked up with a teasing grin. “Need me to help you out, or…?”

“Please,” you laughed, walking over. “Like you can even keep up with me.”

“I kept up with you for years.” His voice softened, and so did yours.

“Yeah… you have.”

A quiet moment stretched between you before you both shook it off with matching smiles.

“Focus, Bang Chan. I’m winning this bet.”

“Yeah, yeah, in your dreams.”

You kept working side by side, the night blurring into comforting warmth and quiet music, and the unspoken truth that neither of you cared who won anymore.

────୨ৎ────

The clock had slipped past 3AM by the time you finally gave up.

“Okay, truce,” you groaned, collapsing onto the floor with a dramatic sigh. “I’ll buy the snacks. I can’t feel my legs anymore.”

“Deal,” Chan chuckled, dropping his notebook and flopping down beside you, shoulder bumping into yours. “But for the record, your choreography’s insane. The kids won’t survive this.”

“They’ll manage. They’ve got you, haven’t they?”

You turned your head, smiling at him, and he felt something tug in his chest. Something he pushed away and ignored.

“Yeah, well… I’ve got you too.”

It came out softer than he intended, and for a second, neither of them moved.

Then you grinned. “Damn right you do.”

You nudged his shoulder and sat up, rummaging through the snack pile you’d gathered. You handed him his favorite without even needing to ask.

“You always remember what I like,” he said, teasing, but something about the way he looked at you lingered. His eyes a little too gentle, a little too full.

“Well, someone’s gotta look after you. You’d live off energy drinks and stress without me.”

You sat cross-legged on the practice room floor, trading snacks and teasing each other, swapping old stories from your trainee days. Like the nights you snuck extra practice time, the times you had covered for each other, the little victories no one else had seen.

When you laughed at one of his jokes, Chan found himself watching you instead of laughing. The light in your eyes, the way your legs curled to the side, the warmth you carried like it was stitched into your skin. He didn’t realize how long he stared until you caught him.

“What?” You tilted your head and looked at him curiously.

He blinked. “Nothing. I’m just glad you’re here.”

You offered him a soft smile. “I’m not going anywhere, Chan.”

And you both believed that so easily.

Neither of you ready to admit the way your hearts beat too fast in these small, unspoken moments.

────୨ৎ────

The room was buzzing with anticipation as the Stray Kids members sat in a circle, waiting for JYP’s announcement. The survival show had already pushed you all to your limits, but today felt different, something unexpected was coming.

JYP entered the room, his usual calm presence settling over everyone. His eyes scanned the group, before his eyes settled on you. “Alright, everyone, I’ve been thinking about the next challenge. We’ve seen how you all work as a team, but now, I want to see how the two of you will collaborate.”

You caught Chan’s eye for a split second, your stomach fluttering. You tried not to let the nervousness show.

JYP continued, “So for this next stage, Chan and Y/N, I want you two to perform a duet. You’ll have to work together, not just as friends but as leaders. I want to see how well you can communicate and create something meaningful together.”

A sudden hush fell over the room. You could feel the weight of JYP’s words pressing down on you.

You and Chan.

A duet.

Together.

In theory it made sense. You had worked together as friends for years, as teammates, you shouldn’t be nervous but this was something else entirely. A duet was a performance that required you to put complete faith and trust in your partner.

“This stage is going to be emotional.” JYP continued, oblivious to the shift in the room. “I’m not going for something high-energy. I want to see how you both can bring vulnerability and depth. Show us something more. I believe in you two, so I expect you to deliver.”

The challenge hung between you and Chan, like a heavy weight neither of you could lift. It wasn’t just a performance. It was a test of what you could handle, and, more importantly, how much you were willing to expose. The vulnerability that JYP asked for wasn’t something you were used to. But now, it seemed inevitable, you were going to be forced to bare your soul on stage for everyone to see.

Chan’s gaze met yours, and for a moment, everything around you felt like it was in slow motion. The excitement that bubbled up inside you only added to the strange tension you couldn’t place. Was he feeling it too? You didn’t know. You both quickly looked away, pretending to play it cool, but inside, you were both trying to figure out what this meant.

Chan forced a smile, though you could tell it didn’t reach his eyes. “Alright, let’s do this,” he said, trying to make it sound easy. But his voice cracked just a little, and it made your heart race in a way you couldn’t explain.

“Are you two nervous?” Changbin asked, raising an eyebrow as he noticed your stiff postures.

“Of course not,” you laughed, but it sounded a little forced even to your own ears. “We’ve got this.”

But even as you said those words, you knew it wouldn’t be that simple.

JYP smiled knowingly. “Good. I’m looking forward to seeing what you both come up with. Take your time, practice together, and figure it out.”

As JYP left the room, the younger members began to chat excitedly, their energy bouncing off the walls. You and Chan stayed silent. The sudden, unexpected reality of what had just been assigned to the two of you was starting to settle in and what it could mean not just for the group but for both of you if you failed.

Failure wasn’t an option, you decided.

No matter what was going to happen.

Later on, when you arrived for your first practice, you found Chan already sitting by the speakers.

“You beat me.” You teased, but it did nothing to ease the tension that had settled in you earlier on.

He smiled, but you could tell it was forced.

You opened your mouth to speak again but hesitated, you didn’t actually have anything to say but you desperately wanted to cut through the silence.

Chan’s eyes dropped to your hands, you were pulling the sleeves down, it was a nervous habit that he’d picked up on a few years ago. His stomach flipped uncomfortably at the thought of you being nervous with him.

“I think I’ve found a song for us to do.” He hit play without waiting for you to reply. You nodded along as the lyrics filled the room. It was emotional, filled with words of longing and love but also fear of losing their person. It was…

“Perfect.” You said, when the song ended.

“Do you think so?” Chan’s hand drifted up to his earlobe, twisting the earring that sat in it.

Your eyes narrowed slightly when he did so, was he nervous as well?

“It will be if we can pull it off.” You pushed through the nerves bubbling in your stomach.

────୨ৎ────

Over the next few days, you had settled into a more comfortable rhythm with each other. The initial awkwardness of having to be so emotional with each, pushed aside as the need to perform well consumed you both.

With the rest of the group preoccupied with their own challenge, you and Chan had been spending nearly every hour of your days together. It was a good thing that you were already friends before this as spending this amount of time with anyone would have most people ready to take each other's heads off from the pressure of it all.

Not you two though, thankfully you had become quite used to living out of each other's pockets in your earlier years when you had been each other's only friend.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been rehearsing today, only that it was dark when you arrived and it was dark now you’d seen when you went to the bathroom earlier. It was easy to lose track of time in the practice room. Caught up in the rehearsals and each other's presence, it wasn’t the first time and it wouldn’t be the last.

“You’re going to kill me.” Chan groaned from the floor.

“You’ll live.” You walked over to him holding a water bottle, you nudged his leg with your foot.

He sat up wordlessly, taking the bottle off you with a nod. You ignored his hand brushing over yours, choosing instead to crack your knuckles as if that could remove the tingling sensation left there.

You sat down next to him, too aware that he was still staring at you and you shifted uncomfortably. Desperate to break whatever this feeling was, as Chan takes a long drink from his water bottle, you snatched it out of his hand mid-sip.

“Hey!” he coughs, laughing.

“What? Sharing is caring.” You grin, purposely taking an exaggerated sip.

“You better hope I don’t catch your germs.”

“Maybe I want you to.” It slips out too quickly, too easily, too… too much.

He holds your gaze for a second too long of eye contact.

Your smirk falters.

His gaze drops to the bottle in your hand, then back to your face. Neither of you says anything. You toss it back, and stand up quickly, walking back to your phone to turn the song back on.

“Come on, let’s run this again.”

Chan stands up, ready to jump back into rehearsal mode, ignoring the fact that his pulse is a little faster than it should be.

────୨ৎ────

*3 days until the final performance*

The final performance day was growing closer and closer.

You and Chan have been pushing yourselves to the limit. Only taking breaks from your own rehearsal to check in with the others and help them with their challenges. It took much needed energy out of you but neither of you complained out loud, all too aware of the responsibility on your shoulders.

This responsibility meant that you kept pushing your own practices back later and later until it was almost morning by the time you would finish up, head back to the dorms and get back up to do it all over again.

Tonight was no different.

The fluorescent lights hummed softly above you, casting a gentle glow over the near-empty practice room. It was one of those late nights again. The kind where exhaustion seeped into your bones, where your muscles ached and burned, and yet neither of you could quite bring yourselves to leave.

You sat on the floor against the mirror, legs stretched out, you head tipped back against the glass. A dull, persistent headache throbbed behind your eyes, made worse by the tight pull of your ponytail. You winced as you shifted accidentally catching some of your hair, you closed your eyes in an effort to block out the light for a few seconds of relief as Chan knelt nearby, rummaging through his bag for his water bottle.

He noticed your discomfort immediately.

“You okay?” His voice was soft, almost hoarse from hours of use.

You gave him a tired smile, your hand lazily reaching up to rub the back of your neck. “Headache.”

Chan hesitated for a second, his gaze lingering on you, watching the way your brow furrowed and your shoulders slumped. Without a word, he moved closer, gently batting your hand away.

“Here,” he murmured, kneeling in front of you.

Before you could argue, his fingers brushed against the nape of your neck, tugging carefully at the scrunchie that held your hair back tightly. His touch was careful, a little clumsy. Too intimate for something so simple. You closed your eyes at the warmth of his fingertips.

The soft, worn fabric slid free, and your hair spilled down around your shoulders. The release made you sigh involuntarily. A soft, relieved sound, and Chan felt it like a warm ache in his chest.

“There.” he said quietly, his fingers lingering a beat too long before pulling away.

You opened your eyes, blinking at him. The look between you both was heavy, something unspoken settling in the air around you.

He broke first, eyes falling down the scrunchie in his hand. He hesitated for a second before he tucked it into his pocket without waiting for permission, as if it had always belonged there. And maybe it did. You didn’t object either way, a single thought drifted in the back of your head that you were happy he kept it but you weren’t sure why.

────୨ৎ────

*2 days until the performance*

It was late. Too late, really. The only light in the practice room came from the dimming bulbs overhead which were absolutely going to need to be replaced from how much time the two of you were spending in here. The glow of your phones offered little lighting in the corner of the room. Both of you had been going for hours now, working through every single step, every little move, every note, perfecting it all for the survival show. But your body was beginning to protest, exhaustion creeping in.

You rubbed your arms, trying to get some warmth back into your cold skin. The chill in the air wasn’t helping, and you found yourself shivering, despite how much you had been moving earlier. It wasn’t that you had forgotten to bring a jacket, you had but gave it to Jeongin earlier who had forgotten his even though you reminded him this morning before you left the dorms. Now though in the stillness of the practice room, it was hard to ignore.

Chan, however, was still going, focused on the moves, gliding across the floor with ease, but you could tell his attention was partially on you. He kept glancing over at you, his eyes narrowed slightly in concern as he noticed you rubbing your arms again.

“Hey,” he said, finally turning toward you. His voice was soft, but there was an edge of worry to it. “You okay? You’re shivering.”

You gave him a small smile, trying to brush it off. “I’m fine. Just a little cold. I’ll be okay.”

He didn’t seem convinced. There was something about the way he looked at you, his eyes lingering for just a second too long, that made your chest tighten.

“Hold on a second,” he said, walking over to his bag, pulling out his hoodie. It was oversized on him, the dark fabric a bit worn at the cuffs, but it still had a comforting familiarity to it. You weren’t sure why, but just the thought of him giving you his hoodie made something stir in your chest.

He held it out to you, a gentle smile on his lips. “Here. It’s cold in here. You can wear this.”

You hesitated for a moment, looking at the hoodie. Something about it felt so intimate, like a quiet offering of care that you weren’t sure you were ready for. You had spent years being close to Chan, always side by side, but this was different. There was a subtle tension in the air now, a strange pull between you that you weren’t sure how to describe.

“Thanks.” you said quietly, taking the hoodie from him, your fingers brushing against his for a second. The brief contact sent a jolt through you, and you quickly pulled the hoodie over your head, the fabric swallowing you in its warmth.

As soon as you slipped your arms into the sleeves, you could feel the familiar, comforting presence of Chan’s scent. It was like a shield, like a piece of him that was now wrapped around you. You didn’t know why, but something about wearing his hoodie made your heart race just a little faster.

You looked up at him and saw that he was watching you closely, his gaze soft, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes, something you didn’t quite understand. He looked… pleased? Maybe even a little proud, but it wasn’t just that. There was something deeper, something unspoken, a quiet kind of longing that lingered between you.

“You look good in it.” Chan said, the words coming out softer than usual, almost shy.

You felt your cheeks warm at the compliment, and you smiled, a little embarrassed. “Thanks.”

There was a brief silence, both of you standing there, not quite sure what to say next. But the tension between you was palpable now, the distance between friends blurring. It was still subtle, but it was there, hanging in the air.

“I’m glad it fits.” he added, and you could tell he was trying to make it sound casual, trying to downplay the strange energy that seemed to have settled around you both. But his eyes were still on you, and you couldn’t ignore the way his fingers absently tugged at the sleeve of his own hoodie, almost like he wanted to pull you closer but didn’t know how to.

“Yeah,” you replied, tugging the sleeves down over your hands. “It’s perfect.”

He smiled, but there was something in his smile that felt a little too heavy. It lingered a little too long, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was feeling the same thing you were — that strange, unexplainable pull between the two of you that you were feeling more and more as these practices went on.

You should have said something, anything, to break the tension. But instead, you both stayed there, silent, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest but neither of you spoke, the words too difficult, too tangled in the space between you.

You couldn’t explain why, but in that moment, wearing his hoodie felt like the closest thing to being wrapped up in his arms. The idea of that alone made your cheeks burn, and for a second you were scared that he would know exactly what you were thinking about.

As you both returned to your positions without a word to continue rehearsing, you caught him stealing glances at you. Every time you caught his eye, you quickly looked away, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks again.

“It’s just a hoodie.” You kept telling yourself but you knew it wasn’t. It was everything. The way he cared for you, the way he always looked after you. You didn’t understand it, but you knew that it was something you didn’t want to lose

────୨ৎ────

*Final rehearsal*

It had been a long night of rehearsals. Endless runs of choreography, fine-tuning the moves for the performance tomorrow. You could feel your body aching and protesting from the exertion, but the weight on your chest was made heavier by the other person in the room.

You were hyper-aware of the space between you and Chan, of the quiet tension that had been building for days. To say it was confusing you would be an understatement. This had never happened between the two of you before, you’d always felt comfortable with him but now? Every moment alone felt charged, like there was a bigger force behind what was happening and you didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t talk to the one person that you would do normally, how do you tell your best friend that your friendship is starting to make your head hurt?

Chan stood across from you, sweat beading on his brow, his breath coming slightly faster than usual. His eyes met yours for a brief second, and you froze. The moment stretched on, like a pulled rubber band that was about to snap, but neither of you moved, neither of you spoke.

Chan’s gaze dropped to his feet for a second, and you felt an inexplicable urge to break the silence, to say anything to break this strange, heavy feeling in the air. But before you could find your voice, Chan stepped closer, the space between you narrowing.

“Let’s run it again,” he said, his voice low, a little breathless.

You nodded, not trusting your voice, your heart racing as your eyes followed his every movement. He was so close now, too close, but neither of you seemed to back away. It was like your bodies were drawn to each other without your permission.

You forced your feet backwards, ignoring what felt like your own nerves protesting against you and found your starting position. He remained still, watching you carefully, he knew you were on edge and wish you’d tell him why. It was driving him insane, he wanted to ask you what was wrong but was afraid of the answer you would give him.

He shook his head, as if he could shake the stress straight out of it and found his own position. The music kicked in and the two of you began to move. Despite what you both were feeling, you couldn’t deny that you performed well together. Countless months of training as trainees had meant that you were familiar with each other's movements. The only difference in this routine was the meaning behind it, the powerful lyrics about love and longing were dragging up something in the both of you that neither of you had been prepared for, and so you both continued to shove it away and pretend it didn’t exist.

The final moment in the performance was always hard to pull away from. It ended with one of Chan’s hands on your waist and the other holding your face. Your own hands rested on his chest. The more it was rehearsed, the harder and harder it became to force yourself to step out of his embrace.

The music ended and once again, in his arms you felt suspended in time, your body held close by him, the feeling of his chest rising and falling under your fingertips. The music had faded into a quiet hum. Both of you were standing there, breathing in sync, eyes locked for a second too long.

You felt his hand on your waist, his fingers warm through the fabric of your clothes. You stood there, unwilling to move and tired of arguing with yourself that you needed to step away. The moment stretched on, thicker than any choreography you’d rehearsed before. Something felt different. Your chest tightened, and your heart picked up speed, as if it could escape your ribcage at any moment. You were terrified that he could hear in, no idea how you could explain this if he could.

Chan didn’t move, didn’t break the connection. Neither of you dared to speak, both of you caught in the tension that hummed between you like static electricity. His fingers flexed and gripped your waist tighter. His thumb moved ever so slightly on your cheek, so fleeting he could argue that it didn’t happen at all.

His eyes flickered to your lips, and just for a brief moment, everything stopped completely. The air was so thick you felt dizzy, certain that without his grip you’d have fallen in seconds. The closeness, the quiet, the stillness overwhelming.

It was almost too much to bear.

And then, so gently, so slowly, as though drawn in by an invisible force, Chan leaned forward. His lips brushed against yours, like a soft whisper, barely a touch, like a question that didn’t need to be answered. His breath mixed with yours, warm and uncertain, leaving you paralyzed for a moment, unsure if it was even real.

You felt the ghost of his lips against yours, soft and fleeting, and then it was over.

He pulled back, but still neither of you moved. You were both frozen, staring at each other as if you’d crossed some kind of invisible line. The reality of what had just happened hung between you like a dense fog. Neither of you could breathe properly, the weight of the moment pressing down harder with every passing second. You could feel the cracks starting to appear between you.

“I—” Chan’s voice cracked slightly, as though he were trying to find the words, but they weren’t coming.

You opened your mouth to speak, to say anything, but no words came. Your throat felt tight, like it was holding something back, something too heavy to say out loud.

“Sorry.” Chan muttered, his voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean to—”

You shook your head, your hand instinctively going to your lips, the heat of the moment still burning.

“It’s… it’s okay. I don’t know what—” Your voice faltered, and you could hear your heartbeat hammering in your ears, loud and deafening.

Neither of you knew what to say.

“I just… I need a minute,” you said quickly, your breath shaky as you stepped back from him. You couldn’t stay in the same room with him, not now, not after that. You were too scared, too confused.

Chan nodded, his hand dropping from your waist, clenching into a fist at his side. “Yeah. Me too. I just… I didn’t—”

You didn’t wait for him to finish. You grabbed your things quickly, your hands trembling as you shoved them into your bag. Every movement felt clumsy, like you were trying to outrun something you couldn’t understand. You didn’t dare look at him, not now. Not after that.

Chan opened his mouth as if he were about to say something, but he didn’t. He just nodded slowly, his face strained, as if he was trying to understand everything just as much as you were.

You didn’t look back when you walked out of the practice room. The cold air hit you as soon as you stepped outside, but it didn’t do anything to calm the storm inside your chest. You felt your heart pounding, your thoughts a whirlwind.The kiss had been so soft, so fleeting, almost like it hadn't happened, and yet, it had managed to change everything.

What had that kiss been? Why did it feel like everything was changing between you two, and why did it terrify you so much? You were scared. You were scared that you’d lost him. Scared that if you let yourself feel what you wanted to feel, you’d ruin the one thing you’d always relied on.

No.

It was nothing, right?

Nothing but a slip-up.

You repeated that like a mantra to yourself, ignoring how your chest ached, your thoughts swirling, your heart tangled in the mess of emotions you didn’t have words for. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. You didn’t know if you were relieved that it was over so quickly or terrified of what it could mean. You didn’t know if you’d be able to face him again tomorrow without feeling the weight of what had just happened.

An image of the performance tomorrow in front of the others appeared and you banished it far from your mind, as far as it could possibly go.

The thought of losing him, of messing up what you had. It terrified you more than you wanted to admit. You wanted him so badly, and that terrified you too. You couldn’t lose him. Not like this. Not after everything the two of you had been through but you couldn’t stop going back to it.

How could you possibly stop thinking about it?

He had kissed you.

No matter how hard you tried, how hard you pushed them away, it kept coming back. The closeness, the feeling of his lips against yours. It was soft, gentle but there was something hovering behind it. Something full of longing, full of things unsaid.

And it terrified you.

You didn’t know what that kiss meant but you knew one thing:

You couldn’t pretend it didn’t happen, couldn’t pretend that you didn’t want to kiss him again, that you didn't want to turn around run right back in there to him and despite all of that, you knew you were going to have to.

So for the first time in years, you walked home alone. You kept pushing yourself forward, reminding yourself how much of a mess this would cause if you admitted the truth, admitted how you actually felt, what it would do to you both so you ran.

Ran further away from the JYPE building, further away from that stupid practice room and further away from him.

────୨ৎ────

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[i-get-obsessed-fast]

Party4U

I wish you’d get here, kiss my face

Summary: It’s your birthday, and you throw a party in hopes Spencer Reid shows up because truth is, you only threw this party for him…

A/N: ngl writing this gave me bad flashbacks and now I never want to drink again…(I’m still going to)

BYR(b4 u Reid): Alcohol, mentions of drunk people, drunk kissing (yes lawd), awkward Spencer, season 1 Spencer, reader is over 20, no use of y/n, and sexual content. Lmk if I'm missing anything.

It was getting later into the night, people were stumbling around, dancing, taking shots, and playing beer pong. It had now become a full-blown party, and everyone seemed to be having the time of their lives.

You were a little buzzed, not too much. You were pacing yourself, holding off. You were waiting for someone. He promised he'd come. And Spencer Reid never broke a promise.

Especially not today. Not on your birthday.

“Birthday girl isn’t even drunk yet! This is not good.” Your roomate Sarah shouted, clearly several drinks in. “I’m waiting for someone.” You replied, sipping from your cup.

She rolled her eyes and snorted. “Don’t tell me you’re waiting on that nervous little FBI chihuahua.” Your mouth fell open slightly. “Don’t be rude. He’s sweet. And yes, I am waiting.”

She sighed dramatically. “Well, good luck with that. This is definitely not the kind of place he’d show up to. You’re going to get stood up.”

You shook your head. Spencer wouldn’t do that. If he wasn’t coming, he’d at least call. He’d explain.

Still, as the party kept going and the minutes ticked by, you couldn’t help but feel the little twist in your stomach. Maybe he changed his mind. Maybe he got too nervous. This really wasn’t his scene.

Maybe the party was a bad idea.

You sighed, slipping into your room. Thankfully, it was empty. No couples, no drunken chaos. Just your stuff, your bed, and the hum of bass through the walls.

You sat at your vanity, looking at yourself in the mirror. You’d put effort into tonight. Found the perfect dress, something cute but not over the top, just enough to feel confident.

You knew Spencer didn’t care about appearances like most people. That’s part of why you liked him so much. But still, you wanted him to see you at your best.

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath in. It was silly to get this upset over a guy. You told yourself you’d take a few more drinks and forget about it in the morning.

Then your door creaked open.

“Sarah, I’ll be out in a bit.” You said without looking. But then-

“Hey.”

You turned quickly, and there he was.

Your whole face lit up. “Spencer!” You squealed, rushing to him and wrapping your arms around his neck. He froze just for a second before placing his hands nervously and gently on your waist.

“You came! I was worried, I thought maybe…” you pulled back just enough to look at him. “I thought maybe you weren’t going to show up.”

“You were worried about me not showing up?” He asked, eyebrows raised.

“Of course I was! You are my main guest.” You beamed at him. He blinked like he couldn’t quite process your words. You were always open about how you felt, always flirting, always dropping not-so-subtle hints. But somehow, Spencer Reid, certified genius, 187 IQ, turned into a socially anxious mess whenever you did.

It wasn’t that he didn’t notice. He just wasn’t sure how to reciprocate it back in a way that wasn’t so awkward. You made flirting seem so effortless, so easy. He on the other hand would just make a total fool of himself.

You tugged his hand. “Come on, we’re taking a shot.”

But he didn’t budge. You looked back and saw the nerves written all over his face. “Everything okay?”

“I,um, I don’t know anyone here. And I’ve never… drank before.” He admitted.

You tilted your head, smiling at him softly. “Aw, I get to pop your cherry?” You teased, then quickly added. “I’m kidding Spence. You don’t have to drink. We can just hang out and laugh at the ones who had too much.”

His eyes softened. “I don't want you to be bored. It's your birthday.”

“Well you're here so I won't be bored.” you said sincerely. “No, it's okay… I want us to have fun. I’ll get over it.”

“Spencer we don't have to, I promise you,” you assured him, looking deep into his eyes so he knew how serious you were. “I want to.” He replied.

You gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll take baby sips first.”

And then, to his surprise, you kissed his cheek. He blushed instantly.

You led him out into the crowd, fingers still laced with his, grabbing two bottles. “We can sip on these until you get a bit more comfortable.” You said into his ear, he nodded.

You then introduced him to a few friends, watching his posture shift slowly, the tension starting to ease once he realized no one was judging him. If anything, your friends seemed impressed with how highly you spoke of him. He noticed the way you held onto his arm, how you made him feel like he belonged.

“How’re you feeling?” You asked as the two of you stepped outside for some air.

“I feel… good. You know a lot of people.”

“Yeah, I tried to keep it small but, well, word got around.”

“I think it’s fascinating. That you’re so comfortable with people.” You looked up at him, smiling. “Some people think I talk too much.”

“I like it. I like listening to you talk.” He said it like it surprised even him. You blushed. “Really?”

He nodded, then straightened up. “Actually… I think I’m ready for something stronger.”

You grinned. “Alright, big guy. Let’s go.”

Inside, you let him pick the drink. You poured two shots and handed him his cup.

“You ready?”

He gave a tiny nod, and you clinked cups. The moment he drank it, he coughed, making the worst face. You handed him a chaser immediately.

“Thanks.” He said hoarsely, lips pink and eyes wide.

Soon, he loosened up even more. You could tell, he held your hand more confidently, his hand occasionally finding your waist. You liked it. He seemed…freer.

“Beer pong?” You suggested. He gave you a look. “I don’t know. I’m not great at throwing things.”

“You’re good at math. I’m sure there’s some equation you can solve to get it right.” He smiled. “I’m pretty sure the game requires physical coordination, too.”

You looked him up and down. “Well, physically, you look good.” You teased giving him a thumbs up. He blushed and you led him to the table.

Shockingly, you two were winning. Granted, your opponents were very, very drunk, but still.

When Spencer made the second-to-last cup, you cheered, high-fiving him. Your fingers interlaced and lingered, until he pulled away.

You turned toward the table, ready to shoot your shot until your felt Spencer’s hand find your waist, then slid down your back to the hem of your dress slightly adjusting it because it had ridden up a bit.

Your breath caught.

So did his.

He couldn’t believe he just did that, neither could you.

You won the game. Of course.

You guys took celebratory shots, Spencer was getting better and better each time.

Spencer sat on the couch and gestured to his lap. “What?” You asked, heart skipping. He didn’t answer, just gently pulled you down to sit on him.

One of his arm wrapped around your waist, resting on your thigh, while the other interlaced with your hand.

“Are you comfortable?” He whispered into your ear. “I always am when I’m with you.”

He looked up at you smiling. Butterflies. Everywhere.

You both sat, just watching people, content in the buzz of the room, the safety of his presence.

His fingers were now smoothing over your skin, rubbing gently, innocently, on your thigh.

You knew he probably didn’t even realize what he was doing, but it made your thoughts spiral. Your heart beat faster.

You both sat together for a little longer, having conversation about everything, your guys cheeks were flush but starting to slowly cool down. You could feel Spencer’s gaze on you, soft but nervous, like he was building up the courage to say something.

“I, um… I have a present for you.” He said quietly, fingers now fidgeting with the hem of your dress. Your heart skipped a beat. “Spence, you didn’t need to-”

“I wanted to.” He cut in, his voice firm but still shy. His eyes searched yours. “Can I give it to you? In your room?”

Your stomach fluttered. You nodded, lips tugging into a smile as you stood and offered your hand. He took it, his fingers trembling slightly against yours as you led the way to your room.

You shut the door behind him, and took a seat at the edge of your bed, and he joined you. Close enough for your thighs to brush. You watched, your chest tightening, as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. He opened it carefully, revealing a delicate gold necklace with a tiny diamond that shimmered under the soft light.

“Spencer…” your voice came out barely above a whisper. “This is beautiful.”

“You like it?” He asked, eyes hopeful, and nervous. “I love it.” You said genuinely, looking at him. “It’s perfect. I’m wearing this everyday.”

His mouth twitched into a small, relieved smile. “Can I put it on you?”

You turned without hesitation, he brushed your hair out the way, his fingers lightly touching your skin, featherlight and cautions, and that little contact sent a warm ripple down your spine.

He clasped it at the nape of your neck with slow, precise movements. His fingers lightly ran down your spine, and you turned to him, throwing your arms around his neck in a hug. “Thank you. I love it so much, Spence.”

“I’m really glad.” He said, his voice soft, eyes a little stunned by your closeness. His hand smoothed up and down your back, you pull back a little.

Your guys faces only inches apart, eyes low, and dazed. Spencer couldn’t handle it anymore, he was tired of depriving himself of you.

His hand came up, gently cradling your jaw, his touch careful. Then, slowly, he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was soft, hesitant, he was scared you were going to pull away.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you kissed him back like your life depended on it, you had been waiting so long for this moment and you were even willing to wait longer. Your desperation flattered him. He never imagined he could make someone feel this way.

“I’ve wanted this so bad.” You murmured against his lips, brushing your thumb along his cheeks. “Really?” He asked, you just nodded and deepened the kiss more.

His hands found your waist, bolder now, pulling you onto him, your words had given him confidence. You settled there easily, legs on both sides, hands cradling his face as your kisses turned more insistent.

You pushed him down onto your bed, hovering over him, your lips moving from his lips down to his jaw. When his hands dropped from your waist, unsure again, you gently grabbed them and brought them right back to where they belonged.

You continued leaving a trail down his neck, teeth grazing his skin, listening to the tiny breathy sounds he couldn’t hold in. You barely heard it but, it was there. Your name, a whisper that lit something wild inside of you.

You reached for his tie, loosening it, and discarding it somewhere on the floor in your room. Your fingers hovered over the buttons of his shirt, you glanced up at him, silently asking for permission.

He nodded slowly, jaw tight with want, and you undid them, one by one, revealing more of him. He propped himself on his elbows, and pulled you into him for another kiss.

You slowly slid the shirt off of him, moving the fabric off of his arms. His fingers slipped beneath the hem of your dress, dragging it up slowly, cautiously, until the edge of your underwear peeked.

You broke the kiss to take in this sight of him, your fingers exploring the planes of his chest, the softness of his skin. You planted kisses on him, over his heart, and when he tilted your chin up with his finger, his lips found yours again, hungrier.

You felt him, hard beneath you, pressing up against you, and instinctively, your hips rolled down against him, pulling a surprised moan from his mouth.

“Spencer…” you breathed out, your voice barely hanging on. His hands gripped your waist again, then slid lower to your ass, guiding your hips as he moved you over him with more intention. His breath was shaky, his voice low and warm and desperate.

He said your name, like a confession.

You grind your hips down again, his hands gripped you tighter, encouraging you to keep going, to keep moving against him. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, mouth parted in disbelief at the pleasure that rolled through him.

He looked completely undone, and it was just from you sitting on him, fully clothed.

You leaned down, kissing along the column of his throat, letting your lips linger just beneath his ear. “You okay?” You whispered, breath warm against his skin.

He nodded quickly, then stammered out. “Y-yeah. Definitely. More than okay.”

You smiled, biting back a laugh, because the way he looked, completely wrecked already, was maybe the hottest thing you’d ever seen. You sat up slightly, hands trailing down his chest, appreciating every inch of him.

“You’re really something else.” You said, brushing your thumb across his lower lip. He caught your hand, kissed your palm. So gentle and slow it made your breath hitch.

“You’re the one that’s something else.” He murmured, voice hoarse. “You’re perfect, everything you do.”

That made your chest ache, you leaned down, kissed him again, slow, deep, and meaningful. You needed him to feel what words can't say.

Spencer grabbed your waist, gently guided you onto your back, moving over you cautiously.

His mouth moved to the side of your neck, your dress slipped higher as you spread your legs slightly, letting him fit between them.

Your fingers found the back of his neck, pulling him to your lips. Spencer’s hand slid slowly up your body, tentative but curious, his fingers tracing the edges of your dress as it rose. When he finally pulled back to look at you, really look, his eyes landed on your black lace underwear, and he just admired.

He couldn’t believe this was real, you felt like a dream.

His fingers brushed over the fabric, hesitant. Gentle. You watched the awe on his face, the way he took you in like you were something sacred.

“Do you… want to take them off?” You softly ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes darted up to meet yours, wide and startled. His chest rose and fell faster now, the weight of the moment clearly settling over him.

“We don’t have to.” You said quickly. “We can take things slow, Spencer.”

He swallowed hard, and gave you a nod. “I-I want this. I really do. I just… don’t want this to be…” he paused, searching for the right words. “I don’t want it to feel like a one-time thing. You’re not that for me.”

You nodded, smiling at him, your chest warm. “I know. Me neither.”

With a soft exhale, he gently reached for the hem of your dress, pulling it back down to cover you up.

He moved off of you, grabbed your hand pulling you up on your feet. His hands were careful, reverent, as he adjusted the strap of your dress onto your shoulder.

You reached for his shirt, draping it back over his shoulders and slowly buttoning it up, watching his cheeks flush a soft red under your gaze.

He cleared his throat. “What?”

“Nothing.” You said, smiling.

He hesitated, then asked. “Did you… want to keep going?”

You but your lip, nodding. “Of course I did. But I agree. When we do decide to… take that next step… it should be special. Not with a bunch of drunk people stumbling around downstairs.”

He laughed quietly, relieved. “Yeah..”

You kissed him again, softly.

“Should we go back to the party?” You asked, fingers laced with his. He nodded. “You go for now, I’ll be out there in a bit.” He tells you, you smirked at him knowing why he was going to stay back.

“Alright, if you need any help or anything just give me a call.” You teased, he looked at you shaking his head at your teasing. “Very funny.” He sarcastically said, but you caught the small smile tugging at his lips.

You opened your bedroom door and stepped out, flashing him one more smile before closing it behind you.

“Where have you been?” Sarah asked the second you turned around. “I was with Spencer.” You replied casually.

Her eyes widen. “Did you guys just-”

“No, we didn’t.” You cut her off quickly. “Let’s step away, come on.”

You led her away from your room, and thankfully she had gotten distracted by someone else and wandered off.

You glanced around the house, realizing how tired you were of the party. Your home felt overcrowded, loud, and no longer fun. You were close to calling the cops on your own party, but luckily the neighbors beat you to it.

You stood outside as an officer explained the noise complaint and curfew.

“Alright, sir. I’ll shut it down.” You said with a polite smile. He nodded, and you waved him off.

Back inside, you cut the music and made the announcement. “Alright guys, party’s over.” You watched everyone slowly trickle out. “Sorry.” You said to a few as they passed.

Spencer found you shortly after. He looked concerned. “What happened?”

“Police got called.” You told him with a shrug.

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You smiled. “Honestly, I was about to call them myself if people didn’t start leaving soon.” He laughed, and you joined him.

Once it was just the two of you, and your very drunk roommates who had knocked out in their rooms, you both started cleaning up a little.

“It’s a mess.” You said, tossing red solo cups into the trash bag. “Yeah. People are gross.” He muttered as he poured out a half-full beer. “Thank you for helping me.” You said sincerely. “No problem.” He replied, flashing you a sweet smile.

After most of the mess was cleaned, you both settled on the couch. You leaned into his side, his arm wrapping comfortably around you.

“Can you spend the night?” You hesitantly asked, titling your head up to look at him. He nodded almost instantly. “Of course.”

You smiled, but he suddenly stood up.

“Where are you going?”

“Left something in the kitchen. I’ll be back.” He assured you. You nodded, watching him walk off. When he returned, your eyes lit up. He was holding a small cake with lit candles. It was your birthday cake, the one you had completely forgotten about.

He started singing softly, and your cheeks hurt from how hard you were smiling.

“Make a wish.” He said once he finished, and you did. You closed your eyes and blew out the flames.

He held the cake out toward you. “Take a bite.”

You eyes him suspiciously but leaned in anyway, and sure enough, he gently pushed the cake into your face. Just a little frosting dotted your nose and chin.

“Spencer!” You gasped, laughing as you lightly hit his arm. He laughed too, setting the cake down, and then leaned in to wipe the frosting from your skin with his finger. You watched him as he brought it to his lips, sucking it clean.

He moved closer, pressing his lips to yours.

“Happy birthday.” He whispered as he pulled back just slightly. You smiled at him. “Thank you.” And then you kissed him again, slower, softer…

Dividers from @hyuneskkami !!

Writing this was fun!! I love bold Spencer! 🤭 also listen to the song, I just rediscovered it and became obsessed again. Live, Love, Laugh Charli xcx <3

Thank you to all who reblog & comment!! I really appreciate it sm!

~ Tag List ~

@samslovebug @alastorssimp @sleepysongbirdsings @khxna

[biancadoes1]

I see the discourse going back and forth about Nic and Luke. The brand deals conversations. The “beefing” comments. The fans going after one of them versus the other one. The comment about N “ratting” out L?! Left field that one.

I’m going to admit something. And this is why I’m doing this anonymously. Last June after “papgate” I unfollowed Luke. I questioned what kind of man he was. I didn’t like how things looked. I felt that as fans we’d been shown one thing and given a story while we were also being deceived. I think a lot of people still live there. If I’d seen his story about not letting “Cressida ruin our night” I would have looked at it completely differently. But alas, I was not privy to that due to my quick unfollow. I did feel very sorry for Nicola that next day because I felt that she had to go to bat for him. I felt she was the one who looked like she had lost a man to a girl 14 years her junior. I felt she deserved so much better. And yes, I was even hoping she was in a secret relationship with Eamon Farren or Luke Thompson. I questioned why their PR teams would even let this happen. I questioned why Luke didn’t just publicly claim A as his girlfriend after the cat was literally out of the bag. I thought to myself that I guess there’d been this whole grand scheme that had all been an illusion that the GA had fallen for. And then that chaotic week in August happened. And then Sorrento. And then silences.

Fast forward 10 months ahead. I feel bad at times for how I reacted last June. Once I watched the World Tour interviews again and saw just how uncomfortable L was with A I knew I’d been wrong. I knew I had mis-read the situation. And because I am a person that doesn’t just take things at face value and knows social media is not real life, I started to really dig deeper. I did end up following L again shortly after the unfollowing. I saw the very Nic coded post he made in September. The way he showed that cake online quickly as to make sure people knew he was not slighting Nic. Something I’ve never seen him do with A. There have been times I’ve questioned my resolve like when the post came out that his mom commented on. But there were way too many weird things about that post and that comment. It felt like a total set up. A set up leading to the BOSS event.

There have been a couple times I’ve had to take a break. There could be another one (or two) before we’re to an actual resolve. 🤪 So why am I still here? Why do I believe in N and L? Here’s just a few:

-The behavior of her family in Galway was not the behavior of a family meeting their daughter’s/sister’s co-worker

-The ring. Wearing that claddagh on the left hand with the heart pointing in means only one thing. A ring bought on the World Tour.

-Christmas and New Years. Where were L and N? Obviously not with the side stories. Matching sunburns/tans.

-The silences and the misdirections are mechanisms to mask the real story. Do I think they’re using them in the best ways? No. But I do think the silence speaks volumes.

-SAG Awards. They just solidified what we saw on the World Tour. It showed the intimate level of comfort L and N have. It showed the energy they have when they’re in each other’s presence. And it showed the glaringly obvious differences when they’re with A or J.

-Interviews. And the interviewers who question whether the couple in front of them is in love. Some have even said they are in love. Which makes me think there are many more who know the real tea.

-The “people just really want me to marry Luke” comment from N as well as the interview where L talks about the bracelet he got “gifted.” Plus so many more interviews and things they have said about each other.

-The defending of each other. You see L clear up the cake pictures quickly. You see N saying it’s definitely not true that L was checking himself out in the mirror at the SAG Awards. Do they defend A and J online? Nope…

-The absolute overcompensating N does when she’s trying to hide something about their relationship. At the SAG Awards when L says “we tried out Mexican from a place around the corner last night,” and N says, “You did?” Come on we both know they ate there together! And there are sooo many more times she has done it. Which just leads me to know she’s definitely trying to preserve the privacy of their relationship.

I could continue to go on and on. The changes in their social media interactions and posting, the no birthday posts this year, the gelato picture in Italy, the picture in water of two people with the same coloring and height difference, the continuous use of “Nic and I” like it’s said every single day, the JVN hints, the October hand picture, and on and on and on.

My advice is to always research all of it on your own instead of taking things at face value. Learn the tells. See the patterns. And just wait. I know it’s hard to wait for confirmation. I’m not a patient person. But I see in L and N a chemistry, a camaraderie, and an intimacy you don’t see in just “co-stars.”

And sorry for the length. One thing would just spill into another…

Many people had the same reaction. That same initial reaction that some people have never separated from. But don’t feel bad for that initial reaction now that you’ve come out of it. EVERYONE who was watching this unfold was left to just take in everything that was happening and people were confused and felt played and were shocked, especially if they weren’t aware of Antonia’s presence in the background.

I’m so glad to hear chaos week pushed you to look deeper though. Once you do, it’s abundantly clear there’s something off.

I love your advice as well because it’s something I preach as well.

ALWAYS research, especially when you notice something strange. Do it on your own instead of running to people to explain to you. Look at the bigger picture while also considering all the patterns and tells.

Kudos to you anon and I’m glad you sent this ask! I think there are plenty of other people who have had a similar journey through all this.

Happy to have you with us ❤️❤️❤️

[mrspiastri]

✩ feels like P1 🏆

pairing: oscar piastri x desi!reader

cw: fluff, mentions of australia 2025 (😔)

wc: 4k words

an: based on this lovely request, and in honour of osc being the wdc leader 😁😁😁😁😁

Oscar had just begun his third season in Formula 1, and he was more pumped than anyone could imagine. He had the fastest car, the best strategies, the quickest team, and most importantly the most valuable teammate.

To anyone else, it would have been simple to see that he would win the WDC this year, however Oscar Piastri was everything but overconfident.

He knew he wanted this year to be perfect, from start to finish, he wanted to win all 24 races if possible, and win all the sprints, and start on pole for every single race.

Unfortunately, he had some tough competition, and he knew better than to relax. He spent the first two weeks of winter break shuttling from Bahrain to Woking, and after that flew straight to Melbourne, to spend the holidays with his family.

Of course, Y/N had opted to fly to Australia in advance, so she could wait for Oscar, and also because she wanted to spend time with the family. They welcomed her with open arms, as they always did.

She spent her summer days relaxing on the beaches in St. Kilda, and making sure she didn’t get bit by a spider. However, she still missed her boyfriend.

The very boyfriend who was Facetiming her from his hotel room in Bahrain.

“You know Osc, with the amount you call me, someone would think you’re going through withdrawals,” She commented as she snuggled into the sheets of Oscar’s childhood bedroom, the same room she loved because it showed her what her boyfriend was like before they met.

“Very funny, God forbid I miss my own girlfriend.” Oscar grumbled as he laid back on the bed, hair damp from a shower— with what, according to Y/N, seemed to be a towel around his waist.

“Did you call just to be dramatic?”

“No… I called because I miss you. Like, really miss you. Like, I physically cannot sleep on this hotel pillow because it doesn’t smell like you. And it’s too quiet. And I tried making chai with the tea bags in the hotel room and it tasted sad.”

Y/N tried her hardest to stifle her grin, as she pouted in sadness on his behalf. “Oh, you poor baby.”

“I am a poor baby, and I need you to do that thing you do where you scratch behind my ear when I’m half-asleep.”

“That reminds me, I did the same thing to Basil today, and she was asleep in less than a minute!” Y/N giggled as she informed her only slightly amused boyfriend.

“Are you telling me I’m no different than a dog?”

“No, but if the shoe fits…”

“That’s it I’m ending the call,” Oscar couldn’t hide the smile on his face as he pretended to be mad at Y/N.

“Aww come on Osc, let me see you when you’re all freshly washed. The no-shirt look is really doing it for me.”

“You’re such a perv sometimes, you know that.”

She only laughed in response, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“Your shirt’s really nice, that green looks good on you,” he commented.

“I should hope it looks good, it’s yours.”

Oscar’s eyes widen, and he squints them a bit to really focus on the details of her clothing.

“What? I only have like three t-shirts I own, the white one, the black one, and my maroon one. Not counting my McLaren kit.”

“Yeah you idiot, it’s from the home race collection. The folks at OP81 merch sent a package over to your Mum’s house.”

He sat up straighter, eyes relaxing as he let himself admire how she looked on his screen.

“Well, show me how it looks,” he requested, bossy as ever.

“I already did, you just saw it.” Y/N interjected.

“Give me a proper look, with the whole twirl and everything.”

Y/N groaned in mock annoyance.

“Only if you say please.”

A sigh.

“Please.”

“No, say it properly, the whole sentence.”

“Please, show me the outfit.”

“Noo! Say it properly, like you mean it!”

Another sigh, longer this time.

“Please darling, show me your outfit.”

“Alright, since you asked so nicely. And wipe that smirk off your face, Piastri.”

Y/N stood up, balancing her phone carefully so Oscar could get a full view. With an exaggerated sigh, she did a slow twirl.

“There,” she said. “Happy?”

Oscar’s grin spread across his face. “Extremely. You look unfairly good in my stuff.”

“I know,” she replied, flopping back onto the bed. “It’s a gift.”

She tugged the hem of the shirt down over her bare thighs as she got comfortable again.

Oscar narrowed his eyes a bit. “Are you even wearing shorts?”

Raising a brow, she gave him a smug look. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Y/N,” he warned.

She burst into laughter. “Relax, I am.”

Oscar leaned back against the hotel headboard, arms crossed, lips twitching in amusement. “Still unfair. I leave for two days and suddenly you’re raiding my wardrobe like it’s your birthright.”

“To be fair,” she said, “I only took one shirt. And it’s not raiding if we live together.”

“It’s raiding when you steal the best-looking one.”

“You’d rather I take the ugly one?”

“No. I’d rather you wear it when I’m there to appreciate it properly.”

She smirked, settling back into her pillow and letting the phone rest on her stomach.

“You’re being dramatic again.”

“You knew what you were doing,” Oscar accused, eyes narrowing playfully. “Answering my FaceTime like that, casually pretending you didn’t know it was my shirt.”

“Caught red-handed.”

“You’re evil.”

“Whatever,” she said, “you still miss me like crazy.”

Oscar groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “So much it’s actually embarrassing. Travelling anywhere sucks when you’re not with me.”

“You say that like you’re not there driving one of the fastest cars on the planet.”

“Yeah, and still nothing tops coming home and finding you in my shirt, hair all messy, acting like it’s just another Tuesday.”

She blinked, a little caught off guard by how warm his voice had gotten. He had his ways of making her feel special,

without even realising what he was doing.

“Oscar…”

He shrugged, quieter now. “Just saying. Save that shirt for when I get back, yeah?”

She smiled, teasing again. “Only if you have the best lap times.”

“Wow. Blackmail.”

“Motivation.”

He laughed, eyes lingering on her a second longer before nodding.

“Deal.”

🪻🪻🪻

The house was unusually quiet.

Even with the buzz of Oscar’s family around, his mum fussing with teacups, his sisters glancing occasionally at the shows playing on the television, there was a stillness in the air. No one spoke much. The energy was muted, heavy in a way only a home crowd disappointment could bring.

Oscar had finished P9. Not bad, considering his slippage in the grass. But not what he or the country had hoped for, not after a weekend that had started so strong.

He was still at the track, locked in media obligations and debriefs, and Y/N could already imagine the weight of it all pressing down on his shoulders.

She stood up from the couch, tugging her sleeves down over her hands. “I’m gonna make something. He’s probably not eaten properly.”

Nicole looked up. “That’s a good idea, darling. What were you thinking?”

“Khichdi,” Y/N said, already heading toward the kitchen. “It’s what I usually make when he’s drained. He likes it more than he’ll admit.”

Nicole smiled softly, rinsing out her mug and moving aside so Y/N could work. “Something warm and simple sounds perfect.”

She knew his comfort foods by heart now.

Not toasties or chips or anything overly greasy, no, not tonight. He needed warmth. Reassurance. Something that felt like being wrapped in a hug.

So she went with what he always asked for on days he was sick or just tired of the world: khichdi. Soft rice and lentils, simmered with ghee, turmeric, a little cumin, and a side of spiced potatoes the way he liked them.

It was also the simplest thing she could make quickly, since the excitement of race week didn’t let them go grocery shopping for fancy ingredients.

Y/N pulled her hair into a ponytail, washed her hands, and opened the pantry. She moved quickly, finding the rice, the lentils, the spices; already laying them out on the counter.

Hattie padded into the kitchen and perched on a stool. “Do you need help? Or moral support? I’m very good at taste-testing.”

Y/N chuckled, setting the dal to soak. “You can peel the potatoes.”

“On it,” Hattie said, dragging a chopping board toward her and grabbing a peeler. “Oscar’s going to cry when he sees this. Bet on it.”

While the dal and rice soaked, Y/N got a pan going with ghee, mustard seeds, a few curry leaves, all of which she had picked up from her own stash brought over from home. The smell began to fill the room, earthy and warm.

Nicole drifted over and leaned against the counter, watching her with quiet admiration. “He’s really lucky, you know.”

Y/N smiled without looking up. “I think I’m the lucky one. He puts up with me.”

Nicole scoffed. “You’re cooking for him and putting up with his post-race sulking. That’s love.”

As the khichdi began to simmer, she threw in turmeric, a bit of grated ginger, salt, and cumin. She stirred slowly, letting it thicken, the grains softening into the kind of texture that wrapped around you like a blanket. Meanwhile, Hattie finished the potatoes and helped toss them in oil and spices, sliding them into the oven with a grin.

“Do I get a Michelin star now?” Hattie asked.

“You get points for not setting anything on fire,” Y/N teased.

Nicole pulled out a couple of plates and laid them out on the table as the final touches came together.

By the time the front door opened and the sound of Oscar’s keys hit the bowl by the entrance, the kitchen was filled with the golden scent of comfort and home.

The khichdi was ready, the potatoes crispy at the edges, and the quiet heaviness of the house had softened just a bit, thanks to turmeric, ghee, and the shared rhythm of care.

Oscar stepped inside as she was dishing out his portion. He looked exhausted. The weight of the day clung to him like a second skin. His cap was low over his forehead, eyes duller than usual.

He blinked as he stepped into the kitchen.

“You cooked?” His voice was rough, caught somewhere between surprise and something else. Something softer.

Y/N smiled, placing the bowl on the table. “Of course I did. You look like you need a hug and a hot meal.”

Nicole gave him a kiss on the cheek as she passed, and Hattie patted his back before stealing one of the roasted potatoes off his plate.

“Khichdi?” he asked, eyes fixed on the bowl.

“Yeah,” Y/N said, gently. “And potatoes. Sit. Eat.”

Oscar closed the gap between them in two quick steps and wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her shoulder. He smelled like the track, sweat, heat; and now like home.

“You’re the best part of this whole weekend,” he murmured against her neck.

Y/N kissed the side of his head and squeezed him tighter.

“You’ll get the win here one day. You know that, right?”

He didn’t answer right away, just held her like he needed to remember what grounding felt like.

“I know,” he said quietly.

“And until then,” she whispered, “you’ve got a girl who’ll keep your tummy full and your ego in check.”

He huffed a laugh, finally pulling back just enough to look at her properly.

“God, I love you.”

She smiled. “I know. Now eat before your food gets cold.”

He tugged her into one last hug before taking his seat, already reaching for his spoon with a familiar sort of hunger.

As she sat down beside him, Oscar laced their fingers under the table.

🪻🪻🪻

The only things audible were low hum of the fridge, the occasional swishing of the dishwasher, and the soft clink of cutlery as Oscar finished off the last of the potatoes directly from the tray.

Y/N was curled up on the couch, one leg tucked beneath her, the same oversized green OP81 shirt falling lazily off one shoulder. Her hair was still in that loose bun, a little messier now from the steam of cooking and leaning against the cushions.

Oscar walked in with two mugs of hot chocolate, handing her one before sinking beside her. His eyes lingered on her for a moment, brow quirking.

“You know,” he said, “I just realised something.”

She looked over at him with mock suspicion. “That’s never a good sign.”

He ignored her, gesturing toward her shirt. “That’s the same one you wore when we were on call. The FaceTime from Bahrain.”

Y/N glanced down at herself, trying to fight the smile tugging at her lips. “Is it?”

“You knew it was,” he said, narrowing his eyes at her, a faint smile playing on his lips. “You’re so annoying.”

She sipped her tea innocently. “I just like the colour.”

Oscar gave her a knowing look, then leaned in a bit closer, his voice dropping to something gentler. “You look really cute in it.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed just a little, but she tilted her head, keeping up her act. “Just cute?”

He gave a low hum, setting his mug down on the coffee table.

“No,” he said simply, his eyes scanning over her. “You look really good in my clothes. They look way too hot on you.”

Y/N’s smirk faltered for half a second, and she looked away, half-hiding behind her mug. “You’re being dramatic again.”

“Am I?” he asked, nudging her foot with his. “You think I forgot the way you sat there on call, pretending like you didn’t know it was my shirt, driving me absolutely insane right after a shower?”

She laughed, lowering her mug. “Hey I was too busy admiring the view you were showing me, besides I thought you needed motivation.”

Oscar leaned back, arm stretched out along the back of the couch, fingertips barely brushing her shoulder.

“I don’t need motivation,” he said softly. “I just need to come home to this. To you.”

That time, her smile dropped for real, replaced with something quieter, something warm.

“Good,” she murmured, setting her tea aside and curling into his side, “because I’m not giving your shirts back.”

Oscar rested his cheek against the top of her head, letting out a quiet breath.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t.”

🪻🪻🪻

Oscar sat still, one arm around Y/N, the other resting limply on his lap. Her head was tucked beneath his chin now, breathing slow, and her fingers absently tracing little circles over the fabric of his hoodie.

Outside, the street was quiet. Melbourne’s chaos had finally settled. Inside, the only thing louder than the ticking clock in the hallway was his own thoughts.

P9.

It had stung more than he expected.

He’d pushed, taken risks, held his breath more times than he could count. The home crowd, the roar in Turn 1, the endless pressure of this weekend. He wanted a podium. He wanted more than points. And when he crossed the line, all he felt was this dull, aching hollowness.

Because he wanted to win, for the team, for the fans, for his family.

For her.

Oscar closed his eyes briefly. He remembered the sound of God Save The King echoing as Lando stepped up to the top step. The taste of disappointment, how it clung to the back of his throat during interviews. The polite claps. The fake smile. The crushing feeling of not being good enough on the one track that felt like home.

But then he came home.

And she had made him khichdi.

Warm, soft, comforting. Just like her.

She didn’t try to fix it with words. She didn’t tell him he should be proud or that P9 was still good. She just handed him a plate and looked at him like he wasn’t a result. Like he wasn’t someone the world measured in lap times.

He glanced down at her again, heart clenching a little.

Y/N. With her soft hair and stolen shirts and quiet affection. The way she could command a kitchen but still act coy when he told her she looked good. How she knew exactly what to say, and more importantly, when not to say anything at all.

She’d rooted herself into his life so naturally, so completely, that he couldn’t remember what comfort looked like without her in it.

It wasn’t just that she made things better.

It was that she was the better.

🪻🪻🪻

Y/N was rambling about a movie she’d half-watched on the flight back to Melbourne. Something about a chaotic rom-com with bad pacing and good outfits. She talked with her hands when she was animated, her eyes lighting up even though she clearly didn’t care that much about the plot.

Oscar barely registered the words. His eyes were fixed on her mouth, the soft curve of her lips, the way she bit the inside of her cheek while trying to remember an actor’s name. She was glowing in the low, warm light of the living room, sitting cross-legged on the couch like she had belonged there forever.

And it hit him, like a crash he couldn’t brace for.

He loved her. Fully. Wildly. In a way that went straight to the pit of his stomach and made it hard to breathe.
It wasn’t a slow build. It was immediate. Overwhelming.
Undeniable.

And he couldn’t hold it back.

She was mid-sentence, something about the main character making a terrible decision; when he leaned in, cupping her jaw gently, eyes searching hers for only a heartbeat before he kissed her.

It was soft at first, just the brush of his mouth against hers. She stilled, surprised, hands caught in the air between them. But then he pressed in closer, kissing her properly. Deeper. Like he needed it. Like he’d been holding it back for days, weeks, maybe longer.

His hand slipped to the back of her neck, thumb brushing behind her ear as he tilted his head, letting the kiss turn warmer, fuller. She melted into him easily, fingers fisting the fabric of his t-shirt, lips parting under his as the kiss grew heavier. Hungrier.

Her breath hitched when he pulled her closer, one knee shifting so their bodies aligned more naturally. He kissed her like he was telling her everything he couldn’t yet say. With so much care it ached. With so much want it left her dizzy.

When he finally pulled back, he stayed close, forehead resting against hers, both of them catching their breath.

She blinked at him, dazed. “What was that for?”

Oscar didn’t answer right away. He just looked at her. Really looked. Eyes soft, lips swollen from the kiss, cheeks slightly flushed.

“Marry me.”

Everything in the room seemed to freeze. Her breath caught. Her fingers, still clinging to the front of his t-shirt, went limp.

She blinked. “What?”

Oscar leaned back just slightly, eyes still holding hers, but a crooked, sheepish smile tugged at the corner of his lips now. “Not now,” he clarified quickly, his thumb brushing over her wrist in slow reassurance. “I mean… eventually. Not this second, not tomorrow. But, marry me. Someday.”

Y/N opened her mouth. Closed it again. She didn’t know what to say. Her brain was moving too fast, heart thudding loud in her ears.

He rushed on, gentle but urgent, as if trying to give her all the space in the world while still holding her close.

“I know it sounds insane, I do. And I didn’t plan to say it tonight, I swear. I just…” He exhaled, voice softening. “I love you so much it actually hurts. I didn’t even care that I came P9 today, not after seeing you. And when I kissed you just now, I couldn’t stop thinking how I wanted to keep coming home to you for the rest of my life. That’s all. That’s it.”

Y/N’s lips parted again, and this time, a small breath of laughter slipped out; shaky, surprised, but full of warmth. Her eyes glittered, tears threatening to rise, and she shook her head in disbelief.

“You’re such a dramatic loser,” she whispered, smiling through it.

Oscar grinned. “I know. But I meant every word.”

She leaned forward again, pressing her forehead to his, the tips of their noses brushing.

“You love me,” she said softly, like she was testing the weight of it.

“I do.”

“And you want to marry me.”

“Desperately.”

Y/N’s smile turned into a quiet laugh, and her hands slid up his chest slowly, curling around the back of his neck.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “Someday, I’ll marry you.”

Oscar’s eyes fluttered shut, and he exhaled in quiet relief, arms wrapping around her waist as he pulled her in again.

🪻🪻🪻

Later that night, the house had gone quiet. Oscar’s family had all turned in for the night, leaving only the soft hum of the city outside and the rustle of blankets as the two of them settled into bed.

Y/N was already curled under the duvet, still wearing his shirt, like it had always belonged to her. Oscar joined her a moment later, flicking off the bedside lamp, the room now lit only by the soft glow from the hallway.

He slipped under the covers, letting out a sigh as he stretched out beside her. After a moment, he shifted closer, tugging her into his chest with one arm thrown lazily around her waist.

She hummed, tucking her face into the curve of his neck. “You’re clingy tonight.”

“I’m traumatised,” he muttered, voice muffled in her hair.

She laughed quietly. “You’ll win in Shanghai, I promise.”

Oscar grinned against her. “I better, or I might get fired.”

A moment of comfortable silence passed. Then Oscar sat up slightly and peeled his shirt off with one smooth motion, tossing it off the side of the bed.

Y/N raised a brow in the dark, lips twitching.

“Oh? And what’s this about?” she asked, feigning innocence.

“It’s hot,” he said simply, lying back down and pulling her into him again. “And I sleep shirtless. You know that.”

“Convenient excuse,” she teased, fingers tracing lightly over his now bare chest. “What if I get hot too?”

Before she could reply, he was already sliding his hands up under the hem of the shirt she wore—his shirt—fingers warm and familiar. She let out a small gasp, half surprised and half amused, as he smoothly tugged it over her head and tossed it aside to join his on the floor.

Now she sat in just her bra, blinking at him in the low light. “Oscar!”

He was grinning shamelessly. “What? You said you might get hot.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“You said yes to marrying me, get used to it,” he reminded her smugly, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

“Regretting it already.”

“Liar.”

Y/N sighed dramatically, then nestled into his side, her bare shoulder against his warm skin.

He pressed a soft kiss to her temple, holding her close again. This time, no more teasing, just comfort. Just quiet. Just them.

Wrapped up in each other, skin warm under soft sheets, hearts still thudding from everything they'd said, and everything that was still to come.

And for the first time in days, Oscar slept like he hadn’t finished P9.

He slept like he’d already won.

No cheers, no champagne, no trophy this time; but for now, this was enough.

this was written while i was blasting my clairo playlist so please excuse the excessive yearning in this. also oscar piastri wdc 2025, spread the word. and as always you can request a prompt from my list if you liked this!

[hbatfam98]

I have a headcannon that Batman is The supportive father.

In the normal sense that he would support his kids in whatever path they choose (vigilante, doctor, anything that's not a straight up war criminal really), supports and funds all their hobbies and passions and after seeing how hesitant the first kid to come out to him was, had pride flags hanging in every corner of the batcave, made pride pins that were safe to wear with their vigilante uniforms and maybe even brings back rainbow batman for a day if any of his kids were having a really hard time.

But also, he absolutely refuses to critique/scold any of his kids in public/in front of others.

Dick skips school because a travelling circus is coming to Gotham and claims his absence is because of a family emergency? (He doesn't know how to explain to Bruce that yes it will hurt to see the performers but it would also feel like returning home. That even though he loves his life now he still missed being in the circus) When the school calls Bruce that night, Bruce lectures Dick on the importance of honesty and "next time just tell me you want to go to the circus chum, I'd have sorted it out. I hope u had fun kid and... if u want, only if u want, we could go to one together sometime? I heard there was a show in Bludhaven next week..." Then the next day Bruce drops Dick off at his class and walks into that school sobbing, blubbering about how his emotional support cat had died and it was a miracle Dick was able to return to school so soon.

Bruce gets called down to a fancy store because Jason, who was wearing his old clothes, got accused of shoplifting? Bruce is there in seconds lecturing the store owner about how disgusting it was to judge his son based on his clothes, until littleJay tugs on his shirt and whispers "I did it." After which he lectures the store owner for having the checkout at the wrong place in the store, that's why his precious boy got confused! (And in the meantime discreetly slips Jason a $200 bill) "Did you even ask my kid if he had the money or did u just assume huh? Oh you didn't ask? Well why don't you ask him now Mr.Prick?" and Jason gleefully shows him the bill. Then in the car ride back home Jason admits that he was trying to steal the pretty pen because he wanted to give Bruce a nice present for father's day but he didn't have enough saved up and Bruce lectures him on honesty, trust and "I don't need an expensive gift sweetheart. Having u with me, to celebrate father's day with and knowing that u wanted to do something nice for me is all I need. .. the second best gift would be if u would give me a private showing of ur big speech in your school play?" (And that's how the tradition of Jason performing some monologue from his current favourite play every father's day started)

And the lectures/scolding for his kids only happening in private carries over to their vigilante life too. Batman will point out any mistake made by JL, in front of the criminals they are currently in the process of apprehending. Reading any post mission report he wrote feels like being back at school and getting back an assignment covered in red ink.

Then the younger heroes start joining. Now, the batkids are trained well - they make fewer mistakes than most of the JL - but mistakes still happen.

Nightwing makes the wrong judgement call and one of the criminals almost gets away. The JL members hold their breath as Batman drags the criminal back, ready to step in if he's too harsh. "Sorry Bats, I thought it was the right call to make" Dick mutters disappointed with himself and all Batman says is "it happens." The next day Batman advices Nightwing on what to consider when making those decisions and how to train yourself to make them in the moment. The post mission report just reads "one criminal slipped away but was apprended moments later. More manpower would have been optimal for this mission"

In the middle of another mission the rushed voice of Oracle comes through the comms, "they've hacked our comms, I wasn't fast enough to stop them. I am turning comms off now so our communications aren't compromised." *Click* The JL have to rely on silent communication and guesswork to complete the rest of the mission. Once it's over, Batman pull out his cellphone, "Oracle, we have completed the mission. Everyone is safe. Do u need help regaining control of our comms?" When they make it back to the watchtower, Batman stays by Oracle's side and they figure out what the weak point was and how to keep it better protected. The post mission report just reads, "Comms was compromised. JL should train in silent communication to be better prepared for such circumstances."

Older JL members are so jeealouss. After these incidents, when he was lecturing one of the members post mission he hears some of them mutter about favouritism. But it wasn't exactly favouritism...

Which they realise when Kid Flash, sent to scout out a location beforehand misses a hidden latch. In the middle of the 'negotiation', goons spring out of the secret room and attack. Once they are all tied up, Batman stalks over to Kid Flash - whose adrenaline was coming down and it was dawning on him that this only happened because he missed something. "I'm so sorry Mr. Ba-" "Show me your arm kid" Batman says as he folds up Wally's arm so he can better examine where Wally had skinned his elbow when he fell during the fight - it wasn't even really bleeding. Still Batman is thorough in making sure it is properly disinfected and bandaged up and when Wally tries to apologise again during this he says, "It's a secret room kid, it was meant to be easy to miss." When they're back at the watchtower, Batman pulls Wally aside to lecture him about how it's better to slow down and take a few extra seconds when needed, and then hands him a file with all the tricks Batman had learnt to spot things that are not quite right more easily. The post mission report just reads, "was ambushed by 5 attackers, they were subdued in 8 minutes. JL should have more trainings im responding to ambushes."

Batman never wanted children (not just his) to be so afraid of his reaction that they wouldn't come to him for help if they had made a mistake. Yes, they will have to suffer through lectures if they made a mistake that could have been easily avoided, but that will always only happen after everything gets sorted out and everyone is in a safe place again. Soon, much to the confusion and shock of older JL members, young heroes, though hesitantly, regularly go to Batman to ask for advice.

[sturnsblogs]

some idea for frat boy Chris au

•either reader or chris getting a partner as a "rebound" and end up cheating w each other.

•they went to a party got drunk maybe one of them got in a fight or walked in on with someone else and ended up leaving tg? (not sure that makes sense)

•maybe adding more tension with Nathan? Or even readers best friend..

BABY PLEASE

Fratboy!Chris X Toxic!Fwb!Reader

—

Nathan has ALWAYS had a thing for you.

Even when you treated him like a backup plan, he couldn’t help but want you.

So as soon as he found out you and Chris weren’t doing your thing anymore, he immediately slid up on your story.

Nathan:

you look really pretty.

Nathan:

i mean you always do, but that pic?

you looked…different. good different. soft.

Nathan:

sorry if that’s too much, i just had to say something

You:

no it’s not too much

it’s sweet

thank you

Nathan:

i’ve kinda been waiting to say something

just didn’t feel like my place before, you know?

You:

and now it is?

Nathan:

only if you want it to be

i’m not trying to push anything

but yeah…

i’ve always seen you. like really seen you.

You:

why didn’t you ever say anything before?

Nathan:

because he got to you first.

and you always looked at him like there was nobody else in the room

even when he didn’t deserve it.

Nathan:

i didn’t wanna be the guy waiting around

but i kinda was anyway

so here i am.

Nathan:

i don’t expect anything

just figured it was my turn to be honest.

You:

you’re kinda smooth, nate

has anyone ever told you that?

You:

because if they haven’t… they should

You:

also

i don’t think you’ve ever made me smile this hard through a screen before

You:

i always knew you were sweet

but this?

you’re being dangerous

Nathan:

dangerous huh?

should i stop?

You:

mm…

no

i kinda like it

You:

but just so you know

you’re not allowed to make me fall for you on a tuesday night over texts

that’s not fair

Nathan:

no promises

i’ve been waiting too long not to try

Nathan:

sooo…

how would you feel about hanging out sometime?

like a real hangout. just us.

could be a date. could be whatever you want it to be

Nathan:

i just wanna see you

no pressure, just… you and me

You:

hmm

depends…

Nathan:

on?

You:

are you planning on making me smile in person too?

because if so…

i might say yes

Nathan:

only if you promise to smile for me

deal?

You:

deal.

i’m free friday. pick me up at 7?

Nathan:

say less

friday at 7

and don’t think i won’t show up looking fine just to impress you

You:

i’d be disappointed if you didn’t

It was late—around midnight—when your phone started buzzing non-stop. One message. Then two. Then three. By the time you checked, you had over ten new messages. All from Chris.

Chris:

wow

u really said yes to him?

that’s funny as fuck

Chris:

you couldn’t wait like two seconds before throwing yourself at someone else?

Chris:

you’re such a fucking slut it’s crazy

Chris:

he told me

you couldn’t even pretend to give a fuck huh?

Chris:

hope he fucks you better than i did

Chris:

actually nah

you probably don’t even care

you’d take anything that gives you attention

Chris:

you’re really out here embarrassing yourself

congrats

Your fingers hovered over your screen for a minute. Your heart was pounding. That familiar sting in your chest hit hard. But you weren’t about to let him get away with this.

You:

are you serious right now?

You:

you told me to be your friend, chris.

this is what friends do now? blow up my phone & slut shame me for moving on?

You:

nathan showed me respect. something you couldn’t even spell.

You:

you don’t get to do this.

not anymore.

Chris:

i was just mad

fuck

i didn’t mean all that

You:

no. you did.

and it’s fine. now i know where we stand.

You:

don’t text me again.

Chris:

please baby i’m sorry

i didn’t mean it i swear

Chris:

i was drunk

i was pissed

i just—i freaked out

Chris:

the thought of you with him made me lose it

Chris:

you know how i get

you know me

Chris:

please don’t shut me out

i can’t take it

Chris:

i fucked up, i know i did

but i didn’t mean that shit

not really

Chris:

you know you’re not like that

i was just hurting

Chris:

i’m hurting now

please talk to me

Chris:

i miss you so much

i don’t even sleep anymore

it’s just you in my head

Chris:

just tell me you hate me or something

anything

just don’t leave it like this

—

A/N- THANK YOU FOR THE IDEAS ANGEL. ALSO do you guys prefer mean chris or nicer chris

My beautiful babies- @blushsturns @starrii-sturns @izzylovesmatt @chrisslut04 @oopsiedaisydeer @csturnioloswifey @just-a-girl-1 @sturdyyolo @sturnslvtt @sturnbows @sturniolosrtewsexy yi @chriss-slutt @franticroads @thecrawlys @ribbonlovergirl @freshlyinlovewchris @whore4chris @matts-girlfriend @ariana3lovesu @sturnl0ve @cass-sturn @sturns-mermaid @sunrisemill @fadedstvrn @ikyoudreamofme @mattsdemi @kitkatbar1275 @skelet0nsinmyycloset @lezleeferguson-120 @bells-sturn @sturniolosymphony @kenziesturniolo54 @kikirasweatsweathoho @emely9274 @cherryystemm @realuvrrr @zenithsturniolo @kier-with-a-k @eeyoresturnz @elizasturn @ribread03 @sturnslux3 @costalgirlyr @pizzapocketpocketpizza @arianna1342 @mattsplaything @ed1tssturnn @ivysturnss @ilovemenwithlonghairr @whore4-chrissturniolo

[cosmic-kid-in-motion]

First Date

Wheelchair user!Santiago Garcia x gn!reader

Masterlist : Triple Frontier Masterlist

Summary: You've all but given up on dating apps when you swipe right on the hottest guy you've ever seen

Warnings: Some ablism from the concert venue just in that their accessible seating is really shitty. Reference to Santi being shot. Being in a wheelchair isn't the main plot, the first date is but the limited mobility is a part of things. Just know there no "oh, can I date someone in a wheelchair?" type of thing.

Fake tinder by @quiet-night-sky-writers-blog thanks bb!

Written for my Disability Visibility event! Gotten so many fun responses from the oscar and pedro fandoms!!! thanks so much to every! I will be extending it through MAY because frankly i have a lot I wanna write but alas im in my last few weeks of college and wanna cry!!!! so much papers to write ;-;

I tried my best with this, I am not a wheelchair user and have no close friends unlike other disabilities i've written for so I've consulted people in various internet groups over langauge, and taken what I learned from my disability class I took. Once again, I cant recomend the book disability visibility enough, so many good perspectives on various disabilities! Still, if you use a wheel chair or need mobility aids, and I said something offensive PLEASE LET ME KNOW!

2k words

***

Tinder fucking sucked.

“Looking for a submissive-” Swipe left.

*Holding up a fish* Swipe left.

*Name: Tyler* LEFT!!!!

Okay so maybe you were a little picky. SO WHAT! You happy single, you didn’t need a relationship… but you did want one. You were just a girl. A girl who did dream of marriage and a family, but only with the right person. So, okay, maybe tinder wasn’t the right place to find a relationship. So maybe you also weren’t opposed to getting some dick or pussy before you found the one. So sue you.

That’s when a profile caught your eye. Handsome. Almost too handsome. Suspiciously handsome, in fact. You meant to swipe left, assuming he was a bot or a scammer or a catfish, but accidentally swiped to see another picture. Him and 5 friends, this one more obvious what you’d missed in the first photo. He was in a wheelchair. This picture looked real, him and friends out on a hike. Kudos to him for not putting the group photo first. You didn’t mind a nice group picture; you liked a friendly person, so having friends was a plus, but if it was their first it seemed like they were hiding something.

You look at his name. Santiago.

All his pictures looked nice, even the candide ones. You liked how wide he smile in the last one. Cute teeth too. You’ve never actually said that about anyone, but there’s always a first. 

“Looking for a nice girl to go to a Metallica show with. No expectations - see where things go. I’m in a wheelchair- but don’t worry- all the right parts still work properly ;)”

That made you laugh, you liked a little playful flirting, as long as they didn’t get out of pocket. A Metallica concert sounded fun… maybe a date and see where things go wouldn’t hurt… if it was just a hookup, then god, what a hookup.

You swiped right, and to your glee it was a match. 

Santiago: Hello!

You: Hi!

Santiago: This is going to sound like a line, but I was really hoping to get a notification I matched with you…

You: Oh yeah, out of the hundred of people you swiped right on?

Santiago: You’re right, the 700th guy holding up a fish was also on my mind

You: Mine too. I guess you’ll do okay though, tee hee

Santiago: My friend Ben set up my profile, tried to convince me to let him put up a fish picture, actually

You: Oh 🤢are you a fish guy?

Santiago: I’m not I swear!! Ben is though. I do go with him sometimes.

You: Well, I suppose we all have our vices. Me, I cry everytime I watch Star Wars III

Santiago: Anakin girlie, are we?

You: Always. That's my sweet baby boy who's never done anything wrong.

Santiago: Well, theres child murder.

You: HE”S JUST A BABY!!! Besides, didn’t we say we all have our vices, fish boy?

Santiago: Fish boy cannot be a nickname, I already have a friend named fish

You: Fine, what cute nickname do I get to call you then?

Santiago: Well, my callsign in black opes was Pope, but if I play my cards right, baby is always a good one.

Santiago: *black opps

You: Black opes. Midwest task force

Santiago: shut up 🥺 I’m just a baby

10 minutes in, you were on your bed giggling and kicking your feet. Santi was funny, talked passionately about his friends, his job, and his love of music. Frankly, he was really endearing. Things between you seemed to flow so effortlessly. You agreed to be his date to Metallica, and planned to get dinner beforehand. While setting up the details, he got somewhat serious.

Santiago: Just to be clear, you do know I’m in a wheelchair right? That picture wasn’t just a one off injury. I can walk a little with my crutches, but not long distances and not super comfortable. Honestly, in most situations I just prefer my wheelchair. I’ve been in it a few years now and it’s me and my wheelchair against the world sometimes.

You’d be lying if the idea of dating someone in a wheelchair hadn’t given you a bit of pause in the beginning. Not that you actually cared, but more that you had 100 questions, questions you couldn’t just ask someone when you first start talking. You were curious, but he was hot and he was nice, so of course you wanted to see where things went.

You: Don’t worry, I figured as much when I saw the pictures. Just let me know how to help when/if you need any help getting around the venue. 

Santiago: Don’t worry, we got great tickets in the probably obstructed view of the accessible section.

Santiago: Holy shit I just saw what Ben put as my intro on tinder. I SWEAR TO GOD I’M NOT LIKE THAT IGNORE THAT I'M NOT A PERVE

The date was planned, and a week later you were panicking about getting ready for the concert. You weren’t sure if you’d dressed right. First dates, you try to dress nicer, but this was Metallica after all. A cutesy dress wasn’t exactly going to cut it. Sexy would have to distract from the fact it wasn’t going to be classy. Jean shorts over black tights, and an old Guns ‘n Roses shirt. Yeah okay you looked good, it’d do.

You two met at an area near the venue. Santi drove, he was able to get a modified SUV. You looked into it, being nosey. It was NOT cheap. He said he did security, didn’t elaborate. Did he own the whole damn company? When you saw a handsome man outside the bar, you knew it was him. 

Santi lit up when he saw you, coming over and extended a hand to shake, which you accept. “Sorry,” He says looking a little sheepish. “Handshakes are such a force of habit to me, guess it’s kind of weird on a first date.”

You can't help but laugh. It was odd seeing a man so hot be so clearly nervous; you should be and are the nervous one. “Don’t worry about it. Lots of handshake deals going on?”

He relaxes, going over to open the door for you with the button. You notice the bars accessibility; wide doors that open with the press of a button, a small metal ramp easing the transition. You also admired how easily Santi moved, the confidence, the grace, like his wheelchair was an extension of himself.

“Well, partially. Owning my own business is half of the reason I’m weirdly formal sometimes. 15 years in the army is another.” Santi went to a table after the bartender greeted him by name, sliding into a spot that didn’t have a chair in it. 

“15 years!” You bawked. “Helluva stint. You didn’t want to go for the full 20 and get all the fancy benefits?”

“Well, I was going to. Getting shot in the spine tends to fuck up some of your plans.” He said it with a little smile, but the mortification hit you dead on. You facepalm into your hands.

“Fuck. I’m sorry.” You can’t look at him, even though he’s laughing.

“No, I’m sorry! I couldn’t resist. Shit, please don’t feel bad!” But he was still laughing. Finally, you peak out through your eyes and laugh too. Santi’s smile was contagious, his full upper teeth on display as he grinned.

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” 

He did. And you were beginning to love him for it. 

You got to the concert not too long before it was supposed to start. Since you had seats, it didn’t matter how early you got there. Santi bought you drinks at the bar and even bought you a tour shirt he saw you eyeing, even though it was -jesus christ $80!??!?!- He didn’t even seem to notice. You’d be lying if you said being on a date with a financially well off man wasn’t at least a little hot. You were an independent woman, you had your own money… but it still was attractive. Most men you had dated were bums, boys who never actually grew up. This was a man.

When you get to the disability accessible seating, you realize Santi was not joking about an obstructed view. The seats were way off to the side, and unless the band was going to be way to the right the whole time, you wouldn’t see them while sitting very much.

“Shit.” Santi mumbles. “I didn’t think they were THIS bad.” 

“It’s okay!” You try to reassure him. “We’re still close, so whenever they're over this way, we’ll be right there! Plus, it’s Metallica. I’m just thrilled to be here.” And you were! With the world’s hottest man on your arms as well. What more could you want?

“No, I just- Jesus.” Santi scrubs his face with his hands a few times, clearly frustrated. “I should’ve just gotten nose bleed seats and tried to walk her on my crutches. I knew, i fucking knew the accessable seating would suck because it always fucking does.” He maneuvers into his spot and you take your seat. “But that shit always hurts after too long. Or tried the general admission but even then if even on group is front of me and my chair I can’t fucking see- there’s no winning.”

Your heart felt for him. He’d told you this was his favorite band, and it made you mad that the venue’s “accessibility” just meant shoving him off to the side. Santiago was a grown man, well enough off, former military, and certainly could hold his own… but you felt protective of him. Not because he was in a wheelchair, but because he was someone you cared about.

“I have a plan. And it’s going to make me look like a dick, but I don’t really care.”

For most of the concert, you stayed where you were, enjoying the show and his company. Sometimes, if he was feeling up to it, since he brought his crutches you’d help his stand if he really loved a song. And yeah, James Hetfeild and other members meandered around the stage, coming awfully close, which was a lot of fun. But when the last song on the setlist came on, Until it Sleeps, you took Santi by hand and went down the ramp. Everyone expected people to push their way to the front in the beginning, not the end.

No one expected a nice girl and a man in a wheelchair to be so… assertive. But for this man? You were. You weren’t going to be a dick and do this at the start of the concert, but for one song at the end, your man deserved to see his favorite band up close, since the venue wanted to be shitty.

A few “scuse me, pardon me”’s and people politely scooted. Many already began leaving to try and beat the concert crowd off the downtown streets. Because of this, you managed to get Santi close, and when people scattered, you and him went right to the gate. You made it in time for the encore and got to listen to Nothing Else Matters with him. The joy on his face as he looked up at the stage was worth it.

*

“That was amazing!” Santi was full of joy, almost giddy energy as you and him walked to the parking garage he was at. You were both in no hurry, knowing the streets would be chaos for a while as everyone left but also just enjoying each other’s company. 

You two went down the street side by side, laughing together as he told a story of some of his army friends. Santi drove you home, as you sat outside your house in his car, you didn’t want the night to end.

Santi looked at you, a soft smile on his face. He was still buzzing from concert energy. “Would I be being weirdly formal again if I asked to kiss you?”

You giggle, but shake your head. “Not at all.”

“Well… can I?”

“Absolutly.”

You both lean in, and Santi tangles his hand into your hair. He kisses like a slut, mouth open, letting you take the lead and submitting to your lips and tongue. He moans too, then pulls away. “Fuck, that was embaressing.”

You grip his curls and pull him in again.

***

Thank you so so much for reading!!!

I'd really appreciate reblogs as i try to rebuild over here, plus it seems im either shadow banned or marked as explicite to some blogs, either way my visibility is decreased.

Still lots of time to enter the event! Would love to see more awesome creations, especially some art! I got one beautiful art piece and would love to see more! Could be a moodboard type thing to, not judge drawings! <3

tagging some people i thought may enjoy @my-secret-shame @winniethewife @missdictatorme @campingwiththecharmings @ivystoryweaver @miraclesabound

[httpvomitello]

childhood best friends to lovers trope featuring Joaquin Torres and Y/N, with the high school-to-reunion glow-up vibe

You hadn’t seen Joaquin since graduation—the last time he hugged you, he still smelled like cheap cologne and high school cafeteria fries. Now, standing in front of you in that perfectly fit flight jacket, he was taller, stronger, but somehow still had the same boyish spark in his eyes. “Still remember our late-night pact?” he asked, that crooked grin tugging at your heart like it always did. You laughed, but your pulse skipped—because the truth was, you remembered everything: the way he used to walk you home, the time he almost kissed you at prom, and how he promised he’d find you again. And now he had.

sorry for the long paragraph

But when they reunited can you do like where Sam and Bucky are there

I hope you like it ~ ☆

Almost Promises .｡*･ﾟﾟ

Summary: Now, at a military reunion where you’re just a guest, Joaquin Torres stands in front of you in his flight jacket, grown into himself in every way, with the same soft spark in his eyes.

joaquin torres x f!reader

It was after graduation, under a streetlight that flickered like a bad memory. He smelled like cheap cologne, cafeteria fries, and a little bit of nerves. You were both eighteen, slightly buzzed on freedom, and he hugged you like he didn’t want to let go.

“You’ll find someone cooler in the Air Force,” you joked, tugging on his gown sleeve.

He grinned, that crooked boyish grin. “Nah. Not possible.”

You rolled your eyes. “Promise you won’t disappear?”

He looked at you. Really looked at you. “Promise I’ll find you again.”

And then he kissed your cheek—barely missed your lips—and walked away into the night.

You didn’t see him again.

You didn’t really want to be here.

Only reason you showed up was because your cousin, Sam Wilson, pulled the family card.

“Just for a few hours,” he’d begged. “There’s food, music, probably some retired generals you can impress.”

“You mean terrify.”

He grinned. “Same thing.”

So you put on a dress, threw your hair up, and walked into a room full of medals, uniforms, and champagne flutes.

Bucky Barnes was already by the bar, looking eternally unamused in a dark suit. You made a beeline for him. He gave you a small nod, like a silent “hey.”

“You hiding too?” you asked, sipping your drink.

He smirked. “Always.”

And that’s when you heard the laugh.

That laugh.

You froze mid-sip. It was louder, deeper now. But unmistakable.

You turned—and there he was.

Joaquin Torres.

Wearing a perfectly fitted Air Force flight jacket over his blues, taller than you remembered, broader too. But his eyes? Still held that same warm spark. Mischievous and soft all at once.

He looked right at you.

And smiled.

“No way,” he said, crossing the floor like he hadn’t aged a day. “You’re here?”

Your brain short-circuited. “I—yeah. I’m here. You—damn, Torres.”

That made him laugh. “Still remember our late-night pact?”

Your heart actually skipped. You tried to play it cool. “You mean the one where you swore you’d come find me and then ghosted for almost a decade?”

He winced dramatically. “Okay. Yeah. Fair. But look—I’m here now.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that was part of the plan?”

He leaned in slightly, his grin softer now. “I never stopped meaning it.”

You felt your face warm.

“Sam didn’t say you’d be here,” you mumbled.

“He doesn’t know. It’s a last-minute drop-in. Recon training group is in town for a few days, and I tagged along.”

You tried to hide the flutter in your chest. “Guess you grew up.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, and so did you. Not that you needed it—you were always ten years ahead of me.”

Bucky slid up beside you, raising an eyebrow at Joaquin. “You flirting or reminiscing, Lieutenant?”

You jumped. “Oh my God, Bucky.”

Joaquin gave him a look. “Both. Respectfully.”

Sam appeared from behind, clapping a hand on Joaquin’s shoulder. “So you did find her again.”

You blinked. “Wait—you knew?”

Sam gave you a smug look. “Kid’s been asking about you every time he stops by. I just didn’t want to get your hopes up.”

Joaquin shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. “Told you I’d find you.”

You stood by the edge of the rooftop, heels in hand, city lights glittering below. The air was cool, and for once, you felt like you could breathe.

Joaquin appeared beside you, two drinks in hand. “Peace offering.”

You raised a brow. “What for?”

“For being a dumbass and not messaging sooner.”

You took the glass. “Apology accepted.”

There was a pause. Comfortable. Charged.

“You look good,” he said. “Like… damn.”

You laughed. “You clean up alright too.”

“I thought about writing,” he admitted. “A lot. Just didn’t know what to say.”

“So you decided to wait eight years and say it in person?”

He smiled crookedly. “Yeah. I figured it was the only way I’d get it right.”

You sipped your drink, trying not to stare. “You almost kissed me at prom.”

“I almost did a lot of things,” he murmured.

The silence after that was heavy with everything unsaid.

He turned to face you. “Still too late?”

You didn’t answer.

You just leaned in and rested your head on his shoulder.

He let out a breath like he’d been holding it for years.

And for now, that was your answer.

[soullesssenpai]

WWE Titan Takedown Post-Mania State of the Union

Hi, Intrepid Viewers!

Happy Tuesday! We now live in a post-WrestleMania world, and a few headlines directly involved our righteous wrestlers, so I thought it might be a good idea to do a little rundown/recap of what happened at WrestleMania and how it impacted the ongoing storylines our wrestlers are involved in!

As an aside before we get started, thanks so much to all the folks who have reached out with questions and/or reblogged previous titan takedown/wwe posts of mine!

On to Mania! So, as I previously noted, three out of four of our righteous wrestlers were on the card for mania: bayley, kofi, and xavier all had matches when I wrote my original post, but boy have things changed since then! Let’s start with the less complicated news: The New Day are NEW tag champs!

That’s right, our boys (who are still VERY heelish, rocking lots of sparkles and saying everybody needs to get on their knees and thank god for them) took the WWE Tag Team Championship titles off the War Raiders in a solid match during night 1! They won and literally sprinted out of the ring and up the ramp, like true chickenshit heels. This actually marks Kofi and Xavier’s seventh reign as tag champs, the most times anyone in wwe history has held them. New!! Day Rocks!!!

Talking about heel work is a good opportunity for a little wrestling 101/explainer, since a few folks asked about faces/heels and fan reactions. In wrestling, the best heels are the ones that make you love to hate them. Dominik Mysterio is a GREAT example - he just won the intercontinental title, and gets booed to all hell every time he walks out, but he’s one of the most cherished wrestlers in the company. Fans boo as a form of love for the really good heels, letting them know you see the character work they’re doing and you’re eating it up. When the new day comes out and the crowd boos, or kofi’s mother disowns him (which happened recently) it’s all in good fun.

That being said, there certainly are heels who are being booed because the audience hates them. Logan paul was also there this weekend, which is all i want to say about that.

But on to the slightly messier situation: the Bayley of it all! This time last week, Bayley was scheduled to challenge for the WWE Tag Team Championships with Lyra Valkyria. Though they’re not really a proper tag team (more of a mentor/mentee duo that’s still figuring out their chemistry) Bayley and Lyra did go through a gauntlet to earn their title shot against the champions, Liv and Raquel.

We were all set for Bayley and Lyra, until during Friday night Smackdown, they showed footage backstage of Lyra tending to Bayley, who had been mysteriously attacked. (wrestling 101 note, bayley was not attacked in real life. This is what you’d call an ‘angle.’) with Bayley writhing in pain on the ground, a distraught Lyra is told that she’s got 24 hours to find a new tag team partner.

I might’ve accidentally spoken this into existince for saying I hoped she’d return in my last post, but when the time came for Lyra’s tag match versus Liv and Raquel, her mystery partner ended up being none other than her fellow Irishwoman and mentor, Becky Lynch. I could write essays on essays about Becky and her importance to wrestling, but she’s been away for a year, so this was a big return.

Becky and Lyra went on to *win* their match, making them the new WWE tag team champions. Because Lyra is also currently the reigning intercontinental champion, a lot of folks were wondering what the plan was, because even though she and Becky are very close, they’re also not really a tag team, and it’s a strange choice to put a singles champion (Lyra) into the tag division.

Nonetheless, Lyra and Becky showed up to Monday Night Raw last night as the new champs - Liv and Raquel invoked their rematch clause, and got a chance to take their titles back. The rematch between Liv/Raquel and Becky/Lyra ends with Liv pinning Lyra, meaning Lyra and Becky lost their belts after just a day. We then got a heel turn!!! Becky, angry that Lyra lost them the titles, attacked her protege, turning against her.

Shock! Betrayal! Becky, how could you!? (Side note, I prefer Becky as a heel, and her husband Seth also just turned heel, so very excited about this development). What does this mean for Bayley, you all ask? I’ll give the in-kayfabe answer/prediction first, which is that Bayley will likely disappear from tv for a few weeks before returning to feud with Becky. She’ll get her lick back and probably pick up her feud with Roxanne Perez, who’s still running around on Raw.

However, some recent interviews Bayley’s done have definitely given some insight into the situation. There was (understandably) some outcry after Bayley was taken off of the WrestleMania card so last minute. It’s a big deal to have a mania match, and for a veteran like her to be yoinked away like that sucks.

Again, I could write oodles and oodles about how wrestling contracts work and i don’t want to get into the weeds on things, but this is kind of the latest development in an ongoing thing where Bayley isn’t getting the respect she’s due. She’s one of the four horsewomen of WWE, but as she said in the interview, she feels like she isn’t on the same level as the others (even if she absolutely is).

So that’s the titan takedown state of the union! New Day are heel champs, Bayley has been “attacked” and we’re waiting for her return/see what her next move is. If you want my crackpipe theory, I’m hoping she heads to All Elite Wrestling soon, but that’s a discussion for another day.

[foreverisntenough]

Fie’s Unsolicited Soliloquy

[I didn’t edit this so please ignore any errors or anything I didn’t articulate well ]

⸻

I know people likely will won’t read all of this but in any case, first, please know this isn’t a complaint or a cry for attention—just me trying be open and attempt to put words to the quiet weight I’ve been carrying.

(I also know I’ll inevitably get the usual array of messages saying this is more word salad, hate, calling me soft, unappreciative etc etc.. all the things nestled neatly in my inbox I try my best to ignore and not share with you all- but if you feel that way, please just do me a favor and keep moving because I’m in a really bad space atm)

Even so, I don’t know why I’m writing this at all to be even honest. —maybe because silence is starting to feel too loud, or because pretending I’m okay is starting to hurt more than admitting I’m not when I haven’t felt okay in a long, long time. Both on and offline. Maybe it’s also because I know it’s not what people ever want to read from me. But that’s kind of the point. I feel more like a generator than a human.

I want to be very clear—genuinely, wholeheartedly—I’m grateful for anyone who takes the time to read, to engage, to care. To connect with me. I see it. I feel it. And it means more than you probably know. This is not intended to dismiss the joy and love I have for you. And please know this is not accusatory nor a plea for all audiences. Because whether it’s 1 person or 10, i love you all for making me feel less alone. Like I said, this is merely just a rambling for a glance inside my mind and heart.

It’s not new but lately, I feel like an anchor rotting at the bottom of the ocean— not holding anything steady, feeling forgotten until someone wants something from me and reels me back up only to be tossed back in the water. It feels isolating despite the hours I spend trying to find connection. And this is likely my fault.

I try to write. To escape. To share work for people who might enjoy it but I often feel alone as the writer in opposition to a reader. To no one’s fault. I know I can never make everyone happy and that’s okay. But I try really hard to listen to my readers. I feel alone, like I’m a machine pliable to wishes and wants. I try so hard and to show up on my blog for my readers, for anyone . And sometimes I just hope maybe, someone will notice the part of me behind the words, the efforts, the human wanting connection.

I just know how easy it would be to disappear quietly. That thought follows me everywhere—soft, shadowed, familiar. I wonder if anyone would notice if I stopped. It appears in my life online / and offline. Not because people don’t care, but maybe because I’ve been naive, avoidant, accepting I’m just not going enough so I end up upsetting people for not doing what they want and when I do, I get nothing in return. I just almost feel invisible some days

I don’t blame anyone. It’s my work and it likely doesn’t merit the community or response I wish it did. I just don’t know how to be louder than my silence. I post and post, hours and hours of work, polish my words, pretending I’m fine. No one sees the mess behind the screen—the trembling hands, the quiet spiral, the days I forget how to be a person. I don’t want praise. I just want to feel real. Seen. Like I might matter even when I’m not packaging a narrative into something beautiful in the way people want to read like a machine made it.

Im feeling really depressed and discouraged. I feel I’m screaming into a room full of people who don’t hear me. And maybe that’s on me. Maybe I’ve made it too easy to miss. Maybe the work doesn’t merit a response. And that’s fair. It just all feels like I’m pathetic standing in static. That something I write might make someone pause but instead I’m met with an illusion of connection. That I’d matter—like Fie, not for reading in silence, but for the truth I’ve bled into these words.

I try really hard to run this blog—show up with words, to create something that matters. But it’s hard when I feel so I invisible and irrelevant.

Like I could vanish behind the screen and no one would even notice. Because someone else would fill the space It’s strange, the loneliness of being seen by many, but known by none. Like I could disappear behind a post—fade out behind my own words—There’s a particular ache in that, being digitally present but emotionally erased. Some would scroll past the absence like it was just another quiet day.

I remind myself to that It’s not a big deal. It’s only a blog after all. And while that’s true, my hurt is just as true.

I love to write, still, there’s a hollow ache I can’t seem to shake, a quiet question of whether I matter beyond delivering for others. I hope this doesn’t come across as a whiny complaint, rude, or a disregard for those that do support so often. I just feel really alone and it’s starting to take a toll on me.

If you’re reading this, thank you. I’m really trying to still be i’m here.

Please— take care of yourself. Even if it’s ugly. Even if no one notices. Even if you think no one cares. I do. Or maybe I just wish someone would.

[dramalove247]

Preparing for episode 7 of Top Form 🤢

a Dori 🐠 rambles post

Look, I love me some serious pain and drama in my series. Though I don't mind some fluffy series, most of my favorites hurt me badly. I love to live in my fictional characters' pain and go along for the ride with them. But I was NOT PREPARED for episode 6 of Top Form.

I often experience a wide range of intense emotions while watching series, but I am rarely triggered by them, even when they do something I find horrifying. I can obsess and live in the pain of characters, but this effected me on a completely other level and I was completely triggered. There is no other explanation for what I experienced last week. That was BAD. And even when I walked away, gave myself time, and came back, everything that came after the initial assault/rape made it worse.

Let me be clear, objectively, episode 6 was VERY WELL DONE. That was hugely the problem. It was TOO real. Akin's confusion and fear, shame, lies, withdrawal. They all made sense. The way we were along for that ride was the best AND worst at the same time. And Jin's insecurity and fear and pain at feeling betrayed is so understandable. And it was DEVISTATING! I know it would have not been true to the characters and their relationship, still I had desperately needed Jin to just hug Akin and let him cry and feel safe and loved. But instead we got a very real and understandable reaction by both characters caught up in their own pain and emotions, neither able to give the other what they needed in that moment because they were both falling apart. Objectively, it was so well written and acted and treated with the full weight the topic deserves. And I can appreciate that they did it well and "right" instead of giving me the quick fix I wanted/needed... once I was able to step back from the emotions. But in that moment, I didn't care how good or real they made it because I was not okay.

I've mostly emotionally recovered from the gut punch that broke me last week, though I am feeling increasingly anxious as we get closer to the next episode. Originally I was planning to wait to watch episode 7 until someone gave me hope that there would be some sort of emotional safety for Akin. But I think I have decided I want to see where they take it this week, even if it isn't resolved quickly.

I'll be patient, but here's what I NEED from this series:

I don't give a shit if it turns out to be assault or rape, Johnny is a predator for what he did. Period. Do not try to paint him as anything else. I'm going to see RED if everything is considered not a big deal if it turns out Johnny didn't actually fuck Akin. I don't care. There is no gray area here. Johnny is deplorable.

Akin understands that he is a victim and isn't responsible for what happened to him so he can begin to heal. This show needs to be clear that what happened to Akin is 100% wrong.

Jin realizes that Akin is a victim and takes back all accusations of infidelity.

I really don't want to see the toxic forgiveness shit in this series. Please don't let Akin forgive him and please don't try to make us sympathize with Johnny.

Wish list: Please let Akin get angry, specifically at Johnny. I am literally sick that he has to face Johnny at work and is too caught up in his shame and guilt to treat him like the predator he is.

As much as I had wanted them to fix that shit ASAP, they better handle this well or they shouldn't have done it at all. I'm going to cut myself off here before I let myself ramble any more.

A prayer for the BL gods: Please let me respect this show and the story they are telling.

Please take care of yourself and protect your mental and emotional health. Hugs for everyone that needs one.

[jenosonlywife23]

Hey! Can you do one where the reader (also a singer) is Max Verstappen’s sister and she’s dating Jeno, and Max invites him to one of his races and spend time showing him the car and the paddock…. Knowing Max is Jeno’s fav it’d be a cute interaction between them🫶🏼 thanku❤️

𝑭𝒂𝒏 𝑭𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆

a/n: Happy Jeno day💌. Hope you like it.

Jeno still couldn’t believe it.

He was standing in the paddock on a real F1 race weekend—engine roars in the distance, rubber scent thick in the air, headphones slung around his neck—and Max Verstappen, his ultimate favorite driver, was right beside him, talking like this was just a casual catch-up.

All because of you.

You were leaning against the pit wall in a Red Bull cap (worn backwards, of course), sipping iced coffee like it wasn’t a big deal that your boyfriend was visibly short-circuiting beside your world-champion brother.

Jeno glanced at you with a helpless grin, trying not to freak out every time Max said something like, “You actually feel the downforce pull you down when you take this corner flat out.”

“Right,” Jeno nodded, doing his best to sound like he was absorbing the info and not just trying to keep from squealing.

You nearly burst out laughing.

He was so cute.

All black tee and soft messy hair, trying to stay cool, but you could see right through it. You caught his eye just as Max turned away to check his tablet, and you gave Jeno a slow, teasing wink.

His cheeks went pink.

“I might be dreaming,” he muttered, pulling you in by the waist once Max walked off for a briefing. “I think I high-fived Max Verstappen. I think I’m about to cry.”

“You better not,” you teased, pressing your lips to his cheek. “We’ve got too many hot photos to take later.”

“I’d cry attractively.”

You snorted. “Okay, fanboy.”

He grinned, burying his nose into your shoulder. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You pulled back to look at him properly. “Wait ‘til you see what happens after the race.”

The look in your eyes made him choke.

You walked hand in hand through the paddock, Jeno soaking in every second. The tour was insane—behind the scenes of pit strategy, simulator rooms, team trailers—and Max even let him step up to the car while mechanics explained the steering wheel.

“He was talking about tire strategies like I actually understood,” Jeno whispered to you like it was top-secret. “I was just nodding. I think I blacked out.”

“You looked hot doing it,” you said, slinging his lanyard around his neck again. “Your fanboy brain might’ve shorted, but you still managed to smirk for the camera.”

Max found you again just before the drivers were called in. “Let me borrow your boyfriend for a sec.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Don’t scare him too much.”

“No promises.”

Jeno followed Max toward the garage. You stayed behind, but you could see the two talking—Max’s arms crossed, Jeno listening carefully, nodding with that serious look he only got when he was really dialed in. Whatever was said ended with Max clapping him on the shoulder and giving him a look that said you’ve got my respect.

When Jeno came back, he kissed your forehead like he was trying to ground himself. “I just had a one-on-one with your brother. I feel like I passed a boss level.”

“You did,” you smiled, brushing a hair off his face. “And now I’m gonna ruin you.”

“…What?”

That night, back at the hotel, the quiet hum of the city buzzed just outside your balcony—but all Jeno could focus on was you.

You were perched on the edge of the bed in his oversized Red Bull hoodie, bare legs tucked under you, flipping through the behind-the-scenes photos you’d taken.

“You looked hot standing next to the car,” you murmured without looking up.

Jeno scoffed, walking out of the bathroom shirtless, towel slung dangerously low on his hips. “You’re the one who wore a backwards cap and ruined my life.”

You looked up slowly, smirk tugging at your lips. “That bad?”

He walked over and pushed you gently back onto the pillows, caging you in with his arms. “That good.”

You tangled your fingers in his still-damp hair, voice dropping. “You’ve been patient all day.”

“You whispered something filthy to me in public. While your brother was meters away.”

You smiled sweetly. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

His mouth met yours before you finished the sentence—hot and unrelenting, all tongue and teeth and restraint finally snapping. You barely registered how he stripped your hoodie off in one swift motion, hands skating down your sides like he knew every inch by memory.

“Say it again,” he whispered, lips against your jaw.

You did.

And he lost it.

The next morning, you showed up to the track wearing his hoodie, lips still slightly swollen, hair tied back in the cutest messy ponytail.

Max raised an eyebrow as you arrived holding Jeno’s hand. “If I see you guys making out behind the pit wall, I’m pulling your paddock passes.”

You just grinned. “Love you too, Maxie.”

Jeno didn’t even try to hide how smug he looked—his two favorite people in the same world now, like the universe finally aligned.

He might’ve come here as a fan of Max Verstappen.

But now?

He was hopelessly obsessed with Max Verstappen’s sister.

And she was even faster at stealing his heart than any car on the grid.

[louferrignojrofficial]

I've been mulling over this idea for a while, and since you seem to be in a Bucktommy yearning mood, I feel compelled to share it.

Note: This is speculation regarding their breakup.

I'm kind of on the fence about whether or not it was Tim's original intention to reconnect Buck and Tommy. From what we saw on screen, Tommy was definitively different from all of Buck's other love interests. Buck had pursued the relationship; he invited Tommy to his sister's wedding, he was the person shown as “family” when Tommy was called up to receive a medal, and he looked towards Tommy in a momentary pause after saying “our people” at the cowboy funeral. Up until 8x06, it seemed Tommy was the perfect match. However, it all came crashing down in the following episode, and this is where my speculation starts.

I operate on a 60/40 ratio on whether or not Bucktommy getting back together was the original intention. Based on post-breakup interviews, it appears as though neither Lou nor Oliver had any idea about whether or not they would reconcile. Tim has been known to conceal storylines from cast members until the last few seconds, and if I propose that Bucktommy reconciliation was inevitable, that means Tim either didn't want to tell them in case something changed, or he needed to break up to feel more raw for all involved parties.

Tim hinted in one post-episode interview that Buck was likely going to be involved in a rebound relationship in the second half of the season. That storyline was scrapped, but it is compelling that they had mutual pining established before the initial storyline. If Bucktommy's reconciliation was inevitable, the original second half of the season's storyline would relate to Tommy's breakup speech.

Bucktommy breakup-makeup storyline V1:

Tommy tells Buck he isn't ready and unsure of his feelings; he explores his sexuality, realizes new relationships are hollow, and eventually returns to Tommy.

In my opinion, if this was Tim's original idea, I think it's stupid. However, he didn't use it, so it seemed something changed his mind. Whether he came to that conclusion on his own or our relentless notes to ABC did something, we’ll likely never know. We never got a “Buck figuring out his sexuality.” Instead, we got 3 Tommy mentions in 4 episodes, a desperate Buck-Tommy ex-sex scene, and Tommy returning to witness one of the biggest moments on the show, with his grief directly tied to Buck.

Also, we had Tommy's reasoning for the breakup reversed. Tommy's reasoning for the breakup is now more closely tied to jealousy rather than doubts over Buck's sexuality.

I do not fall into Bucktommy reconciliation easily, primarily because I do not trust Tim. I could see Tim eventually going, “Welp, thanks for saving Chim, Tommy. Now that you and Buck have agreed you're better off as friends, you're free to go. Don't let the door hit you on the way out🖕,” but I could also see them heading towards reconciliation.

Apologies for the long post; I just needed to vent. I will be watching the next few episodes with my expectations in check, but I hope for the best. Have a nice night. :)

i also go back and forth as to whether tim planned to have them make up. because in the show, it seemed so clear that they wanted to be together, there wasn’t really anything stopping them from doing so other than… well. we all know.

and then they did 8x11, and THEN they did 8x15. it seems really fucking weird to do all that and spend all that money to both pay lou and pay millions for that helicopter scene just to be like ‘yeah he’s there but it means nothing for the relationship.’ because, again, it didn’t seem like there was any outside forces stopping them from being together.

i do think plans massively changed for the show in the hiatus and as soon as they came back. we know they added a whole other episode (8x13) which they filmed up to 5 DAYS before the episode aired. so i find it hard to believe tim planned from the breakup that he wanted to get them back together.

i think as it’s going right now, the chances are in our favour of bucktommy reconciling. but as we know, tim doesn’t plan far in advance, will give out scripts the day of filming, will cut people from the show with no warning, will film episodes so so close to the episode airing and is overall wildly unpredictable.