#she’d also act like a mom to all of his friends too

[sweetandglovelyart]

Now that I’ve finished the most recent comic page I think I should actually try and do some proper drawings of some of my OCs. Get ready to see Taranza’s mom Theraphoza, I’m working on drawing her first 🕷️

[cressidagrey]

delulu girl autumn

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: Caitlin Pritchard thought she actually stood a chance with Oscar Piastri at Haileybury in 2018. Reader, she did not. 

Notes: Big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble 😂

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

Caitlin had only been at Haileybury for a day when she saw him.

Tall-ish. Sharp jaw. Easy smile. Accent unmistakably Australian, like hers. But smoother somehow, more Melbourne than Gold Coast. And he was laughing at something—shoulders relaxed, eyes crinkling, head tilted toward the girl walking beside him.

Caitlin had stopped in her tracks.

Finally, she thought. Someone normal. Someone who didn’t speak in clipped boarding school vowels and ask what her father did before they asked her name.

She leaned over to the girl next to her in form. Mia, or Leah or maybe Thea? “Who’s that?”

The girl followed her gaze and blinked. “Oscar Piastri. He’s nice. Smart. Does motorsport. Always winning stuff.”

Caitlin hummed. “And the girl he’s with?”

“Felicity Leong. Genius. Bit intense. She’s been here forever. Lives in the attic room, actually. Kind of…weird, but she’s nice. Don’t cross her in a debate.”

Caitlin squinted.

Oscar had just nudged Felicity’s arm. She rolled her eyes and said something that made him grin, like she always knew how to make him grin. But she didn’t touch him. No hand-holding. No kiss on the cheek. Just two people walking side by side like they knew all the same secrets.

Huh, Caitlin thought. Maybe she’s just one of those super smart best friend types.

Maybe Caitlin had a chance.

By the second week of term, Caitlin had “accidentally” started showing up near the physics lab at the exact time Oscar had free period. She’d dropped a pen in the courtyard and watched—heart fluttering—when he was the one to pick it up.

“Thanks,” she’d said, flashing a smile.

“No worries,” he’d replied with a nod. Polite. Casual. Australian.

Home.

That’s all she needed. One moment. One shared flag. Surely, once they actually talked…

But every time she tried, Felicity was there.

Gorgeous, quiet, smart. The kind of girl who made the headmistress beam at assemblies and never got her phone confiscated. She always had her hair in a braid, and she somehow looked effortlessly expensive, even in a regulation uniform and the ugliest brown shoes Caitlin had ever seen.

Oscar walked her to class. Sat next to her in the common room. Gave her the last cookie at dinner.

But, Caitlin reasoned, that was probably just a long-time-friend thing. Or maybe she was the mom-friend and Oscar just liked the way she shared her highlighters.

Felicity didn’t act like a girlfriend.

She didn’t sit on his lap or link arms with him. She didn’t get jealous when Caitlin joined them for group study one night and asked Oscar (with perhaps a little too much lip gloss) if he wanted to split a Red Bull.

Felicity had just smiled politely and gone back to solving some ungodly advanced physics problem like Caitlin wasn’t even speaking.

Oscar, for his part, had blinked and said, “Nah, I’m good—but thanks.”

Not interested, maybe. But also not unavailable.

Caitlin just need to separate him from the satellite girl who always orbited his shoulder.

Caitlin had a chance. 

***

Caitlin wasn’t obsessed, okay?

She was just… observant.

Which was perfectly normal when someone as cute and talented and Australian as Oscar Piastri walked the same halls you did and occasionally smiled at you with that very symmetrical face.

So what if he was always with that girl—Felicity Leong?

That didn’t mean anything. Boys and girls could be close. Felicity was probably just his study partner. Maybe a cousin. Or a very intense academic rival he was contractually obligated to have polite conversations with. Sure, she always looked like she knew every thought in his head before he said it, and sure, he never looked at anyone else the way he looked at her—but that could just be stress.

Or sleep deprivation. 

Or mutual trauma bonding over too many A-levels.

Besides, Caitlin had time. She was charming. Australian. Had a solid hair routine. And if she played her cards right, Oscar might notice that she wasn’t just some new transfer who tripped over her own backpack in front of the science block last week.

She just had to be patient.

That Thursday afternoon, she was sitting outside the canteen with a few girls from her form when one of them mentioned something in passing that made her freeze mid-sip of orange squash.

“Can you believe Oscar and Felicity are graduating next year?”

Caitlin blinked. “Wait, what?”

“Oh yeah,” the girl said, balancing a yogurt pot on her knee. “They’re in Upper Sixth now. Well, technically. They skipped a year. Did, like, an insane amount of independent studying. Finished early. It was a whole thing last term.”

Caitlin frowned. “But they’re seventeen.”

“Yeah, and smarter than the rest of us combined. Oscar does racing on the weekends. He was gone last weekend for a competition, and I heard he won.”

Won. That word stuck.

Caitlin nodded slowly, storing it away. Racing. Trophy. Real-world stakes.

Interesting.

Later that day, she was cutting through the front quad when she ran into Oscar. Literally. Walked right into his shoulder as he came through the gate, duffel bag slung over one arm and a giant freaking trophy in the other.

“Oh my God—sorry!” she squeaked, stepping back.

Oscar caught her elbow lightly to steady her. “It’s okay. You alright?”

Caitlin blinked up at him, struck by how tired he looked—jet-lagged, probably—but still managing to smile like it was instinct. His curls were a bit flatter than usual, but he was holding a trophy like it weighed nothing.

It was golden. Shiny. Definitely taller than her forearm.

“I—yeah! You won?” she asked, trying to keep her voice from squeaking again.

Oscar laughed a little, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Hockenheim. Long weekend.”

Hockenheim.

Oh. He was worldly.

“That’s amazing,” Caitlin said, widening her eyes slightly. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I’m just glad to be back. Haven’t seen Fliss since Thursday, so—” He trailed off, smiling again, something soft flickering in his eyes.

But Caitlin cut in quickly. “Well, maybe I’ll see you around? If you’re not too busy being famous or graduating early or…” She laughed.

Oscar nodded, polite and vaguely distracted. “Yeah, maybe. I should—uh, I promised Fliss I’d meet her before dinner.”

Of course he did.

Caitlin watched him walk off with that massive trophy and the easy kind of stride that said he belonged somewhere. He didn’t look back.

But still.

He hadn’t said no.

Caitlin smiled to herself.

Still a chance, then.

***

Felicity Leong.

Gorgeous, effortlessly intimidating, lived in that weird attic room nobody else wanted, wore her uniform like it was tailored by Prada, and had this way of looking at you like she already knew what you were going to say—and how wrong it was.

People whispered about her. How she was on first-name terms with half the faculty. How she submitted essays a full week before the deadline. How she once corrected a physics teacher mid-lecture and was right.

But Caitlin didn’t get the big deal.

She’d seen her around with Oscar, obviously. Always hovering nearby. Always tucked under his arm at lunch or passing him a pencil looking like they were one collective brain. But Caitlin had told herself that was just proximity. Comfort. Maybe they were from the same side of Australia. Maybe it was platonic.

Besides, Felicity couldn’t be that smart.

People exaggerated. Nerds got hyped up all the time, especially when they were hot.

Then came double history.

Caitlin hadn’t even realized Felicity was in the class until Caitlin slipped into the seat next to hers—late, looking vaguely annoyed. Felicity meanwhile had a black coffee in one hand and three uncapped highlighters in the other.

Caitlin blinked.

“Oh,” she said, “Hi.”

Felicity didn’t look up from her notes. “Hi.”

Caitlin offered a smile. “I’m Caitlin. I just transferred—”

“I know. Caitlin Pritchard.” Felicity said, finally glancing over. “You’re in Samir’s economic class. You were late twice last week.”

Caitlin opened her mouth. Closed it.

“Well. Yeah. I had trouble finding the classroom”

Felicity hummed, scribbled something in the margin of her paper, and then underlined it twice.

Caitlin stared.

She wanted to say something else. Something casual. Charming. Something that might explain why Oscar seemed to orbit this girl like she was a fixed point in the universe.

So when the teacher walked in and launched straight into a discussion on colonial resistance movements, Caitlin pounced.

“Sorry,” she said, cutting across the room. “Can we go back? Didn’t the Sepoy Rebellion happen because of, like… pork grease? On bullets or something?”

A few people laughed. The teacher smiled thinly. “Yes, Caitlin, that was one of the catalysts. Though, of course, the issue was more complicated—”

“It was never really about the grease,” Felicity said suddenly, without looking up. “That was just the final insult. The British had already eroded Indian sovereignty through unfair taxation, disrespect of local customs, and widespread economic disenfranchisement. The cartridge issue was symbolic—it touched religion, identity, and trust. Which, when combined with long-standing resentment, triggered the uprising.”

Caitlin blinked.

Felicity continued annotating her page like she hadn’t just delivered a university-level mini-lecture.

The teacher looked delighted. “Exactly, Miss Leong.”

And that was the first time Caitlin realized two very important things:

Felicity Leong was terrifyingly smart.

She had grossly underestimated the girl Oscar Piastri smiled at like she was his whole damn world. 

Still.

Caitlin glanced sideways at her.

She could recover.

Probably.

Maybe.

***

Caitlin was still replaying the moment in her head when she flopped into a beanbag in the common room an hour later.

“‘It was never really about the grease,’” she muttered under her breath, mimicking Felicity’s deadpan tone. “Like, okay, Google Scholar, relax.”

Across from her, Aarya Kumar— vice captain of the debating society, and possibly the only person more feared in a podium setting than Felicity herself—arched an eyebrow.

“Oh no,” she said mildly. “Did you challenge Felicity?”

“I asked a question,” Caitlin said defensively. “I wasn’t trying to start a revolution.”

Aarya snorted. “With Felicity, it’s the same thing.”

Caitlin grabbed a nearby cushion and hugged it to her chest. “She’s just—she’s kind of cold, isn’t she?”

Aarya looked up from her laptop with the slow blink of someone deciding whether or not to waste time correcting an idiot.

“Cold?” she repeated.

“Yeah. I don’t know. Like, she’s obviously really smart and everything, but she’s a bit… sharp. She didn’t even smile when I introduced myself. She just recited my attendance record.”

Aarya leaned back in her chair, looking extremely entertained.

“Caitlin,” she said, “Felicity Leong is not cold. She’s clinical. There’s a difference.”

“Oh, sorry, clinical. That’s so much more warm and inviting.”

Aarya smiled like a shark. “She just doesn’t waste energy on things she finds boring.”

“And I’m boring?”

“No,” Aarya said, sipping her tea. “You’re just not particularly relevant.”

Caitlin stared. “Wow.”

“Don’t take it personally. She’s like that with everyone who isn’t on her shortlist of priorities.”

Caitlin frowned. “And who’s on the list, then?”

Aarya tilted her head, like the answer was obvious. “Well, there’s Oscar. And—actually, I guess it’s mostly just Oscar.”

Caitlin sat up straighter, hopeful. “So… they’re, like… best friends?”

Aarya raised an eyebrow. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

Caitlin clung to the ambiguity like a life raft. “Right. Because he is super friendly with everyone.”

Aarya didn’t say anything. Just went back to typing.

Caitlin leaned back, trying to ignore the way her stomach twisted.

Because technically, no one had said they were together.

No kissing. No hand-holding in public. No PDA.

It was probably one of those ultra-close platonic friendships. The kind that seemed romantic but wasn’t. Maybe they’d grown up like siblings. Maybe Felicity was just a little possessive. Maybe Oscar just hadn’t met the right girl yet.

Maybe—maybe—Caitlin could still be the exception.

It wasn’t like they were dating.

Right?

***

It started in the library.

Caitlin was flipping through flashcards, half-studying, half-scanning for Oscar (which was a completely innocent form of multitasking), when she caught the sound of his voice coming from two rows behind her.

“Fliss.”

The tone was casual. Familiar. The syllable dropped like second nature.

Caitlin frowned.

Fliss?

She peered around the bookcase just enough to glimpse him—Oscar, leaning on the edge of the table where Felicity sat, surrounded by a ridiculous number of open books and a mug that probably held black coffee and ambition.

Felicity didn’t look up. “What?”

“You forgot your physics notes in the study room.”

He held out a folder. Her hand came up automatically to take it.

“Oh. Thanks, Oz.”

Caitlin blinked again.

Oz?

Fliss and Oz?

Since WHEN were they nickname people?

She hadn’t even known he went by Oz. Nobody else called him that. Everyone else just said Oscar. Osc rarely, from some guys on the cricket team. 

Caitlin tilted her head. Okay, maybe it was a smart-people thing. Maybe if she ever helped him with physics, he’d let her call him that too.

And then Felicity, still scribbling, added absently:

“You’re not getting another cookie for this, by the way.”

Oscar laughed. “Didn’t ask for one, love.”

Caitlin’s brain stuttered.

Love?!

He said it so casually. Like it wasn’t a thing. Like it was something he’d said a hundred times before and would say again in the hallway or in front of God and Aarya and everyone.

Felicity didn’t even react.

She just circled something in her notes, then muttered, “You’re lucky I still have any goodwill left after The Great Béchamel Disaster.”

“You said you forgave me,” Oscar said, nudging her elbow.

“I lied,” she replied, but she was smiling.

A real smile. Small. Private. Quiet and warm in the way a person only smiles when they’re with someone who knows all their weird habits and loves them anyway.

Caitlin sat there in stunned silence, still holding her flashcard on Newton’s Third Law, like gravity had just personally attacked her.

Oscar Piastri had a nickname. And a backup nickname. And Felicity had one too. Multiple, probably. He probably called her things like “hey you” and “genius” and “mine.” Caitlin was spiraling. She hadn’t even gotten a solid hi this week.

She told herself not to read into it. Some people just had nicknames. That didn’t mean anything.

Did it?

…Did it??

She turned back to her flashcards with renewed determination.

She still had time.

Still had a chance.

Probably.

(Maybe.)

***

It was just after prep when Caitlin wandered into the shared sixth form kitchen in search of a snack and maybe a slightly flirty conversation with Oscar Piastri.

What she found instead was chaos.

The counter was covered in flour. Someone’s blazer was draped over a chair. The oven light was on, the whole place smelled like vanilla and sugar, and at the center of it all—like it was completely normal—stood Oscar and Felicity Leong, side by side at the counter, making cookies.

Oscar had chocolate smeared on his cheek.

Felicity was wearing a hoodie that she was drowning in, from the Richmond Tigers. 

Caitlin blinked.

“Um. Hi?”

Oscar looked up, grinning immediately. “Hey, Caitlin. Want one? They’re a bit misshapen, but Fliss says that’s ‘charm.’”

Felicity, still focused on placing the next tray in the oven, didn’t glance up. “Because it is.”

Two other students—Aarya and a boy named Samir—were sitting nearby eating cookies like this was a regularly scheduled Wednesday night tradition.

Caitlin stepped cautiously inside. “You guys… bake together?”

Felicity closed the oven and finally turned around, brushing flour off her sleeves. “Only when we both have a free evening and Oscar’s not flying from Spain or Monaco or whatever.”

“She says that like I don’t make time,” Oscar said, nudging her with his shoulder.

Caitlin watched as Felicity gave him a look. Not annoyed. Not even teasing.

It was warm. Familiar. Like this was their thing.

Oscar smirked. “Anyway,” he said, holding out a cookie, “these have caramel bits. Still hot.”

Caitlin accepted it, trying not to overanalyze the way Felicity casually stole a cooling rack from behind him and bumped her hip into his like it was second nature.

“Oh my God,” Aarya muttered to Samir behind them. “Is she still trying?”

“She must be,” Samir whispered back, mouth full. “This is brutal.”

Caitlin turned. “What?”

“Nothing,” Aarya said quickly, looking at the ceiling. “Just… nothing.”

Caitlin took a bite of the cookie. It was genuinely good. “I didn’t realize you were, like… domestic,” she said to Oscar, with what she hoped was a charming little laugh.

Felicity looked unimpressed.

“I make a mean pasta bake too,” Oscar said easily. “But Fliss doesn’t let me cook anything unsupervised since The Great Béchamel Disaster.”

Felicity nodded solemnly. “He thought you could substitute almond milk for béchamel.”

“It was a theory.”

“You nearly set the microwave on fire.”

Oscar pointed at her. “You said you forgave me.”

“I did,” she said sweetly. “After you bought me new pyjamas.”

Caitlin laughed awkwardly. “Wow. You two really know each other.”

“Since we were 14,” Oscar said. “It’s kind of hard not to.”

Caitlin wanted to ask more, but Aarya was now fake-coughing aggressively into her biscuit, and Samir looked like he was trying not to choke from suppressed laughter.

“Anyway,” Oscar added, smiling at Felicity again, “you wanna do the next batch or switch?”

“I’ll mix,” she said, already reaching for the bowl. “You always under-fold.”

Oscar rolled his eyes but obeyed. “Yes, Fliss.”

Caitlin watched them—Felicity focused, Oscar content just to orbit around her—and something unspoken flickered in her chest.

But then Oscar caught her eye again. Friendly. Easy.

He was still nice to her.

Still smiling.

And so Caitlin told herself—again—that if it was something romantic, someone would’ve said so. Or at least made it clear. They weren’t kissing. They weren’t holding hands. Maybe this was just… how they were. How they’d always been.

She still had a chance.

Caitlin took another bite of her cookie.

It burned her tongue.

***

Caitlin wasn’t technically stalking Oscar.

She just… happened to sign up for gym block at the same time as him. And then happened to show up early. And then happened to secure a treadmill with a very good view of the weights section.

That wasn’t a crime.

And honestly, she was doing it for herself. Self-improvement. Endorphins. Definitely not to stare at the way Oscar Piastri filled out a nike shirt...

He wasn’t even doing anything fancy. Just basic reps. But his arms? Defined. Shoulders? Unfair. And the fact that he wasn’t even out of breath while talking to someone? Offensive.

Also—he was lifting more than Samir. Samir was on the rugby team.

Caitlin glanced around like someone should be noticing this.

But no one cared. Because of course they didn’t. They’d all seen it before.

And then in came her.

Felicity Leong.

Hair braided. No makeup. Oversized red shirt. ARDEN written over her chest. Black leggings. Looked like she could do calculus while sprinting.

Caitlin tried not to stare.

But then she saw Oscar’s face light up when Felicity walked in and any hope she had left melted like protein powder in lukewarm almond milk.

They greeted each other with the kind of ease that made Caitlin want to scream into a dumbbell rack.

Then they trained together.

Felicity wasn’t flashy. She was fast. Precise. Focused. Caitlin watched her fly through circuits like her body was a machine and she’d never once felt fatigue. Meanwhile, Oscar was at her side, timing her sprints, correcting her posture, offering her his towel like it was nothing.

“Water?” he asked during their rest.

Felicity reached for the bottle, took one sip, and muttered, “You’re still folding your lunges.”

Oscar grinned. “Still bossy.”

“Still inefficient.”

Caitlin was starting to believe in soulmates and consider drowning herself in the gym water cooler at the same time.

And then it happened.

Felicity slipped mid-rep. Nothing dramatic—just a wrong angle coming down from a box jump—but the sound her ankle made was sharp, sickening, real.

She hissed through her teeth and staggered.

Oscar was at her side in less than two seconds.

“Shit,” he muttered. “Don’t move. Is it bad?”

“Twisted,” Felicity gritted out. “Might be sprained.”

He crouched beside her, eyes scanning her ankle, hands gentle as he tested the pressure. And then—before Caitlin could even process what was happening—

He scooped her up.

Like she weighed nothing. Like it was automatic. Like he’d done it before.

Arms under her knees and back, no strain, no hesitation. Felicity didn’t even protest. Just looped one arm around his neck like this was a routine Tuesday.

“C’mon,” he said softly. “Let’s get you iced.”

Caitlin gaped.

And no one else reacted.

Not Samir. Not the girl by the rowing machines. Not the PT. They barely looked up.

As if this happened all the time.

As if Felicity regularly got princess-carried out of the gym by her brilliant F1-adjacent boyfriend like it was part of the warm-down routine.

Caitlin blinked.

Her heart hurt.

Oscar was strong. Like—really strong. Quietly strong. The kind that didn’t flex, just lifted people like they were paper.

And Felicity?

Felicity was tiny. Not weak. Not fragile. Just built like the universe decided someone should be genetically optimized to be carried by Oscar Piastri.

As they disappeared into the hallway, Felicity mumbled something.

Oscar laughed and said, “It’s not my fault your centre of gravity is adorable.”

Caitlin still had a chance. 

Probably. 

***

Caitlin had known Oscar Piastri was cute.

Obviously.

That had been Day One material: waves, dimples, polite voice, Australian accent. It was instant. It was unavoidable. It was textbook crush.

What she hadn’t expected was the slow realization that Oscar Piastri was hot. Like… unfairly hot. Like betray-your-bestie-and-your-God hot.

It didn’t hit her all at once.

It was gradual.

It was the library, when he’d leaned over Felicity’s desk to hand her a flash drive and his shirt had shifted, and suddenly his forearms were right there, and Caitlin had nearly highlighted the entire Treaty of Versailles out of order.

It was the way he always ran one hand through his hair when he was concentrating—pushing it back, curls falling forward again five seconds later, like he was in a shampoo commercial directed by the gods.

It was the back muscles, which she first clocked during PE when he’d taken off his jumper and casually did push-ups like they didn’t reveal everything.

And then there was the shoulder stretch incident.

One Friday morning in study hall, he’d lifted both arms behind his head to stretch—and his shirt had ridden up just enough to show a sliver of toned lower back and hip. Caitlin had dropped her pen, her dignity, and a solid 80% of her vocabulary in the same moment.

Every time he laughed, it was a problem. Deep, full-body, throw-his-head-back laughter that made people turn and smile reflexively. Except Caitlin didn’t just smile. She short-circuited.

And God help her when he swore.

Oscar didn’t swear much—but when he did, it was low and Australian and effortless and usually muttered under his breath in the most devastatingly hot tone imaginable. Once it had been “bloody hell, Fliss”, and Caitlin had ascended into another dimension.

Even his hands were unfair. Long fingers. Casually spinning a pen. Good at everything. 

One time he’d run laps for warm-up and pulled his shirt off over his head as he walked off the field, sweat glistening, curls sticking, and Caitlin had genuinely seen a bird fly into a tree because the universe was clearly overwhelmed.

But the worst part—the absolute worst—was how unaware he was of it.

Oscar Piastri had the audacity to be hot and nice. The kind of boy who helped carry books and always shared his last cookie with Felicity without even blinking.

It was a public safety hazard.

***

It was a rainy Thursday afternoon, and most of Sixth Form had retreated to the study hall. The floor-to-ceiling windows rattled with wind, someone had put on a low jazz playlist, and everyone had resigned themselves to pretending they were productive.

Caitlin was “working” on a history essay (read: rewriting the intro for the fourth time), when Oscar dropped into the seat beside Felicity at the windowsill bench. She barely looked up from her notes, just shifted sideways to make room for him in the way of people who didn’t ask—they just expected each other to be there.

He leaned over her shoulder, reading something upside down.

"You need a break," he said softly.

"I need a functioning global economy," she replied, underlining a sentence in red.

Oscar snorted. “Come on. Fifteen-minute truce. Stretch. Look at a cloud. Touch grass.”

Felicity didn’t move. But she looked at him. And then, in the most deadpan voice imaginable, she muttered:

"Alright, Tin Man. Let’s walk."

Caitlin blinked from her corner of the room.

Tin Man?

Tin. Man.

Was that… a dig?

A pet name?

An insult wrapped in affection?

She stared after them as they walked out, Oscar brushing his hand lightly against Felicity’s as they passed through the door. He was grinning. She wasn’t—but there was a crinkle in her eyes that looked suspiciously like she was trying not to smile.

“What,” Caitlin said aloud, turning to Thea across the table, “was that? She just called him Tin Man.”

Thea didn’t even glance up from her colour-coded notes. “Yeah. That’s her thing.”

“Her thing?”

“She calls him that when he gets too sentimental.”

Caitlin blinked. “Wait, what?”

Thea sighed like she was explaining physics to a moth.

“When Oscar first came to Haileybury, some of the guys used to tease him for being a bit—cold. Like, he was brilliant at everything but didn’t show much emotion. You know, kept to himself. Never really… reacted.”

Caitlin’s mouth opened. “So they called him—?”

“Robot Boy,” Thea finished. “No emotions. You get it.”

“That’s—awful,” Caitlin said.

“Yeah. But then Felicity came along, and he started reacting.” Thea finally looked up, eyes sharp with amusement. “First time he ever raised his voice in public was when someone made a comment about her. You should’ve seen it. He went full protective rage blackout.”

Caitlin blinked, stunned.

“Anyway,” Thea continued, “he started thawing. Laughing more. Getting teased for having feelings, instead of not having any. So now when he gets too soft with her—like, says something sweet or looks at her like she put the stars in the sky—she calls him Tin Man.”

Caitlin sat in silence.

Outside, through the rain-streaked glass, she could just barely make out Oscar and Felicity under the trees. He was walking so close beside her their arms brushed with every step. Felicity said something, and he threw his head back laughing.

And then she bumped him—gently, with her shoulder.

He bumped back.

They kept walking.

They weren’t holding hands. 

So Caitlin still had a chance. Right?

***

Caitlin joined the dance club because she needed something.

Something that wasn’t academic. Something that wasn’t tied to being “the new girl.” And, ideally, something that would make her look effortlessly hot in a leotard.

She had a background in jazz, had done a few summer workshops in Sydney, and figured it’d be a good place to make some friends. Plus, Oscar might notice—if she mentioned casually that she danced.

So when she walked into the studio for her first Thursday meeting, wearing her black tank and brand new split-sole ballet shoes, she felt good. Confident. A little nervous, but in a cute way.

And then she saw her.

Felicity Leong.

Hair in a flawless bun. Dressed in a leotard and a worn black wrap top that looked somehow elegant. Not flashy. Not even trying. But immediately magnetic.

Caitlin blinked. You’ve got to be kidding me.

“Is she part of this club?” she whispered to the girl next to her.

The girl gave her a look. “She’s the senior lead.”

“Oh,” Caitlin said weakly. “Cool.”

Cool.

Felicity didn’t look like she was about to ruin lives. She was sitting against the mirror, stretching calmly, headphones in. Calm. Focused. Untouchable.

Then the teacher clapped. “Alright, let’s warm up. Miss Leong—lead us in pliés?”

Felicity nodded once, stood, and—

Transformed.

It was like watching a poem in motion.

No overthinking. No hesitation. Just muscle memory and precision. Her arms curved perfectly. Her turnout was textbook. Her every movement landed in that devastating sweet spot between softness and control. And her face didn’t change once—like grace wasn’t a performance for her, just a setting she never turned off.

She wasn’t just good.

She was ballet.

Caitlin barely remembered the warm-up. Her legs did something, sure, but her brain was short-circuiting.

Felicity flowed through port de bras like she’d been born with music in her veins. Executed a développé with the kind of restraint that said she could go higher, but didn’t need to prove it.

By the time they got to center work, Caitlin was pretty sure she’d stopped blinking.

“Felicity, would you mind demonstrating the adagio solo from last year?” the teacher asked.

Felicity gave a soft, almost reluctant nod. “Sure.”

And then she danced.

No music. No fanfare. Just her body moving like it had already heard the score.

Every extension was art. Every balance was deliberate. Every turn was smooth enough to make the world spin slower. When she reached the final pose—arms lifted, chin angled upward like she was made of light—nobody clapped.

Because everyone was stunned.

Even Caitlin.

She barely breathed until the teacher finally said, “Thank you. That was… as always, exquisite.”

Felicity just shrugged like it meant nothing and walked back to her spot like she hadn’t just outdanced God.

Caitlin sat down slowly.

Silently.

And had a minor identity crisis.

Because not only was Felicity Leong intimidatingly smart, casually attached at the soul to Oscar Piastri - she could also do ballet like she was on loan from the Paris Opera.

Caitlin didn’t know whether she wanted to cry, scream, or change schools.

So she settled on tying her shoes tighter and pretending it didn’t bother her.

Even though it absolutely did.

***

It was a rainy Tuesday evening, the kind that turned the Haileybury dorms into a sanctuary of hot chocolate, fleece blankets, and half-finished homework sprawled across common room tables.

Caitlin was curled on the edge of a beanbag, pretending to annotate her literature essay while sneakily watching Oscar argue with Samir about some Grand Prix controversy. It was one of those low-effort nights—everyone a little too tired to be productive, a little too comfortable to care.

And then Felicity walked in.

Hair down.

Caitlin almost dropped her pen.

Because up until that moment, she hadn’t even realized Felicity Leong had hair.

That’s how tightly she always wore it. Braids, buns, perfect French twists that looked regulation-ready even on Sundays. But now—

Now it was loose.

A dark, glossy sheet that spilled over her shoulders and down her back like a black silk curtain, nearly to her waist. Smooth, thick, flawless. It looked less like hair and more like something airbrushed onto a Vogue cover.

Caitlin blinked. Was she allowed to just—walk around like that?

Felicity padded over to where Oscar sat cross-legged on the floor, tugged a cushion closer, and dropped herself unceremoniously between his knees like it was a routine chore.

“Hands?” she asked, already gathering her hair over one shoulder.

Oscar grinned. “Clean. Promise.”

And with that, he gently took the mass of hair in his hands and began to braid.

Just like that.

Like it was something they’d done a hundred times. Like this was normal.

Caitlin watched, frozen, as he sectioned it expertly—two smooth parts, fingers moving with unconscious ease. He wasn’t even looking, just chatting with Samir about tyre compounds while looping her hair over and under like he knew it better than she did.

Felicity leaned forward a little to help him get the tension right.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t supervise. Just… trusted him.

Caitlin wasn’t sure what was more shocking—the fact that Oscar Piastri could braid at all, or the fact that Felicity Leong, terrifying genius and dance prodigy, had somehow allowed a boy to touch her hair.

And not just touch it, but casually French braid it in front of other people like it wasn’t the most intimate thing Caitlin had ever seen in her life.

Oscar tied the end with a small black elastic from his wrist, then tugged the braid gently to make it fuller.

“There,” he said. “Symmetry achieved.”

“Better than last time,” Felicity said, glancing over her shoulder.

He tapped her temple with his knuckle. “I get better under pressure.”

Someone across the room muttered, “You two are so weirdly domestic, it’s terrifying.”

Neither of them looked offended.

Oscar just smiled. Felicity leaned back slightly against his knee. And they went right back to talking about whether or not the new history teacher was secretly unqualified.

Caitlin sat there, quietly imploding.

Because never, not once, had she seen Oscar that comfortable with anyone. Not in the flirtatious way she’d been fantasizing about—but in the quiet, unconscious belonging kind of way. Like he wasn’t even thinking about it.

But Caitilin still had a chance…right?

***

It started with a phone ringing.

Not a notification. Not the subtle ping of someone’s locked screen lighting up. This was a proper ringtone—some soft, instrumental chime that sounded like it belonged to a very calm person who did yoga and paid their taxes early.

Caitlin glanced up from her seat in the common room just in time to see Felicity Leong pull her phone out of her cardigan pocket.

“Sorry,” Felicity murmured, already stepping toward the hallway.

Oscar was sitting on the couch, legs stretched out, textbook balanced across his knees. He didn’t even look up.

Caitlin narrowed her eyes.

“Wait, where’s your phone?” she asked, leaning toward him a bit. “I thought I heard your ringtone earlier?”

Oscar didn’t glance up. “Dead. Forgot to charge it.”

“Classic,” Samir muttered without looking up from his laptop.

But Caitlin was still watching Felicity, who had now stepped just out of sight—though her voice still carried through the open doorway. Calm. Familiar. Just slightly exasperated.

“Hi Nicole. No, he’s alive,” Felicity said lightly. “Phone’s dead again. I’ll tell him to call you.”

A pause.

Then, quieter: “No, Oscar’s fine. Tired. He’s had a headache all day, that’s why he didn’t call. Yeah. I’ll remind him to check in tomorrow.”

Then Felicity laughed softly, eyes fond. “Yes. He misses you too. I’ll make sure he actually eats something green tonight.”

She listened for another beat, nodding, then added, “Love you too.”

Then she hung up and tossed the phone back onto the sofa.

Oscar caught it with one hand without even looking. “She say hi?”

“She said to tell you to eat a vegetable.”

“She’s so mean to me,” he said dramatically, eyes closed.

“She birthed you,” Felicity replied, deadpan. “She’s earned it.”

And Caitlin suddenly wasn’t paying attention to her annotated Hamlet anymore.

“Wait,” she said slowly. “Was that… your mum?”

Oscar glanced up like it was no big deal. “Yeah.”

“She called Felicity?”

Oscar blinked, confused. “Yeah?”

“Instead of, like, you?”

He shrugged. “She knows I never answer. Felicity always does.”

That… was apparently that.

Nobody else reacted.

Not Aarya, not Samir, not the Year 13 boy flipping through a copy of The Economist like his soul depended on it. They just kept working or scrolling or sipping lukewarm tea, as if it wasn’t insane that a boy’s mum had defaulted to calling a teenage girl for updates on her son.

“Your Mom just calls Felicity?” Caitlin repeated.

“Has since Year 10,” Samir said without looking up. “Honestly, Felicity usually knows where Oscar is before Oscar knows where Oscar is.”

Oscar shrugged. “It’s a system. If I miss three texts, she goes to Fliss.”

“I think Nicole called her during exams once because she couldn’t figure out Oscar’s calendar,” Aarya added. “Felicity had it memorized.”

Caitlin blinked. “But… that’s like… really personal, right?”

“Not really,” Oscar said mildly. “Just easier. Fliss keeps my schedule on her laptop.”

“She’s basically his external hard drive,” Samir muttered.

“His mum calls her,” Caitlin said again, dazed.

And yet… still.

Still.

She told herself maybe it was just one of those weird family dynamics. Maybe Felicity had just gotten swept up in the Piastris’ orbit because she was organized. Maybe Nicole liked her because she was polite and good at reminding Oscar to take his iron supplements or whatever.

Caitlin clung to denial with the strength of a thousand delusions.

Because maybe Felicity was just close with the family.

Maybe she was like… the childhood friend who became an honorary sibling.

It didn’t have to mean anything.

She definitely still had a chance.

Didn’t she?

***

The Winter Formal was two weeks away, and Caitlin was ready.

This was her moment. Her chance.

She’d been at Haileybury long enough to know that Winter Formal wasn’t just some dance—it was a statement. A social chessboard. The perfect opportunity to be seen, to be asked, to be unforgettable.

And Caitlin was not going to let it pass her by.

She’d already ordered a dress from Australia—a sleek, midnight blue satin thing with a thigh slit and delicate straps that made her feel expensive just looking at it. Her mum had mailed it express with handwritten instructions about which earrings not to pair it with. S She’d even practiced walking in heels on the quad during lunch.

All of this, of course, was part of Operation: Oscar Will Finally See Me As A Woman™.

So when the girls’ dorm corridor started buzzing with excitement and dress talk, Caitlin took her usual spot near the common room couch, flipping through lipstick swatches on her phone and casually steering the conversation.

“I feel like everyone’s going for red or black,” she said, examining a cherry gloss. “I want something classic, but… memorable, you know?”

Thea, who was painting her nails, nodded. “Honestly, I just hope someone asks me. Last year was so dry.”

“I heard Samir’s organizing a group to go together,” someone else said. “Just friends, but, like, cute coordinated outfits?”

“Ugh, that’s sweet,” Caitlin said, smiling. “I mean, obviously, if someone asked me, I’d say yes. But if not, I’ll just look stunning on my own.”

The group hummed in agreement.

Then the door opened, and of course, in walked Felicity Leong—casual, composed, hair in a clip, hoodie two sizes too big.

No Richmond Tigers this time. but once again something emblazoned with HP Tuners on it. Caitlin seriously wondered where she kept finding them. 

She looked like she was just passing through, but Thea called out, “Fliss! Are you going to the Winter Formal?”

Felicity paused. “Yeah, probably.”

Caitlin glanced over, trying to sound breezy. “Do you have a dress yet?”

Felicity shrugged like the entire concept of formalwear bored her. “I’ve got a few. I’ll pick one.”

“You mean, like… from your closet?” Caitlin asked, lips parting in disbelief. “You’re not getting one new?”

Felicity blinked. “I already own dresses. I don’t need another.”

Caitlin opened her mouth. Closed it. “Right. Sure.”

“So who are you going with?” Thea asked teasingly. 

Felicity just smiled faintly. “Don’t worry about it.”

Caitlin’s heart kicked. Her mind raced.

That could mean anything. It could be a friend. A joke. A bluff. There had been no announcement. And Oscar—Oscar still hadn’t said anything about going. She’d know if it were him.

Probably.

Hopefully.

Definitely.

…Right?

Felicity turned to go, already halfway down the corridor, when she called back casually:

“Don’t stress too much about the dress. The dancing is the best part.”

And just like that, she disappeared.

Caitlin sat very still for a moment.

Her lip gloss suddenly felt… desperate.

But no matter.

Felicity Leong could wear a paper bag to Winter Formal and still pull off mysterious. Caitlin, however, was going to show up looking like a star.

She still had time.

She still had a chance.

***

Winter Formal at Haileybury was everything Caitlin had dreamed it would be.

The great hall was transformed—strings of fairy lights hung from the beams, candles floated on tables like something out of a movie, and the DJ actually understood how to mix orchestral pieces with chart hits. Students filed in dressed to the nines, heels clicking on polished floors, laughter echoing across the velvet-draped room.

Caitlin felt stunning.

Her navy satin gown fit like a dream. Her curls were glossy, makeup dewy, everything rehearsed and poised. When she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror-lined hallway, she thought: This is it. This is my main character moment.

Oscar hadn’t arrived yet.

She was mid-conversation with Thea and half-scanning the crowd when the noise in the room dipped. Not stopped. Not hushed. Just… shifted.

She followed the direction of a few stares—and there they were.

Oscar and Felicity.

And Caitlin forgot how to breathe.

Felicity was in a deep forest green dress—floor-length, off the shoulder, with a subtle silk sheen that looked so expensive it had to be designer. Her hair was down for once, falling to her waist pin straight and thick. Her makeup was minimal, but somehow she still looked like she stepped out of a fashion editorial.

Oscar was in a classic black suit. Crisp white shirt. And he was smiling at her—her, meaning Felicity—like she was the only person who existed.

The room wasn’t silent, but it didn’t matter.

It bent around them anyway.

Caitlin stared. There’s no way they’re just friends.

But nobody said anything. There was no announcement. No hand-holding. So it was still ambiguous, right?

She had hope.

Until the dancing started.

The DJ called for a traditional waltz—something Haileybury insisted on every year for the old-money aesthetic—and most students awkwardly shuffled into pairs, giggling through their two-left-feet attempts.

And then—

Oscar and Felicity stepped onto the floor.

And they danced.

Not fumbled.

Not swayed.

They danced.

He led effortlessly, one hand pressed against her back like he was born to guide her. She followed with impossible grace, her green skirt swirling just above her ankles. They moved in tight, perfect circles, their footwork synchronized, their expressions focused and just barely smiling, like the moment was just for them.

And then—because of course—

He picked her up.

Clean, elegant lift. Like she weighed nothing. Like he’d done it a hundred times before. Her feet left the ground, and she laughed—actually laughed, head thrown back—and when he set her down again, she didn’t even wobble.

The room applauded.

Caitlin clapped too, mostly because she forgot how not to.

Thea leaned over. “Okay, they’re disgustingly perfect.”

Caitlin forced a laugh. “Yeah, I guess they… practiced?”

Samir, somewhere nearby, snorted. “They’ve been practicing since Year 9, mate.”

Caitlin blinked. “What?”

But Samir had already turned away.

Since Year 9?

That had to mean something else. Dance class. PE. Maybe Oscar’s mum had hired them a coach. It didn’t confirm anything.

Even when the slow songs began, and Oscar pulled Felicity close—one hand at her waist, the other brushing the back of her neck, foreheads nearly touching—Caitlin still thought:

Maybe he’s just that affectionate with close friends.

Even as he whispered something that made Felicity laugh and tuck her head into his shoulder.

Even as they moved in a slow, gentle rhythm that looked less like dancing and more like existing in sync.

Caitlin took a sip of her sparkling juice.

She still had a chance.

...Right?

***

The Winter Formal afterparty wasn’t technically sanctioned, but Haileybury looked the other way as long as nobody died, broke curfew, or set off the fire alarm like last year.

So a group of Upper Sixth students had ended up back in one of the common rooms, still in formalwear but now barefoot, jackets discarded, and half-asleep on beanbags and mismatched sofas. The music was low. The fairy lights from the dance still blinked lazily around the windows. Someone passed around leftover sweets from the dessert bar.

Caitlin was feeling… hopeful.

Oscar was lounging two cushions away, his jacket tossed over a chair, his tie hanging loose around his neck. Felicity sat cross-legged on the floor in front of him, sipping from a paper cup. 

Then someone suggested Truth or Dare.

It started off tame.

“Truth: who did you originally want to go to formal with?” “Dare: text your sibling ‘you up?’” “Truth: have you ever cheated on an exam?”

The group laughed, groaned, teased.

Caitlin felt herself relaxing. It was fun. Casual. Normal.

Then Aarya, ever the chaos agent, turned toward Oscar with a shark-like grin.

“Oscar,” she said sweetly. “Truth or dare?”

Oscar didn’t blink. “Dare.”

Aarya’s eyes lit up. “Kiss your girlfriend like you actually mean it.”

The room stilled.

Caitlin choked on her drink.

Felicity blinked slowly, then looked up at Oscar with one eyebrow raised.

He laughed softly. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet,” Aarya said, sipping her juice. “Here we are.”

Oscar leaned forward.

Caitlin’s heart started pounding.

And then—without fanfare, without hesitation—he tipped Felicity’s chin up with one hand and kissed her.

Not a peck. Not polite. Not friend-coded.

It was full-on, no questions asked, get-a-room kissing.

He kissed her like it was muscle memory. Like he’d done it a thousand times. Like he had no idea anyone else was in the room.

Felicity kissed him back with the same energy—slow and familiar and undeniably his.

When they finally pulled apart, Felicity just tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and stole a sip from Oscar’s drink like nothing had happened.

Oscar smirked and leaned back like he was settling into home.

The room erupted.

Whistling. Groaning. “You are horrible,” someone muttered.

Aarya grinned with no mercy in Caitlin’s direction.

“Oh my God,” Caitlin said faintly. “Wait, are you—?”

Felicity looked at her. “Together? Yeah. Since we were fifteen.”

Caitlin stared.

Aarya, feigning deep shock, added, “You didn’t know?”

The silence after that wasn’t cruel—but it was loud.

Caitlin tried to find her voice. “I just thought—no one ever said—”

Oscar blinked, genuinely confused. “I thought it was obvious?”

And somehow, that was the worst part.

Because to everyone else, it was.

The braids. The cookies. The phone call from Nicole. The dancing. The goddamn waltz lift. All of it had been real.

Caitlin had never stood a chance.

And now she knew it.

Fully. Completely.

Unmistakably.

***

@/caitlinfromoz: ✨okay so now that oscar piastri and felicity leong are publicly Official™ and married… a thread about how teenage me was DELUSIONAL and thought i had a chance ✨ (yes. i was that girl. i’ve grown.)

@/caitlinfromoz:  i transferred to haileybury in 2018. i was 17. oscar was cute. australian. quiet. smart. devastatingly nice to literally everyone. INCLUDING ME. obviously, i decided we were endgame.

@/caitlinfromoz: There was just one obstacle. Her name was Felicity Leong.

@/caitlinfromoz:  Gorgeous. Terrifying. Looked like she ate straight A’s for breakfast and ballet-danced in her sleep. Hair always in a perfect bun. Vibes of a girl who could ruin your life with a well-written paragraph.

@/caitlinfromoz: I tried to talk to her once in history class and said the Sepoy Rebellion was about pork grease. She proceeded to verbally destroy me and rewrite my understanding of British colonialism in one breath.

I still think about it at night.

@/caitlinfromoz:  nobody told me they were together because apparently “it was obvious” spoiler: IT WAS NOT OBVIOUS TO ME. 

@/caitlinfromoz:   I never saw them kiss. She didn’t sit on his lap. I spent three months thinking I had a chance. 

Reader, I did not have a chance.

@/caitlinfromoz: Things I ignored in pursuit of this delusion:

@/caitlinfromoz:  He was the only person that called her Fliss. (Side note: He also called her Love.) She was the only person that called him Oz. Or Tin Man. 

@/caitlinfromoz: His mother called her when he didn’t answer answer his phone. And that was generally accepted as normal. Nobody blinked. i thought she was just close with his family. 💀

@/caitlinfromoz: They made cookies together like an old married couple. They were the best cookies I have ever eaten. (He’s also not allowed in the kitchen without supervision. Something about The Great Béchamel Disaster?)

@/caitlinfromoz:  there was this one time i saw him french braid her entire waist-length hair in the common room while talking about tyre compounds. and i was like “they’re probably just childhood friends :)” girl.

@/caitlinfromoz:  also felicity could do actual ballet. like real swan lake coreography. i joined dance club to be graceful. she FLOATS. i left dance club two meetings later.

@/caitlinfromoz: but the REAL nail in the coffin was winter formal. i thought “this is it. this is where he sees me in a dress and FALLS.”

@/caitlinfromoz: and then oscar & felicity arrived like they’d just stepped out of a slow-burn fanfic and casually performed a literal waltz. with lifts.

@/caitlinfromoz: like, lifted her.

in time with the music.

in front of witnesses.

and i still thought “huh… maybe they’re just really good friends??”

teenage me was determined to die on that hill. and oh god, die i did 🥲

@/caitlinfromoz: Cut to post-formal hangout, someone suggests Truth or Dare. Aarya (bless her ruthless soul) dares Oscar to “kiss your girlfriend like you mean it.”

@/caitlinfromoz: He proceeded to snog Felicity like we weren’t all sitting 5 feet away in formalwear with Red Vines and sparkling juice. When they broke apart, she casually took a sip from his drink.

@/caitlinfromoz:  I had an out-of-body experience.

 turned to the group like: “Wait… they’re DATING??”

Felicity, sipping her juice: “Since we were 15.”

Everyone else: 👀

Oscar: “I thought it was obvious?”

@/caitlinfromoz: Reader, it was. I was just dense.

@/caitlinfromoz: turns out they’d been dating for over 2 years. everyone knew. except me. i think i stared at the wall for ten full minutes.

@/caitlinfromoz: to be clear: they weren’t hiding. everyone else knew. they just… were. no theatrics. no announcement. just two teenagers sharing tea, physics notes, and apparently a long-term romantic commitment 😃👍

@/caitlinfromoz: anyway. it’s years later. they’re still disgustingly in love. her hair’s still perfect. he’s still absurdly nice. and i’m now emotionally stable enough to laugh at my teen self.

@/caitlinfromoz: teenage me had confidence, delusion, and absolutely no awareness.

i salute her.

but she was so, so dumb.

RIP to her.

@/caitlinfromoz: thank you for attending my TED Talk on delulu girl autumn 2018 💀💀💀

***

@/nicolepiastri: This was a hilarious read. Thank you for the reminder that Oscar once thought almond milk could substitute béchamel. And yes, I called Felicity when Osc wouldn’t answer. I still do. Caitlin, sweetheart, I’m so sorry. You never had a chance. Loved the thread though 💕

➡️@/caitlinfromoz:  WHY IS OSCAR’S MUM HERE i was a CHILD i didn’t know i was just trying to thrive in maths and a floor-length gown

➡️@/NicolePiastri: You were lovely, but Fliss had already reorganized his entire life by the time you arrived. Including his sock drawer. And his heart.

@/f1roseshard:  SHE SAID "YOU NEVER HAD A CHANCE" I’M SCREAMING

@/chaosinthepits:  nicole piastri coming in like a mother with the final shovel of dirt for the grave 😭😭

@/oscarlovrs: someone frame this whole interaction and hang it in the haileybury hallway i’m serious

@/piastribetterhalf: @/NicolePiastri when did you start calling Felicity instead of Oscar?

➡️@/NicolePiastri:  When he forgot to tell me he’d landed and Felicity texted “Don’t worry, I fed him.”

@/caitlinfromoz: @/nicolepiastri ma’am with all due respect i would’ve loved a warning like maybe a little sign. a polite letter. a fortune cookie.

➡️@/nicolepiastri:  Replying to: @caitlinfromoz I thought the braid should’ve been a giveaway, darling x

@chaoticconstructors: “i thought the braid should’ve been a giveaway” IS THE GREATEST CLOSING LINE I’VE EVER READ

@/piastrisbuns:  what was felicity like irl?? did she ever TALK to people??

➡️@/caitlinfromoz: she talked. just… efficiently. like her words had a budget. she once ended a debate in 3 sentences and someone cried. i respect her. i feared her. i may still fear her.

@/chaosinthepits truth or dare. full snog. in front of everyone. my GOD. did you die. did you ascend.

➡️@/caitlinfromoz:  i think i dissociated tbh. someone passed me a cookie. i bit it and stared into space like i’d just seen a horse speak fluent italian.

@/oscarlovrs: be honest… was it at least a good kiss??

➡️@/caitlinfromoz:  listen. i’m woman enough to admit… it was an excellent kiss. cinema-worthy. soft hand placement. forehead bump. mutual giggling after. 

@/aussieoscarfans:  so you’re telling me his mum had her on speed dial he braided her hair slow danced with her picked her up IN FRONT OF THE SCHOOL and u still thought u had a chance?

➡️@/caitlinfromoz:  yes but in my defense: ✨delusion is a powerful drug✨ (i was 17. my brain wasn’t fully online.)

@/softpitwall:  Be honest. Did you ever consider throwing yourself down the stairs at school just to get Oscar to carry you?

➡️@/caitlinfromoz: no but I did once fake confusion near the physics lab hoping he’d walk me to class felicity appeared out of NOWHERE i swear she just sensed it 😭

@/formula1girlie: THE WAY I GASPED AT “he picked her up” 😭😭 you were fighting for your life against a woman who literally waltzed

➡️@/caitlinfromoz: i was fighting for my life against someone who could quote voltaire and do fouettés there was no battle. i was collateral damage

@/teamsoftlaunch: i’m obsessed with the idea that everyone else knew. like no one even thought to say “hey they’re dating btw”? lmao

➡️@/caitlinfromoz: i think Aarya tried once and then gave up. she probably put money on how long it would take me to catch on

@/piastrilicious: can you PLEASE drop a photo of what you wore to winter formal?? we need to see how hard you tried

➡️@/caitlinfromoz: i will NOT be bullied into posting that navy satin thigh-slit disaster okay fine here it is but please understand i believed it was my villain origin story

<attached image: Caitlin in full formal glam, looking gorgeous and heartbreakingly confident> caption: “she really thought she was gonna change the plot 💔”

@/flissleongstand: this thread is my roman empire. i think about felicity leong just shrugging and saying “yeah, since we were fifteen” DAILY

➡️@/caitlinfromoz: she said it so calmly. meanwhile my entire worldview collapsed in 0.2 seconds

@/oscpiastriluvr81:  GIRL YOU THOUGHT YOU HAD A CHANCE AGAINST THE GIRL HE FRENCH BRAIDED WHILE TALKING ABOUT TYRE COMPOUNDS??? 💀💀💀

➡️@/caitlinfromoz:  i didn’t think i had a chance. i built an entire ROMANTIC NARRATIVE. i was the main character in my head. he was the love interest. she was… a subplot. i was wrong.

@/oscarstanpage: soooo who dared him to kiss her 👀

➡️@/caitlinfromoz:  Aarya. if you’re out there: i forgive you. you were right. i needed the reality check.

@/piastricorners:  you had a crush on oscar when he was braiding hair and baking cookies?? be honest. you liked the domestic vibes didn’t you

➡️ @caitlinfromoz listen. there’s nothing more dangerous than a teenage girl witnessing an emotionally intelligent boy sift flour

@/thepiastrileongfiles: are you ok now

➡️ @/caitlinfromoz: i’m healed. i have a job, a dog, and the emotional distance to find teenage me absolutely hilarious. but i am blocking anyone who makes an edit about that truth or dare kiss with “ceilings” by lizzy mcalpine.

@/oscarp_brasil:  sooo how hot was the kiss. scale of 1 to my soul left my body

➡️@/caitlinfromoz: like if a jane austen novel and a wattpad fic had a baby. there was hand cradling, forehead touch after, she drank from his cup like nothing happened. i was spiritually vaporized.

@/mclarendownbad: @/OscarPiastri bestie ur fans need u to confirm the french braid thing

➡️ @/OscarPiastri I can do a Dutch braid, too. And a crown braid.

[capuccinodoll]

The boyfriend act, part 1: "The one with the proposal" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter summary: The journey from Dallas to Austin is tense but tolerable, as you and Frankie do your best to ignore the mutual disdain simmering between you. But everything derails when a chance encounter with Harry—your ex—and his fiancée pushes you to tell a spur-of-the-moment lie. Frankie’s reaction makes it clear he’s not on board. WC: 14.3k

A/N: Okay, here's my new baby! And I fucking love it! I hope you enjoy this story as much as I've been enjoying writing it. Also, just a heads-up: I’ve taken some creative liberties with the characters. While this story is inspired by the ones in Triple Frontier, it barely follows the events of the movie, and the characters themselves aren’t portrayed exactly as they are in the film. PS: I’d love to hear your thoughts—your feedback means so much to me! Knowing what you think truly motivates me to keep going. So don't hesitate and let me know <3 Also, if you want to be on the tag list, let me know. And don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifs :)

You read Santiago’s message three times, hoping that maybe the words would hit differently the second or third one.

[Santi]: Hey bubs, mornin. I’m really sorry but I won’t be able to come get you. I’ll meet you at home later tho. Frankie will pick you up, same time as planned, don’t worry:)

Frankie. He wasn’t your first choice—or your second, or third. If you were honest, he didn’t even make the list.

That morning had started with a sense of calm, a kind of orderly anticipation. The steady hum of the fan in the corner of Emma’s room, the cool sting of the shower water, the first sip of coffee, sweet and bitter all at once—it all felt like the clean slate of a well-prepared day. You’d zipped your suitcase shut, placed your carry-on by the door. Nothing left to chance.

You’d take the bus. Predictable, unremarkable. But Santiago had insisted earlier that week, his voice crackling through the phone with a kind of rare, unguarded enthusiasm.

“We can stop for lunch, you know? Like we used to do with dad. Maybe even take a detour if we find somethin' cool,” he’d said.

“Everything okay with Yovanna?” you teased, your voice carrying just enough edge to feel like a joke, even though it wasn’t entirely one. “Or is this an excuse to run away for the day?”

“Fuck you,” he laughed. “I just want to spend time with you. It’s been ages since we really caught up. I miss you like hell.”

You’d been leaning against Emma’s kitchen counter at the time, a glass of wine in one hand, a cube of cheese in the other, and your phone between your cheek and your shoulder. Emma raised an eyebrow from across the room, silently prompting you to explain.

That stopped you. He wasn’t wrong.

“Okay,” you’d said, your voice softer than before. “I miss you too. I’ll wait for you then.”

And now, this. No Santiago, no shared lunch or detours. Just... Frankie.

You sat back against the bed frame, rereading the message one last time. Frankie will pick you up. Frankie will pick you up. Frankie. Frankie. Fucking Frankie. The disappointment felt sharper than you wanted to admit.

You let the phone fall to the bed beside you, the screen dimming as it landed.

Emma lay stretched out next to you, her head tilted toward the TV, where an episode of Friends played on low volume. It was one of those episodes you both knew by heart. The one where everybody finds out.

The blue light from the screen washed over her face, softening her features, making her eyes look brighter than they really were. Without looking away, she reached out and hooked her arm around yours. She’d done the same thing when you were teenagers, sharing the lumpy couch in your parents’ living room, giggling over something trivial while your mom cooked dinner in the next room.

“What happened?” she murmured, as if she could already sense the shift in your mood. The laugh track bubbled in the background, filling the space between her words.

“Santi’s not coming. He sent Frankie.”

“That Frankie?” 

“I doubt he knows any others.”

“How convenient,” she said, her voice low with mockery, though her arm squeezed yours gently. “Well, call me when you get there. And try to be nice to him, if you can manage it.”

Emma turned her head slightly, just enough to glance at you out of the corner of her eye. “And don’t take too long to come back and visit me, okay?” 

“You could always visit Austin, you know."

“It’s more fun if you come here. You get to be a tourist,” she said, with that breezy logic she always used to disarm you. “I already know Austin. That’s not so exciting.”

You snorted, more out of habit than disagreement. She wasn’t wrong. Emma rarely was.

The rest of the evening passed in near silence, broken only by the low murmur of the television. Another episode of Friends, then one of The Nanny.

At some point, Emma shifted closer, resting her head on your shoulder. Her breathing slowed, deepened, a steady rise and fall that seemed to sync with your own. She didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. There was something about her presence, her weight against you, that felt like a reminder—you were understood here, even when you didn’t have the words to explain yourself. She wasn't just your best friend, she was your sister.

The sharp blare of a car horn shattered the calm. You flinched, your body instinctively tensing, the warm cocoon of the moment dissolving in an instant. Emma didn’t stir much, her eyes still closed, her arm still draped over yours. You nudged her gently, tapping her arm until she groaned softly and sat up, squinting against the glow of the TV.

“I think he’s here,�� you said.

Emma stretched in one graceful motion, her arms arching overhead before she bent down to grab the bright lavender Crocs she kept by the bed.

“Come on, I’ll walk you out,” she said, her tone casual, but there was a softness to it, an unspoken understanding that made the impending goodbye feel heavier.

Outside, the heat clung to you immediately, the air thick and sticky, humming with the faint buzz of cicadas. Your gaze landed on the car parked in front of Emma’s house, and something in you tensed. It wasn’t Santi’s car, of course, and it wasn’t Santi standing there waiting.

Frankie was leaning against the hood, arms crossed, his whole posture radiating impatience. He looked as though he’d been sculpted there, his bored expression so exaggerated it almost felt theatrical. The heat shimmered in waves around him, but he didn’t seem to notice—or care. He wore a rumpled gray shirt that looked like it hadn’t been ironed in weeks and a pair of dark sunglasses, their reflective lenses hiding whatever was going on behind them. The cap was familiar, too; plain, worn, the same style you’d seen him wear before, though this time in a faded gray that matched his shirt.

For a fleeting, irrational moment, you thought maybe this was all a mistake. That Santi might suddenly appear, stepping out from behind the car or walking up the driveway with that easy laugh of his, telling you it had all been a joke. But the driveway remained empty, and Frankie, noticing you, straightened up.

He started walking toward you as if he were pacing himself for an obligation he didn’t particularly want to fulfill. His movements had the casual indifference of someone who would rather be anywhere else, but was too resigned to argue. What a dick.

“Where’s Santi?” you asked as you approached, the question coming out sharper than you’d intended.

Frankie didn’t answer immediately. He simply closed the distance between you with unhurried steps. Then, without a word, he grabbed the suitcase from your hand. The gesture caught you off guard—not because he took it, but because of how mechanical it felt. He didn’t look at you, didn’t acknowledge you in any meaningful way. It was as though you were just an extension of the bag he was moving, an obstacle to be dealt with as quickly as possible.

“He couldn’t make it,” he said at last, his voice flat, almost dismissive.

He hauled the suitcase toward the trunk and tossed it in with a thud that seemed louder than it should’ve been. The sound echoed briefly, underscoring his lack of finesse. He slammed the trunk shut with a single decisive motion and turned back toward the driver’s seat, his body language broadcasting that he considered the interaction over.

“But he didn’t tell me anything about it.”

Frankie paused, his hand on the car door.

“It was a last-minute thing.” 

Before you could respond—before you could even begin to untangle your frustration into something coherent—he opened the door, slid into the driver’s seat, and pulled it shut behind him with a force that made the air shudder.

You turned back toward the house. Emma was watching from the porch, her arms crossed loosely over her chest. Her expression hovered somewhere between curiosity and bewilderment, her head tilting slightly as you approached.

She hugged you tightly, holding on a beat longer than usual. When you pulled away, her eyes searched yours.

“I’ll call you when I get there,” you said, though you weren’t sure what the call would entail—whether you’d laugh about all this, or vent.

Her lips twitched into a faint smile.

“I love you so so much,” you added. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“I always do. I love you too. Take care and call me as soon as you can."

She stepped back as you turned toward the car, your feet dragging slightly with each step.

Now, an hour and a half later, the car sped steadily toward Austin, the scenery blurring into a series of indistinct shapes. Frankie hadn’t said a word since you’d left Emma’s house, and the silence had settled in the car like a heavy fog, pressing down on you with every passing mile.

You’d considered speaking—several times, in fact—but every potential conversation starter you thought of seemed pointless.

What was there to say to him? You barely knew each other, and what little you did know felt more like a series of grudges than shared history. The only things you had in common were your mutual love for Santi and, apparently, your mutual irritation with each other. Neither felt like enough to bridge the yawning gap between you.

You stared out the window, the dry, flat landscape sliding by in endless monotony, like a movie stripped of plot and color. Pale beige fields stretched into the horizon, broken only by the occasional cluster of power lines. The sameness of it all seemed to lull the world into a kind of dull, static hum.  

The only relief came from the music spilling softly from the car’s speakers. The sound was tethered to Frankie’s phone, resting in the cupholder beside him, the screen glowing faintly every so often with an incoming notification he didn’t bother to check. A Fleetwood Mac song began again, its familiar opening chords filling the silence for the third time since you’d left.  

You shifted in your seat, glancing at him from the corner of your eye before turning your attention back to the road ahead.

“Do you like this song?” 

“I think so.”

“It’s played three times already.”

“It’s a good song,” he said softly, his voice low enough to be mistaken for an afterthought. 

You turned back to the window.

He hadn’t said it to be defensive—just matter-of-fact, like the song itself was reason enough. You folded your arms across your chest, the seatbelt digging slightly into your side.  

Then, your mind wandered back to Santi, to the message that had upended your day. What had he been thinking? Of all his friends, why send Frankie?

The question rolled over in your head, each repetition more insistent than the last. Was it an oversight? A logistical decision made in haste, without considering how you’d feel about it? Or was it intentional?

That idea sat uneasily with you, gnawing at the edge of your thoughts. He knew how strange things felt between you and Frankie. Hell, everyone knew. They’d all been there, witnessed it firsthand—the arguments, the uncomfortable silences, the way your personalities seemed to clash as naturally as oil and water.  

The possibility that Santi might’ve chosen Frankie on purpose—maybe even as some misguided attempt to force you into tolerating each other—bothered you more than you wanted to admit.

You shifted again, suddenly restless, as the car hummed along the empty stretch of highway, the silence between you growing heavier despite the steady background of Fleetwood Mac.

Over the last few years, Frankie had been a fixture in your life, the way someone else’s shadow might be—not yours, but unavoidable. Being your brother’s best friend meant your paths crossed often enough, though you both seemed to approach these encounters with mutual disdain. You didn’t like him, and he didn’t bother pretending to like you. Disgust was the word that came to mind when you thought about how he looked at you. Not exaggerated or theatrical, just a cool, unflinching disgust, as though he found something about you fundamentally wrong. 

The last time you’d spoken more than a handful of clipped, perfunctory words to each other was in Santi’s kitchen a few years ago. That was the breaking point. The fight. It wasn’t dramatic, not really—no yelling, no slammed doors—but it was the kind of exchange that changed things irreversibly. After that, you decided you didn’t want to think about him, let alone look at him, ever again.

And that was the end of it. You stopped trying to explain. You'd come to accept that to Santi, Frankie was probably nothing like how you saw him. You weren't sure what it was about him that rubbed you the wrong way, but you knew that with your brother, Frankie surely couldn't be as unpleasant as he was with you. 

So, you ignored him. Every time you saw him, you made sure your gaze passed over him like he was just another fixture in the room. And he did the same. It was as though you were two people occupying the same space, but never truly sharing it.

Why on earth, then, had he agreed to come and pick you up?

Finally, he broke the silence.

“We'll stop for lunch.” His gaze flickered to you for a brief second, enough to make sure you had heard, before returning to the road. “I haven’t eaten anything all day. Do you mind?”

You were starting to feel the pangs of hunger yourself, but you didn’t let that soften your response. You couldn’t. 

“No.”

Frankie nodded. He turned his attention back to the road.

His calmness was maddening. 

Fifteen minutes later, the engine turned off  and you looked over at the driver's side, half-expecting Frankie to say something—anything—but he was already in motion.

Before you could open your mouth, the door swung open, and he was out of the car, his body moving with an urgency that seemed to come from some invisible force, as though he were escaping the confines of the vehicle. For a moment, the empty passenger seat seemed to expand, making the car feel smaller, quieter. 

You stayed there a second longer, watching as Frankie made his way across the parking lot. His steps were steady, almost too casual, as if walking away from you might somehow erase you from the moment entirely.

He didn’t look back, didn’t pause to see if you were following. And honestly, you weren’t in any rush to do so. There was no reason to catch up with him. He clearly didn’t want you there, and you didn’t want to be near him either. This trip wasn’t about you; it was about doing your brother a favor.

The parking lot was modest, just enough space for the few cars scattered about. It wasn’t anything remarkable, just a typical lot for a small, unassuming restaurant. The faded lines barely marked the spots, and you counted five cars parked across the patch of asphalt. The windows of the restaurant were perfectly clean, and you could see people inside. A couple of families were chatting animatedly at their tables, and a few solitary diners were hunched over their food, their focus far from the simple meal in front of them.

With a sigh, you walked toward the entrance. Above the door, the sign Jimmy’s buzzed softly in red neon, its glow a little too bright for the evening light. Next to it, a yellow arrow with tiny, flickering bulbs pointed inside, inviting anyone who passed by to come in. "Eat here!"

You pushed open the door, the bell chiming brightly above your head as you stepped inside. The rush of cool air from the air conditioning met you instantly, a welcome contrast to the heat that still clung to your skin from the car. The coolness was almost too sharp, sending a slight shiver down your spine as you paused just inside the doorway.

Your eyes took a moment to adjust to the softer light inside. The diner was small, but it had a cozy, familiar feel, with colorful walls and a few tables scattered around. The noise inside was a comfortable hum, punctuated by the occasional clink of silverware, low conversation and the music in the background.

It didn’t take long to spot him. Frankie was seated at the bar, absorbed in the menu in front of him. His posture was casual, but there was something about the way he held himself, his shoulders slightly hunched, that made it feel like he was a little too withdrawn.

You walked toward him slowly, the sound of your footsteps softened by the tiles beneath you. And you were just about to sit next to him when he looked up, his gaze meeting yours briefly before returning to the menu.

His voice was flat, almost bored as he spoke.

“Go find a table.”

You frowned, taking the menu from his hand without a word.

His gaze didn’t follow you as he stood up, stretching slightly as he rose from the bar stool. There was something about his movements that made you feel like you weren’t really a part of whatever was going on.

His shirt clung slightly to his back from the heat of the car, the evidence of sweat still visible on his skin, and you couldn't help but notice the fine hairs on his arms standing on end, a subtle sign of the sharp contrast between the stifling heat outside and the chill of the air-conditioned room.

“I’m goin' to the bathroom. Be back in a sec,” he added casually before disappearing down the narrow hallway to the right.

No expectation of a response. No glance to see if you were still standing there, just a simple statement. Okay. He was gone before you could offer anything in reply.

You were left standing there, the laminated menu in your hands, a slight weariness creeping in.

With a sigh, you turned on your heels and began scanning the room for a table. There was still at least an hour and a half of travel left, plus however long you'd spend eating.

Why hadn’t Santi given you a heads-up? You could’ve taken the bus or the train, something that didn’t involve sitting in a car with anyone but him. But no, that wasn’t even an option, apparently. 

You spotted an empty table near the back, next to the window, and as you walked toward it, the decor around you caught your eye.

The place had a playful, nostalgic vibe. Framed posters of Grease, Fame, Footloose, and Saturday Night Fever hung on the walls. It was all very upbeat, almost theatrical, like a movie set. The tables were red and white, and a jukebox stood in the corner.

Suddenly, a voice cut through the quiet murmur of the restaurant, and your name echoed in the air.

You froze, the sound ricocheting in your chest, followed by a rush of emotions you didn’t want to acknowledge, let alone feel.

Slowly, you turned to face him, every step feeling like it took an eternity.

“Harry,” you said, the name falling from your lips like it belonged to someone else. Your lips tightened, a familiar mask of politeness slipping over your expression, one you wished you didn’t have to wear. “What... what are you doing here?”

His smile was instant and disarming, his surprise clear, and his happiness so genuine it made your chest tighten.

The last time you saw him, three months ago, it felt like a lifetime ago—a goodbye steeped in heartbreak. You’d clung to him, tears soaking his crisp white shirt as he whispered reassurances: “It’s okay. You’ll be okay. I care about you.” But the words he didn’t say cut deeper: he cared for you, but he loved her.  

It had been a casual fling, no strings attached—or so you told yourself. Then came the day he confessed: he was in love with Lisa, a friend you’d never met. They were getting married. His words felt like a gut punch, but his excitement betrayed him. He was happy. You weren’t.  

You tried to be strong, to tell him you were fine, even as you broke down. Because you loved him, and you couldn’t bear the thought of him with her.  

And now, here he was, smiling like nothing had happened, curiosity in his eyes—oblivious to the wreckage he’d left behind.  

In front of him, Lisa was sitting with a big bright smile.

You’d seen her face before, her perfectly curated Instagram photos, her flawless smile that could have been lifted straight from a movie. But in person? She was even more striking, the kind of beauty that didn’t need filters or captions. The kind of beauty that made everything around her seem insignificant, that made you feel small just standing next to her. Her presence was magnetic, the sort of thing that pulled your gaze despite every instinct telling you to look away.

Suddenly, the air conditioning hit you like a blast of cold, sharp enough to make you flinch. But then again, maybe it wasn’t the air conditioning. Maybe it was just your body freezing in place, rigid with surprise and something much harder to define.

“What are you doing around here?” he asked, pulling you back from the tangle of thoughts you were trying so hard to keep at bay.

You blinked, trying to center yourself, but it was like you had forgotten how to breathe properly.

“We’re... I’m just passing through, heading back to Austin,” you said, your voice sounding too steady, too rehearsed, even to your own ears. “I went to visit Emma.”

“Ah, Emma. How is she? Is she still in Dallas?”

“Yep.”

The silence hung between you, thick and uncomfortable. You could feel it stretching, wrapping itself around your words, making them heavier than they needed to be.

Finally, you exhaled, the air coming out in a slow, resigned sigh.

“What about you guys? What are you doing around here?”

You didn’t really want to know, not at all.

“Lisa’s grandparents live in Waco,” Harry said with that wide smile of his, the one that always made you feel like you were watching the world tilt on its axis. “We went to take the invitation to them personally and I met the rest of the family while we were at it.”

You didn’t smile. You couldn’t.

“Right, right. How cool. You must be so excited—a summer wedding, then?”

You’d known for weeks—September 13th. The invitation, with its sparkling gold lettering, had made your stomach churn. You buried it under junk mail, unable to face seeing him so happy, so certain of what he had.

But you couldn’t say that, could you? You couldn’t tell him that the mere thought of them together, of their future, felt like a knife to your chest. So you forced a smile, a tight, lifeless thing, and let the conversation carry on.

"That's right," Harry said, laughing as his gaze flickered to Lisa, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Even though we wanted to enjoy the early days of fall, Lisa wanted to get married around summer, mostly because of her parents. They got married during summer too."

Lisa laughed softly, the sound like a note held too long, then spoke:

"It's not just that," she said, her hand resting lightly on Harry's. You found yourself looking away. "Everything looks more beautiful during this season, doesn't it? Even the days last longer."

Her voice was thick with something you couldn't quite place—familiarity, maybe. Or maybe it was love.

Harry’s eyes shifted to you, seeking something. Approval, maybe. He didn’t say it, but it was clear. His look said: Don’t disagree.

"That's true. Summer is beautiful," you replied, feeling the words slip out too easily, forced through your teeth.

"We look forward to seeing you there," Harry said. "We haven't received your confirmation—you’re going, aren't you?"

How could he ask that, not see how unnatural this felt? But Harry wasn’t cruel, just unaware. You’d never told him you loved him, never made your feelings clear. To him, this was normal. He thought you’d be fine.

“I... um—” 

“Don’t worry about going alone,” he said. "You always meet people at weddings."

Heat flooded your face, burning like a slap. The words stung, but his obliviousness made it worse. You wished the ground would swallow you whole, or anything to escape.

Instead, you laughed.

"Ah, no, that’s not it," you lied. "That's covered."

“Oh, is it?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow, his interest piqued. He leaned forward, a relieved smile crossing his face.

"Sure," you said, forcing a confidence into your tone that you didn’t feel. "I’ll... I’ll go with my boyfriend."

Harry's eyes widened a little, and then the smile appeared again—this one more genuine, more curious. He tapped the table, an excited gesture that made your stomach twist.

“You don’t say?” he said, his voice rising in pitch. “And who’s the lucky guy?”

You wanted to crumble. You wanted to say nothing.

As if by some celestial miracle, you saw Frankie emerge from the hallway, his attention absorbed by the screen of his phone, scrolling, unaware of anything around him. His timing was perfect, and relief washed over you, as if fate had sent him. He wasn’t supposed to be here, yet there he was—a lifeline in the chaos.  

For a moment, he seemed to glow, his familiar, worn cap catching the harsh lights like a crown. You’d never been so glad to see someone. Then his eyes met yours, and his expression shifted—confusion flickering as he took in your frantic stance, the mess of emotions written on your face.  

Before you could stop it, before you could make any sense of what was happening, a smile stretched across your face—too wide, too fast, like a reflex you hadn’t been prepared for. It was probably a little too sharp to be anything but forced, but you couldn’t help it. You couldn’t help anything.

"Frankie," you said, the words tumbling out with more enthusiasm than you intended. "This is Frankie... Frankie, my boyfriend.”

You weren’t sure what you were doing, but it didn’t matter—you needed to make something clear.

Frankie tensed beside you, glancing your way, trying to read the situation. His eyes met yours, and you silently begged him: Help. Please.

For a moment, he studied you, his gaze flicking between you and the couple. Then, as if something clicked, his expression shifted to understanding. He realized what he had to do and adjusted instantly.

"Right," he finally said. "I’m Frankie."

Harry extended his hand with a practiced smile, warm but a touch too bright. Frankie hesitated, his gaze shifting from Harry’s hand to your face, brow slightly furrowed as he tried to assess the situation—or his role in it.  

You stepped closer, tapping his waist lightly, a subtle signal to act. He blinked, refocusing, and finally took Harry’s hand. But in his eyes, there was a flicker of discomfort, one only you noticed.

“Frankie,” Harry said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, I'm Harry.” Then, he nodded enthusiastically, dropping his hand back to the table. “And this is Lisa."

Lisa smiled, her gaze bright and almost blinding.

“Nice to meet ya, Frankie,” she said, her voice the epitome of warmth, her charm effortless, her presence just... perfect. Oh my God, just stop it!

Frankie finally turned his attention back to you, though it wasn’t immediately clear if he was still processing the social niceties or deciding how best to carry this conversation forward.

His voice shifted slightly as he spoke again.

“Same here,” he said, his tone unfamiliar to you.

He moved closer, just a bit too close, slipping his arm around your waist with ease, sending a flutter through your stomach. His hand rested lightly against your side, his palm warm at your back. You froze, unable to focus on anything but the pulse of his touch, the way he effortlessly played the boyfriend role.

It felt wrong, uncomfortable.

Confusion and relief mixed inside you, unsure if the relief came from the act itself or the distraction it provided from the situation.

"Well," Frankie broke the silence. "Sorry to interrupt, but we need to leave soon. I want to make sure this beautiful woman gets some food before we go—otherwise, she goes bad."

You blinked, momentarily taken aback.

Harry chuckled. “Yeah, I believe you. That’s the main reason we stopped. Though I’ll admit,” he added, glancing down at the table with a mock grimace, “I was the one really starving.”

The awkwardness of the moment barely registered for Harry. He seemed to think everything was going smoothly, unaware of the small cracks in the facade that were threatening to show. Frankie, however, was more aware than anyone, and you could see it in his eyes.

Frankie gave a short, almost amused laugh, pulling his arm back from your waist with a light tap.

“Yeah, I’m sure you can relate,” he said. “Keeping your lady happy, that's what it's all about, isn't it?” 

You tried to smile, but it came out thin, tight. Your legs became weak. 

Harry’s laugh was light. He buyed it.

Frankie straightened up slightly, offering his hand to Harry in that careful way that now seemed practiced, even though it hadn’t been moments ago. The way he was acting felt like an entirely unfamiliar version of him. Thank God.

“Okay, thanks for the chat, but we bett—” 

"Yeah, of course," Harry interrupted, still upbeat and completely oblivious to the tension. "It was nice meeting you, Frankie. Take care of her, alright? She's... well, you know. A special one."

Frankie’s smile stiffened, the edges barely moving as he gave a short nod. His eyes flicked to you for a fleeting second.

"I will," he replied. "I’ve got her covered. Don’t worry. She’s in good hands."

“Bye, Harry,” you said, turning to him with a friendly but somewhat distant smile, your hand lifting in a wave. “And you too, Lisa. Good luck with the wedding!”

Lisa smiled warmly. “Thank you,” she replied, her voice smooth. “Let us know if you're coming."

“Yeah. Hope to see you at the wedding. You too, Frankie,” Harry said, just before you thought about starting to walk to the table at the back of the place.

Frankie looked confused, and looked at you for an answer, or for you to say something.

"Sure," you said, taking him by the arm, ready to leave. "We'll definitely be there!"

You moved in silence toward the booth, Frankie's hand resting at the small of your back, guiding you like an automatic reflex.

The low hum of conversation in the restaurant seemed to fade as you both reached the table, and you were strangely relieved that the high backs of the seats shielded you from Harry’s view. 

He dropped into the seat across from you, his presence as loud and brash as ever.

When you looked at him, it struck you how quickly he'd reverted to the expression he always wore around you: furrowed brows, lips pressed into a thin, almost unnatural line. It wasn’t clear if it was annoyance, confusion, or just him being him.

“I’m so hungry,” you said, flipping through the laminated menu. “I really want a burger, and some fries.”

He didn’t reply immediately, his stare heavy on you. Then:

“What the fuck was that?”

You sighed, closing the menu and flattening your hands on the table as if bracing yourself. His face was a familiar mix of wide eyes, creased forehead, and that particular grimace that always made you feel like you’d said something wrong.

You shrugged. “My ex.”

“Okay? And?”

“And that’s it. Nothing else.”

Frankie leaned back with a dramatic exhale, the leather of the booth creaking under him. He shook his head in disbelief, his jaw tightening.

“Since when am I your boyfriend? Last time I checked, I was doing your brother a favor.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you said quickly, cheeks warming. You picked up the menu again, trying to will your face back to neutrality. “Thanks for playing along, anyway.”

He sighed. You glanced up, and sure enough, he was staring at you, his fingers drumming a steady rhythm on the table. Not impatient, exactly. Calculated.

“You’re not going to tell me what the fuck that was?”

You ignored him, letting the embarrassment swirl hot in your stomach as you fixed your eyes on the menu. Burgers. Burgers. Burgers. Burgers. Fries. Onion rings, maybe.

“Hey,” he said sharply, snapping his fingers in front of your face.

You blinked, snapping your head up to look at him.

“Oh, are you talking to me?”

Frankie gave you a look so exaggerated you almost laughed, except you knew he wasn’t joking.

“Who else would I be talking to? You think I’m out here monologuing? Who are you, fucking De Niro?”

“Hey!” you snapped, slamming the menu down on the table. The sound echoed between you, a sharp punctuation that sent a ripple of air across his forehead, lifting the dark strands just slightly. “Don’t talk to me like that, Francisco. Who do you think you’re talking to? We’re not friends.”

He snorted, the sound sharp but oddly soft at the same time, pulling off his cap and placing it on the seat beside him.

With a low groan, he ran a hand through his hair, fingers catching briefly in the strands. His gaze found yours again, his posture seemingly relaxed but betraying a subtle tension. You could see it in the way his shoulders didn’t quite settle, in the way his eyes didn’t blink as he studied you.

“I know, we’re not friends. But I just lied for you. Why? Who was that? And why are you acting so weird?”

Before you could answer, he straightened in his seat, leaning forward slightly. “No, wait. The real question is: why are you acting weirder than usual?”

You folded your arms, leaning back until you felt the booth press into your shoulders. Your gaze flicked to the front door, the thought of walking out taking root in your mind. Leaving felt easier—safer. Honestly, you’d rather trudge all the way back to Austin on foot, the heat and endless asphalt blistering your skin, than sit here and explain yourself to Frankie. He wouldn’t care. Worse, he might care just enough to make you regret opening your mouth.

When your eyes returned to him, though, his expression surprised you. Serious, yes. But not angry.

You sighed, the sound shaky as it escaped your chest.

“It’s my ex.”

“Yes. Your ex. I got that part. And?”

“And his fiancée.”

“Aha,” he nodded slowly. “Why did you lie to them?”

You swallowed hard, the pulse in your neck thudding too loudly in your ears.

“Because...” Your voice wavered, and you hated it. “Because... Um, he told me I might meet someone at the wedding.”

Frankie blinked, his confusion shifting into something closer to disbelief.

“What?”

“God,” you muttered, rolling your eyes as heat crept up your neck. Your hands dropped to your thighs, fingers curling into the fabric of your jeans. “We dated for four months, and he broke up with me to get engaged to her. Then he invited me to their wedding. When I said I’d go, he told me not to worry about showing up alone, because I’d probably meet someone there.”

Frankie’s mouth opened slightly, but no words came out, so you pressed on, a flush of anger sparking under your skin.

“So, I panicked,” you admitted, your voice sharpening. “I told him not to worry, that I’d bring my boyfriend. And then you showed up, and it just—it made sense in the moment, okay? That’s it.”

“It made sense to you to say I was your boyfriend?” he asked, his tone incredulous. “You couldn’t have said I was someone else? Made up something better?”

“No, it didn’t occur to me! I panicked, okay? I’m sorry! What was I supposed to do?”

He stared at you for a moment, his face a mix of annoyance and bafflement, before leaning back again. You could see the wheels turning in his head, though whatever he was thinking, he wasn’t about to share it with you.

You sank deeper into your seat, glaring at the table like it might offer some kind of solace. But all you could feel was the mortifying heat of his gaze, still fixed firmly on you.

Frankie scratched his forehead, his fingers dragging slowly down to his chin, where they rested briefly before falling to the table.

“Okay,” he started. “So, you dated this guy for three months—”

“Four months.”

“Right. Four months. And then he left you to get engaged?”

“Yeah.”

Frankie leaned back, his posture deceptively relaxed.

“You’re telling me he cheated on you, and you’re still planning to go to his fucking wedding? Are you out of your mind?”

He propped his chin on his left hand, elbow planted firmly on the table, and his gaze locked onto you. There was something in his expression that made your stomach twist—a combination of pity and incredulity that made you feel stupid.

“No, he didn’t cheat on me,” you replied, lowering your voice as you leaned forward slightly, not wanting anyone else to overhear. “We weren’t in a serious relationship. We were just... casually dating. He was always in love with her, but they couldn’t figure things out. I knew that. He told me.”

Frankie’s eyebrows lifted, his disbelief evident.

“He told you he was in love with another woman, and you still kept dating him?”

“No,” you shot back, frowning. “He told me after a while, around the time we broke up. I would never date someone who was in love with someone else.”

“But you were in love with him, weren’t you?”

There it was. That tone. The one that suggested Frankie thought he had you all figured out, as if your life and feelings were nothing more than a series of obvious moves on a chessboard he could read from across the room. He was so infuriatingly arrogant, so sure of himself.

You narrowed your eyes, but the involuntary twitch of your eyebrows betrayed you.

“I had feelings for him,” you admitted.

Frankie tilted his head slightly, his lips quirking into a half-smile that made you want to smack him.

“Okay, let me make sure I’ve got this straight: this guy you casually dated for four months left you for another woman, got engaged, invited you to the wedding, and you, still hung up on him, agreed to go but invented an imaginary boyfriend so you wouldn’t have to show up alone. That about right?”

“I’m not in love with him,” you snapped, crossing your arms defensively and shaking your head.

“I don’t believe you."

“I don’t care what you believe."

“You want to know what I think?”

“Are you deaf? I just told you I don’t care.”

“I think you’re crazy for going to that wedding. Do you want to torture yourself or something? Are you a masochist?”

The word slipped out like a dagger, his eyes narrowing as he studied your reaction, his face drawing closer, his voice almost a whisper.

You exhaled sharply, a mix of frustration and disbelief, biting your lower lip as you turned to look out the window. The distant hum of cars on the road outside felt like the only thing grounding you in the moment.

When you looked back at him, your voice was steadier, quieter.

“We’re friends. Things between us ended well. Why wouldn’t I go to his wedding?”

“So he broke your heart, and you’re still going to his wedding. Got it.” Frankie leaned back slightly as he said it.

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, anger mixing with a deep, familiar embarrassment.

“Why the fuck do you care anyway? I already told you everything. Make fun of me all you want, but stop interrogating me and leave me alone.”

Frankie’s eyebrows lifted and a slow, sarcastic smile spread across his face.

“You got me involved in this, remember?”

“It was just a little lie, that’s all.”

He let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head.

“Well, you didn’t think it through,” he said flatly, reaching across the table to grab the menu you’d abandoned. He straightened it out in front of him, his fingers smoothing the creases, and his eyes scanned the options with an air of exaggerated focus.

For a moment, you thought he might actually drop it. But of course, he didn’t.

“I wonder what he’ll think,” Frankie said suddenly, “when he sees you show up to the wedding alone.” His eyes stayed on the menu. “You should’ve come up with something else. Be more witty next time. Or, I don’t know, just don’t go to the wedding. That works too.”

Oh.

Your stomach churned at the thought, the weight of it pressing down on you as your mind raced through the possibilities.

He was right, of course. What were you going to do? There was no way you could actually show up to the wedding now. You’d have to turn down the invitation at the last minute, make up some absurd excuse about why you couldn’t make it. Or maybe you wouldn’t say anything at all. Harry didn’t deserve an explanation. He wasn’t entitled to one.

The silence stretched between you. You didn’t answer him. What could you say? You felt silly, even ridiculous, sitting there, replaying the moment over and over in your mind.

Of all the places in the world, did you really have to run into Harry here, in the middle of the road, with Frankie of all people?

None of this would’ve happened if Santiago had come to pick you up like he was supposed to. If he’d warned you he couldn’t make it, you would’ve saved yourself the humiliation. You wouldn’t have had to deal with Frankie’s smirking face or his infuriating commentary.

You stared at the table, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of it. God, why did everything have to turn into a mess? Why couldn’t things just go smoothly for once?

Frankie didn’t seem to notice—or care—that you hadn’t responded. He flipped a page of the menu, his expression unreadable now, as if he’d already moved on.

With your appetite nearly nonexistent, you ordered a burger. It sat heavy in front of you, unappealing and far too big. You nibbled at it slowly, methodically, as if chewing it down might somehow help you swallow the rest of your humiliation.

Across the table, Frankie made quick work of his own meal. He ate like someone who hadn’t seen food in days, the kind of eating that could make anyone watching feel small.

When he finished—barely ten minutes in—he leaned back in his chair and fixed you with a look. Not an outright stare, but enough of one that you could feel the weight of his impatience.

You didn’t care.

Instead, you turned your attention to the fries on your plate. Picking up each one with deliberate slowness, you savored them, your gaze drifting toward the window.

Outside, the road stretched on endlessly, shimmering in the summer heat. Frankie sighed, low and exasperated, every few minutes, but to your surprise, he didn’t rush you.

When you finally stood to leave, Harry and Lisa were nowhere to be seen. Relief swept over you like cool water. If you’d had to exchange goodbyes with them, you were sure you’d lose every bite of food you’d managed to stomach.

You followed Frankie out to the car. And once inside, the tight, enclosed space of the vehicle made your skin crawl.

You clicked your seatbelt into place, but the snugness of the strap across your chest only added to your discomfort.

For a fleeting moment, you considered bolting. What if you just opened the door and threw yourself onto the hot, sticky asphalt? You’d roll a little, maybe scrape a knee, but at least you wouldn’t be here.

The car started with a low rumble, and Frankie turned up the music without a word. The sound wasn’t loud enough to drown out your thoughts, but it added a layer of noise.

Your gaze shifted to the scenery blurring past the window. You rested your forehead against the cool glass, welcoming the breeze coming in through the lowered window. The air smelled faintly of gasoline and sun-warmed earth.

Frankie drove in silence, his hands steady on the wheel. His thumbs tapped along to the rhythm of the song playing faintly in the background—Rebel Yell by Billy Idol.

You stared at the horizon, but your mind kept circling back to him.

He probably thought this whole situation was hilarious. You could see it in the way his eyebrows had lifted earlier, the way his lips twitched with incredulity every time he asked about Harry. He didn’t need to say it—he thought you were foolish, and maybe you were. You felt it, deep in your chest, that heavy, sinking shame that told you he was right to think so.

What the hell were you going to do?

Not going to the wedding wasn’t an option, not unless you wanted Harry to think you were still upset—or worse, that you still cared. But going? Going alone? That wasn’t an option either. You could bring someone else, maybe. But who?

Harry knew all your friends, and you didn’t have many male ones left who weren’t married, taken, or entirely inappropriate. Your brother’s friends? Sure, because that would work out great. Another one of Santiago’s buddies, strolling in on your arm. You ran through the list in your head. Will? No. Ben? No.

It was hopeless. Every scenario felt more humiliating than the last.

God, you wished you could disappear. Or better yet, transform into something simple and unbothered. A worm, maybe. Worms didn’t have exes. They didn’t have weddings to dread.

You were spiraling, and it must have shown on your face because Frankie spoke up, his voice breaking through your chaotic thoughts.

“We’ll make a stop to fill up the tank, okay?” His tone was casual, distracted, as he turned left into the gas station lot.

“Sure,” you mumbled, barely lifting your head.

The car slowed to a stop, and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. For a moment, the world outside felt steadier than the one inside your head.

You followed Frankie out of the car, your steps slower and more hesitant than his easy stride. The heat pressed down on you, thick and relentless, but he didn’t seem to notice.  

You lingered by the passenger side, arms folded across your chest. Your gaze flitted to the gas station shop, where shelves of snacks and cold drinks promised brief relief from the sweltering air. For a fleeting moment, you considered going inside, maybe grabbing a soda, or even just standing under the blast of an air conditioner. But then you thought about how much longer that would draw out this journey. The idea of extending your time in Frankie’s company, even by a minute, was enough to keep you rooted in place.  

So you waited, watching him in silence. He moved with the kind of efficiency you’d expect from someone used to things like this—mundane tasks, long drives, solitude. He didn’t rush, but he didn’t dawdle either. He glanced at you once as he replaced the nozzle, his expression unreadable, and then he climbed back into the car without a word.  

You followed suit, settling into your seat and pulling the door shut with a soft click.  

The miles ahead stretched out endlessly, yet the closer you got to Austin, the more your thoughts swirled. You cycled through possibilities, none of them good. Each option felt like another layer of embarrassment, a new way to showcase just how deeply you’d tangled yourself in this ridiculous situation.  

Eventually, your mind settled on one solution—a compromise of sorts, though it was far from ideal. You turned it over and over, weighing the risk against your pride. It felt heavy in your chest, but the closer you got to the city, the harder it became to ignore.  

Finally, as the familiar outline of Austin came into view, you forced yourself to speak.  

“Frankie.” You turned to look at him, your hands fidgeting nervously in your lap.  

He didn’t take his eyes off the road. “What?”  

“You know,” you began, cautiously, “Santi loves you a lot. You’re one of his best friends.”  

“I know.” 

“And you must love Santi too, right? I mean, you’d do anything for him.”  

At that, he glanced at you, his brows knitting together in confusion. The kindness in your voice must have thrown him off.

“Of course I love him,” he said slowly. “What do you want?”  

You smiledr, tilting your head. “Why do you think I want something?”

“Because you’re smiling at me like that,” he shot back, returning his focus to the road. “And it’s creepy. Stop it. You’re scaring me.”  

“I just think that it was really nice of you to go all the way to Dallas to pick me up. You didn’t have to, you know. I could’ve taken a bus or figured something out. But you did it anyway. You did me a favor today, and I just—”  

He cut you off with a dry laugh, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. A bead of sweat had formed there, glistening in the harsh afternoon light.

“If you want to call it that.”

“I mean it,” you insisted, leaning slightly toward him. “You didn’t have to do this. You could’ve said no, and I wouldn’t have blamed you. But you didn’t. Why?”  

His grip tightened on the wheel, and he shot you another quick, sidelong glance. His expression was guarded.

“I dunno. Because Santi asked me to. Because I had nothing else to do. Does it matter?”  

You pursed your lips, staring straight ahead as your thoughts spiraled. Why were you nervous? It wasn’t fear—definitely not fear of him. But still, there was something about Frankie that unsettled you, something sharp-edged and unyielding in the way he looked at you, like he could see more than you intended to show.

“I think you should come to the wedding with me,” you blurted, the words tumbling out before you had the chance to second-guess them. As soon as they were out, you snapped your gaze away, focusing intently on a crack in the dashboard as though it held the secrets of the universe.

“What?”

Frankie’s tone wasn’t as surprised as you’d expected—it was more amused, like he thought you’d just said something profoundly ridiculous.

“You should come to the wedding with me,” you repeated, forcing yourself to look at him this time.

He turned his head briefly, his eyes scanning your face, trying to decide whether you were joking or if you’d completely lost your mind. Finally, he clicked his tongue and shook his head.

“No,” he said flatly.

“Frankie.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“What’s the matter with you? Did you hit your head or something? Have you completely lost it?”

“No, just hear me out,” you said, raising a hand in what you hoped was a calming gesture. He shot you a wary glance but didn’t interrupt. “It’ll just be a favor—a small favor. I swear, if you do this for me, I’ll give you whatever you want. Wathever. Um, well—not whatever you want,” you corrected quickly. “Something reasonable. Something human. Please.”

Frankie snorted, a small, incredulous smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re asking me to pretend to be your boyfriend at the wedding of a guy who dumped you? And you’re the sister of one of my best friends?” He shook his head, laughing quietly.

You sighed, the weight of your desperation pressing down on you.

“Santi will understand. He will. And it’s not like I’m asking for much—just come with me for a little while. We don’t even have to stay all night. Just long enough to…” You trailed off, realizing how pathetic you sounded. “Just long enough to make it believable.”

“Sorry, no,” Frankie said firmly, cutting you off. “I’m not getting dragged into your drama. And honestly? I think it’s stupid for you to go to that wedding in the first place. What are you trying to prove? My answer is no. Invite someone else.”

Frustration burned in your chest, rising up to your cheeks as his words landed. You could feel your face heating, both from embarrassment and anger.

“I can’t invite someone else. You’re my boyfriend, remember? That’s what Harry thinks. He saw you. They saw you. And you did a pretty good job pretending to be nice to me today—can’t you do it one more time? Just this once?”

“No—”

“I’ll do anything you want. I mean it. Any favor you can think of. Just name it.”

Frankie tilted his head, giving you a skeptical look.

“I’m not interested in any favors from you,” he said bluntly. “I don’t need anything.”

“Then do it for Santi,” you said, desperate now.

Frankie laughed at that, a low, disbelieving sound that only irritated you further.

“What does your brother have to do with any of this?”

“He’s your best friend,” you said, leaning toward him slightly, like you could will him to understand. “And you love him. And I’m his sister.”

“Uh-huh,” Frankie said, still smirking. “So?”

“So, doesn’t that mean you should help me?”

Frankie’s laugh grew louder, his shoulders shaking slightly as he glanced at you.

“You’re really reaching now, aren’t you?”

He turned to look at you then, his eyes narrowing slightly as they met yours. There was no malice there, but the firm set of his jaw told you all you needed to know—there was no convincing him. He understood the weight of your request, the quiet urgency stitched into each word, but it didn’t sway him.

“I’ve never asked you for help before,” you said, your voice softer now, almost brittle. “In fact, I’ve refused your help plenty of times. You said I was childish, remember? Well, fine. Maybe I’m being childish. But now I’m asking. Just this once.”

He shook his head slowly.

“It’s not the same thing. And you are being childish. Like I told you—no. The answer’s fucking no.”

You blinked hard, swallowing against the sting of rejection that settled heavy in your throat.

“Okay, fine,” you replied, the word clipped, your voice devoid of emotion. You turned your face away from him, angling it toward the window, not wanting him to see the look on your face—humiliation, maybe, or something closer to defeat. “Thank you.”

Frankie sighed, long and low, his hands flexing around the steering wheel as though he were squeezing the last ounce of patience from himself.

The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the low hum of the car and the faint thrum of your pulse in your ears.

The rest of the drive passed without a single word exchanged. You stared out the window while Frankie focused intently on the road, his grip on the wheel tight and unyielding.

When the car finally pulled up in front of your house, the relief that washed over you was immediate and overwhelming.

You reached for the door handle, your fingers trembling slightly, and stepped out into the humid air.

Frankie followed, moving around to the back of the car with the same mechanical precision he’d had all day. He popped the trunk and pulled out your suitcase, the effort seemingly as uninspired as when he’d loaded it hours ago.

He carried it to the door and set it down, his movements brisk, almost dismissive. You stood there, arms crossed, your body angled away from him, unwilling to meet his gaze.

“That’ll be all,” he said finally, his tone flat, his sunglasses obscuring his eyes on your face.

“Thank you,” you murmured, barely audible. “I’ll let Santi know I’m home.”

“Good.”

You didn’t look up as he turned back toward the car. You didn’t watch him leave, but you heard the sound of his door slamming shut, the low rumble of the engine as he drove off.

As the noise of his departure faded into the distance, you stayed rooted to the spot for a moment longer, the weight of the day pressing heavy on your shoulders. The heat prickled against your skin, and your head ached faintly, a dull reminder of how much you wanted this day to end.

You grabbed the handle of your suitcase, pulling it inside as the silence of the house enveloped you. You needed a shower—cold water to wash away the heat, the frustration, the embarrassment of it all. You needed to be alone, to let the day dissolve into nothingness behind a locked door.

Nearly two weeks slipped by, lost in the haze of your routines and the background hum of self-destructive thoughts.

What were you going to do? Probably nothing.

You wouldn’t go. That was the easiest answer, and maybe the only one that made sense. What choice did you really have?

Still, Frankie’s words stuck in your head, gnawing at the edges of your resolve. What are you trying to prove? he’d asked. And after a few restless nights, staring at the ceiling and replaying the conversation, you realized he was right. You did want to prove something—to Harry, to yourself. You wanted him to see you happy, radiantly happy, at his wedding, as though it didn’t touch you at all. You wanted to seem light and unbothered, the kind of woman who could be at her ex’s wedding without flinching.

Except you did care. Of course, you cared. You hated that you cared. And you hated Harry for putting you in this position.

How could you not be upset? The man had left you only a few months ago, and now he was marrying someone else. It wasn’t normal—none of it was. But you couldn’t shake the question gnawing at the back of your mind: why did you have to be the one left hurt?

And Frankie. You’d hated the way he’d looked at you when he said it; What are you trying to prove? What the hell were you trying to prove? like he couldn’t believe how foolish you were. If you hadn’t wanted to see him before, you definitely didn’t want to now. You resolved to talk to Santi, to tell him how uncomfortable the trip had been—without blaming Frankie, exactly—and to ask, kindly but firmly, that he warn you if Frankie would be around in the future.

It was humiliating, this whole situation. But you were sure about one thing: you never wanted to see Francisco Morales again.

The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving your kitchen in soft shadows as you stirred sugar into your coffee. Your gaze stayed fixed on your laptop, on Harry’s wedding invitation glowing on the screen. You’d read it so many times it felt permanently etched into your mind. But now, you’d decided. You weren’t going.

Your finger hovered over the trackpad, guiding the cursor to the “RSVP not attending” option. You paused, just for a second, your chest tightening. Then, before you could click, the doorbell rang, sharp and sudden, making you flinch.

Setting the mug down, you crossed to the window, peering out at the sidewalk. The sight below made your brows knit together.

That couldn’t be right. Surely, you were imagining things.

You slipped on a pair of shoes and headed downstairs, opening the door without much thought.

“Francisco,” you said flatly, his name sitting awkwardly on your tongue. “What are you doing here? Did something happen with Santi?”

He dragged a hand over his mouth and shook his head.

“Can we talk?”

“About what?”

He looked different somehow. Neater, you thought, though you hated yourself for noticing. His hair was slightly shorter, his beard more trimmed than usual.

He sighed, long and heavy, like he’d been forced into something he didn’t want to do. The sound made you laugh, a sharp, derisive snort. As if he had the right to be irritated. He’d shown up unannounced, at night, on your doorstep. If anyone should feel fed up, it was you.

“I’m going to help you,” he said finally.

“With what?”

“With your ex.”

“What?” The confusion on your face deepened. “Harry?”

Frankie glanced to the side, as if checking for onlookers, before returning his gaze to you and nodding.

“Are there other exes you need help with?”

His question was thick with sarcasm, and you rolled your eyes in response.  

“Well, I don’t need your help anymore. But thanks,” you said quickly, your voice tight, as you began to push the door shut, inch by inch.  

Then his hand was on it, stopping you.  

“Wait,” he said, and this time his voice was different—tinged with something almost like desperation. “I’m serious.”  

You paused, narrowing your eyes at him through the gap.

“Why would you help me? You were very clear the other day. There’s no point in me going to the wedding.”  

“True, there’s no point,” he said, his gaze steady on yours. “But I know you well enough to know you’d love to go anyway. To show Harry how great you’re doing. Am I wrong?”  

“You’re wrong,” you shot back instantly, too quickly.  

Frankie sighed, the sound dragging out like he was trying to buy himself time. He glanced away for a second, then back at you, his expression suddenly resolute.  

“I’ll do whatever you want,” he said.  

You blinked at him, stunned into silence for a moment.

Then, with a raised brow, you asked, “Are you sick? Do you have a fever, Francisco?”

You brought your hand up toward his forehead, but he flinched back dramatically before you could touch him.  

“What are you up to?” you asked, pulling the door open wider, suspicion laced in your tone.  

“May I come in?” he asked finally, his brown eyes soft and glinting, almost boyish.  

You hesitated, studying him for a few beats, letting the curiosity outweigh your disdain. Then you stepped back and opened the door fully, sealing the moment with the soft click of the latch behind him.  

Frankie climbed the stairs ahead of you, pausing at the top to wait as you opened the door to your apartment. He stepped inside, scanning the space.  

Your living room was warm, cozy but cluttered—books and mugs scattered across the coffee table and nearly every other available surface, interspersed with pens, pencils, and random odds and ends. Behind the sofa, the kitchen was visible, small but functional.  

You stood back, watching him take it all in. His expression was unreadable, but you imagined him silently judging the chaos. You almost wanted him to—let him think it was messy, or that your style was lacking. You didn’t care.

He didn’t belong there, in your space. Everything about him seemed incongruous with the world you’d built for yourself—his presence like a mismatched puzzle piece, forcibly shoved into place where it clearly didn’t fit. He was out of tune with your reality, standing in the warmth of your living room like he’d wandered in from an entirely different life.

You crossed to the kitchen island, where your half-drunk coffee sat waiting. Sliding onto the stool, you gestured at the one across from you.

“Have a seat.”

Frankie hesitated but eventually sat down, his movements stiff and reluctant, like he’d rather be anywhere else. His expression was tight, uncomfortable, like a vampire catching the faintest whiff of garlic in the air. His eyes landed immediately on your laptop, still glowing with Harry’s wedding invitation.

“I see you’re taking the wedding well,” he said.

You sighed audibly, refusing to take the bait.

“What do you want?”

As you waited for him to answer, you lifted your coffee to your lips. It had already cooled, the bitterness more pronounced now that it was lukewarm.

Another thing he ruined for you, you thought bitterly. Your fucking coffee. 

“I’ve been thinking—”

“Congratulations,” you cut in, deadpan.

Frankie’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, dark and unamused. He didn’t even blink, just stared at you like he was waiting for you to get it out of your system.

You shrugged, feigning indifference, though the weight of his gaze made your skin prickle.

“I’ve decided I’m going to the wedding with you,” he said finally.

You raised an eyebrow, lowering your mug to the counter.

“You decided? I thought you didn’t want to go with me.”

“I don’t,” he said. His fingers brushed the edge of your laptop, tracing a line along it.

“But you’re still here.”

Frankie exhaled slowly, leaning back slightly.

“I’ll help you… if you help me.”

“If I help you? With what? Don’t tell me you’re finally going to therapy,” you blurted out, a half-smile tugging at your lips.

Frankie straightened in his seat, his back stiffening like you’d just landed a verbal jab. For a moment, it looked like he might get up and leave—walk out and never look back. But instead, he stayed. He clenched his jaw, his eyes locking on yours with a determined, almost defiant look.

“I had dinner with my family tonight,” he began, his voice measured but tense. “With my mom and two of my sisters—”

“Is that why you look like that?” you interrupted, tilting your head.

“What?”

“Like you finally took a bath,” you said, your smirk widening.

Frankie exhaled sharply. “Can you shut up and listen to me for a second? I’ll be brief.”

You held up a hand as if to say, Fine, go on.

“They’re nice, my family, but they won’t leave me alone,” he said, his tone growing more frustrated. “All through dinner, they kept asking me these awkward questions, trying to convince me to go on these dates they’ve been setting up with their friends’ daughters or coworkers or whoever.”

Your smile widened, thoroughly amused. “Why? Why don’t you just go? Come to think of it—”

“No,” he cut you off, his voice sharp. “I already agreed once, and it was a disaster. I’m not doing it again. And I’m not about to get into that with you.”

“Good,” you said, leaning back slightly. “Because I’m not interested.”

Frankie sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair.

“Every time I see them, for over a year now, it’s the same thing. They won’t leave me alone. And look, I get it. They’re trying to be helpful. But I’ve had enough.”

Your curiosity piqued at that. “What happened a year ago? Why?”

Frankie’s face tightened. “That doesn’t matter.”

The dodge only made you more curious, but you let it go, watching as he leaned forward slightly, his hands gripping the edge of the counter.

“The point is,” he continued, “I got fed up. So tonight, when they started in on me again, I told them to back off. That I didn’t need them setting me up on dates because… because I already have a girlfriend.”

His words hung in the air for a moment, their weight sinking in.

Oh.

“Oh,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. Your eyebrows lifted just enough to show your surprise, though you tried to mask it.

Frankie shifted in his seat, his gaze falling to his hand resting on his knee. He shook his head slightly, a faint, almost imperceptible motion, as though he was trying to block out whatever he feared you might say next.  

“Funny,” you said, your voice light with mockery. “And your mom believed you?”  

When he looked up at you, his expression darkened.

“Hardly,” he admitted, his tone sharp. “I don’t even think I convinced her. That’s why I need your help.”  

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly, as though creating space from whatever absurdity was about to come out of his mouth.

“You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend?”  

Frankie nodded once, curtly. “My mom’s birthday is in a few days. She’s turning sixty. She’s having this big nice party, and she told me she wants to meet my girlfriend then.”  

You crossed your arms, still trying to gauge whether or not this was some elaborate joke.

“When’s the party?”  

“Next Saturday.”  

Your eyebrows shot up, and your lips parted in disbelief.

“Francisco,” you grumbled, the word low and heavy. “That’s in three days.”  

“I know,” he muttered, matching your tone. His jaw tightened like he was already regretting the entire conversation.  

“And what did you tell her?” you demanded. “What did you say when she asked?”  

Frankie’s hand moved to the counter, his fingers drumming once before he let them still.

He hesitated, and then, in a resigned voice, said, “I told her yes. That I’d bring my girlfriend to her birthday.” He paused, meeting your gaze. “So she’d finally leave me alone.”  

You pushed back from the stool, standing in one swift, exasperated motion. Your hands flew to your hips, your whole body radiating irritation as you glared at him.  

“Oh, so you just assumed I’d help you, didn’t you?” you snapped, your voice loud in the otherwise quiet apartment. “What if I said no?”

“I knew you wouldn’t say no.”

You let out an incredulous laugh.

“My God, what’s wrong with you? You don’t know what I’m thinking.”

He didn’t flinch, though you could see his patience thinning in the slight twitch of his brow.

“I know you well enough to know you’ll say yes.”

The sheer audacity of it made you want to scream.

Frankie rose from his spot, his movements deliberate and quick. His footsteps echoed as he crossed the room, closing the space between you with purposeful strides.

He stopped in front of you, standing taller, looking down at you with an intensity that was hard to ignore.  

“I know you want to go to the wedding,” he said, his voice firm. “I know you asked me to go with you, and you were persistent. And anyway, I think you owe me.”  

You blinked, incredulous, a small laugh escaping your lips despite yourself.

“I owe you?”  

Frankie’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he took a small step closer.

“Don’t forget that the only reason you didn’t make a complete fool of yourself in front of Harry was because I decided to help you. I played along. If I’d wanted to, I could’ve exposed you in front of him and his fiancée. I could’ve made it worse.”  

“Thank you so much, Francisco, you're a fucking angel,” you spat, your tone thick with sarcasm, though the incredulous smile on your face betrayed how absurd it all felt. “What do you want me to do? Give you a hero of the century award?”  

Frankie’s expression didn’t waver; he was dead serious. “No. Come with me to my mom’s birthday and we’re even.”  

You froze for a moment, processing his words, the sheer audacity of them making your heart skip a beat. This was beyond ridiculous.  

"You're fucking crazy! Are you serious?" you demanded, unable to hide the disbelief in your voice. "It’s not even close. Harry’s my ex something, nothing more. And you’re asking me to go with you to a family event, full of your relatives, and you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend in front of all of them?”  

Frankie’s eyes flicked upwards, his impatience seeping into his expression. He rolled his eyes.  

“It’s not like we’re getting married,” he said, dismissive, his voice tinged with frustration. “You’re exaggerating. It’s not the first time I’ve taken a girlfriend to a family thing. What are you, fifteen?”  

You crossed your arms, giving him a skeptical look. “I don’t know, by my standards, introducing a girlfriend to your family seems like a pretty serious thing.”  

Frankie exhaled through his nose, clearly growing more insistent. He looked at you with unwavering intensity, his gaze now pointed, as if trying to break through the walls you were building between you and this ridiculous proposition.  

“I’ll take care of that,” he said.

You weighed his words in your mind, the absurdity of the situation tangled with a strange sense of reluctant curiosity.  

“Are you really going to accompany me to the wedding?” you asked, your voice quieter than you’d intended.

Frankie nodded, a reassuring, almost teasing gesture, as though he was certain he had already won.

“I’ll help you catch the bouquet and everything.”

“You’re ridiculous.” 

“And yet, here you are, still going with me to that wedding.”  

Frustration rose in your chest, pooling in your throat like heat. You bit down hard on the inside of your cheek, trying to suppress the rush of emotion that threatened to spill over. How utterly insolent. How impossible.  

“Fine,” you finally spat out, barely containing the anger simmering beneath your words. “I’ll help you. But you’d better make my time count, Francisco.”  

He flashed a half-smile, the kind of smug, self-satisfied smirk that made your fingers itch to slap him. You wanted to say something else—something cutting, something that would make him regret this entire conversation. But you couldn’t.  

Instead, Frankie reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and tapped the screen a couple of times before handing it to you.

“Give me your number.”  

You took the phone from him with a swift, almost startled motion, your fingers brushing against his as you punched in your number. The action felt mechanical, as if you were moving through a script you didn’t want to follow. When you handed it back to him, you watched him tap the screen, adding you to his contacts. His fingers moved quickly, but you couldn’t catch the name he gave you. It was probably something ridiculous, something that made you cringe even without knowing it.

He didn’t say anything, just slid the phone back into his pocket, and turned to head for the door. But before he reached it, he stopped and looked at you, his eyes meeting yours once more.  

“I’ll text you,” he said abruptly, almost as if it were a last-minute afterthought.  

And then, without waiting for a response, he opened the door and left, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the quiet stairs. You stood there, still staring at the empty doorway, the weight of his words hanging in the air long after he was gone.

With one click, you confirmed your attendance.

tags: @darkheartgatita @joelmillerisapunk @nandan11 @whirlwindrider29 @onlythehobi @diabaroxa @yellowbrickyeti (a few of the tags aren't working, idk why, fix it tumblr!!!!)

beautiful divider by @saradika-graphics 💗

[jyn-mother-fucking-andor]

Thinking a lot about the ending of Andor and my own little head canons.

Honestly, the more I sit with it the more I think that both things can be true in that Cassian loved Bix but also is at peace with how they left things. Of course he misses her. Of course he thinks about her. Of course he wonders what their life could have been. And yet, once she’s gone, he just seems so much lighter.

There’s no question that they loved each other deeply and that he was devastated when she left. How she left. But ultimately so much of their relationship was him “saving” her or trying to protect her from the empire, from her trauma, from herself. The poor man was exhausted and was desperately clinging to the idea of a life with her that he couldn’t see the life they actually had. How isolated they were together, even on Yavin 4. While I take some issue with the way Bix left him, the “I’ll wait for you” speech, and the pregnancy… I’m grateful that she took that step back. Sometimes the most profound act of love towards another person is to let them go. She loved Cassian but I think she was also honest with herself about what their relationship had become. That ultimately they were not in a space to be healthy together.

When we see Cassian about two years or so after she’s gone, he’s more relaxed than we’ve seen him in the entirety of when they were together. He has built a little life for himself, a community, a home on Yavin 4. Maybe isn’t exactly what he envisioned, but it’s the life he needs. Sure, he’s lonely but he also just seems to be at peace. When Vel tells him to reach out to Bix, he shrugs. He says maybe but it feels like he’s saying no. Why? Because he’s moved on! He’s finally feeling like he can let her go, that their story is over. I’m sure he still has love for her but it’s shifted into something else and he’s found peace with her on his own way.

Then Jyn comes along.

She’s so different from Bix and yet the love she feels and the heart she brings to the rebellion reawakens something in Cassian. Hope was fading away, then there she was, bringing it home. It knocks the wind out of him and you can see it in every look he gives her. He’s impressed and terrified and transfixed. She’s a walking hurricane and yet she’s his mirror. She’s the echo in his shadow. Jyn’s the partner he needs to make that last push against the rebellion. As Luthen said, they burn for a sunrise they’ll never see and it’s a beautiful thing that they can hold each other when the end does come.

In that final scene, we learn Bix’s fate and see that she also found a home and community as well. She gets to take solace in knowing that in making the choice for her and Cassian, she saved him in a way. She saved herself. She finally found her peace. I like to think she met someone and that they reignite something she felt was long gone or that she’d never have after Cassian. I hope she was able to move on too and that they help her raise her baby and that she feels seen and cared for and loved. Of course she’ll tell her child about their father and the legacy he left behind with the rebellion. But at the same time, I have no doubt that that child will grow up in a better world because Bix left.

Who knows, maybe if the Rogue One team had lived, maybe Cassian and Bix would have reconnected? Maybe. Maybe not. But I like to think that if they had, it would be as friends. Sure, their family wouldn’t be the most conventional and there would undoubtedly be some awkwardness in the beginning, but they’d find their way. They’d co-parent and I do honestly believe that Jyn and Bix would have a lot of respect for one another and would be great friends. Jyn would love that child like her own and would be a bad ass step mom.

All this to say, at its core, Rogue One and Andor (pretty much all of Star Wars for that matter) is all about hope. Hope through rebellion. Hope through friendship. Hope through love in all forms.

[traveler-at-heart]

The Doctor's In - Part 4

Summary: Wanda and R have their first date ;)

Wanda: Sorry I missed you before you left for work. Wanna come over for dinner with us?

Y/N: Would love to :)

“You’re awfully cheerful for someone who just got dumped” Darcy says as you smile at your phone.

“Who got what?”

“Carol and Maria…”

“No one dump me, there was no relationship to end” you say, locking your phone. You have noticed that Carol has been avoiding you, which is pretty idiotic, considering a lot of the trauma cases that come your way are ortho related.

That would also explain why Kamala rambled so much every time you requested a consult, so you made a note to speak to Carol about it.

“So…” Darcy ponders, and you wish she’d just drop it. She snaps her fingers. “The hot mom!”

“Her name is Wanda, and we are just talking” you refuse to look at her, knowing she can smell the bullshit from miles away.

“Something tells me talking wasn’t the only thing you did with your mouths” she insists, pulling on your sleeve.

“Fine! We kissed and it was awesome! Happy, you little pestering gnome?”

“Yes, lesbian whore. Congrats on securing a ticket to MILF paradise”

“Fuck you”

“Doctor Y/L/N” Kamala enters the room as you give Darcy the middle finger. “I can come back! Sorry!”

“Look what you’ve done” you mumble as Darcy cackles. The joy doesn’t last long, as you steal her chips. She’s too distracted making fun of you to notice.

“Hey, not fair”

You close the door and go after the resident.

“Hey, Kamala”

“Oh, hi. Doctor Danvers asked me to show you some X-Rays”

“Tell Doctor Danvers to show me herself. Or better yet, I will go directly to her. Where can I find her, Doctor Kahn?”

“Uh… I…”

“Never mind, I’ll ask Maria” you turn to leave  and Kamala screeches in horror.

“OR 2. She’s in OR 2. Please don’t do it, my Baba will never forgive me if I get kicked out of the program” the young doctor clings to your arm.

“Kamala. Get it together. It’s gonna be fine. If Carol gets mad, you can be in my service for a week” you promise and she barely stops hyperventilating.

By the time you reach the OR, Carol is done with her surgery. She stops in her tracks when your eyes meet.

“Doctor Danvers, a word?” you ask, trying to sound professional.

“Of course” she nods. Leading you to an empty scrub room, Carol opens the door for you, fidgeting. “What’s up?”

“Stop making everything so awkward. I’m not mad at you. Kamala is about to have a stress induced stroke from all the consults you send her to avoid me”

“You’re really not mad?” Carol says.

“No! I never expected anything else from you. We didn’t talk about it but I always knew what your true feelings were”

“I’m sorry”

“Don’t be, honestly. Just, stop acting like you left me at the altar or some weird shit. We’re colleagues and friends”

“That makes me happy. I didn’t want to stop talking to you” she relaxes. “Though I have to be honest, I told Maria what happened between us”

“Is she mad?”

“Only a bit and just to me. I’ll manage to turn it around” the blonde smiles, a dreamy look on her eyes.

“If it helps, tell her I have a date on Thursday” you say, leaving the room, Carol right behind you.

“Oh, let me guess. The hot mom?” she jokes.

“Her name is Wanda!” you repeat.

“Well, let me know how the date goes?” Carol pats your shoulder, and you nod.

“Will do. Now page your resident and tell her we’re all set before she gets admitted to the Psych ward”

—

The footsteps approaching on the other side make your heart jump. You wonder if the flowers are too much, but when Wanda sees them, her face lights up and you know it was the right thing to do.

“Come on in” Wanda says, taking the flowers and then standing on her toes to kiss your cheek. “The boys are in the living room”

“Want some help with the food?”

“No, I’m almost done. It will be more helpful if you entertain the twins for a little” she says, pulling the flowers close to her chest.

“Alright, then” you’re about to kiss her when the boys walk in. They’re so excited to see you that they don’t notice how close you are to their mother.

“Y/N” Billy says, running towards you.

“Hey, kiddos” you pick them up, carrying them over your shoulder and they giggle. “Come on, there’s a new game I wanna show you”

You take your time to set everything up, explaining a bit about the game. They giggle as Crash jumps and turns in the sand of the first level, and you finish it all, including the tricky jump at the end.

“Who wants to go next?”

“Me” Tommy says, sitting next to you. They are both focused on the game, so you take advantage of the distraction to go see Wanda.

Sliding into the kitchen, you grab her by the waist.

“You scared me” she laughs, allowing you to press against her back, kissing her temple. “What’s going on?”

“I have approximately fifty seconds before they ask for my help so I’m making sure they count” you turn her around and lean forward, capturing her lips and sighing against her mouth. “You look very pretty”

“Thank you”

“You smell really nice” you add, kissing her again, making Wanda laugh. “And I really, really, like kissing you”

Wanda smiles at that, her hand caressing your cheek.

“Y/N!” the boys chant in unison.

“Like clockwork” you mutter, kissing Wanda’s forehead as you go back to the living room.

You spend a few more minutes playing with the kids, until Wanda calls everyone for dinner.

“How’s the arm, kiddo?” you say, sitting next to Billy with Tommy and Wanda in front of you. As you take a bite of the chicken, you notice a funny flavor. “Is this brocc…”

Wanda widens her eyes and kicks you under the table.

“Ouch”

“You ok?” Tommy asks, none the wiser.

“Yeah, I just bit my tongue” you lie, Wanda taking a sip of her water to hide her laugh.

“Kids, eat” she encourages them, and you get the hint. The flavor of the broccoli is hidden with the cheese, so you smile and continue to eat, enjoying every single bite.

“I’m on cleaning duty” you say as soon as everyone finishes, taking the dishes and cleaning the table.

Billy and Tommy run to the living room to continue playing, and as you get ready to wash the dishes, Wanda leans forward and kisses your cheek.

“It’s nice to have you here”

“You have an odd way of showing it, Miss Maximoff” you joke, leaning against her touch.

“In my defense, it’s the only way to get them to eat their greens” she jokes and you lean forward, your lips inches away from hers. In that precise moment, the boys call for her.

“Behave” she warns the children, pulling away to see what the fuss is about.

“Have you thought about boarding schools?” you joke and she pinches your side. “Ah, kidding! I would miss them too much”

You load the dishwasher, clean the pots and put the rest of the food on some containers. By the time you’re done, the kids are getting ready to go to bed.

“Can you come over again tomorrow?”

“If your mom wants me to, sure. I can bring the food this time so she takes a break from cooking” you offer, smiling at Wanda.

“We’ll see about that, Y/N works hard enough as it is. Say goodbye to her, boys”

Tommy and Billy wave at you, already dragging their feet. You stay on the living room, and a few minutes later Wanda comes down.

“Hi” she plops down next to you and you smile.

“All good?”

“A bit tired, that’s all. Just ignore me, you’re the one that works all those crazy hours”

“Nah, it’s fine. I’m used to it by now” you shrug your shoulders.

“Would you like some wine?”

“Sure, I don’t have work tomorrow”

“How come?” Wanda asks when she returns, handing you a glass of red wine and sitting closer to you on the couch.

“Well, I have a really hot date coming up and I need to plan every detail”

“She sounds like a lucky girl” Wanda blushes, biting her lip.

“Oh, I’m the lucky one” you say, placing both of your glasses on the coffee table. “She’s smart, funny, has legs for days, cooks amazing food…”

“Stop” she laughs, and you shake your head no. Wanda is still laughing when you connect your lips with hers, a sigh leaving her mouth when you lift her and place her on your lap, her legs straddling you.

“Is this ok?”

“Yeah” she nods, leaning her forehead against yours. “More than ok. As a matter of fact, I remember reading that kissing is good for your health”

“It’s so good” you say, your lips traveling to her jaw, behind her ear, down her neck. “I’d say do it as often as possible”

“Doctor’s orders?” Wanda jokes, her voice faltering as you come back to her mouth, your tongue swiping across her bottom lip.

“Doctor’s orders”

—

The plan is coming along. You have the tickets for the exhibit and the next thing on the list should be the dinner reservation. Your pager beeps the minute you call the restaurant. 

911.

“Shit” 

You sprint to the car, knowing no one would call you outside of work if it wasn’t serious. 

“What’s wrong?” you walk to the ER, looking around.

“What on Earth is this?” Tony Stark, neurosurgeon and professional asshole gets in your face the minute you get there.

“I don’t know, I’ve been off work since yesterday, Stark” you take the chart, reading all the information until you get to the signature. The writing got progressively worse, until it was just senseless lines.

“This person was clearly having a stroke, and the staff didn’t notice. I have to scrub in and see if I can save his life”

“And you’re wasting time arguing with me” you roll your eyes, pushing the chart to his chest and walking to the OR.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“To scrub in. If you want to blame me, that’s fine. I’m staying by this patient’s side until he pulls through”

“If he pulls through” Stark says angrily and you ignore him. 

Before scrubbing in, you check your phone.

Wanda: Is everything ok? I saw you leaving in a hurry. 

“By all means, take your time” Stark says, glaring as he walks by you.

You spend the entire surgery in his OR, standing still and doing everything he asks. He’s a rude, pretentious cunt, but if anyone can work a miracle, it’s him, so you suck it up and take every snide comment with a blank stare.

After hours working, Tony sighs, nodding at his work. 

“Close him, Parker,” he asks his resident. You stand watching the young man’s work, until the surgeon asks you to come with him.

“I’m sorry” he blurts out the minute you step out. “This wasn’t your patient, nor your responsibility. And I made it seem like it was”

“It’s still not right. If I had been here, I would have noticed”

“I know. Your work is impeccable” he acknowledges and you nod. Even if he’s an ass, this is the hospital his father built, and he’s a genius with years ahead of you in experience.

“Will he be alright?”

“There’s a good chance he’ll pull through. Let’s be cautiously optimistic. I’ll let Parker explain everything to the family. Sorry for interrupting your days off”

“Not a problem” 

“It’s the first time you’ve taken PTO in 3 years. Fury’s gonna have my head for making you come” Tony says, laughing.

The patient is moved to the ICU, but you’re still not comfortable leaving, so you go back to the on-call room, sitting in a bed to gather your thoughts. Yelling in the hallway makes you stand up, watching as Parker tries to speak to a man and his wife. 

“You discharged him, said he was fine” the man yells, pointing at Peter’s face. 

“Sir, I can assure you, we’re doing our best to make sure your son…”

“We wanna see him now” the man takes Peter by his coat, almost lifting him off the ground. The young man stutters, not knowing how to deescalate the situation.

“Hey, that’s enough” you step in, not realizing the man is about to throw a punch until you make him drop Peter, his elbow connecting with your cheek.

“Crap, Doctor Y/L/N, are you ok?” Peter says, rushing to your side.

“Yeah, fine”

Fucking fantastic. 

“Sir, I’m going to ask you to wait in the foyer, or I’ll call security” Carol steps in, glaring at the man. She waits until he’s gone, muttering an apology your way. “You ok?”

“Mhm, great”

“I thought you had a few days off”

“Yeah, me too”

“Come on, let’s have a look at that punch” Carol says, dragging you to one of the exam rooms. You sigh, trying to keep your eye closed. “No stitches needed”

“Great” you mumble, pulling out your phone. There’s like five messages from Wanda but before you can answer, she calls you.

“Hey”

“Hey, are you ok? You had me worried”

“Yeah, there was a thing at the hospital and I… ouch! Carol, a little warning?” you hiss as the blonde pours some disinfectant on the bruised skin.

“Oh, I didn’t know you were busy” Wanda says, her demeanor changing. “I’m sorry, I’ll leave you alone”

“Wait, Wanda!” you say but it’s too late, the call cut off. “God, could this day get any worse? I have to go”

“Want me to drive you there?” Carol says with a smile and you roll your eyes.

“Yeah. That will make Wanda so happy”

“Whipped” Carol jokes and you try to glare, but it hurts your eye.

Wanda barely put the kids to bed, when she hears a knock on the door. She’s prepared to give you an attitude but then sees your swollen cheek.

“Oh, my God, what happened to you, are you ok?” the brunette says, immediately forgetting she’s mad at you.

“It’s a long story. But that doesn’t matter. Listen, I know how it seems, I tell you I’m busy and when you call me I’m with Carol”

“I know you work together. It’s fine” Wanda lies.

“No, it’s not, come on”

“Ok, just come in and explain everything while I get you some ice, ok?”

“Thanks” you mutter, sitting at the kitchen counter. You fidget with your hands, not looking up until Wanda comes closer, her eyes soft as she moves the hair out of your face.

“Cold” she warns, placing a compress against your skin. You sigh with relief, holding her hand close.

“I’m sorry. I was called in to fix something I didn’t break”

“Don’t apologize for doing your job, Y/N” she says in a soft voice. “Is everyone ok? Is that how you got hurt?”

“Everyone’s ok. The parents were just pissed and I tried to break the fight”

“Does it hurt?” Wanda pulls the compress and examines the skin. It’s a little bruised, but not too swollen.

“It will later” you sigh.

“Anything I can do to help?”

“You can kiss it better”

“Is that what Carol was doing earlier?” Wanda tilts her head, a dangerous look in her eyes that sends shivers down your spine.

“Oh, come on! Not fair!”

“I’m kidding” she says, finally kissing you softly. You close your eyes, relaxing for the first time in 12 hours. “I’m sorry for giving you a hard time, you were saving lives”

“What you feel is valid. Don’t apologize for it, ok? I’ll always listen to you, I promise” you kiss her hand, smiling when she blushes. “We’re still up for our date, right?”

“We can reschedule, you must be exhausted”

“Not a chance” you say, pulling her closer again. “I’ve been waiting too long for this”

“Well, alright. If you insist” she pecks your lips and you nod.

“I do”

“I have an… odd request” she says, avoiding your eyes.

“I won’t kink shame you, I promise”

“Can you be serious for just a second?” Wanda laughs, taking your hand. You make a motion to keep quiet, and let her speak. “Can you… pick me up around the block?”

“I can. But why am I doing it?”

“First of all, if the kids see you, they’ll want to tag along. And also… I’m not trying to be pessimistic here, I just want to protect them. It’s been the three of us since they were born and I’ve never even dated anyone, let alone someone they know” she takes a deep breath, hoping you won’t get upset.

“Billy and Tommy come first, always” you nod. “I agree to the new rule, or I can wear glasses and a fake mustache”

“Nope” she shakes her head, covering your mouth with her hand.

“A bald cap then” you mumble against her palm.

She figures the only way to make it stop is by kissing you and she leans forward, her lips against yours. You smile dreamily as she pulls apart.

“Now. Would you like some dinner?” Wanda offers, and you almost drop to your knees.

“God, you’re so fucking perfect, Wanda Maximoff”

The way she blushes and giggles makes up for all the shitty things that happened in the past hours.

—

“There’s food and snacks, a list of phone numbers on the fridge in case of an emergency”

“Yes, Mrs. Maximoff,” Morgan says, following the woman around the house. It’s her first time babysitting the twins, but Wanda has known the girl since she started giving her private art lessons and trusts her.

“Boys, I’m leaving” Wanda calls, the kids standing up from the table to hug their mom goodbye. “Be good to Morgan, ok?”

“Where are you going?” Tommy asks.

“A work thing” she lies, feeling terrible about hiding the truth from the twins. But still, she knows it’s for the best to keep this private.

She waves goodbye one last time and walks past the house, noticing your car is no longer in the driveway. Her heart beats fast at the expectation of an evening together.

“Hey, gorgeous” you greet, leaning against the passenger door. “You look absolutely stunning”

You admire how amazing she looks in a pair of jeans, a white tee and a long sleeve sweater.

“So do you” she kisses you, smiling as you open the door to the car.

“Thanks, the purple eye gives my look a nice touch” you say as you begin the drive.

“Are you gonna tell me where we are going?”

“You’ll find out soon enough” you say, hoping she likes the surprise. “First stop” you announce, opening the car door for Wanda and looking at the building in front of you. 

“Artechouse. Oh, I’ve heard about this” Wanda nods, intrigued.

“I did too, but never made the time to go. Come on” you lead her to the entrance, showing your tickets. “There’s a small bar if you wanna have a drink before we go in” 

“Let’s go in now” she says, looking everywhere. 

You think it’s a good sign that she’s so interested in the exhibit, so you lead her to the start, both of you gasping as you enter a room that is projecting videos of flowers from floor to ceiling. Wanda’s hand searches yours in the dark, and you smile shyly as she holds it, walking around the room.

The intimacy of the place allows you to come closer, sharing everything you see in a low voice and enjoying the show. 

“Check this out” you say, lifting your arm, the animation following your movements. Wanda lets out a laugh, doing the same.

Each room enchants Wanda even more, the next installation featuring plants that react to the touch with light and sound. Your favorite by far is the tree that reacts differently if you’re holding hands or hugging. As you walk up to it, Wanda is still holding your hand and you both look at the screen. Well, she’s looking at the projection and you’re looking at her, thinking how beautiful she is. 

Taking a step forward, your arms go around her waist and you smile, admiring how the images change.

“It’s beautiful” Wanda whispers, turning to you. “You’re not looking” 

“I have the best view right in front of me” you smile, happy when she kisses you softly.

Wanda takes her time examining everything and once she’s done, you walk to the exit. 

“That was amazing. I forgot how much I enjoy these things. Thank you, Y/N”

“Glad you liked it” 

“Best first date I’ve had,” she smiles.

“Oh, this is only the first part. You don’t really think I’d forget about the food, right?” 

“Where are we going?”

“Well, there’s a very fancy option but I don’t feel like going with this thing on my face” you point at the bruise, annoyed. “If you’re feeling adventurous we could try something different?” 

“You look perfectly fine, darling” she kisses your cheek. “But I’m up for an adventure, so lead the way” 

“Awesome” you hold her hand, walking down the street and away from the museum. This is your favorite part of town, close to the pier and the little shops that are open until late. 

You walk down the promenade, showing Wanda some of the places you love. There’s a small gallery, a cafe, and other shops. 

“We’re here” you announce, pointing excitedly at the kebab shop. “This is fine, right? We can still go to the fancy place if you like”

“Sorry this place isn’t fancy enough for you, Majesty” the owner pops out of nowhere, scaring you.

“Samir! That’s not what I meant. You know I love your food”

“Mhm” he glares, but then smiles at Wanda. “What can I get for you, angel?”

“Well, what’s good here?” Wanda wonders, not as familiar with the dishes. “Maybe a shawarma” 

“How about a kebab box, fries to share and a doner” you suggest, “And her shawarma, of course” 

“That’s a lot of food” she protests and you shrug your shoulders.

“I’m always eating leftovers before I leave for work so it’s fine, babe” 

“Oh, well” she wants to scold you about your eating habits, but the pet name makes her dizzy. 

You pay and lead them to a small table outside, unaware of Wanda’s flustered state. You hand over a soda and open your can, taking a sip.

“We can go to other art shows whenever you want, you know? Even if I don’t understand anything, I do enjoy watching you” you smile, laughing as Wanda’s cheeks go red at the comment.

“I did enjoy it, thank you. You come here often?”

“I do, I love the food here. Samir noticed I came late because of my shifts and he always saved me some food. Nice fella” you turn to make sure he’s not listening. “But I promise I’ll take you to dinner to that other place when I don’t look like a raccoon”

“You don’t have to” 

“I kinda want to see you in a dress, all fancy like that time you left for another date” you smile at the memory of how beautiful she looked.

Wanda’s heart bursts with the way you look at her, complete adoration in your eyes. She’s almost left speechless, but her phone saves her. 

“It’s my brother” she apologizes, taking the call. “Hi, Pietro. No, I’m not with them. Because, I’m out. Of course with a babysitter, stupid” she rolls her eyes, and then switches to a language that you don’t understand, but sounds like Russian. You look at her in awe, until Samir calls for you to get the food. By the time you’re back at the table, Wanda already hung up.

“Sorry about that” 

“No, don’t worry. I guess I never asked, but are you Russian?”

“Sokovian” she corrects. “We moved to the States when Pietro and I were ten” 

“Wow. I never… you don’t even have an accent” 

“It slips up from time to time, especially if I’m angry or… flustered” Wanda says, and you almost choke on the food, thinking of all the ways you could make it come out. 

“Oh, well” you clear your throat. “Is your brother ok?”

“Yeah, he wanted to ask the boys something about video games that I don’t understand. I’m sure you would” 

“I don’t know, my knowledge is limited to things that existed when I was a kid. How’s the food?”

“Amazing. Wow” Wanda says, pleased with the flavor of the meat and how it compliments the rice and dips.

“See? We’re good enough for a first date” Samir shouts from the kitchen.

“Stop listening to our conversation” you shout back and he grumbles. Wanda smiles, thinking of something she’s wanted to ask for a while now.

“Do you ever visit your family?” 

“No, not really” you shake your head. “I pretty much left for college and never returned. Except this one Christmas, where I was feeling kind of lonely and tired. I just wanted to be home, but everything was so different, my half siblings were just too much to handle for anyone… and I didn’t even know what to do, no one bought me a present because I was never around and they just thought I’d be gone like last year”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked…”

“It’s fine” you shrug your shoulders. “I know it’s weird, but I like my life, you know? My colleagues are great, I’m doing what I love… and if I hadn’t moved here, I wouldn’t have met you”

“Yeah, that’s true. It’s their loss” Wanda smiles, kissing you. You smile against her lips. “You can always spend the holidays with us, you know? I mean, it’s too soon to talk about it, I’m just saying”

“That would be nice” you interrupt her rambling. “Now, I have something very important to ask. Out of all the neighbors, which one is the most annoying and why?”

“Well, I’d say it’s… Agatha”

“Harkness! Yes! I knew you disliked her too” 

Wanda laughs and you keep the conversation going. By the time you’re done, you pay and leave a big tip for Samir, who gives you a hug as you leave the store.

“I’m so full” Wanda says, patting her stomach. 

“I know. Oh, you want ice cream?” you say, remembering the gelato store that is a few shops ahead. 

“You just said you were full!”

“It’s ice cream, come on” you take her hand, and pay for two cones. Wanda orders strawberry while you opt for chocolate.

“How is it?” you ask as you walk down the pier, enjoying the view. 

“Amazing, have some” she offers the cone, but you kiss her instead. “That’s not what I meant” Wanda laughs against your lips.

“Well, it tastes amazing to me” you say, leaning forward and chasing after her soft lips, the flavor lingering as you deepen the kiss. Wanda sighs against your mouth, pulling you closer until your hand goes down her waist. “Best ice cream I’ve ever had” 

“Yeah” Wanda nods, her eyes closed. You peck her lips one last time, and continue your walk, still talking about everything you can think of, enjoying each other’s company.

When she checks the time more than once you get the hint, ready to go home.

“I’m sorry, I’m just being annoying, we can stay longer” 

“It’s ok, I know you like to be home early. Come on, we can drink wine or I’ll let you go to bed”

You rest your hand on Wanda’s leg for the entire ride home, unaware that your touch is making the woman restless. When you’re close to your house, you stop exactly where you picked Wanda up.

“I can just park at home, right? The boys are probably asleep”

“Yeah” Wanda nods, flustered. You’re about to ask what’s wrong when she moves forward, pulling you down for a rough kiss that takes your breath away. It’s a bit messy and desperate, and you ignore the strain of your seatbelt as Wanda pulls you closer to her, sighing against your mouth.

“You can’t park here!” an annoying person knocks on your window and you both break apart. “Oh, my! Wanda? Doctor Y/L/N?”

Damn it, it’s Agatha Harkness. Your nosy, annoying neighbor. Rolling down the window and smoothing your clothes, you smile at her.

“Hey, Miss Harkness. Sorry, I’ll move right now” 

“No, don’t worry” she gives you a sly smile. “Have a good night, you two love birds”

“Night, Agatha” Wanda says and you turn on the car, finally parking in your driveway.

“That was fun” you comment, opening the door for Wanda and crossing the street to walk her home.

“Yeah, just our luck” Wanda laughs, taking your hand. “Wanna come in? Or do you have to work tomorrow?”

“Not until Saturday. Come on” you let her lead you to her house, opening the door as quietly as possible. Wanda sees Morgan at the kitchen table, doing her homework.

“How did everything go?”

“Great, they went to sleep an hour ago” 

“Morgan Stark?” you greet, closing the door behind you. 

“You two know each other?” Wanda says.

“Yeah, my parents work at the hospital with Doctor Y/L/N” Morgan says, waving at you. “Nice to see you” 

“Did you drive here? Or want me to take you home?” 

“It’s fine, I drove here” she says, and you hand over some money before Wanda can pay her. 

“Drive safely, ok? Don’t want your dad giving me crap on the next meeting”

“Will do. Good night, Miss Maximoff”

“Night, Morgan”

“You didn’t have to pay for that too” Wanda says, kissing you. “But thank you” 

“Anytime. How do you know Morgan?” you nod when she offers you a glass of wine and you walk to the living room with her.

“I’m giving her private art lessons. She’s really good. Had no idea her parents were doctors”

“Not just any doctors, baby” you say, taking a sip. “Tony’s father built the hospital we work in. And he’s done some amazing research in neurosurgery. Pepper is also one of the best plastic surgeons in the world” 

“Wow, Morgan is so sweet and down to Earth”

“She gets that from her mom, Tony can be an ass” you mutter and Wanda laughs. “So, did I secure a second date?”

“A third one as well. But only if I can pay for the next one”

“Nu-uh. I’m spoiling you, baby” you say, your hand going to her leg. You notice how Wanda’s cheeks turn red, and you’re not sure if it’s the nickname or the contact. “Come here”

You take her glass of wine, approaching her slowly and kissing her. It’s tender at first, but then your hands travel to her lower back, and Wanda moans against your mouth. You deepen the kiss, sighing when she pushes you on your back, climbing on top of you.

Wanda kisses down your neck, biting slightly. The sudden nip makes your hips jolt forward, and she has to hold back another moan.

“I don’t know how you do it” she says, shivering when your hands travel down and cup her ass through her jeans.

“Do what, baby?”

“Drive me crazy with just one touch”

“Let me take care of you” you ask, kissing her, your hands going all the way to the front of her pants.

“Mom?”

“Shit” she mutters, both of her hands covering your mouth. “What is it, sweetheart?”

“I’m thirsty,” Tommy says.

“Alright, don’t come down, I’ll be right there, ok?” she says, hoping the boy hasn’t noticed anything strange. But he’s too sleepy so he just agrees and returns to his room. “I’m sorry”

She removes her hands from your mouth, helping you up.

“It’s fine, I enjoy the choking but just give me a heads up”

“Stop” she says, blushing. “I’ll be right back. Unless, you want to go? I’m sorry”

“I can stay” you nod, smiling at her disheveled state.

“Alright, I’ll be back” Wanda promises, pecking your lips.

You sit up, fixing your hair and taking a sip of the wine to calm down.

“Everything ok?” you say as Wanda comes down. She nods, smiling and sitting next to you.

“Yeah, I just didn’t think they’d be up. Maybe… we could wait a bit? When I’m not worried about the boys walking in on anything”

“Of course. Come here” you open your arms, and she settles, leaning her head against your shoulder. You kiss her temple. “Wanna watch some tv?”

“What about a sitcom? I love watching those”

“Like Friends?”

“Like Bewitched or… The Dick Van Dyke show” she says and you laugh, completely caught off guard by the suggestion.

“You’re fascinating, Wanda Maximoff” you say, handing over the remote, ready to watch whatever she wants.

[twinsarekeepers]

“This isn’t the Arch, seaweed brain. You’re not pushing me into the stairwell again.”

First of all, LINE DELIVERY?? Leah Sava Jeffries is an ACTRESS because ‘seaweed brain’ is actually so corny and it would simply feel like fan-service if they included it earlier or in another context but this was so natural and I was so swept up by all the other amazing things happening that I was excited about it but also keyed into the rest of the scene.

But the way this perfectly displays her fatal flaw. She will not let this boy trick her again (spoiler: he does). She was caught off guard at the Arch because she wasn’t familiar with his game but now she’s ready. She WILL die for him and that is final.

“Yes, I am.”

This was CRAZY?? Percy Jackson #1 mentally unstable man because how is he determined to win every ‘sacrifice myself’ off with her? And he says it to her face too. He does not care for the games anymore, he’s fully telling her that he needs her to live.

“I’m not going to let you this time. It doesn’t work that way!”

This made me so incredibly sad. Annabeth is still thinking in transactions. She’s thinking about how he made a sacrifice in the Arch so it’s her turn now. This is how relationships work. This is how every relationship she’s had works. She literally can’t comprehend how he doesn’t see it that way. How he could be selfless enough to sacrifice himself for her TWICE. How he could care about her enough to believe she deserves it even after she was the reason they were in the Arch in the first place (my baby my baby say it with me now you’re my baby).

“It’s why you’re here!”

“Excuse me?”

This was so soft like I just *screaming crying gif*. The last time she said ‘excuse me’ to him she was pissed off about him bringing up Athena but now she’s just confused and sad. Like, she trying to figure out what he means by this. Does he think she’s so heartless and robotic that she’d just let him die for her own gain?

I also love how they don’t have her say ‘what?’ because it just adds this extra layer of how Annabeth has trained herself to be more mature in everything she does, even her language, because she believes that if she’s not perfect, she’s not worthy of love and affection and maybe even existing (literally sobbing wtf).

“When I was choosing my team, I told Chiron I needed someone who wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice me if the quest required it. He agreed. That was you.”

I was confused at first about this because I thought Annabeth knew Percy thought this about her until I went back and watched the choosing ceremony again. He’s definitely keeping his voice lower as he speaks to Chiron and both Chiron and him are raising their voice as they address the other campers so makes sense that she wouldn’t have heard him.

But also, this just adds so much to literally everything. Because, in the beginning, Percy didn’t think him and Annabeth would become friends. He genuinely did think that she would sacrifice him if she had to and he thought he’d be able to curb it. He thought he’d be able to fight Annabeth if it came to it because she might choose the quest over his mom and he couldn’t allow that.

But now here he is, after getting to know her, and seeing her vulnerability and bravery and strength and courage and wisdom and passion and everything that makes her so beautiful and wonderful and amazing and his friend. She’s his friend and she’d never betray him. She’d never sacrifice him. She’d rather sacrifice herself before she ever did anything to harm him.

And he’s apologizing to her. Listen to the way Walker says the last line (again, THE ACTING). It’s literally a confession because he feels so bad that he ever believed that about her. And now he’s making her do it. He’s making her do this thing that he once thought she’d have done without hesitation. He’s thinking about the Fates cutting that string and he’s thinking about his own words to Chiron and how Chiron agreed and he’s thinking about how Annabeth said that prophecies aren’t always clear and he fully believes that he’s figured it out. This is fate. Annabeth would sacrifice him and complete the prophecy. She’ll be the friend that betrays him but not because she wanted to and he will fail to save what matters most, his own life.

This entire exchange was very insane. It’s my Roman Empire. I can’t stop thinking about it because it shows their motivations and their viewpoints and their internal struggles so so so well like I can’t even … I’m having a malfunction.

[iwaasfairy]

FAIIRYYYYYYY!!!!!! WRITE FOR KENMA AND MY LIFE IS YOURSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!

a quick little smt smt because kenma has been on my mind since I watched the movIEEEE I loVE HIM O WANT hIM ♡♡

tw twincest, implied past underage content

“Don’t let the twins run off together without supervision,” your mom used to tell your aunt if she’d babysit. ‘Babysit’ as in lighten the load of two sneaky, restless pre-teens on your very overworked parents. Your brother was quiet, and shy around everyone that he didn’t know well, but he was always a force with you. One who knew what he wanted, and would get you to play along as long as you’d let him.

They’re up to no good, she’d pet your head with affection, but brows furrowed with something other. Aunts, cousins, family friends. Always said it with a certain look at you both, before leaning in to whisper— and you guess back then they knew something you didn’t.

Kenma probably knew. He just didn’t care you never did, because even with the added surveillance of older cousins he’d still find a way to dash off with your hand in his. Giggling and panting where you’d snuggle together in the alley behind the woodshed, or ducked into the pantry under the stairs to whisper and let him show you all kinds of things. Usually it was just the next enemy on his beat up Gameboy, or some cards he traded with Kuroo, or even a new trick with the ball. Sometimes it was something else, hand over your mouth when he told you to keep quiet.

“Your teacher told me a certain pair of twins always skip out on classes together,” your dad chastises over dinner one night after a big volleybal match. “Wonder which twins he could possibly be referring to.” This time it was the back room behind the gym equipment— only hastily cleaned up before the teachers stormed in. Can’t help it, a slight smile starts pulling at your lips.

You almost laugh when Kenma kicks your foot under the table, as your spoon clings too hard against the porcelain plates. “Just because Kenma does stupid boy stuff that will get him in trouble—” Your father’s thin glasses are down his nose as he looks at just you, interrupting your opened mouth to point your way, “doesn’t mean you have to join him. I really expect better from you kids.”

He acts like you’re supposed to know better. Maybe he should wonder if Kenma’s just convincing. It’s a simple and quick answer, he is. From the way Kenma slurps his soup, staring you down across the table under thick, playful lashes, you learn that apparently it’s more acceptable for boys to act mischievous. “Sorry, dad.” Big brother sighs.

Kenma’s feet grab yours to pull it up onto his chair, then plays with your toes so that you have to hold the giggle from breaking out in between the sharp breathing through your nose. “Sorry, daddy.” You parrot when he doesn’t let up, biting your lip at the way he pushes his thumb in.

Your dad is none the wiser, and just sighs. “You’re the older brother, Kenma. I want you to take care of your sister, not lead her astray.”

He does though, you want to say. Just maybe not in the way they’d like to see him care.

It’s only natural that you follow your big brother, your other half, across Tokyo after graduation. Into a bigger apartment where he can stream— when he asks it under hushed whispers trailing fingers down your arm. Of course you say yes.

It’s how you find yourself with your head on his lap, letting his long, skinny fingers trail through your hair as he sinks deeper into the couch. “D’you want some Thai too? I have to work at three so we can’t go out yet. That’s okay by you, right?” He’s so pretty from here, looks down at you with those sharp, calculating eyes with a softness reserved for just you.

“I’ll eat what you eat, nii nii,” you yawn, and also lift your upper half a bit more to press kisses to his hard cock, lick up the bead of glistening precum there. You’ll do whatever your twin wants you to do. You’ll do what you’ve always done.

Taking his cock into your mouth makes him let out the prettiest mumble, pushing up into your soft lips a little more as he agrees. “I know.” You let your head be pushes down as you hollow your cheeks around him, and choke just a little before you reach his pubes- pushing into the back of your throat. It’s hot, and he tastes so good. “I don’t need anyone else. Y’know that?”

“Mhm,” you’re nodding while pulling back, instead going to suck on his balls with an eager tongue. His cock twitches to get back to you. And the coy smile on your face as you look up from his lap makes him groan, holding the phone away from his mouth for a few seconds to watch you. “Guess we shouldn’t have been let off without supervision, huh?”

[lottieswidow]

I actually can’t stop thinking about Mari and Travis pre-crash friendship so yall get to hear about it too🤩 Some of these are add ons to other hcs I’ve seen😛 I LOVE MY LATINOJACKETS 🇲🇽 🇧🇷

Their mothers are friends and they grew up across the streets from each other. Regularly visited the others house for like a carne asada or some other event.

Coach Martinez and Mr. Ibarra became friends because of their wives and would watch soccer games together. Mrs Martinez and Mrs Ibarra would sit out in the back patio chismando while Mari, Travis, and Javi played in the backyard.

Mari actually has an older sister and a baby brother. By the time Mari and the boys were starting to hang out (around 5-6) her older sister already had her own personality and independence so she would go to her own friends house. At the same time Mari’s baby brother was yk a baby and too young to play with them.

Because Mari was older than the boys she got to choose what they played, Travis always thought it was unfair and Javi was just happy to be included. She had them playing Knights and Princesses but don’t be fooled, she was not a damsel in distress, she’s was lowkey a villain. They would go on ‘quests’ together then she’d take all the glory. Mari also had one of those crusty white dogs, they would pretend it was a dragon or some other creature during the game.

Mari is like a grade above Travis so they never had any classes together but they would ride the bus to and from school together. Javi would sit between them, Mari was closest to the window, and Travis was at the end in the aisle. This only happened in elementary school and some of middle school before they (specifically Mari) found other friends.

The end of bus rides together also caused the drift between them and they would act cordial, a nod of acknowledgment in the hall or a short wave from across the cafeteria, but they definitely weren’t as close as before.

When Mari’s baby cousin died she didn’t really know how to react. For days she was unresponsive to most questions, she would sit in her room staring at the wall for hours. Her mom was worried for her and expressed her concern to Mrs Martinez. They showed up the next day to give their condolences and tried to have Travis and Javi cheer her up.

Travis realized pretty quick that they couldn’t do much to cheer her up though. He sent Javi away so he could talk to her alone. They didn’t talk, they just sat and stared at the wall, he didn’t know how to comfort her but he knew he could show his support by being with her. After a couple minutes Mari leaned her head on his shoulder and cried. Travis let her, figured it was the first time she allowed herself to cry. They never brought it up again.

Shortly after, when Travis got his spinal fusion the Ibarras went to go visit, everyone went to go get food but Mari stayed. She thought about the day her cousin died and Travis could tell that she was but they didn’t say anything. Again they sat in silence, it was weirdly comforting for both of them.

Back in school they remained cordial, when Mari eventually got her drivers license her mom asked her to take the boys to school with her. Mari was pretty reluctant but after being threatened with the car being taken away all together she agreed. She wasn’t in the loop with other grades drama nor was she in the same circle as Bobby Farleigh so she had no idea about ‘Flex’

After the plane goes down and she calls him ‘Flex’ she didn’t really know the story behind it. She was scared and had heard the other girls calling him that so of course she got on the Travis hate train. It wasn’t genuine, she needed to blow off steam and was following the lead of the other varsity girls. Travis doesn’t say anything to her, it’s actually Natalie who tells Mari to quit it during the winter. When Mari learns the story she actually feels horrible because she remembers how 12 year old Travis looked in the hospital bed. That same night she apologizes to him in her own Mari way.

“Natalie told me what ‘flex’ means.” They’re in front of the fire place, Travis’s face flashes in anger for a second. He feels betrayed that Natalie would tell anybody, but then he realizes that it’s just Mari. The same Mari whom had played Knights and Princesses with him and his brother when they were younger, who had sat with him on the bus for seven years, who had packed in extra granola bar for him in the mornings when she would pick him up for school because he never had time to eat breakfast, who forced him to dance with her during the most important day of her adolescence.

He looks at her for a moment, wondering if she’ll continue but she just looks at the fire. Somehow Travis understands what Mari doesn’t have the guts to say. They sit in silence watching the fire as the wood crackles and smoke goes up the chimney.

The day Mari died Travis was too drunk to fully understand what had happened. His trap, intended for Lottie, had just killed Mari. He had killed Mari. Whether he wanted that to happen or not didn’t matter. He’d collected the wood, shaved it down, planted then covered it. It could be no one else’s fault but his own.

And as he sits around the fire with a piece of meat in his mouth, a piece of Mari, clarity washes over him and the noise of the others chewing fades out. He watches the fire, frozen in guilt, unable to hear anything besides his own heartbeat. Travis is reminded of the times he and Mari would sit in silence, with the only sound being heard is their breathing.

[rangerxoc]

Reader x Andrew “pope” Cody SMUT MINORS DONT READ

Reader is at her family cabin for summer break from college and everyone. She’s all alone till a stranger comes by and things turn for the better.

WARNING, ok i haven’t wrote anything sense i was like 14 but im 22 now so bare with me if you read this! Sorry i’m rusty. I just wanna write something im also at work.

Warnings… smut, p in v , bj, he’s a munch,age gap reader (20-25) he’s 45, blood mentioning, reader is female, body type is mentioned also unprotected sx

—————————————————————————————————————————

You always, ALWAYS went to your family’s cabin. You were packing your things up for the trip. “Why do you have to leave me” your best friend Blake said from 3rd grade said as she was sitting on her bed. “ I need to get away from all this..my mom is literally having an affair my dad is acting like it isn’t happening and they keep…me away from the world they keep sheltering me away…im suprised the they left me go to the cabin alone…but you can come if you want” you said with a smirk on your face knowing she’d say no. Even though you did need a friend really badly. With everything going on at home you needed a break and summer was her so you finally got a break from college. You didn’t even party at school because you were so focused on getting good grades and getting out of school then moving far away. “Absolutely not.. mosquitoes ..fish..no men in sight.” She said rolling her eyes jokingly . You rolled your eyes and put your backpack on. “I’m happy about all those things..well scratch the mosquitoes” you smirked till she said…

“No wonder why you’re still a virgin..” she said getting up from your bed and walking out your room and walked you to your car. You were a bit taken back you didn’t make the for guys ever one because the guys at school were not close to your type. You actually didn’t know what your type really was. You never really thought about it, of course you played with yourself a bit here there when you were stressed at school but never really pictured yourself with anyone. Maybe sometimes you just pictured a hot guy you saw on a show. You got to your car and got in “have fun without anyone..loser”Blake teased she always acted better than everyone it drove you insane but she was a good friend deep down she’d kill for you if she had too. “I will have fun ima go swimming naked” you said turning your car on and driving off leaving her laughing. Your drive was a hour away so you stopped at a gas station to get some water and snacks.

You heard a man behind you talking to someone who seemed to be his brother the conversation seemed intense but you didn’t wanna get involved. So you paid once it was your turn in line. “$25.50” he handed the man money and grabbed your stuff. “Craig we only have 25 miles left relax..” the man said but you ignored it. You went to your car and got in started to drive off you saw two other guys one who looked 16 the other looked 27 blonde hair down the his neck. They watched you drive off it made your stomach turn but you kept driving and checking if anyone was following luckily they didn’t.

“I swear I’m never going on vacation with you again pope!” Craig said leaving going to the truck “awe did I hurt someone’s feelings..because I’m not letting you snort your feelings” Andrew said smirking smirking as he ran his fingers through his hair. He saw Josh and Deran. “Can we not do this , on this trip we finally don’t have baz with us and we don’t need to be fighting.” Deran said annoyed. They both nodded and stayed quiet as they went into the truck. Not even 5 miles later they popped a tire.

“FUCK FUCK…FUCK!!!” Craig said yelling trying to get the tire off on the side of the road. Andrew leaned his body on the truck crossing his arms and his legs crossed as he was looking down at his boots “and everyone says I have anger issues” he said mumbling a bit with some sass. Craig just looked up at him and gave him a glare not wanting to fight anymore. “Someone should look for a good camping spot for now..I just finished calling triple A and they aren’t gonna be able to help up till tomorrow” poor Joshua said as they all turned their heads to him looking pissed off like it was his fault. Deran snapped his head back at Craig “who the fuck doesn’t have a spare tire on there 250,000 truck!” He said so pissed off “we’re supposed to be by the beach by now but nooo!” He was really annoyed because everyone had been arguing for the last 6 hours and now he was ready to kill somebody. “We had to go to a different beach to surf when we live right next to a beach..”

“I’ll go look..you guys stay here” pope opened the back door of the truck grabbing his bag and his gun tucking it in the back of his jeans. He didn’t say anything but that and started walking down a path he saw a little bit back.

You were in the cabin and the sun was still out so he dropped everything off and went down by the lake that was a 2 minute walk away. You had towel your water bottle a Dr Pepper of course and a book. You got to the water and looked around everything was so quiet.

You started stripping down till you were naked you only did this one other time last year. You stepped into the water it was warm not freezing. It hit you knees then your thighs then you dived into the water swimming down then back up. Kicking your feet and running your fingers through your wet hair. You swam around went towards the small water fall. You felt free and safe till you turned around seeing a man standing near your towel. “Fuck” you whisper into your teeth swimming still.

Andrew kept walking he got to this cabin and went up and knocked on the door not seeing anyone but a car. He got no answer he walked over to the car and felt the hood it was warm. His eyebrows frowned as he looked around “HELLO!” He yelled no answer. He licked his lips and saw another path it looked like there was foot prints in the sand. So he followed then he was gonna ask whoever owned the place if they could stay there or help at least. He walked the two minutes and saw the stuff on the ground then saw the 20 something year old in the water. “Fuck” he whispered not in a I want her way in a she can’t help us way. He saw the Harvard law hoodie on the ground and her shorts and he saw her panties also he raised his eyebrows. “Sorry to bug you sweetheart…my brothers and I just got a flat on the main road and I saw what I believe is your cabin looking for some help..see my brother is a idiot for not having a spare” he said as you swam close he couldn’t see her body yet he didn’t know if he wanted too or not yet but her face was quite beautiful. “I don’t really know anything about cars..” you were swimming in the middle now as he was just staring at you.

“Why is he staring?” You asked yourself “oh that’s fine ..you need a swimming buddy?”he said tilting his head as he was reading your face a bit. You covered your chest as you looked at your stuff his eyes followed yours. “Uh..no I’m good..I came out here to be alone..” you said wishing you didn’t say the alone part you were afraid something bad was about to happen. But then he sat down. Did he not hear about the wanting to be alone?

“Yeah I get that I don’t wanna go back to those idiots…you seem like good company..and you’re smart I see Harvard law..impressive” he smirked as grabbed your Dr Pepper and opened it. “Hey that’s mine!” You said still in the middle of the water. “What are you gonna do you’re in the water naked..” he shrugged and took a sip he smirked watching your eyes roll he got up “here I’ll make it fair” he said putting the drink down he slipped his backpack off and took out his gun which made you hold your breath but he put it down on his bag like it was nothing. He started unbuttoning his shirt. “You don’t gotta do that…” you said so confused and nervous at the same time. “I already started” he smirked as he took both his boxers and pants off after kicking his boots off. He had freckles all over him his hair was nice and curly he looked clean but you saw all the cuts and bruises on him. He was a dangerous man. Not to mention he was also huge downstairs and he wasn’t even hard..yet. He jumped into the water diving in actually. He didn’t get too close.

After he got into the water Andrew saw her body under the water he could tell she was trying to hide your body he didn’t get why the was one of the best bodies he’s seen in awhile. He swam up to the top of the water wiping his eyes and nose he just stared at you . Like he was reading her mind. The more he looked at you he liked you. “How old are you?” He asked as he got a little closer to you. But you swam back a bit “old enough” you said testing the waters. “Old enough to be by yourself naked? How about old enough to be fucked?” He saw you blush so fast he smiled tilting his head. “Oh shit …you’re a virgin?!” He said a bit suprised after seeing your naked body. “Am not!” You said quickly “oh baby don’t start lying to me.” He said quickly back as he swam right up to you. You smelt like vanilla and coconut. He tried not to sniff you but you smelt so good. He felt him twitch a bit. “Fuck me” he thought to himself.

You froze when he got closer he was so handsome to you now that he was close. His face his muscles his hands. You caught your breath. Your heart was pounding. “I am. A virgin..” you gulped as you felt his big hands grab your hip right under the bone. Your eyes looking into his light brown eyes almost green. He nodded not saying anything else his other hand went around the back of your neck. He raised his eyebrows looking at your lips then eyes you nodded giving him the yes to kiss you. The second his lips touched you, you gave in. He pulled you in closer wrapping your legs around his waist. He smirked a bit feeling your body against his. He grabbed your ass squeezing the side on your left while his other hand behind the back of your head. Keeping your lips together the wet kisses felt amazing.

You had kissed guys before but this was a Man kissing you. He was following you trying not to be rough he pressed his head against yours pulling from the kiss. “Do you wanna stay a virgin or no?” He asked looking deep into your eyes as he waited for an answer. You were so confused so many emotions your pussy was screaming no you didn’t. Hell even your nipples we’re begging. You gulped as you looked away for a second then back at him “no..” you saw him smirking again. He let go of you and swam to the edge he waited for you as he laid your towel out. “Lay down” he said as you swam to the edge you didn’t realize how wet you were till you got out of the water you were still nervous as he looked at your naked body but it made you feel better when you saw his cock growing hard.

“Yes sir” you said as you laid down on your back. He rolled his eyes back into his head getting turned on by your words. “This is messed up but what’s your name?” He asked as he lowered himself down to your feet. “Y/n” you said chuckling a bit. He chuckled too “well y/n ima eat you out if that’s okay?” He said slowly opening your knees as your feet were flat on the towel. You nodded answering your question “Such a pretty pussy..you know that. This is the best pussy I’ve ever seen beautiful” he said lowering his face to your right thigh. He couldn’t help but smile seeing you holding your stomach and holding your breath. “Shhh baby relax I’m not gonna hurt you ima make you feel so good i promise” he started kissing down your thighs more as he got closer you closed your eyes and then felt it felt him slowly licking your clit. Slowly you bit down on your lip as he continued to lick. “No baby I wanna hear those moans”. He looked up seeing your eyes closed you nodded you just didn’t wanna embarrass yourself. He started licking again going into your folds your moans starting coming out. Which made him groan as he loved the taste of you feeling how wet you were getting in his mouth. You buckled your hips up as he continued the moans got louder. “Fuck ..that feels so much better than my fingers” you said as he chuckled.

He started devouring your pussy groaning yearning for more. He gulped it all down licking your hole as he wanted to go deeper inside. He couldn’t stop himself till he noticed you started to buckle more and started riding his face up and down. “That’s it sweetheart fuck my face”he said going faster and faster trying to get you to cum. You felt your stomach knotting not like being your face was hot and flushed as you were trying so hard to reach that high. You were drooling and moaning feeling his hands move up to your breast as he played with your nipples sending waves to your clit. Then you felt the release my gosh did it feel freeing.

He was holding his breath as he started licking you clean you were so sensitive now as he continued to lick everything “you taste so good sweetheart i could eat you all day” he said pulling back for now he now wanted to stretch your pussy out. You were catching your breath as you saw him hovering over you. “That felt so good..” you gasped feeling his tip on your clit he looked at you with hunger. You felt his tip go to your folds you nodded saying yes. Which didn’t take long he slipped his tip in and out of you seeing if you could handle it. You looked down watching as he spit on his hand and started covering his cock with his spit. It was way better than porn you thought. You looked up at his face seeing him watching you.

“Your tits bounce so perfectly…i really think the universe wanted me to fuck your perfect body today baby” he said shoving his cock into causing you to whine. “Shh baby deep breaths I got you baby don’t worry.. I got you” he said letting you adjust for a second and slowly started thrusting in and out. You held onto his arms that were on each side of you. “That’s it baby take my dick like a good girl.. it’s only gonna hurt for a moment don’t worry I know I’m too big for you right now but soon your body will enjoy it” he reached down rubbing your clit softly. “It’s starting to feel good sir” you said in that moment he started thrusting a little faster. You legs went up around his waist “you’re so fucking tight baby oh ..fu-uck” he said moaning as he held himself up with one arm tapping his hand on you clit with the other. You went on your elbows letting your legs down opening them wide for him you wanted to watch him go in and out. Your tits bouncing up and down and all around made him go faster he loved your tits so much. “You keep clenching around me like that I’m gonna cum so deep inside you baby..fuck that sounds so good cumming in you and watching it come out”. You moaned at the idea of being filled with this strangers seed.

You got a bit cocky “cum in me daddy” you said smirking he felt you clenching around him. You looked into your eyes as he grabbed your throat. He went faster your stomach started to knot again “fuck don’t stop”

“Call me daddy again, please baby I cum so deep into your tight little pussy say it now” he said choking you lightly “please daddy cum in my pussy..please I beg you daddy” you said as he started to cum so deep in you your high came he rubbed your clit so fast you started to cum while he was cumming. “FUCK” the both of you said at the same time. “Damn baby..you’re so good” “I’m really glad you came to the lake”

“I’m definitely not leaving you..” he said as he kissed you again finally pulling away “you’re mine now baby” he said kissing you again “sir i don’t even know your name..”

Im not proof reading this so my bad if i fucked up. I hope you enjoyed.

[forest-hashira]

Make It Right

me? branching out from animanga? it's more likely than you think lol. anyways, i'm finally dipping my toes into the arcane fandom. please be nice to me i am just a scared little baby deer. also, for the full experience, know that i listened to "the final fight" by conan gray on loop while writing this fic. do with that what you will.

read on ao3 | wc: 6.6k | pairing: viktor x reader | cw: gn reader, modern/college au, alcohol consumption, first kisses, breakup, exes to lovers (mostly), implied ace4ace relationship (reader & vik), caitvi wedding, i think that's it

One of these days you were going to learn to be more selfish. Today, unfortunately, was not that day. It was hard to be selfish when it came to your best friend’s wedding, after all. 

You’d gone along on all of the errands Cait had asked you to attend with her – sometimes in Vi’s stead, sometimes to act as a mediator if they butted heads over any details about the decorations, or cake flavor, or catering, or anything else. Even if preventing them from having arguments got tiring after a while, you were more than happy to oblige; you were good friends with both of them, and you wanted both of them to be happy on their big day.

Besides, it was the least you could do after putting your foot down about being Cait’s maid of honor. She’d been a bit disappointed, but she’d understood. Thankfully, Jayce had been ecstatic when she asked him to be her man of honor – he’d beamed about it for days, and none of the teasing he received about it was enough to dampen his mood.

Not that you saw much of Jayce these days. You were still friends with him, of course, because you were in the same friend groups, but you rarely sought out his company anymore. He hadn’t wronged you at all, but it was hard to be around him without being reminded of how horribly your relationship with his best friend – and roommate – had ended.

You’d met Viktor your freshman year of university, when he’d been assigned as your lab partner in your one required science credit course for your degree. You’d picked the class because the professor had a better student rating than any of your other options, but the subject matter was much harder than you’d anticipated. 

Though he was a bit awkward, Viktor had been kind when you’d asked him for help – he was your lab partner, after all, so part of his grade was riding on your ability to understand and do the work, too. Over the course of the semester, the two of you spent several hours together on four days of the week: two days were the actual class and lab, and the other two days were spent studying, though those study days felt more like tutoring sessions for you. 

Unsurprisingly, you got along really well with him; his dry, sarcastic humor always made you laugh, and his mastery of all things relating to his degree was nothing short of fascinating to you. To your surprise, he seemed to like your company, too. He asked about your day when you saw him, and though he didn’t seem to care much for anyone else, he always listened when you’d talk about your friends. 

When the semester ended, and you finished the class with a ‘B-,’ you invited Viktor to celebrate with you and your friends. He’d agreed after you promised it wouldn’t be anything crazy, just a small party at your friend Cait’s house. 

“Her parents are stupid rich,” you told him. “Her mom’s some sort of diplomat, so they’re out of town for a conference for the next week. Cait invited some of us over to celebrate the end of the semester.”

“How many people is she inviting?” Viktor asked, and though he was good at hiding it, it wasn’t all that difficult for you to pick up on the fact that he was nervous.

“Not many,” you assured him, “She’s not an extremely social person to begin with, honestly. It’ll be her, Vi – who Cait insists she doesn’t have a thing for, but she totally does, we can all see it – Vi’s younger sister Powder, Powder’s friend Ekko, Jayce – who’s been friends with Cait since they were in middle school – me, and if you come, you! So that’s…” You trailed off for a moment, counting on your fingers. “Seven, including you and me. That’s not so bad, right?”

Viktor still seemed unconvinced, but he hadn’t outright said no, either. After a moment, you remembered something else you thought might tempt him, and you perked up.

“Oh! I’m pretty sure Jayce is in the same program you are! Or at least one really similar to it. Something to do with engineering, I think? He’s only told me once so I’m not remembering exactly what it was he told me he’s studying. But I think the two of you would really get along!”

There was a long moment of silence after you spoke, Viktor’s expression completely unchanged. You decided to throw out one more thing to try and tempt him to join you. 

“Please, Vik? I worry about you being alone, I just wanna spend some time with you without having to study until my brain melts out of my ears. Is that really so bad?”

That seemed to do the trick, because his expression softened and he sighed. “Alright, I’ll go with you,” he agreed. “I can’t have you worrying about me for no reason.” The corner of his lips twitched into something faintly reminiscent of a smile, and you nearly cheered. 

For the most part, the party was unremarkable, just as you’d expected, Jayce and Viktor got along well, with Jayce animatedly telling Viktor about his current project, and Viktor offering some input on the parts Jayce said he was stuck on. Almost everybody had a bit to drink, but nobody got so drunk that they were sick or making bad decisions. 

Well… mostly.

“We should play Spin the Bottle.” Vi had a bit of a smirk as she made the suggestion, glancing over at Cait and stifling a bit of a laugh when she blushed. “C’mon, Cupcake, don’t tell me you’re scared of a little game?”

“I am not,” Cait insisted, scowling. “But we’ve already thrown away all the empty bottles.” 

As if she’d been waiting, Vi downed the last of her beer, wiping away the bit that dripped down her chin with the back of her hand as she waved the empty bottle in Cait’s direction. “Got one right here.”

Cait rolled her eyes, resigning herself to the fate of playing the game. “Fine,” she huffed, “But I am not kissing Jayce.” 

Everyone began to take their seats on the floor, making as tight of a circle as they could as Vi laid the bottle on the floor in the middle. Before you joined them, though, you looked over at Viktor. He’d leaned his cane against the arm of the couch where the two of you had been sitting, and he was eyeing the floor grimly.

You bumped him lightly with your shoulder, doing your best not to draw attention to him as you murmured, “D’you wanna stay on the couch?” 

Viktor frowned, considering your words for a moment. Eventually, he shook his head. “No, I think I would prefer to join everyone else on the floor.”

You nodded back, not entirely surprised by his answer; he always did his best not to let his disability hinder him, even if you could see that it caused him pain and discomfort. “Need some help getting down there?”

He hesitated for another moment, then gave a slight nod. “Please.”

Standing from your seat, you took Viktor’s hand, helping him up from the couch and back down onto the floor. It took a few moments and a bit of spatial negotiation to get him into a comfortable position, but soon enough you were settled on the floor, too, with Cait on your left and Viktor on your right. 

“How do we decide who goes first?” Cait asked, arching a brow as she looked across the circle at Vi. 

“I’ll go!” Powder chirped, grinning as she leaned forward, grabbing the bottle and giving it a hard spin. When it finally stopped, the neck of the bottle was pointing squarely at Vi. Instead of being grossed out, Powder simply grabbed her sister, planting an obnoxious kiss on her cheek with an exaggerated “Mwah!” 

Vi rolled her eyes, but she was smiling, shaking her head slightly at her sister’s antics. You laughed along with Powder and Ekko, the girl’s behavior a little ridiculous, but endearing nonetheless. 

Deciding to go clockwise around the circle, Vi grabbed the bottle and gave it a spin herself. After a moment, it landed back where it started, in her direction.

“D’you wanna spin again?” Powder asked, tilting her head slightly. 

“Nah,” Vi replied, twisting around and grabbing a bottle of vodka and a shot glass that had been left on a side table. She poured herself a shot, then downed it right afterwards. “Options are give a kiss or take a shot. And I can’t very well kiss myself.” She set the bottle and the shot glass down in front of her, then turned to look at Viktor. “Your turn.”

Viktor sighed softly, not looking thrilled at the idea of participating, but he didn’t argue, just leaned forward a bit and spun the bottle. As it slowed, it looked for a moment as if it was going to land on Vi again, but it only came to a stop once it pointed at you. Once you processed what you were seeing, you looked up at your friend to gauge his reaction. 

Much to your surprise, Viktor seemed almost scared by the result; he was frozen, eyes widened the tiniest bit. He glanced in your direction for a fleeting second, though when he realized you were already looking at him, his cheeks flushed a rather intense shade of pink. He looked away quickly, instead eyeing the vodka bottle; you’d never really known him to be a drinker, so that was even more surprising to you. 

“You don’t have to take a shot, Vik,” you reminded him gently, offering him a smile when he met your eye again.

“…Are you sure?” he asked, not seeming entirely convinced.

“‘Course I am.” You shifted a bit closer to him, placing your hand over his as you smiled up at him. “No need to be nervous.”

The words seemed to flood Viktor with bashfulness, the pink on his cheeks spreading down his neck. Instead of arguing or insisting he wasn’t nervous, he leaned down, closing his eyes as he pressed his lips to yours.

His lips were softer than you were expecting, if a bit chapped. Your eyes slipped shut as well, and you leaned up a bit more to meet him. A soft puff of air ghosted across your cheek, and you felt him relax a bit more into the touch. As much as you wanted to linger in the kiss, you let him pull away after a couple of seconds. You weren’t sure if it was noticeable, but you could feel a bit of heat in your own cheeks as you smiled up at him again.

“Alright, lovebirds, we get it,” Vi teased, smirking as she leaned past Viktor to look at you. “Your turn, hot stuff.”

With a roll of your eyes, you reached out and spun the bottle. Watching as it spun, you found yourself hoping it would land on Viktor so you could kiss him again. A few rotations later, though, the neck of the bottle pointed squarely at Vi. “Nope,” you said, already reaching for the vodka and the shot glass. You poured and downed a shot in just a few seconds, then bumped Cait for her to take her turn; even without looking at her face, you could tell that your friend was relieved you hadn’t chosen to kiss the person she was interested in.

When you settled back into your spot, you looked up at Viktor again. There was an undeniable look of relief on his face as he smiled faintly down at you, and it made your stomach do a funny little flip. Suddenly feeling a bit bashful, you dropped his gaze, instead resting your head lightly against his shoulder. He made no move to shrug you off, simply adjusted to the small amount of added weight, and shifted his hand so it rested over yours. You exchanged no words through all of the slight shuffling, but it wasn’t awkward – in fact, it was nice to be a little closer to him.

Just as you settled down, though, you watched the bottle stop spinning, once again pointing straight at Vi. You bit your lip, fighting the urge to laugh, but when Cait groaned and leaned across the circle, grabbing Vi by the neck of her shirt and pulling her into a kiss, you couldn’t help but wolf whistle while Jayce, Ekko, and Powder laughed and cheered. 

“Finally,” Vi sighed, once Cait released her and they both sat down again. “About damn time, cupcake.” As smug as she tried to sound, the grin on her lips and the faint blush on her cheeks gave her away.

Cait clicked her tongue, pointedly looking away from Vi and over to Jayce, as if it would hide the way her whole face burned. “It’s your turn, Jayce. What are you waiting for?”

Knowing better than to tease or argue in that moment, Jayce reached forward and gave the bottle a spin. It shifted a bit to the left from how hard he spun it, but when it finally stopped, it landed on Vi. Again. Jayce glanced up at the pink haired girl, and both of them grimaced. Nose still wrinkled, Vi quickly poured a shot, downed it herself, then poured one for Jayce and passed him the glass. 

As Jayce downed the shot, you covered your mouth with your hand and laughed softly; it wasn’t hard to figure out that Vi wasn’t interested in men at all, but you knew for a fact that Jayce liked women, so the fact that both of them were so grossed out by the idea of having to kiss was especially funny to you. Though he remained quiet beside you, you heard Viktor let out the smallest puff of a breath, one you recognized as a laugh. You tilted your head slightly to look up at his face again, dropping your hand down to your lap, and you found him already looking down at you with a faint hint of a smile, a playful sparkle in his eye; he finally seemed to be actually enjoying the party, and you couldn’t help but feel a little relieved.

“What the hell?”

Vi’s baffled voice drew your attention, and you saw that the bottle was pointing at her again, but not in the same position it had been a few moments ago; presumably, Ekko had taken his turn, and just like everyone but Viktor, had wound up with the option to kiss Vi or take a shot. When he blew a kiss to his friend’s older sister, you and Powder both laughed, and even Vi chuckled a bit.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you rigged this game to make sure you’d get kissed tonight,” Cait said. The heat had finally died down from her face, and she was starting to look a bit smug, but that was all undone when Vi grinned at her.

“Cupcake, if the game had been rigged, everyone would’ve kissed me. You’re the only one who actually did it.” 

The laughter that her comment brought forth only ended when Cait threatened to kick everyone out of her house, even if it was only half-hearted.

You couldn’t really avoid Jayce any longer, though. It was finally Cait and Vi’s wedding day, and you were having to do much more coordinating with Jayce than you’d been expecting. It wasn’t anything too serious, thankfully, but it was just enough little things that it was starting to drive you insane. Between the two of you, you’d narrowly avoided Vi seeing Cait’s dress before she was finished getting ready — You’re really not gonna let me see my fiancée on my wedding day? — prevented Powder from staining her bridesmaid’s dress with pizza sauce — I have a romper in the car that’s the same color, it’s not a big deal! — and had to talk the photographer through the directions to the venue when they got lost. And just when you thought you were finally going to be able to take a breath and sit down for a few minutes before the ceremony started, Jayce dropped a bombshell on you.

“What do you mean Viktor’s your plus one today? What happened to bringing Mel?” Despite how you fought to keep your voice level, even to your ears it sounded a bit shrill.

Jayce, to his credit, looked remorseful about what he’d done, even if he did flinch a bit at Mel’s name. “We broke up,” he said. “About a week ago, actually.”

“Oh.” You paused for a moment, feeling a little guilty for being so accusing before you had all the information. “I’m sorry, that’s… Breakups are never fun. I’m sorry.”

He just nodded. “No, they’re not,” he agreed, letting out a soft sigh. Silence settled over the two of you for a moment again, then another thought occurred to you.

“Did Cait know you were bringing him?” It was difficult to imagine your best friend knowing your only ex-boyfriend would be at her wedding and not giving you a head’s up about it, but at the same time you knew she wanted all of her close friends there, and if you’d known ahead of time that Viktor would also be at the wedding, it would’ve been a lot harder for you to make yourself go.

Fortunately for you, Jayce was quick to dismiss that worry. “No, she doesn’t know he’s here. I told her that Mel wasn’t coming but that I wasn’t sure if I was bringing someone else or not.” 

You pursed your lips, but you gave a small nod. Though you were relieved that this detail hadn’t been purposefully been withheld from you, still weren’t happy about it. “I hope you know she’s probably gonna tear you a new one when she realizes you brought him without telling her,” you said after a moment, a faint smile tugging the corner of your lips; the comment was meant mostly to tease, but you and Jayce both knew there was a grain of truth to it. 

Jayce smiled back a bit. “Maybe she’ll go easy on me since he plans on leaving you alone.”

The tension between you now dispersed, you split up with Jayce, letting him go and get ready for his entrance to the ceremony with Powder. Deciding to check in on Cait one last time, you knocked lightly on the door of the room she’d been getting ready in, then poked your head in. 

Cait was sitting at the vanity, staring at herself intently in the mirror, and you knew she was mentally picking apart every part of her hair and makeup. It made you sigh. “You look stunning, Cait. Stop worrying so much.” 

Crossing the room to reach her, you wrapped your arms around her shoulders from behind, resting your chin atop her head, though you were careful not to ruin her hair. “And even if you didn’t, you could walk down the aisle in an inflatable dinosaur costume and Vi would still think you were the most beautiful person in the world.”

Just as you’d hoped, your words made her laugh, and you felt her relax. She reached up and rested a hand on your arm. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I needed that.”

“You’re welcome,” you murmured. “Deep breaths, yeah? You got this.” A gentle squeeze to her shoulders, then you added, “I gotta go meet Ekko now. I’ll see you out there in just a minute.”

She nodded, squeezing your arm back gently before you released each other, and you stepped out of the room. Ekko was waiting for you just out in the hall, and he smiled at you, extending your bouquet to you. 

You smiled back, accepting the bouquet, then linking arms with him. “You clean up well, kid. You should wear a suit more often.” 

He rolled his eyes and shook his head at your words, but his smile never faded. “The material’s not forgiving enough to surf in,” he joked back. 

Before you could quip back, it was time for the two of you to enter the ceremony, walking down the aisle to the music you’d helped Cait and Vi pick out together. You made it all the way to the altar without an issue, separating from Ekko and going to stand by Jayce. Despite your better judgment, you found your gaze skimming over the crowd, and when you caught the familiar sight of a crutch leaned against a seat, you felt your throat tighten. You were quick to look away, but it was too late; memories were already flooding back to you. 

Vi hadn’t been the only one to leave that party with a new partner. Unlike Cait and Vi – who jumped right into the deep end of dating after sharing that kiss during spin the bottle – you and Viktor took things slow and steady. There were many conversations about what the kiss at the party had meant, if you even wanted it to mean anything at all, and where the two of you stood after it. Viktor had sheepishly admitted that he’d developed feelings for you about halfway through the semester, and when you told him you felt the same, he’d gotten a little flustered.

The progression of your relationship from there didn’t just feel natural, it felt right. You only got more comfortable being around him, visiting each other’s dorms for movie nights or to study together, often with cheap takeout shared between you. Viktor started joining you and your friends more often when you got together. He didn’t come every time, since he was still rather introverted – you teased him about becoming a complete recluse without you – but would tag along to game nights or bar trivia. 

He asked before he kissed you every time, no matter how long you were together. You thought it was adorable and sweet, and you made sure he knew that. Beyond kissing, physical intimacy wasn’t hugely important to either of you. Sure, sometimes you’d curl up while watching a movie, or you’d fall asleep in the other’s lap, but that was it. The one time it came up around Vi, she’d been so surprised it had worried you, and you’d wondered if you were depriving Viktor of something he wanted simply because you weren’t initiating. Though you’d been nervous about it, you brought it up to Viktor the next time you saw him. He’d been quick to assuage your concerns, assuring you that if there was something he wanted, he would talk to you about it.

“So no, lásko, you are not depriving me of anything.” He’d kissed your forehead afterwards, and you felt him smile against your skin when you relaxed into him. “Am I depriving you of anything?” he’d asked after a moment, a bit of a teasing lilt in his words.

You’d laughed softly, shaking your head and wrapping your arms around him. “No,” you promised, “You’re not. I would talk to you about it if you were.”

And you kept your word. For two years, everything between the two of you was perfect. The first semester of your senior year of university started off just as every other year had, and at first, nothing about your relationship changed. About six weeks in, though, Viktor started a big project in one of his classes, and it consumed nearly his every waking moment. It was a little disappointing to not see your boyfriend as much, but you made the best of it, going to his dorm on the days he wasn’t in the lab all night & bringing takeout with you, knowing he had a tendency to forget to take care of himself when he got sucked into a project. 

But then a project for one class turned into projects for all of his classes, and he all but disappeared from your life. He stopped asking to come and see you, he stopped asking to meet up at the library, he stopped taking care of himself. Even then, you tried to be patient, to be understanding and ignore your hurt feelings; you knew his degree was more work-intensive than yours was, that it required more of his time, but it still wasn’t fun to be faced with the reality of it. 

The final straw came when he stopped so much as answering your texts. It had been three days with no word from him at all, and you, worried he may have pushed himself too hard in the lab over the weekend and gotten himself hurt, went to see if he was in his apartment, or if you needed to look elsewhere for him.

You used the spare key he’d given you about six months before, and when you saw him sitting at his tiny dining table staring blankly down into a mug of coffee, you felt relief rush over you. The relief was quickly followed by irritation, though, when you saw his phone sitting on the table in front of him. 

“Vik,” you sighed, closing the door behind you and crossing the room to join him. “I haven’t heard from you in days, I was getting really worried.” As you spoke, you glanced over at his phone. After a beat, you decided to offer him a graceful out, even if neither of you would really believe him if he took it. “Did you not get my texts?”

“I got them,” he said, voice flat. “I didn’t answer because I was busy.”

His honesty shouldn’t have been a surprise, since he’d never been one to lie to you, but in this instance, it was. “Too busy to send me a quick text to let me know you weren’t unconscious on the floor of your lab?” You did your best to inject a bit of humor into your tone, but it was difficult.

“Yes,” was his simple reply, nothing in his tone or expression changing in the slightest. It didn’t sit well with you.

“Viktor,” you said, doing your best to sound firm but not angry as you stood upright once again. “Do you remember when I said I would tell you if you were depriving me of something in our relationship, just like you said you would?”

He nodded, though he still didn’t look away from his coffee.

“Well,” you continued. “I’m telling you now. You’re not working with me to keep this relationship together. I understand that you’re busy, and that most of the time you don’t have the energy for much besides classes and schoolwork, but you can’t keep treating me like this. I have to be one of your priorities, too.”

“No.”

“...Excuse me?”

“No,” Viktor repeated, a bit more firmly, finally looking up at you. “My classes and my lab work are the most important things in my life right now.”

You stared at him, dumbfounded. “…More important than spending time with your long term partner?”

“Absolutely.” The certainty in his voice was unmistakable, and your heart dropped to your stomach. “I will not be changing my priorities. Nothing will come ahead of my studies. They are the only things that matter for my future.”

His words made you feel sick. Although you wanted to break down, to scream at him and cry and smash everything in his tiny, shitty apartment where you’d spent so many nights in love with him, you felt like you were watching yourself from outside your body as you whispered, “Fuck you,” then turned and left the apartment, slamming the door forcefully after you. 

The sound of cheering startled you a bit, and when you finally came back to the moment, you saw Vi dipping Cait as they kissed. You grinned at the sight, joining the rest of the guests in clapping. Part of you felt a bit guilty about mentally checking out for the entirety of the ceremony, instead drowning in the memories of your failed relationship, but it couldn’t be helped now. 

Pointedly not looking in the direction you knew Viktor sat in, you joined the rest of the bridal party as they left the room, everyone eager to get to the reception. Powder, Vi, and Cait all rushed off to get changed into their second, more comfortable outfits, leaving you, Ekko, and Jayce to usher the guests into the reception so the happy couple could make their entrance there, too. 

As you greeted the wedding guests and welcomed them into the room the reception was being held in, you were able to forget, for a moment, that the last person you ever wanted to see again was among them. That is, until you felt Jayce’s hand on your back. You turned slightly to look up at him as he gently pushed you into the room. 

He gave you a small, apologetic smile, and you knew instantly he was trying to prevent you from having a run-in with his best friend. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t bother you,” Jayce promised quietly. All you could do was nod, turning and melting into the crowd as they filed into the room. 

Before leaving your apartment that morning, you’d told yourself you weren’t going to have more than a glass or two of champagne, that way you could better enjoy the evening with your friends, but you were already craving something stronger. You hesitated for a moment, then made your way over to the bar. Just one cocktail won’t be so bad, you told yourself. Since there was no one else at the bar just yet, you were easily able to go up and order your drink without having to wait. 

Drink in hand, you thanked the bartender and left a big tip, telling yourself you wouldn’t be going back up again during the reception anyways. You sipped slowly on your drink as you waited for the newlyweds to make their entrance, not wanting the alcohol to hit you too hard before the party actually started. Just a few minutes later, they entered the room, Cait in a looser-fitting, shorter dress – much more conducive for dancing, everyone had agreed at the fitting – and Vi without her suit jacket. You cheered along with everyone else when you finally saw them, and you smiled as you watched their first dance. The way they looked at each other, so in love it was almost sickening, made your heart clench; you were really, truly happy for them, had been rooting for them since you’d realized Cait had a thing for Vi almost five years ago, but you couldn’t help but wish you were in their shoes. 

You downed the rest of your drink and went back to the bar for another when you caught yourself looking for Viktor; the last thing you needed was to be lovesick over the man who’d wrecked you while you were trying to celebrate two of your best friends. Unfortunately, that meant that your “just one cocktail” promise to yourself had turned into three – one Dark n’ Stormy, one Suffering Bastard, and one Death in the Afternoon. 

As you sipped your third drink, you watched your friends out on the dancefloor; a slower song had started, and Vander had stolen his oldest daughter away from Cait for it. Cait swayed around a bit with Jayce, and Powder rested her head on Ekko’s shoulder as he held her close, his faint rocking movements in sync with the music. Everyone had a partner, someone to share the moment and be happy with.

Except for you.

Yet again, you found your gaze wandering, and eventually you spotted Viktor again. He was on the opposite side of the room, his crutch leaning against the table where he sat. He was alone, and he looked almost as uncomfortable and miserable as you felt, though he didn’t seem to be drinking. It was clear that he was as far from you as he could get, something that was certainly Jayce’s doing, since he’d promised he wouldn’t let Viktor bother you, but you were just buzzed enough to ignore everything in you that was screaming for you to stay away.

What’s the worst that could happen? you thought, downing the rest of your drink and placing the empty glass on the bar before picking your way across the room, skirting the dance floor and all the other happy partygoers. Somehow, Viktor didn’t notice you until you pulled out the chair next to him and sat down. “Why are you here?” you asked, crossing your legs. You leaned back in your seat a bit, just watching him. 

For a few long moments, he just stared at you, eyes wide with wordless shock, like he couldn’t really believe you were there talking to him. When you arched a brow at him, though, it seemed to bring him back to himself. “Jayce said I needed to get out of the house and go somewhere that wasn’t the lab,” he answered, dropping your gaze as he spoke. “I knew you were going to be here, so I told him I did not think it was a good idea, but he was insistent. He wouldn't leave the house without me.”

Even once he finished speaking, he wouldn’t look at you again, and all you could think was how much it reminded you of the last conversation you had with him. Forcing those thoughts aside, you took a moment to really look at him, to see how he’d changed in the years since you’d broken up. His hair was a bit longer, but he still wore it in generally the same style; he used a crutch now, rather than a cane, something Jayce had mentioned before and you’d glimpsed during the ceremony, but it was entirely different seeing it up close; his clothes seemed looser on him, as if he’d lost weight he couldn’t really afford to lose; he even seemed paler than you remembered, almost ashen. It all made your heart pang; the years clearly had not been kind to him, but even still, you couldn’t forget how unkindly he’d treated you first.

“You really fucking hurt me, you know that?” The words slipped out before you could think them through, and once you started, you couldn’t make them stop. “The way you treated me right before we broke up was so… so shitty, Vik. You didn’t even care about me anymore. Do you know how that made me feel?”

He winced at your words, but he nodded. “Yes,” he said quietly, “I do.”

“How could you possibly know?” Bitterness curled around your words, and you nearly choked on them.

“Caitlyn showed up at my apartment a couple of months after our breakup. She was furious, screaming at me about how much I’d hurt you, how miserable you were all the time. She told me you’d spent practically every night at her house, crying on her shoulder about how awful you felt and how much you hated me.” A small, sardonic smile twitched at the corner of his lips as he added, “I think she would have tried to kill me if Jayce hadn’t been there with me.”

Viktor looked up at you again after that, looking almost pained. “I am deeply sorry for doing that to you. I never should have treated you so terribly.”

His words shocked you, and you were only a little surprised to feel your eyes begin to burn with tears. “…I really loved you, Vik,” you whispered, throat tight as you tried to keep your emotions in check. “Like, I really loved you. Those years we were together, I was so happy. I felt like I’d won the lottery, because I had a partner I was head over heels for and who loved me just as much, I had an amazing group of friends, and my education was going perfectly. I let myself start planning my future because I was so convinced everything was going my way.”

A short, bitter laugh escaped you, and you shook your head. “It sounds stupid now, but… I even started looking at wedding venues and engagement rings. Spending the rest of my life with you seemed inevitable, so I got carried away.” You trailed off, wiping your eyes quickly before you started sobbing like a baby. “I’m not even sure why I’m telling you this,” you admitted. “I never wanted to see you again. I really thought I’d moved past all this. But I guess not.”

Viktor was silent for so long you started to feel self conscious, even with three drinks practically erasing your inhibitions, and you glanced over at him to try and gauge how he was feeling. You were a bit shocked to see that he looked almost sick. 

“You… wanted to get married?” His voice was smaller than you could ever recall hearing it, but instead of feeling vindicated like you’d expected, you just felt worse. 

“Yeah. Of course I did, Vik. I never cared about anyone the way I cared about you.” 

Silence settled over the two of you for several long moments; it left you feeling exposed and anxious after being so vulnerable with him, something you hadn’t even been planning on doing when you walked over to him. Just before you could stand up to flee, Viktor spoke again.

“I have missed you every single day since our relationship ended,” he confessed, once again staring at his hands. “You were the best thing that ever happened to me, and I treated you like garbage. You deserved so much better than that; you still do.” 

He paused, took a deep breath, then continued, more nervous than before. “Is… is there any chance you could ever forgive me?” he asked. “I know it is selfish of me to ask – that I don’t deserve to be forgiven – and I would not blame you if you cursed me out instead, but I am asking anyways.” When you didn’t answer right away, he looked up at you one last time, the deep gold of his eyes shining even in the dimmed lighting of the venue. “I will get down on my knees and beg if that’s what it takes. Even if you kick me while I am down, I will do whatever you ask to earn your forgiveness.”

All the air was sucked from your lungs at his words, and all you could do at first was stare; it was so reminiscent of the Viktor you’d been certain you would marry that it made you dizzy. “You idiot,” you huffed, shaking your head at him. “Stay in your fucking chair, Jayce’ll have a heart attack if he sees you on the floor.”

Viktor gave a slight shrug. “He probably would,” he agreed, “But it would be worth it if it meant making things up to you.”

“That’s not the way I want you to make things up to me, Viktor.”

If you hadn’t memorized every one of his mannerisms, you would’ve missed the way he perked up the tiniest bit at your words. “Is there a way you want me to make things up to you?”

Though you tried to fight it, the faintest hint of a smile ghosted across your lips. “You could start by getting me a glass of water.”

He smiled back faintly. “Anything else?”

“I wouldn’t mind a snack with it.”

“Your wish is my command.”

The way your heart fluttered at his words was all too familiar, but you were starting to think that that wasn’t the worst thing that could happen.

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[toonice113]

We are not so different ⋆ ★ Q.Hughes

Pairings: Quinn Hughes x Fem!OC

Summary: Kassandra has been in the public eye her entire life, Quinn not so much, but one night is enough to show them they are not so different from each other.

Warnings: I said Quinn had hazel eyes because no one can agree on what color his eyes are so we’re going with hazel, allusion to sex but nothing explicit, mentions of drinking, not proofread, not a lot of dialogue, open ending kinda?

Word count: 1.8k

⋆˚࿔ tina's note 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ Author lore drop: Im latina loool, so this one is kinda inspired on the song Kassandra by Quevedo. Also this could technically have a sequel if I really wanted to write it so let me know if that’s something you’d be interested in! 

She was a nepo baby through and through, her first job? A special appearance in the Disney show The suite life of Zack and Cody, after that, several acting jobs all throughout her childhood that followed her through her teenage years and into adulthood. Both of her parents being widely known, her dad responsible for your favorite Hollywood movie scripts, her mom a now retired world renowned ballerina. Kassandra never asked for fame, but it was all she knew, growing up she had everything she could ever wish for, in exchange though there were cameras around her always. 

She never complained about her status, she was always surrounded by ‘friends’, party after party, movie premieres, award shows, afterparties, fashion shows, her entourage followed everywhere yet there was always something missing. 

Tonight Kassandra found herself in yet another one of her father’s movie premiere, smiling on the red carpet, her dress a beautiful deep blue gown with a killer leg slit and a square neckline that was complimented with her mother’s vintage ruby necklace, her fingers decorated with dazzling diamond rings that shined bright under the flashes of the paparazzi.

After a few minutes of posing she moved gracefully to the media side, her strides confident and controlled, her posture perfect and her smile gleaming as she spoke to the reporters, she was in the middle of answering the same question she’d already answered three times to the past four reporters when she noticed him, past the movie stars, photographers, staff and flashes. He looked out of place, skittish almost, dressed in a gray suit, hair styled back, hazel eyes finding her own. She kept her eyes on his as she wrapped up the interview only breaking eye contact to give the reporter one last smile and finally walk inside the building.

Poor Quinn had no idea how he’d ended up here, this wasn’t his scene, the people that walked in front of him and strided along the red carpet, no one sparing him a second glance. His hands were sweaty, his legs shaked slightly and his brain felt fuzzy. He cursed Brock for rejecting the invitation and Petey for pulling out at the last minute leaving him with no chance but to show up on his own. As noise buzzed all around him he started to feel his breath become choppy, suddenly his suit was itchy and his tie too tight. He was sure he was about to have a panic attack when his eyes met hers while looking around for an exit.

As their eyes met Quinn felt lighter, his breath stabilizing. She was beautiful and she looked like she belonged right where she was, smiling for the camera, with everyone around her pausing to take a good look at her, and yet, her eyes were locked on him. He knew her, had seen her in a couple movies, remembered her from her small part in the Dune movies and the cover of the magazine Petey’s girlfriend had laying on their coffee table last time he was at their place. Her name wasn’t clear to him, but that didn’t matter in the moment, he didn’t know why she was looking at him, but he was thankful for it because somehow, in the midst of all the chaos, without a single word, she had managed to ground him.

She disappeared too soon for Quinn’s liking but thankfully he was being rushed for a few photos before he too was lead inside the same building he’d seen her go into, where people were starting to socialize with one another, networking no doubt, but Quinn really had no intention of sharing fake smiles or making small talk with people he’s most likely never encounter again, all he wanted was to get a drink, then watch the movie and go back home.

He was sipping on a glass of scotch, hiding by the wall, people watching while hoping time would speed up when she approached him “You are different, don’t belong here” Her voice had a slight rasp to it and she sipped on her own glass, champagne was Quinn’s guess. “You don’t enjoy being here either” She clarified, realizing how harsh her previous words had been.

“Either?” He asked, confused, she looked like she owned the place. Just in the last ten minutes he’d seen her conversation with at least half of the room, floating from group to group with an astounding ease.

“I’m just here as a formality” She shrugged “Have to support my dad and all that” Quinn nodded, not really knowing what to say “I assume you’re also only here for business, but you’re not really trying to work the room” 

“My teammate was supposed to be here but he couldn’t so the team sent me instead” He said

She hummed “Team?” 

“Canucks” He said, they were in Vancouver, he assumed she had seen his face at least once in one of the posters scattered around the city, not because he thought he was super famous, but because nowadays he couldn’t walk two steps without seeing his own face somewhere yet she still looked confused “Hockey” 

At that she nodded “I’m not really into sports, I apologize” He shrugged “Either way, neither of us want to be here surrounded by all these fake people” She took another sip of her drink “So maybe we can be miserable together, fake being busy and that” 

“Sure” Quinn managed to blurt out, she made him nervous, he was intimidated by her confident demeanor as she politely smiled and waved at people in a clear manner that indicated that while she was polite enough to greet everyone from afar, she wasn’t looking for a conversation.

“So, do I get your name?” She asked turning to look at him, with her heels they were almost the same height 

“Quinn” He replied “Quinn Hughes”

She put her hand out for a handshake “Nice to meet you Quinn, I’m Kassandra” Her hands were soft, her rings cold at the touch and he hoped his hands weren’t too sweaty anymore “Like I said, I don’t really follow sports, but I imagine Hockey is not very glam and glitz?” She questioned and he shook his head “And that’s why you are so uncomfortable” 

“I’m not used to all this, the most media I do is maybe an interview a game and usually I just have to answer the same questions about the game I’ve been asked a million times before” He explained, the alcohol finally making its job at loosening him a little bit “What about you? I would’ve thought you were a pro at these events, you grew up around them” 

“I am a pro” She replied “But that doesn’t mean I have to like it, it gets tiring you know? All these people here are trying to talk to me because of who my father is, maybe if they get close enough they’ll get a few lines in the next big movie” She shrugged twirling her half empty glass “The press I can usually get through easily, just like the Hockey reporters I guess, these ones ask the same questions over and over again too, but then all this” She gestured at the room, Quinn turned to look at the people chatting with each other “I bet you there’s no more than three meaningful conversations going on right now” 

And Quinn could see what she was saying, as he looked around he noticed the way no one looked really interested in the person in front of them, how the conversations all looked almost like debates where the participants just kept throwing words out without much care about what the others said.

When it came time to watch the movie Kassandra took hold of Quinn’s arm, leading him into the theatre and all the way to the back of the room, the seats in front filling quickly, everyone excited to be front and center with the two back rows ending up empty if not for Kassandra and Quinn. Throughout the movie they talked in hushed tones, careful not to disrupt the rest of the viewers while getting to know each other. Finding out that they were more similar than they had initially expected.

Both of them feeling like they had a massive responsibility to carry, Quinn as the captain of his team and the oldest of three brothers who were all competing in the league while Kassandra woke up everyday feeling like she had to be perfect, like there was nothing more for her beyond camera flashes and glamour, as if she had to be everything the public expected of her and nothing more. 

And when the movie was over Quinn and Kassandra didn’t want to say goodbye, so they didn’t, Kassandra swiped a bottle of wine from the bar on their way out and followed Quinn into his assigned car, going up to his apartment where her dress slipped from her body as rushed kisses were exchanged, fingers tangled in hair, pulling lightly as soft moans escaped.

That was their only night together, both of them going back to their lives the next day, Quinn going back to Hockey and Kassandra flying out to her next big event, but that night followed them, Quinn watched from afar as her smile became more relaxed but still as dazzling as always, he noticed how she began to become another version of herself, a more authentic one, one closer to the one he’d had that night, how she’s let herself be more free, not needing to be perfect all the time, allowing her hair to flow naturally and her skin to shine without all the makeup, but most importantly she saw how she’d started fidgeting with his ring, the only thing that kept them somewhat connected now, the ring that now resided on her left thumb, one that she never took off.

And Kassandra wouldn’t admit it out loud, but she’s now tune in to every one of his games she could, watching on her TV as she made dinner, or on her phone as she got her hair and makeup done, or checking the score every time she got the chance when she wasn’t able to watch the actual game. She’d seen him get injured, she’d noticed the pain, not the physical one, but the one she knew he felt beyond it, and she almost called him, but she didn’t, not because she couldn’t get his number, she could probably send a text and get it within minutes if she really wanted to, but because while they were not so different from each other, their paths weren’t meant to be intertwined past that night and she had accepted that long ago.

But when she disappeared, suddenly, as if she’d been swallowed by the earth Quinn couldn’t help but look for her, because while she had accepted their fate and decided to let it be, Quinn believed that he had a say on the path he took in life and he wanted to take the one that would lead back to her.

[yeonmuse]

ᥫ᭡ f!reader x lee heeseung ── 𝒢enre. Uni au. fluff, non idol enha. feats. ot7 [reqs are closed] ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓁ibrary 🪷

⍣ ೋ AUTHORS NOTES . This is part of admins Enhypen University Special Event. This series also has slight connections to every series in said event so occasionally characters from the other members chapters may appear in this series as well. (Completely rewritten)

˗ˏˋSUMMARY ´ˎ˗ Heeseung finds himself completely captivated by the campus golden girl. Perfect grades, absolute sweetheart, breathtakingly beautiful and the lead girl in every show the theater has put on thus far. Though just what he finds that he’s getting closer to her through her love of theater and performance arts, old flames and childhood friends make it harder for Heeseung to get closer to her.

TAGLIST IS CLOSED

SHOWTIME

Sakoia didn’t know what came over her but suddenly all of the events over the course of the last two months had hit her like a truck. Compared to her once calm and focused daily life the last two months had been chaotic. Between finding out about her mother in the worst way possible and having been sick for an entire week she felt that she may have been lacking her usual skills and focus she’d maintained when she usually performed. The oncoming pressure and the overwhelming sense of reality was caving in on her and she was starting to feel the pressure of hundreds of eyes perceiving her tonight. What if they looked at her and they saw her mom in the worst way, what if she had a wardrobe malfunction or she missed a line due to her having missed a week of practice. There was a sick feeling swarming the deepest pits of her stomach and she didn’t know how to shoo it away.

After having gotten away from the rest of the cast and the busy theater she sat beneath the magnolia tree at the front of campus, all of her feelings and worries seeming to crash down upon her at once. Her fingers nervously fiddled with the necklace around her neck given to her by Heeseung the night of their date. She found herself thinking of him now, would he be disappointed seeing her like this? Would he think that it was pathetic of her to be sitting under a tree overthinking while he and the others were probably freaking out about her whereabouts. So many thoughts that she had been drowning in for nearly half an hour until she heard the crunch of leaves behind her dragging her back to the surface.

Her gaze diverted away from the grass beneath her feet, to Heesung who now stood at her side, though she couldn’t look too long because eventually the guilt had said that she left them all alone without a word.

“So this is where you ran off to.” he’s the first to speak, evident worry laced within his tone.

“Everyones worried sick, we've all been looking for you.’’

“I’m sorry. I don’t know…I don;t know if i’m prepared for this.’’ Heesungs eyebrows crease in confusion at her words. She knew every line from start to finish, hell she could even recite them from the ending to the beginning, so he was confused as to why she suddenly felt it wasn’t enough.

“Star you know every line, you aced every practice so-’’

“I’m nervous. There's this pit in my stomach that just won't go away. Heesung the last month just flew by and I feel like none of it was my reality. How do I know that I can even do well when I'm not even sure I know every emotion or experience I've had as of late is even real. How can I prove myself, or even put on my best tonight if ever since i’ve found out about my mom i’ve been struggling to even remember what all of this is for?’’ Heesung had a feeling that it all would eventually set in on her, she had been acting far too strong as of lately and for the last week he could tell that her mind had been elsewhere, he just didn’t know the reason.

“Do you remember what you told me that day we went out for dinner?’’ Sakoia stares back at him in silence, seeming to have forgotten the words she spoke to him when he asked why she’d started theater.

“You told me ever since you were a little girl it was the one place you thrived because being on stage allowed you to be anyone or anything you wanted to be. Because you got to show different sides of yourself and show the diversity that you could maintain on stage and one day someone will remember the feeling you gave them from watching you perform and they’ll spark a love for it too.”

“Heeseung I can’t-”

“I know that you wanted her to see you one day, that you wanted her to see everything you accomplished and be proud of you when you finally did get to see your name in lights by working hard on your own. I can’t imagine how hard it’s been not to have her around and then you find out everything you’ve been told about her was a lie but you were never only doing this for her star. Your mother lived her life and i'm sure that she’s still with you, watching everything you’ve done and everything you've become up until now, but now it's time you live your dream to prove to yourself that you could do it, not to anyone else.’’ For a moment Heesung thought he had failed as she hadn’t said a word, nor did she even bother looking at him. Then he heard a faint sniffle and a soft laugh spill from her lips.

“And I thought ejs pee advice was the best advice i’d get before a show.’’ She laughs in between sniffles as she wipes the tears from her face and Heeseung couldn’t help but laugh as well.

“Guess I'm just better.’’ he responds playfully before pushing himself up off the ground.

“Now, I don’t know about you but I can’t really do tonights show without the star of it.’’ he holds out his hand and for a moment she just looks at it before taking a deep breath and placing her hand in his.

No one had been more happy to see her than the professor, doors opened in five minutes and she had been completely freaking out over the fact that the two stars of her show had both gone missing. When the two entered the auditorium she wasted no time ushering them both onto the stage in a panicked manner. Koi had issued countless apologies to her knowing she had probably caused quite a stir by suddenly disappearing but the professor was just happy that she had showed up in just a wink of time before the curtain call.

When everyone had finally started flooding in and taking their seats she took a deep breath, trying to shake away every nerve or wave of anxiety that tingled at her fingertips. Heeseung glances at her from the opposite side of the stage, a look that gave her reassurance and spoke to her the most important thing that he was right there, that he would be the one at her side tonight reassuring her with his eyes alone that she was doing perfect. That she wasn’t alone on the stage tonight.

“Alright places, places everybody, Showtime!’’

CHAPTERLIST | PREVIOUS CHAPTER | ENDING

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[sxvual]

act six • the break

a/n: wheewwww this was a lot, and propably the most I ever wrote at once. it was a tear jerker for me, I really hope you all enjoy it !

cw: angst, themes of depression and anxiety, mild infidelity and emotional affair

word count: 11.2k (told you) also i didn't proof, so if you see any mistakes or basic spelling errors, so sorry!

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The early evening light poured gold across the kitchen counters, casting a soft glow over the freshly printed party list Sunny had taped to the fridge. Roman stood in front of it like it was a crime scene—arms folded, jaw set, an expression of deep suspicion as he scanned it.

“Do you hate me?”

Sunny, barefoot and grinning, turned from the bowl of homemade guacamole she was mixing. “What now?”

He pointed to the list like it had personally offended him. “Thirty-five people, Suniva. In our backyard. In our house.”

“They’re our friends and family, Romie,” she said, sweetly dragging out the word our like honey. “Come on. It’s our first place together. Our forever home. Don’t you want to break it in right, make it just ours?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of… I don’t know. Naked christening in the living room. You, me, a bottle of wine. Not a herd of people eating dip and judging my choice of patio furniture.”

Sunny laughed, the sound bright and effervescent, the way it always was when she was buzzing with an idea. She crossed the space between them and wrapped her arms around his middle, resting her chin against his chest. “It’s just one afternoon. It’ll be fun. There’ll be music and drinks. You’ll survive.”

He didn’t hug her back right away. He sighed like a man preparing for war.

“I’ll take you to Michaels. Right now. Buy the whole damn store. If you change your mind.”

She giggled again, her fingertips drawing lazy circles over the small of his back. “Is this your version of bribery? I have enough of everything right now."

“It’s desperation,” he muttered, then finally pulled her closer with a long, begrudging groan. “Suniva, I’m serious. You know how my family is. They’re not like you.”

“So? I’m not like anyone,” she replied, cheeky and soft at once. “That’s what you love about me, remember?”

“I do,” he said, his voice lowering as he rested his forehead against hers. “That’s exactly what I’m worried about.”

She tilted her head, searching his face with that knowing expression she always wore when she sensed something deeper beneath his teasing. “You think they won’t like me.”

“I don’t give a damn whether they do or don’t,” Roman said. “But I do give a damn if you feel uncomfortable or unwelcome. They’re cold, Sunny. Not on purpose—it’s just how they are. You’ll be warm and sparkly and full of light, and they’ll be…” He trailed off, huffing a half-laugh. “They’ll be sitting there silently judging the ratio of cilantro in your salsa.”

Sunny smiled, gentle now, her hands cupping his face. “Baby, I’ve been a Black girl navigating rooms full of cold people since I was ten. I’ll be fine.”

He leaned into her touch, brushing his lips over her wrist like it grounded him. “This isn’t like work, though. This is personal.”

“So is building a life with you. Which means inviting our people into it, even if it’s just once in a while.” She tilted her head. “Besides, your mom already doesn’t like me, right?”

Sunny had met Valencia Reigns one time in passing and it was tense, akward, and off putting for the both of them. His girl was all smiles and his mother simply ghosted past her like a stormy cloud.

Roman winced like she’d pinched him. “She’s just… old-school. Suspicious of things she doesn’t understand. You smile too much for her taste.”

“God forbid.” Sunny snorted and leaned up to kiss him on the jaw. “Well, she’s gonna have to get used to it. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

His hands found her waist, drawing her closer until they were pressed together, perfectly fitted. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

There was a beat of quiet between them, the fridge humming faintly behind them, the world paused in this simple, soft moment.

Roman closed his eyes. “Okay. Fine. We’ll throw the party.”

Sunny squealed and kissed him full on the mouth, all teeth and joy, while he groaned like a martyr but kissed her back all the same.

When she pulled away, glowing, already listing food options aloud again, Roman watched her like she was the only light in the room. Because she was.

And still, that tight coil in his chest didn’t unravel.

Something about this—about his world crashing into hers—made him uneasy. He didn’t want his family to dim her. Not even for a day.

He swallowed it down, smiling as she talked about string lights and lawn chairs.

If it mattered to Sunny, then it mattered to him.

Even if he’d rather chew glass than play host.

Even if his gut told him that this day—this party—was going to change things.

The scent of grilled jerk chicken, sun-warmed grass, and charred sweet corn hung in the air like a lazy summer halo. Laughter spilled from the backyard in bursts, mixing with the clink of ice against glass, the occasional bass thump of old-school R&B tracks floating from a Bluetooth speaker set near the patio.

The yard wasn’t huge—Roman lived alone most of his time there and never needed much space—but Sunny had worked a kind of magic. String lights zig-zagged across the fence line, casting a golden warmth as the sun began to dip. A folding table covered in a vibrant batik print was stacked with food: smoky ribs, colorful pasta salad, cornbread muffins, mango slices, and a pitcher of fresh limeade she’d made that morning.

She floated from guest to guest like sunlight incarnate, laughing with Solo and his wife, teasing Roman’s cousins—the twins—who adored her, and slipping an extra slice of pie to her father, who sat at the far end of the yard in a lawn chair he brought from home all the way in Georgia “because these new ones are too soft.”

Roman watched her from the patio with a beer in hand and a tightly coiled tension just beneath his skin.

He didn’t miss the way his mother stood off to the side like a statue in pearls, her mouth tight, sunglasses hiding her eyes. Valencia Reigns had said all of five words since arriving—none of them to Sunny.

Roman’s sisters, dressed in tasteful beige linen like they were auditioning for a J. Crew catalog, offered polite smiles. They nodded when spoken to. But their distance was unmistakable. Warmth didn’t run through their family so much as it existed in carefully managed sips. They weren’t hostile—but they weren’t open, either.

Sunny didn’t seem to notice.

Or maybe, Roman thought grimly, she was just trying not to.

She moved through the yard like it didn’t bother her, all grace and joy, checking on everyone, making sure plates were full and drinks were poured, a hostess in her element.

But Roman knew her too well.

He saw the way her smile strained just slightly when his mother turned her back mid-sentence. The way her eyes flicked toward him once, seeking reassurance. The little nod she gave herself in the reflection of the sliding glass door, like a reminder to breathe.

His jaw ticked.

“You’re not saying anything,” came a familiar voice behind him.

Roman turned to find Jimmy, his cousin and one of his closest confidants, beside him, nursing his own beer. He wore sunglasses and a half-smirk.

Roman grunted. “Ain’t shit to say.”

“Mm.” Jimmy took a slow sip. “Your woman put all this together. And your mom been out here acting like she’s waiting for Jesus to rapture her out of the middle class.”

Roman huffed a breath, not quite a laugh.

“Sunny’s handling it like a champ,” Jimmy added. “But you might wanna shut it down before your mom pulls some Queen of Ice shit and ruins this for her.”

Roman looked toward his mother again. She stood near the edge of the patio, speaking softly with one of his sisters, her chin tilted just high enough to seem disapproving of everything beneath her.

Then he looked at Sunny.

She was by the grill now, flipping patty's like she hadn’t just been quietly snubbed by the matriarch of the Reigns family. Her father sat nearby, unaware, humming along to Al Green and wiping sweat from his brow with a linen napkin.

Roman clenched his jaw.

This was the part of his world he never wanted to give her. The part filled with judgment and silence and emotional detachment passed off as tradition.

Sunny was too bright, too tender for it.

He downed the rest of his beer, handed the empty bottle to his cousin, and made his way across the yard.

She looked up when he approached, her smile faltering ever so slightly when she saw his expression. “Hey, babe. You okay?”

Roman didn’t say anything at first. He just took the tongs from her hands, set them aside, and cupped her face in both palms. Right there in front of everybody.

Her eyes widened, caught between surprise and confusion.

Roman kissed her.

Not just a peck—but a real kiss. Warm, grounding, reverent. The kind of kiss that said I see you. I love you. You are not alone.

It silenced the party for a beat.

When he pulled back, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes searched his like maybe she could read what was stirring underneath.

“I got you,” he murmured.

Sunny nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “I know.”

Behind them, someone made a show of clearing their throat. Probably his mother.

Roman didn’t care.

Because this was their home. Their life.

And no one—no one—was going to make Sunny feel like she didn’t belong in it.

—

The last of the guests had filtered out with lingering hugs and take-home plates stacked with leftovers. The string lights still glowed over the backyard, casting amber across the grass. Inside, Sunny was curled up with her father on the couch, her cheek resting on his shoulder, eyes closed but not asleep while he read the paper from this morning aloud, to her or to himself he didn't know. Roman watched them for a beat, his jaw clenched.

He knew the moment would come. His mother hadn’t left yet.

Valencia Reigns stood in the kitchen, her purse perched on the counter, phone in hand like she was ready to call her driver within a moments notice. Roman could tell she was waiting for a word—some subtle nod of approval, maybe even gratitude for gracing them with her presence. But Roman didn’t play polite anymore.

Not when it came to Sunny.

“You got a minute?” he asked, voice low but firm.

Valencia turned, expression unreadable behind the chill of practiced decorum. “Of course darling.”

Roman nodded toward the back porch. She followed him without protest, stepping outside like a queen exiting her throne room.

The air was cooler now. A breeze swept through the yard, carrying the scent of citrus and smoke. Roman shut the door behind them and leaned against the railing, arms crossed, his profile shadowed under the dim porch light.

“I’m only gonna say this once,” he began.

Valencia arched a brow, her stance calm. “Roman honey—”

“No,” he cut in, tone sharper. “Just listen.”

Silence fell between them like a curtain.

Roman inhaled through his nose, steady and tight. “I know you don’t think you were rude tonight. But I watched you treat Sunny like she was a stranger in her own damn home.”

Valencia’s mouth pressed into a line. “I was nothing but cordial in your home.”

“You were cold in our home.” He stared straight ahead, voice low but seething. “Dismissive. You wouldn’t even look her in the eye when she offered you a plate.”

“She insisted I take food I didn’t want. What would you have me do, pretend?”

“I’d have you show some basic respect,” Roman shot back. “This woman—is going to be my wife—she planned this whole thing to welcome you, to bring both our families together, and you acted like she wasn’t worth your time.”

Valencia drew herself taller. “I wasn’t raised to fall over myself for appearances. I observe. I reserve judgment. That’s my right, son."

Roman turned toward her now, arms dropping to his sides. “You’re not here to judge her. You don’t get to come into our space and decide whether she passes some test you made up.”

“I know you think she’s perfect—”

“I don’t,” Roman snapped. “She’s real. And she’s everything to me.”

Valencia’s face finally faltered, just slightly.

Roman stepped closer, his voice tight with emotion. “You think I don’t see what you’re doing? You did the same thing to Dad. To my sisters. And now you're doing it to me, the one person who still puts up with you. You push people away, act like it’s strength. It’s not. You look miserable. ”

His mother blinked.

“She’s not like us,” he said, softer now. “She’s warm. Kind. She makes people feel at home. And she’s gonna be the mother of my children one day and my wife, so you better believe I’m gonna protect her like my life depends on it.”

Valencia looked down for the first time, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. But Roman didn’t wait for her to speak.

“I don’t need your approval. But if you want to be part of my life—our life—you better learn how to show up with more than just your last name and cold shoulders.”

He let that settle, the weight of it hanging thick in the air.

Valencia exhaled, the sound brittle.

Roman didn’t flinch. “You can go now.”

She gathered her things in silence, didn’t look back as she walked through the house. Sunny glanced up just in time to see her pass through the foyer. When her eyes met Roman’s across the room, he just nodded once.

It was done.

He didn’t need his mother’s validation.

But Sunny?

She needed to know she was his family now.

—

The door clicked shut behind him.

Roman exhaled like it hurt, shoulders sagging under the weight of everything he wasn’t ready to face. Again, he was late. Again, he was empty-handed, soul hollowed out from the inside and scrubbed raw with shame. His car keys barely made it to the dish on the foyer table before the silence hit him.

And then he saw her.

Sunny stood near the hallway, not in bed where he thought she’d be, not curled up in grief or isolation like she had been for weeks—months, really. No. She was standing there waiting.

And she looked different.

Not done-up. Not distant. But present. Wide awake. Hair tucked behind one ear, face clean, expression raw but impossibly striking, like she'd just walked out of a dream. Or a memory. Or a decision.

Her eyes were bloodshot, but not with sadness. They burned. Like something had shifted. Like she'd seen something and finally chosen to stop pretending she hadn’t.

Roman opened his mouth to speak—anything, something—but what came out first wasn’t from him.

“Are you cheating on me?”

Her voice cracked the stillness in half.

It didn’t rise. It didn’t accuse. It just cut.

Roman froze, hand still resting on the doorframe. Her name—his name for her—was still caught in his throat: Suniva, My Sunshine, like a prayer, like a plea. But now it hung there, suspended between them, unspoken and useless.

Her arms were crossed, more to hold herself together than to wall him out. But the line was drawn, and he knew—he knew—she wasn’t asking for reassurance.

She was asking for the truth.

The air between them grew thick and unbearable, and still, neither moved. His mouth opened again, but there were no words big enough to fill the space between her question and what he’d nearly done.

The scent of unfamiliar perfume still clung to his jacket. Sweet. Feminine. Wrong.

And Sunny smelled it too—he could tell. Her eyes flicked to his collar for a fraction of a second, just enough.

Roman saw the moment her heart fractured. Not shattered—no, that had already happened months ago when they lost Yara. But this? This was something else.

This was the crack of finality.

“I...” he started, but stopped. What was there to say?

The truth?

He hadn’t cheated.

But he almost did.

And in some ways, that was worse.

The silence roared like a wave between them. Her stare never wavered. And for the first time in a long time, she looked like she could do somthing like walk away. Like she might want to.

Roman swallowed hard.

He couldn’t lie. Not to her.

But he didn't wanna blow his whole life up when the dust had still yet to settle from the last explosion.

—

She should have looked away. Should have turned on her heel, gone upstairs, buried her face in a pillow, and pretended this moment—this question—never left her lips. But Sunny didn’t move. She stood still, arms folded loosely across her chest, not in defiance but out of instinct, as if holding herself together was the only thing she could manage right now.

The air between them was suffocating, saturated with tension and truths left unspoken for far too long. Her question—Are you cheating on me?—still hung between them like smoke, thick and cloying, impossible to ignore.

She hadn’t meant to say it that way. So blunt. So raw. But maybe she had. Maybe it had been brewing for weeks, creeping into her mind every time he came home later than the night before, every time the scent on his clothes wasn’t his usual cedarwood and vanilla but something unfamiliar, too sweet and too foreign to be hers.

The ache in her chest had been building slowly, quietly, a dull pressure that had become a constant presence. It wasn’t just about tonight. It was everything—the long silences, the way his eyes no longer lingered on her, how their hands hadn’t found each other in the dark for what felt like forever. Something inside her had been unraveling, and she’d kept trying to sew herself back together with nothing but hope and denial.

She had known, in a way only a woman could know. Not because of what he said or didn’t say, not even because of the way his expression shifted when he walked in tonight—guarded, withdrawn—but because her body recognized the absence. The absence of warmth. Of intimacy. Of effort.

And the guilt.

It was in the way his eyes wouldn’t meet hers, the hesitation in his breath, the stillness of a man who had nowhere to run now that the moment had arrived. There had once been such a profound tenderness in the way he looked at her, even in the quietest hours. But now, all she saw was distance. And something darker. Regret, maybe.

The scent on his clothes wasn’t hers—hadn’t been in a long time. She hadn’t worn perfume in months. Hadn’t felt his hands linger long enough for any part of her to cling to him. But someone else had. She could feel it in her gut, and though she’d been afraid to trust that knowing, she could no longer pretend it was just paranoia.

She dropped her gaze briefly, gathering herself, trying to suppress the sting rising behind her eyes. There was so much she wanted to say—so many questions, confessions, accusations and pleas tangled up in her throat—but they all stuck there, heavy and immovable.

What hurt the most wasn’t even the possibility that he had strayed. It was the knowing that somewhere along the way, something between them had broken, and neither of them had reached to fix it.

So she waited. Silent. Searching his face for something—remorse, denial, anything that might tell her this was all some terrible misunderstanding.

But Roman said nothing.

And in the absence of words, everything she feared became true.

Roman opened his mouth, then closed it again, the weight of her question pinning him to the spot. His throat was dry, his thoughts a chaotic mess of shame and explanations he didn’t know how to offer without making things worse.

He hadn’t touched Madeline. Not really. Not in a way that would hold up in court, or maybe even in conversation. But he’d thought about it—more than once. Let himself drift toward her warmth like a man starved of sunlight, until it almost became something real.

And that was enough.

Enough to feel like a betrayal. Enough to stain whatever remained between him and the woman standing in front of him now, her arms wrapped around herself like armor, her jaw tight with the effort not to cry.

“Sunny…” He said her name again, quieter this time, but she flinched like it burned.

“Don’t,” she whispered, her voice trembling, more tired than angry now. “Don’t say my name like you still know me.”

The words gutted him.

“I haven’t—” he started, but his voice cracked on the denial. It wasn’t just what he had or hadn’t done. It was what he’d allowed to happen. What he’d let go of without even noticing until it was too far out of reach.

Her gaze flicked up to meet his, and for a brief second, he saw her—really saw her—not the ghost of the woman who used to dance barefoot in the kitchen, but the one standing here now, eyes bloodshot, not from sleep but from waiting. From wondering.

“Why, Roman?” she asked softly, and that was what undid him. The quiet plea of a woman who still wanted to understand, even when it was easier to walk away.

He stepped forward, then stopped, his hands clenched at his sides. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I’ve been…lost. Drowning, if I’m being real. And instead of reaching for you, I—” His voice faltered, and he looked down at the floor, ashamed. “I didn’t cheat. But I wanted something I shouldn’t have.”

The silence between them roared.

Sunny’s shoulders sank under the weight of those words. It wasn’t a relief. Not really. It wasn’t proof of his loyalty, only a confirmation of the distance that had been growing between them in the quiet, unseen hours.

She nodded, more to herself than to him. “That’s the worst part,” she murmured. “You didn’t cheat. You just stopped choosing me.”

Roman staggered back a step like her words had struck him in the chest.

“I never stopped loving you,” he said quickly, desperate to say something.

“But you stopped seeing me,” she replied, eyes shining now, finally letting the truth bleed out. “You stopped coming home to me.”

Neither of them spoke after that. There was nothing else that could be said without breaking something that couldn’t be put back together in the same shape.

And for the first time, Roman wasn’t sure if love was going to be enough to fix it.

Sunny didn’t say another word.

She turned from him slowly, the air between them still electric with pain, her bare feet soundless against the hardwood floor. Roman watched her with bated breath, thinking—hoping—she might just crawl into bed and bury herself under the covers like she used to when everything was too much. He would’ve taken that as a small mercy. At least then, she’d still be close. Still within reach.

But she didn’t.

Instead, Sunny veered toward the bathroom without a word, her shoulders stiff, her arms wrapped tightly around her midsection like she was holding herself together with nothing but tension and willpower. Roman moved after her on instinct.

“Sunny…” he called gently, his voice hoarse, full of something broken and unfamiliar.

She shut the door behind her.

The lock clicked.

Roman’s heart fell out of his chest.

He stood there, stunned, staring at the white-painted door like it had betrayed him too. “Don’t do this,” he whispered, forehead resting against the wood, the weight of everything finally crashing down on him. “Please don’t shut me out.”

Still, she said nothing.

Inside, the only sound was the rush of water—no sobbing, no movement, just the steady pulse of the faucet, maybe the tub. He couldn’t tell. It was unbearable, the silence. She hadn’t cried in front of him. Not really. Not since Yara. And now she was crying in a bathroom, alone. Because of him.

Roman clenched his fists against the ache in his chest.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he admitted, his voice a breathy, broken thing against the door. “I swear to God, Sunny, if you walk away from me… I don’t—I don’t know who I’ll be without you.”

Still, nothing.

He sank to the floor, head tilted back against the frame, the guilt clawing at his insides like glass.

Then, suddenly, the door jerked open.

Roman scrambled to his feet just as Sunny emerged, face blotchy, eyes red and hollow, her lips trembling—but not from sadness. From fury.

She stared at him for a long, tense moment, her hands shaking at her sides.

And then, in a voice stripped of any warmth, she asked, “Who was it?”

Roman’s chest constricted. “Sunny…”

“Don’t—” Her hand lifted, shaky and desperate. “Don’t you dare call me that. I want a name.”

He swallowed hard. The truth lodged like thorns in his throat.

When he didn’t answer, she laughed bitterly—one sharp, mirthless breath—and shoved past him. Her frame looked smaller now, hunched like something had caved in.

Sunny moved to the closet with determination, and Roman followed, panic starting to break through the numbness. “Wait—wait, what are you doing?” His voice cracked, even as he reached for her wrist and she yanked away like his touch scalded her.

“You really need to ask?” she snapped, wrenching the duffel from the shelf and tossing it on the bed.

“No. No, you’re not leaving.” His words were fierce, desperate, thick with dread. “Suniva, please. Don’t do this.”

She threw open drawers, haphazardly tossing clothes into the bag. “You had months to be scared of losing me, Roman. Where was all this begging and pleading when I was crying alone in the damn laundry room at night? Or curled up on the bathroom floor after your mothers visit? Or—” Her voice cracked. “Or waking up to an empty bed night after night because you were too busy letting some other woman make you feel seen, you weren't here!”

His throat closed. He had no answer for that. No excuse that didn’t sound pitiful.

“I didn’t sleep with her.”

Sunny whirled, eyes bloodshot and seething. “But you wanted to.”

Silence.

“I've dying, Roman,” she whispered, the tears finally spilling freely. “And you didn’t even notice.”

He stepped toward her, but she held up her hand again, more commanding this time. “Don’t. Just… don’t.”

The bag was nearly full now.

Roman stood helpless, the man who could handle boardrooms and stadiums, who could command millions with his voice—reduced to nothing but pleading silence in front of the only woman who’d ever really seen him.

And now she wouldn’t even look at him.

She zipped the bag shut with finality.

And with that sound, Roman felt the world he’d built with her begin to crack at the edges.

Sunny hoisted the duffel from the bed, her jaw set, her eyes dark with betrayal, grief, and something Roman couldn’t stomach: finality.

She was really going to walk away.

Roman’s breath hitched as he moved in front of her, blocking the door. “Please,” he said, voice thick and trembling. “Don’t do this. Don’t go.”

Her eyes met his—flashing. “Move, Roman.”

“I can’t,” he choked. “I can’t let you walk out like this. Not when I haven't said what I need to say.”

She shook her head, jaw trembling. “Don’t try to play the victim now. You made your choice.”

“I didn’t choose her,” he snapped, the desperation making his voice sharper than he meant. He took a breath, softer this time. “I didn’t choose her. I chose you, every single day—even when I didn’t know how to show it. Even when I was drowning in the same grief I saw swallowing you whole. I just—” His hand hovered in the air, unsure if she’d let him touch her. “I didn’t know how to reach you.”

Sunny’s mouth parted slightly, but no sound came out.

“I should’ve tried harder,” he said, tears welling in his eyes. “I should’ve—I should’ve been stronger. But Sunny, I swear to God, even when I was weak, even when I was so fucking lost—I never stopped loving you. Not for a second. I’ve been scared. Scared I already lost you. Scared I wasn’t enough to hold you through this.”

He stepped forward slowly, the duffel now caught between them.

“I don’t deserve you. I know that. Not after tonight. Not after what I almost did. But if you walk out that door, if you leave without letting me try to fix this, I’ll never forgive myself. And I don’t know if I’ll ever come back from that.”

Sunny stared at him, her fingers tightening around the strap.

The silence between them was deafening—thick with the weight of everything left unsaid, everything already broken.

Then, without a word, she dropped the bag to the floor.

It landed with a muted thud.

And Roman… Roman nearly collapsed with the sound.

The bag lay forgotten on the floor, her shoulders sagging under the weight of everything she couldn’t carry anymore—not her grief, not her marriage, not the man standing in front of her with red-rimmed eyes and a trembling voice. Sunny didn’t know if she wanted to scream or sob. Maybe both. Maybe neither. She just… wanted silence.

“I don’t want you sleeping next to me tonight,” she said, voice hoarse, deadened by the ache in her chest. “I might not be able to fight the urge to smother you in your sleep.”

The words were sharp, dry, and laced with something ugly. But Roman didn’t flinch. He nodded slowly, like he knew he deserved worse.

Still, before he left, he took a small step forward. Gently, like she was a wounded animal that might bite, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.

“I love you,” he whispered, so soft it could have been a prayer or a confession or a goodbye.

Sunny’s body tensed, just slightly—but it was enough. Roman felt it. He lingered for a second longer, but when she didn’t soften, didn’t lean back into him, he stepped away and left the room without another word.

The click of the door shutting behind him echoed too loudly in the quiet that followed.

—

She sat on the edge of the bed, too numb to cry, too drained to feel anything fully. Her hands hung limply in her lap, fingers still curled around the ghost of that duffel bag strap like she wasn’t sure whether to pick it up again or burn it in the driveway.

Her mind spiraled—tight, frantic loops that wouldn’t settle.

He said he loves me. But he let himself fall anyway. How do you love someone and still let them bleed out like this?

She hated the part of herself that still wanted to believe him. That still saw the man who used to tuck her into his chest and call her “My Sunshine” when the world felt too heavy. That still remembered the way he held her when Yara died, like if he let go, they’d both shatter.

But that man had changed. Or maybe grief had changed them both. And now they were just fragments of their old selves trying to piece together something whole from all the wreckage.

What if it’s too late?

Sunny blinked hard, trying to will away the sting behind her eyes. Her whole body ached—not just from exhaustion, but from carrying months of silence, of pretending, of barely surviving.

And yet…

Why does it still hurt this much?

Not just the betrayal. But the idea that she might not be enough anymore. That he had reached for comfort in someone else’s arms when hers had been empty—yes, but still open. Still his, if only he’d tried a little harder.

Sunny turned off the light.

She didn’t know what tomorrow would look like.

But she knew she couldn’t keep living like this, something had to give.

—

The door shut behind him with a hollow thud, sealing him shut in a room that didn't know him.

Roman didn’t go to the couch like he usually did when they fought, or when she couldn’t sleep with him, or when her grief made it too hard for them to share the same air, when he did that he wanted her to see him. He didn’t want to pretend tonight was something small. Tonight wasn’t about silence or distance, or craving her attention.

Tonight was a reckoning.

He walked to one of the guest rooms—quiet, impersonal, with walls that had never heard them laugh, never held their shared history. He sat at the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, staring at the floor like it could answer the questions screaming in his head.

His chest was tight.

His mouth dry.

And his heart… God, it felt like it was folding in on itself.

He ran a hand down his face, slow and rough, as if the drag of his palm might scrub away what he’d done—what he almost did.

Madeline’s kiss had been quick, barely more than a touch. But it was real. And he had let it happen.

He could still feel it like a stain on his mouth.

Roman closed his eyes and exhaled like he was emptying everything out—the shame, the ache, the memory of Sunny flinching under his kiss, like love itself had become a thing to fear.

What the fuck are you doing?

He asked himself that again and again, each time with more anger than the last.

He used to be her rock. The calm to her storm, the voice that steadied her when she was spiraling. Now, he was just another wound.

You destroyed her. You didn’t mean to—but you did. The loss broke her, but you destroyed all the fragments of what was left of her.

And the worst part? He knew exactly how it happened.

It wasn’t sudden. It wasn’t about Madeline, not really. It was the slow drift—the late nights, the unspoken grief, the loneliness that lived between their walls like a ghost neither of them had the strength to exorcise.

And instead of fighting through it, he let it drown them both.

He hadn’t been enough. Not strong enough. Not patient enough. To not just see that she was slipping, that he was slipping.

And now…

Now, he’d hurt the only woman who had ever made him feel like more than just his father's son, a cold arrogant bastard with too much money and not enough soul, more than his title, more than his body. Suniva Williams saw his soul. And he—he threw that away, all for a moment of borrowed comfort that meant nothing.

Roman scrubbed at his eyes. He didn’t cry. He never cried. But tonight, he was close.

Something has to give.

They couldn’t keep spiraling like this. Living in the ruins of what they used to be.

Either they faced it—really faced it—or they’d lose whatever was left.

And he couldn’t lose her. He couldn’t.

He sat there in the dark, body heavy with guilt, eyes fixed on the wall, still listening for her, even from down the hall. Wondering if she was still awake. Wondering if she was packing to leave for real this time.

Wondering if she still loved him—or if he’d finally destroyed the one thing he never thought he could lose.

—

The house smelled like garlic and rosemary, the faint scent of grilled meat still lingering from the night before. Sunny moved around the kitchen in a quiet rhythm, barefoot in one of Roman’s oversized shirts, her curls well defined and knotted up in a bun atop her head. The housewarming party had gone well—on the surface. But inside her, a quiet ache had started to grow, nestled just beneath her breastbone like something unnamed but insistent.

She stirred the sauce absentmindedly, eyes flicking to the back door where Roman had stood for half an hour yesterday, jaw tight, eyes stormy after whatever his mother had said to him. He hadn’t brought it up since. And neither had she. But the weight of it still hung in the air, heavier than the summer humidity that clung to the windows.

She doesn’t like me. She never will. And now he has to choose sides.

Sunny swallowed down the lump in her throat. She didn’t want to be the reason Roman felt torn between love and blood. And yet, she also couldn’t stomach the thought of shrinking herself to win over a woman who had barely looked her in the eye.

Her hand trembled slightly as she reached for the pasta. She hadn’t been able to keep anything down since this morning. She chalked it up to stress—until she couldn’t anymore.

A soft shuffle of footsteps sounded behind her, then warm arms wrapped around her waist, drawing her against a solid chest that radiated heat and comfort.

“You’ve been quiet all day,” Roman murmured against her temple. “Too quiet. What’s going on in that head, Sunny baby?”

Sunny rested her hands over his as they crossed her stomach. She closed her eyes, letting herself breathe for a moment. He always felt like calm after a storm.

“I’ve just been thinking,” she admitted softly. “About the party. About your family.”

Roman didn’t move, but the tension in his arms betrayed him. “My mother,” he said flatly.

“I don’t want to come between you,” she said, voice cracking slightly. “It’s not just her. It’s… your sisters. I know they were polite. But I felt out of place. Like they were all thinking it.”

Roman gently turned her in his arms, cupping her cheek. “Thinking what?”

Sunny hesitated, then said it out loud for the first time. “That I’m not good enough for you.”

A shadow passed through Roman’s eyes. He shook his head slowly. “Don’t do that,” he said, voice low and steady. “You don’t have to prove yourself for anyone, Suniva. Not even my family.”

She tried to look away, but he tilted her chin up, thumb brushing beneath her eye.

“They don’t know you. They only see what they want. But I see everything. The real you. The strongest, sweetest person I know. You think I’d let anybody talk down on the woman I want to spend my life with?”

Sunny’s eyes welled. “But I know what she said. I saw the way you looked after you talked to her.”

“I was pissed,” Roman admitted. “But not at you. At her. At the fact she’d rather hold onto some perfect idea of who I’m supposed to be with than open her eyes and see the person who makes me happy.”

Sunny dropped her forehead to his chest. “It’s not just about me anymore,” she whispered, voice nearly inaudible.

Roman stilled.

“What do you mean?” he asked, pulling back just enough to see her face.

Sunny bit her lip, then slowly reached into the drawer near the stove and pulled out the small white stick she had tucked away. She pressed it into his hand, heart pounding.

Roman looked down at the pregnancy test, eyes scanning the faint pink lines before they lifted back to her face.

“You’re pregnant?”

She nodded, unsure whether to smile or cry. “Found out yesterday morning. I was waiting for the right time. But then everything with your mom… and I just started spiraling.”

Roman blinked, stunned for a long beat. Then his face broke—soft, awed, reverent. A trembling exhale escaped him as he cupped both hands around her face.

“We’re having a baby?”

Sunny nodded again, and this time a tear rolled down her cheek.

“I wanted her to like me,” she confessed. “Not for me. For them. So they’d be proud of us. Proud of you.”

Roman pulled her into him with a tenderness that hollowed her out and filled her back up all at once.

“Screw pride,” he murmured, kissing the top of her head. “This baby, you… us? That’s everything. They’ll either get on board or get left behind.”

And for the first time that day, Sunny smiled.

—

“Who was it?”

He didn’t respond then. Couldn’t. And now the silence sat between them like a chasm.

Roman dragged a hand down his face, the heel of his palm pressed into his brow as if he could force back time, undo the slow erosion that brought them here. But it hadn’t been sudden. It was a thousand quiet moments: late nights, missed dinners, deflected glances, the way he’d pulled inward and she’d stopped chasing him.

And then Madeline.

He hadn’t gone all the way, but he’d gone far enough that it didn’t matter. Emotional infidelity—he knew the weight of it now. Especially when the woman waiting for him at home had already weathered so much. Especially when she used to look at him like he was still her safe place.

Now she looked at him like a stranger.

He thought of the night in the kitchen when she told him she was pregnant. The soft nerves in her voice, the fierce hope in her eyes. She’d wanted him to be proud. She’d wanted to share something pure. And he had been. Proud. Terrified, but in awe of her, of them, of what they were building.

When did that begin to fade?

Roman leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped between them like a man in prayer. But nothing came. No clarity, no peace. Just a brutal awareness that he might’ve finally done something that couldn't be undone.

He could handle her anger. It was the detachment that wrecked him. The way she flinched when he kissed her head. Not dramatic. Not cruel. Just instinctive. A silent retreat.

He hadn’t realized how much he needed her warmth until it was gone.

—

The sun came in with no mercy.

Not that she’d slept. She’d drifted, maybe. Floated through hours of nothing with swollen eyes and a chest that felt packed with wet sand. Her body was still, but her mind never stopped—looping through every second of last night like a punishment.

She turned her head on the pillow. His imprint was still there, faint but unmistakable, like even the bed remembered him. Her stomach clenched. She hated that. Hated that her body still yearned for the man who broke it in the quietest, sharpest way.

Roman. Her Romie at one point, mere months ago felt like ages.

She closed her eyes, the name almost too much to bear in her own head. The man who held her when she couldn’t stand. Who kissed her with reverence. Who talked to her belly every night before Yara was born, even when he thought she was asleep.

The same man who came home last night wearing something that didn’t belong to them.

Her throat burned. She’d cried herself dry hours ago, but the ache remained. She still didn’t know what to do. Part of her wanted to scream, throw every piece of him out of the house. Another part… a smaller, tired part… just wanted to crawl into his lap and ask why.

Why didn’t you come to me?

Because you wouldn't let him.

Why didn’t you fall apart in front of me, instead of finding someone new to hold the pieces?

Because you were in pieces too.

But she hadn’t asked. She’d barely spoken after she banished him from the room, needing the space more than air. And still, she’d heard the soft click of the guest room door down the hall. Heard his sigh. His shame.

He’d whispered I love you last night.

She flinched then, she remembered that. A reflex, not because she didn’t love him. But because hearing it made her feel the loss of what they were all over again.

She sat up slowly, head pounding. Her limbs felt heavy, but she forced herself to move, to function, even if everything inside her was unraveling.

In the mirror, she saw it. The swollen eyes. The pallor in her cheeks. The woman staring back didn’t look like a wife. Didn’t look like a mother. She looked like someone who’d had everything good in her life lit on fire while she stood there holding the match.

Still, she straightened. Still, she brushed her hair.

She didn’t know what the day would bring, but she knew one thing:

If Roman thought she would fall apart and let him fix it with pretty words and aching apologies, he was wrong.

He wasn’t the only one who had decisions to make.

—

The house was quiet. Too quiet, save for the gentle hum of the pipes as Sunny turned the shower on full blast.

Steam rose in thick clouds around her, fogging up the glass and swallowing the mirror behind her. She stepped beneath the stream like she was bracing herself for war. The water was nearly scalding, but she welcomed it. Needed it. Let it blister away the sleepless night clinging to her skin, the sweat from tears and the stale ache of betrayal.

She scrubbed like she was trying to erase it all. Her chest. Her thighs. Behind her ears. The hollows of her collarbone where Roman’s mouth had once left silent promises. She lingered over every inch of herself with shaking hands, not in shame — but in sheer fury. Fury that her body had become a battlefield for someone else's choices.

It was the longest shower she’d taken in weeks.

When she stepped out, water ran in rivers down her bare shoulders, but her hands moved with certainty. She patted herself dry and reached for the body oil with the orange blossom scent. She hadn't used it in months. The jar of whipped shea butter followed. She massaged it into her skin with the kind of care she hadn't been able to summon since—

Since Yara. Since before.

She paused when she caught her reflection.

Then, with trembling precision, she reached for her comb. She parted her hair and began to work through it gently, shaping the curls one by one. Her ringlets sprang back to life, full and soft, framing her face like a crown. She curled her lashes. Two coats of mascara. A soft nude on her lips. Just enough to feel like herself again — or at least someone closer to the woman she used to be.

On the edge of the bed sat her old robe. The one she used to wear in the haze of long days and longer nights. Roman had always teased her about it, said it looked like a burrito blanket, but he loved the way she smelled in it. She reached for it.

Paused.

Then pivoted toward the closet instead.

She pulled out a simple outfit. Slacks. A silky blouse the color of sand. Nothing elaborate, but clean. Professional. Poised. She slid into it with ease, fastening each button with a steadiness that surprised her.

It wasn’t that she felt better. God no. She still felt like something inside her was splitting at the seams.

But the fog of despair had shifted. And beneath it, something else was blooming — something sharper. Something with teeth.

She’d spent so long drowning in not knowing. But she knew now. Maybe not the name. But the where. The how.

Roman had been glued to the office. When he wasn’t shutting her out at home, he was hiding in that building like it was sacred ground. His voice always careful when he mentioned his schedule. His texts from there vague. Avoidant. Hollow.

And she could feel it — the woman’s perfume clinging to his collar hadn’t been foreign by accident. It had been worn in. Faint but stubborn. Expensive, subtle, intentional. Like the woman who wore it knew she had something to hide.

Sunny didn’t know her name, not yet.

But she had a strong guess where she worked.

And that was enough.

By the time she left the bedroom, her heels clicked on the hardwood like a gavel. She didn’t walk like someone crumbling. She walked like someone who had survived the crumbling and was now gathering the wreckage in her hands, prepared to set it aflame if she had to.

And when she stepped into the kitchen, Roman was already there.

He heard her before he saw her. Not the soft pad of toes tapping on the hard marble flooring, but the sharp click of heels made his head lift from the open fridge door, curious. Still foggy from a restless night, he half-expected the same fragile, tired woman who'd barely looked at him over the last few weeks — the one he’d quietly broken the night prior.

But the woman who walked into the kitchen wasn’t fragile at all.

She was stunning. Devastating, even.

Hair defined into lush, bouncing curls that framed her face like soft armor. A hint of gloss on her lips. Her lashes curled to the heavens, eyes big and brown, eyes he'd fallen so helplessly in love with over the years. She wore slacks that hugged her hips and showed off her petite frame and a blouse tucked in with precise ease. The exposed skin on her chest glowed with oils and butter that caught the morning light like she’d been dipped in gold.

Roman nearly forgot to breathe.

Something about her presence filled the room, made it smaller. More suffocating. It reminded him of how she used to be—before—but also something new, something colder.

Something calculating.

He straightened up slowly, still in his T-shirt and plaid pajama pants. A faint, hopeful smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “You look…”

He trailed off. Beautiful didn’t seem enough.

But before he could say more, Sunny offered him a smile — not the kind that melted him, not the kind he loved. No, this one was thin, sweetened artificially, like syrup covering a blade.

“Why aren’t you dressed, baby?”

Roman blinked. Her voice — soft, warm, usually the only balm to his chaos — scraped against his eardrums. Not because it was loud, but because it was fake. Sugar-laced and venomous. A mimicry of affection she no longer felt.

“I thought maybe we could have breakfast,” he said, cautious, moving to pour her tea like he used to. Jasmine, with a hint of honey. She hadn’t drunk it in weeks. “Stay in. Talk…”

She didn’t take the tea, instead what she did actually shook him to his core.

She swiped the cup with a quick ferocity from under the kettle, letting it slip to the floor without a care where it shattered at his thankfully covered feet. Thank god he brought his slippers to the guestroom. Sunny acted like the loud crash didn't even occur to her.

Instead, she set her purse gently on the counter, slid a gold watch on her wrist, and turned to face him fully, brows arched like it was any normal morning. Like nothing had happened. Like she hadn’t flinched from his kiss last night or shunned him to a guest room with a threat only half-joking.

Likely not joking at all.

“We’re going to work,” she said, still wearing that saccharine, soulless grin. “Be ready in fifteen, honey. Meet you in the car.”

Roman froze. His stomach bottomed out like a sinkhole.

Not because she’d said the words. But because she meant them.

Because she’d never want to go to the office, maybe a few times when things were good but only when she was feeling extra colicky. No, Sunny liked being home, in their backyard, the farmers market even but not really his office. Especially not in the past few months.

In recent months Reigns Enterprises had become his sanctuary, his excuse, his escape hatch.

But now it was a warzone. And Sunny was marching straight into it.

Madeline.

She knew it was her.

Or if she didn’t know, she knew enough. Enough to piece together the scent on his clothes. The sudden long hours. The tension in his shoulders when she asked him 'who?'. Sunny wasn’t a fighter, no. But she was a protector — and nothing was more dangerous than a gentle woman who’s been given a reason to go cold.

And Roman realized he was watching that transformation unfold in real time.

“Sunny…” he started, voice cracking just slightly as he hesistantly stepped toward her.

“Clock’s ticking, babe,” she said over her shoulder, already leaving the room.

No raised voice. No dramatic declarations. Just the terrifying calm before a storm.

Roman stood frozen in the kitchen, still holding his own untouched cup of coffee, watching the steam curl upward like smoke from something already burning.

He had fifteen minutes to get dressed.

And maybe less than that before his entire world went up in flames.

Roman stood in front of the mirror, his reflection a picture of poise — tall, broad, and imposing in his tailored charcoal grey suit, the fabric molding to his powerful frame like it was made for war. His long, raven-black hair fell in silky waves past his shoulders as he attmepted to tie it up, each stroke of his comb meant to settle him, to restore order where there was only unraveling.

But it didn’t help.

Nothing helped.

His hands trembled slightly when he reached for his cufflinks. Not enough for anyone else to see, never that because he was a man of a stone to the outside — but enough for him to feel. His heart beat too fast, the space behind his ribs tight with an anxiety he couldn’t dress up or press flat beneath wool and steel-grey silk.

He tried to breathe. Tried to shake it off.

It was just a car ride. Just a visit. Maybe Sunny was bluffing, maybe she didn’t really know.

But she does. He knew that look. He knew that tone. She wasn’t bluffing — she was hunting.

Roman sat at the edge of the bed briefly, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. The urge to do something surged in him, frantic and rising.

His phone sat beside him on the dresser. He picked it up.

He could text Madeline. Warn her. Tell her to stay home. Call in sick. Leave town. Run.

But his thumb hovered over the screen.

And he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Because the thought of texting her — of reaching out — felt wrong in a way that hadn’t clicked until now. Not because of what Sunny might think, but because he knew. Knew that any contact with Madeline, even just to protect her, would deepen the wound. That it would be another betrayal. Another link in the chain.

And Sunny didn’t deserve another one.

He set the phone down, jaw clenched, breath shaky.

He hadn’t even wanted Madeline in that role to begin with — she was too eager, too perceptive, too much. But she’d slipped in through the cracks, through the chaos that followed Sunny’s retreat from the world. And Roman, grieving and spiraling, hadn’t been strong enough to keep the boundary firm. He hadn’t slept with Madeline. Hadn’t technically crossed that final line.

But what he’d done was enough to break something.

And today, Sunny — calm and composed in a way that screamed danger — was going to confront it.

He had planned to fix it this morning. Call HR, reshuffle Madeline into a different department far from his personal office. Maybe even let her go. Quietly. Cleanly. Before Sunny ever had to know. And no one would question him, he was the boss afterall. Everyone's boss.

But Sunny's. Because the way she bossed him this morning had him scrambling to follow direction, to listen to her, to please her.

But it was too late.

Now, she was coming with him. Not as a partner. Not as support. But as a force of nature, wrapped in pretty form fitting clothes and righteous fury.

Roman tightened his tie, watching his own eyes in the mirror. They looked tired. Haunted.

He didn’t know what to do. Not to protect Madeline. Not to fix this. Not to soften the blow. He was a man who usually had the answer. Today, he had none.

The only thing he did know — with absolute, bone-deep certainty — was that nothing good would come from today. Not for him. Not for Madeline. And not for Sunny.

Roman was the last one to the car.

Sunny was already seated in the front passenger side of his Bentley, her posture stiff, legs crossed, arms folded across her lap like a statue cast in glass. Not looking at him. Not speaking.

He opened the driver’s side door slowly, cautious like he was entering a room full of sleeping wolves. He slid in, shutting the door with a soft click, and turned the key. The low hum of the engine filled the silence.

“Sunny, I—”

Her hand lifted. No words. Just a firm, open palm raised in the air between them, cutting him off with surgical precision.

Roman went still.

She didn’t even look at him.

It wasn’t anger in her eyes. It wasn’t fury on her face. What terrified him more was that she looked empty. And he realized, with a sickening weight in his gut, that she wasn’t silencing him out of rage — she was doing it to keep herself together.

Whatever strength she had summoned this morning wasn’t sustainable. It was adrenaline and heartbreak and fumes.

And yet here she was.

Driving into the fire anyway.

Roman gripped the wheel tighter, his jaw flexing with restrained guilt. The ride was silent. The type of silence that vibrated in the chest. A silence that made every sound—the tick of the blinker, the hum of tires against pavement—feel thunderously loud.

Sunny stared out the window the entire ride.

She hadn’t spoken a word since her command. But Roman couldn’t stop glancing at her.

Her curls were perfectly defined, the crown of her head framed in dark, soft ringlets. She smelled like citrus and vanilla—freshly showered, freshly oiled, scrubbed down to bare skin. No more robe. No more shadows under her eyes. Her lips held the faintest pink hue, and her lashes, long and dark, flickered faintly with every blink.

She was beautiful. So painfully beautiful that it made his heart ache.

But there was something in her silence that scraped at him.

It wasn’t just sadness. It was resolve.

He parked in his private underground slot and moved to help her out, but she was already out of the car and walking, her heels clicking like a countdown.

He caught up to her quickly. Reflex. Habit.

His hand rested on the small of her back as they entered the private elevator, a gesture he’d always done—subtle, protective, proud. And even now, as the doors closed and they rose toward his office, he hovered close, slightly in front of her, shielding her from wandering eyes, from whispers. Suniva hadn't stepped foot in the Reigns building in a very long time, and the whisper weren't just regarding her absense she knew that much. And without thought she retreated in Roman just the slighest bit.

It was instinct to love her like that. It was instinct for her to want him to love her like that. But even instincts can become hollow when they’re ignored long enough.

And then—

Ding.

The elevator doors parted.

And there she was. Madeline.

Standing just inches from the threshold, a neatly stacked pile of papers in her arms. Her posture froze the moment she looked up and saw them. Her mouth parted slightly as if she were about to speak, to offer a greeting. She was likely headed to the copy room a floor below, but she hadn’t made it on the elevator in time.

Roman felt Sunny stop beside him.

He saw the shift in her expression. That tight, polite smile that didn’t touch her eyes.

“Well,” Sunny said, her tone silk-wrapped steel. “That didn’t take long at all.”

Madeline’s brows knit in confusion—or maybe panic—and Roman felt his stomach drop like stone in water but he held it together.

This was it. This was the moment the ground opened beneath them.

And he had no idea how to stop the falling feeling.

Madeline straightened her back and adjusted the papers in her arms as she blinked at them both, trying to recover from the surprise of their sudden arrival. She offered a polite, even warm smile. “Mr. Reigns I didn't think you'd be in today! Oh—hi. You must be the future Mrs. Reigns? I’ve heard a lot about you. All good things.”

Sunny’s head tilted ever so slightly.

She didn’t answer. She just let out the softest, sharpest scoff — a sound that felt more like a blade slicing through a ribbon.

Roman closed his eyes. Here it comes, good luck Madeline.

Madeline’s smile wavered, faltered.

Sunny’s voice came next — velvety and raw and edged in venom. Because as sweet as she was, his girl had a mouth on her and anything could come out honestly.

“Before or after you had your tongue all down my Mr. Reigns’ throat?”

A strangled silence followed. Madeline paled immediately, her eyes going wide — a deer caught in blinding headlights. She looked less like someone accused and more like someone exposed. Because what startled her most wasn’t the line itself — it was the fact that Sunny knew. Already. Clearly. In full.

Madeline turned slowly to Roman, searching his face for denial, a refutation, a life raft. Anything.

But there was nothing waiting for her there.

Roman didn’t even look at her.

His eyes were on Sunny — fixed, stricken, full of shame and helpless awe. Like she was both a mirror of everything he’d fucked up and the last person he ever wanted to lose.

And just like that…

Madeline realized: She was already done here.

The brown-skinned woman—tall, gorgeous, with a curvy silhouette, striking eyes, and full lips—parted her mouth to speak. She was exactly his type. Maybe she meant to apologize. Maybe to explain. Maybe even to beg.

But no words came. Only stutters, broken syllables, guilt splintering through her expression.

Sunny couldn’t hear a thing.

The world dropped out.

Sound dulled to a distant thrum, like she’d fallen underwater. The hallway twisted, breathing became impossible. Her hands felt sticky, her chest vice-tight. Heat rushed to her face and neck, her pulse drumming against her temples like war.

Madeline’s face blurred at the edges.

Roman saw it before she even swayed — that far-off look in Sunny’s eyes, the way her lips parted but nothing came out. He knew that look. That stillness before the storm.

“Get out of my sight. Now.” The words snapped like a whip.

Madeline flinched. That voice — low, cold, and unmistakably Roman Reigns — silenced any remnants of protest. The elevator doors closed in a near cinematic hush.

Then Sunny collapsed.

She didn’t fall so much as fold, her knees buckling beneath her, her body slumping into the corner of the elevator as her breaths came out fast, shallow, uneven.

Roman didn’t hesitate. He slammed the emergency stop and everything jolted to a halt.

He was on the floor with her in an instant, suit jacket forgotten, eyes locked only on her. The ritual was ingrained in his bones — something he hadn’t had to do in so long—not since the first few days after losing Yara—but never forgot.

“Hey. Hey—Sunshine baby. Look at me.” No response. Her eyes were wide, glassy, unseeing.

His fingers moved swiftly. He undid the top buttons of her blouse, exposing the skin over her sternum, now slick with sweat. One cool, steady palm pressed to her chest, the other cupped the side of her face.

“Breathe, Sunshine.” His voice dropped into something low and coaxing, tender and sure. “That’s all I need from you, baby. In and out. Come on.” His thumb swept gently across her damp temple. “It’s just us. You and me. Me and you. In and out, like we practiced.”

She was trembling, her hands clenched in fists.

“You’re safe,” he murmured. “You’re safe. I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.”

And slowly — achingly — her breathing began to shift. Still shaky. Still shallow. But something began to break through the spiral. Roman’s voice. His scent. His hands.

The first thing she focused on was the pressure of his cool palm grounding her heart.

And then — his eyes. Waiting. Watching. There.

Sunny's breathing slowed, no longer frantic but fragile, her chest rising and falling with a trembling rhythm. The worst of the panic had passed, but something far heavier settled in its place—a crushing sadness that folded itself around her bones. Her limbs felt weighted, her heart hollow, yet painfully full at the same time. The ache was unnameable, a quiet devastation that dulled everything except the hurt.

Roman watched her carefully, still crouched at her side, his hand lingering against her cheek, fingertips trembling despite his strength. Her eyes were glassy, unfocused, fixed somewhere on the elevator floor. He waited, breath held like it might tether her to him.

Then, soft and splintered, she whispered: “Why?”

He leaned in, heart pounding. “Please… look at me,” he murmured, voice thick with desperation. But she didn’t. Couldn’t. Her gaze stayed rooted to the tile beneath them.

Again: “Why…”

Roman swallowed hard, thinking she meant her. Madeline. The kiss. The betrayal.

But when she finally spoke again, it wasn’t anger that broke through—it was anguish.

“Why do I feel like this?” Her voice cracked, and a single tear traced the curve of her cheek. “I hate this feeling. I hate this body. I hate this life. And I hate that… with all that being said…” Her lips trembled, her eyes still not meeting his. “…I can’t hate you.”

"I wanna hate you! Because if I do that, then I can blame you, hate you for making me feel like this…but I can't—because its not your fault—"

"and its not yours either."

"I wish it felt like that."

Roman closed his eyes like her words physically struck him. His jaw clenched, aching to speak, to explain, to plead for something—anything—but no words came. Nothing he said could fix what he’d done. Nothing could pull her back from this edge if she wasn’t ready.

“I think…” she whispered, barely audible. “…I need some time.”

It was final. No anger, no yelling. Just the weary surrender.

Roman felt the breath leave his lungs like a punch to the chest. He wanted to fight, to hold her, to convince her to stay right there with him. But her silence and slumped posture told him this wasn’t a moment for him to fix—this was a wound she had to sit with, a storm she had to weather without him trying to be his umbrella.

He nodded, reluctantly, heart in pieces.

The elevator remained still, the hum of the city muffled behind its steel walls, holding their grief—with their daughter, with life, with each other— in quiet tension.

————————————————————————————

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[tryandbehappy]

Jelly trauma bonded? Try again.

God, what an incredibly stupid reason for a breakup it would be if they actually go with something like: “Belly only chose Jeremiah because she was saving him after his mom died,”

or “Jeremiah only chose Belly because he said she was the only one who ever saw him — aside from his mom — and now that his mom is gone, he clung to Belly,”

and so now people are spinning this whole trauma bond narrative like it makes any sense. It doesn’t. It’s utter bullshit.

First of all — their relationship started way before anything happened with Susannah.

They already deeply wanted each other — emotionally and physically. They were best friends, and that wasn’t some random accident.

They were best friends who were in love with each other. And Belly had always seen in Jeremiah what no one else did. When others judged him or dismissed him, she didn’t (as he said in his ep). She was always on his side. Why? Because they fit. They’re soulmates.

It shows in everything — how they laugh together, how they read each other’s emotions without words, how comfortable they are, how right they feel together.

Jeremiah has loved her his whole life (just didn’t realize it). It’s canon that he realized it in pilot when he wanted to kiss the shit out of her. And Belly — she didn’t realize it at thirteen, but she loved him too. She just had to grow into it.

So yeah, of course when Susannah died, she felt empathy. She wanted to comfort him, to be close to him, to make it hurt a little less — because she loves him. But don’t twist that into some pathetic trauma bond nonsense.

He didn’t beg her, didn’t manipulate her, didn’t emotionally blackmail her into anything. He wasn’t falling apart, clinging to her like, “Please be with me, you’re all I have left.”

He was emotionally grounded. They could’ve stayed just friends.

She chose him. Because she realized she loved him.

How do we know that? Because:

1. After their kiss in the pool, she started dreaming about him — replaying it in her mind, remembering how intense it was

2. And more importantly — when they had a fight and she lost him, she couldn’t handle it. She missed him so much it tore her apart.

That’s when she knew. Even when she was with Conrad — the guy she supposedly dreamed of for years — she wasn’t glowing or beaming with joy.

She sat there at that dinner table thinking about Jeremiah, miserable that their relationship had fallen apart. That’s not how you act when you’re finally dating your “dream guy.” (Maybe she didn’t fully realize yet that she loved him romantically, because she was with Conrad —but it still fucking hurt to be without him)

Same with Jeremiah. When he lost her, he realized how deep it ran. And he made it very clear — he wasn’t going to be her second choice.

He wasn’t going to be with her if she only half-loved him, or if she was still holding on to someone else. He didn’t just jump at the chance. He had boundaries and self-respect.

And yes — he loves her also because she sees him. Because she gets him. Because she’s the one person in the world who truly understands who he is. Because they are soulmates

And also this whole trauma bond theory completely falls apart the moment you look at how healthy and happy their dynamic actually is. Because if it were toxic — if it really were some unhealthy trauma-driven connection — you’d see signs. You’d hear lines like “Where are you going? I can’t live without you,” or “You know my mom died,” or “You’re all I have,” and so on. You’d see emotional manipulation, guilt, codependence. She’d feel trapped or suffocated, like she’s sacrificing her own needs to take care of him.

But what do we actually see? We see joy. Freedom. Two people lifting each other up. Jeremiah never manipulates her or makes her feel like she owes him anything. He doesn’t guilt-trip her, he doesn’t cling — if anything, she’s the one who doesn’t want to let go. She chooses him, again and again, and she’s clearly, visibly, deeply happy.

And I swear to God, I’m not accepting any of this TraumaBond™ bullshit they’re trying to push — or are probably going to push later.

It’s nonsense. Absolute nonsense.

[formulaforza]

miss americana and the heartbreak prince

—08. It's So Sweet —word count: 5.2k —warnings: none :) love, mackie... um... yeah. yeahhhh. sorry sorry sorry if you still read this fic. surprise I guess! its NOT as dead as you thought it was. See you guys again in four months. hopefully sooner if there is a God.

Charles, teeth dug into his tongue so hard he can taste copper, manages to keep from slipping up for the remainder of his time in Georgia. He swallows it down, chokes on an I love you everytime she looks at him for days that feel like an eternity. 

The flight out to France that marks the end of his stay had spent weeks serving as a dreadful backmarker, but now it was one of solace, saving him from himself. He knows better than to spit out “I love you” two months in. He knows better, but he also knows. Simple as that. He just knows. 

He’s good at keeping it down during phone calls and voice memos and FaceTimes because there’s no fucking way he’s stupid enough to say it over the phone. Whenever he does finally deem the time to be right, it’ll be inches from her face, with all the time in the world ahead of them. Her smile will be there, just waiting to be kissed. 

It definitely will not be while she’s grading papers or reviewing a movie or putting purple refills in her pen, even though he finds himself thinking just how plain and simple he loves her when she’s doing those things. 

– – –

Charles spends the holidays with his family in France, coming pretty much directly from his time with Chris and her family in Georgia. 

They quiz him like there’s no tomorrow about all of it; on Chris, and her family and her city and her life. He thinks he does a half-decent job at keeping his cards close to his chest; hiding his tells and acting completely normal and regular and plain about it all. 

Well. He can be coy and secretive to everyone but his mom. Mother’s always know when their sons are in love, and Pascale has always been particularly apt at seeing straight through her boys and the bullshit they try to feed her. 

He’s helping with dinner dishes—working hard to get those extra points towards being the favorite son this weekend—when she confronts him about it. He knows he’s in trouble. He’s never been able to lie to her in a way that was even sort-of convincing. 

“So, Chris…” she hums, drying three two forks at once with a damp towel. “Is this going to be something?” She asks. Charles shrugs, squeezing more blue dish soap onto the plate in his other hand. “That’s too much,” she remarks. 

He ignores the comment, moves the scrubbing sponge over the plate in small circles. “It’s new, still.”

“But you like her?”

He chuckles. Of course he likes her. He wouldn’t be dating her, traveling to see her, introducing her to his family if he didn’t at least like her. That’d just be cruel. “I like her a lot,” he says. I like her the most, he bites his tongue. He rinses the soap from the plate. 

Pascale nods, soft smile on her lips when she takes the plate from his hand, drying it carefully. “Just like, is that right, Charles?”

He knows what she means, what she’s implying. They both know she’s right, too, but he can’t stand to admit it. He feels like if he does, if he actually speaks the words out loud, there’s no way he’s going to be able to keep it in anymore. It’ll be breaking the seal, and he can’t. Not yet. He doesn’t have it in him yet. “Maman,” he says, and his tone is laced with her answer, soft and sweet and pleading in a desperate way. 

She smiles, sets the plate down onto the counter gently. It still clatters against the marble. “I know,” she hums, hand finding his shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze.

Charles spends New Year’s Eve in London. He’s with his brothers and his friends and like, all of their girlfriends. He’s been pathetically texting her the entire trip going on about i’ll buy your ticket if you want to come and it would be so much more fun with you here.

What Charles doesn’t know is that Chris is on her way, and that she’d been planning the surprise with Joris for three weeks. After a red eye flight from Atlanta that lands a little before two in the afternoon in London, Joris manages to sneak off from the group to meet her at the hotel and give her a key to his room. She hides out there for most of the afternoon while Joris tries to convince the group to head back to the hotel for a few hours without spoiling the surprise of why they should go back to the hotel in the middle of the day. 

When he finally gets them back to the hotel, he waits fifteen minutes to text her the all clear, to let her know that she can come and execute the surprise. 

It takes her an almost comical amount of time to find his room, considering it’s in the same hallway as everyone else’ rooms, and only ends up being three or four doors down from where she’d started. When she finally finds it, she’s hit with a sudden wave of anxiety. 

What if he doesn’t want me here? She worries. Her hands get clammy and she stands there in front of the door like a complete idiot just waiting for her body to do something, to do anything. Finally, she brings her fist to the door and knocks. 

Voices are muffled and heavy feet shuffle on the other side of the door before finally, after what feels like an eternity of loud bickering from the boys about who’s going to open the door, Chris is face to face with Charles, stupid, toothy grin on her face. “Oh,” he says. 

Behind him, the guys jeer in French, but neither of them are paying any attention. Chris can't stop laughing, standing there, staring at Charles in the doorway. He stares right back, his eyes a window into the gears that turn behind them, processing… processing… processing so incredibly slowly. “Are you gonna hug me, or just stare at me?” She finally asks, and he laughs, snapping into reality, pulling her into a tight hug. 

“What are you doing here?” He questions, pressing a hard kiss into her hair, and then he laughs even harder. “How did you get here?”

– – –

Chris isn’t there for more than a couple days—she has to be back at work as winter break winds to a close, and Charles has training camp in Italy at the end of the week. It’s a quick visit, but they make the most of it, and they do get their new year’s eve kiss. 

It’s been, like, a month and a half since Chris was last in Monaco, but it’s been just two and a half weeks since someone posted a TikTok of Charles and her walking around Monte Carlo together. That means, it’s been two weeks of Chris stumbling upon, and falling down rabbit holes of, Charles’ fan accounts desperately trying to put a face to the back of the head of the girl in the video. 

She’s less interested in are they going to figure out who I am and more interested in are they at least, like, close? The answer is no. No, they are not even kind-of close to connecting Chris with him. It’s all models and friends and people he follows on Instagram and even one ex-girlfriend, but definitely no American kindergarten teachers. 

The fire is only fed, though, when on New Year’s Eve, drunk on Moscow Mules and equipped with the world’s most fashionable LED glasses, Charles is posted showing off the look. Under his arm, equally as drunk off espresso martinis, is Chris, engaged in conversation with Joris beside her. 

It’s been two-thousand twenty-three for fifteen minutes, and Instagram explore pages across the world are already filled with pictures of the side of her head and Charles’ goofy heart-eyed glasses.

Chris is too drunk to know, much less care, but when she does find out about it, she won’t be bothered. She thinks that maybe she never will be a big deal—certainly not as big of one as he seems to think it is. Nothing is going to happen, she tells him so many times it doesn’t even sound like a sentence anymore. Who cares if everyone figures out who I am?

January isn’t much but settling into a routine. They’re both busy with a million and one different things—just a little peek into any sort of future they hope to have together—and it’s the end of the month before they see each other in person again. 

Every post he makes on social media—every video, photo, story, mention, and repost is run through a microscope, carefully dissected searching for a repeat like and commenter, for an unfamiliar woman’s voice or a hand or a coat or a head of hair. Names fly around in a tornado of guesses, and none of them are correct. 

It’s an easy routine to fall into; scheduled phone calls, FaceTime dates twice a week, and sneakily sent texts in the middle of the workday. Sometimes it feels like they aren’t all that far apart, like he could walk out the front door and get into his car and drive for fifteen minutes and be at her house, eat dinner at the same table, fall asleep at the same time, in the same bed. Other times, they can feel every step of the four-thousand, six-hundred, ninety-five miles that separate them, when it’s all pictures of dinner and goodmorning texts seen three hours later and delayed, laggy FaceTime calls. 

It’s on one of those calls, where her face is frozen mid-conversation, that she’s gushing about how excited she is for some school event at the end of the month, the Art show, she’d called it, and when—after sorting out the camera issue for the time being—he’d asked for clarification on what exactly an Art show is, she’d explained the whole event with a big, excited smile on her face. 

“Oh my gosh!” She’d laughed, pulling her legs underneath her. “Okay, so, it’s the coolest thing. Basically, the art department displays all of the art the students have made so far this year all throughout the year, and the kids get to show it off to all their family. They set up a book fair in the library, and they serve ice-cream in the cafeteria,” she explains, “All the teachers go, and they bring their families, too,” she nods. “It’s really cool. I like to see how proud the kids are of their work.”

He decides then, in that very moment, that he doesn’t want to hear about this in text messages and photos and Facetime calls. He wants to be there—feel her energy, her pride, her smile. It just pours out of his mouth, what if I came? And then, before she can even come up with a response, If that’s okay, obviously. If you even would like, want that, you know. 

She bites down on a smile. “I thought you wanted to keep things quiet?” she chuckles, “be all protective of me and stuff?” 

Charles shrugs. “I don’t think anyone would believe I’m at a primary school’s art-fair in the middle-of-nowhere America.”

“I mean, I don’t care,” she explains, tucking her bangs behind her ears. “But you do. I’d love it if you could be there.”

He smiles. “You’d love it?”

“I would!” She laughs, leaning forward, closer to the camera. “You’d better come for more than just a day though,” she continues, slumping back against the couch behind her, picking at the cuticles on her thumb, raising her brows when she quietly adds: “I can think of lots of other things I’d love to do with you.”

He shakes his head, dimples digging into his cheeks. “You’re a tease, Christyn,” he taunts, and her head shoots up from her cuticle. 

“You have such a dirty mind, Charlie!” she laughs, and his cheeks burn at the nickname, at the accusation. 

“Don’t call me that,” he mutters, and she only laughs harder, smiles bigger. 

“Why?” She teases, crossing her arms over her chest, cocking her head to the side playfully.  “Because it makes you blush?”

– – – 

There’s really only one of Chris’ students that Charles knows by name: Quinn. Or, as Chris usually refers to her, my sweet, sweet, little Quinnie. Quinnie is not at the art show. Chris goes on to explain that she and her family are  never at any of the school events—no open houses, no field trips, no choir recitals or art shows or parent teacher conferences. If it’s not a free event that takes place during school hours, neither Quinn or her siblings will be there, and their Mother will never be there because she’s always at work. 

So, no Quinn to win over. He does, however, meet what may be the cutest kid he’s ever been face-to-face with in Landry, a little girl with two long brown braids and a strawberry patterned dress on. Landry is the first of her students to find their teacher, and completely ignores him to tug Chris’ arm towards the little girl’s artwork hung in the hallway. 

“I’ll be right back,” she says hurriedly, over her shoulder, letting the little girl pull her away. Charles nods and flashes her a quick wink before she’s properly whisked away, leaving him with nothing better to do than shove his hands deep in his pockets and analyze the artwork of primary school students. 

When she finds him again, no Landry in tow, she links her arm through his, leaning her head against his shoulder. “She told me I have a cute boyfriend,” she says.

“No, she did not,” He laughs, but his ears blush pink. 

“She did,” she nods. “She said you were ‘oh my goodness he is soooooo cute,’” Chris repeats, in a sing-songy tone. “I said, ‘I know right! He’s the cutest.’”

“Whatever,” Charles mutters, running his other hand through his hair. “Where’s the ice-cream at, anyway?”

Two styrofoam bowls of vanilla ice-cream slices—one covered in rainbow sprinkles, the other with chocolate syrup and a maraschino cherry—later, and Chris and Charles are sitting at Chris’ desk in her classroom, him in the green spinning chair, her on the desk itself. 

Two boys, who Chris refers to after they leave the room as Nash and Wyatt, are bouncing off the walls with excitement when they turn the corner into Chris’ classroom, their faces lighting up when they find her there. “Miss Elliott!” One of them shouts, half-out of breath. “The book fair has posters of your brother!” He explains. 

“Yeah!” The other chimes in. “I see-ed it when my sister was getting a poster of,” he takes a big breath, “of, uh, a princess poster or something.”

“Yeah, and I get-ted this one!” The first kid adds, unrolling the paper in this hand to reveal a black and white Fortnite poster, demonstrating the dances from the game. “Cool right?” He asks, and Chris nods. 

“So cool!” She says, “where are you going to hang it?” 

Charles leans back in the chair, spinning slightly side to side, eating his ice-cream and just observing the interaction. 

“Um, probably in my bedroom.”

Chris nods again, “perfect place for it,” she agrees. 

– – – 

He’s in Georgia for three days; Friday to Sunday, and spends all of it with Chris, almost entirely at her house. The art show is on Friday night, but he finds himself playing sleepover host with Chris on Saturday when Reid appears with a backpack, a pillow, and a baby blanket Chris tells him not to refer to as a baby blanket. 

Chase is racing in Los Angeles this weekend, and left town on Tuesday, leaving Hannah alone on Mom duty. That would be all fine, if the weekend didn’t fall on the one weekend a month she works. Bill, Cindy, Chris, and Hannah’s mom have been helping to pick up the slack left in Chase’ absence. 

It all comes together to result in him sitting in the middle of the living room, on the floor, surrounded by every blanket and pillow in the entire house on a Saturday night—a four-year-old boy sitting across from him, hanging on his every word, and his girlfriend in the other room making popcorn. 

He’s been tasked with coming up with, and executing the plan for a super, super, cool boy-fort that Auntie Chris can come into, I guess. 

A fort that fits into that description is a lot easier in theory. In Practice, however, he’s faced with the nephew he desperately needs the approval of, and a pile of purple and pink and sparkly and fluffy blankets and pillows. 

It takes all four of the dining table chairs, a curtain rod from the screened-in porch, a fitted sheet, and a box fan, but the fort is quickly commissioned, and gets Reid’s stamp of approval when he moves his pillow, favorite blanket, and definitely not a baby-blanket, baby-blanket into the build. 

Chris is behind them momentarily, knocking on the seat of one of the dining chairs before Reid permits her to enter. She crawls in, laptop and big bowl of popcorn in either hand. Reid is sandwiched between the two of them, Cars blanket covering his little frame, eyes glued to the screen while buttery fingers bury themselves in the popcorn bowl. 

Reid is asleep about five minutes after the popcorn bowl is empty, Chris running her fingers through his short brown hair while soft little snores leave his lips. Her head rests on his pillow, just above his head, and she watches the movie. Charles watches her, arm propped up at the elbow, holding his head up. She’s so soft. So sweet. It ties him up in knots. 

He feels like a child when she catches him staring, her eyes glancing over to him and making unexpected contact. His cheeks burn and his eyes dart away, back to the screen, to the movie. She giggles softly, barely loud enough for him to hear over his sudden mortification.  “Beautiful fort you’ve built here,” she says, and he looks back at her, meets her eyes properly this time. 

“Thank you,” he chuckles. “I’m thinking maybe I will make it my new career after racing.” Charles nods. Chris nods. A smile dances its way across her lips, turning the corners up gently. It makes him smile, too. “Charles Leclerc: Professional fort builder.”

“Oh,” She chuckles. “I can hear it now. You’ll be a household name.”When Charles wakes up, credits are rolling on the laptop screen and Chris’ hand is moving softly over his shoulder. He’s the bridge of his nose and picking the sleep out of his eyes and trying to get his bearings. All he’s sorted out so far is that Chris is here, he’s fucking boiling, and there’s a sleeping kid between them. He squints his eyes—like the dim light from the black credit screen is too bright for him—until she comes into focus. She points to the exit of the fort. “Bed,” she mouths.

“Well,” Chris shrugs, bringing a forkful of salad to her mouth. “I think you’ve won Reid over.”

Charles laughs on her phone screen. He’s in Italy… or Monaco… or… she’s not really sure, to be honest. It’s hard to keep track sometimes, when he’s always somewhere new. He’s in bed, wherever he is, the lamp from her kitchen casting the only light in his dark room. “Is that right?”

“Oh yeah,” she nods. “I had the pleasure of  reminding him you weren’t here this afternoon. He wasn’t happy with me.” She remembers it well, his declaration that Charles and Me are going to play games today, and remembers better the little, defeated oh, right after she had to remind him Charles had left the day before. 

Charles chuckles, shaking his head and rolling his eyes playfully. “I told him goodbye!”

“I know!” She says, taking another bite, her hand covering her mouth while she talks around the lettuce. “He thought you meant goodbye for the day,” she explains, swallowing. “Not goodbye for a while.”

Charles frowns. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize!” Chris laughs, poking her fork around her bowl. “I love that he likes you so much, it’s adorable,” she hums. “He’s absolutely devastated you won’t be at his birthday party, though.”

Charles scoffs, his mouth dramatically falling open. “No way. You didn't tell me it was his birthday!”

“Because it’s not for like, two weeks!” She defense, laughing. “I wasn’t even thinking about it.”

“When is it?”

She cocks her head to the side, already knowing what he’s about to say, and unscrews the top of her water bottle. “His birthday’s the sixteenth, but the party is the eighteenth.”

“I’ll be there.”

“No you won’t. You have testing.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yeah,” she insists. “On Monday you have to be in Bahrain.”

“Monday is not Saturday.”

Chris doesn’t tell anyone outside of Chase and Hannah that Charles is flying in, and they definitely don’t tell Reid about it, just in case it falls through for any of the million reasons it could possibly fall through because of. 

It was a last minute-trip, after all, and it seems like every second of Charles’ time is accounted for right now, so  Chris is prepared at any moment to get a text or a call apologetically explaining that he got pulled into something else. That call never comes, and she picks him up from the airport late Friday night, just in time to bicker in the middle of a liquor store about wine. 

“Absolutely not, baby.” He says, shaking his head, a truly horrified look on his face. 

“You don’t even drink wine!” She insists, holding a three-liter box of Franzia. “This is perfectly fine.”

His eyes go wide, brows raising like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “It’s in a box.”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s for a fifth birthday party.”

“It’s not for the five-year-old,” he argues, picking two bottles of overpriced chardonnay from the shelf. “We’ll get these.”

– – – 

Much to the dismay of the other, they show up to the party the next afternoon with one box and one bottle. 

Reid is upstairs playing with some kid that Chris is related to somehow, she’s sure, so their arrival goes unnoticed by the birthday boy. Instead, Chris is heaving the box of wine onto the kitchen island, greeting a visibly stressed Hannah with a hug. Charles follows closely behind, setting his bottle down next to her box, following the hug train to Hannah. 

“Look great, as always, Hannah,” He says, and Hannah laughs. 

“I’m a mess, the house is a mess. Reid,” she looks to Chris, “Lord have mercy on me, your nephew has dressed himself.”

Chris scowls, and then shrugs. Charles laughs. “He can be Chandler’s nephew, today,” she says. 

“He’s still your godson, though,” Hannah reminds. 

“Oh, don’t I know it!”

Charles takes Chris’ coat with his own, hands them both up in the mud room that’s just off the kitchen. He hears Hannah calling for Reid while he does it, telling him to come down and say hello to your auntie. Auntie Chris. He loves the way Reid says it—Annie Chris—or, when he really wants to stir some shit up, which Charles has come to learn is just about all of the time, Reid will call her Miss Elliott. 

Everyone hears him before they see him, little feet making heavy noises as they hurry down the stairs so quickly he might as well have just jumped off the landing and tuck’n’rolled his way into the kitchen. He’s bouncing on his feet, talking to Chris animatedly with his back turned to Charles when he appears in the mud-room doorway. Immediately, Chris is glancing up to him and covering Reid’s eyes with her hands, turning him to face Charles. “I have a surprise for you, Reidy.”

“What?” He squirms. “What is it?”

“More like who is it?” Hannah says, and Reid gasps. 

“Chucky?” He asks, and Chris is grinning at Charles, adjusting her hands over the boy’s eyes so one hand covers them both. With the other hand, she pokes Reid’s side right where he’s ticklish and makes him giggle. 

“Who?” She asks, his belly laugh making her laugh, too. 

“Sharles!” Reid exclaims, breathless from laughing so hard. “Sha-rle,” He laughs out, enunciating the poorly mocked accent.

“Wrong,” Chris says, and then takes her hand off his eyes to reveal Charles. 

Reid is slamming into Charles’ legs before he can even squat down to give the kid a proper hug, settling for just hugging his legs. “You comed!” He cheers. 

“Come on, Mate!” Charles says, ruffling the little boy’s hair. “You didn’t think I would miss such an important birthday?”

Chris watches the whole interaction with a giddy smile on her face. Hannah watches, too, while she stirs a crock pot full of nacho cheese. Reid fills Charles in on everything that’s happened to him since Charles left, and is already asking if Charles wants to go play catch outside with the football he’s gotten from his dad earlier that week, on his actual birthday. When Hannah slides behind Chris, between her body and the cabinets, muttering a quick behind you and grabbing a ladle from a drawer, she gives Chris’ shoulder a soft squeeze. 

– – – 

Chris is MIA when Bill and Cindy turn up, arms full of food and gifts for their only grandchild, but Charles is in the backyard, standing around a smoking fire pit with Chase and Reid and other people he remembers meeting from the wedding, but who’s names he wouldn’t be able to remember if there was a gun held to his temple. 

Bill and Cindy wander out shortly after they arrive, looking for the birthday boy, and Charles handles the introductions all by himself—a handshake to Dad, a compliment to Mom, and hugs for both of them. He knows how to charm. Knows he’s going to be working at it for a while, probably. He’s more than willing to put in the hours. 

“I didn’t know you were comin’, son,” Bill says, and Charles is nodding, hands in his jacket pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels.

“Yeah, it was a kind of… last minute choice.”

“Aw,” Cindy hums. “What a sweetheart. How long are you in town for?”

“Just a couple days,” he explains. “Chris is off work this week, but I have to get to Bahrain in a couple days. Get used to the timezone and everything.”

“Ah,” Bill nods. “Season’s starting up again, that right?”

“Eh,” he shrugs. “It never stops, it feels like,” and Bill nods. 

“Don’t I know it, boy.”

“Is Chrissy planning on coming out to any of your races?” Cindy asks, linking her arm through Bill’s, leaning against him around the fire. “I know she told us that y’all are keeping it pretty hush-hush for now.”

“Eventually, I hope she can,” he says. “I don’t want to have her come if she doesn’t feel comfortable.”

Cindy nods, smiling to herself. “Smart answer, honey,” she says, and Bill laughs. “You’re a good egg.” Charles chuckles softly, if only because he doesn’t know what to say to that. He’s been called a lot of things over the years, but good egg might be a new one. 

Just then, Chris is pushing open the sliding door on the back deck, stepping out with her coat on, the hood pulled up over her head, her hands hidden in the sleeves. “Well, speak of the Devil,” Bill says, greeting his daughter with a tight hug. 

“Uh oh,” Chris laughs, following suit with a hug for her mom, too. “Y’all are talking about me?”

He’s come to learn that her accent is never anywhere as strong as it is when she's around family. He’s familiar with the pattern of it, and does the same thing after long breaks away from speaking English or Italian. It takes a while to settle back into translating your thoughts. He thinks it’s probably pretty similar, even if she’s not translating from another language. He thinks it’s cute, when the southern twang gets extra prominent. It’s cute, and it’s sweet, and she sounds like a movie character sometimes. 

She slots into her comfortable position at Charles’ side, and his arm is tossing itself over her shoulder before he even realizes it’s happening. It’s habit, almost, to keep her close. “Always,” he says. 

– – –

They’re cute and annoyingly couple-ey all night. He doesn’t care if she’s related to or friends with almost everyone here, he’s never not amazed at just how easily she can find home in any conversation. Sometimes he wonders if he looks as awestruck about it as he feels, watching her put on this masterclass with everyone she talks to—from passing, brief conversations about how good Hannah’s food is and how old Reid is getting, to the long, sit-down chats about work and her life and their lives. It’s so crystal clear that she makes everyone feel important—the most important person in the room—and he;s even starting to remember names. 

There’s a lot of names to remember. 

There’s nobody that feels quite as important to Chris as Charles does, though, he’s sure of it. In fact, he’s not sure there’s another person on Earth that could manage to make a social event into something so… recharging for him. She just radiates energy, truly. It’s in the atmosphere, just being in her proximity, just having an arm around her or their fingers intertwined or the smell of her perfume on his clothes is enough. 

He loves her so horribly that he’s almost sick with it. He’s biting his tongue all night. Hell, he’s even trying to talk himself out of the now months old revelation. 

Like, she drinks wine from a fucking box. A box. Of wine. And she sees absolutely no problem with it. She wants to drag him around to every person, to engage in every conversation. She changed her perfume or her shampoo or her laundry detergent or something, because she smells different than the last time he was with her. She drives like an elderly woman—Jesus fucking Christ, she takes the speed limit so seriously it’s hard to sit in the passenger seat and let it happen. She cried three times on the way from Atlanta. Three times, because she saw some roadkill that wasn't even identifiable, and couldn’t stop thinking about it.  She’s covered in glitter, like, all the time. And so is her stuff. It’s on her face and her hands and her clothes and every surface of her house. Glitter and spelling tests and like, six variations of the same travel coffee mug. She listens to country music as if it’s the only genre of music that exists, and she listens to it all the time. He doesn’t love her. He doesn’t. If he did, he wouldn't have been able to keep it in for so long. 

He doesn’t love her, and then she laughs and he can feel it in his fucking gut, feels the urge to laugh even when he doesn’t get the joke, even when he misses entirely what is making her so happy. He wants to laugh because she’s laughing and her laugh makes the world a better place and he loves her so bad it hurts.

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[studio-of-woof]

Ruh roh I’m having a funny idea again.

So a friend and I were talking last night about the Roger Rabbit universe and I had Digital Circus fresh on my mind. So I kept thinking about a Digital Circus actor AU.

Glitch Productions being this big recording studio with the sets of like, Murder Drones, Digital Circus and Gaslight District (that one still being under construction).

The Digital Circus cast would be rather different off-camera, like for example maybe Caine is actually kinda socially awkward yet still a loud boi. And this is his first big major role in a project.

Caine Interview:

“How did you end up with the role, Caine?”

“Well… Goose has heard my voiceover performances before and was like “I gotta get this guy on for something!” And so when I auditioned I kinda just got hired on the spot!”

Pomni would still be a bit reserved but she has a lot of confidence for acting. My friend also mentioned how she would probably have a lot of experience under her belt and so she’d kinda help mentor some of the more newer actors, like Caine and Ragatha.

Speaking of Ragatha… my friend said this about her

“Yes, and Ragatha played her character while doing collage and did not expect the show to blow up. She got to finish her last year before filming it full time.”

So the idea of Ragatha’s role also being a first big major role came to mind. So Pomni tries to mentor her, which is kind of a funny image.

Ragatha would still be the mom friend of the group for sure, she would make sure someone’s okay after doing a risky or scary scene.

Ragatha and Pomni interview:

“Pomni’s been kinda helping me with my role, like just—“

“Slowly kind of directing you?”

“That, yeah. [laughing]”

“Of course not disregarding the actual director!”

“Yeah no the director’s great, you’re great. [laughing]”

“But like, with that scene in the hallway? Where I had to act all frazzled? That took a few takes but eventually I got it down pat. I think it would’ve taken longer if Pomni wasn’t there to kinda help me with finding the right… uh… tone I guess?”

“Yeah, tone. You did amazing by the way!”

“No you did amazing!”

Now Jax is a fun one. He’s not a complete douche off camera but he still likes play harmless pranks on set. You know those pixar bloopers? Kind of like that.

Like being in scenes where he’s not supposed to be.

[Filming the scene where Pomni tries to find Caine]

“And… action!”

[Pomni opens up one of the doors. Only to see Jax standing there.]

“Sup?”

“[Laughing] HOW DID YOU GET THERE??”

“Cut!”

I’d also picture whenever he has to be a douche in a scene he’d apologise immediately after when the cameras cut off.

[Filming]

“Ladies first! … No wait why would I say that?”

[Jax pushes Gangle over]

“… and cut! That was good!”

[Jax helping Gangle up]

“I am so sorry-“

“Did I push too hard?”

“Yeah nah you’re good.”

“Alright cool. [giggling]”

Also this it was mentioned during the more recent Hunicast that everyone gets caught off-guard whenever Michael plays Jax since Michael isn’t like Jax at all, I reckon it’d be the same in this universe.

Jax interview:

“Everyone on set has said to me at least once that I don’t act like my character at all and it catches them off guard completely. I just think that’s really funny.”

The idea of Gangle being a really good actor so much so that she puts on a voice for the character has crossed my mind. Much like her VA she’d have a more deeper voice. Yet when acting she puts on the high pitched and nasally voice. Also my friend mentioned how she would say “bro” off-set so that’s a funny thought.

[Filming]

“Bro my comedy mask!”

“Cut!”

“Ah my bad.”

Not much to really say about Kinger, but I did have the idea of him accidentally pulling a hip or something when he did the scene where he spazzes out.

[Filming]

“They’re the two most mentally stable and capable characters to be pai—“

“OWWW! OUH! OUUHH! I think I pulled something!”

“Oh shit you alright?”

“Ye-Yeah yeah I think- I think I should go sit down can we take 5?”

Zooble is just a very chill person off-set. They still maintain that “idgaf” attitude, but they’re less rude about it. Though they would still have a foul-mouth. There also was probably a few times where they got caught smoking weed or having an edible behind the studio after filming.

Zooble Interview:

“Did the Gloink Queen actually eat you on set?”

“Ha. Nah. The one you saw get swallowed was a prop replica of my head. They got it pretty accurately for the budget we had at the time.”

Zooble and Gangle are besties in character and off camera for sure, but there would also be times where Zooble hangs around Ragatha a lot, kind of just unknowingly adopting her as their on-set mother lol (I blame you @/mod-bee)

More interviews:

“Are you scared of centipedes, like actually?”

��Out of character? Oh yeah. Definitely. Too many legs. No thanks. [laughing]”

“Is it sometimes frustrating having to put yourself back together a lot?”

“Eh, sometimes. It is what it is, y’know? Plus as much as I have issues with his bod, it’s helped me gotten the role so… I can at least thank it for that.”

“What’s the worst prank Jax has pulled on set?”

“He hasn’t done anything remotely harmful, he’s too nice for that. But I’d say the time he made Zooble think they actually choked him out. He was a little too good at the bit I’d say. Zooble had words for him after that stunt. [slight chuckle]”

“The one time I regret nothing.”

“Did you end up getting hurt by that bowling ball Jax hurled at you?”

“Oh that? That was a stunt double! Thank god for stunt doubles. We actually go get drinks every now and again. It freaks out the local drunks every time.”

“A lot of people online have said you look like you suffer from scoliosis, is that true?”

“How can I suffer from scoliosis if I don’t even have a spine to begin with? [laughing]”

“Are all your more… cartoony movements CGI? Any special effects involved?”

“Well…. Don’t spread this around.. but… that’s all me. It’s a special talent I have.”

“Huh. Interesting. Does that mean you can actually fly?”

“I dunno! You tell me!”

[Caine slowly floats above his seat]

Bonus:

Whenever they’re not acting on the set of Murder Drones, Uzi, N and V help out with the more technical side of filming. Cameras, lights, and whatnot. Since they can fly they help out with filming bird’s eye view shots.