xvazx

[xvazx]

The Beauty of Our Chaos

Part 13 - Serendipity

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Finals were finally over, and just like that—winter break had officially begun. After submitting my last paper and deleting all ten thousand study group messages, I Facetimed my mom to show her my grades on the student portal. She squealed when she saw the straight A’s and nearly dropped her phone from excitement.

“¡Ay mi niña! Estoy tan orgullosa de ti,” she gushed, eyes glassy. “Tu primer semestre, y lo lograste.” (My girl! I’m so proud of you. First semester and you made it)

Her proud smile made something sting in my chest. I missed her more than I let myself admit.

“Ni se te ocurra adelantar materias para no salir de vacaciones,” she teased. (Don’t you dare take intersemester classes to skip holidays)

I laughed, but before I could answer, she sighed.

“Olvidé que este año te toca pasar las fiestas con tu papá,” she said with a hint of guilt. “Siento que no te he visto en mucho tiempo.” (I forgot you must spend winter holidays with your father. I feel like I haven’t seen you in a long time)

It wasn’t a complaint. Just honesty. Her separation anxiety was real. I was her only daughter. I couldn’t blame her.

Meanwhile, I was packing for my flight, and Renée and I were already working on scheduling a hearing for my annulment petition.

I felt like a walking contradiction: daughter of the year on the outside, secret accidental wife with immigration complications on the inside. I felt terrible—for Luigi, for my family, and honestly, for myself.

The last time I saw him was at the end-of-semester Christmas party that the university threw to celebrate finals week. He looked…unreasonably cute in that ridiculous Santa hat.

I caught him on his way out of the party.

“Luigi,” I called after him.

He stopped and turned around, eyebrows raised.

“I just wanted to say… happy holidays,” I said, trying not to fidget. “Till January.”

I expected a simple wave. Maybe a warm smile.

But instead, he pulled me into a hug.

I froze for a second, surprised by how welcoming it felt. But eventually, I melted into it. For a heartbeat, it felt less like a mistake and more like something… familiar.

“See you in January,” he said softly, and then he was gone.

LA- LA- LAX

Mariel and I flew back to California. Kaylee caught her flight to Seattle, and Georgina headed home to New York.

At LAX, we found Mariel’s mom, Sabrina, waving excitedly from the parking lot. She wore a massive pair of sunglasses and a velvet tracksuit.

“¡My college girls!” she cheered and pulled us into a hug, one arm for each. “Tell me everything!”

Where would we even begin?

Once we got to her house, we were greeted by her younger siblings running around. We ate lunch together at the kitchen table—roast chicken, and gossip. So much gossip.

After eating, I checked my phone. My dad had texted: “Estoy afuera.” (I’m outside)

I said my goodbyes to Mariel and her family and headed outside.

My dad’s car pulled to the curb, the same beat-up SUV he swore he’d replace next year. I opened the door and immediately hugged him before even sitting down.

“Ay, niña,” he breathed, hugging me back tightly. “Te extrañé tanto.” (My girl. I missed you)

“Yo también, papá.” (Missed you too Dad)

The familiar scent of his cologne—citrusy and warm—hit me like a nostalgia bomb. My eyes welled up a little, but I blinked fast.

As we drove, I told him all about school—how hard it was, how rewarding, and how I’d joined a sorority and survived.

“Todavía no estoy de acuerdo que seas una de esas chifladas,” he grumbled. (I’m still not okay with you being one of those weirdos)

“La mayoría son lindas,” I defended. “Solo las películas les dan mala fama.” (Most girls are nice. Movies give them a bad rep)

He squinted. “¿Y no me vas a sorprender con un novio?” (You’re not going to surprise me with a boyfriend, right?)

I almost choked on my laugh. I rolled my eyes and waved him off.

Not a boyfriend, Dad. A husband. I thought darkly.

“No,” I said out loud.

“Qué bueno. Primero tus estudios,” he nodded, as expected. (Good. First your education)

God, kill me.

To change the subject, I asked him where we were spending the holidays.

“Rente una cabaña en Malibu,” he said proudly. “No estará tan frío este invierno. Tiene alberca, spa, …” (I rented a cabin in Malibu. This winter won’t be too cold. It has a pool, spa)

“Oh wow,” I said. “Suena bien.” (Sounds nice)

He smirked. “Quería que descansaras. Sé que no eres de playa, pero tal vez el spa te ayude.” (I want you to rest. I know you are not a beach person but it might help)

We eventually got to his house, where my stepmother Yael opened the door with a big smile and her usual oversized earrings.

“You look like an adult!” she gasped, hugging me tight.

I greeted my stepsister Alex with a big hug before heading into the living room.

The couch had never looked so inviting. I flopped down and let myself sink into it.

For the first time in weeks, I felt like I could breathe.

But somewhere in the back of my mind, I couldn’t shake it—this holiday break would be anything but peaceful.

MALIBU GETAWAY

We loaded the car early—suitcases, pillows, a cooler packed by Yael like we were crossing the country, and a Bluetooth speaker my dad insisted on bringing even though he only plays Luis Miguel and The Eagles.

Alex and I spent most of the ride talking about the new psychological thriller coming out over the holidays. We agreed it looked lame. That’s usually how our movie arguments go.

The moment we arrived at the resort, I felt my jaw slacken.

A row of luxurious tented wood cabins hugged the beachline, each with its deck and white canvas canopy. There was a heated pool enclosed in a greenhouse-style dome, a spa and massage center surrounded by palm trees, beach beds, outdoor fire pits, and volleyball nets on the sand.

“Okay, way to go, Dad,” I muttered.

We checked in and got the keys to our cabin, a semi-glamping setup with actual beds, a little outdoor kitchen, and a hot tub on the back patio. Once we were settled in, Yael turned to Alex and me with a tone of authority.

“Alright, niñas. Get into your swimwear, we’re heading to the bar.” (Girls)

I changed into a simple black bikini, throwing a red cotton button-down over it like a shield and a pair of shorts. California winter sun wasn’t blazing, but it still bit. Plus, I’m not one to tan.

We ordered some drinks and snacks at the bar by the pool. Once they arrived, we made our way to the beach beds, where I smothered myself in SPF 100 and claimed a bed under an umbrella.

“You look like a goth who got lost on the way to the cemetery,” Alex teased. “Is not even that hot.”

“You remember what happened last time,” I said flatly, adjusting my sunglasses.

“Mi hija vampira,” my dad chimed in, making them all laugh. (My vampire daughter)

We lounged for a bit—well, they sunbathed while I comfortably read my Kindle in the shade. Eventually, as the sun began to dip toward golden hour, I sat up.

“¿Jugamos?” I pulled out a volleyball from one of my bags. (Wanna play?)

My dad groaned dramatically, but Yael yanked him by the arm. “Let’s go.”

“Alright, old timers versus the youth,” Alex smirked.

We played for about twenty minutes. Alex and I were winning by a long shot.

“No se vale, ella estaba en el equipo de volleyball,” my dad complained between gasps for breath. (It’s not fair, she was on the volleyball team)

“A lo mejor solo es la edad,” I teased with a grin. (Or maybe it’s your age)

He huffed, adjusted his stance, and went in for a dramatic serve—glasses slightly fogged, no real sense of direction. The ball soared…

…and slammed right into a speaker perched on the patio of a nearby cabin.

We all gasped.

Yael smacked my dad’s arm lightly. “¡Te dije que te pusieras los lentes!” (I told you to wear your glasses!)

“Yikes,” Alex whispered, half-laughing, half-horrified.

“¿Qué hacemos?” I asked, still staring at the knocked speaker. (What do we do?)

“Tú hablas inglés, vas,” my dad said, motioning toward me. (You speak English, go)

“What?! Why me?”

“Pretty privilege,” Alex smirked.

I groaned. Of course. If they’re American and entitled, this could go very wrong.

I walked up the porch steps cautiously, arms slightly raised like I was approaching a wild animal.

“Hi! I’m so sorry. My dad can’t see without his glasses and in the heat of the game, uh… he kinda took out your speaker,” I said, eyes still on the ground. I reached down to pick it up.

“No worries. It’s very resistant,” a familiar voice said casually.

Wait. That voice.

I looked up and blinked. “Luigi?”

“(Y/N)?”

There he was. Shirtless. Swim trunks. Tousled damp hair. Looking at me like he wasn’t the one surprised.

“Wait…I thought you were with your family,” I said, already aware of how stupid I sounded.

“I am…”

Before I could make sense of it, I heard the telltale sound of my dad clearing his throat.

I turned around.

Standing at the bottom of the steps were my dad, Yael, and Alex. I waved like I’d been caught sneaking out.

“¡Papá! ¿Qué crees? Él es Luigi. Vamos juntos a la uni,” I explained quickly, my voice half a pitch too high. (Dad! Guess what? This is Luigi. We go to school together)

My dad stepped up. Luigi had to tilt his head slightly back to meet him eye to eye. Yeah, we (Y/L/N) have tall genes.

“Luigi, this is my dad, and this is Yael, his wife, and Alex, my stepsister.”

He extended a hand, shook my dad’s like a gentleman, then smiled and nodded to the rest.

“Pleasure,” he said politely.

He turned back to me and smiled proudly at me. Like this wasn’t weird. Like he wasn’t my legal husband meeting my family by complete cosmic accident.

“Ya vi qué gusto te dio, cabrón,” my dad muttered under his breath. (I can see you are pleased. Fucker.

Explanation: Yes is common for us to call each other words like that. Yes is a strong curse word but depending on the tone it has a meaning. Sometimes it is a term of endearment. Here is more like a not-friendly ‘dude’)

“¡Apa!” I elbowed him gently. (Dad!)

“Pleasure to meet you,” he repeated, then turned to me. “Vamos a ir al buffet, te vemos allá” (We’re going to the buffet. We’ll meet there)

“Okay!”

Yael gave me a subtle thumbs-up behind Luigi’s back. I shot her a stop-it look.

When they were gone, I turned to him.

“Your dad is tall,” Luigi said, still processing.

“Yeah, well, I had to get the long legs from someone.”

He gave me a look. “Guess I’ll have to thank him.”

He stepped just a little closer. Goddamn.

“Easy,” I warned, raising a brow. “Anyway, where’s your family?”

“My parents are getting a massage. My sisters are in the next cabin with their husbands.”

I blinked. “God. What are the odds?”

“It’s kind of freaky,” he agreed.

We stood there for a second too long, then I remembered I was supposed to be at dinner.

“Oh, I gotta go. They’re waiting.”

He nodded. “See you around.”

“Alright,” I said, spinning on my heel and heading back toward the buffet—half running, half floating.

I made it to the buffet. My family was already at the table—plates half-full, drinks in hand, the sound of the ocean mixing with laughter and clinking cutlery.

Alex spotted me first. “Who was that?” she asked, wiggling her eyebrows.

My husband, I thought.

Just the guy I accidentally married at a college party and sometimes hook up with. No big deal.

“I already told you,” I replied, brushing her off.

“Bien guardadito te lo tenías,” my dad chimed in, his voice dry and suspicious. (What a secret you were keeping.)

I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly saw my brain. “Nada de eso. Y qué grosero te viste,” I shot back. (It’s not like that. And you were very rude.)

He shrugged with zero remorse. “Es mi trabajo mantenerlo al margen.” (It’s my job to keep him in line)

Yael chuckled and nudged his arm. “C’mon, you knew this day would come. She grew up to be a knockout.”

I let out an embarrassed laugh and immediately covered my face with both hands. “Please stop.”

But Yael wasn’t done. “How did you two meet, anyway?”

I hesitated, poking at the edge of my napkin. “Funny story…”

“Remember the picture of me holding my first robotics trophy?” I asked.

“Yeah! The one in his office,” Alex said, instantly.

Everyone’s eyes were on me now. I regretted opening my mouth.

“Well,” I took a breath, “he’s the boy on the left. With the second-place trophy.”

“Vaya, vaya,” my dad muttered, leaning back with a scowl. (Well, well)

“Oh my God, you two were so little!” Yael cooed. “That’s adorable!”

I could feel the blood rising to my face again. Desperate to avoid what was definitely about to become The Talk with my dad, I stood up and grabbed my plate.

“I’m gonna… go get my food.”

I walked toward the buffet area, breathing a little easier now that I’d escaped the hot seat. But just as I reached for the tongs, I noticed a group entering the dining area from the spa path.

And there he was—Luigi, now in a blue tank shirt over his trunks, flanked by his parents. His mom wore a white dress. His dad looked more casual. Behind them were two women I assumed were his sisters, and next to each of them, two guys—their plus ones.

And of course, because this is my life and the universe thinks it’s hilarious, Luigi looked up and caught me staring.

Busted.

Be cool. Be cool.

I gave a small wave and forced a tiny smile.

He smiled back. Full and warm.

Then his mother turned. And she saw me. Her eyes narrowed just slightly. Observant. Sharp. She looked at me like she was mentally zooming in and out, making a file in her brain.

I gave a tiny polite nod and pretended to be very busy scooping mango salad onto my plate.

Gotta run.

I scurried back to the other food trays, trying not to trip, balancing my plate with both hands like it was my only shield from the awkward tension forming.

LUIGI’S POV

I’ll be honest—I wasn’t thrilled when my mom announced the “glamping” resort in Malibu. Something about the word glam in camping feels like a betrayal. If I wanted to sleep and sip cucumber water, I’d stay in the city.

But my dad, being his usual overbooked, over-prepared self, nodded like it was the perfect family bonding experience. And I was already home from school for winter break, so I had zero excuse to get out of it.

The resort was decent, I’ll admit. Cabins by the beach, soft sand, a pool I’ll probably never use because the ocean’s right there. Still, I couldn’t help teasing my sisters for bringing curling irons to a beach trip.

After a couple of hours at the beach, swimming and tossing a football around with my brother-in-laws, my parents announced they were heading to the spa. Of course. Meanwhile, I went back to the cabin to rinse the salt off and decompress.

The air smelled like the ocean and sunscreen. I tossed my wet towel over the porch rail, turned on my speaker—old school, heavy-duty Bluetooth—and played something chill. Just as I was grabbing a towel to hit the shower, bang.

The music stopped.

What the hell?

I opened the screen door, ready to give whoever it was a passive-aggressive lecture about personal property and respecting boundaries when—

There she was.

Bent over. Picking up my speaker. Talking fast.

“Hi! I’m so sorry. My dad can’t see without his glasses and in the heat of the game, uh… he kinda took out your speaker.”

At first, I thought the saltwater got in my eyes. Because I had to blink three times to believe it.

Her. Standing there. In a red shirt over a black bikini, looking like the last person I ever expected to see outside of a sorority house or a university library.

My wife.

I didn’t say anything for a second. My brain short-circuited.

“Don’t worry,” I finally said, trying to keep my voice level. “It’s very resistant.”

She froze and looked up.

And the look on her face told me she wasn’t expecting this either.

“(Y/N)?”

“Luigi?” she asked, like I might be a mirage or something.

I nodded, too dumbfounded to say anything clever.

“Wait…I thought you were with your family,” she said, her voice a little breathless.

“I am…” I replied.

Then suddenly, footsteps. Voices. Spanish.

A man, a woman and a young girl walked up the cabin porch behind her. The moment shifted fast—her father eyed me like he was ready to weigh my soul. I stood a little taller.

“¡Papa! ¿Qué crees? Él es Luigi, vamos juntos a la uni,” she said quickly, gesturing toward me.

Her dad stepped forward and I did what any sane man would do when confronted by a tall, suspicious father—I shook his hand and used my most respectful “nice to meet you, sir” mannerisms.

I greeted the rest of her family, then looked at her again. She was trying so hard not to make a grimace or blush, which only made me grin wider. The entire scene felt like a deleted scene from some low-budget romantic comedy, but I couldn’t help myself.

Then I heard her dad mutter, “Ya vi qué gusto te dio, cabrón.”

I choked down a nervous laugh. What does that mean?

“Pleasure to meet you,” he reciprocated, turning toward her. “Vamos a ir al buffet, te vemos allá.”

She nodded, probably still computing the fact that fate had served up the weirdest coincidence imaginable.

When they left, I stood there for a second. My pulse still buzzing from the surprise.

Her dad was tall. Really tall. I mean she is tall.

“Your dad is tall,” I said when we were alone again, and she smirked.

“Well, I had to get the long legs from someone.”

“Guess I’ll have to thank him,” I joked, stepping a little closer. She rolled her eyes but didn’t step back. A win.

“Easy,” she warned me, reading my flirt like a psychic.

“Anyway, where’s your family?” she asked, suddenly shifting gears.

“My parents are getting a massage. My sisters are in the cabin next door with their husbands.”

She raised a brow. “God, what are the odds?”

I nodded. “It’s kind of freaky.”

There was a pause. Something stretched between us like a string—taut, invisible, charged.

Then she glanced at her watch. “Oh, I gotta go. They’re waiting.”

“See you around,” I said.

“Alright.”

And she ran off barefoot, her red shirt fluttering behind her, back to the buffet.

I stood there for a while, towel in hand, speaker covered in sand, wondering if maybe—just maybe—maybe-this trip wouldn’t be so bad after all.

…

By the time I stepped out of the shower, still drying my hair with a towel, I could already hear my parents laughing in the next room. They’d just returned from the spa—glowing, smug, and raving about their deep tissue massages like they’d just unlocked enlightenment.

“We’ll change and head to dinner in ten,” my mom called.

Great.

Ten minutes later, the whole clan was gliding toward the buffet area. The place was kind of beautiful, I had to admit. Rustic wooden tables set on a wide deck facing the ocean, warm string lights swaying overhead, and some soft bossa nova playing like we were in a moody indie movie.

We stood near the entrance, waiting for the hostess to guide us to a table. I was trying not to think about her. Or how ridiculous I must’ve looked earlier standing in just my sandy swim shorts.

Then I saw her.

Red shirt. Black bikini top peeking through. She was standing behind the food trays.

We locked eyes.

She smiled, lifted her hand, and waved. I felt that flicker again—electric, hot, inevitable.

I waved back. A little too fast.

And of course, just as I lowered my hand, the universe punished me.

“Who are you waving at?” my mom asked with that knowing smile she used when I was seven and trying to sneak cookies before dinner.

I stayed quiet.

She turned her head toward where I had waved. And as soon as she saw her, something shifted.

My mom’s mouth pulled into a flat line. Her shoulders rose ever so slightly.

We got seated. I sat facing the other direction, but my eyes couldn’t help glancing toward her table every few minutes. She was sitting with her dad, stepmom, and stepsister. They were speaking Spanish, laughing. She looked like she belonged there, radiant and warm.

“Who’s that?”

Oh boy.

If you knew, Mom, I’d be six feet under.

“She’s from my class,” I said before my mom could ask again.

“Really?” Her voice was light, but something was hiding underneath. “I would’ve never guessed a girl like her would study such a masculine career.”

I nearly choked on my water.

“Mom, not now.”

“Who?” my dad asked.

My mom pointed, whispering like she was revealing state secrets. “The table where they’re speaking Spanish.”

My dad looked over casually, then smirked and lifted his fist toward me for a bump. I sighed and fist-bumped him.

“No. Don’t encourage him,” my mom hissed.

“What’s happening?” Lucia, my sister, slid into the conversation with her drink.

“I caught your brother doing a move,” my mom said like I’d gotten a DUI.

“We just got here,” joked my brother-in-law.

“It’s not like that,” I sighed. If only they knew.

It’s worse. So much worse. We’re married.

“We study together. We’re friends.”

“Which one is she?” Maria, my other sister, asked, biting into a piece of bread.

“Ragazza in rosso. Walking to the drink fountain,” my mom said, like she’d just discovered a fugitive. (The girl in red)

They all turned in sync. Like vultures.

Darren, my other brother-in-law, gave a low whistle. “Damn. I thought you were into shorties. That is an Amazon.” My sister smacked his shoulder.

“That’s what an hourglass is supposed to look like,” Lucia stated.

Maria even gestured her curves laughing. “Bel culo” (Nice ass)

“Guys—stop.”

“Aww, is my baby brother smitten?” Lucia teased.

“He better not be,” my mom snapped, and the tone in her voice was…off.

“What does that mean?” I turned toward her.

“You don’t see the obvious, but I do,” she said matter-of-factly. “She’s into you for your money. Look at her mother—so vapid, so loud. That girl will follow the same footsteps.”

“That’s her stepmother, Mom,” I said, trying to keep calm. “Her parents are divorced.”

“Ah, see? That’s what I’m saying. They don’t respect marriage. It runs in their blood. They leave when it gets hard.”

I clenched my jaw. If only she knew I was (Y/N)’s first marriage.

“Mom” I said louder than I meant.

“I’m just saying, sta attento.” She didn’t even look up from her salad. (Be careful)

Maria crossed her arms. “You said she studies with you?”

“Yes,” I muttered. “She beat my semester’s GPA.”

“Wow,” Lucia said. “I mean, you’re a hardcore nerd.”

“Maybe her parents paid the school,” my mom muttered.

I bit the inside of my cheek. Hard.

“Actually,” I said, louder now, “she’s her generation’s full scholarship recipient. She’s a freshman, but she skipped three levels. She’s pretty smart.”

Dad looked up, surprised. “That’s… impressive.”

Yeah, Dad. That’s your daughter-in-law.

How the hell was I going to tell them?

This was going to kill me.

@nosebeers @mrs-cactus69 @iinfinitelimits

hi i’m Vaz, this was just a product of my active imagination, free time, and the need for a better outcome. Hope u enjoy xxx

I’m late. So sorry. I got caught up with father’s day. I’ll try to get next chapter by Saturday.

None of this is real. Just clearing this up.

[xvazx]

Oh, Vaz, I am so in love with this story!! Besides his little diner slip up, you write Luigi to be so empathetic to the reader and so patient with her!! I’m obsessed and I can’t wait to see what they decide to do with this whole mess they’re in (and with Missy - that bitch)

Thank you for feeding us :)

I try to keep it realistic but fanfiction is to create scenarios.

From what we barely know about him. He seems really nice. Just smarty pants and sassy. But we don’t know everything. We just gotta separate fiction from reality.

And sorry for the wait 🥺

[xvazx]

The Beauty of Our Chaos

Part 12 - Aftermath

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It had been a few days since the fake wedding, but the campus was still buzzing like someone had accidentally spiked the entire water supply. People couldn’t stop talking about how unhinged the party had been—Elvis, ring pops, vows that should never be repeated aloud in front of anyone.

My classmates wouldn’t shut up. It was whispering in the hallways or side-eyes during lab, like we were celebrities caught in a scandal.

People truly have nothing better to do.

By Tuesday, finals were around the corner and the nerves were turning stomachs into knots across campus. Everyone arrived in class like zombies who’d pulled all-nighters—hoodies up, muttering about formulas and caffeine.

Professor Levy hadn’t arrived yet, so we waited, trying not to panic.

Luigi leaned over from the next seat. “So… how’s the house now that Missy’s not there to terrorize everyone?”

I exhaled dramatically, letting my shoulders sag for emphasis. “God, so much better. Julia’s taken over and it’s actually… peaceful. You can breathe.”

Damien smirked. “The wicked witch of the east is dead.”

“Not quite,” I said, pulling out my phone. “She messaged me. Quote: ‘You ruined my life. You poisoned me on purpose…blah blah blah ‘.”

Luigi raised a brow. “Wait—like for real?”

“Yeah. Allegedly it’s my fault she doesn’t drink normal milk.”

Damien laughed. “Even if she died, she’d probably haunt you.”

That’s when one of the guys sitting in front of us turned around with a smirk. “So… where’s the Christmas honeymoon going to be?”

Luigi sighed. “Here we go again.”

I snorted. “Nowhere. There’s no honeymoon, because there was no real wedding.”

“Okay, okay.” The guy held up his hands, grinning. “So—what are you guys doing for winter break?”

Luigi leaned back. “Glamping or whatever that is called, with the fam.”

“Ooh, luxury, exotic.” Damien teased.

“Shut up.”

Then he turned to me. “You?”

“Well, I spent the summer with my mom in Mexico, meaning, winter will be with my dad.” I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, child of divorce”

We all went around the circle sharing our plans—one guy was going to Europe, someone else was doing a road trip, and Damien had five days booked for a gaming tournament.

Then the door opened and silence fell. Professor Levy walked in, holding the printed exams like they were weapons. And with that, the torture began.

“Good luck,” I whispered to Luigi

He nodded. “You too.”

We opened our laptops and started the test. The silence was deafening. Just fingers typing, pages flipping, the occasional sigh of despair. By the end of it, I felt like I’d gone to war.

As class ended and people slowly trickled out, I said goodbye to everyone in my usual quick, polite way. But when I reached Luigi, I hesitated.

My brain was like, Just wave. Walk. Walk away, loser.

But my body? Yeah. My body didn’t get the memo.

I leaned in, kissed his cheek—a soft, fast, traitorous kiss—then said “Later” before turning on my heel and practically sprinting out of the building.

It wasn’t until halfway to Pilates that I realized what I’d done.

“Oh my God, am I dumb?” I muttered, dragging a hand over my face. What is wrong with me?

I found the girls already changing in the locker room. No one said anything at first—just the casual small talk, the difference between our finals, and how cool Mariel’s graphic design classes were. I kept quiet about the smooch. No one needed to know.

Surprisingly, class went smoothly. The stretching felt good. Like I was slowly wringing the chaos out of my body.

Then my phone buzzed.

New email from:

U.S. Consulate?

My breath caught.

I opened it:

‘Schedule appointment to present documentation for new application.’

New… what?

I had just renewed my student visa. Why would I need another appointment?

Confused, I fired off a message to their customer service inbox, then tried to focus on the rest of my day. It was nearly impossible. I refreshed my inbox every thirty seconds until, during Calculus, a reply finally came through.

‘You must schedule an appointment to discuss your case’s status.’

My stomach sank.

What case?

Why does it sound so ominous?

Did I mess something up with the paperwork?

With trembling fingers, I followed their link and scheduled the soonest appointment at the consulate office near me. My heart was hammering the entire time.

Something was off. I could feel it.

WHAT HAPPENS IN FAKE VEGAS

After a whole day of refreshing and scrolling through outdated embassy appointment portals, I finally snagged a spot at the consulate. Right before winter break, which felt like divine intervention—or a punishment. I didn’t know yet.

To calm my nerves, I texted my cousin Renée. She’s a paralegal and kind of the unofficial immigration advisor of the family, mainly because she graduated from law school and applied for her internship at San Diego’s USCIS. She answered with a call.

Incoming call 🦋Nini🦋

“¿Has salido al extranjero aparte de México?” she asked, clicking her tongue. (Have you traveled abroad, apart from Mexico?)

“No.”

“¿Registraste bien la información de la Universidad?” (Did you register the university’s accurate information?)

“Renée, dudo que no sepan dónde está UPenn.” I rolled my eyes. (Renée, I doubt they don’t know where UPenn is)

She paused, then sighed. “Entonces junta todos tus documentos y esperemos al día. No hay mucho más que hacer.” (Then gather your documents and wait for the day. There is not a lot to do.)

Oh good. Nothing like family experts admitting they’re stumped.

Mariel tried to distract me with optimism. “Maybe they’re just upgrading the visa design. Like a new font. Or holograms! For security!”

Sure, Mariel. Holograms. That’ll explain the vaguely threatening email.

…

The next morning, I skipped my early class with special permission—thank God Professor Patel is cool with “governmental affairs”—and made the trek to the nearest U.S. Consulate Office.

After what felt like hours, my name was finally called. I walked up to the window, heart thudding in my chest like I was about to be deported on sight.

The woman behind the glass smiled. She had that warm, vaguely maternal energy that made you feel like she might offer you a cookie. “Hi sweetheart, what can I help you with?”

I explained the email, handed over my documents, and she typed away cheerfully.

“Okay… got you pulled up in the system,” she said. “Let’s see… oh!”

I held my breath.

“Oh, honey,” she said with a little chuckle. “I just need your marriage certificate, and then we can process your marriage-based green card application.”

Wait. What?

“Beg your pardon?” I asked, trying not to scream.

She blinked at me with a smile. “Oops! I forgot to say—congratulations!”

No. No no no.

“There’s been a mistake,” I said, trying to steady my voice. “I’m not married.”

Her smile faded into something softer. “I see… Honey, according to the system, your visa has been used to register a marriage certificate.”

I stared at her. Then at the back of the computer. And then back at her.

“I—what?”

She angled the screen a little. There it was. My student visa ID. My file. My name. And right below it:

Marital Status - Married.

It felt like someone dumped a bucket of ice water on my spine.

Holy. Shit.

“Unless someone stole your identity,” she added gently, “you’re currently legally married to a Luigi Nicholas Mangione.”

My mouth went dry.

My brain was screaming. My parents are going to kill me. This is worse than a tattoo or totaling a car. This is not a lecture and a grounding. This is disownment.

I blinked rapidly, trying not to faint in a federal building.

I tried to breathe.

“Look, I—I have an international flight next year. Can I use my visa?”

The woman’s tone softened. “If you weren’t aware of the marriage, you can dispute it. But… if you leave the country and try to re-enter, it could raise red flags with immigration. I’d recommend either figuring out what happened—or applying for the green card and traveling with your husband.”

Kill. Me. Now.

“I… I think I need to speak to my lawyer,” I mumbled, completely dazed.

She nodded with sympathetic eyes. “Of course, sweetheart. I hope it gets cleared up. I’ll be here if you decide to move forward with any paperwork.”

I gathered my documents with shaking hands and staggered toward the hallway, making a beeline for the bathroom. Luckily, it was empty. I shoved open a stall, locked it, and screamed into my scarf.

“¡Puta madre! ¡¿Por qué a mí?!” (Fucking Hell! Why me?!)

When my lungs stopped burning, I splashed cold water on my face. My reflection in the mirror looked like a ghost—wide-eyed, pale, and mildly homicidal.

Outside the bathroom, the janitor was mopping and glanced at me.

“Rough day?” he asked casually.

I gave a dry smile. “I’m good.” Nope. Totally fine. Just accidentally married.

Once outside, I took a deep breath of crisp winter air, but it didn’t help much. My fingers fumbled as I pulled out my phone and hit my new husband’s contact. Oh, that sounds like a joke.

He picked up almost immediately.

“This is odd,” he said. “Did you miss me? I get it— we are under finals stress.”

“We need to talk.”

TRUTH COMES OUT

I somehow made it back to Delta. Don’t ask me how I didn’t faint on the bus ride. My heart was jackhammering in my chest the whole time, and I may have forgotten how to breathe for long stretches.

When I stepped into the house, Luigi, Damien, Mariel, Kaylee, and Georgina were all lounging—or pretending to lounge—on the living room couches. The air shifted the second they saw my face.

No one said a word. They were waiting.

Instead, I dropped my bag, locked eyes with Luigi, and let it rip:

“We’re married.”

A pause. Then—

Luigi blinked, smirked. “I’m flattered you see me as husband material.”

I squinted. “Ohh get over yourself! I mean for real, legally fucking married!”

Everyone looked at me like I had confessed to seeing ghosts.

“(Y/N) there’s no way. I mean… we didn’t do any paperwork or get a marriage license.”

I was one second from snapping at him for trying to gaslight me into thinking I’d made it all up, when Damien leaned forward and said, “Dude, you did let Fake Elvis take a picture of your ID.”

Luigi’s head turned towards his friend.

“And you went upstairs to get your passport,” Damien added casually pointing towards me, like he was describing someone grabbing a hoodie.

“What?” Luigi looked horrified.

“OH MY GOD.” Georgina practically flew off the couch and bolted upstairs to her room.

“What is happening?” Mariel muttered, stunned.

“Yeah space brownies and tequila shots are unpredictable” Damien explained from experience. “Honestly, it was okay for your first time.”

I turned on him. “Okay?! You think getting married at a frat party is okay?!”

“Damien, what the fuck man?!”

“Woah, woah— mom, dad,” Damien said like a little kid being lectured by his parents. “Don’t yell.”

“You didn’t think to mention this earlier?” Luigi now looked like he was short-circuiting. “Why wouldn’t you tell me?!”

“I didn’t think it would matter.” Damien shrugged. “We were high. I thought it was part of the show!”

Georgina ran back downstairs, breathless, holding the stupid, glittery, pink piece of paper we all thought was just party decor.

We gathered around. The certificate had both our full names, date, and location of marriage, and a stamped signature from “Brian Kroes – Licensed Officiant.”

“Holy sh—” Luigi whispered.

Kaylee squinted at the minister's number. “Let’s look this guy up.”

While she typed away on her phone, I paced like a stressed-out Sim and Luigi sat in silence, staring at the certificate like it might self-destruct.

“Found him,” Kaylee said. “Want to call?”

“Do it,” I said.

She dialed and handed me the phone. Luigi sat beside me, looking like a deer about to be hit by a truck.

After a few rings, someone answered with a voice straight out of a Vegas hotel: “Thank ya, thank ya very much.”

It was him.

I wasted no time. “Hi Brian… umm… by any chance, did you officiate for a sorority-frat wedding last weekend?”

“Uhh yeah?” he answered—normal voice this time.

“Okay…” And I went off. I mean full-feisty energy. “Motherfucker, how dare you take advantage of us when we were under the influence?!”

“I didn’t take advantage of you brats,” he replied defensively. “I was paid to do a wedding. You were the ones who supplied the valid IDs, signatures, and followed protocol. Your blonde friend arranged it all.”

“Blonde friend?”

“Yeah. Paid me in advance. She said something about her and Eyebrows wanting to get married. And she emailed me the completed paperwork. That’s why I was surprised when she wasn’t at the party.”

“This is some psycho level shit!” I said pissed off.

“This is insane,” Kaylee muttered. “She full-on arranged her marriage.”

“Not cool, bro,”

“I think we’ll contact you later,” I said and hung up before my head exploded.

Luigi and I locked eyes, faces full of panic. Then we turned towards Georgina.

“I swear to God, I had no clue,” Georgina said, her face pale, “Missy handled that whole thing herself. I didn’t know she submitted anything. I thought he was a cheap actor.”

“I’m gonna sue,” I said with determination.

I’ve always wanted to say that

“Can we do that?” he asked, still stuck somewhere between shock and existential dread.

“Let me call…my lawyer.”

“You have a lawyer?”

“Sorta.” I shrugged

I dialed her number.

“¿Qué onda, nena? ¿Cómo te fue con lo de la visa?” she asked cheerfully. (What’s up babygirl? How was your visa appointment?)

“You’re on speaker, Nini,” I said. “Something happened.”

I gave her the full rundown. I expected a scolding.

Instead? Laughter. Wheezing.

“¡Ahora sí te mamaste!” she howled. “Y mi tía que juraba que serías una quedada… y mira, la princesa se casó.” (You’ve outdone yourself! And my aunt swore you were going to be a spinster. Look… the princess got married.)

“Wey ya!” I groaned, clutching my face. (Dude stop)

“Wey, is my new cousin there?” Renée asked.

“Hi,” Luigi mumbled.

“Ay, qué voz,” she mocked, clearly loving this. (What a voice)

“STOP,” I begged.

I turned to Luigi who was still processing what was happening.

“So what do we do?” I asked, exasperated.

“Well, you two can file for an annulment,” she said, slipping into lawyer mode. “But you’ll need to prove fraud—that both of you didn’t consent or weren’t of sound mind. Testimonies, witnesses, evidence.”

“How long does that take?”

“Could be a few months but we are close to the holiday season.”

I slumped. “Perfect.”

My brain was fried, my body aching, and my soul halfway to purgatory.

I flopped in my bed, like a piece of human laundry someone gave up folding. I stared at the ceiling, wondering at what precise moment my life derailed into this absurd plotline.

How the hell did I get here?

A knock echoed at the door. I didn’t even lift my head.

“Go away!”

But then I heard the click of the doorknob.

I turned my head sharply. “As long as I remember, ‘go away’ is not an invitation!”

Luigi stood in the doorway, hands shoved into his pockets. “Yeah, well,” he shrugged. “I already opened.”

I groaned and dropped my head back against the bed. He walked in without asking—because of course he did—and motioned to the mattress.

I didn’t even argue.

I scooted over. He lay down next to me, both of us staring at the ceiling like it might give us answers. It didn’t.

“So…” he said after a long beat. “Married?”

“Yup.” I didn’t have the emotional strength for more syllables.

“I always thought this kind of thing could only happen in Vegas,” he said with a disbelieving huff.

“Contrary to popular belief,” I replied dryly, “eloping under the influence is less common now. Vegas has a sobriety clause for marriage licenses. Can’t just show up drunk and tie the knot anymore.”

“Yikes,” he muttered.

“Yeah. Yikes.”

The silence returned, heavy this time.

“What am I gonna do?” I finally let it spill out. “The annulment process could take forever. If I travel home for easter, they’ll flag my visa.”

Luigi turned his head to look at me. “Could that get you deported?”

I swallowed hard. “Technically no— I’m married to an American citizen,” I said, the words tasting like irony. “But it would look like immigration fraud. Which means… investigation.”

He saw the panic bubbling beneath my words. I wasn’t being dramatic. I was being realistic.

“I could risk it and go anyway. Pretend like nothing happened,” I said in a whisper.

The pause between us stretched again.

Then he exhaled, slowly and unsure.

“There could be… another way.”

I turned toward him. “Like what?”

“My dad,” he said hesitantly, “knows someone who works in family court. A close friend. Maybe he could help—speed things up.”

I blinked. “Are you willing to tell your parents that you got married at a frat party while high and drunk?”

He winced. “Yeah, no. That’s… a conversation I’m not emotionally prepared for.”

“Me neither,” I sighed and let my head fall gently against his shoulder. It felt weirdly normal. Comforting. Stable. He didn’t pull away.

For a minute, we just lay there.

Quiet.

Thinking.

“Let's hope the annulment works,” I whispered

@nosebeers @mrs-cactus69 @iinfinitelimits

hi i’m Vaz, this was just a product of my active imagination, free time, and the need for a better outcome. Hope u enjoy xxx

I made it. Now it's time for these two to clean up their mess. This is about to get crazy.

[xvazx]

Hello darlings, I just wanted to clarify that the wedding chapter is not the last. I just wanted to make it like a highlighted part since it got kind of long. So don’t worry this story just started. (Sorta, I know it can’t be too long)

Next part is on the way. I have the draft but I want to re-do it, I need to do more research on a topic. I thought the climax made sense but after reading it… there is a plot hole I can’t fill 😂

Time to rewrite.

Sorry for making you wait but I swear as soon as I get it together you’ll have it.

[xvazx]

The Beauty of Our Chaos

WEDDING DAY - TIL DEATH DO US PART

Prev. Part / Next Part

A couple of hours had passed. The energy in the living room was thick—nervous, restless.

Was it canceled?

Was Missy okay?

Were we about to stop a very expensive, very pink party?

We were nervously fidgeting—twirling our hair, bouncing knees, refreshing Bella’s location every five seconds like we were tracking an Amazon order.

To kill time, the group devolved into chaotic hypothetical questions.

“Okay,” Mariel said, flopping onto the couch with a sigh. “Would you rather be a famous porn star or an escort—if the pay was the same and you didn’t have retouch?”

“Porn star, hands down,” Kaylee added before anyone else could answer. “At least in porn, the actors are required to be super hygienic and you get a glam team.”

Several girls nodded in agreement.

The boys looked mildly confused.

Then Damien, sitting on the armrest of a loveseat like a chaos gremlin, broke in. “Okay but real question—best Power Rangers intro theme?”

Most of the girls blinked like he’d spoken Latin.

“I didn’t really watch it,” one admitted.

“I only liked the pink one,” another said.

But some of the boys immediately joined in.

“Time Force,” Mark said.

“Nah, Dino Thunder, easy.”

But then, like some cruel cosmic joke, Luigi and I both said it at the same time:

“SPD.”

Our eyes locked. Oh no. Stop. You’re mad at him, remember?

Then Georgina’s phone started vibrating. Bella’s name lit up the screen.

We all gathered like moths to flame. She put it on speaker.

Bella’s voice came through, frazzled but clear. “Okay, quick update—Missy’s stable, but she’s being kept under observation to find the cause.”

A collective breath. Relief, even if it was laced with a little dread.

“Apparently,” Bella continued, “they think it’s food poisoning. But she swears she hasn’t eaten solids since yesterday.”

Oh, but she did drink something.

“The matcha,” I whispered to Georgina.

I sprinted to the fridge and yanked open the door. There it was: the glass pitcher. I poured it into the sink—and saw it.

Stuck to the bottom of the pitcher. White clumps. Floaters. The top had this thin film of gray-green fuzz.

“Oh —mold,” I gagged.

Mariel turned pale. “I’m gonna be sick.”

“I think her nut milk fermented into something,” Georgina told Bella. Then she stepped away to speak privately, voice hushed, back turned.

A minute later, she came back, eyes wide.

“She’s got a bacterial infection from spoiled nut milk,” Georgina said. “They’re doing a gastric lavage. She’s not coming back.”

Everyone went silent

“She’s not coming back.” I repeated.

“Karma,” Mariel muttered under her breath.

Luigi looked around, trying to mask his panic. “What are we supposed to do? People will start showing up in, like, a few hours.”

Georgina straightened, flicking her ponytail like she was announcing a game show twist. “Bella said someone can replace Missy.”

There was a pause.

“Great!” I said, too focused on the logistics. “Let’s get you dressed and—”

Then I felt it. The glares. Every set of eyes turning toward me like I had just volunteered myself for human sacrifice.

“What?” I asked.

“You could do it,” Georgina said sweetly.

“Yo?” I asked on a stereotypical loud tone “No.” (Me?)

“There is no better option.” Georgina looked around at the very confused and slightly offended group of girls.

“I’m suspended, remember?”

“She said anyone,” Georgina insisted. “The rules don’t matter anymore. We are against the clock.”

“I don’t even rank in Delta Nu hierarchy,” I argued. “In that case, you should do it or a senior.”

“You planned everything. You know the steps, the order, the cues,” Georgina explained, getting closer. “Please?”

The group looked at me. Half pleading, half daring.

Then my eyes found Luigi’s.

“I mean…” Kaylee looked at the boys. “Unless y’all aren’t on board?”

“This is gonna be awesome,” Damien grinned.

Luigi shrugged, pretending to be unfazed.

Then the chanting started.

“Do it! Do it! Do it!”

I sighed, deeply and dramatically, and raised a hand like a reluctant martyr.

“Fine.”

A cheer erupted like I’d just announced a new music festival.

I took a step forward, and barked: “All right, everyone! Get in your positions! I want this whole shit ready before 8PM! Go go go!”

Luigi smirked. “The fake wedding is back on!”

People clapped. Someone popped a can of beer in celebration.

I turned to leave, but not before he called out, “Hey!”

I turned around, and there he was again holding that stinkingly cute yellow flower. Trying again to give it as a peace offering.

I sighed and took it from his hand.

He smiled, “See you at the altar.”

“Whatever,” I muttered.

The girls dragged me upstairs like a prize-winning sheep. Suddenly, I was surrounded by sorority sisters who treated me like a mannequin. Hair, lashes, bronzer, blush, chest shimmer—yes, that’s a thing—lip plumper, and glitter in places I didn’t know could be glittered.

“I didn’t sign up for this when I applied to UPenn,” I mumbled under my breath.

“Don’t move.” Kaylee said while pinning the little veil.

Someone knocked on the bedroom door.

Minutes later, a senior girl walked in holding the dress.

Missy’s dress.

I blinked. “Where’s the bottom half?”

“That is it,” she said, holding it like it was made of gold.

I stepped into the slip of fabric and someone yanked the corset strings hard enough to compress a lung.

“Ya se les hizo costumbre,” I hissed. “I’m gonna pass out.’” (This turned into a common habit)

Once it was on, I stood in front of the mirror.

Short. A little slutty. Like the Bride of Chucky…

“You could wear bike shorts,” Kaylee offered.

“I could wear a hazmat suit and it still wouldn’t cover this.”

“You are taller than Missy,” Mariel said. “That’s why it looks tiny.”

“And I’m about to be even taller in these stilettos,” I added.

I glanced at myself in the mirror again.

“Delta Nu should make me a legend after this,” I joked.

And then we heard footsteps downstairs. Guests were arriving. The DJ had finally set up. Music was playing. Lights were being tested.

It was happening.

I wasn’t ready.

I was freaking out.

But there was no turning back now.

Ten minutes before showtime, I met Georgina near the stairs.

She looked flustered, half-sprinting in her little kitten heels.

“Guess what—the officiant is here,” she announced breathlessly, eyes wide. “And he asked for Missy. I told him about the switch.”

I blinked. “Wait, he’s real?”

“Apparently. And he asked if the ‘clients’ have IDs since the name of the bride changed.”

“Why would he need IDs for a fake wedding?” I asked, confused and slightly panicked. “I’m not American.”

Georgina just shrugged like this wasn’t exactly her jurisdiction. “He said it’s policy.”

I turned toward the stairs. “Then I’ll talk to him—”

Georgina grabbed my arm. “Not before the cue! Remember, you’re entering from the side path through the backyard. Big reveal and all that.”

Right. I forgot.

Suddenly, a stampede of girls in fake bridesmaid in tiny dresses swarmed in. Their excitement was so intense it bordered on violent.

“What do I do about the officiant?!” Georgina asked as the mob carried me away.

“Convince him to do it without the IDs!” I called back.

Downstairs was chaos. Who would’ve thought all UPenn alumni would come for a fake wedding and booze.

I crouched, waiting with the fake bridesmaids and frat bros with energy drinks.

This was what my full scholarship paid for.

From inside, I heard the first cue: “Bottoms Up” by Trey Songz.

I peered around the corner just in time to hear, “It’s Mr. Steal Your Girl…”

The song was the groom’s entrance.

Georgina jogged back to us, breathless.

“He agreed to go along with it and he’ll ‘talk to you later,’” she panted giving me the little pink bouquet and moving to her position.

Then the second song started:

“24K Magic” by Bruno Mars. The bridesmaids and groomsmen began their little runway walk, hyping up the crowd. People clapped. A few screamed.

Joshua, the frat house dad and my makeshift escort, straightened his bow tie over his Nirvana shirt. He turned to me and offered his arm. I hesitated, then looped mine through his.

He nodded. “You can do this.”

Then came my cue.

“Don’t Cha” by the Pussycat Dolls.

My heels clicked against the stone path as I walked out to “Don’t cha wish your girlfriend was hot like me?” I could feel everyone watching. The music, the lights, the drama—it was absurd. And yet, somehow, my body just did it. Stilettos nearly betrayed me halfway down the aisle, but I recovered like a runway professional.

And there he was. He wore a backwards cap, and a simple blazer over a tshirt. Waiting at the altar with a goofy grin, hands in his blazer pockets, looking both smug and dumb enough to be cute.

Then I noticed the officiant.

He was dressed like… Elvis. Or a deranged impersonation of him. The hair was plastic. The jumpsuit had glitter.

Where had Missy found this man?

I swallowed hard.

I was about to have a fake wedding with my situationship, who I may or may not hate, officiated by a man impersonating a dead rock star, in front of a group of sorority girls and frat bros… oh and a shit ton of people who paid to watch this.

LUIGI’S POV

I stood up at the altar, trying to act chill even though my palms were sweaty and my mind was racing. I gotta hand it to the girls—when Delta Nu throws a theme party, they succeed. The backyard was transformed into some kind of chaotic, glittery fever dream: lights, ridiculous floral arches, heart-shaped everything.

I watched as the “bridal squad” began making their entrance, strutting down the aisle to 24K Magic. I was half-laughing, half-impressed. We didn’t even rehearse and they were nailing it.

But I knew who was next.

And suddenly, I wasn’t laughing anymore.

Thank God—or fate or karma or whatever—for Missy’s bad milk. I wasn’t thrilled she got sick, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t relieved. Because now, I was standing up here with her. The girl I’ve been trying to forget but can’t. The one who ghosts my texts —willingly crushing my ego—and lives rent-free in my head anyway.

And then it hit—the next track.

“Don’t cha wish your girlfriend was hot like me…” blasted through the speakers.

And then she appeared, turning the corner on Joshua’s arm.

And holy hell.

She looked like she’d stepped out of a music video—and not one of those soft-focus wedding ones. No, more like the steamy kind you watch on mute when your parents are home. The tiny corset dress, the mile-high heels, the way her hair was perfectly messed up…

“Did you break up with the blonde one?” the fake Elvis asked, leaning in close.

“She got sick,” I whispered.

“Aren’t ya glad,” he grinned, winking at me like we were friends. Then he held up his fist. I bumped it without thinking.

“Gotcha, bro.”

She reached the altar and stood beside me, eyes flicking everywhere but mine.

Fake Elvis launched into some ridiculous opening monologue, grinning like he’d been waiting his whole life for this moment. “We are gathered here today to witness the union of…”

He paused trying to read our names

“Wow, these are some international names.”

We both corrected his pronunciation.

“It’s Man- gi-oh-ni” I separated the syllables phonetically.

“It’s not that hard, is (Y/L/N), work that tongue.” (Y/N) clapped back.

“Right, right,” he said, waving his hand like we were nitpicking. “Representing Phi Kappa Psi, we have Mr. Italian Stallion himself—Luigi Nicholas Mangione!”

The crowd went wild. Someone from Phi shouted “That’s my boy!”

I sighed. This was going to be a long five minutes.

“And representing the Bunny House, the señorita herself—Mrs. Hot Stuff (Y/Full N)!”

She visibly cringed. I almost laughed. Her sorority sisters screamed her name.

Fake Elvis cracked a joke about Greek life feeling like summer camp and then—God help us—started asking which of our ethnic backgrounds was more hairy. We exchanged a glance that said, Is this really happening?

“It’s you, isn’t it Eyebrows?!” Elvis pointed at me.

(Y/N) snorted, then covered her mouth, trying not to laugh. I shrugged defeated.

Then came the “vows.”

Fake Elvis stepped forward, motioning for us to hold hands.

We hesitated, then did.

“Repeat after me,” he said, turning to me. “I, Luigi, take you, (Y/N), as my wife…”

I repeated, feeling weirdly formal about it.

“And pledge to keep our fights messy and our sex dirty.”

I paused, blinking. Laughed. Turned to her—her face was red and she was biting her lip to suppress a scream. I repeated it anyway, smirking.

The crowd erupted with laughter. Fake Elvis winked again.

Then it was her turn.

“I, (Y/N), take you, Luigi, as my husband…” she said, voice shaky but still somehow bossy.

“And solemnly promise to use your body as I please. Within reason.”

She rolled her eyes, then repeated it without the last part. “And I solemnly promise to use your body as I please.” she declared.

We waited for the last part but it never came.

The crowd whooped. Elvis clapped. “Wow, okay. You go girl!”

He asked for the rings and Damien swaggered forward with two ring pops like they were family heirlooms.

We opened the wrapping. She looked at both and quickly switched them.

“It’s candy,” I said, confused.

“I want to receive the green one,” she said without even looking up.

Fake Elvis wiggled his eyebrows. “Now I see who is in charge.”

The crowd roared.

We exchanged ring pops with ridiculous solemnity. Mine was blue raspberry. Cool.

Then came the signing. Elvis presented a hot pink certificate that looked like it had been made on a Canva template. We both signed. My handwriting looked like chicken scratch.

“I thought you were engineers,” Fake Elvis said. “You write like doctors.”

Our “witnesses”—Damien and Kaylee—stepped up and added their scribbles to the certificate.

Then came the moment of tension. "Whoever has any objections, speak now or shut the fuck up."

We both scanned the crowd. She even did that classic side-eye glare. No one moved. Just the sound of someone opening a beer.

“Then, by the power vested in me—by no one—I now pronounce you husband and wife,” Elvis declared.

The crowd lost it.

“You may suck your faces off!”

They started clapping their thighs in a drumroll. Cups clinked. Someone yelled “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

I turned to her. She looked flustered but trying to act cool.

“You forgive me?” I asked quietly, leaning close.

She raised a brow. “Try harder.”

So I did.

I grabbed her, dipped her like I was in a telenovela, and kissed her.

She yelped on the way back up. “¡Esa mano!” (Watch that hand!)

I had no clue what it meant—but I didn’t care.

BACK TO (Y/N)

It was done.

We had just pulled off the most ridiculous, over-the-top fake wedding in Greek Row history—for a crowd of half-drunk college students who were really just here for the free booze.

After the kiss—yes, a kiss—it was photo op time.

While we were posing, he leaned in close, his breath warm by my ear.

“Is that a newlywed glow,” he murmured.

I rolled my eyes. “It’s glitter.”

As the flashes died down and the crowd lost interest, the real party kicked off. I hadn’t eaten all day—my last meal had been a string cheese at 10 a.m.—and I was starving. I made a beeline for the snack table like a woman possessed and found a sad collection of off-brand chips and a lonely bowl of guac that had definitely seen better hours. I grabbed a bag of chips anyway and ripped it open.

Luigi appeared beside me, again. He was like a shadow I couldn’t shake.

“Could we talk?” he asked, quiet.

I groaned internally. “Five minutes, just five, I need food, please.” I didn’t have the energy. Not yet.

That’s when Damien bounded up to us, grinning ear to ear, holding a bright Tupperware container.

“Are those brownies?” I asked, eyes lighting up like a cartoon character.

“They are, but—” he started to explain.

“Don’t care.” I yanked the lid off and grabbed one like I was looting. One bite in and my soul left my body.

“This is magical,” I said, licking my fingers and reaching for another. “You should try them.”

I held one out to Luigi and he took it without question, popping it into his mouth.

“Mmm,” he said mid-chew. “Okay, that is good.”

Damien looked mildly alarmed. “Okay, enough, enough.” He snatched the Tupperware from me and left. “You guys should be careful.”

“What?”

Damien left and I was left with Luigi, alone, again.

He was still chewing. “So we’re fake married now.”

“Yeah, crazy,” I mumbled, savoring the last crumbs of the brownie like they were gold dust.

He hesitated, then said, “If there’s any way I could prove how sorry I am—”

But the conversation was cut short when a wave of screaming drunkards descended on us like we’d just been crowned prom king and queen. Before I could protest, hands were under my arms, lifting me into the air. Luigi was hoisted beside me. The crowd was chanting something like, “Union of the houses! Union of the houses!”

“Watch the skirt!” I screamed, clutching the hem like it was my last line of defense.

Once safely back on solid ground, a group of frat guys presented what could only be described as a portable drink dispenser with two attached tubes. It looked like it had been built in a garage by someone who failed chemistry. They handed one tube to me and one to him, the crowd counting down like we were about to bungee jump.

“Three, two, one—!”

We turned the spigots and chugged.

I don’t know what the liquid was—maybe jungle juice, maybe motor oil—but it burned all the way down and tasted like regret.

“That was disgusting,” I coughed, wiping my mouth. I dropped the tube and walked away, reeling.

Mariel, Kaylee, and Georgina found me by the edge of the dance floor, all of them already giggly and slightly buzzed.

“Oh my god, Fake Elvis was so weird,” Kaylee said.

“Like uncomfortably weird,” Georgina added.

Mariel snorted. “And this party is actually insane. I’m not convinced the DJ isn’t a high schooler.”

“You just drank like six shots at once with that tube thing,” Mariel pointed out.

I groaned. “Ugh. So gnarly. I might throw up.”

“Okay, important things first,” Kaylee said, shifting her tone like a news anchor. “Has Luigi tried talking to you?”

“Oh boy, has he,” Georgina cut in before I could answer. “The yellow flower was him. And he’s been following her around like a very confused golden retriever.”

“Have you talked to him?” Kaylee pressed.

“No,” I said flatly. All three of them stared at me like I was the most frustrating protagonist in a rom-com.

“What? Should I?”

“Yeah, why not?” Kaylee asked. “He’s clearly trying.”

“There’s a lot going on,” I deflected weakly, glancing around.

“She’s going to fold,” Mariel sang under her breath.

I shoved her lightly. “Wey.” (Dude)

“I think you should,” Georgina said, more seriously.

The others nodded in agreement. I looked away, heart thumping. I wasn’t ready to admit I still thought about him. About that text he sent. About how he looked when he said “If there’s any way I could prove how sorry I am.”

“Maybe after some Bacardi,” I said, giving a shrug and leading the way to the drinks table.

The house was pure chaos now. Music was blasting, someone was dancing on a coffee table, and people were jumping into the pool in full outfits.

I poured some Bacardi into a red solo cup and added diet coke. Took a sip. Refreshing

I scanned the crowd.

And there he was. Luigi. Leaning against the wall with a solo cup in hand, surrounded by his friends but clearly not listening to them. He was watching me.

Lets get this over with.

I moved through the crowd, dodging tipsy dancers and balancing my drink like it was sacred cargo. A couple of girls I didn’t know paused to compliment me.

“You look so pretty, girl!”

I smiled and thanked them, brushing imaginary dust off my dress even though I knew it was just layers of highlighter and alcohol courage.

Eventually, I stood in front of the group of guys.

“Think I owe you a chat,” I said simply.

He gave me that crooked half-smile. The one I hated. The one I liked.

“Can we talk in private?”

“Yeah, let’s go.” He motioned for me to follow, and I did without hesitation.

“Be careful with the honeymoon phase, guys!” Damien called out behind us, lifting his drink like a toast.

I flipped him off without looking back.

We walked past the DJ booth, past the couples making out against walls, until we reached the quieter front part of the house. The porch lights were softer here. There was a streetlamp nearby casting a pale yellow circle onto the sidewalk.

We sat down on the curb, and for a moment, neither of us said anything. Just two college kids, dressed like Vegas elopers, under the stars.

“A promotion,” I blurted.

He blinked. “Sorry?”

“My dad. He got a promotion. They offered him a work visa,” I started, finally letting the words come out. “After the divorce, I lived with my mom until 9th grade. But my dad convinced me to apply for a student visa to study in California. His boss’s daughter went to St. Trinity. That’s how I got in. Through contacts.”

He didn’t say anything at first. Then, in a low voice, “I feel like a jerk.”

“You should,” I said, not even meanly, just… fact. “But still. Maybe I was a little overdramatic. Me and my big mouth.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he replied, glancing sideways at me. “At least not in that context.” He gave me a wink.

I gasped and shoved him. “Cabrón, bien chillón que estabas.” (Asshole, you were a whiny bitch.)

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he laughed, raising both hands.

I shook my head and sighed. “I think the best thing would be to leave it behind. Start over.”

“Or maybe,” he said, shifting closer, “take it from where we left off?”

I looked at him, really looked at him. For once, he didn’t have a smug expression or a half-hidden joke. He looked… hopeful.

“Maybe it’d be too pressured,” I said softly. “Now we know we can talk through our differences. Let’s just… give it a try.”

“Cool,” he said, the relief almost audible.

“Cool,” I echoed.

Who was I kidding? I was already halfway into it again.

I smiled, leaned in, and kissed him. Just a small peck. Just enough.

Then I stood and tugged his hand. “C’mon. Let’s go back.”

He was still smiling when we walked back to the backyard.

“Done already?” Damien said as we re-entered the chaos, raising an eyebrow. “That was only, like, a minute, my guy.”

“If I remember correctly,” Luigi shot back, “you sprained your foot in this pool, didn’t you?”

“Don’t know what you mean,” Damien replied, feigning amnesia.

Kaylee appeared with a bottle in one hand. “We were about to start Never Have I Ever. You in?”

“Sure,” I said, sliding down next to her.

The game began in classic fashion: reckless, inappropriate, and increasingly loud.

“Never have I ever gone skinny dipping,” Mark started.

A few people drank. Not me.

“Never have I ever had sex in my parents’ house,” someone else said.

Most people drank. I stayed dry.

Then came: “Never have I ever had a crush on a friend’s family member.”

Oh boy.

I sipped.

Mariel turned toward me instantly. “Who?”

“Your cousin from Florida,” I said nonchalantly, then turned to gauge Luigi ’s reaction.

He was pouting. That involuntary gesture he did when something annoyed him.

Is that jealousy? Huh nice.

Then I turned to Mariel. “Wait… who’s your crush?”

“Your dad,” she said with a completely straight face.

The crowd exploded with gasps and screams of laughter.

“Wey nooo,” I cried, throwing myself backward dramatically. (Dude, no!)

“Not like that!” she said quickly. “I’m just saying, he passed you some very elite genes.”

“I’m going to bleach my ears,”

“Alright, moving on,” one of the sisters cut in. “Never have I ever swallowed. Men included.”

A collective “yikes” went through the circle. I drank. So did most of the girls—and two boys from Phi.

Then Damien chimed in. “Never have I ever gotten involved with someone in this circle.”

Really?

I glanced at Luigi and saw him raise his cup and sip slowly. So did I.

I waited for the typical chorus of “OHHHHHHH”—but I noticed something else. Damien. Mark. Kaylee. Georgina. All of them sipped.

My jaw dropped.

“Wow,” Mariel whispered.

I had so many questions. But before I could get into the gossip, a sudden chill ran down my spine, like someone poured ice water down the back of my dress. My heart started pounding, and I became hyper-aware of every sound, every flash of light, every tiny noise.

“You okay, dude?” Kaylee asked, concerned.

“I think…” I said slowly, blinking at my hands, “I can hear my blood.”

“Ohhhh yeah,” Damien said, laughing too hard. “That usually happens after you eat space brownies.”

“What?” Luigi’s voice broke slightly. He was blinking more than usual too.

Clearly not sober.

“You didn’t tell me,” I mumbled, staring at Damien.

“I tried,” he said, grinning nervously.

“You want to go lie down or something?” Mariel asked gently.

“Nahhh,”. I swayed a little, then grinned. “I think I feel great.”

(Here was supposed to go a gif but I have way too many visuals 🙄)

I was woken up by the sun stabbing directly into my eyelids and the obnoxiously cheerful chirping of birds, like they were putting on a concert just to mock me.

God, why were they so loud?

Everything ached. My head, especially. My mouth felt like I had licked a chalkboard. Classic hangover. Killer grade. I groaned, tried to roll over—and then froze.

Someone was breathing beside me.

I cracked one eye open.

Luigi was right there. Shirt half-off, curls flattened awkwardly on one side, face buried into what I now realized was my almost dead arm

What. The. Hell.

I jolted, accidentally shifting the balance of whatever we were on. Suddenly, there was a sharp wobble, then a whoosh—and before I could even register what was happening, we were upside down and soaking wet.

“AH—” I shrieked mid-flip before plunging into cold water.

“Shit!” I heard him curse as he splashed in next to me.

We came up at the same time, sputtering and blinking in confusion. My hair was plastered to my face. He rubbed his eyes and coughed, water dripping from his lashes. We looked at each other like two stray cats caught in a carwash.

I spun around, trying to figure out where the hell we were.

The backyard. The pool.

Apparently, we’d been asleep on an small inflatable pool in the middle of the pool.

The sun was high in the sky now, lighting up the scene like a crime documentary. The whole yard looked like the aftermath of a zombie apocalypse frat edition. Empty red cups floated like lilies. Someone’s pants were draped over the diving board. Three people I didn’t recognize were passed out on the tanning chairs, one snoring so loudly it sounded like a motorbike.

“What even…” I muttered, lifting a hand to wipe mascara off my cheek. “F— those brownies.”

We both just stared at each other.

“Okay. We need to get out.” he made a move toward the pool stairs.

I gave him a look, water dripping off my hair. “Ya think?”

@nosebeers @mrs-cactus69 @iinfinitelimits

hi i’m Vaz, this was just a product of my active imagination, free time and the need for a better outcome. Hope u enjoy xxx

That was fun. I’ve worked on this part for sooo long.

Next chapters would be the repercussions…dun dun dun.

[xvazx]

Your last chapter just has me thinking about how bad I need Luigi to come groveling to me and begging for my forgiveness🤭love ur brain and can’t wait for more!

We freaky in this club. 💋 Cuz so do I 😁

Thank u for your words. I love it when ya’ll give me feedback. (Part of being a Virgo sun and moon haha)

[xvazx]

The Beauty of Our Chaos

Part 11 - Cold Feet

Prev. Part / Next Part

The door creaked open softly. I didn’t need to look up—I knew the shuffle of their shoes, the way Kaylee always dropped her purse too loud, the little humming Mariel did when she had sugar in her system.

“Babe?” Mariel’s voice was gentle as she sat on the edge of my bed.

Kaylee hovered in the doorway before walking in with a pint of cookie dough and a plastic spoon.

They took one look at my red eyes and didn’t ask questions—not right away.

Mariel lightly touched my hair, brushing it back from my damp cheek. “What happened?”

I exhaled, sitting up a little. “It went to hell.”

So I told them—everything. The way Luigi brought up those rumors, how he wrapped his questions in charm and curiosity but made me feel like a case file. How he tried to research my life like it needed decoding.

“I just…” I wiped under my eyes. “What if I overreacted?”

“You didn’t.” Kaylee sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed, her face serious for once. “He took a bad approach.”

“But he’s not wrong about one thing,” I admitted quietly. “Nobody here really knows anything about me. Mostly Mariel.”

“And it took me months to gain your trust,” Mariel said with a nod. “You’re not a glass cabinet. You’re allowed to have boundaries.”

“It’s just… I thought maybe this one would be different,” I whispered. “And I was this close to letting my guard all the way down.”

Kaylee leaned forward, flicking me on the forehead. “You could be an alien and I’d still defend you. You’re the coolest chick I’ve ever met. Martian or not.”

I gave her a small, watery smile. “Thanks, Kay.”

“Anyway,” I muttered, rubbing at my eyes again, “I think that’s it. I knew it would crash eventually. Too good, too fast.”

“Let it cool for a while,” Mariel suggested. “You’re both too heated to talk right now. Give it time.”

Kaylee grabbed the paper bag and pulled out more pints of ice cream, all slightly melty.

“And in the meantime,” she said, offering me one of them, “we eat our feelings.”

Great.

“Should we add Criminal Minds to the healing plan?” Mariel asked, already rising from the bed. “I say Gubler-directed episodes only.”

Perfect.

“Now that is dirty talk,” I joked, finally cracking a real smile.

Kaylee scrunched her nose. “Are those the scary ones?”

“Oh babe,” I said, standing up and taking the ice cream from her. “They’re absolutely the scary ones. Come on.”

We migrated to the TV room. Mariel queued up an episode, and soon enough, we were half crying, half gasping as the BAU solved impossible cases with creepy UnSubs.

“Okay but seriously,” Kaylee said between bites of mint chip, “Reid is too hot to be fictional. It’s unfair.”

“Indeed,” Mariel chimed in, “men are not made like that.”

“Watch it girls,” I said, licking rainbow sherbet from my spoon and using it as a weapon to point at the girls. “I love you but is my man you are thirsting over.”

Midway through episode two, the inevitable came up.

“So… tomorrow,” Mariel started, avoiding eye contact. “Are you gonna be okay?”

I sighed. “The con wedding?”

“Yeah.” She bit her lip.

“Still banned from the social event of the semester,” I said sarcastically.

“It’s so dumb,” Kaylee said with a mouthful of ice cream. “You helped organize half of it and they’re still punishing you for something that’s barely scandalous.”

“Rules are rules,” I said with a shrug, though the bitterness in my voice betrayed me. “Delta Nu can survive without a mildly controversial first year sister.”

There was a long pause. A heavy silence fell over us, one filled with unspoken questions.

“Do you think he’ll try to talk to you?” Kaylee asked gently.

I shrugged. “Probably. But I don’t know if I want to hear it.”

Another silence.

“I mean, what if…” Mariel started cautiously, “What if he tries to apologize, would it change anything?”

I considered it.

Maybe.

Mariel reached for the remote. “Let’s pretend tomorrow doesn’t exist for just one more episode.”

“Make it one with Reid in a vest,” I said.

SATURDAY. 8:00 AM.

The alarm on my phone screamed like a dying robot. I smacked it off the nightstand and buried my face in the pillow for one more second of peace. One second before today’s absurd circus took over my life.

I rolled over, groggy and dry-eyed. Notifications lit up my phone like Times Square—several missed calls from him. I ignored them. No time for drama or apologies this morning. I had a checklist to bulldoze.

I threw on a faded sweater and my most forgiving jeans. No formalities if I was going to stay in my room all night.

As I shuffled into the kitchen, still damp from the fastest shower of my life, I found Georgina already standing at the counter like a soldier.

“Missy wants her matcha,” she explained before I could even ask.

“Don’t forget the weird fat free organic nut milk,” I muttered, opening my laptop. “She swears it will give her that Vampira waistline.”

Georgina snorted. “She says it curbs cortisol. I think she just likes saying ‘cortisol’ in public.”

I tuned her out and dove into the real work. Emails, confirmations, tracking numbers. The money for the charity deposit had come through. The books were scheduled for FedEx delivery.

One by one, I ticked off the boxes.

“Can you check if I get emails?,” I said, grabbing my phone. “I’m going to call the boys.”

Which, of course, meant call him.

I sighed hard and dialed Luigi’s number. He picked up immediately, his voice uncertain—like he wasn’t sure if I was calling to reconcile or report a crime.

“Hey,” he said cautiously. “I—”

“Hi, did you get the chairs, the booze, the tables, the fake rings, and your matching blazers?” I cut him off like a project manager on deadline.

There was a pause. “Yeah. Yeah, we got that.”

“And Missy’s bouquet?”

Another pause. A longer one. “Crap.”

They forgot.

“Perfect.” My voice was flat. “Bye.”

“Wait, I—”

Too late. Someone yanked the phone from my hand.

Missy.

Still in rollers and sipping her matcha like it was a martini, she leaned into the phone with a grin.

“Luigi Mangione, you better not be late this time,” she said in her chirpiest tone. “See you at the altar!”

Then she hung up and turned to me with that smile—the one that always meant she was about to insult me with designer precision.

“Nice jeans,” she said, with the subtle horror of someone witnessing a fashion crime.

“Thanks,” I deadpanned. “Where’s the actor officiant’s number? He’s the only one I haven’t confirmed.”

“He confirmed.” She rolled her eyes.

That was a red flag in bold italics, but I decided to pick my battles. No more drama for now.

12 PM

A few hours later, the pink altar was up and draped in enough chiffon. Cupids, candles, confetti—the full Vegas little chapel dream. The cake arrived. The snack catering team was halfway through setup. I had earned my nonexistent paycheck three times over.

And then, like a pack, the boys arrived with the tables and kegs. I guided them toward the patio, clipboard in hand, trying to suppress the growing tension in my stomach.

And that’s when I felt it.

The soft nudge of a flower against my arm.

I turned.

There he was. Luigi. Holding a single yellow rose.

“Missy clearly said pink,” I said without missing a beat.

“This isn’t hers.” He held it out gently.

I stared at the flower—slightly chilled from the florist fridge, petals curled like shy fists.

“I read that yellow roses are significant in Latin America,” he said while pulling his notes to read with a terrible accent. “Flo-ri-cien-ta, right? Is like your Cinderella”

‘Ella sabia que el sabia, que algun dia pasaria. Que el vendría a buscarla, con sus flores amarillas.’

(She knew, he knew, that one day it would happen. He would look for her, with her yellow flowers.)

He just hit me with nostalgia. Bastard. How am I supposed to stay mad?

“You’re a few months late,” I said flatly, not taking the flower. “And correction, ironically, it’s more like The Sound of Music.”

He hesitated. “Alright, I crossed a line. I know that. It’s just—sometimes I feel like you won’t let me in.”

“And my gut was right,” I said, turning to leave.

He followed and lightly grabbed my arm. “Are you seriously going to ignore me all night?”

I tensed at my seized arm. “Should be easy. I’m not allowed at the wedding.”

“What?” he pulled me closer.

“Yeah. Turns out, me going to your bachelor party compromised my membership in Delta Nu,” I said, voice sharp. “I’m suspended.”

His face dropped, stunned. But before he could respond—

“And you’re about to earn your second strike.”

Missy.

She appeared like a banshee in full glam: fake lashes, spray tan, and those big curls.

“You really are a full-time whore,”

Ya estuvo bueno. (I’ve had enough with you.)

I stepped toward her—but someone beat me to it.

“Missy stop, we’ve all had enough with your tantrums.” he confessed, holding onto his last straw of patience.

“Tantrums?!” her voice reached decibels only dogs could hear. “I’m protecting the image we need to portray.”

This bitch is crazy.

“Are you actually delusional enough to think this whole circus is real?” Luigi snapped. “I only agreed to do this because is my duty as president.”

Everyone froze. The air felt electric.

Missy blinked. “God! Can’t you see? Campus loves us. We’re perfect…”

And then… her voice faltered.

Her face turned pale, almost green. Her eyes lost focus.

“Are you okay?”

I stepped forward just as her body went limp. She blacked out in front of all of us. I caught her mid-collapse, her body shock-stiff and ice cold.

“Ayudame” I yelled. Luigi rushed to my side and grabbed her shoulders. (Help me)

We laid her on the couch as people swarmed like ants. Bella, Julia, all the sisters.

“Missy,” Bella said, gently tapping her face. “Can you hear me?”

She blinked slowly. “What… happened?”

“You fainted,” I said.

She blinked again, processed the situation, then gave me the dirtiest look she could muster.

“I’m fine,” she mumbled, trying to stand.

“You should get checked out,” Julia said, concerned.

“Shut up! I’m fine!” she barked.

“You really don’t look fine,” I said cautiously.

“I swear to God, if you keep talking—” she started to yell.

But then…Boom.

She threw up. Every-thing

Right on the white rug. Right in front of everyone.

“A la madre.” I took a step back. (Fucking hell)

A collective gasp rippled through the room. Kaylee squealed. Damien let out a chuckle.

“I’m taking you to the clinic,” Bella said, already grabbing her. “Julia, come on.”

I stood there, dazed, as they carried Missy like a dizzy pageant queen. The room buzzed in confusion and awkward murmurs.

“Well,” Mariel finally said, stepping beside me. “What now?”

I looked at her, then at the mess in front of me.

“We clean and… we wait,” I said, dusting invisible stress off my sleeves. “We’ll see if they call and say she can come back.”

“And if she doesn’t?” Luigi asked.

“No clue,” I said.

@nosebeers @mrs-cactus69 @iinfinitelimits

hi i’m Vaz, this was just a product of my active imagination, free time and the need for a better outcome. Hope u enjoy xxx

The day has come. The whole wedding shenanigans will be a thing on its own instead of a chapter. But obviously will be the next part.

I kinda went overboard with context, so it got long.

[xvazx]

VAZ!! When do u post? Or is it just random?😭

I love ur fic omg that last part lowk hurt good😶 (unless its just me that craves arguing w him😭)

Take caree<3

Hiii 💋

I try to post every week. However, sometimes my work schedule gets in the way. That’s why I don’t set a posting day. I wouldn’t like to disappoint you darlings

This week’s is almost done. Sorry for the delay.

And I was also craving a fight between these two. I just had to find the breaking point 😉

[xvazx]

The Beauty of Our Chaos

Part 10 - Breaking Point

Prev. Part / Next Part

I woke up with the dull flicker of TV light slapping me right in the face. My head throbbed like a bad drum solo.

Migraine. Fuck. I needed my pills.

I groaned, lifted my head, and blinked around the room. Definitely not the couch in the living room.

I was lying on a scratchy carpet in front of a pool table, wrapped in a stinky blanket that smelled like God knows what.

I peeked around—bra on the pool table. The rest of my clothes draped haphazardly on the floor, near one of the legs.

Oh. I remember.

I sat up fully and I felt a soreness in a place that hasn’t been ‘trained’ in a long time. “Ow”

That was enough proof to confirm that last night was real. Yup. Definitely not a dream.

As quietly as possible, I moved out of the blanket and began the slow, silent operation of reassembling my dignity, one article of clothing at a time. I had just pulled my shirt over my head, ready to stand up and look for my bottom clothes, when a low familiar voice came from behind me.

“You’re running away again?”

I turned. Luigi was propped up on his elbow on the blanket, his curls were a glorious mess, his voice still sleepy.

I flushed. “Would you believe me if I said I was getting breakfast?”

“You don’t like breakfast.”

I froze. “How…?”

“You barely eat in the morning,” he shrugged. “You inhale coffee like it’s oxygen, then don’t eat properly until noon. I don’t know how you survive.”

“Stalker much?” I teased, trying to sound nonchalant while my heartbeat started tap-dancing in my chest.

I moved back to him, arms crossed, partly from nerves and partly to keep myself from crawling back under that blanket.

“I should wake the others and get us back to the house,” I said, motioning to the door.

But he reached for my shirt, and gently tugged me closer until I was again laying next to him.

“Stay a little,” he said, his voice soft.

He kissed my cheek, and left a kiss trail all the way to my lips.

“You can’t do that…” I sighed. “You’re taking advantage of my weakness.”

“I’m finishing what started in Halloween” he murmured, lips brushing my neck. “Do you know how hard it was to see you in class with your tight fitted jeans?…Stonehenge.”

Trouble Trouble.

I looked down and saw the time on his watch.

Crap.

“I—I gotta go,” I said, my voice coming out rushed. “My phone’s in the living room and my alarm is about to go off and I’m half dressed—”

“Alright.” He released me, sitting back with a slow exhale. “But…”

He glanced at me, almost shy. “Do you wanna go out later today?”

I blinked. “What?”

He laughed a little. “You. Me.”

“Oh.” I blinked again. “I think I just had a stroke.”

He smirked. “Is this a language barrier?”

“Definitely a me barrier.” I grinned. “So, you want to go on a date with me?”

“Yes.” he said bluntly.

“Why?”

He tilted his head. “Because I want to?”

“Unless you don’t want to,” he added quickly, voice dipping with uncertainty.

“No—I mean—no, not no, like yes. I mean yes.”

A full moment of awkward silence.

“No one’s ever asked me out before,” I admitted, cheeks burning. “I guess I don’t know how to answer.”

“Maybe you didn’t let them,” he said with a smirk. “First time for everything.”

“Cool,” I said, even though nothing about this was cool and my heart was punching my ribs like it owed it money.

“So, today. 7 p.m.?”

“Great.” I nodded, too fast.

We finished getting dressed as quietly as we could. I paused at the door, turned to him.

“See ya.”

I’m screwed.

…

By the time I got back to the living room, Georgina was awake, and looking glad to see me.

“Hi,” I whispered.

“I think we should change and get going,” she said calmly, like she hadn’t already pieced everything together with FBI precision.

“Agreed,” I said, avoiding her eyes.

I woke the girls with soft nudges and threats of water tossing.

“Fine,” Mariel grumbled, rubbing her eyes.

Kaylee zombie-walked to the bathroom in borrowed basketball shorts and a shirt that read PKS Till I Die.

Once we were all dressed back in our own clothes, I folded the borrowed outfits and stacked them neatly in the gym bag. I stuck a note inside:

‘Bros for life – Max, Kyle, George & (Y/N Boy Version)’

We left the house like war survivors—hair messy, heels in hand, dignity somewhere in a frat gaming room.

The block was hell. The sun was too bright, the birds were too loud, and every step was a reminder of our sins.

Finally, fucking finally, we reached our house.

We opened the front door with the stealth of a SWAT team. Each of us tiptoed toward our rooms.

Mariel and I waved goodbye to Kaylee and Georgina like soldiers heading to their separate barracks.

My bed, my pillows and some peace. Or so I thought.

My phone buzzed.

🤓Luigicito🤓

Colosseum or Trevi Fountain?

I’m not Google, Nene. (Little boy)

Just choose, Bambina.(Girl)

La Fontana di Trevi.

Grazie. (Thanks)

What have I gotten myself into?

Then, another text—my dad’s usual early morning message.

🎸Pa🎸

Buenos días mi niña, espero tengas un muy buen dia. Sigue estudiando duro para llegar muy lejos. Cuídate, no hagas nada que yo no haria🤘🏻

(Good morning my little girl, I hope you have a good day. Keep studying hard to reach you goals. Take care, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.)

If he only knew.

I texted him back something cheerful and innocent, then locked my phone.

Now sleep. For real. Or… at least try.

SENTENCE

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Mariel groaned from her bed, burying her face into the pillow. I pulled mine over my head, but the knocking didn’t stop.

“Door,” she mumbled.

“Please kill me,” I whispered.

I dragged myself to my feet, half-hoping it was a ghost.

It wasn’t.

It was Missy. In her yellow yoga outfit, standing with the poise of a Supreme Court judge and the expression of someone who just found a cockroach in her diet kombucha.

“You must be thrilled, Sofía Vergara,” she said, crossing her arms. “Your little stunt last night might just get you and your friends kicked out.”

My brain booted slowly. “Wait… what?”

She stepped into the doorway like she owned the oxygen. “Let me be more clear—what you did affected Delta Nu’s reputation. And unless I’m mistaken, you girls took an oath to protect it.”

Crap.

She was right. Technically.

I stood there silently, trying to hide the panic behind my deadpan face.

“Bella wants to see you three,” she said with a fake smile. “And take Georgina too.”

She pointed down the hall to Georgina’s room—her door was cracked, and I saw a flash of movement as she ducked out of sight.

We were so screwed.

I closed the door and texted Kaylee. Then I woke Mariel up with a gentle tap followed by a less gentle pull of her blanket.

“What now?” she muttered.

I gave her the news.

The demon queen of Delta Nu has decreed it. She says Monday 8 am I’ll be deleted.

We met outside Georgina’s room, all of us looking like we ready to be cursed for life.

Georgina’s eyes were watery. “I should’ve stopped you guys. I knew something like this would happen. It’s my fault.”

“No,” I said. “If anything, I dragged you into it.”

“Bye-bye social life…” Kaylee whispered like she was at her own funeral.

We walked down the hallway toward the house mother’s office. Bella sat behind the long table with her hands folded. Julia, the VP, sat to her left, looking mostly neutral. Missy stood with a big grin.

“Sit,” Bella said, calm but stern.

We obeyed.

“I’m disappointed,” Bella began. “What happened last night crossed a line.”

She gave a full speech. Elegant, disappointed, diplomatic—like we had betrayed her and the entire legacy of Delta Nu.

Then Missy took the floor, dramatically laying out our sins like a prosecutor with too much screen time.

Missy ended with: “I think the only option is expulsion for… conspiracy.”

I stood up from the couch.

“Okay,” I said, lifting my chin. “I turned the switch off. I’m the mastermind. Mariel and Kaylee were pressured by me. And I, um, sorta kidnapped Georgina. So punish me. They don’t deserve it.”

“Smart girl,” Missy said with a smirk.

Bella looked at each of us, then back at Missy.

“I think the best idea,” Bella said calmly, “would be to cancel the fundraiser and return the money.”

Missy’s head nearly exploded.

“What the hell, Bella?!”

“A review from the board for four girls could take over a week,” Bella explained coolly. “The event is in two days. Since two of the girls involved are key organizers, the event is now compromised.”

Julia blinked. “Also, doesn’t she have a big role in organizing?” She pointed at me.

Missy snapped. “Oh my God, Julia—whose side are you on?!”

Bella rubbed her temple like this had already been the longest day of her life.

“We should discuss this,” she finally said. “Would you excuse us for a minute, girls?”

We filed out in silence. My stomach twisted into little sailor’s knots.

“I’m sorry,” I told them.

“We’re in this together,” Mariel said, grabbing my hand. “You leave, I leave.”

Kaylee nodded. “Two years playing dolls was enough. We can just rent a place, and live of cup noodles.”

Georgina wiped under her eye. “Even if Bella and Julia are against expulsion, Missy always gets her way.”

We waited. For what felt like forever.

Then Julia peeked out. “You can come back in.”

We entered. Missy had a blank visage I couldn’t decipher.

Bella cleared her throat. “We’ve talked. We’ve taken into account your dedication, contributions, and the context of the situation.”

Julia gave us a nod of encouragement.

“We believe that while this was inappropriate… it’s not enough to justify removal from Delta Nu.”

Relief.

“Mariel and Kaylee, you’re free to go,” Julia added with a small smile.

“Now…” Missy chimed in, already revving up. “Spice Girl and Backstabber.”

“Melissa,” Bella warned.

“You two will stay,” Missy said sharply, “but this is your first official strike. You’ll still complete your duties for the event, but you are suspended from attending the wedding.”

“Fair,” I said louder. “Thank you for the second chance.”

I helped Georgina up and steered her out with me. Once in the hallway, I turned to her.

“I can talk to them again. You shouldn’t be punished—”

“Don’t,” she cut me off. “It’s fine. Honestly? I had more fun last night than I’ve had in months.”

“I—”

“And you were there for me when I was falling apart. So maybe you’re not as unlikeable as you think you are.”

She walked off before I could respond.

I stood there for a moment, stunned.

Then I headed back to the room. Kaylee, Mariel, and even Georgina were sitting on my bed like judges waiting for a verdict.

“Just suspended from the big wedding.”

They all let out a collective groan.

“Not too bad. I hated it anyway,” I lied with a shrug.

Mariel narrowed her eyes. “You’re hiding something.”

I bit my lip. “Also… I think I agreed to go on a date with Mr. Jonas”

“Finally!” Kaylee shouted, flopping back onto her bed like she’d just won a reality show.

“What are you waiting for?” Mariel said, already opening my closet. “We need an outfit. No, the outfit.”

“Exactly,” she replied. “That’s barely enough time to turn you from ‘suspended sorority girl’ to ‘love goddess.’”

“You are gonna make me vomit.” I fake gagged.

“Okay, okay,” Mariel lifted his hands up defeated. “But you’ll look great.”

I was ready. Nervous, irritated, overthinking — but ready.

The girls were with me in the common room, trying to be my glam squad-slash-emotional support team as we waited for Luigi to show up. Despite the makeup and perfume, I couldn’t shake the tension crawling under my skin. My head still buzzed from the fallout earlier. I hated that my decisions had affected the others.

When the knock came, I nearly jumped.

Mariel peeked through the peephole and turned back with a nod. “Romeo’s here.”

Kaylee spritzed me one last time with perfume. “Don’t overthink tonight. Just have fun.”

“Way too much fun,” Mariel added with a wink, handing me my jacket.

I opened the door — and there he was.

Luigi stood there holding a bouquet of flowers — sunflowers and deep red tulips wrapped in brown paper. He smiled, looking clean-cut as usual.

“Hey,” he said, eyes scanning me. “You look… wow.”

He handed me the bouquet, and I blinked at it like it was a live grenade.

“Everything okay?” he asked. “Please tell me you’re not allergic.”

“No, no, they’re great,” I said quickly, trying to act like a normal human being. “I just… I’m not sure if I should go back inside and put them in water or take them with us?”

He chuckled, clearly amused by my awkward flower dilemma. “Good question. I’m not sure.”

The door creaked open behind me.

“You two are unbelievable,” Kaylee groaned.

She grabbed the bouquet from my hands. “They’ll be watered and perfectly placed on her desk, don’t worry.”

“Perfect,” Luigi said with a grateful smile.

“Thank you,” I said, genuinely touched by both of them.

And just like that, we left.

DATE

He took me to a little 1950s-style diner a few blocks off campus — red leather booths, chrome stools, and a jukebox that looked like it could still play a Beach Boys record.

“This is so Grease,” I said, sliding into the booth. I pointed to the jukebox at our table. “So cool.”

He exhaled like I just lifted a weight off his chest. “I wasn’t sure if you’d think it was cheesy.”

“Not at all, fun fact,” I said, picking up the laminated menu. “I practiced English watching movies with closed captions. I know Grease from start to finish.”

“That explains the attitude,” he joked.

I smirked.

The waitress came by. He ordered a full salad and fries. I got a club sandwich— no tomato, no onion.

“You’re a picky eater,” he teased.

I frowned slightly. “Yeah… I’m better now, though. I was impossible when I was a child.”

He picked up on my mood shift and pivoted smoothly.

“I brought something,” he said, reaching into his backpack.

He pulled out a small box with tiny bags and a fold-out instruction booklet.

Legos.

Specifically, a build set of the Trevi Fountain.

“I thought we could start on the smaller pieces while we wait,” he offered. “I mean, you’re in STEM. There’s gotta be some hidden nerd energy in there.”

I opened one of the tiny bags. “You’re correct. I love Legos.”

As we started sorting pieces, the food came. I took bites of my sandwich while he launched into a story about childhood summers in Baltimore, building tree forts and fighting with his cousins over the last Capri Sun.

Then… he turned the conversation toward me.

“So what about you?” he asked.

I blinked. “What about me?”

“I know you’re from Mexico, and you’re an only child, but you never really talk about your life.”

I’d known this would come eventually. I just didn’t expect it now.

“I was born in a major city,” I started, carefully. “My parents had me when they were really young. Eventually, they divorced.”

He nodded, waiting. “And…?”

“And what?” I tried to play it off with a shrug.

“That’s surface level. I mean… who are they? What do they do? How did you end up going to a private Catholic school in the States?”

There was a pause. One that stretched too long.

“Why are you asking that?” I asked, squinting slightly. Something about the question—it didn’t feel curious. It felt loaded.

He hesitated. “It’s just… people talk.”

“People?” My tone went colder.

“There’s this theory,” he said, as if it were funny. “That your family’s involved in something shady. Like, illegal-business level shady. Some say you’re here under witness protection or something.”

I froze.

¿Que pedo? (What the hell?)

“You believe that?” I asked, voice tightening.

“Not really,” he said, raising his hands. “That’s why I’m getting to know you.”

“Do you think that’s the only way I could’ve gotten here?” I pushed.

“No! I mean… there are other ways. More common ways.”

“Like being undocumented?” I said flatly, watching his face. “And would that be so bad?”

“Well… that’s not exactly legal,” he said carefully. “Immigration is out of control these days.”

I stared at him.

“Would you say the same about your grandparents?” I asked, eyes narrowing.

That hit. He stiffened. “Hey—this isn’t about them.”

“Why not? Similar story, same dream. Just different acceptance, different ‘narrative.’” I leaned forward. “Ok maybe we have cartels, but who reinstalled the Mafia here.”

“So now we’re the bad guy?” he snapped.

Fine.

“I think I should go,” I said abruptly, standing and grabbing my purse. “Gracias por nada.” (Thanks for nothing.)

“What? No—hey, you can’t just walk back to campus.”

“I’ll Uber.” I threw a twenty on the table.

“Wait—,” he said, voice rising as I started walking.

I made it out of the diner and onto the curb before the adrenaline started to wear off. I tapped for an Uber and leaned against a light post, still trying to wrap my head around it.

The date started with flowers and ended with… that.

He’d peeled me open like a puzzle, only to try and solve me with rumors.

…

By the time I made it back to the house, my food sat like a rock in my stomach. The flowers were perfectly arranged on my desk — Kaylee had even added a sticky note that read

“Luigi and (Y/N) sittin on a tree...”

I peeled it off and tossed it into the trash.

“F-E-U-D-I-N-G”

Then I silenced my phone, crawled under the blankets fully dressed, and let myself be mad.

At him.

At myself.

At the fact that it still felt disappointing even when I knew this could happen.

What a day.

What else could I fuck up?

@nosebeers @mrs-cactus69

hi i’m Vaz, this was just a product of my active imagination, free time and the need for a better outcome. Hope u enjoy xxx

The ‘wedding day’ is closer but we got our first fight. 🥺

A change of pace.

[xvazx]

I’m nicer now and announcing that the chapter will be up in a few minutes. 🤣🤣🤣

Is it as intense? No

But I do feel bad for posting last chapter early in the morning? A lil hahah

[xvazx]

Hi vazzzz hope you’re doing okay!!! How’s the healing??

Hiii, so far just swollen but so far so good.

I’m back at work… 😏😒

And my nose already looks so much better.

[xvazx]

The pics you choose for your chapters always for the vibe perfectly and the girls are so pretty!!

Thanks babes ☺️ thank u for noticing.

The pics are the hardest part for me. I dig deep in Pinterest or blogs.

[xvazx]

okay I haven’t ready it yet, I just skimmed - but uploading THE chapter midday with no warning is diabolicalllll I love you😭😭😭

Hiii, I’m sorry haha

The plan was to do it yesterday… well I failed.

So I turned into an early bird.

[xvazx]

The Beauty of Our Chaos

Part 9.2 - Lap Dance

Prev. Part / Next Part

WARNING: suggestive and explicit content ahead. (18+ mdni)

The car was waiting. Mariel and Kaylee waved us in like we were jumping into a getaway car. I shoved Georgina in first and dove in after her. We slammed the doors shut.

“We made it,” I grinned.

“What is going on?” Georgina asked, breathless.

“We’re going undercover,” I declared. “Tell me you have the clothes.”

“A few options. Hope you like smelling like Axe and gym socks.”

We pulled into the Velvet Room parking lot right as the other frat boys parked beside us. Luigi and Damien popped the trunk like we were planning a heist instead of sneaking into a strip club. Inside was a gym bag.

“Time to change,” Mariel said, holding up a hoodie and sweatpants.

“Wait—here?” Georgina asked, scandalized.

“We’ll cover the windows,” I said, pulling down the visors. “And no one’s gonna peek, right boys?”

The boys held up their hands like we were swearing them into court. “Scouts honor.”

We turned the car into a makeshift dressing room, swapping dresses for oversized jeans, beanies, sneakers, and enough layers to kill any shape of femininity.

I shoved my hair into a snapback and took off some makeup with some wipes.

When we were all dressed, Kaylee shouted, “We’re ready!”

Mariel slung an arm around her. “Yo, I’m Max. This is Kyle.”

“Sup,” I added with a nod. “This is my boy George. He’s shy.”

Georgina adjusted her beanie and sighed. “Missy must be freaking out.”

I mimed someone choking me, then giggled.

Luigi looked at us with disbelief and awe. “This is either genius or a complete disaster.”

Damien took the lead, clapping his hands. “Alright, ladies… I mean lads. We’re gonna walk in like you belong. I’ll do the talking. Be cool.”

“Is this a strip club?” Georgina whispered again, pale.

“Don’t worry, we’ll protect you,” Mark said.

“From naked girls?” I deadpanned.

“They are death to me,” Damien whispered like it was sacred.

We formed a makeshift human wall with the frat boys surrounding us as we approached the entrance. Damien did the talking while Luigi flashed their reservation code.

The bouncer looked at us. For a moment, I was certain he knew. Then—

“Have a good night,” he said, stepping aside.

We were in.

We made it.

He caught my eye from across the hall they led us to. He looked impressed. I adjusted my cap and winked.

We slid into a booth, ordered drinks, and tried not to look like a group of girl scouts on an undercover mission.

Luigi sat beside me, arm resting across the booth in casual mode.

“You good, (Y/N Boy Version, or any boy name close to it)?” he asked ironically.

“Just chillin bro,” I said, grinning.

Across the table, Georgina was now giggling with Damien and Kaylee.

Who cares about what Missy would say once she finds out.

The air was heavy with the scent of coconut oil, the bass throbbed through our chests, and the girls stared wide-eyed at the dancers.

The server delivered our drinks—strong, syrupy cocktails in plastic cups—and the boys unzipped bulging wallets. I patted my pockets. “Crap, I forgot mine.”

Someone slid me a stack of bills without a second thought. I shook my head. “This is for the fake groom.”

“I don’t mind,” he said, settling next to me. “Have fun.”

I glanced back at him. “You should be having fun too.”

“Watching you play frat bro is enough” He smirked.

The main host climbed the stairs to the stage, introduced the first dancer, and suddenly the show was on. The dancers tumbled, spun, and writhed to roaring cheers. Georgina was equal parts mortified and mesmerized; Mark and Damien howled encouragement like a pair of excited wolves.

Kaylee and Mariel—my undercover “bros”—hooted at every move. Even I couldn’t help but grin at the absurdity.

A girl introduced as Mirabella took the stage, draped across the pole like a majestic panther, we all agreed: she was the best so far. Damien fished out a wad of singles. “Let’s invite her over.”

Moments later, Mirabella slid off the stage and onto our table’s pole, swinging with effortless grace. I leaned forward, snapping dollar bills onto the platform.

“Her core strength must be insane,” I said to Luigi, pointing towards my abs.

He watched me, eyes bright. “Bet.”

Mirabella spun upside down and teased us: “You four are breaking the rules,” pointing at the girls in baggy clothes and caps.

“Don’t know what you mean, shawty,” Kaylee drawled in her best man-voice.

Mirabella laughed. “You’re sweet honey. But my boss could kick you out if he notices.”

Damien waved his bills. “What if we book a private room?”

She nodded. “Works for me.”

💋Private Rooms💋

We followed her up a narrow spiral staircase to a velvet-draped room: a single pole bathed in red light, a low couch, and speakers bumping deep house.

Mirabella started connecting her dance playlist. “First time girls dress as men to get in,” she observed. “Usually you girls hate this.”

“We come in peace,” I said, tossing my cap onto the table.

“It’s cute,” she said, eyeing me and Luigi. “That your boyfriend includes you.”

“Pff” I blinked. “I… we… no…we’re not together.”

“Situationship?” she queried as she started spinning again on the pole.

“She’s his mistress,” Damien quipped, and the rest of the party cracked up.

“Bro”

Mirabella shook her head. “Aren’t you kiddos like ten?”

“Eleven actually,” Luigi answered back. “And what they mean is I’m pretending to get married for a charity thing.”

We explained the fake wedding fundraiser. She raised an eyebrow. “Fucking bananas.”

“So stupid,” we declared in perfect unison—jinx!

I continued admiring her acrobatics skills.

She notice and I tried to break the ice. “If we pay you, could you teach us how to do that?”

She grinned. “Sure babes.”

The next ten minutes were filled with failed spins and giggles. Mariel nearly face-planted. Kaylee nailed a basic spin. Georgina tried and succeeded, her eyes shining with triumph.

Damien—of all people—whipped into a perfect chair-spin. Impressive

Then it was my turn.

My Converse sank into the floor, my hands gripped the pole, and then I twirled and went down the pole. This is what happens when you grow up listening to The Pussycat Dolls.

Mirabella clapped. “Don’t come for my clients or I’ll kill ya.”

Mark cleared his throat. “Groom’s too quiet. Bro, light up!”

Luigi shrugged. “I’m entertained.” He turned to me. “You guys are making me laugh.”

“Want a lap dance pretty boy?” Mirabella suggested seductively but Luigi politely refused.

“With all due respect.”

Mirabella’s eyes flicked to me. “Or maybe you don’t want it from me.”

The room exploded in whistles and laughter.

“Nooo,” I squeaked.

“Go on, chica,” Damien urged.

“I didn’t meant that,” Luigi defended, chest puffing.

“I got an idea.” Mirabella leaned in my ear with a wicked grin and whispered her next idea—a hilarious twist on a lap-dance.

I hesitated, then grinned. “Alright.”

I grabbed a chair and placed it front center. I looked at him and patted the cushion, motioning him to come sit. His face was priceless—half flustered, half thrilled.

“Be nice,” he warned, grabbing my hand.

I’ll be so good, dude.

The Pink Panther theme burst from the speakers. Everyone hooted. I struck a pose and put my cap back on… then, in a heartbeat, Mirabella switched it to “Pony” by Ginuwine.

I was again fully characterized as my frat boy version. Ready to pull my best Magic Mike impression and exude my best BDE.

Thirty seconds later, I was leaning over him, hips rolling, energy alive with bass drops. He was bright red. The crowd went wild, hurling dollars like confetti.

When the song faded, I almost slip off his lap—Luigi catching me with a gentle hand—and flashed him a triumphant grin.

Whoops

“Thanks,” I whispered.

“Anytime,” he replied.

…

We gathered Mirabella’s tips and thanked her for the night before she walked back to the dressing room backstage. I high-fived my undercover crew, and slipped out. The cold night air hit our flushed faces.

We were all ready to head out. The rest of the frat boys left in their cars with their respective designated drivers.

Georgina, sober and surprisingly steady, drove us back. Mariel and Kaylee passed out, soft snores blending with the engine. Damien hummed a song as Kaylee was long gone on his lap.

Luigi and I sat side by side in the back. Mariel curled up on me, snoozing like a baby. I nudged his side. “Did you have fun?”

He smiled back at me. “Yeah. You killed it.”

“Anytime,” I replied.

We pulled up to Phi Kappa Psi house. Georgina and I made a plan to all stay until morning, then sneak back into Delta Nu. The boys gave us blankets and pillows, offering us the living-room couch.

After a few minutes of insomnia from the adrenaline, I tiptoed to the bathroom. Of course I had to pee at 4 am.

I did my business, washed my hands and headed back to the couch.

In the dark hallway, I felt hands on my waist. Ah! Stranger Danger!

My reflex made me elbow the torso that accompanied the pair of hands.

“Ouch,” he whispered.

“What the hell, Luigi? It’s a house full of men.”

He laughed quietly. “Sorry. Fuck, I think you punctured my lung.”

I shrugged, heart pounding. “It’ll pass.”

“Can’t sleep?" he asked. I shook my head, my heart skipping a beat at the way his eyes roamed over me. "Me neither. Wanna go somewhere quieter?"

I hesitated for just a moment before following him down the hall to the game room. It was dimly lit, the glow of a forgotten TV casting shadows across the pool table and the scattered game consoles. We leaned against the pool table, chatting about the night—about the undercover mission, the private room.

“Crazy night, huh?” he said, lightly pulling the sleeve of my oversized shirt. His hand brushed against arm, and I felt a shiver run down my spine.

“Yeah,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t believe some of the stuff that went down.”

He laughed softly, and the sound made my stomach flip. “You looked like you were having fun up there on the pole,” he said.

I felt my cheeks flush. “I was,” I admitted.

But the conversation was just a cover, a way to fill the space between us until we couldn’t ignore the tension any longer.

It was Luigi who broke first.

He moved closer, his body almost touching mine. “I’m glad you came along,” he said, his voice low and husky.

One minute we were laughing, and the next his hand was on my knee, his fingers tracing small circles that sent shivers up my spine. I turned to him, our faces inches apart, and I could see the hunger in the way his jaw tightened as if he was holding himself back.

My breath caught in my throat. I knew what was coming, but I didn’t pull away. Instead, I tilted my head up, meeting his gaze. His eyes were dark, intense, and I could feel the heat radiating off him. He leaned in slowly, giving me plenty of time to back away, but I didn’t. Our lips met, and it was like the world stopped spinning.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as if we were both testing the waters. But then his hands were on my waist, pulling me closer, and everything else faded away. His lips were warm, his tongue teasing mine, and I could feel the heat building between us. My hands found their way to his chest, feeling the hard muscles beneath his shirt.

Things escalated quickly after that. His hands were everywhere—my back, my waist, my hair—and I couldn’t get enough.

I could feel the evidence of his arousal against my thigh. My hands fumbled with the elastic of his joggers making him groan into my mouth. I dropped to my knees in front of him, my hands trembling as I freed him. “I guess your bachelor party isn’t over.”

He looked down, his breath was ragged. "You’re driving me crazy," he whispered, his voice rough.

Now, here we were, his hand still guiding my head as I took him deeper, my tongue working in ways that made his hips jerk and his breath catch. "Fuck (Y/N)," he whispered, his fingers tightening in my hair. "You’re so fucking good at this." His words sent a thrill through me, a rush of pride and arousal that made me want to push him even further.

I could feel him shaking, could hear the way his breathing grew more erratic, and I knew he was close. "Don’t stop," he begged, his voice barely above a whisper. "Just like that, baby. Just like that."

I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. Not when he was looking at me like that, his eyes locked on mine, his face twisted in pleasure. He came with a low groan, his hand clenching in my hair as his body tensed. I took everything, swallowing it all as he shuddered above me.

For a second, we just stayed there, the only sound our heavy breathing and the distant noise of the house. Then he pulled me up, his lips crashing into mine in a kiss that was as hungry as it was thankful. "Thanks," he murmured against my lips, his hands roaming my body as if he couldn’t get enough of me.

I smiled, my heart still racing, and glanced down at the pool table. "We’re going to need to clean this up," I whispered, my voice teasing. Luigi chuckled, his hands slipping under my clothes as he leaned in close. "Later," he promised, his lips grazing my neck. "Right now, I’m not done with you."

I nodded, unable to form words. Now I was the one leaning over the table as he slid the pair of basketball shorts down, making them fall on my ankles. Shortly, my shirt followed, leaving me only with my undergarments.

My hands gripped the edge of the pool table as I tried to keep quiet, but it was hard. So hard.

His hand hooked on my panties, and he hesitated, his eyes searching mine for permission. I nodded, and he slipped them off, leaving me exposed. His lips trailed down my neck, my chest, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. When his fingers reached my core, I bit my lip to stifle a moan.

“Ah…,” I gasped, my voice barely audible, as he pressed himself against me, the weight of his body pinning me against the table.

He steps back to shed the rest of his clothes. The sight of him took my breath away—his goddamned toned body.

Dios. (Oh God)

“Wait.. got any…?” I stopped myself.

Be safe kids.

He got back to reality for a second. “Right.”

Swiftly he moved to the closest stand and stuck his hand on a vase, pulling out a metallic packet.

“Yeez…” I whispered still amused. “Inside a vase?”

He carefully opened it and put it on. “You never know.”

“Points for precaution.”

“Alright.” He was ready.

I looked down, well done. “Should be fine.”

Is it happening?

He positioned himself between my legs, his tip brushing against me, teasing.

"Sure?" he asked, his voice thick with need.

"Si," I replied, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me. (Yes)

He better learn Spanish after this.

He entered me slowly, giving me time to adjust to his size. The feeling was overwhelming, a perfect mix of pleasure and pain. I clung to him, my nails digging into his back as he began to move, each thrust sending shockwaves through my body.

We moved together, our rhythm frantic, desperate. His lips found mine again, silencing the moans that threatened to escape. The pool table creaked beneath us, the sound almost drowned out by the pounding of my heart.

His hands moved to my breasts, kneading and pinching, and I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out.

“You..feel…so…good,” he murmured, his voice rough and strained.

“Ditto,” I cried.

He reached up, pulling me from the nape of my head. Our tongues tangling as our bodies moved in perfect harmony. I could feel the tension building, the pleasure growing with each thrust.

“Fuck, I’m close,” he gasped, his hands tightening on my hips.

“Me too,” I whispered, my voice trembling.

He thrust up into me, harder and faster, and I could feel the orgasm building, threatening to overtake me. And then it did, crashing over me in waves of pleasure. He groaned, his hips jerking as he came inside the condom.

We stayed like that for a moment, both of us breathing heavily, trying to catch our breath. Finally, he pulled me down, pecking my lips.

“That was…” he started.

“Yupp,” I whispered against his lips.

Now what?

@nosebeers @mrs-cactus69

hi i’m Vaz, this was just a product of my active imagination, free time and the need for a better outcome. Hope u enjoy xxx

Someone turn the A.C on.

👁️🫦👁️

[xvazx]

The Beauty of Our Chaos

Part 9.1 - Princess Tea Party

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The fake wedding was creeping up like a final destination jumpscare—but with flower arrangements. In the meantime, my “thing” with Luigi had turned into a game of tension. It was in the way we held each other’s gaze for too long. The way his hand would brush my thigh “accidentally” in class. The way I’d pull on his curls just to get his attention, and how he’d always show up with my favorite overpriced iced coffee before class.

It is was a flirty, slow-burn, torturous situation that made you question your own sanity.

We were holed up in the library, working on a new project—fixing glitches in a simple video game. I was knee-deep in code that refused to cooperate, while Luigi, across from me, breezed through his like it was child’s play.

“Need some help?” he asked, glancing at my screen and clearly holding back a grin.

I sighed and cracked my neck. “I think I got it.”

After a pause, he added, “If I could do this for a living, I would. Helping in development. Something I can lose myself in and still be useful— it wouldn’t feel like work, y’know?”

I glanced up and saw it—this rare moment where he looked truly happy. Focused. Lit from within. The kind of look that made your heart stutter for a second too long.

“Yeah.”

“You have a favorite game?” he asked, tone lighter now.

“Um, Just Dance.” I shrugged.

He tried not to laugh, but failed. “C’mon”

“What? I’m really good,” I said defensively. “Alright… maybe… Until Dawn. I used to watch gameplays.”

He perked up. “Okay, that’s a good answer.”

“I never really played that much,” I admitted. “Gaming stressed me out. Actually, I broke my DS in a fit of rage while playing Super Mario, goodbye to consoles. And my PC was strictly for homework.”

“Tragic.” He chuckled and leaned back, arms crossed. “So… do you know what you want to do after all this?”

I smirked. “Probably hack the Pentagon.” (i’m joking fbi)

He rolled his eyes. “Of course you will.”

“Ok. Fake answer: IT for the family business,” I said, growing a little more serious. “Real answer? I’d love to be like Benji Dunn or Penelope Garcia. You know, tech-analysts for something reckoning.”

He stared at me. I waited for a smirk or a sarcastic “good luck” or something condescending.

Instead, he said, soft and sure: “Well, any organization would be lucky to have you.”

The compliment knocked the air out of my lungs. I tried to play it cool, but I felt my cheeks warm. Gross.

Before either of us could say something deeply regrettable, Damien’s voice echoed from behind the bookshelf.

“I’m here. You two better be dressed.”

We looked up to see him strutting in like he owned the place. After weeks, his foot was fully healed.

“We thought you bailed.”

“Almost did,” Damien said, sitting down with his usual grin. “Fell asleep in my last class, but I brought snacks.”

He dumped a plastic bag onto the table like it was treasure.

“¿Te he dicho cuanto te quiero?” I asked dramatically, snatching the Cool Ranch Doritos like a raccoon. (Have I told you how much you mean to me?)

“Esta es la biblioteca,” he replied in mock confusion, making a show of not understanding my Spanish. (This is the library.)

I was just finishing up when my phone buzzed.

💅🏻Georgina💅🏻

‘Are you with Luigi?’

‘Why?’

‘Missy is gonna call him at any minute🫣’

I groaned. “We’re in trouble.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What kind?”

Right on cue, Luigj’s phone buzzed. He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose like he was bracing for battle.

“Hello… yeah, I remember. I’ll be there after finishing Professor Levy’s project… okay, I’ll tell her. Yup. Bye.”

He hung up and turned to me with a weary look.

“Oh no…you’ll die in 7 days?” Damien covered his mouth pretending to cry.

“We’re late for her fancy dinner with the foundation president. No party—just overcooked chicken and uncomfortable small talk.” I explained as I saved my project file and closed my laptop.

We packed up and started heading out.

“Dinner?” Damien said, horrified. “At least you girls are getting some action, right?”

“Nope.”

Damien shook his head. “That is… shitty. You should crash Linguini’s fake bachelor party. We’re doing it old school…strip club”

Classic

“It does sounds better than a princess tea party,” I joked, adjusting my bag.

Damien held the door open like a gentleman. “We can squeeze you in.”

When the boys dropped me off at the Delta Nu porch, inside, I peeled off my jacket and headed toward the kitchen, “So… the guys are going to a strip club. Meanwhile, Missy’s trying to turn this Greek Life fundraiser into a full-on Royal Wedding.”

I followed Kaylee voice. “We have high GPAs, we deserve some chaos.”

“I need this to be over so I can actually study for finals,” I muttered, undoing my ponytail.

“No,” Mariel said, giving me a once-over like she was diagnosing something terminal. “You need to get laid.”

“Projecting much?”

“You’ve been spending an awful lot of time with certain someone,” Kaylee teased. “At this point, you’re secretly dating.”

“When did socializing turned into a synonym for dating?” I asked, genuinely annoyed—but even I didn’t believe my own defense.

Mariel raised an eyebrow. “Since you made out in front of the whole college alumni. Or maybe after you two disappeared at the Halloween party?”

Check mate.

“You two watch too many rom-coms” I said.

Both of them stared at me like they didn’t buy it for a second.

TEA TIME

Thirty minutes later and I was dressed in a tailored blazer and shorts set, with sky-high heels that screamed I meant business. Or at least dinner diplomacy. I headed downstairs to help Georgina set the dinner table and wait for the president of Once Upon a Dream Foundation

At 6:30 pm sharp, the Phi Kappa Psi boys started to arrive one by one—shockingly clean and even more shockingly well-dressed.

Damien strutted in like he belonged on a Versace runway. “Ladies, take your pictures now. You’ll need them to show your future daughters how hot I am.”

“I’ll take a picture,” Kaylee said dryly, “so historians can document the downfall of civilization.”

“You’re so sweet, baby,” Damien winked.

Then he walked in—the fake groom. Clean-shaven, tailored suit, smelling delicious.

Oh wow

“Hi,” I said, playing it cool.

“Hi,” he said back, looking at me like I was the only person in the room.

“Ready to play Barbie and Ken?”

“God, no,” he muttered.

Cue the entrance of the devil herself in designer heels.

“Lu, you’re finally here,” Missy cooed, swaying toward him with perfect posture. “Mr and Mrs. Jablonsky will be here any minute.”

“And he’s never coming back,” I said out loud.

“He better be,” Damien added. “The reservation wasn’t cheap.”

As if on cue, the president of Once Upon a Dream arrived with his elegant wife. Polite greetings were exchanged, and our house’s mother and father went into full PR mode, gushing about our community involvement and “tight organizational structure,” which honestly felt like a sugar coated version of .

We migrated to the dining table. I tried to escape toward the back with Kaylee and Mariel, but—

“(Y/N), come here” Missy gestured to the seat next to her. “Georgina, move down.”

Georgina looked crushed but obeyed. I gave her a subtle sorry look before sitting.

“To what do I owe the honor?” I inquired sarcastically, already bracing myself.

“I was just talking about how you basically organized this whole event,” Luigi said, casually tossing me a compliment like it was no big deal.

I blinked. “I helped where I could.”

The president raised his glass. “That’s the kind of leadership we love to see.”

“And that’s why she’s my maid—I mean my fake maid of honor,” Missy added, barely hiding her dig.

Luigi brushed past her, undeterred. “Seriously, it’s kind of impressive. She keeps her GPA immaculate, runs multiple events, and still shows up to class without looking hungover.”

“Migraine pills and coffee,” I said. Some people laughed.

“Good for you,” Missy said with the sweetness of poison.

We made it halfway through dessert.

Boring, boring and more boring.

Then I felt something on my leg. It started with a gentle nudge under the table. I flinched.

I looked under the table, then to the owner of that foot. He grinned at me. I kicked him back.

He gasped quietly, exaggerating his expression as if my kick shattered a bone, then used his leg to push mine sideways. I retaliated with a quick jab of my heel to his thigh—playfully, but with intent.

He flinched for real.

Game on.

He leaned back to get a better angle, clearly preparing to kick. I shifted—only to knock my own chair backward.

And down I went.

“Puta madre!” I spat out not so lady-like. (Fuck!)

A gasp rippled through the table.

Georgina covered her mouth to stifle a laugh, then offered me a hand. Missy looked like she wanted to choke me. Mrs. Jablonsky whispered something that sounded vaguely like “oh dear.”

I jumped to my feet, brushing off my outfit like nothing happened. “Woo! These chairs are sneaky!”

Luigi mouthed an honest I’m sorry while clearly trying not to burst out laughing.

I sat back down, face flushed and shooting daggers with my eyes towards his direction.

I’m gonna get you pretty boy.

…

Time passed and Mariel, Kaylee, and I leaned against the counter, arms crossed and unimpressed. The boys found us, talking loudly over each other about the plans for later that night.

“They get to party,” Kaylee complained. “And we are stuck with light Rosé”

“We’re too hot for this,” Mariel muttered. “I want tequila and bad decisions.”

I sighed.

Damien smirked and turned to Luigi. “The club reservation is for over ten people. We could… bring them?”

Luigi raised an eyebrow. “You want to sneak girls into a men-only strip club?”

“What if we… went as men?” I suggested with a sly grin.

“Like She’s the Man type of thing?” Mariel grinned back, catching on instantly.

Luigi’s eyes lit up. “I mean… Bryan has hoodies that could fit you guys.”

“He’s tiny.” Damien added.

“We’d need to sneak out without alerting Missy though,” Kaylee warned.

Let’s kill her.

Just kidding.

We devised the plan in a flurry of texts and half-whispers. The boys would go grab clothes and the cars. Meanwhile, we’d change, grab sneakers, and stage a perfect little heist exit.

I darted into the pantry to trigger a “distraction”, but bumped into someone already crying inside—Georgina.

Her mascara was smudged and she wiped her eyes quickly, embarrassed. “Sorry—it’s stupid. I just thought… I’d be Missy’s fake maid of honor. I’ve known her since freshman year rush day.”

“She’s just saying that to get under my skin,” I told her gently. “But honestly? You deserve better. And for what it’s worth… you would make an amazing maid of honor.”

She gave a weak shrug, lips pressed tightly together.

Missy can shove her Rose up her…

I texted Kaylee to grab an extra pair of sneakers and turned back to Georgina. “Want to escape this nightmare?”

“I mean… my feet are killing me.”

Just then, a text

🤓Luigicito🤓

‘We’re outside.’

“Perfect timing,” I said. I turned on my phone flashlight, opened the fuse box, and flipped the main switch.

Lights off.

Darkness swallowed the entire house.

I grabbed Georgina’s hand. “I’m kidnapping you.”

“Huh?”

“No time!” I yanked her out the pantry and we dashed through the hallway. Screams exploded from the dinning room—girls scrambling, phones lighting up, Missy’s voice piercing the air like a police siren.

Let’s rock this bitch.

@nosebeers @mrs-cactus69

hi i’m Vaz, this was just a product of my active imagination, free time and the need for a better outcome. Hope u enjoy xxx

The witch is back… wow that was a journey.

Imma divide this one in two parts, cuz it was getting kinda long 😬. It’ll post it later.

Oh and the best wishes to the birthday boy. I tried to post it yesterday but got caught up with work. Anyway, I hope he had a decent birthday. A girl can dream 🥺

[xvazx]

Vaz is resurrecting!! no shame at all in getting a nose job babe! I’ve had a (tiny) bit of work done and honestly when there’s something that’s a part of you that feels like it shouldn’t be and you FINALLY get to change it, the relief can be incredible, even when you’re healing

I got a breast reduction/lift and I woke up from surgery so immediately relieved that I got myself dressed and walked my ass out before they discharged me😭best medical decision I ever made for myself and I’ve unfortunately made a ton! I literally told my doctor that now I understand how people get addicted to plastic surgery even though its the only one I’ve had lol! sooo happy for you that you were able to do it and I hope you’re happy and healthy, that’s all that matters!

I appreciate sharing your experience and sending me your best wishes.🫶🏻

I totally agree, the dopamine and relief that I’ve felt so far is impressive. Like a dream come true. 😜

And yes I completely understand why people get a plastic surgery addiction. Recovery is rough but you can literally change anything you don’t like. Wild

[xvazx]

hope you’re recovering well Vaz🥺missing u!

I miss it too. I’m working on next part. I write and check messages while I can before my migraines quick in.

But I’m almost there. 🤞🏻