#Alex is going through it (and going through it and going through it and)

[p1astr81]

pretty please could you write about Ollie and virgin reader, but he doesn't know she's a virgin and gets confused and frustrated when even months in they haven't had sex. Maybe he goes to some of the other drivers (like Lando or something) for advice cuz he doesn't know what to do or why she won't sleep with him. I absolutely love your writing, keep up the incredible work 👏🏻🫶🏻♥️

Things were getting heated in his flat. He’d pulled you into his lap mid makeout as he was trying to devour your lips with his. His hands were all over you. In your hair, on your hips, under your shirt and roaming over your back.

But he wanted more than another heated make-out session. He rolled his hips into yours, creating friction.

You gasped, which he thought was a good thing.

Until you jumped off his lap and practically bolted to the kitchen. “I’m kind of hungry. Should we order or cook?” You covered quickly, opening the fridge like you were actually searching for a meal.

Ollie sighed at how you’d ran from him again. In truth, he was getting skeptical of your constant avoidance to move past kissing.

You’d never allowed him to kiss you below your collarbones, always pushed him away when he tried. Whenever his hand snuck up your thigh, you’d shift or move it. And that one time he’d squeezed your ass as a joke, and you blushed like crazy, got really quiet and avoidant.

He asked you if you were okay on multiple occasions. You always had some excuse. He was only willing to let it slide for so long.

The following week, as he was sat with Charles at lunch, he asked him about it.

“Does Alex ever… like… reject you?” He knew it was a highly personal question, but being constantly rejected was eating away at him. He had to know what was up.

Charles raised a brow, smirking a bit. A dimple carved into his cheek. “How do you mean?” He knew exactly how he meant it. He just wanted to hear him say it.

Ollie scoffed. “Like…” he scoffed again, frustrated. “Whenever I try to initiate anything, y/n just- she runs away.” He confessed, a quiet voice.

It was getting harder for Charles to not laugh. “Runs away?”

“Not actually but,” he sighed. “yeah.”

“Well, did you ask her about it?”

Ollie paused. “Not directly.”

This time, Charles did laugh. Not loudly or making a scene out of it. Just a quiet chuckle. “So you don’t know if she’s waiting for marriage?”

Another pause from the younger. Then quietly, slightly embarrassed, “I didn’t even consider that.”

Charles only laughed and shook his head at the younger driver.

It wasn’t until two weeks later that he worked up the courage to actually ask you.

Sat on the couch, watching a movie. Your head rested on his shoulder, arms hugging one of his. His hand placed on your mid-thigh.

You were dozing off, so relaxed curled into his side. He thought there was no better time.

“Hey baby?” He called and squeezed your thigh. You hummed, a very sleepy sound. Still, your tired eyes looked up at him through your lashes. “Are you waiting til marriage?” He found it difficult to look into your eyes as he spoke.

Brows tilted, you tip your head back to see him easier. “You mean like… to have sex?”

Ollie swallowed. “Yeah.” He breathed. “And- and I know it’s kind of invasive I guess but I just want to know because, well, because I keep trying to- uh- you know. And-“

“I figured you’d ask about it eventually.” You sat up, letting go of his arm. He missed your touch instantly. “I’m not exactly… saving. I mean, yes I’m still a virgin but that’s not why.” You reached for the remote and paused the movie in the middle of an action scene. You kept the remote in your hands, thumbing the buttons. “It’s stupid.” You muttered.

Ollie bumped your knee with his. “It’s not stupid. If it’s about you, I want to know.”

Too conflicted to answer, you left him with a pause. Your thumbs paused on the remote buttons. “I guess I’m just scared.”

The smile came before the laugh. You looked to him, face twisted in hurt. “Sorry, I’m not laughing at you.” He clarified and your expression softened. “I just- I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.” He laughed again, a small chuckle.

“So, you’re not upset?”

“Upset? No, why would I be? That’s normal, and we can get there whenever you’re comfortable. I just didn’t know.”

A weight was lifted off the both of your shoulders. Lighter now, you leaned into him again. Curled into his side.

“I love you.” You whispered, a hand on his chest, over his heart.

Ollie smiled, feeling all soft inside. “I love you, too.” He kissed the top of your head. “Even if you’re lacking a little in the communication department.” He joked.

You shoved his chest, earning a laugh. “Not like you tried to either.”

“I just did!”

“Yeah, after how many weeks?”

You had him there. He raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, I guess we are both guilty.”

[uncuredturkeybacon]

𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚎 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which you go to your first basketball game and didn't expect something more

You were exhausted. Not in the tired of life way, just the overwhelmed by glamour kind of way. The Formula 1 movie premiere had been a blur of flashbulbs, champagne flutes, and glimmering gowns. You weren’t a driver, but you may as well have been with the way the cameras hounded you and Charles from the moment you stepped onto the red carpet.

It never really stopped, that attention. Not when you were the younger sister of Charles Leclerc and one of the very few women working as a Formula One race engineer—let alone one who’d made it onto the Ferrari team by twenty-three. People were interested. People always had questions. And your face? Apparently marketable enough for every tabloid to want it next to your brother’s whenever you were in the same city.

So, yeah. You were exhausted.

Which is why the idea of going to a basketball game sounded... almost rebellious in its normalcy.

You leaned your head on Charles’s shoulder as the car rolled through Manhattan traffic, humming under your breath. “I still can’t believe you dragged me into that afterparty last night.”

Charles snorted, relaxed in his seat with Alexandra curled up against his other side. “You say that, but you were the one doing shots with Lando.”

“I did one shot with Lando,” you corrected, “because he said I was too uptight.”

Alex laughed softly. “He also said you should be in front of the camera instead of hiding behind pit walls.”

You groaned. “He says that every time. I fix your telemetry one time during qualifying and suddenly I’m Angelina Jolie.”

Charles grinned and gave your hand a squeeze. “You just hate being famous.”

“I don’t hate it,” you murmured, lips quirking. “I just hate not being able to disappear.”

And that was really it. You hadn’t told anyone outside your inner circle about your plan for today. A quiet trip to the Barclays Center. Just you, Charles, and Alex.

You’d mentioned it in passing after breakfast this morning, still sipping your iced coffee, eyes puffy with sleep.

“I’ve never seen a basketball game in person,” you said, squinting at your phone. “New York Liberty’s playing tonight.”

Charles blinked at you across the kitchen island. “You want to go?”

You shrugged. “Kind of curious. I know nothing about it, but the atmosphere seems cool when I googled it.”

“You google everything,” Alex teased you, whited you just shrugged at.

“Alright.” He pulled out his phone. “I’ll text my manager. We’ll sort it.”

And of course, being Charles, he sorted it within half an hour. Three courtside seats. No fanfare or sponsor ties. Just you three, sitting down to watch women throw a ball around and, hopefully, scream at each other with intense athleticism. It sounded oddly soothing.

Now the black SUV pulled up to the Barclays Center and the street buzzed with energy. The pre-game crowd was thicker than you expected. People in teal and sea foam green jerseys stood in clumps on the sidewalk, others in navy and silver.

You read a few of the names on the backs of shirts. Jones. Ionescu. Bueckers. That last one you pronounced in your head like “Buckers” before second-guessing yourself.

As the door opened, Charles stepped out first, always the gentleman, offering a hand to help Alex out next. You slid out after them, a little disoriented by the shift in atmosphere. Less polished than the premiere, but more alive somehow. No tuxedos or gowns—just sneakers, t-shirts, music blasting from speakers along the entryway.

You adjusted your sunglasses, even though it was nearly evening, and tugged your denim jacket tighter around you. The press hadn’t followed. No one here really cared mush about who you were. A few teenagers glanced at Charles—probably Formula 1 fans—but no cameras. No interviews. No one asking how Charles thinks of the season so far, how no one asks you about updates on the cars.

Just... peace.

“Didn’t think there’d be this many people,” you said under your breath as you approached the VIP entrance.

“Basketball’s apparently big here,” Alex replied, brushing her hair over one shoulder. “The Liberty are kind of a big deal.”

You tilted your head. “Do you know anything about it?”

“Enough to pretend,” she said with a grin.

“Perfect. I’ll follow your lead.”

Security ushered you in quickly once credentials were checked—Charles’s manager had arranged everything—and the cool of the arena swallowed you whole. Air conditioning, the sharp scent of popcorn and floor polish, and the distant thud of basketballs echoed in your ears.

You followed a staff member through the lower tunnels, emerging out into the blinding brightness of the court.

And just like that, you were courtside.

It was... closer than you expected.

You could see the lights glaring off the court. Hear the rubber of sneakers squeaking with warmup drills. Players darted up and down the court, long-limbed and agile, even just jogging. You didn’t know who was who, but one team was in blue warm-ups and the other in black.

Someone was shooting three-pointers with precision. Another sprinted from baseline to half court and back, ponytail whipping behind her like a comet trail.

“Bloody hell,” Charles muttered beside you, tugging at the sleeve of his jacket. “They’re fast.”

“Mmhm,” you said, barely hearing him.

One of the players jogged past, close enough to see the tiny bead of sweat trickling down the side of her face. She didn’t look over, too focused on her footwork. Her jersey read BUECKERS in crisp blue letters across the back.

You blinked.

Oh. That name again.

You leaned toward Alex. “Is that... Buckers? Like the jersey we saw outside?”

Alex nodded. “Yeah. She’s really famous, I think. Played for UConn. Supposed to be a big deal for the Wings this year.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “How do you know that?”

“Google is a wonderful tool, hermana.”

You studied the woman as she slowed to a jog near the bench, catching a water bottle and tipping it up with ease. Blonde hair pulled into a tight ponytail, pale skin, strong arms that flexed easily with every movement. She had a kind of presence. Not in the way F1 drivers did—loud, cocky—but... quietly intense.

You tilted your head. “She looks like she could stare through someone’s soul.”

Charles chuckled. “Don’t let her stare at you like that. You’ll explode.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t deny it.

The arena began to fill. The crowd’s energy ramped up with every minute closer to tip-off. Announcers boomed over the speakers. Lights dimmed, and spotlights painted patterns across the hardwood.

You settled into your seat, tucking one ankle over your knee and balancing a bottle of water between your palms. The back of your neck buzzed with anticipation, though you couldn’t say why. Maybe it was just the unknown—this whole world of sport you knew nothing about. Maybe it was the air conditioning. Or maybe it was the fact that Bueckers, whoever she really was, had just glanced toward your row like she knew exactly who you were.

But she didn’t. Did she?

It started with a tap.

A quiet one, like the soft thud of a butterfly wing against your skin. You were distracted by the sweep of pregame lights moving across the ceiling, the slight back and forth between Charles and Alex beside you and by the rhythmic sound of basketballs echoing like thunder on the court.

You didn’t notice the two players breaking away from warmups at first, not until you caught a shift in the atmosphere. Like energy moving in a new direction.

And then, there it was. A gentle, almost tentative voice near your shoulder.

“Hi. Um. Are you—are you Charles’s sister?”

You turned and blinked.

It was her.

Bueckers. The name you’d only just learned a few minutes ago. She was taller than you’d expected up close, but not by much. Her cheeks were flushed from warmups, blonde hair tied in a tight ponytail. Her jersey was still partially tucked in, and she was holding her water bottle in both hands like it might anchor her to the moment.

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your mouth. “Depends who’s asking.”

She let out a soft breath, something between a chuckle and a sigh of relief. “Just a fan.”

That surprised you. “You’re a fan of me?”

Paige shook her head, then immediately nodded, then looked like she regretted both. “No, I mean—yes. Not like in a weird way. Just... I’ve seen you on the screen sometimes during races. You always looked beaut—uh, I mean—focused and serious.”

You blinked again. “You follow Formula 1?”

“Arike’s girlfriend is obsessed,” Paige replied, glancing quickly over her shoulder. “She’s a huge Ferrari fan. So Arike’s always hearing about your brother. And I guess I kind of got sucked up in it once I moved to Dallas.”

You glanced past her. Sure enough, one of her teammates—the one with the wicked jumper during warmups, now confirmed as Arike—was enthusiastically talking to Charles. She looked slightly overwhelmed, and very excited, holding her phone in one hand as she grinned up at him like he’d just won her a car.

Your eyebrows lifted. “Wow. That’s not something I expected today.”

“Yeah,” Paige murmured, and when you turned back to her, she was already looking at you again. “Me neither.”

You didn’t know what it was, exactly. Maybe the nerves in her voice, maybe the way she rocked slightly on her feet like she was resisting the urge to bolt—but it made you soften.

You held out your hand. “I’m Y/N.”

Her smile grew. “Paige.”

You nodded. “Ah, Paige. It’s nice to finally know the first name.”

She laughed. “You didn’t know?”

“Nope,” you said, tipping your head. “Just kept seeing Buckers jerseys everywhere.”

Paige’s ears went a little pink, and she tucked a loose piece of hair behind one ear, fingers fidgeting with the elastic of her jersey. “Um, it’s Bueckers actually. The ‘u’ is silent.”

“Bueckers. I apologize,” you said.

“It’s okay,” she gave a shy smile. “You, um. You’re really here for a game?”

 You glance back out to the court, where the rest of the Wings and Liberty were still running drills. “First one ever. Thought I’d see what all the hype is about.”

She grinned. “You picked a good one. Liberty versus Wings is never boring.”

“I wouldn’t know,” you said lightly. “I’ve never watched basketball before. Been surrounded by race cars all my life.”

Paige laughed again, lighter this time. “That’s okay. I know nothing about racing except that I can’t even go-kart without spinning out.”

You smiled. “Maybe we can teach each other.”

The words hung in the air, light but charged. Paige’s eyes flickered to your mouth before quickly darting away again. You didn’t miss it.

“So,” you said, shifting in your seat so you were angled slightly more toward her, “are you just saying hi, or are you here on official wingwoman duty for Arike?”

She groaned softly, but she was smiling. “She begged me to come over. She got too nervous and didn’t want to go alone.”

“Too nervous?” you asked, genuinely curious. “Charles is like... a walking golden retriever. He’s the least intimidating person I know.”

“I think that’s why she’s nervous,” Paige said, leaning slightly closer. “She wants to make a good impression. Her girlfriend’s always saying how cool he is. Especially his girlfriend. Plus, Arike’s not great with... subtlety.”

You snorted. “I can tell. She’s practically vibrating.”

Paige’s gaze lingered on you for a second longer before she pulled back slightly, clearing her throat. “Sorry. I probably shouldn’t be bothering you before the game.”

“You’re not bothering me,” you said easily. “I feel like I’m the one that’s bothering you. But this is already more fun than I expected.”

She grinned. “What did you expect?”

You shrugged. “To sit here awkwardly while everyone screamed around me. To not understand what was happening. To check my phone halfway through the second quarter.”

“And now?”

You looked at her, really looked, and smiled softly. “Now I kind of want to stay until the very end.”

Her blush returned, stronger this time.

The crowd began to rise in volume as the clock above the court ticked closer to tip-off. Music pulsed through the speakers. A Liberty player dunked during layup lines and the crowd roared. Paige glanced toward the bench.

“I should probably get back,” she said, sounding reluctant.

You tilted your head. “Are you starting?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “But I’ll—um. I’ll try not to trip in front of you.”

You smirked. “No promises from me. I might cheer for the other team just to keep you on your toes.”

Her mouth parted like she didn’t know whether to laugh or challenge you. “You wouldn’t.”

You lifted a brow. “Wouldn’t I?”

She bit her lip. “Well... if you change your mind, I’ll be number five. Wings jersey. You know. Just in case you decide you want to cheer for the right side.”

You leaned back, eyes gleaming. “We’ll see how you play.”

She took a few steps back, still facing you, then finally turned around just as Arike finished her impromptu photo with Charles and bounded after her.

You watched her go—watched the easy way she moved, the subtle glance she cast over her shoulder before disappearing behind the bench.

Alex elbowed you gently. “So. That was a very long conversation for someone who only came over because of Arike.”

You tried for casual. “She was being polite.”

Charles snorted. “Mon dieu. She was flirting and she was terrible at it.”

“She was sweet,” you corrected, still smiling faintly.

Alex leaned in. “And you liked it.”

You didn’t say anything. Just sipped your water, eyes trailing back to where Paige now stood with her teammates, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet, gaze already scanning the court—but every now and then, flickering right back to you.

And each time it did, your heart fluttered a little faster than it had on any starting grid.

It wasn’t obvious at first.

You weren’t sure what to watch during a basketball game—when to focus on the ball, when to look at the off-ball movement or when to just follow the flow of the players gliding across the court like it was muscle memory. The speed surprised you. The precision. The sheer athleticism of it all.

But what surprised you most was how often your eyes were drawn back to her.

She moved like she didn’t need to think, like the court was just an extension of her breath. One second, she was at the top of the arc calling for the ball, the next, she was slashing into the paint, drawing a defender with her before dishing out a no-look pass that made the crowd gasp and a teammate drain a three.

You leaned forward unconsciously. “She’s really good,” you murmured.

Charles glanced sideways. “You mean Paige?”

“Mhm,” you said without looking away. “She plays like she’s solving a puzzle no one else can solve.”

“She has vision,” Alex added. “Like a driver who sees the apex before the turn.”

You nodded, eyes narrowing slightly as Paige picked off a lazy pass and darted up court in transition. She didn’t rush, didn’t force anything—just read the defender’s body language and timed her steps perfectly before finishing with a layup that rolled off her fingers like silk.

The scoreboard ticked up in the Wings’ favor.

And Paige—oh, Paige—jogged back on defense with a half-smirk tugging at her mouth. Her eyes scanned the front row, just briefly, but when they landed on yours, they didn’t move.

You didn’t either.

Her gaze lingered a second too long. She gave the smallest shrug of her shoulders—barely noticeable—but it said everything. That one was for you.

You blinked. A beat passed. And you smiled, just a little.

Timeout.

The coaches called for a break, and both teams huddled by their benches. Paige wiped her face with her towel, bouncing on her toes, sipping from her water bottle, listening with half an ear to what her coach was saying.

But her eyes found you again.

You didn’t pretend not to notice.

She raised a hand and waved—quick, subtle, a flick of fingers from low by her waist like she didn’t want anyone else to see.

You lifted your brows, amused.

She smiled again—shy, still—but different now. Confident in a way that felt like a quiet dare.

“She’s waving at you,” Charles said, practically choking on his soda.

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, thank you, Cha.”

“I’m just saying,” he replied, grinning like an idiot. “You’re distracting a professional athlete in the middle of a game. That’s impressive.”

“I’m not trying to distract her,” you muttered.

Alex smirked. “You’re not not trying.”

You crossed one leg over the other, resting your elbow on the armrest between you and Charles. Paige was back in the game now, standing on the wing waiting for the inbound pass. She glanced toward you again.

You didn’t wave, didn’t smile. You just raised one brow and tilted your head like Alright, Bueckers. Show me something.

And she did.

She moved off the ball like she was built for it—cutting, darting, changing direction so fast the Liberty defender couldn’t keep up. She caught the pass mid-motion, turned, and let it fly from just beyond the arc.

Swish.

The net barely moved.

Half the crowd screamed.

The Wings bench stood up, cheering.

And Paige? She jogged back, biting her bottom lip like she was trying to hide a grin—but didn’t try that hard. Her eyes met yours again, and this time she winked.

Winked.

You could feel Charles and Alex practically vibrating next to you.

“Ay dios mío” Alex said under her breath. “You’re in so deep already.”

“I’m not,” you said quickly. “I just met her. I didn’t even know how to say her last name.”

“You know,” Charles said, “I always imagined you’d fall for someone complicated. Mysterious. Dangerous.”

“She plays basketball,” you said flatly.

“She’s clearly dangerous to your self-control.”

You ignored him. Sort of.

Because you were watching her again. Watching the way she locked in when she played. The way her teammates looked to her instinctively. The way she trusted her first move—no hesitation, no overthinking. Paige Bueckers played basketball the way you did data analysis mid-race… fast, decisive, and like the margin for error was nonexistent.

And every time she made a big play, her eyes flicked back to you.

Like she wanted to know if you’d seen.

Like she needed you to.

By halftime, your heart was pounding harder than it had in any garage on race day.

You’d come here for something simple. A distraction. A break from being Charles Leclerc’s little sister or Ferrari’s engineering prodigy. Monaco’s Princess. 

Instead, you got Paige Bueckers.

And every time she looked at you, it felt like she saw right through the noise.

The final buzzer sounded like a sigh.

The game had been close—closer than anyone had predicted from what you gathered in the crowd chatter around you. Liberty fans were loud, but by the fourth quarter, you started to hear more Wings chants pick up momentum. You didn’t understand every foul or call or play, but you understood Paige.

You understood how her team trusted her. You understood how she handled pressure like it was gravity. You understood how, after every big moment, her eyes found you.

And now, it was over. Scoreboard locked. Jerseys drenched in sweat. Fans buzzing in that familiar post-sport high.

You stayed seated as most of the arena stood to leave. Charles was scrolling through his phone, nodding occasionally at a fan who called his name but otherwise keeping low-key. Alex sipped the last of her drink, curled comfortably against his arm, while you just… watched.

The court was still alive.

Paige was surrounded—first by teammates, then reporters, then fans pressed against the rails. She was gracious with each person, smiling wide in photos, laughing at something a little girl said, holding her sharpie with care as she signed the backs of posters, jerseys, and phones.

“She’s got that same energy you do after a podium,” Alex said gently.

You glanced at her. “Huh?”

Alex nodded toward Paige. “A little exhausted, a little adrenaline high, kind of glowing but pretending not to notice.”

You looked back. Paige was crouched to take a photo with a kid in a Wings jersey two sizes too big for him. She gave the camera a thumbs up. Her pony was messy now, strands of blonde hair falling loose around her face.

She glanced toward you. Saw you still there.

And smiled like it meant something.

You felt it like a pull.

Paige whispered something to a staffer and took a final photo, then jogged toward the bench. Her teammates were heading back to the locker room, but she lingered. You stood as she approached, not sure what you were expecting.

“Hey,” she said, a little breathless. “You’re still here.”

You smiled. “I said I’d stay until the end.”

Her eyes flicked to Charles and Alex, who were now standing just behind you, watching quietly. Paige’s cheeks flushed, but she held her ground.

“I, uh—I have to do post-game interviews,” she said, almost apologetically. “Media stuff. Probably fifteen, twenty minutes. But I was wondering…” She shifted, bouncing slightly on her toes. Her voice was softer now, meant only for you. “Would you wait?”

You blinked. “Wait for you?”

She nodded. “I just— I’d really like to talk more. If you want. I don’t know if you’re going somewhere after or flying out soon or—”

“I’m here tonight,” you said, cutting gently through her nerves. “We’re in New York for another day.”

“Oh. Good. Okay.” Her smile was so honest it made your chest feel warm. “So... would you?”

You could feel Charles and Alex still watching, but they didn’t say a word. You tucked your hands in your jacket pockets and tilted your head.

“You want me to wait around in an empty arena just so you can talk to me again?”

Paige met your gaze. Didn’t back down. “Yes.”

The answer was so simple it made you grin.

“Okay,” you said. “I’ll wait.”

Relief bloomed across her face. “Cool. I won’t be long. Promise.”

She started to turn, paused, then hesitated before glancing at Charles.

“I’m a big fan of yours, by the way,” she added quickly, cheeks turning red. “Both of you. You guys looked really good in Monaco.”

Charles lit up. “Merci. I’ll pretend I didn’t hear most of that conversation earlier.”

Paige laughed nervously. “Noted.” Then she looked back at you. “Be right back.”

You watched her disappear into the tunnel, every bit of her confidence lingering behind in the way she glanced at you over her shoulder one last time.

When she was gone, Charles bumped his shoulder lightly into yours.

“Does she always look at people like that?”

You raised a brow. “Like what?”

“Like you’re the only thing in the room worth seeing.”

You shrugged. “Maybe she just appreciates a challenge.”

Alex grinned. “You’re such a liar. You’re already gone for her.”

You didn’t answer. Just sat back down and stared at the empty court where she’d just been.

And waited.

It was quiet by the time she returned.

The kind of quiet that only settles in after the world has exhaled. Most of the crowd had gone home. Security lingered by the exits, sweeping the rows. Staffers rolled carts of used towels and half-empty water bottles down the tunnel. The court was bare now. Just the hushed hum of the arena winding down.

You were still there. Sitting courtside. Jacket draped over your shoulders, fingers absently spinning the cap of your water bottle. Charles and Alex had wandered off somewhere to give you space. You hadn’t asked, but they just knew.

And then you heard footsteps again—softer now, not game shoes. Slides against the polished concrete.

You looked up.

There she was.

She was fresh from the locker room, face clean, blonde hair damp and tied loosely now. A W hoodie, oversized, sleeves pulled down over her hands. She wore simple black shorts and Nike socks pushed halfway down her ankles.

She looked like herself in a way that tugged at you—like all the edges were finally rounded off now that the lights were dim and the cameras were gone.

“You waited,” she said, quiet.

You gave her a small smile. “I said I would.”

She sat beside you, one seat in-between, giving you space but close enough for your knees to brush if you shifted.

Neither of you moved.

For a while, you just sat there like that. Silence stretching between you like a breath held, but not tense. Not awkward. Just... present.

She finally spoke. “So… be honest. What’d you think?”

You looked at her. “Of the game?”

Paige nodded.

You took your time. “It was like hearing a language I don’t speak, but still knowing exactly what everyone meant.”

She blinked at that. “That’s... really poetic.”

You shrugged. “I’m around fast cars all day. I don’t get to be poetic very often.”

Paige smiled to herself. “You said you’d never seen a basketball game before?”

“Never.” You glanced out at the now-empty court. “I came in expecting to get bored halfway through. I thought I’d be checking my notes on my phone by the second quarter.”

“And instead?”

“I forgot I even had a phone.”

She turned her head toward you, expression soft. “Because of the game, or...”

You looked back at her. “Do I need to answer that?”

She didn’t blush this time. But her eyes dropped for a second, and when they lifted again, they held something steadier. More certain.

“I’m glad you came,” she said.

You studied her. “You mean that?”

“Yeah. I—” she hesitated, exhaling through her nose. “I know it sounds stupid, but sometimes when you play so many games, they all blur together. It becomes muscle memory. You forget what it feels like to want someone in the crowd to see you. Like, actually see you.”

You didn’t speak, not right away. Because that hit somewhere you weren’t ready for.

“Does it get lonely?” you asked softly.

Paige blinked. “What?”

You looked down at your hands. “Being known. By everyone. But not really known by anyone who isn’t part of the circle.”

She was quiet. You risked a glance at her. She was already watching you.

“It does,” she said. “It really does.”

You nodded. “I get it.”

“I figured you would.” She shifted in her seat, angling toward you more. “You know what it felt like tonight?”

“What?”

She paused. “It felt like you weren’t here for the show. You weren’t waiting to be impressed. You were just... there. Watching. Like it was already enough.”

You held her gaze. “That’s because it was.”

You saw the breath catch in her chest before she tried to play it off with a quiet laugh. “You’re really dangerous, you know that?”

“Because I said something kind?”

“No. Because you meant it.”

That silenced you both for a long moment. You let it happen. Let the silence linger and swell and settle. Eventually, Paige leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, looking out at the court.

“Do you think you’ll come to another game?” she asked.

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you mirrored her posture, your shoulders touching ever so slightly. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether you’ll be there.”

She let out a small breath of a laugh, low and fond. “God, you’re gonna wreck me.”

You smiled. “That’s not my intention.”

“I know,” she said. “That’s why it’s worse.”

The lights overhead dimmed a little more as the staff shut down sections row by row. A janitor passed with a sweeping broom. You didn’t care. You had nowhere else to be. Not in that moment.

She looked at you again. “Can I give you my number?”

You raised an eyebrow. “That was inevitable.”

“I didn’t want to assume,” she said, grinning now, eyes crinkling. “You could’ve been not interested. Or just—”

“Paige,” you cut in gently. “I waited for you.”

She smiled slowly.

You reached into your jacket and pulled out your phone, unlocking it and holding it out. She entered her number carefully, then hesitated before handing it back.

“What?” you asked.

She looked slightly sheepish. “Just thought my contact name should pay tribute to our first interaction to each other.”

You checked it.

Buckers

You laughed. “Wow. You’re not gonna let that go, huh?”

“Nope. It’s part of you now. You gonna change it?”

You didn’t. You saved it as is.

“I like it,” you said. “It’s us.”

You both stood when security finally made a quiet gesture that the arena was closing up. Paige stretched her arms above her head and gave you a look like she didn’t quite want to leave.

You didn’t either.

“Hey,” she said, more serious now. “Can I call you tomorrow? Or tonight? Or whenever it’s not weird? I just... I’d like to talk more. Without a clock running.”

You nodded, heart softening. “I’d like that.”

And then you leaned in—just slightly—and kissed her cheek. Slow. Intentional. Close enough that your lips brushed the corner of her mouth.

She froze. Exhaling softly.

When you pulled back, her face was pink, her eyes shining.

You whispered, “I’ll be waiting for that call.”

[jo-com]

pls alex albon fic next🙏🤞parang awa mo na teh

──★ ｡🫧⋆｡˚ The Backup Plan

Alex Albon x Fem!Reader

୨ৎ Summary: You’ve had a long-standing pact with Alex: If you’re both still single by 30, you’ll marry each other...You’re engaged to someone else now… until Alex drunkenly posts the pact on Twitter. It blows up—and fans vote that you should dump your fiancé.

୨ৎ Genre: Slight angst?, a little smau and a happy ending or nah? read to find out ;)

୨ৎ Note: Send request y'all, also hope you like this! has some grammatical error and stuffs

ARCHIVES ⭑.ᐟ

They were sitting on the roof of his apartment, legs dangling over the edge, two beers between them and an entire city below. It was 2:08 AM, the kind of hour that made everything feel quieter, closer, truer.

You were both twenty-one. Young enough to believe in forever, dumb enough to talk about it like it was something you could schedule.

“I’m never gonna find someone,” Alex said, head tilted back to look at the stars. “They either want the driver or the version of me they think lives on yachts.”

You snorted. “Yeah, god forbid someone loves you for your sparkling sarcasm and sleep deprivation.”

He smiled, soft and sideways. The kind he only gave you. “You’re not exactly thriving in the romance department either.”

You leaned back on your elbows, the breeze catching your hair. “I’m holding out for a golden retriever in a human man’s body. Loyal, dumb, likes snacks.”

“That’s literally me,” he said, deadpan.

You turned to him, smirking. “You’re not dumb.”

He blinked. “That’s what you took from that?”

You were quiet for a moment, the laughter settling into something gentler.

And then you said it—half a joke, half a wish:

“Okay, if we’re both still single at thirty, we get married.”

Alex didn’t laugh. He didn’t even hesitate. He looked at you with that warm, steady certainty that always threw you off.

“Deal,” he said, holding out his pinky.

You looped yours with his.

“We’ll probably forget we even said this.”

But deep down, you knew you wouldn’t.

Neither of you ever did.

...

Years slipped through your fingers like sand—quiet, unnoticed, until they weren’t. Now, at twenty-eight, you and Alex were two almost-strangers orbiting around what used to be everything. Birthdays, wins, late-night calls—once sacred little rituals—were now reduced to muted texts and empty-hearted “miss you’s.”

The milestones still came. But they came alone.

The big 3-0 was creeping up now—no longer a distant joke or a silly pact sealed on a rooftop, but a deadline that loomed like a memory you hadn’t made peace with. It sat in the corners of your thoughts, like dust you kept forgetting to clean.

Only this time, something was different.

You were engaged.

To someone steady. Kind. Good. To someone who wasn’t him.

And for the first time since that night on the roof, the deal—the pinky promise you once held like a lifeline—felt like something you had quietly buried in the past. Not because you forgot.

But because remembering it hurt.

...

The proposal had been perfect.

A quiet dinner. Your favorite restaurant. Warm lights, soft music, a ring that sparkled in just the right way. He’d gotten down on one knee and asked, and you’d said yes with a smile that felt real.

It was real. But it wasn’t whole.

Because the first person you wanted to tell—the one person who would’ve rolled his eyes and said “finally, someone’s dumb enough to marry you”—wasn’t there. Not in your inbox. Not in your messages. Not even in your life the way he used to be.

You sent him a picture of the ring anyway.

No caption. Just that. He didn’t reply.

And maybe that should’ve been enough for you to let it go. To finally move forward with both feet planted where they should be.

...

username NOT ALEX ALBON SOFT LAUNCHING HIS HEARTBREAK AT 3AM 😭😭😭

username whoever that girl is… break up with your fiancé. it’s for the grid. for the sport. for the legacy 🏁💍🚩

username no bc if alex tweeted this about ME i would be at his door in a wedding dress IMMEDIATELY 👰‍♀️💅

username the way this man just said “i’m emotionally unavailable but loyal” in one tweet 🥲

username imagine being engaged and the ENTIRE F1 fandom is telling you to go back to alex albon. i would simply fold.

username this tweet has more chemistry than most paddock couples. i fear this ship is sailing with or without her 😭🚢

username alex albon said “what if i caused emotional damage AND chaos in 140 characters” and honestly? he succeeded ✨

username “they forget” — YOU KNOW SHE DIDN’T FORGET BRO 😭 this is pain. i’m feeling it in my chest.

...

Two months later—on a regular Tuesday, when the sky was gray and your phone was face-down—he tweeted it.

Your eyes widened instantly as you red between his tweet— Your breath caught without permission.

And that feeling—the one you'd spent months, maybe years, trying to bury—rose fast and vicious in your chest. That familiar tightness. That ache between your ribs. The one that only ever belonged to him.

Confusion hit first. Then came the anger.

What was he thinking? why now? why publicly?

And then came the other realization.

Why do i care so much?

Because everything was different now. You had a ring on your finger. A man who loved you. A wedding date marked in ink.

You were getting married.

Just not to the boy who once pinky-promised you forever at 2:08 a.m.

And that’s the problem.

...

You didn’t hear him come in.

You were still sitting on the couch, phone limp in your hand, the tweet burned into your retinas like some kind of confession you hadn’t meant to write—but somehow belonged to you anyway.

“Y/N?”

Your head snapped up. He was standing in the doorway, coat still on, holding a takeout bag and a look that made your stomach twist.

You swallowed. “Hey. You’re back early.”

He didn’t answer at first. Just walked in slowly, set the food on the counter, and stared at you in that quiet way he always did when he was thinking too hard and trying too hard not to show it.

“You’re trending,” he said.

Just like that.

You opened your mouth, but there was nothing ready to come out. Not an excuse. Not an explanation. Nothing that could make this better.

He sat across from you. No anger. No raised voice. Just… restraint.

“That tweet,” he said softly. “The one about the marriage pact.”

You couldn’t meet his eyes. “It’s nothing.”

He let out a breath. It wasn’t a laugh. It wasn’t a scoff. It was disappointment, paper-thin and sharp.

“Do you love him?”

Your heart stuttered.

“No,” you said too quickly. “I mean—not like that. Not now. I don’t—”

“But you did.”

Silence.

He nodded, slow and defeated, like the answer had already been written in every pause, every time you’d flinched at Alex’s name, every time you smiled too softly at an old memory.

“I know I’m not him,” he added, barely above a whisper.

And the worst part was—you didn’t even know if that was meant to comfort you or remind you.

“I’m trying, Y/N,” he said. “I’ve been trying. But I feel like I’m holding a place someone else still owns.”

The room felt small. The air too still.

“I chose you,” you whispered. “I said yes.”

“But have you let him go?”

And that was the question, wasn’t it?

[thatguywrites]

Drivers + Wags x Bookworm Reader

Piastri + Zneimer, Verstappen + Piquet, Albon + Muni He

In Alex + Lily, reader doesn't really get sports bc I'm projecting how I don't get golf 👍

Oscar + Lily

You first met when you and Lily kept running into eachother at your favorite bookstore

And Lily kept ranting to Oscar about the cute bookstore boy

So he came along one day

More for you than the books, but he was hooked after one look as well

After talking and having book date after book date they ask you out through an annotated book

You and Lily spend every other night cuddled up in a designated corner reading your books

Whenever Oscar feels left out he bribes the two of you to bed with tea and biscuits and cuddles

He'll listen to all your book summaries, and remember every single one, even if neither of you think he cares

The three of you also give eachother books hand picked for eachother for Christmas

It's kinda hard to shop for Oscar

They're almost always recommendations from the two of you, or about cars

But they're the only books he'll read

Color Nicole impressed

Max + Kelly

You're the librarian at P's favorite library

And she drags them to meet the 'nice man who reads all the books for her' every week

The two of them eventually give you their numbers under the guise of asking you to babysit P

And then they invite you to dinners

And all of the sudden your in their bed?

How'd you get there!

Kelly always reads whatever book you're reading so that you'll have someone to talk about it with

If you like it, she likes it, if you hate it, she hates it

Besides, audiobooks are nice for long flights or makeup sessions

Max buys you books from all over the world, in any language you speak

From local writers, or just books he notices haven't made it into your personal collection

He makes you make a list of every book you have/haven't read so that he doesn't buy you a double

P also ends up the best reader in her year

It's hard not to when she has the best teacher, who will help her read whatever book she gets her hands on

Alex + Lily

They find you in a Café while on a date and deside to flirt up a storm with you

And I mean, it's hard not to fall head over heels for these two

As soon as they find out you're a book worm, they're courting you with an onslaught of books

Authors you offhandedly mention liking, special editions of your favorite books, everything they can do to show your love

Nights consist of Lily taking over skin care for the three of you, Alex zoned out into a show on TV, and you nose deep into a book

The public finds out about you because there's always someone huddled in the corner with his nose in a book at Lily's golf matches and Alex's F1 races

Besides how hot they look doing it, sports isn't really your thing

Whenever they come to give you attention you're all ears though

All lips or whatever

In the same way they don't understand the finesse of a good romance book, the details of what club to use, or what tire didn't come naturally to you

Swing well, and go fast

That made more sense

Taglist: (Comment or DM to be added)

@koalapastries @justaf1girl @spoonfulofmilo @op-81-lvr-reblogs

[strawberriesinmoominvalley]

one-year anniversary post!

one year ago today, i posted the first chapter of 'love will not break your heart (but dismiss your fears)'. it was the first time i published for f1. it was also the biggest project i've ever embarked on.

and now i look back, 115,109 words later. 1045 kudos, 42,000 hits, a community of people who chat to me in the comments! it feels unreal, even now. i don't understand why so many people love this world, but i will never not be grateful about it. thank you, thank you, thank you.

i haven't hidden the fact that this story wasn't originally going to be published. just over a year ago, i went through probably the worst period of my life. i wrote this to escape reality. the themes in this people pick out - hope, love, grief - were me letting other people experience and have a happy ending, because at points it felt as though that could never be me.

and the fact that this means so much to people - like it meant so much to me - genuinely makes me want to cry. thank you for being here. i love you <3

and the fact i get to continue this world is such a blessing. i've only grown to adore this series more as time has gone on. i'm so glad this journey gets to continue.

and anyway, 'all the world will be your enemy' has... on this trajectory, about 160,000 more words to go. this world isn't over and i don't want to leave it :D

[b-free]

Wisp blinked and giggled a little. "I think both her and Mrs Dukeson go a bit overboard in trying to welcome a new friend on occasion..." She moved, careful with how she stood up. "I know Miss Alex doesn't actually have... a lot of friends. I think she might have been trying a little hard, but... With what she's been through it makes sense." She smiled at Cassidy.

B stayed quiet, looking toward the door as one eye blinked out, coming back on after a moment before another did the same.

"Speaking of... parental figures..." Her five eyes atop her head stayed lit when she turned her head to look at Wisp. "That couple is here right?"

"Yes... I think they might have been waiting for you to step away too." Wisp sighed a little bit as B's tail flicked, a motion Cassidy might recognize as irritation.

[SweetBee] Alex has already started on some of her prep stuff [SweetBee] So I'm letting you know I'll be over soon so we can start moving what we need to the ship ok?

B's message arrives a little before sunset, and seems to at least explain why Alex has been quiet for as long as she had been. The fact time felt like it passed both far too slow and far too quick for this whole... thing was probably something to address.

( @b-free I can TYPE STUFF owo )

Cassidy sighs, and closes her books.

You are nervous?

"Yeah. I mean, there's been a lot of build up to this. Kind of the capstone of my internship, and a big part of what it'll be like to do this in the future."

She looks at herself in the small mirror on her desk. "And I'm not really... one for parties. Can I ask—"

We will not seize movement capabilities unless asked for assistance.

"Thanks."

Cassidy takes her phone and sends B a response. She looks at her desk, holding her silicone tint and makeup tablet, then her closet, which housed her dress, purse, and the box with her necklace, anklet, and hair clip. This is it.

[Cassidy] Alright. Tell me if I can do anything in the meantime.

[arabe11as]

Alex and his failed surprises ♡︎

warnings: panic attacks, thecar!alex fluff xx

You let the front door shut behind you with a soft click, the familiar weight of your shared flat settling around you like a heavy coat. The hallway was quiet, dim in the early evening light that filtered through the frosted window.

You kicked off your shoes without bothering to straighten them, dropped your bag with a thud by the wall, and stood there for a second—still, hollow, aching.

This place… it used to feel warm. Safe. Yours. The flat you and Alex had picked together nearly two years ago, when life felt a bit more romantic and a bit less exhausting.

Now it just felt empty. He was meant to still be on tour—soundchecks, interviews, back-to-back gigs—but you knew the schedule changed all the time.

He’d texted vaguely yesterday about a long travel day. You assumed you wouldn’t hear from him properly for another few days.

You drifted into the living room, not even bothering to turn the light on. The late afternoon glow pooled faintly through the blinds, casting long shadows across the carpet.

You sank onto the sofa, curling into yourself, arms tucked around your knees like you could somehow keep everything from spilling out.

Today had been hell. Every small thing went wrong. You missed your bus, spilled coffee on your shirt, cried in the work toilets because someone barked at you over nothing.

And through it all, you just kept your head down. Smiled when you had to. Breathed through it. But it all stayed there, coiled tight in your chest.

And now that you were home—quiet, alone, no one to see—you let it go. The tears came hot and sudden, slipping down your cheeks in silence.

You didn’t hear the front door open again. You didn’t hear the shuffle of keys and the soft laugh under breath.

“Christ, I was gonna surprise you,” Alex’s voice rang out from the hallway, a hint of amusement in it as he carried something into the kitchen. “Thought you were finishing at six—I literally waited round the corner for ten minutes like a right idiot.”

You heard a rustle, maybe a paper bag, maybe his coat dropping onto a chair. He was still talking, laughing to himself.

“I had this whole thing, right—was gonna light a bloody candle and everything, and now—” He stepped back into the living room and turned around mid-sentence.

That’s when he saw you. Not just sitting there—but curled in on yourself, eyes wet, your chest rising with quiet, shaky breaths.

He blinked, surprise washing over his face. “Hey…” His voice softened instantly, everything about him gentling like muscle memory. “Hey, what’s up?”

You didn’t say anything. You just stood and walked straight into him, burying your face into the warm fabric of his jumper, wrapping your arms around his middle like you’d fall apart if you let go.

“Oh, sweet girl…” he murmured, holding you tight, his hand stroking the back of your head. “What happened, huh? Talk to me.”

You shook your head against him, letting out a quiet, broken sound instead. He pressed his lips to your temple.

“Been a rough one, yeah?” he whispered, rocking you slightly. “You should’ve told me. I’d have come sooner.”

You just held him tighter, your fists bunching in the fabric at his back.

“I’ve got you now,” he said softly, his voice barely above a breath. “It’s okay. You’re safe, love. You’re okay.”

Your chest tightened painfully, like a fist had wrapped itself around your ribs and was squeezing, harder and harder.

The air wasn’t coming in right—it felt thin, sharp, useless. Your hands trembled as you clung to Alex’s jumper, but even that grounding touch wasn’t enough anymore.

You tried to speak, to tell him what was happening, but all that came out was a ragged, panicked sob.

Alex pulled back just enough to see your face. His expression changed instantly—panic flashing briefly across his eyes before it settled into something calm.

“Hey, hey,” he said, cupping your face gently but firmly. “C’mon, breathe for me, love. You’re alright. Just breathe.”

But you couldn’t. The air caught in your throat, your breaths short and rapid, your body locked in place like it was bracing for impact.

Tears streamed down your cheeks and your shoulders shook uncontrollably.

Alex guided you to sit down, his hands steady on your arms as he lowered you to the couch. Then he crouched in front of you, never breaking contact.

“Y/N. Look at me, love.”

You forced your eyes up, meeting his. He was right there. Knees bent in front of you, brows drawn with worry, but his voice—his voice was soft as ever.

“That’s it. That’s my girl,” he whispered. “I’m right here.”

You gasped sharply, still crying, breaths erratic and shallow.

“Okay, listen to me,” he said, voice slow, patient. “Follow me, yeah? In through your nose…” He exaggerated the inhale, slow and controlled. “One, two, three…”

You tried. Failed.

“That’s alright,” he said instantly. “Try again with me. You can do this.”

He took another breath—deep and calm—and this time, your lungs caught onto the rhythm, just barely.

“There she is,” he murmured. “Good. You’re doing so good, sweetheart.”

Another shaky inhale. A weak exhale. Still too fast.

“Try again, love. Nice and slow.”

His hands rubbed gentle circles over your knees.

“Breathe in for me, yeah? Like this—” he did it again, patiently, and this time, you matched it a little better. “There we go. I’m so proud of you.”

The room started to feel a little less like it was spinning. Your breaths still came in gasps, but they were slowing. The tightness in your chest began to ease, even if just slightly.

Alex reached up and brushed your hair from your face. “You’re doing amazing.”

You let out another choked sob, but your breathing was more even now, the edge of panic dulling bit by bit. He moved beside you on the couch, pulling you into his side, cradling your head to his shoulder.

“That’s it, love,” he whispered into your hair. “It’s over. I’m right here, yeah?“

The hiccuping sobs faded into quiet shudders, your face still buried in his shoulder, his jumper damp from tears.

For a little while, neither of you spoke. He just kept stroking your hair, whispering soft things until you calmed.

Eventually, he pulled back just enough to look at you properly, brushing his thumb gently under your eye. His brows were still knit in worry, but his voice was soft. “Talk to me, sweetheart. What happened?”

You blinked a few times, your voice still scratchy and raw from crying. “I… I don’t know. I just—everything went wrong today. Just stupid little things. Work was awful, people were rude, I missed my bus, spilled coffee all over myself, and—and I just—” Your throat caught again, tears prickling fresh, but you fought through it. “I didn’t have it in me today. I came home early. I just wanted to cry somewhere no one could see me.”

Alex exhaled slowly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Oh, darlin…” he murmured. “You should’ve called me.”

“I didn’t want to bother you.”

“You’re never a bother,” he said quickly, almost sternly. “You hear me? You could ring me at four in the morning, I’d still be picking up with a smile.”

You managed a small smile at that, weak but real. Your fingers curled into the sleeve of his jumper. “I thought you were still on tour…”

“I was,” he nodded. “We had a few days off and I thought I’d come surprise you.”

Your head tilted toward him, eyes still puffy. “Wait—

surprise?”

He laughed under his breath, resting his forehead against yours. “Well, I had this whole plan. Got your favourite takeaway, was gonna set up that daft film you like and everything. Figured you’d get home around six, so I was hiding out down the street like a proper weirdo.”

You laughed, breathy and surprised. “No you weren’t.”

“I swear to God,” he grinned. “Some old lady walked past and jumped when she saw me standing behind a tree with a bloody paper bag—thought I was about to mug her.”

That made you actually laugh, a real one this time, breaking through the heaviness like sunlight cracking through a storm. “Alex, what the hell—”

“I tried to explain, like, no no I live here, but she gave me a right dirty look and speed-walked off.”

You wiped your eyes with the sleeve of your hoodie, laughing again despite yourself. “You’re such an idiot.”

He wrapped his arm tighter around you. “You bet i am”

“Did you say you got me food?” you murmur against his shoulder, your voice still soft but steadier now, like the air had finally started returning to your lungs.

Alex pulled back just enough to see your face, his lips curving into that warm, familiar smile. “Yes, yes—I did. It’s on the kitchen side, still warm, promise.”

You looked up at him, the corners of your mouth twitching into something that resembled a smile. “Will you dish me some up?”

“Of course I will,” he said gently, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You just stay there, alright? Don’t move.”

He stood, giving your hand a little squeeze before heading to the kitchen. You curled into the corner of the sofa, pulling the blanket off the back and wrapping it around yourself, feeling lighter now—still tender, still fragile—but lighter.

From the kitchen, you could hear him rustling around with plates, mumbling to himself like he always did when he was focused. He was muttering something about “even portions” and “she better bloody eat all this,” which made you smile.

A few minutes later he returned, balancing two plates perfectly portioned with your favourite comfort food. “I spread it out like a proper chef,” he said proudly. “Presentation and all.”

You laughed as he handed you yours, and he gave you a playful wink before setting his down and grabbing the remote.

“Alright,” he said, settling beside you, “film time. What are we saying—comfort classic?”

You nodded, pulling your blanket up higher as he flicked through the options, eventually landing on that film. The one you always chose when you were sad, or overwhelmed, or just needed something that felt like a hug.

He hit play and tucked himself close beside you, one arm slung around your shoulders as you leaned into him with your plate in hand.

As the opening scene filled the screen, he murmured, “There we go. Food, film, and me. Everything you need.”

You looked up at him, eyes tired but grateful, and whispered, “Everything I need.”

As you took another bite, curled into his side under the blanket, the warmth of the food and his presence slowly thawing the last of the tension in your chest, you glanced up at him with a small, mischievous smile.

“What’s for dessert?” you asked, your voice teasing, already expecting some daft reply.

Alex didn’t miss a beat. He turned to you with that cocky little grin, eyes gleaming. “Well, you’re mine… but I don’t know what you’re gonna have.”

You snorted, nearly choking on your food as you laughed, nudging him with your elbow. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously funny,” he replied, raising his brows with mock innocence. “It’s fine, I’ll just assume you’re having me too. Saves washing up.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing as you shook your head. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Yeah,” he said softly, eyes lingering on yours now, the joking tone dropping to something warmer. “I really, really am.”

You leaned your head back onto his shoulder with a quiet smile, and he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of it, the film playing softly in the background as the two of you finally, peacefully, settled in.

[saythatuwill]

now playing : ordinary // alex warren

this au will explore the idea of reader and vessel being married; however it is in a nonhuman vessel setting. to at the very least explain the thought process; the members of sleep token are all nonhuman and live in arcadia, but travel to earth for music related things. reader's species is up to interpretation, but you live in arcadia with him!

this is for cute, fluffy indulgence. it might be a jumble of ideas but... let me cook.

tags: @concretejunglefm, @fadingangelwisp, @chey-h, @xmads-omensx, @astronoids, (if you would like to be added/removed from this list, or if i forgot you, dm me!)

♡ husband!vessel, who loves to tell those in arcadia that you are, in fact, his spouse. being married to you is like a high honor. and everyone must know!

♡ "i'd have to ask my spouse." "i'm afraid i cannot go, i will be with my spouse." "have you met my spouse?"

♡ he's also very protective over you, if anyone fucks with you he will tweak, he will WITHOUT A DOUBT defend your honor no question. he'd fight for you, he'd kill for you.

♡ he's a sucker for physical affection. his favorite thing is to lay across your lap like an EXTREMELY long cat.

♡ if you have an inner child to heal, vessel is more than happy to help. he'll indulge in the whimsy, he'll do anything to make you happy.

♡ he waited until he made it to arcadia to propose and marry you because he wanted to be able to take you to a peaceful safe location. and when he did, oh he made it so special. took you to arcadia for the first time and showed you around, you danced with him, then he was whispering in your ear telling you he wanted to marry you.

♡ pretended to be human when he first met you but did a SHIT job at it. came up with a name on the fly; devon (which he saw on a uk map). got a PHONE for you, even got himself an apartment.

♡ i'm talking like, he talked to you for the first time and he just knew. from the moment he saw you, he knew you were it. it took a WHILE for things to go beyond a friendship, but he's adored you for a long time.

♡ he has a full monster form which looks SCARY and HUGE but he's very gentle with you even in that form. purrs at you. picks you up like you weigh nothing. your monster husband

♡ he learned a new kind of worship from you, something that isn't religious, merely honoring and worshipping you and what you two have together.

♡ he tends to isolate when he's going through it, gets distant, but no matter what, his arms are always around you when you go to bed.

♡ he still has powers related to dreams and sleeping. if you two sleep together, he often will pop his head into your dreams to make sure they're going well.

♡ or if he's away on tour and you can't come with him, he will fully walk into your dreams to spend time with you, or take you to HIS dream realm. he can't do this a lot because it's a draining thing to do though.

♡ he's not great at texting. like not just bad at replying, he's bad at sending texts. he types funny. if he's in human form for shows it's bad, if it's his Claws when he's in his normal form, it's WORSE. random typos, excessive spaces, random periods and capitalization.

♡ he loves voicemails and voice messages though. he'll send you voice messages at RANDOM and theyll be like 10-15 minutes long of just him rambling about his day or venting if he needs to. you listen to them at night because his voice is soothing

♡ he's quiet in public, in private though he is a YAPPER. he loves you because you don't tune him out either, you listen to him infodump. even if it's about chemistry, or the deep sea, or some video game he finds fascinating. even arcadian history. he's very excited and passionate about his interests.

♡ there's songs he's written that will never see the light of day, but they're for you and he plays them for you whenever you want. usually piano ballads, or guitar acoustics.

♡ he loves gift giving, and gift receiving. he gets very flustered and like "oh no dear heart you don't have to do this" but he keeps everything you give him. you could give him a rock he'd cherish it.

♡ his favorite gifts are things like playlists surprisingly. music is something that means everything to him, make him a playlist he will listen to it over and over and over again.

[ajeepgirl]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/66869350

Summary: During an intense battle, Kara pushes her way through a painful kryptonite forcefield, one similar to what Lena used just a few months ago. Seeing this, Lena has some questions for Kara. Questions that just might help them both finally face some final truths.

OR: A post-show scene to help these two useless love birds make the leap!

Kara sits next to her sister, surrounded by her friends, smiling widely. They are celebrating another victory. They had managed to stop a massive terrorist attack and apprehend the leaders of the organization, hopefully stifling their activities for a long time, if not stopping it permanently. It is a good day to be a Superhero.

But as the celebration carries on, Kara can’t help but notice the glances coming her way. Every so often she catches Lena staring at her. Lena’s eyes are full of thoughts, swirling with emotions that Kara isn’t quite sure she understands. It bothers her. After everything they have been through, all the highs and the lows, she feels like she knows Lena better than ever. But the looks she gets this evening; Kara just can’t decipher them. She knows Lena is processing something, clearly something to do with her, given how often she has caught Lena staring at her. But with everyone around, celebrating with food and drink and games, she can’t exactly pull Lena aside and ask her what is wrong. While Lena is perhaps a bit quieter than usual, it isn’t anything anyone else seems to notice. Lena still engages with others. She talks softly in a corner with Nia about magic, shares a glass of whiskey with Alex, and beats Brainy at a game of darts. To anyone else, Lena is engaged in the celebration as much as the others. But Kara notices. Lena engages with everyone else, but rarely with Kara throughout the entire evening, unless she is engaged with Kara and another person. Again and again, as she talks and drinks and plays darts with the others, her eyes drift back to Kara. Clearly, something is on her mind that she keeps coming back to. And whatever it is, it is causing her to be just the tiniest bit off with Kara.

As the party started to wind down, Lena volunteers to stay behind to help clean up. Again, not unusual behavior on Lena’s part. Anytime the party is at Kara’s place, Lena stays. That’s just the routine they have now. But Kara is sure tonight is different. Something is going on with Lena. And given how close they have gotten since reconciling, she is sure Lena wants to talk to her about it. Kara wonders if maybe something happened with her Foundation, but isn’t sure how that is possible, given the entire team spent the past several days dealing with the terrorist threat. Lena was locked in the entire mission.

Sighing to herself as she closes the door, she turns to see Lena busying herself with picking up various plates, cups, drinks, and other remains of the celebration.

“You know,” Kara says, trying to act normal, “I could just use superspeed and have this cleaned up in a few seconds.”

Lena chuckles. “Yes, but then I wouldn’t have an excuse to stay behind.”

Kara leans back against the door. “You know you don’t need an excuse. You can stay just because you want to.”

The heaviness of the statement hangs in the air between them. Kara means the words, deeply. And Lena knows it. Neither of them knows exactly how much she means it though. For months now, they have been dancing around each other in some sort of unspoken, weird, avoidance of the truth. Neither wanting to risk the delicate balance in their friendship that they had rebuilt since they had their falling out. Both seem content with what they have now. Neither seemingly want to admit they might want something more, a fear of shaking and destroying the balance they have found with one another – a fear too deeply rooted in them both at this point in their relationship.

Lena sits some dishes in the sink, drying her hands on a nearby towel before turning back to face Kara. She clears her throat, anxiety on her face. “There is something I want to ask you about.”

Kara pushes herself off the door and walks towards Lena. “Shoot.” She gives her a small smile of encouragement, thankful that Lena is being direct like this.

As Kara leans against the kitchen counter, relaxed and open, Lena tenses up, her hands squeezing one another as she searches for the words. She starts by stating, “Tonight. The battle.”

Kara’s forehead crinkle of confusion forms immediately. “What about it?” Kara thinks back. It was a straightforward fight. The enemy somehow had kryptonite, which the team decided to check more into tomorrow. But otherwise, it was just a bunch of bad guys with weapons like guns and bombs. Just their everyday sort of routine terrorism.

“The kryptonite,” Lena adds.

Kara’s face just gets more confused, her head tilting slightly to the side. She wonders if Lena is concerned about her. “What about it? Lena, I’m okay, I promise.”

Lena lets out a small huff. “I know… but they tried to form a kryptonite wall or barrier or whatever, around you.” Kara nods in agreement but clearly still didn’t understand. Lena adds, “and you just walked right through it.”

Kara shrugs. “Well, yeah, I mean, it hurts but I’ve been around it enough now that I can push through the pain. I was able to push through the barrier and run right into the one guy who had the machine that was maintaining it. And so, once it was down, my powers came back full force.” She still wasn’t sure why Lena was so rattled by the battle, but she wanted to reassure her that she was okay. It wasn’t her first run in with kryptonite. It probably won’t be her last.

Lena nods, giving a brief, closed smile before saying, “I understand the logistics of it, Kara. That’s not my question.”

Kara stands up fully, sensing they are finally approaching the actual concern, racking her brain to understand. Coming up empty, she asks, “What is the question, Lena?”

Lena walks around the kitchen counter slowly as she explains. “Five months ago, when I… when I did the same thing to you, in the Fortress…”

“Lena…” Kara starts, not wanting Lena to still be blaming herself for that, but Lena continues before Kara can reassure her.

“You could have walked through it.” Lena’s question is more of a statement, and it hangs heavily in the air between them. Their eyes lock onto each other, and Kara finally realizes what Lena is asking. Kara simply nods once as an answer. Lena stops a few steps away, her throat feeling dry, she struggles to get out the next question. Her voice fades into a whisper by the time she finishes. “So… so you… you just stood there. You… you could have stopped me. Kara, why didn’t you stop me?”

Kara looks around her apartment for a few seconds, thinking back on the memory, on something she tries not to dwell on anymore. During their fallout, Kara had thought about a hundred different ways she could have responded, whether pleading, or falling to her knees, or forcibly stopping Lena, Kara knew one thing for certain in all the “what if” scenarios – she could have never done anything to hurt Lena like that. She had already hurt her enough by then. Her eyes find Lena, Kara responds quietly with a small shrug, the best answer she has to give, “Because it was you.”

“Be… because it was me? What does that even mean?” Lena’s eyes swirl with emotion as she tries to process Kara’s words, trying to understand. She stutters her words as she continues on, still trying to figure it all out. “You… you are the strongest person on the planet! I… I watched you charge through a wall of kryptonite today, like it was nothing! And it is supposed to be your greatest weakness!”

 Kara shrugs again, as she responds like it is the easiest, most casual question and answer in the world. “Lena, I wasn’t going to risk hurting you even more.”

Lena scoffs unconvinced. “So what? You just let me put you in a kryptonite prison? Take a weapon of mass mind control, and walk away?” The tone of Lena’s voice grows with each new question.

“Yes”, Kara answers matter of factly.

“Because it was me?!” Lena stares at Kara, mouth agape, clearly not understanding.

“Yes” Kara answers calmly. Her eyes still locked on Lena.

“That doesn’t make any sense!” Lena finally says, her hand hitting the counter in frustration.

Lena lets out a huff. Kara lets out a small sigh. She hates to see Lena this worked up. Kara knows she could explain more… that she should explain more. But she might also be risking letting another proverbial cat out of the bag. She knows this is a risk she must take though. She doesn’t want Lena to feel like this. She takes a small step towards Lena, giving her a soft smile. “Let’s go sit on the couch and I will try to explain more,” Kara offers, holding her hand out. “Please?”

Lena seemingly lets out another huff but takes Kara’s hand and lets herself be led to the couch, where Kara sits them down next to each other. Lena crosses her arms and leans back, awaiting a more thorough response.

Kara tries but fails to stifle her smile at Lena. “Lena,” she starts, “I love that logical, rational mind of yours. How you try to figure out and understand everything. And I wish I had a logical, rational explanation to give you. But I really do mean what I said. I did what I did, because it was you.”

A slow, heavy breath comes out of Lena. She searches Kara eyes for more answers. Finding none, she asks calmly yet firmly, “But what does that mean, Kara?”

Kara ponders the question for a moment, realizing that maybe it is time for her to tell Lena the truth. Maybe it is time for her to really live her full truth, like she said she wanted to embrace back at her sister’s wedding. She lets out a shaky breath as she starts, “It means… you’re the first person I want to talk to in the morning and the last person I talk to before I go to sleep. You, Lena Luthor, are the most brilliant person I know, and the most kindhearted. You were my person. You are my person. So, it means that I was never going to do something to intentionally hurt you, especially not after having kept my secret from you for so long, knowing that keeping that secret was going to hurt you. And I think that, deep down, I knew that I had to let you be the one to stop yourself from taking that path. And that maybe… maybe we had to lose each other for a while to appreciate what we have now.”

Lena stares at Kara, her mind wheeling from Kara’s words. “I’m… your person?” she asks softly.

Kara lets out a single chuckle, “Lena… you are my person. You have been my person for a long time now.”

Lena’s heart starts to race as Kara repeats her words. She meant what she said in the monologue. She stated it plainly just now by itself. Suddenly, Lena feels that flicker of hope igniting somewhere deep inside herself. A feeling she had shoved very far down into a locked box that was buried deep underground. She feels it cracking open. “What… what does that mean… to you?” Her voice is a hushed tone at this point, every question feeling like a revelation.

Kara reaches over and takes Lena’s hand between her own, both women feeling comforted by the touch. They were always a bit physical, especially compared to their other friendships. That has only increased since they had reconciled and developed an even deeper friendship.

“It means,” Kara says, taking a pause before she dives into her explanation more fully, “It means that I love having you in my life, that I love how we talk every day now, how we have dinner, how we work together in the Tower, how, with no more secrets between us, we just fit together so well in each other’s life. And that, perhaps unintentionally, over these past five months, I’ve built a life around us. And it has made me incredibly happy. My life feels full because you are in it, Lena.”

The box hidden deep inside Lena is threatening to fully burst open at this point. Her green eyes continue to stare intently into Kara’s blue eyes, searching for more. She must be certain. And while that certainly sounded like a confession – Lena knows better than to assume. She might live a softer, calmer, and happier life now that she has been able to live outside of the Luthor shadow. But thirty plus years in that environment does not go away overnight. All the emotional burns, cuts, and gunshot wounds she had gotten in those years have left scars. Besides, she has seen Kara be a bit oblivious when it comes to social things. And while she adores all parts of Kara, she knows sometimes Kara doesn’t quite read the room as well as she herself has been trained to do.

She decides to approach this from a tentative, open, curious place. “Kara, I… I know we have gotten to dive into earth versus Kryptonian customs and cultures over the past few months, which I absolutely love, by the way,” Lena adds with a quick smile; She wants to make it clear she does not want that to end, no matter where this conversation ultimately goes. “But we haven’t necessarily talked about all the different relationship or social customs.” Kara nods, urging her to continue. “So… what you just said, all of that. I um… I am wondering exactly how I should interpret it. You see, thinking about it from a human perspective, some might interpret what you just said as a romantic confession of sorts.”

Lena pauses there, waiting for Kara to confirm or deny.  She watches as Kara face softens into a lopsided smile. “It would be the same interpretation on Krypton.”

The confirmation causes Lena’s stomach to turn upside down and twist itself all around. “Really?” she can’t help but ask in disbelief.

Kara’s smile falters, suddenly second guessing herself. “I… things don’t have to change, Lena. We can keep our relationship as it has been. I just… that’s why I did what I did that day. I couldn’t fight you. And I feared that if I pushed out of the kryptonite forcefield, I would essentially be declaring war on you. On my person. And I couldn’t do that.”

“How long?” Lena barely gets out.

“How long what?” Kara asks, confused by the sudden shift.

Lena adds her free hand onto Kara’s hands, which are still holding her other one. “How long have you been in love with me?”

At this question, Kara blushes. “That’s… I’m not sure, really. I think it happened without me even realizing it. And then things got complicated with the whole Supergirl thing so I just kind of pushed those feeling aside and ignored them.” Kara’s thumb absentmindedly runs over Lena’s hand in reassurance. “Like I said, this doesn’t have to change anything. I don’t want to lose you, Lena. Not ever again. Having you in my life is the most important thing to me. Whether that is as a friend or… or something more – I can be happy with either of those. As long as you are happy.” Kara’s chin drops to her chest as she looks down at their hands, waiting to see how Lena will respond, but unable to look at her as her heard thuds in her chest and her face flushes at being so vulnerable.  

The box in Lena bursts open completely at Kara’s words. She can feel how sincere and genuine Kara is. How much she cares about Lena. How much she loves her. Unable to find any more words or questions, Lena lifts her free hand up to Kara’s chin, gently requesting Kara to look up. Kara doesn’t fight her, letting her head be easily moved so she is again staring directly at Lena. “I think that’s enough talking for tonight,” Lena says firmly. Kara’s face starts to twist in confusion but is interrupted by Lena’s lips on hers. She is surprised for a second, before she realizes what is happening. She responds to Lena, kissing her back, an inhale of breath as her hands wrap around Lena and pull her in easily. Lena chuckles as she pulls away from the kiss just enough, resting her forehead on Kara’s. “Easy there, Supergirl. Take a girl to dinner first.”

They have always had good banter, a little flirty at times even. But hearing Lena’s husky voice after having just had what is the best kiss in her life, with the clear inuendo, makes Kara’s entire body vibrate. Kara closes the distance and gives Lena one final light kiss. “I’ll take you anywhere in the world you want to go, Lena Luthor.”

[tofics]

I finally made time to listen to this and I am so glad I did. Let's dive straight in, shall we?

This was my very first time hearing your voice, and I feel the need to point out what a pleasant voice you have, Alex! And I do mean this in the most sincere way, coming from someone who can be very very picky about what voices to listen to. I know this wasn't the point of the podcast, but I had to let you know :)

I took notes while listening, so I'll just be going through them and kind of sort them into something more tangible as I go.

It was awesome getting to hear so many "behind the scene" thoughts from you about your writing. There were a couple of small things you mentioned that I wanted to comment on just for the fun of it:

Something that draws you to a fanfiction is if characters are canonically written. It's funny you should say that, because your characters are some of the most in-tune-with-canon characters that I have ever read. I've mostly consumed your Dean stories, and even in an AU setting (I'm looking at you, Smoke Eater) he is 100% Dean as seen on the show. As far as fanfiction goes, that puts yours on a pedestal imo.

You considered doing something with Dean and Yellowstone for the Jacklesverse Bingo. (insert gif of me hysterically crying and hyperventilating) I've only just started watching Yellowstone this year and I am obsessed. I think you would have fried all my synapses if you had gone down that road, in the best way possible 😁

Hearing you talk about your friends on Tumblr and knowing you've included me in that group felt so so special! I'm so proud to be able to call you my friend on here. 🥹🫶🏼

But now! On to the actual topic of the episode :)

First of all, I found it very interesting that despite your own heritage, you grew up with a white reader in mind. Just goes to show how predominantly a white person is and has been the main character in so much of media that that's what your brain defaulted to.

I also thought your discussion about what makes an OC an OC and where a reader insert stops being a reader insert suuuper interesting. Because that's a genuine question! Where does a blank slate stop being a blank slate, and how much character do you have to give to the reader role in a reader insert fic for the story still to work, right? I loved to hear your take on it, especially where you said that writing reader inserts is basically like writing OCs without giving them a name. - I had never thought about it that way!

But of course, you're right. Because a reader that is an active participant in a story can't be a completely blank slate. They have to be assigned certain traits, not necessarily body-wise but character wise - if you're doing more than a drabble, imo. For there to be dialogue and a story that feels full, that feels alive, the reader has to have some sort of character to be a character.

Which brings me to my next point: projectability is always a thing of perspective and the ability to put yourself into someone's shoes. As far as fanfiction goes, the reader insert genre tries to make that as easy as possible by offering a mostly blank slate (that is very often white-coded, unfortunately, but that's not the point I'm trying to make in this paragraph). I have seen people complain more than once about the character!reader being unrelatable because of certain character traits and/or backstories that were assigned to them, and I wonder: people, where has your media literacy gone? Do they not teach to adapt to a person's perspective via literature in schools anymore? Must all media cater exactly to your every taste, down to each very nuance?

And I write all of this distinctively separating characteristic traits from body traits. I am not at all talking about the lack of ethnic representation within the x reader genre.

I love how you give personality to your reader characters, Alex. Especially when it comes to your own representation. You said in the podcast that you were worried about how the traits you assigned to your reader in the Midnight Espresso-verse would be received by your audience and that you received great feedback. I want to reiterate that by saying how despite myself not having the same background as you, I could absolutely relate to the plus-size aspect of the reader, as well as her love for cooking. You said it so beautifully in the podcast, that this version of the reader is one that came from the intent of Dean having a (Latino) girlfriend that nurtured him in the same way he nurtures the people around him, and I fully 100% could relate to that as well :)

Which might be my very complicated and long way of saying: Please do not worry about how much the reader can adapt to the traits you're giving to the character!reader. If most character!readers have been predominantly white for the longest time and so so many people that where not white made it work, then so can we white folks when we are given a reader that does not fit all of "our" typical criteria.

It made me very happy to hear that you're seeing more and more diversity within the SPN fandom these days. I've spent most of my time in the PPCU fandom this past year and all across it, but specifically in the Joel Miller fandom, there have been too many racist instances. It's great to hear that it's going better in other fandoms!

Which brings me to my next point - the anon request you got that led you to writing Unravel Me 👀 Wow. I haven't read it yet. It was on my TBR list anyway, but hearing you talk about how it came to be and how much thought you put into it (understandably so) it's now an absolute must-read for me. (Sort of unrelated but still related: I've seen your playlist covers for the story, and - wow??? A masterpiece??? Visually, I mean?! The EFFORT. I'll be speaking about this in a second, but I needed to mention it now in case I forget! Gorgeous!)

Another point that had me thinking a lot was the question about how much of an immigrant's identity should be kept and how much should be adapted to the country they've moved to also captivated me. I know US politics in regards to immigrants are ""problematic"" atm to say the least, and it's been a widely discussed topic over here in Germany for years now as well, especially with the heavy influx of immigrants over the past years. I can't imagine how complicated it must be, figuring out a sense of self that both fits to where you live and still keeps the core parts of who you are and were before coming to said country.

I want to wrap this up by saying how incredibly impressed I am every single time I hear/read about how you prep for your stories. I think you are by far the most in-depth fanfiction writer that I know. You put so much research into it, and not just for The Honorable Choice, but everything you put out. I'm struggling to find the correct words to properly express how admiring I find it, especially for a story like The Honorable Choice where you take on the perspective of someone of a different ethnic background than you.

You are an inspiration, Alex. Truly.

Thank you for welcoming me into the writing space when I came back. Thank you for answering every question I had, and thank you for the work you put into all of your stories.

To you, to your talent, your inspiration and work ethic, and to many more stories to come! 🩵

Racial & Ethnic Representation in Fanfiction

[🎙️ Podcast Interview]

Hey, friends! Sandra and Kasey, the lovely hosts of @idlingintheimpalapodcast — the podcast for all things SPN and fanfiction — invited me back on the pod for an interview on a topic that's very close to my heart…

With @rubyvhs, we talked about the fun moments and challenges about reading and writing fanfiction that represents specific racial and ethnic cultures, being bicultural/multicultural, the immigrant experience, and much more.

I offered my own experience as a Latina POC writing in the fandom space, specifically Supernatural and The Boys (and adjacent Jackles fandoms).

Check it out here: ⤵️

Interview Timestamps –

(Plus fic recs, SPN writer/reader shoutouts, and more! Links to all the fics we mentioned are at each time stamp.)

2:54 – When did you start writing fanfiction, and when did you join SPN fandom?

⟡ You can check out my first author interview with Sandra and Kasey over here. We chatted about Dean Winchester and Jensen Ackles’ early roles, the best and worst seasons of SPN, the joys and pains of writing Soldier Boy, and much, much more. For all the timestamps of key moments, fic recs, and SPN writer shoutouts, see this post (you'll find the link to the video there too).

6:18 – What is your ethnic, racial, and cultural background? (And how me and Sandra bond over “food and family” ties between Hispanics/Latinos and Italians.)

13:05 – The immigrant experience in America, what you take with you from the “Motherland,” the struggles of bicultural identity, my personal experience being a second-generation child of an immigrant family, and Sandra’s experience as a first-generation child of Italian immigrants.

16:58 – What do you look for when you’re reading fanfiction? (Canon-compliant, AU, romance, etc.) Does the length of a story matter?

19:52 – Bonus: The merits of drabble writing vs. long-fic writing.

25:54 – Have you ever actively searched for fanfiction that represented your ethnicity? (Whenever I do, it’s like finding gold.) Plus, the challenge of writing reader characters, the “gray area” of writing reader characters like OCs.

32:38 – The inherent “bias” of reading and writing reader characters as White. The concept of diversity being “cool” in popular media, TV shows, and movies is still pretty new.

36:36 – Why I started writing reader characters that might have a specific body type, race, and/or ethnicity.

Examples:

⟡ Midnight Espresso – Dean Winchester x Plus-size Latina!Reader

⟡ If I Stay – Dean Winchester x Plus-size!Reader

⟡ 10 ‘Til Midnight – Professor!Dean Winchester x Plus-size Grad Student!Reader

⟡ Unravel Me – Soldier Boy x Afro-Latina!Reader

⟡ The Honorable Choice & Outlander – Cowboy!Dean Winchester x OFC

40:14 – The fun challenges: like giving Dean a partner who takes care of him as much as he takes care of others in Midnight Espresso.

45:28 – The BIG challenges: like writing Soldier Boy being himself with a “person of color” (POC) in this new series, Unravel Me. What even is a POC? Where do you start with Soldier Boy, the Sandra-proclaimed “bowl of fishhooks?"

51:38 – Is there ever an element of fear when you publicly post a story that represents your culture, which is something very personal to you? What happens when you get haters in the comments?

1:05:33 – When and how did you begin to break out of the “ingrained biases” in your writing? (AKA: Always assuming my own characters are White.)

1:08:04 – When did you decide to explore writing plus-size!readers?

1:13:20 – What has your experience been in writing a race/culture outside of your personal experience? The Honorable Choice and Outlander, a western AU where Dean Winchester falls in love with a Native American Lakota Indian. (Shoutout to @jacklesversebingo!)

Plus, the ethical responsibility to “do no harm” when you represent different cultures, and answering question of not only can I write this, but should I write this?

1:32:42 – What advice would you give a writer interested in writing about a culture outside of their own that they don’t have first-hand knowledge of? How can a writer avoid cultural appropriation if their goal is cultural appreciation? How important is a sensitivity reader/beta reader for this effort?

1:40:35 – Final thoughts on diversity and representation of culture in fanfiction, whether it’s your own or someone else’s:

“Write what you know. Write what you can research. Write what you’re interested in. Remember that words have power, so be careful how you use them.”

1:45:30 – Sandra and Kasey’s outro: The importance of representation and diversity in fandom.

I hope you enjoy the ride!~ 💜

💗💗💗 Shoutouts to some of my beautiful friends and lovely readers who've supported my attempts to explore ethnic and cultural diversity in my writing:

@luci-in-trenchcoats @lamentationsofalonelypotato @waynes-multiverse @rizlowwritessortof @roseblue373

@tofics @deanwinchesterswitch @deanbrainrotwritings @deansbbyx @waywardlatina

@supernotnatural2005 @wayward-dreamer @spnwoman @waywardxwords @mostlymarvelgirl

@chevroletdean (shoutout to your 500 follower fic challenge at around 19:52 😘) @siampie @bettystonewell @wvffles

@iprobablyshipit91 @my-stories-vault @littlesoulshine @thatonewriter15 @jessjad

@deans-spinster-witch @winchestergirl2 @kazsrm67 @chernayawidow @jackles010378

@jollyhunter @leigh70 @foxyjwls007 @beakaleak32 @alwaystiredandconfused

[tjwritesfanfics]

My Opinions on Richard Harmon Characters

This is just for the ones I've seen so far. I'll update it as I go through his filmography!

Erik Campbell (Final Destination Bloodlines) - Emo boy, tattoos, piercings, dies, vulgar (but funny), family oriented, smart ass, facial hair, longish shaggy black hair, wears all black, drinks like 1 beer, saw shirtless (kinda)

Jake (Woodland) - tattoos, photographer, drug addict, vulgar (but funny), kind of a loner, smart ass, facial hair, short brown hair with one long piece, very good survival woods skills, wears dark clothes, drinks, girlfriend leaves him due to him threatening her and she dies, really tried to save Sparky and does by DYING, saw shirtless, uses gun

Rodger (The Return) - Short hair, facial hair, wears dark clothes, dead sister and dead parents, saw shirtless, yummy scene, second gen genius, DID HE DIE?! I mean a technical timeline of him did I guess

Vern (Lowlife) - Dumb country boy! Still wears dark clothes and camo, loves candy, longish hair, very greasy, facial hair, uses gun, sassy, so manipulative, fucking dies, not in the movie much

Alex Wright (Grave Encounter 2) - THE BEST EMO HORROR BOY, PARTY ON MOTHERFUCKERS, the dress and the wig, more shirtless baby, so greasy, aspiring film director, dark clothes, no facial hair, conspiracy theorist to the max, obsessive, totally crazy, really persuasive, Film Everything, i think he actually cared for Jen, fighter for a twink, lived but at what cost??

Tryst with a Y (Fakes) - THE BLONDE, definitely cunty, seeming a little gay (not gay maybe bi), redbull drinker, can’t tell if he is crazy or hella nice, vapes, non-dominated index finger pick to lose - fun fact, drug dealer, totally littered, he bought a duck??? (HE BOUGHT IT FOR HIS DAUGHTER), more shirtless man, lives with mom, sad man who is just trying to make money, really good at hiding emotions, but also an angry man, doesn’t seem to like guns, stop he’s a dad?! AND he’s trying?!, guy yells a lot, I swear if they kill him i’ma be pissed

John Murphy (The 100)

Season one - Jerk. JERK. Clean shaven baby face. Pissed on a dude. ANGRY man. Violent man. Gets hung for Will’s death even though he did nothing. Got banished from camp. Bring back biological warfare from grounders, poor baby just wants to be accepted, but goes for vengeance instead. Tries to hang Bellamy and ends up escaping.

Season two - Comes back and once again tries to help, but gets sacrificed. Ends up going with Jaha to find the city of light. EMORI!!! “Touch me again and I will end you… In a non criminal way” Funny season for john. Locked in a lighthouse and went CRAZY.

Season three (currently started) - Seen shirtless (ooo la la), crazy beard in the beginning, long matted hair, crazy mountain/lighthouse man, finally clean! He totally digs Emori. “Let her go or i’ma drown the bitch in the red dress”

Seth Durand (A Mother’s Instinct) - Weird emo goth boy, clean shaven, short hair, the nail polish gives me life though, wearer of all black, definitely a little creepy, socially awkward, does drugs, smart ass, criminal, BITCH GETS KIDNAPPED, oh naky naky, black underwear nice, wet boi, desperate looked hot on him, dead brother, tattoos, can’t tell is he is crazy or just vengeful, WELL FUCK ME THEN he kidnapped a kid!, didn’t die but definitely went to jail

[potato-sports-fan]

my totally accurate review of mugello

alright this is a long one so let’s get started:

first off, the glorious Marc Marquez. He got the treble: Pole position, Sprint winner, Race winner. This dude is such a certified liar like he went into the weekend all, “oh I’m gonna focus on defending I don’t need to win I just need to maintain my lead against Alex” and proceeded to set the lap record and get pole position. Like sure, ok, we all know your petty ass wanted to, NEEDED to win in Mugello. This would be the dagger, what would really drive home the idea of his dominance The booing and jeers just motivated you to win. And can we talk about how he took the Ducati flag and planted it in front of the grandstands like, “l’m here, and you guys are stuck with me. Bask in my glory and know that your greatest enemy has infiltrated your team.” Also, this dude gave me an fricken heart attack at the start of the sprint like why is he so smart but so stupid 😭 I swear to god he makes these mistakes to keep us on our feet. He’s handicapping himself that smug little-. Anyway the goat did goat things and extended his lead to 40, which is STILL nothing but feeling pretty good about it. (Everyone at Ducati also seemed happy considering how they looked ready to pounce on him every time they saw him post race.)

Pecco bagnaia. Boy oh boy. I was gutted for him and a little surprised tbh. This is a track he was known for, a track he won at for THREE STRAIGHT YEARS and was a favorite coming into. He had momentum from gaining his podium spot back in Aragon, and was seeming much more confident in the front after they altered the bike’s braking disc, everything seemed to be looking up for our resident wet rat. He did great in qualifying, getting 2nd, but ended up once again in third place in the sprint behind Marc and Alex. The first few laps were downright AMAZING like the overtakes?? The three of them were fighting each other for the spot and it was so entertaining. Of course though after Marc got to the front and extended the margin, it was all over. At this point, I feel like these three are gonna be on every podium(not that I’m complaining). Then the race happened and I actually thought we were gonna get a proper full race fight between these two or three. But Pecco ended up using up his tires too fast and dropped back to not even third place, but fourth behind Fabio Di Giannantonio, who by the way, had a FANTASTIC race. Can we talk about the pace he had??? He was the flash. But yeah seeing Pecco so sad after the race made me feel me feel sad also and I immediately felt like an a-hole for hoping he lost to Marc. IM SORRY I LOVE YOU PECCO. But anyway, he’s in the trenches rn and still has front feeling issues as we all saw during the race. Hope he finds his strength because he genuinely raced great this weekend, it just wasn’t enough to win ;v;

Alex Marquez has been getting the middle child treatment because he has been so crazily consistent in getting second place. We need to talk about how amazing that is because I feel like everyone is talking about how Marc is beating him or how Pecco is losing to him. HE DESERVES HIS CREDIT. He is a good rider and doesn’t deserve the shade that some certain people (cough cough Simon Patterson cough cough) are throwing at him. Do they not realize how insulting is it to be told that you are letting your brother win??? Like Alex is a methodical person, he was definitely thinking that he had to preserve his tires because he wasn’t going to be able to battle with Marc and keep his high placement. For example, Pecco was going at it with Marc and burned through his tires way too fast. But yeah, Alex did amazing this weekend and I am loving this Marquez podium duo.

quick shoutout to Franko Morbidelli, who legit committed attempted murder on track against Maverick Vinales, who had EVERY right to be as mad as he was. Like my guy, you are a good rider, please stop making people crash thank you. Also, he missed his penalty long lap and had to do it again, which feels like karma but also I saw Valentino shake his head at it and I swear I died from laughter. This dude was probably like wtffff what is he doing-

Special liveries and helmets. The renaissance Ducati liveries were a masterpiece. Stunning, beautiful, breathtaking. I could look at them all day as a die-hard renaissance painting fan. Along with the themed photos and videos they posted, I think I legit ascended into heaven out of serotonin and joy. The vr46 ones though, I’m conflicted. For one, I love how it’s bi flag colors, especially as it’s pride month. However, I think it’s just…ok? Not really anything special. I was kinda expecting more considering how amazing many of Valentino’s liveries have been. For example, the Hawaiian flower one was sooooooo good. Fabio quatararo’s toothless from httyd helmet was iconic. Amazing franchise of movies, amazing helmet, but I felt bad for the dude because this Yamaha is a rock Frfr it’s so slow.

little tidbits to note: Keanu reeves was flinching while watching the race, like did you see that man react to Marc and Pecco colliding? That man was fearing for their lives. Valentino Rossi watched his ultimate enemy, his ex-boyfriend l, do a full sweep at his home race, in front of his home crowd, in a home team, against his students. Oh how sweet that victory was. I just know that dude was fuming like he is such a dedicated hater 💅 that watching Marc take pole physically hurt him. His eye blood vessel literally burst that’s how much it affected him. Dedicated Casey stoner levels of haterism on another level. Marc’s side of the paddock was picking and throwing this dude like he was a rag doll post race, like they wanted that cookie so bad. Also, they dropped him while throwing him in the air and then proceeded to drown him with a giant bucket of water/prosecco. I love this team.

so to sum it all up, by far one of the more entertaining races of the season and Marc Marquez is just the most babygirl, petty, evil, gorgeous, annoying, endearing mastermind.

[pollsnatural]

We could've had the entire spin-off with Jody. With Jody being friends with Donna. With Jody being mom to Alex and Claire. With Jody caring for Patience and Kaia. With Jody trying to heal from her trauma and helping the girls to go through their own struggles. We could've had that, and they took that away from us. What if I exploded.

[suliigwp]

✦ORACLE'S NOTES✦

THE RISE OF KING MAXIMILIAN

AND THE FALL OF SOLMARA

Max didn’t inherit a kingdom.

He conquered it.

He came into power through a brutal, merciless war — not to gain glory, but to create order in a realm that had fractured into chaos. He believed the land needed a single ruler, a single crown, to stop the cycle of betrayal and blood.

So he began what would later be known as The Crown War — and burned through five kingdoms to forge his own. One of those kingdoms was Solmara, a sunlit realm of art, wealth, and proud bloodlines... ruled by House Castelana.

Carlos’ family.

THE FALL OF SOLMARA

Solmara didn’t fall because it was weak.

It fell because it was too proud to kneel.

Carlos' father refused to submit. He believed Solmara’s light would outlast Valtarys’ storm. But Max, young and merciless, laid siege to the capital, not with arrogance, but with precision and quiet rage.

Solmara fell in seven days.

Carlos survived—barely.

He was dragged from the ashes, crown shattered, hands bloodied, carrying the weight of a kingdom that no longer existed.

Max never speaks of Solmara.

He won’t say if he regrets it.

But those closest to him say he hasn’t visited that part of the realm since.

Carlos wasn’t just exiled. He was orphaned by Max’s war. Everything he is now—the rebel leader, the symbol, the fire beneath the people’s fear—is built on that destruction.

Max doesn’t fear Carlos, but he remembers him. And in rare, private moments… perhaps he wonders if he was right.

Carlos wants more than a throne. He wants to undo what Max created—because to him, Valtarys isn’t peace. It’s ruin dressed in stone.

And now they are kings of two legacies:

Max: the King of One Crown, built from ash and silence.

Carlos: the Prince of a Dead Kingdom, sworn to break the empire that rose on his bones.

Duke Lewis of House Hamilton — The Neutral Power

He rules the Eastern Realm, untouched by Max’s war.

Too powerful to conquer. Too strategic to oppose.

Lewis chose neutrality during the Crown War—but he watched.

He watched Solmara fall. He watched Max crown himself.

Now, he plays host to secret meetings, wandering ambassadors, and exiled royals.

No one knows where his loyalty lies.

Which means it lies exactly where he wants it to.

And when the time comes—he will choose.

And the realm will tremble.

Prince Charles of House Leclerc — The Prince Who Knows Too Much

Liora bent the knee during the Crown War. Not out of fear, but to survive.

Charles grew up with the sound of distant war drums and the scent of burning kingdoms.

He was too young to stop it.

Now, he walks palace halls that whisper with regret.

He knows what Max did.

And he knows what Carlos lost.

But he also knows: if Valtarys falls, Liora burns with it.

So he smiles, he dances, he plays the part.

Until he no longer can.

Ser Lando of House Norris — The Loyal Knight Turned Wandering Sword

Lando fought for Valtarys during the Crown War. Young. Loud. Too bright to belong there.

He followed orders, swung his blade, earned a name.

But he saw things he shouldn’t have.

He left after the war ended. Max understood. They always understood each other.

Now, he roams between courts—guarding merchants, escorting envoys, laughing too much and watching everything.

He says he has no side.

But Carlos once saved his life.

And Max still calls him brother in passing.

He’s going to have to choose.

And it will break someone’s heart.

Oscar of House Piastri — The Shadow Bound to one

Max doesn’t trust many.

He trusts Oscar.

A silent blade raised within Valtarys’ inner court, Oscar has been loyal, precise, and invisible since the war began.

He never questions. He never fails.

And yet… he watches.

He watches what the war has made of his king.

He watches who is rising in the South.

And sometimes, in the quiet of night, he wonders what he would do

if Carlos stood before him—unarmed.

He doesn’t know the answer yet.

But one day, he’ll have to.

Alex of House Albon — The Wild Oracle

He was never part of a court.

Born in the northern wilds, Alex carries the blood of something older—something barely remembered.

He dreams of things before they happen.

He knows when people lie.

And he hears whispers the others ignore.

Now, both Carlos and Lewis seek his counsel.

Max doesn’t.

Max is afraid of what he might say.

Ser George of House Russell — The White Blade

He was Max’s sword during the Crown War. Sharp. Calculated.

He didn’t burn cities out of passion—he did it because someone had to.

They call him The White Blade, and behind palace doors, some say the crown would’ve slipped without him.

He still stands beside Max. Still wears the crest of Valtarys. Still bows lower than anyone else in court.

But loyalty is a dangerous word.

And George wears it like a mask.

He plays his role—perfectly.

But the longer the realm bends toward war, the more the question sharpens:

Is George here to defend Max’s throne— or to be close enough to take it?

Oliver of House Bearman — The Young Heir

Oliver’s family allied with Valtarys to survive.

He was just a child then—quiet, clever, and constantly overlooked.

Now he trains with Valtarys steel, but his eyes flicker elsewhere.

He has seen too much of Max’s coldness, and too little of justice.

He dreams of something different.

Something that sounds like Carlos’ rebellion.

But saying it aloud would be treason.

And he’s not ready to die.

Not yet.

Kimi of House Antonelli — The Prophecy’s Child

Born after the Crown War, raised on stories of what came before.

His name appears in too many old scrolls, tied to omens and fire.

Valtarys protects him. Carlos fears him.

Lewis studies him. Alex avoids him.

He does not know what he’s meant to be.

He only knows the realm is watching him—

and something is waking beneath the earth.

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Their little sunshine p.3

Heyy guys, I didn't forget about this story; I just didn't know how to continue, so let me know what you think, and I hope you enjoy this Alex x reader x Lily story. Here's part 1 and part 2.

If you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist.

Breakfast with Alex and Lily was always a guaranteed good time, filled with laughter, gentle teasing, and your soft but relentless bullying of Alex to make sure he drank enough water and didn’t sneak extra pastries before a long day in the car.

But eventually, duty called.

Alex, ever the responsible driver, checked his watch and groaned. "I have to get back before the engineers come looking for me."

You and Lily pouted dramatically in sync.

"Bye, birthday boy," you teased, poking his side as he stood.

"Not yet!" he grumbled, but you caught the tiny smile tugging at his lips. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Lily’s hair and gave your shoulder a playful squeeze before disappearing into the swirl of the paddock crowd.

Once he was gone, Lily looped her arm through yours, her eyes sparkling. "Come on. Let’s walk. I need to stretch my legs and you’re the perfect partner in crime."

"Am I being kidnapped?" you asked, giggling as she tugged you along.

"Absolutely. No work for you until I’m done with you," she declared.

You strolled lazily through the paddock, exchanging polite nods with mechanics and press officers, admiring the bustle of team staff and drivers darting between garages. It felt nice to just… be. No stopwatch. No muscle knots to chase. Just sunshine and the easy warmth of Lily’s chatter about outfits, future travel plans, and whether she should dye Alex’s hair in his sleep for fun.

You rounded a corner and immediately spotted a familiar little furball trotting on a lead, his fluffy ears bouncing with each step.

"Alexandra!" Lily squealed first.

Sure enough, Charles’ girlfriend Alex (the other Alex, as you’d come to call her to keep things less confusing) was standing just a few feet away, looking effortlessly chic in a sundress and sneakers as Leo dragged her closer to you both.

Leo spotted you and nearly lost his mind—his tail wagging so fast you wondered if he’d lift off the ground.

"Hi, handsome!" you laughed, crouching just in time for him to leap at your legs, tiny paws scrabbling for your attention. You ruffled his fluffy fur, giggling as he smothered you with kisses.

Alex winced apologetically. "I’m so sorry—he gets overexcited sometimes—"

Lily waved it off with a grin. "Don’t worry—she has that effect on everyone."

You stuck out your tongue at Lily but kept cooing at Leo, scratching behind his ears. "He’s perfect. Aren’t you, baby? Who’s a good boy? You’re a good boy!"

Leo responded by trying to climb fully into your lap, ignoring the fact that you were still crouched awkwardly in the middle of the paddock walkway.

Alex laughed, gently tugging his lead. "He’s going to follow you home if you keep that up."

"Tempting," you joked, reluctantly letting Leo drop back to the ground.

When you finally stood, brushing fur from your leggings, Lily leaned closer to Alex. "Hey, by the way—we finally convinced my Alex to let us do a little dinner for his birthday. Very low-key. You two have to come."

Alex’s face lit up. "Yes, please! Charles would love that. He’s always saying he needs more normal evenings with friends. Just tell me when and where, and I’ll make sure he doesn’t forget."

"Perfect!" Lily said, clapping her hands. "I’ll text you tonight. And you," she pointed at you, "are in charge of decorations. No excuses."

You gave her a mock salute. "Pink balloons everywhere. Even in the engineers’ office."

"Don’t tempt me," Lily giggled.

After a bit more chatting—and a final round of goodbye belly rubs for Leo—you and Lily finally peeled yourselves away and headed back toward the Williams motorhome.

Back at the Williams motorhome, you and Lily barely paused to catch your breath before she nudged you with her elbow.

“Come on. Let’s go see our boy before he disappears into the garage forever.”

You laughed, falling into step beside her. “You mean before he hides behind the engineers and pretends he can’t hear us yelling at him?”

“Exactly,” Lily said, eyes twinkling.

You found Alex in his side of the garage, helmet in hand, chatting with one of the mechanics. He looked up as soon as he heard the unmistakable squeal of Lily greeting him.

“There’s my troublemakers,” he drawled, already bracing himself as both of you practically pounced.

“Pre-race hug for luck!” you declared, looping your arms around his torso from one side while Lily hugged him from the other.

Alex, half-suffocated in your affectionate ambush, laughed into the top of Lily’s hair. “You two are going to mess up my suit.”

“You love it,” Lily teased, leaning back to straighten the collar of his race suit.

“You’re welcome for the extra luck, birthday boy,” you said, poking his chest lightly.

Alex rolled his eyes, but there was no hiding the way he relaxed under both your hands fussing over him. “I’m never living down this nickname, am I?”

“Not a chance,” you grinned.

When Lily finally stepped back, still holding Alex’s hand, you checked the time and smiled. “Alright, I’m going to go find Carlos and annoy him with a good luck speech.”

Alex laughed. “Give him my condolences in advance.”

You stuck your tongue out at him, blew Lily a quick kiss, and bounced away toward the other end of the paddock.

As soon as you were out of earshot, Alex turned back to Lily, who was still watching you skip down the pit lane like a walking daydream in sneakers and a Williams jacket two sizes too big.

“You know,” Lily murmured, squeezing Alex’s gloved hand gently, “I really love her.”

Alex’s expression softened. He squeezed back, following your figure weaving between mechanics and other drivers.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, a tiny, fond smile curving his lips. “She’s… good for everyone. Makes things feel lighter, even when it’s all a bit much.”

Lily looked up at him knowingly. “She makes you feel lighter, too.”

Alex didn’t argue—didn’t need to. Instead, he let out a soft huff of laughter, shaking his head.

“She’s like a human lucky charm.”

Lily nudged him playfully. “You better appreciate her forever. Or else.”

He leaned down, kissing her forehead. “I do. And I always will.”

Then, with one last glance at where you were chatting animatedly with Carlos, both of them smiled—grateful for the little pink hurricane that had crashed so perfectly into their life.

[the-one-and-only-dontron]

He hums, nodding more. He does like that idea.

[The medbay doors open, and Alex comes back in with an opaque cup and straw like the one Crystal had brought in for Leon. Their eyes flick over the new scratches in Donnie's arm for a moment. They bring the smoothie over to the softshell on the bed]

"Here you go, one straw-nana smoothie for you."

He tenses up as the doors open, relaxing just a little upon recognizing that it's only the friendly medic. He hesitantly reaches out and takes the cup from them, humming quietly in thanks.

He cradles the cup in his hands, staring blankly at it for a long moment.

[They glance between the two. They noticed the smeared blood on Donnie's claws, and it doesn't seem like Raph has moved. Whatever happened, it seems like they were able to work through it. That does confirm what happened with the clawed gashes in Donnie's arms, though. It also raises some concerns]

"Sorry if I interrupted. Are you both alright..?"

[A little after Crystal leaves, Mikey comes in and sets Donnie onto the bed, then brings Moon out of the room. A moment later, Alex follows into the room, going up to Donnie and speaking to him in a low voice. Donnie curls in on himself, but nods, and Alex carefully begins setting up his IV again- in the other arm, this time, seeing as the majority of the arm it was previously in is wrapped in new bandages]

( @the-one-and-only-dontron )

{Raph watches Donnie and Alex for a moment before chirping quietly.}

You okay, Donnie?