#even without knowing what happens in the last part of the episode

[elzifelzi]

PHANTOM

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Chapter 19: Haunted Hallows Part 4.

After their little episode the group went back to their respective rooms for some well needed rest.They especially needed it for what they were soon to experience in the coming days. 

The night had passed by rather quickly and it was now morning Dan and Tucker got up early with Sam waking up much much later. She woke to find Dan and Tucker out at the front of the house in their sweats, Tucker made eye contact with her and waved her over to them. 

Sam:”What are you guys doing?”

Tucker:”Well as evident from your little ghost run in last night we know Dan is useless without his powers.”

The ghost boy shook his head in agreement.

Dan:”This is true…”

Tucker :”And we can't risk Danny going ghost and possibly giving away our location at least not until we know for sure that he can face whoever Skulker sends our way next.“

Dan:”This is also true..”

Tucker: “So I had an idea,What if Danny didn't have to go ghost to use his powers?“

Dan:”I've done it before 

Sam:”But won't Skulker still be able to track him?”

Dan:”I thought of that but we realized that skulker isn't tracking my powers just my ecto signature..” 

Sam:”ummm explain…”

Tucker:”After doing some research based on the ghosts Danny has fought before, I figured out that an ecto signature is something unique to each ghost's undead body.. It's essentially an energy that envelopes a ghost's body causing it to exist outside of the ghost zone.. “

Sam:”ahh I think I get it so since Danny can turn his ghost half on and off he can do the same with his ecto signature?”

Tucker:”exactly so all we need to do is get Danny used to using his powers in his human form and problem solved... He may never need to go ghost again!”

Dan:”Well you see, that won't help with the whole secret identity thing and what not..sooo.”

Sam:”Danny's right, but at least it'll give us the edge that we need out here. I can't always be saving your asses. “

She shoots him a smug grin.

Dan:”shutup”

Dan playfully nudges Sam

Tucker :”Speaking of which, what happened last night?”

Dan raises an eyebrow at tucker. 

Dan:”What do you mean?”

Tucker :”Well you guys were gone for a while and the phone call couldn't have lasted more than a few minutes.. So what were you doing after you guys escaped the ghost?”

Dan and Sam simultaneously recall the somewhat steamy exchange they had moments before Dan's phone went off and the two of their faces turned crimson red in embarrassment. 

Dan and Sam:”I-I-it W-was n-nothing!!!!”

Their embarrassed stammering didn't go unnoticed by Tucker who shot them a knowing glare.

Tucker :”It doesn't seem like nothing..”

Dan:”nah we just lost track of time is all... R-right Sam?? “

Sam:”yeah right... Well you guys should get started on training. I'm gonna grab something to eat since I kissed breakfast.....”

Tucker gave Sam a confused look and when it dawned upon her what she had said her face became redder than even humanly possible.

Sam :”I mean MISSED!!! I missed breakfast.”

Before she could make an even bigger fool of herself she left. Tucker finding the entire situation funny just chose to ignore it and refocused his attention on Dan.

Tucker:”Look man,we need to talk..”

Dan was in the process of stretching but stopped after seeing Tucker's rather serious expression.

Dan:”uh sure,about what?”

Tucker:”I'm sorry about yesterday man, I shouldn't have come at you like that,Just with Skulker and everything that happened I just…”

Immediately Dan waved his hand dismissively,in his mind Tucker hadn't said anything that wasn't true and maybe Dan needed to hear it.

Dan:”It's fine,besides you weren't wrong…I just didn’t want to hear it.”

He lets out a weak chuckle as a way to indicate to Tucker that he was fine with it but his friend wasn't fooled one bit.

Tucker:”No… listen…dude..you got hurt..you were damn near on the verge of death,the horror I felt seeing it couldn't even be comparable to what you must've felt and I know that but ... .being your friend knowing the kind of life you went through its …….”

Dan cuts him off.

Dan:”you don't have to say it dude,I know..but believe me when I say that it's because you know my past that I'm glad you said something.”

Tucker:”Really?”

Dan nods.

Dan:”Dude you're my best friend in the whole world.I need you, to be straight with me more than anyone else,I don't need you sugarcoating shit cuz you think I can't handle it…nor do I want you to.”

He extends his fist to Tucker.

Dan:”you got that?”

Tucker nods before bumping Dans Fist with his own. 

Tucker:”Bet!”

Tucker:”Speaking of your past,I know your folks called you last night,how're you feeling about that?”

As Dan recalls the intense feelings he experienced the prior night he begins rubbing the bridge Of his nose.

Dan:”not Good…”

Tucker:”Wanna talk about it?”

Dan:”not really, but I'm sure you're gonna make me.”

Tucker:”Then start talking.”

A sigh escapes Dans lips

Dan:”They told me that they're ready to bury The hatchet…that they're ready to move past everything that happened.”

Tucker:”Isn’t that a good thing?”

Dan:”It would be if it was for the right reasons.”

Tucker:”What do you mean?”

Dan:”Apparently Jazz is missing,and she's been missing for a while so…..”

Tucker cuts him off almost immediately, knowing what Dan was insinuating.

Tucker:”So you think they reached out to you because they don't wanna deal with the guilt of having both a missing daughter and an estranged son?”

Dan nods.

Tucker:”Look I understand your parents aren't really the best and I get why you would be apprehensive to let them back in, but…and this is just my opinion if it feels like they're trying to make a genuine effort..It wouldn't hurt to meet them halfway on it..”

Dan:”You don't seriously expect me to forgive them,do you?”

Tucker Shakes his head.

Tucker:”No,It wouldn't be fair to you.You don't have to forgive them,hell you don't even have to talk with them but I know you're hurting and I know that while you are angry at them,you don't want to be.So if you really do wanna make any kind of dent in that huge wall of trauma you got maybe try talking to them on your terms,and if they still choose to be thick headed then I'd say Screw them!”

And there it was,the famous Tucker Foley wisdom that Dan could never refute no matter how much he tried.It was moments like this that made him truly realize how lucky he was to have Tucker by his side,of course he'd never outrightly say it,but his friend was more than smart enough to figure it out.

Dan:”I think you're right…”

Tucker scoffs.

Tucker:”I mean I'm rarely ever wrong.”

Their conversation lulls to a close as Dan's training was about to commence.

Dan:”So how's this work?”

Tucker :”Well, we're gonna do tests that are specifically tailored to your ghost powers.. The 1st is intangibility.”

Dan:”So what, you're just gonna throw rocks at me until they pass through me?”

Tucker :”yup”

Without warning Tucker threw a barrage of rocks at Danny all of which hit him Dead on.. Leaving small rock shaped wounds on his body..

Dan:”What the hell Tucker!!!!” 

Tucker :”what?” 

Dan:”at least give a guy a heads up!!”

Tucker:”Sorry, heads up!”

Tucker threw a final rock at Dan and for a brief moment the ghost boy's eyes flashed green and he was able to turn intangible..with relative ease.He assumed he had just gotten much better at using his powers but,could it have been something more? Dan didn’t ponder the thought for very long he couldn't, they had a lot of ground to cover as far as his powers were concerned and an undetermined amount of time to do it.Trying to make the most of their time they spent the rest of the Day testing out Dan's other ghost powers and by the time they were done night had eventually fallen.Then feeling satisfied with the days events they retreated to their living room to discussed Dan's progress. 

Sam:”So what powers can Dan use?”

Tucker:”Well so far the only confirmed abilities are.. His basic ghostly strength, intangibility, invisibility and ghost ray..the catch is all these are at less than Half their full strength while in his human form.”

Dan:”Either way it's still some progress.”

Tucker nodded his head in agreement.

Tucker:”Also, I'm still working on it but I may have come up with something to help us fight off the ghosts!”

Sam:”That's amazing Tucker!

Dan:”Yeah how did you manage that?”

Tucker scrolls through his phone for a bit before showing Dan blueprints for a thermos like device.

Dan:”Hey I recognize this thing..”

Tucker:”It's one of your mom's old designs,It's supposed to be able to trap ghosts.”

Sam:”Sick! So this thing could seal away Skulker or something?”

Tucker:”Basically.”

Dan:”Then its completion is definitely on the top of our list of priorities.”

Tucker:”I couldn't agree more.”

They chatted idly for a while longer before they each retired to their respective rooms for that night,unbeknownst to them while they slept the most unholy of alliances was being formed against them. In the ghost zone the mysterious figure had done exactly as skulker ordered him to and brought him Vlad masters. They arrived at Skulkers Island where he was torturing the blind and defenseless box ghost under the guise of helping the ghost perfect his new ability but really he was mainly doing it for fun.

???? :”skulker?”

Skulker :”what is it now Technus? “

The ghost pulled over his hood to reveal green skin with white circuit-like markings along his face and body and long white hair tied in a ponytail and shaved at the sides; he wore large square framed tinted glasses and had jagged teeth. 

Skulker :”why have you disturbed me? I was just about to rip off his hand.”

Technus:”that can wait.. I got you the human you were looking for..” 

Technus points to Vlad who had been too busy admiring the ghost zone to pay attention. 

Skulker :”Finally ready to reveal your true Nature Vlad!?!”

Vlad flashes him a mischievous grin and In a Flash of light Vlads human appearance changed to a more ghostly mischievous appearance  his skin turned blue and his vampiric qualities were made apparent by his glowing red eyes,sharp fangs and his jet black hair and goatee which took the shape of horns. 

Skulker flashes him a grim

Technus :”So why did you keep it hidden?” 

Vlad:”A half ghost running a ghost hunting agency?If I had ever been found out then everything I worked hard to obtain all these years would’ve been wasted!”

Technus:”So you let Skulker and the other ghosts do your dirty work..gathering materials from the ghost zone to enhance your ghost hunting machinery and in turn make More money without ever having to Get your hands dirty.”

The halfa shrugged 

Vlad:”It's just business,I prefer to only use my ghostly abilities when the situation requires to.A While back I realized that you would probably need my direct help for this grand mission of yours.”

Technus:”Grand mission,how much has Skulker told you?”

Vlad scoffs 

Vlad:”Oh Skulker had managed to keep a very tight lip on most of the important information Especially after Daniel got his powers. All he let me know was that after his plans were completed and the boy was secured I'd be rewarded handsomely and I never pressed further.”

Technus:”So if Skulker never told you anything,what are you going on about?”

Vlad:”please, you really think i haven't figured out what you need young Daniel for?”

Technus :”how would you know what we need him for?”

A chuckle escapes from Vlads mouth.

Vlad:”You see, I'm a rather smart man and I love my research. The boy is the key to the Else Awareness isn't he?. I know how to take you there... “

 Technus Froze, He couldn't believe what he was hearing could this human have really figured out their plans?He looked over to Skulker who hadn't batted an eye,he was simply waiting to know more and Vlad,who was feeling confident that he had the high ground approached Skulker with full intent to give it to him.Eventually Technus recovered from his trance like state and spoke up.

Technus:”how do you know what the Else Awareness is? it's supposed to be a myth!!” 

Vlad grew increasingly amused by the ghost's floundering. Contrary to the polite and patient demeanor he had in his human form as a ghost he reviled In watching beings who he viewed as below him squirm under his influence and right now he was having the time of his life.

Vlad:”if a myth was able to produce such a reaction from you,I fear to see how You would behave when faced with the truth.”

He walks over to Skulker's empty throne and sits down feeling quite confident in his position. His ego was inflated even more when the Hunter did nothing to stop or oppose him; he just waited in anticipation of what Vlad had to say next.

Vlad:”A long time ago I realized that Skulker's partnership with me had to have had more benefits to him than simply turning A blind eye to his antics on earth..so I did some digging in both the human and ghost world and I eventually arrived at this conclusion. What is so valuable that the greatest hunter in the ghost zone would go through the lengths of allying himself with a known, ghost hunter to get?It would have to be something that wasn't easily attainable,something that you couldn't just find in the ghost zone.Then after that I wondered why you'd seek me out specifically.  Yes it could be for my wealth and influence,but after working with you for a while I knew it could never be that ,I understand that you sought me out because somehow, someway you managed to figure out that I was a halfa.”

Skulker simply grunted.

Vlad:”But you didn't hunt me,surely a ghost and human hybrid would've been the perfect prey but that wasn't it either so I dug a bit deeper and scoured through all the ancient texts I learned of the Else Awareness and that's when I knew for certain what you were after.”

Taken aback at what was excellent deductive reasoning on Vlads part, Technus quickly jumped on the defensive.

Technus:”You have no idea what you're talking about,The Else Awareness is nothing but a rumor!!”

Enraged at the Ghosts constant Denial Vlad lashed back.

Vlad:”Do you take me for a joke?”Why else would you seek me out!? Why else would a Hunter like Skulker pass up the ultimate prey not once but twice!!?? It's because You need a halfa to gain access to it. I'm guessing that's why you sought me out at first but you quickly realized my willingness to betray my human side for personal gain made me ineligible for the task. Then Daniel got his powers and began pursuing heroics, so you once again jumped at the cause.But young Daniel wouldn't be too keen on being your tool So you asked Me to jump in hoping that I could sway him. Am I right or Am I right?”

A grin grows on Skulkers face this human was clever and he respected that,this entire time Skulker thought he was stringing Vlad along,but he couldn't have been more wrong Vlad had been in control since the very beginning everything had just been Vlad feigning ignorance on his side until Skulker had no choice but to let him in on his plan.While he hated being used even Skulker had to admit it was very crafty.

Skulker :”how do you know the location of the Else Awareness?”

Vlad :”because I've seen it with my own eyes.”

Enraged by Vlads words, Technus seized him by his collar thinking that Vlad was mocking him.

Technus”:do you take us for fools!!? How could you have seen the Else awareness!!? Not even residents of the ghost zone have found it!”

With ease Vlad pushes the ghost off of him  and dusts himself off.

Vlad:”as I predicted you know very little of what you seek. Your higher ups would be very ashamed.” 

Technus: “what do you mean?” 

Vlad:”Think about it...the ghost zone Is a flipside of earth correct?”

Technus nodded.

Vlad:”And the Else awareness is in the ghost zone right?”

Skulker :”where are you going with this?”

Vlad:”I'm saying that surely the Else awareness has to have an equivalent in the human world.”

Skulker :”how do you know this?”

Vlad pulls out his phone and shows Skulker and technus pictures of a worn out looking book.. The book had a gold clasp on it and a picture of a skull with one eye. 

Skulker :”What is this?” 

Vlad :”more proof that you 2 are  fools. This is the Spectral Archive. Everything there is to know about the ghost zone is in this book..” 

Technus:”That book has been lost for ages. How'd you get it?”

Vlad:”In my many travels, whilst doing research on ghosts in the human and ghost worlds I stumbled upon it...it's missing a few pages now.. But it's intact enough that I've managed to locate the human world equivalent of the Else awareness.:

Skulker:”where is it?”

Vlad:”haunted Hallows....:

Meanwhile back at haunted hallows the trio were relaxing outside after a long day of training. 

Tucker :”So Sam , I've been meaning to ask you, why'd you pick this place as our hideout?”

Sam:”mmm?”

Tucker:”I mean you said that they have numerous other houses at different locations right, so why this one? Surely there had to be others further from where we lived right?”

Sam sat up from her lounge chair and turned to face the two boys.. 

Sam:”Part of the reason is because sure it's close but it's also uninhibited noone around to bother us.”

Dan:”That makes sense,and the other part?”

 Sam:”alright I'll tell you but promise you won't freak..”

Dan:”I'm literally a freak soo....”

Sam:”soo my parents used to bring me to this specific house a lot after we moved,i guess it was their favorite out of all of them or something But as a kid I noticed a lot of freaky shit happening.. People disappearing, creatures lurking around at night, animals floating all kinds of freaky shit. This was actually where I saw my first ghost and as I got older the shit I saw got freakier.”

Dan:”that is freaky”

Sam:”After my parents died I visited here a couple more times. I began doing some investigating as to why this place seemed like a haunting hotspot and I found out that this entire village is coated in the same energy that ghosts let out.”

Dan:”this place is lined with ecto energy?”

Tucker:”But that's not possible is it?”

Sam:”it shouldn't be, but after more research I found out that this place isn't even really on the map.. Like the spot on the map that would be haunted hallows is just an empty plot of Forrest.when I asked my Gran how my folks found this place and she said that they just stumbled on it one”

Tucker:”So it doesn't exist?”

Sam:”more like it shouldn't exist... In our realm that is?”

Dan and Tucker were awestruck. What could she mean by that? Where was she getting this information?And what did this mean for them?Luckily, they didn't have to wait long for an answer.Sam went into the house and soon reemerged holding pages that looked similar to the ones from the book Vlad talked about. 

Sam:”These pages are from some Ancient ghost book. I was looking through Dan's parents notes and I found them…at first glance they looked like random scribbles but when I looked over them again I found out that this place is actually in the ghost zone!”

Dan:”What do you mean ? How are we in the ghost zone?”

Tucker:”Danny I don't think she means we're literally in the ghosts zone, I think she means that this place belongs in the ghost zone..”

Sam nodded

Dan:”So what? it moved from the ghost zone to the human realm. How is that even possible?”

Sam:”I don't know? But according to these pages this place is the key to finding some place called the Else awareness..”

Dan:”So you brought us here to look for it?” 

She shakes her head

Sam:”if it is what the pages make it out to be then chances are he doesn't even know it exists,which means it's not likely that he'd find us here.”

Dan picks up the pages and glances over them.. 

Dan:”The Else awareness, I wonder what's in there.”

To be continued 

We back at it!! it's been a minute since the last one but i'm back!

nothing but lore dumps this chapter but i hope you guys enjoy. Also Technus is revealed he just looks like a dirty man

Also first official appearance of Vlad plasmius as well

READ the other released Chapters here.

[avengeloki]

A Reason

Hozier x gn!reader

Your feelings began to overwhelm you again; thankfully, you’ve someone willing to help you through it.

word count: 998

A/N: First fic I've posted in years, and it's a one-shot. Feel free to jump me if it's not exactly great and has mistakes. This was written in two hours late at night....and has been requested to be posted here..yeah, you know who you guys are. I still kind of don't know how to manage this and set this up, so forgive me

tags: depression episodes, unhealthy coping mechanisms mentioned but not acted upon, hurt/comfort, the unstable line of healing

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

“Show me

the most damaged parts of your soul,

and I will show you how it still shines like gold.’’

Your feelings were a fickle thing, never knowing when you might feel like this day might be your last, or when you might live to see the depths of the sea. You don’t feel entirely yourself in these moments, but you know this is who you truly are deep down - even if you think too fast for your own good. Without a distraction, everything's pulled apart altogether like a loose thread. You can’t catch the strings as they fall, having to resort to troubled habits to thread them all back together. To get a hold of yourself, like you always had to.

Never had you sat and thought that one single person could show you that it's okay, to make you feel like there was a reason to be here and feel. That it’s okay to feel so strongly, it was overwhelming. Bittersweet in its best way. He would sit there and help put it all back together for you, without a complaint. You couldn’t help feeling guilty and a bit skeptical, even. Did this have a debt? Or was he just the perfect one for you? Sometimes you couldn’t accept that someone would be so good to you, so loving.

Sometimes those threads would fall loose from time to time, and that's okay - it happens. “It’s all a part of healing; healing is never a straight line of success, love.” Andrew had told you once - actually, on multiple occasions. It was the reminder and reassurance you always needed in moments like these.

You had thought on multiple occasions about how he managed to uplift you like this, without fail. You’ve seen his wringing hands and how he slouched his shoulders to make himself feel smaller in crowded rooms, constantly stumbling over words. And he still looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered. You remembered the first time he had looked at you like that, it almost scared you away - how intensely he felt for you. But you remembered, you suffered from feeling so intensely as well. You were frightened because you hadn’t once been reciprocated with that all-consuming love before. And after all this time, he still looked at you like he was relearning every inch of you all over again.

You had hoped Andrew noticed how you looked at him, too.

“I’m here, love. It’s okay.”

You had awoken early in your shared bed with Andrew, feeling an overwhelming sense of emotions you couldn’t explain. You could only put your finger on the dreadful feeling of sadness as you tried to wipe the tears away. You felt bad for waking him; you had tried your best to be quiet. But with his arms sliding around your waist, pulling you closer against his chest as he whispered to you, it was apparent you had failed at being discreet. You felt safe against the warmth of Andrew’s body, the heat seeping into the suddenly freezing temperature of your skin. You had turned in his arms, immediately burrowing your face in his chest.

“I’m sorry.”

You had felt bad for the tears that wet Andrew’s shirt, for waking him. But he showed no signs of annoyance from what you could tell, refusing to look him in the face. “Why are you sorry? Don’t be.” Your heart ached at his words, feeling as if you should’ve been sorry. But Andrew always reassured you that you never had to apologize for your feelings, let alone the tears that stained his shirt. You wanted to tell him to go back to sleep, wanted to resort to picking up the strings on your own - but that's not how it was anymore, and you knew that. “What happened, love?” He leaned down and kissed the crown of your head, words muffled against your hair. Your chest tightened with another sob, because you didn’t honestly know what had happened, why you’re feeling like this.

“I don't — I don't know.” Andrew hummed in acknowledgment at the broken sob, his hand sliding up your back to begin to rub slow, comforting circles. “That’s okay, just breathe.” A beat of silence fell between you both, broken by the occasional, quiet sob from your lips. “I’ve got you, I won’t let you fall,” Andrew spoke again, pulling away only in an attempt to see your face. A face he had grown to associate with home.

His hand cupped the side of your face, the pad of his thumb finding its place below your ear. He wanted to see you, to make sure you knew he was here, truly. “I love you.” Andrew whispered in the small space between your faces, his gaze softening at the sight of your tear-streaked face. He hated seeing you like this, and he always aimed to make it better for you. You didn’t meet his eyes at first, feeling overwhelmingly vulnerable, knowing you’d see the sadness in his eyes. And you hated that you were the one who put it there, but you felt content at the fact that the emotion was based on pure love. He cared.

You cracked a smile as you looked up at him, meeting his gaze, unable to help it. He had always had that effect on you. Andrew returned the smile immediately, twice as wide. Always happy to see that he had made you feel better in some way.

You leaned in, brushing the tip of your nose with his as you let your eyes fall shut. Your breathing had calmed down by now, your eyelids heavy with the aftermath of intense emotions. Your mind focused on Andrew’s presence. And it was all you needed to realize that you had a reason, a grounding for when you thought you were falling flat. Someone who loved you.

You whispered back against his lips in a featherlight kiss, returning those three special words.

“I love you.”

[peekofhistory]

Hi! Love your Tumblr! I'm fascinated by the fact that you are in China making and playing the Guqin, I was wondering if you can share a bit more about yourself and your background and why you decided to move to China? Like a self intro (that you're comfortable sharing). Thanks and have a nice day!!

Hello :D

How I ended up in Yangzhou learning to make/play the Guqin is a rollercoaster of a story xDD

As for my background, I was born in China (Beijing) and moved to the US when I was around 6 yrs old (my mom had moved several years earlier and I went to live with her). From the start my mom emphasized I can't forget I'm Chinese, because that's where I'm from and where my family's from, so she put in a lot of effort teaching me Chinese. She even had a colleague send over elementary school textbooks from China so she could teach me Chinese at home. She also got recordings of some Chinese TV shows and she'd watch them with me, explaining each episode and giving me information on that period of history.

Back then there weren't that many TV shows in China, and the ones we could access in the US were even less, so it was mostly classics shows like Journey to the West (1986), Dream of the Red Chamber (1987) and Romance of the Three Kingdoms (1994):

That really planted the root for my interest in Chinese history and culture. Especially in the case of Romance of the Three Kinggoms that was based on the actual Three Kingdoms period in Chinese history, it made me aware of how long China's history was and how rich and colourful it was, all the incredible historical figures, the battles of the past, the stories, etc.

Later on I also became interested in Chinese Opera (mainly Peking Opera, Huangmei Opera, and Shanghai Yue Opera):

We moved to Canada after a few years and stayed there until I graduated uni. I then went to Japan to work for a few yrs.

When I returned to Canada, it was 2018 and I found myself having to start all over career-wise. My experience in Japan really didn't help me at all when job hunting in Canada, and I ended up doing a few entry-level jobs in healthcare (office admin work). Then Covid and I lost my job, found another job about a year later, but still entry-level.

It was actually during the Covid break that I found out I could buy Hanfu fairly easily now. Throughout my time at uni and in Japan I didn't really check Chinese websites so I didn't know much about what was happening in China. During the Covid break, with nothing else to do at home, I found Taobao and realized the pretty clothes I adored in TV shows as a child I can now buy :D I went a bit crazy at first and ordered a whole bunch, but at the time I honestly didn't know too much about Hanfu aside from long robes, large sleeves, criss-crossed collars. But it was fun to wear them out (once lockdown ended) and actually feel like the characters I once saw on TV:

The job I had just before I came to China I actually really enjoyed, the work itself was fulfilling, the pay wasn't great but OK, and my co-workers for the most part were pretty good (my direct supervisor was great, I really, really enjoyed working with her). Unfortunately there was some changes to staffing in the office and the workload became really bad. I found myself literally having nightmares about work, and crying driving to and from work everyday. I decided I needed to quit. It was taking over my life 24/7, I was constantly tense and dreaded having to go to the office every morning.

At this point I'm in my late 30s and I took a few months to think about what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. Either look for another regular office job that may or may not be better than the last, or try something completely different.

At the same time, I decided to take the chance to visit my family in China. Without a job, I could visit for a longer period of time (otherwise I could only get 2 wks paid vacation). I remember my mom mentioned during one of her visits to China she had met a master of woodblock printing (雕版印刷/diaoban yinshua). It was the first form of printing invented, they would carve out pages of text (or images), put ink over top, then print it onto paper:

This was even earlier than movable type printing (活字印刷/huozi yinshua) where each character was printed on a separate block so you could arrange them as needed:

This master's workshop took in apprentices and would offer free housing and food. After a certain amount of time, once the apprentices' work reached a certain level, they were even given a salary for their work.

I thought that sounded like a great plan. I didn't explicitly come to China with the goal of finding a place to do an apprenticeship, but I was aware this sort of opportunity was available, and it aligned with my interest in Chinese history and culture.

When I arrived in China last year I spent a few months visiting my dad and other family, before I ended up in Yangzhou.

There were some emotional ups and downs in between, I did find a woodblock printing master, I started to learn a bit with him, it didn't work out, etc., etc. But essentially I found myself in Yangzhou with nothing to do.

Yangzhou is quite famous for Guqin (there's an entire street here dedicated to selling Guqin...although it's a bit of a tourist trap ^^;;) , and I thought I could find a teacher to learn how to play the instrument at least. I had bought a Guqin years ago in Canada, but was always too busy/lazy to actually learn/practice it, but now being free everyday I decided I could do some sort of intense course. While scrolling through the Red Note app looking for Guqin teachers I came across a post of a teacher looking for students to learn how to make+play Guqin, with the option to live at the workshop and have housing and food covered:

And my eyes lit up.

That was how it all started :D

The biggest obstacle is honestly some family members. Growing up abroad, I've never really had a close relationship with any of my relatives in China. I've also never had to navigate the complicated family relations that Chinese families can sometimes have. If I were to go to any other country in the world to learn something, none of them would say anything, I don't think they'd even think about it, but because I'm in China a lot of them suddenly feel they need to express an opinion about my decisions, lol. Some don't like my interest in wearing Hanfu, some think I'm crazy learning something that "no one else these days is interested in", some think I'm immature/irresponsible not finding a 'regular' job and 'wasting' my time.

[estro-gem]

The not-so-much essay about the relationship drama in TADC episode 5

Warning: Spoilers, overthinking, opinions and headcannons about TADC episode 5. This is not a fact-based essay and this is polluted by my biased idiologies. I will not try to predict what will happen, but I will speculate about what had happened.

There are so many things packed in this episode – so many loose ends revealed.

I’ll just treat the episode like a breakdown:

Start: The common area.

This sets the scene very well. Everyone (besides Zooble) is tired. Exhausted. Overwhelmed. Pomni’s flopped on the floor. Jax repeatedly says that he wants to sleep. Ragatha, doesn’t think Kinger’s statement through when offering to help him count eggs (then again, this might also just play into her people-pleaser, agreeable character) and she appeared to have bags under her eyes at one point? Looking downcast the next. Gangle’s mask effortlessly breaks. Zooble is tired in general, ect.

If there is one thing TADC set early on, is that the cast shows their true colours when they are tired and overwhelmed. Think about Gangle’s manic episode (literally) and Kinger feeling helpless when he didn’t know how to help Pomni in “hell.” How Jax acted at the end of the day at episode 4 and actually showed a sliver of his true self to Pomni – that’s important – more on that later.

It's clear that the team is sent into Caine’s shenanigans without time to recoup – which is why I adore the pacing of how Jax and Pomni’s relationship is developed.

Side note: Gangle lighting up at seeing Zooble waiting for them melted my heart!

Anyway, with that out of the way, we now have context.

Jax’s adventures:

I don’t think there is much to say about the first one, other than the fact that he doesn’t take adventures and whatever happens within them seriously – and I don’t think he thinks that what he does has a lasting effect on anyone. Also, I think this kinda set’s Jax and Gangle’s dynamic in stone.

It’s a game to Jax and he’s here to play. That being said, I don’t think he likes to be on the receiving end of what he’s dishing out either because he’s petty like that. Gangle is rolling with the punches, I presume, and that’s part of the reason why I believe that Gangle is one of the few people Jax would consider closest to being a friend – or at least someone that wouldn’t deliberately abandon him. He can be mean all he wants, but she doesn’t pull away, even when she’s at her worst. In fact, she retaliates and she’s still open to doing things with him, like in episode 4 when they were playing softball.

Jax shoots Gangle first (and goes absolutely feral) – and I believe it’s out of spite, not hatred. Jax and Gangle has a cat and mouse thing going. They go at each other any chance they get. Jax picks on Gangle. She talks back. He takes her binoculars without asking. She tells him of all people to go clean the toilet. He brushes her off. She ?tortures him (in private, if I may add) He shoots her. She puts him in a maid outfit. Odd relationship, but I’ll groom myself into believing there is some weird form of affection there, or some level of relation/mutualism.

However, it’s also clear that there is at least an arm’s length between them.

Now that there’s a new person with no attachment or prejudice to anyone, Jax set his eyes on Pomni. I mean, think about it – in episode one, he had Ragatha join him to take Pomni to Kaufmo’s. His opposite.

Then the President Pomni thing, I believe that is one of Jax’s many tests of Pomni’s character. All throughout the season he made little comments and ask for her input/opinion. Poke at her and see how she reacts. He outright says he ‘wanted to see what she’d do.’ And he honours the fact that she is a blank slate to the team – not giving her a script.

In his mind, the others are set in their ways in their opinions about him, but he realized that Pomni doesn’t have her set opinion on anyone just yet. (yes I believe Jax overthinks and over analyze things, ok, bite me. Did you SEE Kinger’s character brief and how it was thought out? Jax did that!) That’s why, of all people, he opens up to her the most.

Pomni remembers things he did to her, but she doesn’t seem to hold resentment. She just goes with it, a little like Gangle – so I think he finds her amusing at least.

Gangle’s adventure (I died at the intro XD):

Again, not much to say, but there’s an honourable mention of, again, Jax reaching out to Pomni. He also seems to be very neutral about Zooble. They’re genuine and tend to brush him off and he reflects that back. He takes another chance to jab at Gangle – someone I theorize him to see as some weird mutual, so he doesn’t thing twice to use Gangle’s demise to get a rise out of Pomni, which only responds dryly about what he did to her in the past. This sets Jax’s perception of Pomni in stone. She doesn’t care what he does if it doesn’t affect her – at least that’s how he sees it. Nothing fake, no showboating, just Pomni being herself – confused and over it. Getting through the next event. Just like him.

He can relate to her… And that carries over to the stargazing adventure.

The Stargazing adventure

I don’t know who’s this is, but it feels serene – everyone is relaxing. Also, Ragatha spawned in the corner, off to the side.

Gangle and Zooble are acting all cute and close and Jax noticed this. His eyes are glued to them before he notice Pomni beside him. (Damnit, this scene makes me want to believe he’s a bit protective of Gangle)

He opens up to Pomni again – it never hurt before, right? He looks worried, talking about how he notices that Gangle is happy to hang out with Zooble and that he wonders if she’s capable of true happiness.

This is huge.

The moment is huge – because with him being vulnerable to Pomni as he’d been inching towards before, Ragatha takes the chance to berate him when he shares his concern about Gangle seeing her relationship with Zooble being a ‘quick fix.’ He defends his badgering by saying that Gangle likes it.

I don’t think Jax meant ‘she is a masochist.’ I believe that Jax thinks that Gangle likes Jax giving her a reason to be sad. And it may be true! Consider that, along with what I mentioned before about them going at each other and her not ever abandoning him. Guys, I think he is protective of Gangle in his own little messed up way.

Ragatha’s presence and comments – sharing things about him that wasn’t hers to share when Pomni finally tried to reach out to Jax, that almost shut him down and he reverted back to acting aloof and like a douche, but Ragatha leaves and he can open up again to Pomni’s gentle prying with no judgement.

Other note, he say’s it feels like Ragatha is trying to take advantage of them. First, I thought that statement was weird. Like, how is that the conclusion?? But think about it, everything he said up until this point indicates that Jax values friendship deeply and anyone trying to fake and ditch when the going gets tough, is robbing him of his trust, time and commitment.

Jax is alone and he lost a friend before, as Ragatha so insensitively put it, running away when she realized that she overstepped, instead of apologizing and acknowledging that she hurt him by bring up the past and his loss.

A huge reason why I think Jax behaves the way he does is because he believes he has no one left to lose. He’s in the most powerful position to be in, but with that, comes loneliness. That’s why he doesn’t want to get any closer to Gangle. That’s why he’s so cautious about opening up to Pomni. He conditioned himself into thinking that he doesn’t need anyone, when, in fact, he yearns for connection – he can’t help it.

Then the magic happens.

He goes back to being aloof – but Pomni doesn’t pry, she plays into it. She listened and didn’t push. She didn’t give him a reason to tell her to back off. So he stays.

Now, he likes her; she’s cool (I think).

Zooble’s adventure:

I have the least to say about this, actually. Everyone got a chance to open up. This segment mostly alludes to Jax and Zooble’s relationship. Jax is an untouchable obstacle to Zooble. Jax enjoys their banter. Zooble seemed to only really show interest in him when they discovered his fear, when he picked on Gangle or when he tried to lure Pomni into a sense of comfort by apologizing. Pomni, going against Zooble’s advice, accepts his apology.

There was, again, some weird tension between Jax and Ragatha.  It definitely runs deeper than whoever is closer to Pomni. It also highlights the disconnect between Ragatha and the rest of the team. It was so sad to see Ragatha open up and all the others did, was stare. No inquiry, no one relating. Just plain staring, then moving on as if nothing happened.

There was a moment with Jax looking sad and another where he drunkenly told Ragatha to be mad – it’s funny. I think he perceives ‘funny’ as ‘interesting’ or ‘intriguing’, but he sucks at expressing himself on a good day, so the gentle nudge he gave when reassuring Ragatha after she apologized for being a jerk to Gangle, may have been him poking at her, still sour that she rudely brought up is lost friend, but maybe, just maybe, it was him just as desperate to connect with ‘the real Ragatha’ as Ragatha was to connect with literally anyone else.

Ragatha’s adventure:

Let’s talk about the elephant in the room: Ragatha’s trauma.

In this episode it’s made very clear that Ragatha had, at least, a very strained relationship with her mother, who seems to have criticized her every move and berate her for not acting “appropriately.” The reason I say so is the way she apologized to Jax. She was PISSED, and going overboard in chewing out Jax for his behaviour, her eye was twitching, she was frazzled, but she was able to pull herself together very well and actually apologize. It even left Jax stunned – or whatever that blank expression was he was sporting. For the first time she was being genuine and yet she swallowed her pride and apologized.

Ragatha’s trauma made her to be one of the most mentally strong characters in the circus, if not the strongest. And it’s a shame it was born from trauma, but I love what a queen she really is. The problem is that she is desperate for connection and the only way she had known to connect is by appeasing other’s expectations, the way she had to appease her mother’s expectations.

While meeting other’s expectations can give you praise from others, it’s seen by others, and yourself, as a box being ticked. There was a need that was met and you were the tool to achieve that.

It does not necessarily make you appreciated, because the burden of offering yourself up to be the reliable one is that people will begin to see it as a given. In the stargazing adventure, Jax said that (I’m paraphrazing) ‘being told you are loved and appreciated every day make it lose it’s value’ – and in this case, Ragatha solidified herself as the nice one, who others expect to be nice and supportive no matter what.

There is no depth. She gave herself a function and others accept that. Since that role is solidified, no one has the desire to pursue anything more from her, like a deeper connection – and that is what she desperately wants. She just doesn’t know how to pursue it herself without doing things that would earn her praise instead of appreciation.

I think that is why, when she sat next to Pomni, disappointed in herself for not batting as well as she personally wanted – according to her own expectation, Pomni was able to see a small true part of Ragatha. The doll is competitive. Pomni then proceeds to reach out to her. It’s beautiful. Then Jax uses Ragatha’s vulnerability to push her too far and with the doll’s inexperience in handling conflict, she goes overboard, fueling Jax’s fire.

Ragatha rained on his parade by pulling herself together again and I desperately want to believe that there was some level of respect in his gaze, but eh, I’m biased. Point is, she shut him up.

There were many scenes in Ragatha’s adventure highlighting Ragatha’s isolation from the group. Jax warmed up to Pomni and Evil Pomni, which may or may not be the worst part of Pomni – or at least, that’s what Ragatha believed the Evil versions to be. The fact that the most disliked person didn’t want anything to do with her or even the worst part of herself? Ouch.

Then comes the part where Pomni offered Ragatha to bat in her place. Pomni did that to be nice and possibly extend an olive branch for their earlier fallout, thinking that would make the doll happy. I theorize that Ragatha agreed, because in her mind Pomni wanted her to make her proud, like she had to make her mother proud. So when all was said and done, when she ‘won’ (did nothing) the other members came to praise her, which was nice, but it wasn’t what she wanted.

She wanted Pomni to notice her, but instead, the jester was chatting with Jax, with no care about what was happening on the field. Pomni reflected what Ragatha had been doing all along – she was being nice. Ticking a box to make others happy. To meet Ragatha’s expectations.

That wasn’t connection, and I believe that realization made her realize just how isolated she really was.

She had no one left to lose, because she didn’t have anyone to begin with – and that’s why she didn’t chase anyone down at the end of the episode.

I don’t know how to end this off, so bye!

No wait! Side note, I believe Caine can't control minds, but he can weaponize their own minds against them.

He can do anything under the guise of it being their own choice. This is why the voting thing was able to make Jax vegan, despite him not wanting to be vegan.

Also, when Zooble opened up about their problems and feelings they had about their body, they told him to 'forget it.' AND HE LITERALLY FORGETS IT.

Kay, bye!

Also, I was asked for this: @zeeboomblebee

I wasn't asked for this but you are getting tagged anyway:

@d-jevil @realifezompire @lizeliz

My TADC episode 5 experience

I'm actively resisting to write a essay about organic friendships vs situational relationships, praise vs appreciation and both the power and dread of knowing that you have nothing to lose - or no one to lose.

[sunshinechay]

I can’t shake the feeling that Mew calling Boston instead of Chuem about how he was about to have sex with Top was just a genuine display of friendship but Boston took it as Mew attempting to gloat.

Mew was just happy and wanted to shake his happiness with someone else. Someone he thought would be happy for him. So he called Boston, because Boston has a lot of sex and Mew thinks that he’ll be happy that Mew is finally losing his virginity. Boston however, seems to take it as Mew attempting to one up him.

They might both look down on each other for just about everything, but I think this was the one time Mew wasn’t trying to do that. Instead he was trying to connect about something he knows Boston enjoys. Boston has just slide too far down the hill of his own sanity (like many other have said, I’m thinking Hitchcock type slippery slope) to see it as anything other than being in bad faith.

Both are usually so committed to seeing each other in a bad light that this feels like the last time we’ll see either of them making any attempt to connect with the other.

[neodazed]

enhypen - 🎀 - raw offer

enha!xfem!reader - letting them hit raw for the first time

includes: hee, jay, jake, riki (cuz i didnt think it fit for sunoo and hoon that much, and i have a longer similar fics for won coming up)

warnings: unprotected sex (obviously), breeding kink, mentions of actual breeding, rough sex, pull and pray, creampies, lowkey implied noncon BUT ITS CON, reader is different in all lol, lmk if i missed smth

guys dont mind the header not being pretty im in a depressive episode rn my asks are open tho

masterlist

HEESEUNG

Top three raw lovers in Enha for sure.

Like, he has been wanting to do it raw since your very first time, but that was unfamilair terrority for you, so he didn’t push it.

But you were able to see it.

The subtle distaste on his face every time he unpacked the condom, and positioned himself, feeling the latex keeping him from feeling your pussy around him.

Maybe he couldn’t help it, maybe he did it on purpose, so you’d feel bad and just give in to his (your) desires.

Whether it was intentional or not, it was working. You got that damn Plan B after pills, you doubled the punctuality of your already instense everything shower, and now you are ready.

Well, mostly. Still nervous, and thinking about all the possible way this could go wrong, or like, what if it won’t even feel any better and you did all that for nothing? Embarassing. You better see those dark bambi eyes roll back to know it was worth it.

His reaction to this is already paying off a big part though.

‘Oh yeah? You did that just for me?’

You nod, a little shy under his deep gaze. He’s currently hovering over you in bed, after a long makeout session you literally broke with saying “I bought Plan B”. First, he was taken aback, then he started to smirk like he is doing now, which you weren’t sure what kind of smirk was, somewhat unusal.

‘You want me to fuck your little pussy raw?’ Heeseung tiltshis head to the side, one of his hands already in your tiny sleeping shorts. It’s kinda weird, because that wasn’t originally your idea, but…you do want it, right? So you nod, not even sure if it was a real question.

He suddenly grips your jaw, harsh, and forces a firm eyecontact.

‘With words, Y/N. Answer me.’

Oh so it is.

‘I-I do…’ — Clearly still not enough — ‘I want you to fuck my pussy raw’ A messing blush that you are, seriously. Way too crude.

When he pushes in, you start to get why he’s kinda obsessed with this idea.

He’s obviously a lot more into it now, judging by the way he’s snapping his hips forward, and bruising your tights by gripping them so hard.

And…

‘Fuck, I’m coming inside. I can, right? — He answers his own question before you could even breathe — Of course I can. I’m filling you up, I’m- gonna breed you full’

Wait, pause.

Full? Breeding? That’s not-

Suddenly, he’s roughly rubbing your bundle of nerves, and the words on your throat die and evolve into whimpers of pleasure. He takes that as a firm ‘yes’.

His cum is hot inside you.

JAY

God, you're both so into it.

You were literally just both hesitant to bring it up without sounding like an absolute freak to the other.

Because it wasn’t just the feeling of each other without layers — it was the feeling of the risk, the possibility.

What would happen if he actually ended up impregnating you? No one really cares about that in the moment when a specific wish slips out of your lips as he drags the red, angry head of his cock to your cervix and back with every thrust.

‘Please, Jay, i-inside’

His hips shatter, pausing for a minute.

‘Inside? Baby, are you sure?’

Despite his question, he’s still not stopping entirely, his slower, but deeper thrusts keeping you both on edge.

‘Yes, yes-please, come inside’

No more reluctance, just his hand finding your throat, pinning you to the bed and pounding his big load into your eager cunt. When he pulls out after the last thrust, he sees his cum drip out of you. Might be the prettiest sigh he’ve ever seen.

Yeah, he might have ran for Plan B after this, but it was pretty hot.

JAKE

You and Jake are at a party. You came with some of your friends, but as the night went on, you eventually separated from them.

Some shots down, a little bit of dancing (your back aligning with Jake’s chest and ass grinding back against his crotch), he pulls you into a bathroom upstairs. No questions, just sloppy kisses, dress pushed up, belt hitting the floor, boxers and panties pulled to the side.

You are both tipsy, so even you, who is usually the more thoughtful and cool headed one, loses focus, which results in you only noticing that Jake is bare, when he has already pushed the swollen head past your rim.

‘Jake, wait! You didn’t put on a condom!’ You gasp, grabbing his shoulders.

‘Babe, we don’t have a condom!’ He whines into your neck. He stopped when you told him to wait, but he is still half-buried inside of you, and doesn’t make a move to pull out.

You’re ready to scold him and tell him to pull the fuck out, but when you make eye contact with him, you already know you’ll let him. Because damn he’s good at this whole ‘desperate, almost crying but holding on’ look.

And yes, he was a whiny mess.

‘Ah, Y/N, fuck. You feel so good- why haven’t we done this before?’

And you would smack him for that if it wasn’t so good.

RIKI

It all started with running out of condoms and the sentence ‘I’ll just grind down, I won’t put it in’.

And now Riki’s long, thick length is sliding through your folds, drawning out low groans of him and soft gasps from you. He is pulling your soaked thongs aside with one hand, and grips himself with the other, pumping his whitish liquid out of the angry head of his cock onto your mound.

He also leans down to give those sloppy kisses of his just in the right moments, and the way he licks into your mouth and pushes his hard shaft against your clit makes you want to suck him in like a vacuum. Or whatever.

And, you know, it might have been too slippery, you might have been too lost in the moment to notice that he is, well…inside. You both let out probably the filthiest sound so far.

Warm. Hard. Pulsing.

Warm. Tight. Gasping.

Feeling each other deep inside without anything in the way had to be the hottest thing in the world.

And you couldn’t move.

‘Should I pull out?’ He asks, but he is still pressing you down, and he has pushed all the way in now.

He should. You’re not in the situation to just do it like this, but…

‘No, don’t’

It’s all a blurry mess of chase after that.

Long story short, he cums into your more than one time, and you leave your pretty white rings around even more times by the end.

[spiderb00bs]

- Deer protector

Lottie Matthews x reader  

“Something bad was about to happen, and the only thing you knew for sure was that you wouldn't be able to protect your girlfriend forever” 

Genre – fluff/angst     Warnings – none

part 1 | part 2

Now playing – Dark Red, by Steve Lacy 

“Only you, my girl. Only you, baby. Only you, darling. Only you.” 

Your muscles burned, as did your eyes, your stomach seemed to wrap up even more with every step you took, and you had a few scratches on your arms from the night's adventure. Your brain doesn't remember everything, just flashes through your head. People, Coach Ben, rescue, going home, axe, dead guy, Lottie.

Lottie.

You didn't know how your girlfriend was, you couldn't take a look at her, not when Shauna pulled you violently, threatening you and making you chase the man who had shot Melissa. The last thing you saw was Lottie on the floor, her hands bloodied, admiring and adoring the work she had done. You never felt afraid of your girlfriend, but you also couldn't lie and say that you didn't feel afraid of how you would have to deal with the consequences of her actions.

You and Lottie started dating at the beginning of high school, you really love that girl with all your heart. You know all the traumas, flaws and problems the brown-eyed girl has been through, and you swore you would never leave her. And you meant it. You took responsibility for every little thing your girlfriend did, you never let any of the girls cross the line with Lottie, and you were on high alert with the girl - especially after the violent episode with Shauna.

You were tired, exhausted, but you wouldn't leave Lottie behind for a second. You knew everything, while for the others Lottie was just a crazy girl, you knew that your girlfriend was just an innocent girl who was left to die by the universe without her medication. You knew that things were deeper than they seemed, with Lottie, with her parents, with her mind, with everything.

As your feet stepped into the camp, you heard Mari barking something cruel at Lottie, the girl lowering her head and muttering something you couldn't understand. Looking sideways, her brown eyes landed on you, a slight smile forming on her face as she approached you, smearing blood on your hand in a firm grip.

"Are you angry?" was the first thing she asked. Without the strength to answer, you just shook your head, pulling the girl towards the makeshift hut you shared.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up."

Lottie followed you, like a child follows its mother down an unfamiliar path. You didn't even bother to respond to Mari's sarcastic comment, and if you'd been more observant, you could have seen the look of envy on Melissa's face. Shauna was nowhere in sight.

"Sit down." Grabbing some old cloths, and a bucket of water, you set to work, tenderly wiping your girlfriend's hands and face.

God, you were tired, you were destroyed, all you longed for was to be able to go home, all you wanted was for none of this to have happened. But when you looked into Lottie's eyes, you remembered why you had never given up, why you had come so far through all this hell.

"Baby…" A hot tear ran down your cheek, Lottie's voice making you break your mask. "Baby, are you crying? Are you hurt?"

Searching your body for bruises, Lottie's hands stained your skin and clothes with the walker's blood. Sobs escaped you, and your girlfriend's hands grabbed you, pulling you close and hugging you. The brunette's eyes searched the hut for something, anything, it was almost as if she was looking for something to distract you from what you were feeling.

Sniffling, you lifted your head from Lottie's chest, pulling away from the girl's embrace. "It's okay, baby." Wiping away your tears, you snorted slightly, seeing that you were now covered in blood too.

"You understand that he didn't belong here, don't you?" You could feel Lottie's eyes on you. Raising your head, you looked into her eyes, raising your hand and stroking her cheek. "It would come between us. Between our future, they'll ruin our house, baby."

"Baby, you know that wasn't right." Your voice comes out in a light tone, almost a whisper, and you rise from your kneeling position only to sit down next to your girlfriend on the makeshift mattress.

Lottie's eyes follow your every move, and you swore you'd go weak from the way she was looking at you. Those sweet, innocent eyes, almost making you forget that she had killed someone with an axe a few hours ago.

"No one will stand between us." You grabbed her hand, Lottie's fingers intertwining firmly with yours, almost as if you were going to run away from her. "I love you."

Smiling at you, Lottie leaned in, kissing your lips gently, as if you were going to break. Her lips tasted metallic, and you fought not to pull away from the kiss, knowing it would hurt her.

"I love you." She whispered into your lips, a small smile on her face as she grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you into an intense kiss.

You knew you couldn't protect Lottie forever, maybe you were even making the whole situation worse by protecting her like this. But you couldn't help it, you love the girl with all your heart, and if she asked you to die here with her, you'd accept without question.

Hello everyone, I hope you're well. I'm too inspired to write about YJ, so I'm just leaving it here.

I have a sequel to this, in the adult timeline, cause I love Lottie in any timeline. Blah blah blah, she's my love, I'm not accepting arguments.

my shayla 😭😭😭

drink water and be safe,

xoxo, spider.

[universescreaming]

Something about even when Tommy is taking care of Buck there being this distance between them, Tommy is on the couch and turning off the lights while Buck is still trying to talk, Tommy is in the foreground of Buck having another “who are you without your family” moment in a graveyard, Tommy in the hospital, wearing a visitor badge, close but never touching, there but never there.

Something about Tommy being all over this episode and still barely there at all. He is in Buck- Evan’s- life but he’s not in it, he’s on the outside, always behind this invisible fence

Something about “Buck. The people who know me, call me Buck”

Something about Buck telling Tommy- his BOYFRIEND- Tommy all about this curse and this story, but it’s Eddie who has to explain the holes in the story Buck doesn’t know he’s leaving

Something about Tommy being in the room with him when he wakes up with boils but Eddie is the one who checks him out and makes sure he’s okay

Something about Buck being the one we’re shown to get Hens text about Denny, signally everyone else in that room, that family, who got that text except for Tommy, Tommy having to ask what had happened, having to be explained that everything was going to be okay

He is there but he is not, he’s in the room but he’s not apart of it

Something about only dreaming about finding a love like that, something about “you don’t find it son, you make it”

Something about Buck constantly trying to make it work with people, trying to force it to work with people because that what he thinks he meant, because love is work right? It’s something you make work

Something about him always misunderstanding the assignment

Something about the last time Buck was in a graveyard he was shoulder to shoulder with Eddie, talking about how a girl he just met sees him, all the while leaning on Eddie in the aftermath of his death he has accepted but never understood

Something about him telling Tommy that the night they met being the most fun he’s had since dying, something about how he connects Tommy and Natalia to an event neither where there for, as two people who can never understand the horror of those 3 minutes and 17 seconds

Something about Buck throwing himself into danger and adrenaline time after time and chasing relationships that feel like that because that’s love right? Something that feels like being struck by lightening and surviving and non of the side effects

Something about Buck not being able to sleep after his death until he sits on Eddie’s couch, Eddie is the person he comes too for when he’s restless, for the calm after the storm

Something about “it’s about how she makes me feel” “like you’re flying high” “like I’m standing on solid ground”

Something about Tommy being jealous of the 118 and the family they’ve built because he’s not apart of it, and a part of him knows he never will be

Because the roles have all been filled and the family has already been made and he is trying to build something with Buck- Evan- thats already been built

[endofthelinegang]

terms and conditions (apply)

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠ˏˋ°•*⁀➷  bob reynolds  x  stark!fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲ˏˋ°•*⁀➷  you storm back into Avengers Tower when Valentina de Fontaine dares to relaunch the team—with Bob Reynolds, the unstable Sentry, at its core. Old secrets, god-like power, and a name that still echoes through the halls collide in a confrontation that could tear everything apart—again.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ none besides bad words

You didn’t knock.

You kicked open the reinforced side entrance of Avengers Tower like you owned the place—and technically, part of you still did. The guards didn’t even have time to react. Two shouted, one reached for his comm, and the last instinctively stepped back when your eyes locked on him with that signature Stark glare that could curdle milk. You were a storm in designer boots and a vintage Stark Industries jacket. You felt vintage walking in and seeing things being torn apart and redone. 

“Where is she?” you barked standing in the middle of the entry way. “Where the hell is Valentina Allegra de Fontaine?” You looked around as all eyes made contact with you, no one sure how or when they should speak. Your eyebrows raised as you finally picked one person to hone in on. Clearly an intern, not dressed in the same attire as everyone else, looking at you like you were the most amazing thing to step into this place, and breathing so heavy 

The nervous intern muttered something about the 40th floor, and you were already moving—your heels a steady clack-clack-clack of fury across polished glass floors. The elevator doors tried to close politely. You shoved them open and punched the panel like it owed you money. By the time you reached the conference floor, you were practically vibrating.

Valentina turned at the sound of your footsteps. She was standing just outside the boardroom with her arms folded, talking to a man you didn’t recognize. Her eyes narrowed the moment she saw you.

“Not now,” she said coldly, turning back to talk to the man that was staring at you in horror. 

“Too damn bad,” you snapped, storming toward her shooeing away the man that she was talking to.. “You don’t get to relaunch the Avengers without telling me. What the hell are you doing?”

Valentina sighed and turned back toward the glass doors. “I don’t have time for one of your little episodes, sweetheart.”

“Oh, you don’t have time?” You followed her, voice sharp as broken glass. “That’s rich, considering you just revived a ticking time bomb and called it a team. You think Bob Reynolds is a good idea? Are you out of your mind?” You pulled one of your many devices from your pocket and began to pull up his file that included The Void and the idea of The Sentry as the only time the world had seen that was in the mountains. 

Valentina kept walking, ignoring you. You followed her into the long hallway that led toward the upper-level strategy rooms.

“I’m not here for permission,” she said without looking at you, pictures and videos of Robert Reynolds surrounded the two of you as you kept up with her more than furious. Yes all of them were a bad idea, but they at least knew what they were doing. This new guy was seriously going to be an issue. 

“You should be,” you growled. “Because I know what happens when people start playing gods again. You can put a fresh coat of paint on this place, call it a new era, but this is the same old Tower, the same old risks, and you’re walking around like you’re not dragging the entire world back into a void—literally.”

That stopped her. She did not know that anyone had yet connected Bob and The Void. Then she saw the file you were building around her head and  Valentina turned, her expression flat and unreadable. “You done?”

You stared at her, seething. “If it’s so safe, if you’re so sure of this, then explain this.”

You hit buttons on the flat screen to zoom in on the video. The panel lit up: chaos. A newsreel — from before the Tower fell the first time. Footage of the Void, wild and unfathomable, rippling through air like a tear in reality itself. Streets swallowed. Sky blackened. Heroes screaming in the comms. Tony’s voice, briefly, trying to redirect the fight before the feed cuts out.

Valentina didn’t blink. She simply sighed and started walking again, “We’ve accounted for that.”

You scoffed. “You don’t account for a black hole wearing a man’s skin. You bury it.”

Valentina’s voice dropped, razor-sharp. “You don’t get to lecture me. You vanished when Tony died. You let the tower rot. Now we’re rebuilding it with people who show up.”

The blow landed. You had truly been MIA, you mostly spent time with Morgan teaching her things, and helping out your mother. Valentina had reached out to you previously to help her with projects in Malaysia to which you declined.  You stiffened. Then you smiled bitterly. “You really think Reynolds is gonna stay Reynolds?”

“I think Bob deserves a chance. Just like your father did.” You inhaled sharply, before you could say anything the double doors to the strategy room opened. Voices echoed—low, measured. You could hear the faint whir of holograms booting up. The meeting had begun.

“Fine,” you muttered. “Let’s meet your new golden boys.”

Valentina’s voice cut the air like a scalpel as she stood staring at you putting her hands on the door, “Don’t go in there.”

You turned slowly. “Watch me.”

“This briefing is classified,” she said, now fully stepping in front of the doors like she actually thought she could stop you.

“That’s cute,” you snapped. “You think I haven’t had full access to every inch of this place since I was old enough to spell ‘repulsor.’ Classified doesn’t mean jack when my last name’s still on the damn tower.”

“(Y/N), I’m warning you.” She tried pulling one of her classic faces as a warning, that maybe a little flash of her possible power would ward you off. 

“Oh please. What are you going to do? Threaten to uninvite me to the apocalypse you just reignited?” You pushed past her.

The double doors flew open before she could reach for your arm, and the room full of mismatched government-chosen Avengers froze mid-brief. They looked like an HR violation waiting to happen.

Your voice cut through them as you slammed your hands down onto the table, “Which one of you geniuses is gonna stand in the way of me talking to Mr. Reynolds?”

Confused glances bounced around the room like startled birds. Bucky Barnes was leaning back in a chair with his arms folded, a half-eaten protein bar forgotten in his hand. He stared at you like you’d just crashed a funeral with a flamethrower.

“Who the hell—” the one nearest to you, the agent with the misshappen shield whispered looking around the table. 

Bucky squinted. “...Stark.”

A pause. That landed. Now the attention was sharper—measured. Heavy with names they couldn’t say out loud. All of them were just staring at you unsure of what to say, other than Alexei who was genuinely just confused. 

Bob Reynolds straightened slowly from where he sat near the end of the long, curved table. His hands, folded neatly just a moment before, opened like he wanted to surrender before the war even started. Your eyes locked with his. Unflinching. There was no way you were letting him sit through this meeting like some hero.

You jabbed a finger toward the door behind you, Val had walked away from the doors with a phone up to her ear. “Come with me.”

He blinked taking in a big deep breath. “I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Now, Reynolds.” You spoke over him not really caring what all he had to say.

The air shifted. Awkward silence blanketed the room. Bob looked to Bucky considering he was the only one brave enough to point you out, not to mention the only one who knew who you were. He didn’t say a word—just pressed her lips together and sighed. Then Bob looked back at you.

And you didn’t move. You weren’t bluffing. You weren’t going to leave. He saw it in your stance, in your eyes, in the electric coil of tension behind your expression like you were two seconds from dragging him out by the collar if he hesitated.

Bob rose from his seat and walk around to where you took your hands off the table patting them off of John Walker’s back before holding the door open for Mr. Reynolds to walk out of.  Everyone watched him leave with you like he was being taken to his own execution. Which—honestly—wasn’t that far from the truth.

The walk to his quarters was silent. Uncomfortably so. The corridor stretched long and sterile, fluorescent lights humming softly overhead. His footsteps were muted, measured — each step echoing faintly against the polished floor. He led the way, careful to keep his gaze fixed somewhere ahead, but every few seconds, a flicker of tension made him glance back at you, as if you might vanish—or worse, explode—between steps. His jaw clenched tightly, lips pressed thin.

When you stepped inside the room the government had decided was good enough for Bob Reynolds, a bitter laugh threatened to escape. It was a sterile prison masquerading as accommodation: walls washed in cold white, the kind of lighting that felt more interrogative than comforting. The bed was untouched—linen pristine, corners sharp—like a shrine that no one dared disturb. No personal touches softened the space. No photos smiled back at you from the nightstand. Not even a half-empty glass of water perched on its surface.

He hovered near the desk, awkward and unsure, fiddling nervously with the hem of his sleeve. His movements were small, controlled, like a man carefully trying to keep the weight of the world from bursting free through his skin. Shoulders hunched in a protective arc.

You crossed your arms, the silence thick between you.

He turned slowly, eyes hesitant, voice low. “You can sit if you want.”

You didn’t. You stayed rooted, standing tall.

Bob’s gaze flicked to the chair—then back to you—before he lowered himself stiffly onto it, as if sitting too quickly might trigger some catastrophic event. The chair creaked under his weight, breaking the stillness like a single gunshot in an empty hall.

Your eyes swept the room again. This wasn’t a room. It was a holding cell dressed up with throw pillows. Stainless steel walls closed in coldly. A lone, thin bed with sheets pulled tight. An armchair that had never cradled a living soul. The light was harsh, unforgiving, casting shadows sharp enough to slice through the tension.

“I didn’t think anyone would come,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, swallowed almost entirely by the silence.

“You think I had a choice?” Your words cut sharp, voice cracking the quiet like a whip. You crossed your arms and stared him down. 

He tilted his head, surprised by the fire in your tone. You gestured at the stark walls, your voice rising. “You do realize people died, right? That you blacked out Manhattan. No tech, no backup generators, no communications. For six hours. Do you even know what that did to hospital patients? To air traffic? To kids stuck in elevators?!”

Bob flinched, shoulders jerking slightly, hands clenching tighter until his knuckles blanched.

“They’re calling it a freak grid failure on the news,” you pressed, voice sharp with accusation. “But I’ve seen the files. That wasn’t a blackout. That was you. The Void.” You had not told anyone but you had accessed what records you were given access to when she first invited you to the projects and kept up with them, you knew this would happen. 

His breath hitched audibly. His gaze fell hard to the floor, as if it might somehow carry the weight of his shame. He looked dead, like he wasn’t even breathing as he shifted his weight around in his chair. You didn’t relent.

“You turned the most alive city on Earth into a tomb. And now they’ve put you in a cape. Put you on a team. And I’m supposed to trust that decision?” You could tell that no one had given him the second degree about this, that no one had even really achknowdlged to him directly what had happened. 

“I didn’t ask for this,” he muttered, voice thin, fragile. 

“Then say no,” you snapped, eyes blazing, head shaking. 

“I did,” Bob whispered back, barely audible. “They said it was already done.”

You paused. Just a beat. He looked up then—and for the first time, you truly saw him. His face was stripped bare of anger or defense. Instead, it was raw and scared. Not the kind of fear someone shows when cornered, but the kind that lives beneath the surface—held tight, pressed down, like a powder keg waiting for a spark.

“I told Valentina I wasn’t ready to be involved,” he said, voice trembling slightly. “I told her what it felt like… after New York. What I saw in my head. How quiet it was. How good it felt.”

Your breath caught. The words hung in the air, fragile and impossible.

“You’re saying it felt good?” you repeated, disbelief thick in your voice leaning forward to look at him a little better and to show him that this shit was no joke.

He shook his head quickly, eyes darting away like he feared your judgment. “Not happy. Not good good. Just… right. Like the universe was finally quiet enough for me to breathe.”

You said nothing. He swallowed hard, throat bobbing visibly. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. But the second it did, everything stopped hurting.”

Suddenly, your voice broke the tension. “I blipped,” you said, steady despite the tremble beneath your skin. “Five years. Gone in a snap. One second I’m walking beside Happy talking about new safety features in the Iron Man suit that should help my dad stay alive, in fact I wasn’t even sure where he was, and then... dust.”

His posture changed again, this time more to face you fully rather than turn away.

“I came back to a world where my best friend—my dad—was dead. My mom had a daughter I’d never met. A five-year-old who barely knew who I was. Everyone else moved on. I didn’t get to say goodbye. I didn’t even get to be there when he died.” You blinked hard, staring at Bob like he owed you an explanation.

“Tony Stark died saving the universe, and now you’re sitting here in his tower, part of the team that’s replacing the one he built.” You hit him hard again with your words watching as he nodded his head. 

His face crumpled, tight lines folding across his forehead and around his mouth. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“Neither did I.”  Another beat. The silence stretched taut.

You fixed him with a hard look, arms crossed tighter. His eyes were too bright—unnatural blue, sharp like shards of carved light trapped inside a man who barely contained them.

“I saw your father on TV,” he said suddenly, voice quieter, softer. “After Sokovia. After Titan. At the compound with Steve Rogers, back when they tried to make peace. I remember thinking he looked like someone who didn’t know what silence felt like.”

You said nothing, the weight of that statement sinking into the space between you. You untangled your arms and looked at the plain wall nearest your head. 

“I’m sorry he’s gone,” Bob added, voice genuine, careful. Not pity, but understanding. Like he knew what it was to lose someone the world expected to be invincible.

Your throat tightened. You blinked slow, heavy.

“Yeah,” you finally said. “It is.” 

Bob looked like he wanted to step forward, maybe reach out, but he stayed rooted. Instead, his fingers gripped the desk, digging in like if he let go he might simply disappear.

“I didn’t want to be an Avenger,” he admitted. “I wanted help.”

You tilted your head, skeptical, but he was being honest, you could tell this guy really was not sure of what any of this menat.  “So you thought signing up for Valentina’s pet death squad would help you get that?”

“She said the team could give me structure. Control. That they’d watch me.” He shrugged his shoulders just repeating what information he had been fed. 

“That’s not help. That’s a cage.” You whispered gritting your teeth thinking about how she could do this to someone in the first place and then trap them again. 

Bob’s mouth twitched, a flicker of agreement struggling to surface but trapped.

“You walked into the Avengers Tower five minutes after blacking out half of New York,” you said, voice low but unyielding. “That’s not rehabilitation. That’s PR cleanup.”

His jaw flexed, silent. Then, finally, a breath: “I didn’t feel human after it happened.”

Your gaze locked with his. This time, he didn’t look away.

“I thought maybe if I wore the suit,” he continued quietly, “if I stood next to real heroes, I might be able to be one.”

“You’re not your suit,” you said coldly, you felt like your mom. You remembered all of the arguments they had about that exact sentence. It felt thick in your mouth and spitting it out at this stranger felt almost painful. 

“I know. But you came in here today and now I feel like maybe I am a mistake that needs fixing.” His voice rose, not in a way that would be argumentative but in a way that gave confidence. 

“You say that like it’s a compliment.” You scoffed and gave him a side smile. 

“It is.”  You stared. The tension tightening up your spine like a coil.

“So?” You weren’t sure where this was going, but he was suddenly standing. 

“I want you to stay because you’re the only one smart enough not to lie to me.” Your face snapped into shock and your stomach twisted.

“I’ve spent every day since New York waking up and wondering if I’m still me,” he confessed, voice breaking. “Or if the Void’s just pretending.” 

Your heart hammered in your chest. He shifted half a step forward.

“I look around and all I see are people trying to contain me, or use me. Not understand me. You came in here, told me I was dangerous, and didn’t sugarcoat a damn thing.” He exhaled slowly, almost like relief. “You’re the first person who made me feel like I might still have a choice.”

You turned away, fingers dragging slowly down your face. “God. I must be out of my mind.” 

“You’re not,” Bob said gently, voice steady like a lifeline. “You’re just the only one here who still believes in consequences.”

You looked back at him. He looked fragile—nothing to do with size—but like a man holding back a hurricane with bare hands. If he were being honest and you were the only person willing to actually help him then you couldn’t leave. You knew enough to be asked to create him you just hadn’t been stupid enough to fall for it and it was not her asking this time. It was him. The patient. The test subject. 

“I’m not your friend,” you warned.

“I don’t need a friend,” he said quietly. “I need someone who doesn’t flinch.”

Silence hung heavy again he really wanted this, and he was not going to take no for an answer. 

Then—finally—you sighed.

“Fine,” you muttered. “But this isn’t a team-up. I’m not getting a badge, and I’m not wearing a damn vest.” You were being serious, this was not a mess you wanted attached to your name. You were already going over how to create something that could stop him and you hadn’t even told Valentina of your sudden cooperation. 

“You don’t have to.” He sighed a breath of relief hearing that you were in agreement. 

“I’m here to make sure you don’t wipe out another city.” You pulled your phone out of your pocket and started texting Valentina letting her know a few important things, like the lab you would need and the room you would like to occupy. 

“That’s all I want too.” Your eyes narrowed, sharp and watchful.

“If I even sense that thing in your head pushing out, I pull the plug. Hard.” You opened his door again and dialed another number your little helpers that needed to start moving your equipment and stuff around. 

Bob nodded slowly. “Understood.”

You took one last look.For the first time, he wasn’t fidgeting. Just still. Watching you like the first sliver of light in a sky that’s been black too long.

[ratatoilett]

episode title : the one where she suggests marriage (again)

nylu's note : excited to make this a mundane cutesy series of they're shenanigans omg!

tags : @toniiiiiireads @cuntyji @nakiich @rriwyu @your-mum3000 @lulunx @heiejdhdh @oracle014 @sukubusss @noooo-onee @sanestsanstan @minasuniverse @muli-wam @bearchermer @younjunie @kunasthiast @nina-from-317 @ehcilhc

series masterlist

INT. SUKUNA'S APARTMENT - TUESDAY - 11:00 AM

at this point, sukuna has accepted that you are an unavoidable disaster in his life.

like an earthquake. or a tornado. or a really persistent telemarketer that keeps calling even when he explicitly tells them to stop.

he doesn't know when it happened. one day, you showed up. the next, you never left.

and the worst part? he let's you.

not without protest, of course. plenty of "get out before i throw you out," and "touch my stuff and you lose a hand," and "if you breathe near me while i'm eating, i will make sure you regret it."

none of which work.

because here you are, again, sitting on his couch, eating his chips, watching his TV—wearing his hoodie (at this point he doesn't even care how you got that in the first place).

you're kicked back, feet on the coffee table, and way too damn comfortable for someone who has been explicitly told to leave at least 500 times.

sukuna scowls.

"okay", you announce, popping another chip into your mouth. "new plan."

he doesn't even look up from his phone. "no."

"you didn't even hear it yet!"

"and yet, i already know it's gonna be fucking stupid."

you ignore him, as always. "hypothetically speaking, what if we got married?"

his head snaps up so fast you think he might've given himself whiplash.

"the hell did you just say?"

"i said—"

"i heard what you said," he growls, tossing his phone onto the coffee table. "the question is, why do you insist on making me suffer?"

you tilt your head, lips curling into a grin. "oh, so you admit the thought of being my husband affects you?"

"i admit that the thought makes me want to set myself on fire."

you hum, unbothered. "well, that's not a no."

sukuna pinches the bridge of his nose. "explain. now."

"well," you begin, dramatically tossing a chip into your mouth, "if we got married, i'd finally have a legal excuse to annoy you forever."

"you don't need a legal excuse. you're already doing it."

you ignore that. "plus, think about it! you, me, joint bank accounts—"

"absolutely fucking not."

"—matching outfits—"

"i will end you."

"—and cute little pet names! i'd call you 'suku-bear'."

sukuna glares. "i will throw you off my balcony."

"come on! you'd have cute nicknames for me too."

he smirks, and for a second, you think you might've won.

then—

"yeah. it's 'nuisance.'"

you gasp, pressing a hand to your chest. "how dare you? i was going to give you my last name, and this is how you treat me?"

sukuna levels you with a flat look. "you break into my apartment on a daily basis. you eat my food. you talk too much. you leave your crap everywhere. i should be charging you rent."

"that's actually a great idea! hypothetically speaking, what if i just moved in permanently?"

sukuna exhales so hard you think he might combust. "get. out."

"but i brought dinner," you chirps, holding up a takeout bag. "your favorite."

silence.

a long, long, long silence.

"fine. you can stay."

you grin in victory, setting the food down on the table. "that's what i thought."

sukuna rolls his eyes, snatching the takeout bag like you might change your mind and steal it back. "for the record, i still hate you."

"for the record, you love me," you counter plopping down beside him. "and someday, hypothetically speaking, you'll admit it."

sukuna doesn't respond, too busy stuffing food into his mouth.

but later, when he thinks you're not looking, you catch it—

the way his eyes linger on you, soft in a way they never are with anyone else.

the way his finger twitch, like he wants to pull you closer but refuses to give in.

the way his lips curl just slightly at your stupid jokes, even as he scowls at you.

the way, when you eventually fall asleep on his couch (again), he doesn't wake you up.

he just sighs.

long. heavy. defeated.

then he grabs the blanket off the back of the couch and tosses it over to you.

not gently, of course. that would be admitting things.

but he lingers. just for a second.

and when you mumble something in your sleep—something ridiculous, something about hypothetically marrying him—he just shakes his head.

because someday—someday—he's going to give in.

he already knows it.

and, damn you, so do you.

[pitlanepeach]

FROM EDEN | Chapter One (1/8)

Oscar Piastri x Francesca Gold (OFC)

Summary — Francesca Gold is an introvert with a quiet life and a YouTube channel where she talks about books, drinks too much tea, and rarely ever shows her face. She prefers it that way - tucked into her London flat with her cat, Henry, and safely hidden behind a screen.

Oscar Piastri is a Formula 1 driver. Fast-paced, high-stakes, always on the move. He hasn't read a book in years, but he's watched every single one of Francesca's videos. Just for the sound of her voice.

Following her on Instagram was a moment of weakness. He didn't think she'd notice.

She did.

Chapter Warnings - Mentions of agoraphobia + severe social anxiety, depressive episodes + very brief references to skin-picking.

Notes: HAPPY BIRTHDAY OSCAR 🧡

Sometimes, Francesca felt like her MacBook was an extension of her body.

It came with the territory. She spent six, sometimes eight, hours a day editing. Her management had offered to hire a professional to take over that side of things, but she always declined. She liked the process. It kept her busy. And besides, her audience had come to expect her touch — the specific pacing, the way she layered her clips with the perfect font depending on the theme of the video. No professional could replicate that.

“The team at Penguin emailed last night. They want you to do another collab next month — summer drop. It’s going to be huge,” Katie says, without preamble, the moment Francesca answers the FaceTime. Manager, best friend, chaos in a messy bun. 

Francesca blinks, gives herself a second to process, then beams. “Wait, seriously? I mean, I know they had great feedback on the last video, but I just thought…” She trails off, shaking her head and letting out a breathy laugh. 

God, it was still hard to believe this was her life. That she’d built this job from scratch — and was actually good at it. Good enough that one of the biggest publishing companies in the world wanted to work with her again, for the second time in less than a year.

“It’s going to be great. I’ll email you the content brief as soon as I have it,” Katie said. She was smiling too, the fine lines around her eyes deepening with joy.

Francesca often thought that was the best part of having a manager who doubled as your best friend — the fact that when something good happened, it wasn’t just her win. It was theirs.

“Pizza at my place to celebrate?” Francesca suggested on a whim, and immediately wished she could take it back. Her spine went rigid, and a glance toward the front door confirmed what she already knew — she wasn’t in the right headspace for company. Not even Katie, who was one of the only guests she’d ever had at her flat. “Uh, I mean…” She felt her face burn with embarrassment as she tried to find a way to rescind her invitation. 

“I’m busy tonight,” Katie said breezily, and relief washed over Francesca like a wave. She managed a small smile. “Another night, maybe,” Katie added, her eyes warm and knowing. The softness in her voice made Francesca’s throat tighten.

She was a terrible friend.

“Yeah,” she said softly, and wished — not for the first time — that her brain would just let her be normal.

Just once, it would be nice to exist without wrapping herself in cotton wool, constantly calculating every choice, afraid of pushing too far and tipping into that place she didn’t like to think about. The edge was always there, waiting. And when she fell, it was dark. 

“Another time,” she finished, quieter this time.

Katie hummed, then did a dramatic spin in her chair.

Francesca had already figured out she was in her office. It was painted bubblegum pink — hard to mistake for anywhere else.

One day, Francesca would have an office too. She already had a Pinterest board full of inspiration pictures.

For now, her flat was too small — a one-bedroom with just enough space for a two-seater table in the kitchen and a small couch tucked beneath the living room window.

But one day, she'd have more.

The walls would be lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. She’d have a big desk, maybe even a chaise lounge to film her videos from — soft lighting, stacks of novels within reach.

Her gaze drifted to the window. Her sixth floor flat overlooked a busy street, which was both comforting and overwhelming. She liked the reminders of life happening outside. But sometimes, the idea of stepping into it — of opening the door and being swallowed by the noise — made her feel physically sick. 

“So,” Katie said, her voice deceptively flat. “Read anything good recently?”

It wasn’t funny.

It wasn’t even a little bit funny.

But whatever tension had been lingering between them dissolved in an instant.

One blank look from Francesca was all it took for Katie to double over with laughter — and Francesca followed close behind.

—

Oscar Piastri followed you!

Francesca stared at her Instagram notifications and blinked. She only ever got alerts like that when someone verified followed her, and it always felt a little disconcerting. Being perceived was... weird.

She tapped on his profile picture, waited for the feed to load, then let out a quiet, shocked breath as her eyes widened.

Christ. Almost two million followers.

She read his bio first.

I drive @McLaren F1 cars.

Her brows pulled together.

She knew about Formula One. Her sister — back when they still spoke — had been a hardcore fan. Always waking up at absurd hours on Sundays to watch the races. Francesca had never understood the appeal. She wasn’t ever interested in sports, really.

And if she was remembering right… the cars were bloody loud.

Nonetheless, she let herself scroll through his feed, indulging the curiosity. Why not? He’d followed her first.

Which… she paused, thumb hovering over a video — a clip of him laughing with another guy, shorter, with dark hair, both of them doubled over and grinning wide.

Why had he followed her?

Was he a reader?

She chewed her bottom lip, eyes flicking back to his feed. Nothing about books. Nothing even vaguely literary. Just cars. Fast ones. The kind that had made her cover her ears and wince when her sister had played it on the TV. 

Still, she kept scrolling.

There were podium photos, clips from press days, shots of cars mid-race that made her anxious just looking at them. A lot of orange. And still, nothing that explained why he would have any interest in the kind of content she posted.

Before she could stop herself, she opened a new tab and typed his name into Google.

Oscar Piastri F1.

Search.

The first result was his Wikipedia page. She clicked it, scanning quickly.

Twenty-two. Australian. Drove for McLaren. Something about back-to-back Formula 2 and Formula 3 championships. ‘I understand that, without my agreement, Alpine F1 have put out a press release late this afternoon that I am driving for them next year. This is wrong and I have not signed a contract with Alpine for 2023. I will not be driving for Alpine next year.’ Her brain started buffering around "qualifying sessions" and "downforce," so she backed out and clicked Images instead.

Okay. He was… very symmetrical.

She immediately closed the tab, her cheeks flaming red.

And then she opened it again. This time, she searched Oscar Piastri book. Nothing. Oscar Piastri reading. Still nothing. Oscar Piastri favourite books.

No real results. Just an old fan forum thread with a blurry screenshot of him holding what looked like a paperback on a plane. He couldn’t have been older than seventeen. Could’ve been anything.

‘F3 champion and high school student lmao,’ one of the comments read.

Francesca let herself sink back into the couch. She pulled her knees to her chest, her free hand drifting up to her mouth, picking absently at the skin around her fingernail.

“How did you end up here, Oscar Piastri?” she whispered.

And then immediately felt ridiculous.

It’s not like a follow meant anything.

It could’ve been a slip of the finger. Maybe something his management team did to stir engagement. A glitch. Instagram glitched all the time. That was a known thing.

It really was.

Still curled up on the couch, Francesca tapped back into Instagram and navigated to the official Formula One account. Just to look. Just to see if maybe there was something that explained why a McLaren driver might follow a booktuber with anxiety and a penchant for editing videos until 2am.

There wasn’t.

But there was a countdown at the top of the page.

Qualifying. One hour to go.

Qualifying? What was that? Like… sports pre-game? Car auditions?

She frowned. Then, before she could think twice, she picked up the remote and opened the app store on her TV. A few clicks later, she was signing up for a Sky Sports subscription.

“For research,” she told Henry, who lazily stared at her from his spot on the armrest like he was judging her life choices. 

“I’m just… curious, okay?” she added, navigating to the F1 channel.

Henry yawned, unimpressed and unentertained.

Francesca pulled her quilt blanket around her shoulders and settled in, one hand on her mug of tea, the other resting lightly on Henry’s back. The TV buzzed to life with dramatic music and fast edits of cars screaming around tracks.

“Oh, they really are loud,” she muttered.

Still, she didn’t change the channel.

The coverage had barely started before the noise hit her full-force — engines growling, tires screeching, the low thrum of commentary that barely kept up with the chaos on screen.

Francesca grimaced. She didn’t like it. Too loud, too fast, too… much.

Henry flinched at a particularly aggressive rev, then resumed kneading the arm of the sofa like he was above letting it actually concerned him.

Cars whipped around corners at impossible speeds, camera angles switching every few seconds. She couldn’t follow any of it. Couldn’t understand the appeal. It made her anxious, frankly — a blur of noise and danger and people cheering for machines hurtling toward potential disaster.

And then one of them did crash.

Right into the barrier.

Metal crumpled. The commentators’ voices jumped a pitch. The screen showed a flurry of slow-motion replays, sparks flying.

Her hand flew to the remote. She didn’t want to see this. She was about to switch off.

But then, like it had been summoned just for her, a name appeared at the bottom of the screen.

Oscar Piastri — overlayed over the image of a sleek orange car pulling into the pit lane.

She froze, her heart jumping in her throat.

The camera cut to him stepping out of the car. Calm. Focused. Tugging off his helmet to reveal slightly flattened curls and flushed cheeks. The camera lingered for a second too long — or maybe not long enough — before cutting away.

Francesca didn’t move.

She didn’t even blink.

“Oh no,” she whispered, sinking slightly lower into the couch. “Absolutely not.”

Henry purred beside her. 

— 

iMessage – Francesca & Katie

Katie: How’s your evening? Still editing?

Francesca: yep super busy so much to do

Katie: Why are you being weird

Francesca: 😶

Katie: Wait What did you do

Francesca: nothing?? literally nothing.

Katie: Francesca.

Francesca: okay fine i may have accidentally subscribed to sky sports

Katie: YOU WHAT

Francesca: DON’T it was just for a second. i wanted to see what “qualifying” meant.

Katie: Omg Omg Did you watch it? YOU WATCHED IT DIDN’T YOU

Francesca: it was research.

Katie: Research for what???

Francesca: i think i might want get my drivers liscence soon. 

Katie: HAHA BULLSHIT definitely not because a certain driver literally just followed you on instagram or anything

Francesca: shut up maybe

Katie: Fran.

Francesca: i didn’t like it i almost turned it off. but then his name came up and i just… idk. i kept watching.

Katie: Omg my baby has a crush

Francesca: shut up no ew

Katie: Right Why did you google “Oscar Piastri favourite book” at 8:07pm

Francesca: STOP STALKING MY BROWSER HISTORY GET UR OWN GOOGLE ACCOUNT 

Katie: Nah 

—

The Sky Sports app was still open on her TV.

Francesca hadn’t meant to leave it there. It just... stayed. Like the universe was silently daring her to press play again. 

She’d lost herself to editing again — that blissful, numbing kind where hours passed unnoticed, her fingers tapping out precise cuts, adjusting audio, overlaying soft transitions like muscle memory. The world outside her screen had faded away, quiet and far off.

But now… now her video was exported, her desk light dim, the flat heavy with stillness.

And she couldn’t resist.

She clicked on Post-Qualifying Interviews, telling herself it was just to see what the drivers sounded like. That was all. She was just curious. Nothing more.

She turned the volume down to a whisper.

Henry flicked his tail in visible disapproval.

“I’m not proud of this either,” she whispered, settling into the couch like she was committing a crime. The blanket came up to her chin. The remote was gripped in her hand. 

The first few drivers were all very… race-driver-y. Confident. Loud. Slightly sweaty. Lots of hand gestures and scathing words for their own performances. 

And then Oscar appeared.

The interviewer asked him something technical — tires, or grip, or some other concept that meant absolutely nothing to her — and he responded with this measured, thoughtful calm. No bravado. No shouting. Just… collected.

Francesca tilted her head, studying the way his brow creased slightly as he answered, like he really cared about getting it right. The way he smiled softly at the end of his sentence, almost to himself, like a punctuation mark no one else noticed.

She didn’t even realise she was smiling too until Henry let out a judgmental meow.

“I said I’m not proud,” she muttered, hastily backing out of the video.

The silence that followed was immediate and deafening.

She tossed the remote aside and buried her face in her hands.

“Oh my God,” she mumbled into her palms. “I need to go to bed. I need to stop acting like an actual crazy person.”

Henry pawed at her ankle, unimpressed.

She was going to delete the Sky Sports app first thing in the morning. 

Right after she watched one more video.

Maybe two.

—

Francesca watched the Grand Prix the next day.

She made tea. She stayed in her pyjamas. She sat through the whole thing, even when it dragged and even when the commentators said things she didn’t understand. It wasn’t thrilling. It wasn’t magical. It just… was.

Oscar finished somewhere in the middle.

She turned the TV off, went to take a shower, and moved on with her life.

There were deadlines to meet. Emails to respond to. A pile of unread books that had started to stare at her like she’d betrayed them. Her expensive Sky Sports subscription went untouched the rest of the week. 

But then Tuesday came.

And Tuesday was awful.

There was no real reason. No one thing she could point to and say that’s what broke me. It just felt like everything was a little too loud, her own skin too heavy. Like gravity had turned up a notch and was dragging her down with it.

She didn’t get out of bed.

Didn’t open her laptop.

Didn’t answer Katie’s texts — not even the one with a cat meme she would normally have replied to in all-caps.

Henry crawled into her lap around midday and stayed there, curled against her like a warm, quiet anchor. She lay still, wrapped in blankets, blinking up at the ceiling like it might give her answers.

Nothing did.

It was the kind of day where time slowed and thoughts didn’t. Where brushing her teeth felt like running a marathon. Where everything felt stuck.

She picked up her phone out of habit, already ready to put it back down again.

But then — the notification.

@oscarpiastri liked your post. Her latest one. A photo dump from less than two hours ago — mostly books, a coffee mug, her hand in the sunlight.

Her heart stuttered.

Not in a dramatic, fireworks-going-off kind of way. Just a small, stunned skip.

She stared at the notification like it might vanish.

Henry shifted slightly in her lap. She didn’t move.

It was such a small thing.

A double-tap.

A gesture.

But in the middle of a day where just existing felt impossible, someone — he — had seen her.

Even if it didn’t mean anything.

Even if it was random.

Even if he probably liked a hundred photos that day.

She let out a long, shaky breath and rested her phone on her chest, her hand curled loosely around it.

"Okay," she whispered to no one.

Maybe she could get up later.

Not now. But maybe later.

—

The MTC was buzzing, even though it was only a Tuesday. Debrief done. Media duties had been wrapped earlier in the morning. Everything had settled into that post-Grand Prix lull where everyone finally took a breath until the next weekend came around.

Oscar leaned back against the side of a worktable, scrolling idly through Instagram. Nothing serious. Just background noise.

Until he saw that she’d posted. 

Francesca Gold.

He hadn’t meant to follow her, not really. It had been a 2am spiral the night before quali day — his sister had sent him a TikTok of somebody talking about a F1 themed romance novel, which had ultimately led him to her channel, which led to hours watching her recommend fantasy novels with painfully sincere enthusiasm.

It was just a photo dump. Books. Sunlight. Her cat, maybe — very ginger and grumpy looking. He didn’t overthink it.

He double-tapped the photo, thumb pausing just slightly over the screen.

She rarely posted pictures of her full-face. Never showed it in any of her videos. But he knew that she was pretty. Gorgeous, even. 

A grin tugged at his mouth before he could stop it.

“What’s that face?”

Oscar glanced up.

Lando was standing a few feet away, arms crossed, looking far too smug for someone who had just received a stern telling-off for his comments to the press after his bang-average race performance. 

Oscar blanched. “What face?”

“The one I just saw.” Lando pointed. “The ‘I’ve got a secret’ smile. You were two seconds away from giggling.”

“I don’t giggle.” He argued. 

“Mate.” Lando deadpanned. “Come on. Spill.” 

Oscar locked the screen and slipped the phone into his pocket, casual. “It’s nothing.”

Lando raised a brow, clearly unconvinced. “Nothing’s usually something.”

Oscar didn’t answer.

Lando stepped closer, all mock seriousness now. “Is it a girl?”

Oscar gave him a long, slow look. “You’re very nosy.”

“That’s not a no.”

He looked away without meaning to. 

“Oh my God, it is a girl. Who is she? Wait—” He snapped his fingers. “I saw something on twitter about you following some… I don’t know what they call them. She reads books.” He said. 

Oscar exhaled through his nose, resigned. “She posted on Instagram. I liked it. That’s all.”

“Mmhmm. And now you’re smiling like a man with secrets.”

Oscar didn’t answer, just tugged the zipper of his hoodie down a little and pushed off the table.

“You’re going to message her, aren’t you?” Lando called after him, voice teasing.

“I’m going to find food,” Oscar said over his shoulder. “Stop projecting, Norris.”

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

He ignored it until he’d found a quiet, empty spot to sit. 

And then he opened her page again. Let himself look properly this time. The soft light coming from the window. The cat. The books. The half-face showing in the last photo; all dark hair and hazel eyes. 

He smiled again.

And this time, no one saw.

—

iMessage – Francesca & Katie

Katie: Hey. Please stay away from Twitter for a bit 

Francesca: uh oh why what happened have i been cancelled for not liking the new sjm book? lol 

Katie: Nothing major. Just… people noticed something. Some tweets about you and oscar 🤦‍♀️ They’re being annoying. That’s all.

Francesca: … there literally is no ‘me and oscar’ katie. what kind of annoying?

Katie: The “who even is she” kind And the “typical influencer girl” stuff Ignore them. They’re bored and jealous.

Francesca: typical influencer girl. oh my god i’m going to dissolve into the floor now don’t mind me. just fully evaporating

Katie: You are literally FINE You didn’t do anything. He followed you. He liked your post. 

FRANCESCA i didn’t even follow him back 😭😭😭 would that make it worse? i might just do it 

KATIE Lmao. You don’t have to do anything. Your account, your space, your joy. You’re allowed to post a picture of your cat, ffs

Francesca: henry is a public figure. 

Katie: LMAO Okay yeah that’s true

Francesca: god i hate being perceived. i feel gross. like i did something wrong.

Katie: You didn’t. I promise. People will forget about this in like 48 hours. Faster if you don’t engage. Also: do not google yourself. Do not check the quote tweets. Seriously. Step away. People are being disgusting. Talking about your mental health. 

Francesca: oh my god they hit the pentagon

Katie: STOP. You’re ridiculous. Don’t make me laugh right now. I’m angry. Go cuddle the public figure Tomorrow, we pretend that this never happened.

Francesca: … okay. but if i die of embarrassment, pls delete my browser history

Katie: Of course. 

—

It had been two weeks since she’d worked up the courage to leave her flat.

In that time, she’d dived head-first into the history of Formula One.

She’d developed an emotional attachment to Nico Rosberg.

And every time she saw Oscar’s face or heard his voice, her stomach did this weird little twist she tried very hard to ignore.

She still hadn’t worked up the nerve to follow him back.

Twitter had moved on after a few days. The comments had been vicious — picking apart the parts of her mental health issues that she’d made public, calling her a terrible match for the Australian driver (capital letters, like that somehow made it worse). It was mean, sure, but also probably laced with some truth.

It was laughable. She knew what a WAG was now. And she could literally never.

Cameras, fashion critiques, every movement scrutinised. There was a reason she didn’t plaster her face all over the internet. Sure, most people had pieced together what she looked like by now — it wasn’t some big scandelous secret — but she could still walk through London relatively unnoticed, on the very rare occasion that she did.

And that was how she liked it.

—

Oscar made it onto the podium in Japan.

Francesca had watched the race live, heart hammering against her ribs like it was her out there driving. Henry had abandoned her half an hour in — bored or annoyed or both — but she’d stayed curled up on the couch, eyes fixed on the screen, half-hidden behind her quilt. 

When he crossed the line in third, she let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-overwhelmed-sob.

She was proud of him. Which was ridiculous, really. She didn’t know him. He was nobody to her. But still — she'd watched, taught herself the rules, learned the names of the tracks, made a list of all of the weird acronyms, and somewhere between doing all of those things, she’d started cheering for him like it mattered.

She opened the Instagram app before she could talk herself out of it.

Went to his profile.

Paused.

Her thumb hovered over the message icon, heart beating too fast, palms clammy.

What would she even say?

Well done? I was cheering for you from my couch. 

No. God, no.

He had millions of followers. He probably got hundreds of thousands of messages. Messages from people he actually knew. From people who weren’t... whatever she was.

She hadn’t followed him back. That felt important. It made her invisible. Safe. Unknown.

And still, the urge to say something curled up inside her, warm and nervous. She wanted him to know. Just a little. That she’d seen it. That she was proud of him.

Her thumbs started to type, slowly, hesitantly:

Congratulations. You were incredible today. I’ve been cheering for you. 

She stared at the words.

Then deleted the message.

Then retyped it.

Eventually, she shook her head, hastily swiped out of the Instagram app, locked her phone and let it slide to the other end of the couch.

She buried her face in Henry’s fur, blinking fast.

Maybe next time.

—

bookishgoldie just posted!

liked by oscarpiastri, stephbroher, and 35,768 others

bookishgoldie: enjoying the london sunshine ☀️

view all comments

user1: KING HENRY SIGHTING

user17: i love that cat like he's my own omg

user03: it’s officially spring!!!!!

user63: OSCAR IN HER LIKES AGAIN OH MY GOD

user17: FRANCESCA HIDE BEHIND ME BABYGIRL I WONT LET THE TWITTER DEMONS GET YOU AGAIN 🤺

user60: this is crazy... do u think they're like friends or

user76: no idea. she's so pretty though.

user5: do we even know if oscar pastry is literate? genuine question.

user33: i LOVE your apartment!!!!!!!!!!!

bookishgoldie: i do too!! thank you

user18: my favourite booktuber ever

user2: I’ve been here since the beginning and it’s crazy to me that she’s basically a household name now.

Chapter Two

[tsaheylutales]

You weren't supposed to know | Chapter 1

Hello! This is my first Steve Harrington fic EVER so please be kind. There will be a part 2, i just got impatient and wanted to post something. She's an angsty girl, hope you like it! It’s basically a rewrite of season 4 episode 2.

Pairing: Steve Harrrington X Henderson!Reader

Warnings: ANGST, stranger things level threats, mentions of blood and knives, reader is a softer girl so if you don't like that, scroll, Steve and Dustin are very ooc so...keep that in mind. Let me know if there's any more!

Summary: Steve wasn’t always like this, he used to be kind, and caring, and he used to call you every night. But now? He barely calls at all. Most of the time it’s you calling him. Or you visiting him…Or you planning dates…He’s just really busy at the moment…That’s it. That’s gotta be it…Right?

about 2k words

You weren’t supposed to know about the Upside Down. Or the Mind Flayer. Or Eleven. Or interdimensional monsters made of blood and flesh. You were just supposed to drop Dustin off at the mall. That was it. Easy. In and out. But Steve’s your boyfriend. And you hadn’t seen or heard from him in days. So…why not surprise him?

Worst case, he’s dodging you. Best case, you kiss in the backroom of Scoops Ahoy and steal an ice cream on the way out. That’s what you told yourself, anyway.

Instead, you and Robin ended up decoding a secret Russian message, discovered a secret Russian base underneath Starcourt Mall, got captured, maybe drugged, tortured a little, and were eventually saved by two kids with an electrified stick.

And then, just when you thought your night couldn’t possibly get any worse, a walking nightmare made out of flesh and bones clawed its way through the mall like it had personal vengeance. Turns out it did but that's besides the point.

Your entire life flipped upside down. 

And Steve, your boyfriend…He had known the whole time. And so did your little brother, Dustin.

And afterwards, everyone else went back to normal, back to school, back to work. They made no mention of the horrors that happened that night. They just moved on. Like you didn’t fight The Mind Flayer. Like Hopper didn’t die in that Russian base. Like Billy didn’t die in front of you all.

You haven’t gone a single night without nightmares since. And it doesn’t help you have no one to talk to. Not anymore. 

You’re not really part of the group. You’re just there.

You’re Dustin’s older sister. You’re Steve’s girlfriend, well, sort of. On a good day, when he remembers to call. 

You joined the fight the same day Robin did. Same nightmare. Same blood-soaked floors. Same mindless terror crawling out of a gate you didn’t even know existed until it nearly swallowed you whole. But somehow…She became one of them. Fast. Seamless. Like she was always supposed to be there. And you…didn’t.

You're the one who drives them sometimes, the one who gets asked, “Hey, can you grab snacks?” before a movie night, ones you weren’t even invited to.

You hear about things after they’ve happened. “Oh, sorry, it was last minute.”  “Did we not tell you?”  “Thought you were busy.”

You’re always busy, apparently. Even when you’re not. Even when you’re waiting by the phone, waiting for someone to call. Waiting for someone to invite you to anything.

You’re not welcome. You’re unwanted.

You try not to let it show. You plaster on your smile. You nod along. You say “cool” and “no worries” and “maybe next time.” 

But it gnaws at you. That hollow, twisting feeling.

“Have you talked to anyone else?” Dustin’s voice is tight, panicked, as he and Max hurry down the hallway. They need to find Eddie, and ask him about what happened last night. What happened to Chrissy. They suspect it's something more evil, covered in slimy tentacles and sharp teeth, or a dark shadow, or maybe a towering monster made of the citizens of Hawkins.

“No. I can’t find Lucas or Nancy, and Mike’s in-”

“California. Shit, shit, shit.” He cuts her off without thinking. His brain is moving too fast, thoughts crashing into each other. Too many questions, half the party missing, half the party on the other side of the country. 

“What about your sister?” She blurts, scrunching up her face.

He sighs, a defeated, frustrated sigh. He treats you like a last resort, you are the last resort but…You know about the upside down so…guess you’ll have to do.

“[Y/n]! Can you take us to Family Video!?” he yells, sharp and impatient.

You peek your head out from your room, wide-eyed. “Right now?...”

“Yes, come on!” He rolls his eyes, tapping his watch.

“Uh, okay. Let me get my shoes-”

“Now! Come on!!”

“Okay-okay.” You whisper, shrinking back slightly.

Max glances at him. “That was harsh,” she mutters under her breath. Dustin ignores it.

Your mom calls out, “Dusty, where are you going?” 

“To see a friend.” His voice comes out stressed. Too panicked to just be ‘seeing a friend’. He’s already heading for the door.

“You heard the news. It’s not safe.” Your mom’s voice waves and it makes you feel guilt. She’s already been through enough. 

“We’ll be careful. Thanks, Mom. Love you. Bye.”

“Bye, Mom. Love you,” you murmur behind him, brushing a kiss to her forehead. 

Max and Dustin take off ahead of you, their sneakers smacking against the pavement as they storm towards the video store. Dustin throws the door open and they both rush inside.

They’re already at the front desk, knocking over stacks of tapes, looking through the computer. They set up a “base of operations,” whatever that means. You just stand there, eyes drifting across the rows of movie tapes, pretending to read the titles you’ve seen a hundred times. You feel invisible. 

You still don’t know what’s going on but, the urgency in their voices, the frantic energy? It’s terrifying. It feels like last year again. Whatever it is, it’s scary…. Fourth of July scary.

Your eyes find Steve.

He’s crouched near a toppled display, restacking the mess Dustin left behind. He doesn’t notice you at first. He doesn’t look up.

You walk over, swallowing the nerves in your throat. Your smile feels fragile, like if you hold it too long it might crack and fall.

“Hey.”

Steve looks up. His face shifts. Not into a smile, into something smaller. Tighter. “Oh. Hey…”

Your heart sinks, just slightly.

“Um…” You try to sound casual but your voice wavers. “You didn’t call. Last night…”

He blinks. Hesitates. “Right. Yeah. Sorry. Had to cover for Robin.”

A lie. You know it’s a lie. Robin was here yesterday. You came in to drop off a tape after school, about an hour before he was supposed to call. “You couldn’t have called from here?” you ask, softer this time.

“Super busy.” He mumbles. “Yeah, it was just…really busy.”

He’s not even looking at you anymore. The bell over the door rings again. A girl walks in, she’s pretty, confident, like she belongs. Steve glances at her, not you.

You bite your lip and clear your throat softly. “I was thinking…” You start, trying to sound upbeat, like this isn’t breaking your heart. “Maybe we could go out this weekend? Dinner, or a movie? Whatever you want.”

Steve exhales. Not a sigh. Something heavier. Tired. Dismissive.

“Yeah, maybe.”

You latch onto the word like it’s a life boat. “Cool! I’m free all weekend, so we could do whatever, whenever, I mean-”

“Look,” He cuts in, voice clipped and distant. “I’ve got a lot going on this weekend. Maybe another time.”

Oh.

Your smile falls before you can stop it, not dramatically, just…falls. Ever so slightly. A tiny fracture. Barely a second of vulnerability before your instincts kick in. You catch it. Forcing a grin even though your lip wobbles.

The smile that returns doesn’t fit right. It strains too much. It doesn't reach your eyes. You nod. Once. Twice.  “Yeah. Sure. Another time.”

Steve gives you a tight lipped smile and turns to your brother, who is still trying to find Eddie. You awkwardly wait by the front desk, picking at it nervously. Steve wasn’t always like this, he used to be kind, and caring, and he used to call you every night. But now? He barely calls at all. Most of the time it’s you calling him. Or you visiting him…Or you planning dates…He’s just really busy at the moment…That’s it. That’s gotta be it…Right?

“Hey,” Max says, her voice breaking your from your thoughts. You blink, startled. “We found something. Are you coming?”

You nod automatically, though the words don’t register. Your body moves before your mind catches up. 

Eddie slams Steve against the wooden wall of the cabin. It’s damp and a little rotten, that’s what happens to things left unchecked. You gasp, moving towards your boyfriend before realising he has a knife. You swallow softly and look towards Dustin, eyes begging him to do something.

“Woah, woah! Eddie, stop! Eddie, it’s me, it’s Dustin! This is Steve. He’s not gonna hurt you. Right, Steve?”

“Right. Yeah.” Your boyfriend breathes out. He gulps, eyes squeezed shut.

“Steve…” Dustin says gently. “Why don’t you drop the oar? He’s cool. He’s cool.”

“I’m cool, man. I’m cool.” Steve echoes, voice shaky and wavering.

“What are you doing here?” Eddie growls, pressing the knife closer to Steve’s neck.

“We’re looking for you!” Robin jumps in. “We’re here to help.”

“Eddie, these are my friends. You know Robin, from band? This is Max, my friend who never wants to play D&D.”

Dustin raises his hands. “We’re on your side. I swear on my mother. Right, guys?”

A chorus of, “Yes. Yes, we swear on Dustin’s mother,” echoes around the small cabin.

“Yeah. Dustin-Dustin’s mother,” Steve stammers.

Eddie pauses, and then lets him go. Steve's knees almost buckle as he falls away, and you immediately rush towards him, reaching for his face “Hey, you’re okay. You’re safe-“ You coo.

“I know-I know, god stop touching me!” He shoves you away, leaning towards Robin, who’s sat on the other side of him.

Your eyes widen, and you feel that familiar pit in your stomach. “Sorry. Sorry, I-“ You start, confused, voice wobbling.

Steve gives you a look, one that he’s been giving you a lot recently. One that says ‘You’re really getting on my nerves, please stop talking.’ 

It makes you swallow your apology, and you look down to your scuffed shoes. 

They’re a beat-up pair of converse that you bought back in sophomore year. They’ve been everywhere with you, including some very lovely dates with Steve. Like when you went to the movies, where he kissed you for the first time.  Or like the picnic, where he fed you strawberries and whispered he loved you while watching the stars.

Dates like that feel like a dream. They don’t happen anymore, haven’t in months. Not like they used to. 

For the rest of the conversation, you’re not there. Not really.

[mocchiixxx]

Love or Legacy Series | #1: A Leader’s Dilemma

(Choi Seungcheol x Reader)

Genre: Angst, Romance, Drama, Idol AU

⚠️ WARNING: This is story is purely work of fiction. It does not reflect real-life events or SEVENTEEN in any way. This episode contains heavy angst, emotional distress, and themes of heartbreak and sacrifice. Reader discretion is advised. Please take care of yourself while reading.

Summary: When Seungcheol’s relationship is exposed, the company gives him a choice; love or career. As SEVENTEEN’s leader, he sacrifices his heart for the group, only to realize too late that fame means nothing without you.

The night the news broke, everything changed.

Seungcheol had always been careful. He knew the weight of his position, the responsibilities that came with being SEVENTEEN’s leader. But love… love was something he thought he could protect, something he believed he could keep hidden between stolen glances and secret nights.

Yet, the world was ruthless.

The moment the photos leaked, your intertwined hands, the way he looked at you like you were his whole world, social media exploded. Fans were divided, 50 percent supports him and the remaining percent opposed it. Yet despite that, the overwhelming outcry of betrayal was deafening.

‘How could he lie?’

‘Doesn’t he care about his career?’

‘She’s just a distraction.’

And then the company called.

“You have two options,” the CEO’s voice was cold, indifferent. “End it now and we’ll do damage control, or keep the relationship and watch everything you built crumble.”

His heart clenched.

Lose you or lose everything he had worked for? The dreams he bled for, the members who relied on him, the fans who gave him their all?

But losing you… Can he handle it? Just a mere though of it make him feel something unpleasant deep inside him.

Seungcheol met your eyes across the dimly lit apartment. You were already trying to be strong, smiling despite the pain he knew you felt. “It’s okay, Cheol,” you whispered, voice barely above a breath. “I don’t want to be the reason you lose everything.”

He wanted to scream.

How was it fair that the love he cherished had become a choice between sacrifice and survival?

He's a person too. Did he not deserve to be happy? Aren't he allowed to love freely? He knows he's being selfish right now, without the fans, the members, and countless individuals who work behind the scene, he wouldn't be where he was right now, but wasn't he part of achieving that too? He works hard too and continue doing so to stay at the spotlight yet...

No one can hear his silent cry and what his heart truly desire. Would it really be so wrong to be selfish, just this once?

He was like a child seeking for answer even though reality has already laid it out for him, he just refuse to believe nor even accept it.

His hands trembled as he reached for yours, gripping them like they were his last lifeline. “Tell me not to do it,” he pleaded. “Tell me to stay.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks, but you softly shook your head. “I love you too much to be selfish.”

His throat tightened. He wanted to fight, to defy the world, to hold you and tell everyone that he didn’t care.

But he wasn’t just Choi Seungcheol. He was S.Coups; the leader, the face, the backbone of SEVENTEEN.

And so, with a shattered heart, he let go.

The official statement was released the next day.

'We deeply apologize for the recent news. After careful consideration, Seungcheol and the individual involved have decided to part ways. He will continue to focus on his career and his responsibilities as SEVENTEEN’s leader.'

Fans cheered. The hate subsided. His reputation was saved.

But behind closed doors, Seungcheol sat in the darkness of his room, staring at the last message you sent him.

"I’ll always be your biggest fan. No matter what happens."

And in that moment, he realized...

He had chosen the world, but lost his heart.

Author's Note: This is purely fictional y'all, please don't take it to heart, thanks!🫶

[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 :)

When Santiago’s message arrived, you read it three times, as if repetition might change the words or soften their impact.

[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:)

The words seemed to pulse faintly on the screen, a quiet disruption of the neat plan you’d constructed in your head.

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.

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.

“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.”

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 💗

[checkeredflagggs]

The Story of Us: Chapter 6

pairing: logan sargeant x famous!fem!singer

summary: logan and you have been keeping a secret from everyone but it might be time for it to come out

a/n: while I do my best on most of my works to be race neutral, this one is very very very self indulgent 🤷🏻‍♀️

a/n2: this is part 6 of 7, which will be released when they’re finished and I’m using pretty much everything from Taylor Swift

a/n3: I still don’t understand instagram so - no one but those that follow you can see a private accounts comments (even on a public post). Also I still hate twitter so I’ve replaced it with Bluesky

a/n4: all this was supposed to be in part 5 but everyone got really chatty in the text messages…also you can blame @sinofwriting for the cliffhanger, they encouraged me 😈😈

GO READ PART 5 FIRST!!

Masterlist | Taglist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Valentine’s Day

logansargeant

liked by y/n, georgerussell63, oscarpiastri, and 1,992,813 others

tagged: y/n

logansargeant: I find myself running home to your sweet nothings…you’ve been such a large part of my entire life, I don’t think I’d be able to recognize myself without you. This is just a small thing really (especially compared to everything you’ve done for me) but thank you y/n for being my constant support, for being by my side, for being my biggest cheerleader, supporter, defender…for years you’ve watched me chase my dreams and now that I get to have you actually in my corner while I do it? A dream come true

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user1: ok who’s cutting onions

↳user2: I knnnnnoooowwwww 😭😭😭

↳user1: who knew Florida boy could be so romantic…

oscarpiastri: yeah we’re all asking for you to stop raising the bar thanks

↳logansargeant: not a chance

↳y/n: just get on our level

↳oscarpiastri: why am I friend with you guys again

↳logansargeant: we grew on you like mold

↳user3: this trio is something I didn’t know I needed…

user4: so so so glad mother has a man who knows her worth

↳user5: right?? He’s a good one

user6: he’s getting love songs sung about him and writing such lovely things back…google how to be Logan Sargeant?

↳user7: this!!

↳user8: I don’t know who to be more jealous of…

alex_albon: I didn’t know you had such a poetic soul Logan…

↳logansargeant: for y/n? Of course I do liked by y/n

↳alex_albon: oh you’re gonna be a mushy one aren’t you…

↳oscarpiastri: you really have no idea

jensonbutton: first congrats kid! But y/n? How’d you pull that one off?

↳logansargeant: me? I had nothing to do with it. Y/N is the mastermind in this relationship!

↳y/n: you knew all along what I was doing

↳logansargeant: and I wouldn’t change anything

↳y/n: neither would I!

↳jensonbutton: oh go be gross somewhere else please

↳y/n: why? Afraid of looking bad?

↳user9: love that we’re getting catty y/n interacting with the gird now! liked by logansargeant

y/n: oh my lovely Logan…there isn’t anywhere else I’d rather be than supporting you

↳logansargeant: have I mentioned I love you lately?

↳y/n: not in the last 10 minutes at least!

↳logansargeant: You have bewitched me body and soul, and I love, I love, I love you.

↳y/n: Mr. Darcy and donuts? A+++

↳user10: he got you donuts?

↳y/n: he did!

↳user11: where can I get my own Logan?? liked by y/n

Bluesky

Logan’s Email

williamsracing

liked by y/n, lilyzneimer, lilymhe, user and 2,982,915 others

tagged: logansargeant, alex_albon, oscarpiastri

williamsracing: Team Torque is back at it this week! This time it’s all about relationships, both on and off track, with special guest Oscar Piastri!

view all comments

user12: god this is everything I ever needed

user13: this is Logan —> 😍😍

user14: oh my god what happened? I can’t get the episode to load…

↳user15: so much ngl you are missing a lot! But most of it was the boys publicly simping for their girlfriends (like 95% of was talking about how amazing their girls are)

↳user16: as they should!

↳user15: oh I’m not arguing! But also Logan talked a lot about y/n’s love songs and how they came to be

↳user14: oh my god I’M MISSING THAT???

↳user15: I’ll dm you don’t worry

user17: ok but love story being written while they were at a cousins summer wedding?

↳user18: that’s just perfect…

↳user14: really 🥺🥺??

↳user17: yes! It was one of y/n’s cousins wedding and she brought Logan as a guest. He woke her up one night by throwing small pebbles at her window

↳user17: one of her relatives caught them running around after their curfew and they had to sneak around together after that cause they were ‘grounded’

↳user14: that's just 😍😊🥰

↳user17: right? Finally y/n’s parents got involved and let them out of their restrictive ‘grounding’

↳user14: how are they so romcom???

user19: I was right on choosing enchanted as my favorite

↳user14: spill!

↳user19: 😂😂 Logan snuck into one of y/n’s sponser’s? Partners? party (Idk Logan was kinda vague on whose party it was) to see her

↳user19: it was a masquerade but y/n recognized him immediately and they spent all night dancing with each other

↳user19: this was during y/n’s first big tour and they hadn’t seen each other in a while and Logan says they were both worried about how strong the relationship actually was with the distance

↳user19: that’s why the song asks who he loves and she’s asking for it to be the beginning not the end

↳user19: she apparently wrote it that night after the party and released it within the week

↳user14: everything I learn from this episode (WHICH I STILL CANT WATCH WIFI YOU SUCK) just gives me all the feels

user20: user14 mine was another song talked about and I guess it was one of the last ones wrote for the album and it was written on the floor of their new apartment

↳user14: gimme gimme gimme

↳user20: 🤣

↳user20: not much more to know — she bought them an apartment shortly after her 17th birthday (her family moved back to Florida) and they had some friction when they were actually living together

↳user20: apparently they had an argument, she ran out the door, and he followed right after her

↳user14: 🙏 WiFi please. Please. I need to actually watch this

user21: ok but my favorite part was Oscar laughing at Logan when Alex brought up All Too Well (10 Minute Version)

↳user21: user14 Alex brought up that song because it really talks about like a bad unhealthy relationship and a bad breakup and toxicity…

↳user21: Logan almost burst a lung laughing (seriously it’s like 2/3 minutes of it) but he finally manages to calm down and explain

↳user21: apparently she wrote it at a restaurant while waiting for him because he got held up in traffic

↳user14: seriously??

↳user21: yup! He had had to make an emergency stop because he saw some kittens on the side of the road and his phone was dead

↳user21: so she was waiting on him on their anniversary and he was making a stop at the vets to make sure the kittens were all healthy

↳user21: he made it right before she got in her car to leave and he like ran over to her car with a kitten in one hand and petal-less flowers in the other

↳user21: she polished up and released the song and it’s like an inside joke between them now

↳user14: are you serious??? One of the most heartbreaking songs is a joke for them??

↳user21: yup 😂😂

logansargeant

liked by y/n, oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc and 3,293,916 others

tagged: y/n

logansargeant: that feeling when your girlfriend gets the entire MetLife Stadium to wish you luck from the other side of the world

Thank you everyone for the well wishes!

view all comments

user22: you got this Logan! Monaco will be good to you

↳user23: it better be!

y/n: all the well wishes and best of luck my love!

↳logansargeant: I’ll win it for you babe

↳user24: winning in THAT Williams is definitely a true declaration of love liked by y/n

oscarpiastri: wait where’s my well wishes??

↳logansargeant: how about you get a world famous girlfriend first then ask that question?

↳lilyzneimer: hey!

↳logansargeant: nothing against you lily of course!

↳y/n: be nice to lily Logan!

↳logansargeant: I am! I’m just trying to make fun of Oscar

↳y/n: well that’s ok then!

↳oscarpiastri: hey! Liked by lilyzneimer, y/n, logansargeant

charles_leclerc: what a beautiful moment

↳y/n: don’t worry Charles! We’ll wish you luck tonight

↳carlossainz55: Please dont worry about him — he’ll respond later. He just straight up fainted first

↳y/n: 😂😂

user25: go prove Williams wrong Logan!

↳user26: am I the only one that thinks something fishy is happening with Williams?

↳user25: oh absolutely not. I know it’s only been a week since y/n and Logan went official but they haven’t capitalized on it at all

↳user27: it doesn’t have to mean anything? They’re probably just as shocked as us

↳user25: oh mark my words. Something fishy is up

Bluesky

user28: they are Not wrong

↳user29: man those free practices were awful

user30: James Vowles I’m in your fucking walls

↳user31: fuck his walls I’m chasing after him with a goddamn bat

↳user32: start treating Logan with respect! jv.f1

user33: Seriously vowles?? Logan has brought you more points this season than Alex??

↳user34: right?

↳user35: this is only Logan’s second season (in a WILLIAMS) and he’s already outperforming his more experienced teammate!

↳user33: ALL GOOD POINTS jv.f1

user36: jv.f1 DO BETTER

↳user37: THEY ARE BOTH YOUR DRIVERS TREAT THEM THE SAME

user38: jv.f1 go get an attitude adjustment

↳user39: we’re the Captains now and we say fucking treat your drivers as people jv.f1

↳user40: that’s fucking right

see more comments

y/n_gossip

liked by y/n, logansargeant, charles_leclerc, and 3,724,618 others

tagged: logansargeant, alex_albon

y/n_gossip: another Team Torque episode came out! And it’s still all about y/n!

view all comments

user41: another one so soon???

↳logansargeant: tbh we got bored 😂

user42: y/n is really hosting a dinner party for everyone?

↳logansargeant: she is! She’s really excited to actually meet everyone I’ve been talking about

↳user42: that’s so precious

oscarpiastri: Lily has been talking nonstop since y/n texted her

↳logansargeant: y/n is also really excited

↳user43: the fomo I have right now…

alex_albon: raise your hand if this is the only thing you’ve heard about recently? 🙋🏻‍♂️

↳carlossainz55: 🙋🏻‍♂️

↳charles_leclerc: 🙋🏼‍♂️

↳maxverstappen1: 🙋🏼‍♂️

↳danielricciardo: 🙋🏻‍♂️

↳pierregasly: 🙋🏼‍♂️

↳georgerussell63: 🙋🏻‍♂️

↳landonorris: 🙋🏼‍♂️

user44: ok but what are the chances of everyone going to the tour again beforehand?

↳user48: highly likely I’m guessing

↳lilymhe: oh it’s happening!

↳charles_leclerc: oui

y/n_gossip

liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, and 778,445 others

tagged: pierregasly, francisca.cgomes, alexandrasaintmleux, charles_leclerc, georgerussell63, carmenmmundt, aussiegrit

y/n_gossip: it’s Philadelphia night 1! We know from the recent Team Torque episode that most of the grid were planning on going to the tour again ahead of the Montreal race this weekend!

view all comments

user49: I saw Lando, Max F, Max V, and Danny Ric arrive!

↳user50: what I wouldn’t give…

user51: my sister managed to get a picture with the Haasbands!

↳user52: I did! And I traded bracelets with them 💜💜

oscarpiastri: definitely an experience

↳logansargeant: sorry you got left with Lando!

↳landonorris: I wasn’t that bad!

↳maxverstappen1: you absolutely were

alex_albon: the friendship bracelet trading business is very serious…

↳user54: of course it is!

↳logansargeant: y/n is loving it!

↳user55: you gave her our bracelets?

↳logansargeant: gave? No no no — I earned those bracelets. But she does have a collection of them and she loves seeing people trade them!

↳user55: omg 😳

user56: this is still the best thing happening this year…

↳user57: it really really is

y/n

liked by logansargeant, oscarpiastri, and 13,294,638 others

tagged: logansargeant

y/n: Montreal you were so beautiful…congratulations on the podium Logan, it was certainly well earned!

view all comments

logansargeant: you are clearly my lucky charm and I’m going to need you to come to all my races from now on

↳y/n: as often as I can and as soon as my tour ends, my love!

↳user58: I want what you guys have…

oscarpiastri: what a race mate!

↳logansargeant: thanks dude!

↳oscarpiastri: such an American…

↳logansargeant: you knew that already!

user59: what an amazing fucking race today Logan!

↳user60: I have no idea what f1 is but go Logan!

↳user61: I’m living for the new formula 1 fans…

↳user60: it’s been fun learning! So far most everyone has been really nice and welcoming!

↳user62: the more the merrier!

alex_albon: good job Logan!

↳logansargeant: congrats to you too! P6!

↳alex_albon: 🎊 🥳🥳 definitely been a Williams weekend!

user63: and still jv.f1 can’t be actually happy can he???

↳user64: oh good I’m glad someone else caught it!

user65: jv.f1 be happy for both of your drivers challenge failed!

Bluesky

user66: please be a new chief engineer!

user67: Adrien Newey to Williams?!?

user68: dare I say…new team principal??

↳user69: you dared. And you did…

↳user68: come on! I can’t be the only one thinking it!

↳user69: oh no you’re not…just that I would never say it

user70: watch it just be new liverly or something

↳user71: that’s not big changes…

lilymhe posted a story, iamrebeccad posted a story, francisca.cgomes posted a story

[getting ready for dinner! @.y/n][an amazing hug a day keeps the doctor away @.y/n][the best grwm are with best friends @.flavy.barla @.y/n]

alex_albon replied are you gonna be done literally any time soon?

↳lilymhe I’m getting to know my new best friend. Leave us alone

user72 replied so so so jealous

user73 replied you went from creepy flirting to closed friends so fast…tell me your ways

carlossainz55 replied taking notes 📝

↳iamrebeccad not your hugs — just hers!

↳carlossainz55 corazón…

user74 replied I don’t know who to be more jealous of…

user75 replied which star did you wish upon?

pierregasly replied you’re still not ready?

↳francisca.cgomes you can’t rush perfection…

↳pierregasly I’m not rushing y/n…I’m rushing you!

↳francisca.cgomes you’re sleeping on the couch tonight

user76 replied I’m gonna need a full YouTube video on this grwm…

user77 replied Netflix get in there stat

user78 replied who all is there getting ready for the dinner???

alexandrasaintmleux posted a story, lilyzneimer posted a story, yoursister posted a story

[cheers 🥂 to new friends @.y/n][ready for night out on the town @.y/n, @.carmenmmundt][what a night…thanks for the invite @.y/n]

charles_leclerc replied 🥂🥂

↳alexandrasaintmleux she’s so lovely Charles…

↳charles_leclerc you both are Mon amour

user79 replied how the turntables…

user80 replied ok let’s just switch lives right now…

oscarpiastri replied finally!

↳lilyzneimer don’t you dare try to rush us Oscar! We’ll get there when we get there!

↳oscarpiastri we could have already been done with dinner if you guys were on time!

↳lilyzneime: leave us alone!

user81 replied you guys are all so pretty…

user82 replied absolutely stunning

y/n replied thanks for coming Lily…I didn’t even understand myself how nice it would be to have a friend when meeting everyone

↳lilyzneimer of course! And don’t worry — they already said they’d be on their best behavior…

↳y/n 😂😂

y/n replied now stop whining! I took you to a race and to a fancy dinner

↳yoursister no! Now I wanna go shopping! And to Silverstone! And Vegas!

↳y/n fine to the shopping, maybe to Silverstone, and you have to ask mom for permission for Vegas

↳yoursister you’re no fun!

↳y/n that’s me! The no fun sister

logansargeant replied thanks for coming — y/n was worried about meeting everyone and I know you coming with us helped her a lot

↳yoursister of course! Invite me to more places and events!

↳logansargeant Vegas is up to your mom

↳yoursister damn it

user83 replied now that’s a slumber party I want to be invited to…

user84 replied the fomo…

user85 replied no pictures of the actual dinner??

logansargeant

liked by y/n, landonorris, estebanocon and 2,97,455 others

logansargeant: dinner was lovely. Thanks to everyone who came!

view all comments

y/n: thanks for helping me out this all together Logan!

↳logansargeant: anything for you sweetie

user86: damn she really got the entire grid to come…

↳user87: not only the current grid but past members AND the reserves and academy drivers too?

↳user88: the power she has…

charles_leclerc: it was a lovely dinner! Thank you y/n and logansargeant!

↳y/n: thanks for coming!

↳charles_leclerc: I wouldn’t have missed it

oscarpiastri: such a great evening! Thanks y/n

↳y/n: anything for my favorite Aussie

↳aussiegrit: me?

↳y/n: no

↳danielricciardo: me?

↳y/n: close but sorry

↳oscarpiastri: what do you mean close???

↳y/n: Danny didn’t spend years thinking he was Logan’s best friend! liked by logansargeant, danielricciardo

user74: ok I know who to be jealous of…

↳user89: all of them?

↳user74: all of them!

user90: I would kill all of you to be at that dinner

↳user91: extreme but I understand

lewishamilton: it was lovely to meet you y/n 🖤

↳y/n: same! And our conversation was enlightening!

↳user92: XNDA collab?!?

Bluesky

user93: you better say sike right now

user94: this is obviously a joke

user95: they can’t be talking about y/n and Logan right??

↳user96: they better not be!

user97: he’s done better then Alex has this entire season!!!

↳user98: I’m going to riot if this is true…

↳user99: you better check Williams social right now oh my god

Bluesky

Taglist

@anamiad00msday @suns3treading @daniskywalkersolo @awritingtree @justheretoreadthxxs @coral7161 @lost4lyrics @mastermindbaby @freyathehuntress @angelluv16 @nichmeddar @mxm47max @justaf1girl @a-beaverhausen @tallrock35 @elizamoe133 @imlonelydontsendhelp @jessica3478 @il0vereadingstuff @msimpala--67 @taylorrrrrrrrrrswiftttt @widow-cevans @1-of-my-many-obsessions @charlesgirl16 @theendofthematerialgworl @angstyntasty

[xoxolaw]

Can I request a Baku fic? Preferably hurt/comfort of any sort;)!!! Like maybe instead of Juntae in that one episode, it’s the reader? Thankku

+ I GOT THE LIST

in which she risks everything to steal the Union's darkest secret, gets caught, bleeds for it - and still manages to look Baku in the eye and say, "I got the list"

Park Hu-min (Baku) x reader

angst, fluff

Infiltrating the buyer's list was never supposed to go smoothly. It was reckless. Dangerous. Stupid, even. But someone had to do it. Someone who could slip in and out without leaving a trace, someone the Union wouldn’t expect.

And that someone turned out to be Y/N.

She wasn’t part of the Union. Never was. She was one of Baku’s—Eunjang’s. But she only managed to get out with one of the pages.

The rest? She couldn’t risk it. And she didn’t have to—one page was enough. Names. Transactions. Proof.

Only, she hadn’t realized that someone was watching. That Baek-jin had eyes everywhere.

And now, here she was, cornered on a dimly lit road, path blocked by a group of Union guys she didn’t recognize. Faces twisted with arrogance, all fake grins and clenched fists.

She didn’t scream. She fought.

The next thing she knew, she was being dragged into a garage at Daesung Corporation. Somewhere underground. Somewhere no one could hear.

She stood her ground—at first.

Baku had trained her himself. Every punch, every counter, every take-down. She fought like hell, but it didn’t matter. Six against one was never going to end well.

Eventually, they had her on her knees, arms pinned behind her back.

One of them brought a phone to her face.

“Baek-jin wants to talk.”

She spat blood to the side and sneered, “Tell him to fuck off.”

The slap came sharp and fast, her head snapping sideways, vision swimming. The two holding her down didn’t flinch. The other two started punching—controlled and targeted. Body shots. She bit down hard on her cheek just to stay conscious.

A door creaked open at the far end of the room.

“Damn,” came a bored, familiar voice. “You guys are loud as hell.”

The Union members paused, turning toward the sound.

Seong-je stepped into the light lazily, as if he’d just woken up from a nap. Hands in his pockets. Hair a mess.

“Who the hell are you?” one of the guys barked.

"Nice to meet you” He pulled out a cigarette and put it between his lips. "I'm Geum Seong-je."

"Motherfuckers."

The name made two of the men hesitate. “Didn’t he leave the Union?” one muttered under his breath.

Seong-je didn’t care.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said casually, glancing at her bruised face. “Didn’t know you were the type to kneel.”

Her jaw clenched. Blood was crusted at the corner of her lip.

“Just do what they want,” he said around the cigarette. “Or they’ll kill you.”

Her eyes flared. “No.”

He paused mid-inhale. “What?”

“I said no!” Her voice tore through the silence, louder than anyone expected.

He stared for a second. Then scoffed. "I get it. The reason Baku likes you. You are so much fun!"

"Okay. Loyalty passed." He took one last drag, blew the smoke toward the ceiling. Then, without warning, he moved.

The punch was fast. Precise. The first guy crumpled.

Chaos erupted. But Seong-je wasn’t someone you fought head-on. He moved like a storm—cold, quick, and cruel.

Within minutes, all six Union men were on the floor, groaning or unconscious. Seong-je shook his wrist out and kicked one of them aside lazily.

“You guys really have no manners,” he muttered.

---

The shutter door slammed open.

Boots on concrete. Ragged breathing.

Baku.

He skidded in, Gotak right behind him. His eyes scanned the wreckage—the bleeding thugs, the shattered glass, the bruises blooming across her skin like ink.

She was slouched on the sofa, her arms limp at her sides. Blood trailed down her cheek, staining the collar of her shirt. But she was awake.

Seong-je was seated across from her, calm, smoke curling upward like it didn’t matter.

“What happened here…” Gotak whispered, shocked.

Seong-je raised his hand in greeting. “You got here fast.”

Then, tilting his head toward her, he added with a smirk, “Come get your girlfriend.”

Baku didn’t respond. He rushed forward, falling to his knees in front of her, hands trembling as they hovered over her cuts, unsure where to touch without hurting her.

“Y/N…” he whispered, voice hoarse.

She blinked, slow and tired, and gave him a shaky smile.

“I got the list,” she murmured.

“Fuck the list,” Baku hissed, brushing blood from her cheek. “You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine—”

“You’re not.” His voice cracked. “You’re not. Look at you.”

“I fought them,” she said, proud even through the pain. “I didn’t give them anything.”

He laughed, but it wasn’t joyful. It was tight and broken and scared. “Of course you didn’t. You stupid, brave idiot.”

Then he pulled her forward, gently, tucking her face against his shoulder. She didn’t fight it. Just let herself be held.

“You were supposed to wait for me,” he said into her hair. “We were supposed to do this together.”

“You would’ve stopped me.”

“Damn right I would’ve.”

She let out a shaky breath.

Baku tightened his arms around her, careful not to press her injuries. “Don’t ever make me run like that again,” he whispered. “I thought—I thought I was too late.”

“I knew you’d come.”

His heart cracked open all over again.

Gotak turned away quietly, letting them have the moment. Seong-je stood up, stretching like he was bored again.

“Alright. I’m done babysitting.” He looked at Baku. “She’s tougher than you. Keep up.”

Then, with a final drag of his cigarette, he disappeared into the shadows of the garage.

Baku shifted to press a soft kiss to her temple.

“I got you now,” he whispered. “You're safe. Just breathe.”

And for the first time since the mission started, she did.

---

They were in a park, Baku patched up her wounds and gave her something to drink.

He hugged her, catching her off guard, but she didn't take long before burying her face in his chest.

“I was so scared,” she whispered.

“I was too,” he said quietly. “The second Gotak said you were gone, I—I lost it. I’ve never run that fast in my life. My lungs felt like they were gonna rip open.”

He pulled back just enough to see her face, brushing a tear-streaked strand of hair away from her eyes.

“You matter too much to me, Y/N. You get that? You’re not just part of this team. You’re not just someone who fights beside us.”

His voice trembled, his thumb brushing over the swelling on her cheek like he could erase it.

“You’re the part of me I can’t lose.”

She stared at him, wide-eyed, tears still slipping down. “I love you, Baku.”

His heart stopped. No matter how many times he had heard it before, it always felt like the first time.

His eyes flickered down to her lips, swollen and bloodied, then back up to her tear-soaked lashes.

“I love you too,” he said, voice rough, eyes burning. “So damn much it scares me.”

He kissed her then—soft and reverent, like a promise, like a prayer.

Not rushed. Not heated. Just full of everything he hadn’t said, everything he’d been afraid to say.

She melted into him, broken and safe all at once.

And when he pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers.

"I love you so damn much."

---

AUTHOR'S NOTE + MASTERLIST

I hope you enjoyed this <3!! Gotta include Seong-je lmao.

TAGLIST

@heesexual74 @j4sont0ddswife @jihooneyluv @l5byrinth @coolasiangal123 @inom17 @rebwwca @mizxuqii @tesiitodulce