#there's just NO GOOD LIGHTING ANYWHERE >:(

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Twenty-Nine

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, strong language, time-skips, the Oscar girlies are gonna looooove this one, also general warning for the shitbox that was the MCL60.

Notes — Amelia Norris, welcome back to McLaren.

*Max Verstappen voice* Mate, my taglist is fucked! — Peach x

Lando’s alarm never went off.

Because Amelia had turned it off at 3am.

She let him sleep. It was his day. She made pancakes in silence—banana and oat, the way he liked them best when he was following his meal plan—topped with a candle she’d found in the back of a drawer and a slightly wonky blueberry smiley face.

“Happy birthday,” she said, soft and fond, when he eventually shuffled into the kitchen, hair everywhere.

He blinked at the plate — the birthday plate. They shared it now. “You made me a goblin pancake.”

“It’s smiling!” She told him.

“It looks terrifying.” He told her.

He ate it anyway, barefoot and shirtless, perched on a stool while she scrolled through her phone and told him that no, he couldn’t open presents before coffee.

Later, he unwrapped things slowly. A framed photo of the two of them from a race weekend in 2019, (“Where did you even find this?”), and a book of Amelia’s annotated sim notes from her time at Red Bull. “You always said you wanted to understand how my brain works.” She shrugged.

“I was mostly joking,” he whispered, thumbing a tabbed page. “But this is…”

She leaned into him. “It’s yours now. Might help. Might not. Still yours.”

That night, after three hours dancing at a Jimmy’z, he fell asleep with his head in her lap and his hand curled around her wrist, and she thought; this was a good birthday.

—

Monaco was glitter and glass and sea spray in December. It didn’t snow, but Amelia didn’t care.

Their flat was warm and low-lit. She’d spent too long arranging ornaments, Lando had simply dropped all his on one side of the tree with chaotic delight. It looked ridiculous. It looked perfect.

They had no real schedule. No one expected them anywhere. They gave each other stockings stuffed with little gifts. Amelia gave Lando a pair of designer sneakers with her initials burned into the soles. Lando gave her a little wooden box he’d built himself (badly), lined with soft felt and filled with folded notes. Things I love about you, written one per page. He told her not to read them all at once.

She thought, after peeking at one, that she might never be able to read anyone—his handwriting was atrocious.

They went on a walk by the water, holding gloved hands. A few fans stopped them, gently, politely. Amelia just smiled at them all and when they were alone again, Lando kissed the top of her head.

“You okay?” He asked.

“Yeah,” she said. “I love you.”

They cooked together. Burned the first batch of roasted potatoes. Argued about how long to cook Brussels sprouts (Lando was very, very wrong). They watched a film under a blanket, her feet cold against his legs.

Later, under the twinkling Christmas tree lights, she kissed the side of his neck and whispered, “I know what I want for Christmas next year.”

He kissed her shoulder. “What, baby?”

She whispered the words in his ear.

He sucked in a sharp breath. The apples of his cheeks went pink.

And then… Then he was beaming.

—

She always liked to keep her birthdays quiet.

No parties. No dinners. No events. Just them.

Lando had been preparing for weeks. Quietly. Sweetly. Every part of the day was hers. Coffee in bed with oat milk and a heart-shaped spoon. Her favourite music playing low in the background while he made breakfast. A note on the bathroom mirror; You are the prettiest wife in the world.

They spent the afternoon in pyjamas. She built a LEGO set on the floor while Lando FaceTimed with her mum to confirm the recipe for her birthday cake. He wore an apron. He got flour on his nose. She kissed it off.

That evening, they sat on the floor eating cake straight from the pan, and she cried when he gave her an expensive notebook embossed with her name.

Amelia Norris.

“It’s not flashy,” he said. “But all of your other notebooks still have your old name, so...”

She just stared at him for a long time, her head tilted. “You’re the best. You know that?”

“Yeah,” he said, smug. “I know.”

She laughed, tackled him, kissed him breathless.

They didn’t leave the flat all day.

It was perfect.

—

The McLaren Technology Centre always smelled the same—polished steel, ozone, something faintly botanical from the lobby planters—but everything else felt different this time.

Amelia had a keycard with her name on it now.

Not “Visitor.”

Just: Amelia Norris, in black and papaya.

Her shoes clicked softly on the curved white floors as she walked the familiar path from reception, past the design offices, into the engineering wing. The glass walls gleamed. The lake shimmered outside. It should have been intimidating. Overwhelming. But Amelia had done intimidating. She’d helped engineer two world championships. She’d married the boy everyone had tried to separate her from.

This?

This wasn’t pressure.

This felt like coming home.

She found her new office on the corner, just past the chassis lab, with a good view over the test bays. The door was closed. The old paper sign had been replaced—somewhere between Christmas and now—with a proper etched plaque.

Amelia Norris Race Engineer – #81 Performance & Development Group

Her throat pinched unexpectedly.

She remembered, all at once, being ten years old and walking into the McLaren building behind her dad for the first time. Seeing a plaque with his name on it. She’d stood there, tracing the letters with small fingers, wide-eyed and awed. Now she was here. Different name. Different door. Different role.

But the same lineage.

Belief.

Hard work.

Love.

She opened the door. The air inside smelled faintly like new carpet and fresh whiteboard markers. Her desk was spotless. A neat stack of McLaren-branded post-its waited beside a rendered miniature model of the 2023 car—her nose scrunched unhappily at the sight of it. A framed photo had already been hung on the wall; her and Lando on the wedding day, his arms around her waist, her hand on his chest, both of them caught mid-laugh. It was small. Tasteful. She rolled her eyes and grinned.

A knock at the open door.

It was Oscar, carrying two coffees, looking slightly overwhelmed but trying not to show it. “I got the ones with the oat milk,” he said, holding one out. “Because Lando said you don’t like dairy. Is that okay?”

“You did great,” she said, accepting the mug. “First day. How are you feeling?”

He gave her a tired smile. “Like this is all suddenly very real.”

“It is real,” Amelia said, settling into the chair behind her desk. “We’re going to be spending a lot of time in this office, you and me. Meetings, sim data, post-session debriefs, late-night panic coffee when the floor upgrades come in weird—so don’t knock if I’m already in here. Just walk in.”

Oscar glanced around the space, tentative. “Feels like… your territory.”

She shook her head. “Nope. This is ours now. I’ve just had a head start.”

That got her a small, grateful smile. He stepped further inside, letting his gaze linger on the whiteboards, the framed photo, the car model.

“So,” he said after a beat. “Where do we start?”

Amelia stood. “We start by checking in on the car.”

She led him down the corridor toward the fabrication bay, familiar turns in the MTC’s clean white maze. The sounds of drills and chatter floated up as they descended a level—production technicians deep in the quiet, obsessive rhythm of building something meant to move at 300 kilometres an hour.

The #81 chassis was sitting on its frame stand, half-clad in carbon and glinting under the overheads. Its nose wasn’t mounted yet. Wires trailed from the cockpit. The halo was freshly attached, still matte from the final torque tests. The papaya-orange paint was only partially finished—bare in some places, ghosted in others.

Oscar stepped forward slowly. His expression changed.

“I’ve seen it in renders,” he said. “But not like this.”

Amelia folded her arms and smiled beside him. “This is the part no one really gets to see.”

“You didn’t design it?” He asked.

“No,” she said. “But I’ve been talking with the aero team. There’s a lot I want to change, but it’s unrealistic to expect them to change the entire chassis so close to testing. So… this year, Oscar,” She gave him a look that she hoped conveyed hope. “This year, just grin and bear it, even if it’s awful, okay? I promise you that next year’s car will be better. Built for you, not the other way around.”

Oscar let out a breath. “It’s kind of insane, isn’t it?”

She glanced over at him. “Yeah. You think you’ll be able to trust me with this?”

“Yeah,” he said.

“Then me and you, Oscar, will be just fine.” She said.

He didn’t smile—but his shoulders dropped.

And Amelia looked at the half-built car, at the number #81 she’d fought to earn, and felt something slide gently into place.

This was going to be one hell of a year.

—

The lights in the briefing room had dimmed. Most of the engineering team had filtered out hours ago, but Amelia was still there, flipping absently through tyre degradation projections from last season — data that wouldn’t mean much in a few weeks, but still gave her something to think about. Something to do with her hands.

She was about to pack up when the door creaked open again.

Her dad poked his head in. “Got a second?”

Amelia blinked, surprised. “Sure, Dad.”

He stepped in with that familiar slight limp — the one she’d grown up watching as he trailed alongside mechanics at every paddock stop, years of karting crashes softened into a permanent rhythm. Behind him came her mom, cardigan draped over her shoulders, McLaren lanyard around her neck. VIP badge and all. It made Amelia smile. “Hi, mom.” 

“Didn’t think we’d find you alone,” Her dad said, settling against the edge of the long table. “You giving Oscar a break already?”

Amelia nodded. “He was starting to get a bit pale, so I sent him home. Told him to sleep, hydrate, and be back tomorrow at seven sharp. Then I got comfy here.”

Her mom set a bottle of water in front of her, like muscle memory. “You used to hide in closets with puzzle books when the house got loud. Same thing, right?”

Amelia chuckled. “Yeah. Some things don’t change.”

Her dad looked between them, something unusually soft in his expression. “I’ve been meaning to say this for a while,” he said, “but now just felt like the right time.”

She turned toward him fully, head tilting.

“I’m proud of you,” Her dad said simply. “And I’m incredibly lucky to have you here. McLaren’s lucky.”

Amelia blinked. Her throat pulled tight. “Dad…”

He raised a hand, gently waving off the emotion. “Should’ve made it happen a lot sooner. That’s on me. But now that you're here, I hope you know how much it means. To me. To the whole team.”

Her mom placed a hand on her shoulder, grounding and warm. “He’s right. You’re doing everything you dreamed about. Everything we dreamed about with you. I’m so proud I could burst.”

Amelia huffed a quiet laugh, but it cracked a little. “You guys can’t say things like this when I’ve only slept for four hours. I’m emotionally unstable.”

Her dad grinned. “That’s why it’s the perfect time.”

Her mom pulled her in gently, and Amelia didn’t resist. She let her eyes flutter shut, breathing in that familiar lavender hand lotion and wool-sweater smell.

“You belong here,” her mom whispered.

“I know,” Amelia said. And this time — for real, for the first time — she did.

Her dad cleared his throat, though his voice was still thick. “Now go home to your husband. Rest. The cars will still be broken tomorrow.”

Amelia rolled her eyes but smiled through it.

“Thanks, boss.”

“Anytime, Norris.”

—

Oscar arrived in Monaco for his pre-season training camp with a backpack, a foam roller, and the most earnest expression Amelia had ever seen on a human being — in fact, the only reason she could even name it was because she’d seen it a hundred times before. On puppies.

“You know,” she said from the kitchen doorway as he stepped in, “you’re not going to inconvenience us by being here. We invited you.”

Oscar set his things down neatly by the shoe rack, eyes flicking around the flat. “Yeah. It’s just—your place is really nice.”

“Thank you,” Amelia was grinning. “It’s still a work in progress, but it’s home.”

Lando padded in barefoot from the balcony, already in training shorts and a tank top. “Mate, if you think this is nice, wait until you see what Zak wants us to rent for the post-season media thing in Abu Dhabi. That place has a literal waterfall in the living room.”

Oscar blinked. “What? Why?”

“Rich people don’t need reasons,” Amelia said, stepping aside so Oscar could follow them further in. “And my dad is a show-off.”

The flat had that relaxed chaos of somewhere well-lived-in—running shoes kicked off near the front door, a stack of magazines on the coffee table, a lingering citrusy scent. It was spacious without being overwhelming, modern without being sterile.

Lando threw a hand over Oscar’s shoulder and guided him toward the guest room which doubled as Lando’s streaming room. “You’re in here. Don’t touch the minibar. It’s all mine.”

Oscar peeked inside. “Is that a fridge full of Capri-Suns?”

“Don’t ask questions you already know the answers to,” Lando called, already walking away.

Amelia leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching them. She liked this. Lando at ease. Oscar softening. Her home being something useful, not just pretty.

Later that evening, after a sweaty cardio session and a cool-down stretch on the balcony, the boys collapsed onto the oversized sofa, Amelia wedged between them with a bowl of popcorn in her lap.

Lando passed Oscar the remote. “You get to pick tonight, since you’re the guest. Just know if you choose anything from the Fast & Furious franchise, Amelia will walk out.”

“I will not walk out,” Amelia said, indignant.

Lando arched an eyebrow.

“…I’ll just complain loudly the whole time.”

Oscar snorted, already scrolling. “Right. Noted.”

The movie ended up being some critically acclaimed indie drama that neither of the boys fully understood.. Lando made them all hot chocolate afterwards, and by the time they were all just about ready to turn in for the night, Oscar was laughing at something dumb Lando said and Amelia’s shoulders were loose.

As she brushed her teeth, Lando leaned on the doorframe beside her.

“He’s nervous,” she said quietly.

“Yeah. But he’s got you now,” Lando replied, bumping her shoulder with his.

She turned to look at him in the mirror. “Us.”

He smiled indulgently. “Yeah. Us.”

—

The morning sun spilled golden across the Monaco coastline, already warm against the stone path where Oscar was mid-sprint. His breath came in sharp bursts, chest rising and falling as he rounded the final bend and came to a staggering halt beside Lando, who was doubled over, hands on knees.

“Time?” Oscar huffed.

Amelia looked up from her iPad, where she’d been quietly timing their intervals with clinical precision. She didn’t even blink. “You beat him by two seconds.”

Oscar glanced over at Lando, who let out a dramatic groan and dropped onto the grass.

“I’m filing for divorce,” Lando muttered, voice muffled against the ground.

“You wouldn’t,” Amelia said, calmly tapping in their recovery timer. “The paperwork would confuse you too much.”

“Tell that to my lungs.” He wheezed.

Oscar grinned, sweat dripping from his jaw. “So what’s next? More hill sprints? Or can we just die now?”

“No. Dying is inefficient,” Amelia said. “Hydrate. Then core work.”

They obeyed without argument.

The thing about Amelia, Oscar had quickly learned, was that she didn’t bark orders. She didn’t have to. Her tone was measured, her words precise, and when she glanced up from the iPad and said things like, “Your balance is off on your left side, Oscar,” she was never wrong. She was observant. Quiet power in noise-cancelling headphones.

She didn’t train with them, didn’t have the interest or the inclination, but she was there every morning, hair up, thermos of coffee in hand, tracking performance and recovery stats like it was an active session at the factory.

“You know,” Oscar said between planks, “you could charge for this. Drivers would pay for a week with you.”

“I don’t have the patience for other drivers,” she replied, scribbling a note on a clipboard.

Lando groaned from the mat next to him. “She only yells at me because she loves me.”

Amelia snorted. “If you think this is yelling, you’ve never heard me at a strategy debrief.”

Oscar just grinned.

Later, after stretches and protein shakes and a failed attempt to get Lando into a cold plunge tub, the three of them sat in the shade of the terrace overlooking the bay. Amelia had her feet tucked under her on the lounger, iPad back in her lap, editing performance curves from Oscar’s last sim session at the factory.

Oscar looked at the way she leaned into Lando’s side without thinking, how his hand found her knee instinctively, like their bodies were in permanent sync.

They sat quietly for a minute, the breeze rolling in from the sea. Oscar took a long sip of his smoothie, then glanced over at Amelia. “So,” he said, carefully, “what’s it going to be like like—having you on comms?”

Amelia’s fingers paused mid-scroll.

Lando laughed before she could speak. “You mean what’s it like being managed by someone who knows when you’re about to crash before you do?”

Oscar raised his eyebrows. “That accurate?”

“Yes,” Lando said, grinning as he nudged Amelia’s knee.

She finally looked up, eyes cool and thoughtful. “You’re asking what kind of race engineer I’m going to be.”

“Basically, yeah.”

“Firm. Clear. I don’t do sugarcoating unless it’s strategic. You’ll never have to wonder what I mean. I’ll say exactly what I mean — respectfully, but directly. And if I sound like I’m babysitting you, it’s because you’re doing something reckless and I’m trying to keep you alive.”

Oscar blinked. “Okay. That’s... intense.”

Lando sipped his drink. “It’s great. You don’t realise how much mental bandwidth it saves until you have someone like her by your side.”

Oscar looked back at Amelia. “You’re always confident?”

“No,” she said plainly. “I’ll never pretend to know something I don’t. And if I think I’ve made the wrong call, I’ll say so. Accountability matters.”

Oscar nodded slowly, letting that sink in. “And… if I mess up?”

“You will,” she said. “We all do. I’m not here to protect your ego. I’m here to make you better. As long as you meet me halfway, we’ll be fine.”

There was no warmth in her tone, but there was no cruelty, either. It was measured. Practical. Fair.

Oscar smiled. “Honestly? That sounds kind of ideal.”

She tilted her head. “You say that now.”

Lando leaned over and kissed her cheek. “You’ll be in the best hands, mate.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I think I believe you.”

—

Two weeks later, Oscar was slumped in his seat, arms crossed over his chest, while Amelia stood by the screen at the front, laser pointer in hand, calmly dissecting sector times.

“Your turn-in at turn nine still needs work,” she said, tapping the data overlay. “You’re braking a shade too late, trying to save the lap, but you’re compromising the exit.”

Oscar nodded, brow furrowed. “That’s the only part I can’t feel yet. I know it’s wrong, but it’s like—my brain doesn’t register it until I’ve already done it.”

“Give it time,” she said. “Muscle memory is a process.”

Lando appeared in the doorway, holding two takeaway coffees. “One for the newly-minted golden boy,” he said, tossing one toward Oscar, “and one for my beloved engineer wife who abandoned me for another driver.”

“Hi, sweetheart,” Amelia said mildly, taking the cup. “You’re just in time.”

“For what?”

Amelia walked over to her desk, opened a tin, and revealed a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies. Perfectly golden. Still warm.

Oscar’s eyes widened. “You bake?”

“Only when you do well in a session,” she said, offering him the tin. “Which today you did.”

Oscar blinked down at the cookies. “You’re the best race engineer ever.”

Lando scowled. “Okay, rude. You never make me cookies.”

Amelia raised a brow. “When was the last time you called me the best race engineer ever?”

Oscar, mouth full of cookie, muffled, “She’s terrifying, but I love her.”

Lando leaned against the desk, narrowing his eyes. “I feel like I’m watching my wife emotionally cheat on me with my teammate.”

Amelia rolled her eyes. “You knew what this was.”

Oscar glanced between them. “Wait, is this, like… a bit?”

“She calls you ‘ducky,’” Lando said, like it pained him.

Oscar blinked. “Ducky?”

Amelia shoved the tin toward him again, giving Lando a stern glare. “Don’t worry about it, sweet amazing talented driver of mine. Just eat your cookies.”

Oscar did as instructed.

Lando groaned. “I hate it here.”

“You love it here,” Amelia said, slipping an arm around his waist and pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Because you love me, don’t you? You did marry me.”

He narrowed his eyes, but there was no real heat there. “Fine. But I get the last cookie.”

Amelia snorted. “Of course.”

Oscar made a sound of betrayal. “You’re picking favourites.”

“I married him, Oscar.”

“Still feels unfair.”

—

The McLaren garages were alive. Mechanics moved with efficient purpose, telemetry streamed in real time on the screens, and the dry desert air seeped in through the open shutters. The scent of brake dust, sun-warmed concrete, and machine oil hung in the air. Cloying and irritating and perfect.

Amelia stood at the back of Oscar’s garage, headset resting around her neck, iPad in hand. Her new team uniform still felt crisp against her skin—papaya and black, her name stitched cleanly above the heart. It was real now. No more transitioning. No more waiting.

Oscar was getting into the car for his first run of the day, glancing over at her briefly as the mechanics helped him buckle in. She gave him a little nod, her calm face belying the thrum of nerves and excitement in her chest.

“You good?” Lando asked, appearing beside her. He was in his own suit, visor up, half-laughing at her expression. “You look like you’re about to start pacing.”

“I don’t pace,” she said, but her fingers were flexing on the edge of the tablet. “This is just… a big moment.”

Lando smiled, softer now. “Yeah. It is. You’re allowed to feel everything. Just don’t cry; you’ll scare the interns.”

She elbowed him lightly.

Andrea approached from the pit wall side, arms crossed over his chest. “There she is,” he said with a warm smile.

Amelia straightened a little. “Andrea. Hi.”

“I just wanted to say—welcome. I know everyone’s said it already, but truly… I’m very glad you’re here.” He told her.

“Thank you,” she said. “I’m really glad to be here too.”

“I’ve been following your work for years, Amelia. Red Bull were lucky to have you. And now we are.” His voice was kind, but earnest. “You and Oscar — I think you’re going to be a very strong pair.”

She felt a little warmth creep up her neck. “Yes. We will.”

—

She stepped up onto the pit wall platform, put her headset on, and opened the channel.

“Radio check, Ducky.”

There was a beat of static. Then, “Loud and clear. I’d prefer that nickname didn’t stick.”

“Okay,” she said, amusement in her voice. “Let’s see what this car can do. Prepare to line up in the pit-lane.”

—

Testing was over for the day; cars were tucked back into the garage, data was uploading.

Amelia was crouched by the pit wall, collecting her headset, untangling cords, and making a few tired annotations on her iPad. She didn’t look up when a bottle of water appeared beside her.

“Thanks,” she said, assuming it was Lando.

“It’s the least I could do,” said Will.

She blinked. Looked up.

“Oh,” she said. “Hi.”

Will Joseph, who had been Lando’s engineer longer than Lando had been allowed to rent cars, gave her a crooked smile and sat down next to her on the concrete step. His jacket was unzipped to the waist, arms wrapped around his knees.

“So,” he said casually, “you’re the other half now.”

Amelia stared at him. “Of the married couple?”

“No.” He gestured loosely toward the track. “Of the race engineer pair. Me and you. I figured we should talk before we both start yelling instructions across the garage like divorced parents.”

She laughed. “Good thinking.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment.

“He’s doing well,” Will said eventually, nodding toward Oscar’s car. “Really well. And he listens to you.”

Amelia gave a small smile, then sipped her water. “He’s eager. Smart. Needs a bit of runway, but when he clicks, he clicks. Reminds me of Max, a little bit. All instinct and edge.”

Will nodded. “He trusts you. That’s the important bit. You can’t teach that.”

“I know,” she said quietly.

Will glanced at her, thoughtful. “And you — you’ve slotted in like you’ve always been here. It’s a little annoying, actually.”

“Sorry,” she said, not sorry.

“You should be,” Will deadpanned. “Took me five years to get a decent coffee cup in this place. You walk in and suddenly there’s a new espresso machine and colour-coded run plans.”

She made a face. “I’m a bit much, I know.”

“No,” Will said, serious now. “You’re brilliant. The way you’ve got Oscar dialled in already… it’s impressive.”

Amelia looked down, caught off guard by the sincerity. “Thanks.”

“You’re also married to my driver,” he added. “So I reserve the right to glare at you if he starts acting like a brat.”

“He already does that all the time,” she muttered, then smiled.

Will leaned back on his elbows, looking toward the now-quiet pit lane. “This year’s gonna be something, huh?”

Amelia followed his gaze. “Yeah. I think it is.”

—

The restaurant was one of Lando’s favourites in Bahrain — low lighting, good food, quiet enough that nobody bothered them. Amelia had picked the table. Tucked into a corner, facing a floor-to-ceiling window. Oscar had shown up five minutes early and had to hover awkwardly near the entrance until they turned up.

Now, halfway through their mains, Lando was poking at his pasta with a fork and Amelia was mid-rant about diffuser regulation changes when Oscar leaned back in his chair and went suddenly still.

“What?” Lando asked, around a bite of bread.

Oscar blinked. “I just realised I’m third wheeling right now.”

Amelia stopped mid-sentence. “What?”

Oscar gestured at them. “You two. Married. Clearly telepathic. Lando ordered for you.”

“That doesn’t make you a third wheel,” Amelia frowned.

Lando swallowed his bite. “Mate.”

Oscar looked at him. Warily.

“You’ve been a third wheel in this relationship since you were in F3.” Lando said.

Amelia nearly choked on her water. “Lando!”

“No, no, let’s be honest!” Lando leaned back, grinning. “He was always around. And you were fixated on him, babe.”

“I was literally just doing my job,” Oscar said, flat.

“Yeah, well,” Lando shrugged, “now your job is to let us be disgustingly in love while you sit there and suffer.”

Amelia laughed, eyes soft, and reached out to squeeze Oscar’s arm. “You’re not a third wheel.”

He gave her a look. “You just reached over your husband to comfort me for being your awkward sidekick.”

“Well, yeah,” she said. “But you’re our awkward sidekick.”

Lando raised his glass. “To being contractually stuck with us.”

Oscar sighed. “God help me.”

They clinked glasses anyway.

And when dessert came, Amelia passed her spoon to Oscar without thinking, and Lando threw a napkin at him for stealing a strawberry off her plate, and Oscar just smiled to himself.

Third wheel or not, it was kind of nice to be included. 

—

Most of the media groups had cleared out by the time Thursday night fell, the floodlights humming softly above the garages.

Amelia had just finished her final round of pre-race checks with Oscar when she ran into Max. He was leaning against the railing, sipping from a Red Bull can, and raised a teasing eyebrow when he saw her. “Look who it is,” he said.

She smiled, tugging her McLaren jacket tighter around her. “You’re here late.”

Max shrugged. “You’re one to talk, zusje. Shouldn’t you be off managing your husbands nerves or something?”

Amelia rolled her eyes. “Lando’s fine.”

Max tilted his head slightly. “Still weird seeing you in papaya.”

“I know,” she said, quiet.

There was a beat of silence. Comfortable, familiar.

“I miss you,” Max said.

Her eyes stung a little. “I miss you too.”

He didn’t move, but his voice softened. “It won’t be the same tomorrow.”

Amelia smiled faintly. “You’ll be fine.”

“I know. But still.”

She reached over, gave his wrist a squeeze. “Good luck tomorrow.”

He smirked. “Try to keep your rookie from crashing into me.”

“No promises,” she said, then stepped forward and let him hug her for a minute before they had to go their separate ways again.

—

When she entered their hotel suite an hour later, she didn’t expect Lando to be… well, naked.

“Hi baby,” he said casually from the bed, lounging. “Welcome back.”

She blinked. “Are you… is this going to become some kind of welcome-home ritual?”

“Could be,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Depends how much you like it.”

She laughed, kicking off her shoes. “You are absolutely ridiculous.”

“And yet, you married me.”

“Unbelievably,” she said, walking over and tugging the covers up over him pointedly, “I did.”

He caught her wrist and pulled her down beside him. “You okay?”

She nodded, nuzzling into his bare shoulder. “Yeah. Ran into Max.”

“Oh?” He wrapped an arm around her waist. “Everything good?”

“He misses me,” she murmured. “I miss him too.”

“Of course he does. You were his second brain.”

“I was his friend,” she said, voice muffled by his skin. “Sister. Or something.”

“That too.”

They were quiet for a moment.

“You ready for tomorrow?” She asked, quietly.

Lando tilted his head down to kiss her temple. “I’m ready if you’re there.”

She smiled. “Always.”

He grinned. “Even if I show up to driver briefings naked?”

“I will quit on the spot.”

He laughed, pulling her closer. “Okay. I’ll save that surprise for Suzuka.”

—

The sun was slipping below the horizon, throwing orange light across the desert as the cars rolled out for the formation lap. Amelia sat at the McLaren pit-wall, headset settled snugly over her ears, telemetry lighting up across her screen. Her fingers hovered above the radio trigger.

“Car 81, radio check,” she said, voice steady.

“Loud and clear,” Oscar replied, a hint of tension in his voice, but nothing she hadn’t heard before.

“Copy,” she said, softer now. “You’re all set. Let’s go through it one more time.”

He didn’t ask what she meant. They’d already talked about it in sim, in briefings, walking to the grid, but he let her say it anyway. Maybe he needed to hear it.

“Be clean off the line. You don’t need to win the race in the first hundred metres. Give yourself space, keep your head on a swivel through Turn 1; we’ve seen chaos there before. Stay tight and controlled.”

“Okay.”

“You’ve got good tyre temp. ERS settings look fine. Sensors are happy. You’ve done this a hundred times in the sim.”

“But not in real life,” Oscar said, and she could hear the nerves now.

Amelia smiled a little, despite herself. “Not in real life. But it doesn’t matter. You don’t need to prove anything to anyone. You’ve earned this. All I want you to do is drive the car the way I know you can.”

“Right.” A breath. “Okay. Thanks, Amelia.”

She glanced up at the screen. Cars were lining up now. The tension in the garage thickened. Engineers froze in place. Pit wall comms turned clipped and quiet.

“Hey, Oscar?” she said, just before the lights started to come on.

“Yeah?”

“I’m proud of you. I’ve got you the whole way. Let’s go racing.”

He didn’t respond in words, but the burst of static and the slight hitch of breath on the other end was enough.

Five lights. Four. Three.

And then they were off.

For maybe four laps, things were steady.

Then Oscar’s name blinked red.

"Car 81. Box box," came the call, clipped through Amelia’s headset. She didn’t flinch. Just hit her button and said calmly, "Copy. Oscar, we’ve got a pneumatic pressure issue. Bring it in nice and easy. No risks."

He confirmed. Voice low. A little shaky.

She switched channels immediately. “Can we get it back out?”

“No,” came the reply from the garage. “It’s terminal.”

Beside her, Will swore under his breath. “One down.”

“Could’ve been worse,” she said, tone even. “Could’ve been two.”

Which, of course, was the cue.

Just as they hit the halfway mark, Lando came over the radio. “Guys… I’m losing power. Something’s wrong.”

Will jumped in, trying to diagnose it live with him. Amelia kept her eyes locked on the data, flicking through cooling systems, oil pressure, everything she could find.

It was no use. It was happening again.

"Box, Lando. We’ll retire the car."

Silence. Then a tight, “Okay.”

Will leaned back from the wall, exhaling slowly. “Two DNFs.”

Amelia didn’t answer. Just stared at the screens in front of her, mouth pressed in a thin line.

Finally, she said, “Well. Shit.”

Will huffed a bitter laugh. “Welcome back.”

“Yeah,” she said dryly. “Such a pleasure.”

They stayed quiet for a moment, just watching the race unravel without them.

Then Will added, “Next week can’t be worse.”

She didn’t look at him. Just sipped from her McLaren bottle and muttered, “Things can always be worse.” 

[violetrainbow412-blog]

A little bit of jam [B. R.]

Bob Reynolds x fem!mutant!reader

wc: 2.5k

Marvel and I are so fucking back, baby!! I think this mass love hysteria toward Bob is the best, and I honestly wanted to play with the "found family" trope a little because I love it so much. I hope you like it!

and if u have any idea, let me know ;)

Two months had already passed.

Two months since the sky split in two, since the world almost went to hell—again—and since a dysfunctional group of dangerously competent people were thrust into the headlines as the new “heroes.” No one was sure if the title was too big or too accurate. The only clear thing was that, after surviving hell together, you had ended up sharing something more than a mission.

Now you lived in the old Avengers Tower. Together.

It wasn't an official government decision or part of any rehabilitation protocol. It just happened. Most of you didn't have a fixed place to return to, and the few who did... didn't want to return at all. So, without saying it out loud, you started staying. One night. Then a week. Then a sofa became a bed, a kitchen became a habit, and lights left on at all hours stopped seeming strange. Without seeking it, you had made it work. As if the disaster had woven an impossible routine between people who, otherwise, would never have shared more than one mission.

Nobody said it, but you knew it.

You finally, amid all that chaos, felt like you fit in somewhere. You weren’t an Avenger, you weren’t an X-Men, you were never officially from anywhere. You’d grown up far from anyone who could explain to you what to do about your mutation, and you’d spent more time evading labels than claiming them. But now… now you had a room with your name written on the door in permanent marker (thanks to Yelena), a mug for your coffee (which sometimes Alexei stole from you), and an old Bob sweatshirt that you’d sometimes find hanging on your desk chair for no reason; as if someone knew when you needed it more than you did.

So, little by little, you began to look more like a team, a real team. But also, in a way, you shared a certain familiarity that all of you definitely needed in your lives.

Weekends were occasions, without explicitly stating it, to spend time together. Sometimes you'd just gather in the living room, put on a movie, and the rest would join in, or someone would start drinking, and soon you were all doing it.

Speaking of which, that day you had decided that a few boxes of donuts wouldn't hurt you and your friends. Maybe you could even make some coffee, since with the rain that had started to fall in the city, that seemed like a good plan.

When you walked in, you could see most of them. Yelena was sitting on the floor, completely wrapped in a huge blanket, eating a bag of chips with her feet up on the coffee table. Ava was leaning against the wall, silently observing everything, her arms crossed and a neutral expression that didn't quite hide her curiosity. John Walker was flipping through a magazine upside down, clearly just pretending to read while he kept an eye on what you had brought. Alexei was snoring in the largest armchair, face up, a remote control resting on his chest, as if it were a sacred artifact. Bucky was leaning against the counter, probably making himself a drink or reviewing policy documents.

And Bob… Bob was probably in his room. You noticed he was sleeping a lot lately. Not because he was lazy, not because he was idle, but because he was carrying his own mind, his memories, The Void… exhausted him in ways the others could barely understand. So none of you blamed him for taking long naps.

“I brought donuts,” you announced, in case anyone hadn’t noticed the packages you were holding.

NO one refused the food, and even Alexei, who seemed to be asleep, got up to get a couple upon hearing your announcement. You'd bought a variety of flavors, a box of classics and some more sophisticated ones, so almost all of you sat down at the coffee table to enjoy.

You exchanged a few pleasantries, talked about things that had happened and possible future missions. At one point, when everyone had already eaten at least two pieces, you saw Walker's hand reach for the box of donuts.

Serious mistake.

“NO!” you screamed, almost like a spring.

John froze, his finger brushing the blackberry's glossy glaze.

“Why not?” he asked, offended, as if you had denied him the last glass of water on the planet.

“That one’s for Bob.”

“But Bob isn’t here.”

“But it’s for him!” you insisted, crossing your arms, as if that closed the case.

“There’s more!”

“But don’t eat that one. Eat anything else.”

“It’s my favorite!”

“Well, what a shame, there’s only one and it’s not yours.”

Suddenly, everyone seemed interested in the donut. It was a blackberry donut with vanilla glaze, a small work of art in dessert form. The fluffy, lightly browned dough was covered in a smooth, glossy glaze that smelled of natural vanilla extract, not the cheap, cloying imitation. Above the glaze, a purple swirl of homemade jam snaked like a miniature galaxy, with tiny pieces of blackberry peeking out here and there like barely revealed secrets.

“I saw it first,” he replied, his hand now closer to the box.

“DON’T TOUCH IT!”

By then, Ghost had already materialized behind John, her head peeking out from over his shoulder.

"What if I cut it into two equal parts? Half for each of you."

“I said no!” you shouted.

“Do it,” John concluded, lifting the box to give it to Ava.

Yelena, sitting on the couch, gave a curious look while she chewed her third donut with total shamelessness.

"Why don't we just hide it and see who finds it first? Like a stupid, grown-up version of a treasure hunt?"

“No one’s going to hide that donut. I already told you it’s Bob’s,” you complained, twisting around to shield the box with your body as if it were a nuclear device.

Alexei, sitting at the bar with a beer in his hand, licked his lips.

"I say the only fair solution is hand-to-hand combat. Whoever wins keeps it!"

“No!” you shouted, and Bucky joined in. However, your friends had a different opinion.

“I fight,” Ghost said.

“You didn’t even want it in the first place!”

“Me too,” Walker said, already taking off his jacket.

“I can eat it while you guys fight!” Yelena said, but you had already thrown a pillow at her with surgical precision.

The room became a chaotic choreography: Walker dodging Ava, Yelena climbing the back of the couch like a cat on sugar overload, you trying to put the box on top of the cupboard, Ghost dematerializing mid-leap.

From his position, Bucky watched you like an exhausted dad and issued a warning about not breaking any of the furniture. Alexei, at his side, was shouting to encourage the fight.

Peace only returned when a sleepy voice was heard from the hallway:

“Why are you shouting? What time is it?”

Bob peeked out, his hair a mess and his eyes still squinting from his nap. The chaos stopped. You all looked at him. And you held the box up in the air like it was a trophy.

“Take it away!”

"What?"

“Take it!” you practically ordered him.

The poor man stumbled over to you and snatched the box from you, hearing a collective sigh. You were relieved, the others were annoyed.

"What is this?"

“I bought you a donut,” you explained simply.

Then he frowned and opened the box. It was a little squashed, but the blackberry dessert was still in one piece.

Bob blinked.

“Were you all killing each other over a donut?”

Perhaps it was the incredulous tone of voice, or how ridiculous the situation sounded when said out loud, but suddenly all of you found yourself holding back a laugh. A few seconds later, laughter erupted.

“What a shitty team we are.”

“We can share it, if you want…”

"Yes!"

“No!” you shouted in unison. Bob flinched slightly at the tone of your voice. “Walker can choke on all that’s left, but that one’s for you.”

You said it in a way that left no room for argument and he smiled slightly.

“It’s my favorite.”

“That’s what I said!” John complained. However, he didn’t pursue the matter further and approached the others, taking two more donuts as a sign of resignation.

As quickly as chaos had appeared, it was gone.

Alexei occasionally expressed his approval of what had just happened, arguing that this kind of situation was an exercise in group bonding. You thought you heard Bucky call you idiots, but in a tone that made it clear he didn't mean it.

"Here"

Your murmur brought Bob out of his thoughts, and he smiled broadly when you placed a mug in his hand. It was a gift from Yelena and was inscribed with: Today is a good day. Very appropriate, in your opinion.

"Thanks”

“Two of milk and one of sugar,” you announced with satisfaction.

His happiness only increased when he realized that you were actually paying attention to him.

You plopped down next to him on the soft couch—most people's favorite when it came to a nap—and he shrank down to give you space, sitting in the lotus position as he always did.

You watched him out of the corner of your eye. That day, he was wearing a thick, slightly baggy olive-green sweater with slightly long sleeves. The color had a muted hue, like moss or old pine, which brought out the sparkle in his eyes.

There was a white T-shirt underneath, barely visible at the neck. A pair of soft, dark gray sweatpants, the kind with drawstrings and deep pockets. And on his feet, a pair of dark socks with which he glided around the tower.

He didn't look scruffy, just comfortable.

“I got scared a little while ago. I thought something bad was happening.”

You let out a soft chuckle at his confession, feeling the tension in the air melt away.

“I’m sorry we woke you up.”

“Don’t worry. At least it wasn’t in vain,” he smiled reassuringly, taking a sip of his hot drink. The steam brushed his face before he opened the dessert box and looked at him with more than just hunger.

“How did you know this was my favorite?” he asked, surprised, as he carefully turned the box over in his hands.

“You told me.”

He looked up at you, clearly confused.

“Well… you didn’t tell me directly. I heard you muttering it in your sleep.”

“Do I talk in my sleep?”

“Apparently so. And you actually answer. Because when you said I'd give you a donut, I asked you what you were talking about… and you said you wanted this one.”

"How embarrassing.”

“It’s kinda cute, if you think about it.”

The rest of the group was absorbed in their conversations, muted laughter, and the occasional impromptu board game. Between you, the air felt more intimate, softer.

Bob took a bite of the donut. The slight crackle of the glaze broke with the sound of a deep sigh, as if something inside had loosened.

“When I was a good kid, my mom used to give me money to buy one of these,” his voice lowered slightly, almost as if he wasn’t sure if he should share “It wasn’t all the time, of course. And sometimes we went together, on the… the better days, you know. I think everything seemed simpler back then.”

He was silent for a moment.

“I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately, maybe that’s why I mentioned it in my sleep.”

“Oh… I… had no idea.”

“But it's a good thing. I forgot how good it tastes” a soft, nostalgic smile spread across his face. “I always liked this flavor because it has just the right amount of sweetness, with a hint of sourness. “I feel like it’s very similar to what life is like.”

He was silent again for a second, fiddling with the napkin between his fingers.

“It’s probably not something you’re interested in, but…”

“Yes, I’m interested,” you quickly interrupted “Any story you want to tell us will interest us, Bob. There’s Alexei with all his anecdotes from his years in the service… we’ve never complained, even though he tells them over and over again.”

He laughed a little, brief but genuine.

“Do you want to try some?”

“But it’s yours”

“I'd like you to try it. It's something I want to share.”

You hesitated for only a second before accepting. You leaned closer and took a small bite from the side opposite the one he'd tried. The flavor was more intense than you expected: sweet, sour, and smooth all at the same time.

Bob watched you silently, as if observing your reactions was more important than the dessert itself. When your lips curved into a smile, he nodded, satisfied.

“It's delicious.”

“Um, you have a little bit of jam left…” he said softly, leaning slightly towards you. He raised a hand, hesitant, then pointed a finger at your lower lip “This way.”

His gaze dropped to your mouth. The air seemed to stop for a moment.

For a moment, just a moment, it seemed as if he was going to lean closer. That he was going to wipe the jam off with his lips instead of his hand.

His eyes searched yours. And then, he took a deep breath. He lowered his hand, barely brushing your chin with his fingertips, and pulled away with a shy smile.

"That's it."

You didn't say anything at first. The warmth was still there, floating in the air, unnamed.

“You should, uh, drink your coffee. Before it gets cold.”

Your friend nodded at your suggestion and after that you tried to shake the nervousness from your mind, ignoring the sting that still burned where he had touched you.

Minutes later, fatigue began to take its toll. The noise of the group became a distant murmur, almost like a lullaby in the background. Bob leaned back slightly on the couch, still holding his cup in one hand. Without thinking twice, you approached and rested your head on his shoulder.

“Do you mind if I stay like this for a while?” you asked quietly.

“No. Stay”

His words were gentle. There was something so serene about him that made you close your eyes. Your arm instinctively reached for his, wrapping it around him in a gesture that didn't ask for permission, only offered shelter.

Bob stayed still, careful with every movement, as if breathing deeply could bother you. He felt your weight against his side, your breathing slowing. The warmth of your body was unlike any blanket; it was human, alive.

He felt held, loved, in a way he hadn't known he needed so much.

The team was always affectionate toward him. Many patted him on the back, hugged him unexpectedly, or sat very close without question. But this… this was different. It wasn't a casual display of affection. It was something that asked him to stay. Something that said: you're safe here.

He looked at you once more. You were already asleep, your lips parted and your brow barely relaxed. And although the chair wasn't entirely comfortable, and the noise continued in the background, Bob didn't want to move.

Not that night.

[holymolyyikes]

IV / VI.

I tailspun down the road as the other car crashed out behind me. Granted, if this were a movie, my car would have blown up by now, but I was fine. Alive. Definitely bleeding.

As the car skidded to a stop, I immediately hopped out and booked it, blood leaking onto the road. The car lights behind me meant I wasn’t safe. That I was alive at all meant I had just used up a significant portion of my luck allocation. Not that at least some of my bones weren’t broken, but my brain had decided it was too busy to worry about that.

So I couldn’t go home, obviously, and I couldn’t go anywhere ‘out and about’. The police would be no good, nor any public institution where tall people would be. Well, that wasn’t true – I just had to make sure I wouldn’t be visible. I was only a few hundred metres from another shopping centre too – open space, lots of layers, and lots of exits. I’d worry about the cameras later. I’d worry about the blood now. If I walked into a shopping centre covered in blood and car crash debris, I’d be spotted instantly. The fact I hadn’t been spotted already was, frankly, due mostly to the shiny lights emanating from the mall, which certainly wouldn’t help me when I was inside. Blood.

Having quickly found the public restroom (empty, luckily – my supply had to be running low), I used the tap water to wash myself. It felt like fresh tonic water on my now very tongue-like skin, but I was clean. Well, not clean – I looked like an awry attempt to make destitution look fashionable with all the rips and the tears and the stains, but that would be good enough. I couldn’t just hide inside here – one tall person finds me, and it’s over. I mean, they’d hit their head on the doorframe first, but then they’d find me, and it’d be over. I had to make my way inside the shopping centre.

The coast was clear. I jogged across the concrete trying to look happy and shoppy and chippy chappy, and though it probably wasn’t convincing, no tall guy came up and beat my ass so it had worked. The doors slid open with a shunk and I, catching my breath, strolled shoddily through. It was sterile in here. The walls were sugar white, and the lights were warm cold. There was no air, besides maybe an air of lingering pleasantry. Somebody had been paid a lot to make me feel comfortable, and admittedly I did feel comfortable. Not safe.

There were tall people everywhere, roaming around, staring over the rest of us, buying shit with their tall coins apparently. Okay. Firstly, I needed to have purpose. Nobody wants to be at a shopping centre, which means everybody is doing something. I picked the direction with the most space and started walking confidently, like I had somewhere to be. I even picked a store I would ‘head’ to, at which point I would pick another and go there. Of course, I still found the time to jump the dividing lines in the floor – a girl has needs. So far, step one was working well – even the tallest of people hadn’t noticed me. Secondly, I needed to find a group of also short people, and blend in with them. They’re looking for a singular person, so I’d be invisible. The real question now was: where would the short people be? I thought for a second, still hitting my stride. Fashionable clothing stores. They don’t sell anything for large people, and they’re usually aimed towards women, who are typically shorter. It was the perfect plan. It also made me think and then bet that ‘tall coins’ were given to people who hit a certain height, and not relative to gender. I wonder what Ellie had to say about that.

Were there even any fashionable clothing stores here? In the few times I’d come, usually to watch some dumb movie with Ellie in the cinema above us nobody goes to, I had never bothered to check. Surely. I took the risk and stopped walking, leaning against a wall next to one of those staff corridors that do nothing, and scoping the place out. Did Claire’s sell cloth – no. Admittedly my vision of a fashionable clothing store began and ended with Forever 21, which I had never seen outside of media, and wasn’t even certain they had in Australia [Ed. If the town you picked happens not to be in Australia (most aren’t I hear), too bad]. Was it called Forever 18? Okay, well there was a Myer there, but that was mixed gender and also for poshies so I wouldn’t fit in. I kept looking. Is that –

‘Miss,’ There was a voice behind me. Male, 40’s. I turned around. Day-Glo vest, so security. Tall. Fuck. Why did I stop. Why the fuck did I –

‘If you’d just come with me.’ He continued.

‘Why?’

‘Our security camera algorithms have identified in your behaviour patterns a 72% match to the latest shoplifter models. For the security of both the shoppers here and the interests of the premises, you will be subjected to a mandatory check. If we detect no wrong-doing or illicit activity, you are free to go.’ This was bullshit. I needed to get out of here. I glanced around, and only then realised that, floor on floor, every single shopper was staring directly at me, unmoving. They were all tall. Not a bag or leg wavered. Hundreds of them, all around, watching me. ‘Come with me now.’

‘Give me a second.’ I said. It was over. I was completely surrounded. I was on the second floor, so I could jump the balcony and maybe try and make a run for it, but where to? Why? Surrounded means surrounded, and I’d only hurt myself more. There was literally, finally, no way out. ‘Fine.’

I walked with him, down the corridor, and through the doorway to the side, feeling myself lose consciousness only moments after I entered. Whatever happened next, I reminded myself, was not my fault…

what if people over a certain height had a special currency called tall coins that short people didn’t know about. And one day you’re walking with your friend (huge) and she drops something and you pick it up and say what is this and she says oh that’s my tall coin don’t worry about it. But you did worry

[cextile]

pick a pile reading ☆

what are the good things coming in your life

buy me a coffee on kofi ;)

how to read this pick a pile tarot reading ♡ the images above are your pick-a-pile options — see which image immediately pulls you in. If nothing stands out right away, take a moment to look at each pile/image. the one your attentions keeps coming back to is likely your pick. if more than one pile calls to you, trust that too. you can read both and take what resonates. and hey, if none of them feel like a match, no big deal. not every reading is meant for right now. come back another time — this reading isn’t going anywhere. 

pile one☆

cards pulled: five of swords reversed, ace of cups, justice, page of pentacles.

All of you in pile 1 are going to have exciting new beginnings. 

& a lot of you are going to open yourself up to experiencing love.

If you guys have been dealing with people who are just a pain in your ass, I am here to tell you that they are going to get their payback very very soon. So yeah, relax because the truth is going to come to light and they are going to be held accountable. you are having your peaceful ending in this drama babe, don't worry. people are going to be held accountable. The conflict is going to be ending.

this is calling out to the very specific people, who are struggling in their relationships. I want to gently hold your hand and tell you in the most loving way, you are going to get the love you deserve. I promise you. even if it feels not okay… my throat is getting thick with emotion.... You will get the love you deserve. and don't worry. don't worry. you... things are going to get so good for you. and I really, really want you to trust that. I really, really want you to trust that. This is not the end of... You're not unlovable. You're really not unlovable. Things are going to get really good for you. Trust that. You might meet a new partner. You might have celebrations with them. There is light at the end of this godforsaken tunnel & you have to trust that.

For the singles, I'm hearing you're going to be meeting new people & if you've been working heard towards something.. you're going to be getting it. you're literally setting up a good foundation for success right now..

alsoo my happily engaged people out there, put your glasses up for celebrations! I'm hearing good news haha 🍼 spiritually, this collective has learnt its karmic lessons, you are going to open your heart to the universe, to allow the universe to just shower you with good fortune & success yk?

pile two ☆

cards pulled: six of cups reversed, wheel of fortune reversed, death, page of swords, the world reversed.

Not gonna lie, I am shocked on seeing the cards. I pulled an extra card for you guys to have a little bit more clarity.

Initially for a hot minute I thought you guys had a very lowkey energy, but there is/is going to be there is a whole lot of movement beneath the surface. like magma which just ebbs and flows inside the surface of a dormant volcano..  

You guys are going through some major internal changes, upheavals literally. Like Pile 1 was more about the external environment, but you guys are more about your inner world.

Suppose your inner world is a smooth fabric, alright? And I'm seeing folds in the fabric. 

So yeah, the good thing is that the time for you to change has come. 

You're going to be inspired, you’re going to be letting go of bad habits, becoming more mindful with what you tell people/what you engage in. I am seeing you guys are basically going to be changing yourself for the better. You are going to show yourself up as a better person. You're just going to become a more mentally resilient person. I'm seeing you guys becoming this patient,guarded individual who protects their energy like really really well. I'm seeing you guys growing up and letting go of things that have been holding you back, letting go of the burdens. If you guys have been having this vibe of feeling stuck in a situation, you're going to be getting out of that. You guys have to keep yourself on your toes, don’t let the days just slip by and keep asking guidance from the universe. You're going to deeply connect with your higher sense of self and discover a depth to yourself that you're not even sure that existed. 

So yup, things are going to come & you are going to change yourself to deal with them. They might test you, try and delay you but at the end of it all you are going to be somebody that is wiser, better than the person that you were. To be honest, getting the opportunity to improve yourself is honestly so rare. A lot of people just don’t change themselves even if the whole universe keeps conspiring to teach them lessons so just be grateful you’re going to become so sharp & resilient. A menace. 

pile three ☆

cards pulled: judgement, six of cups, two of cups, king of pentacles

its rare honestly, this pile. very rare. all the cards are upright, and good things are about to flow in like a rushing river in your life from literally every aspect. you are going to be living the definition of an idyllic life.

really beautiful energy on the horizon here, like a gentle sparkling river that murmurs really really softly. you’re going to be deepening your emotional bonds with people. It could be business related, platonic and even romantic, and it’s going to involve mutual trust, love & respect. 

you’ll either reconnect with your roots, form your own happy family, or find your own community. There’s just this sense of belonging.

as for your personal sense of self? you are going to break free from unrealistic expectations from yourself/from others. you will get a chance to rest. finally anchor yourself to relax, amongst the hustle bustle you have been involving yourself in. 

so yeah, you are going to be emotionally fulfilled. there will finally be a time to release yourself from the anxiety, tense situations, and you'll get to experience a profound sense of peace. you are going to achieve a level of clarity & composure that allows you to calmly evaluate yourself and the decisions you have taken. this will help you take positive decisions in the future, which is going to open up literally a dimensions of amazing possibilities

and your career? Don't even worry about it. It is going to be boooming 💥💥 & if you’ve been in that phase of working hard, let me tell you that- yup, the results are right around the corner. 

that's it for this reading. take care of yourself.

sending lots of love, Ananya ♡

[llamagoddessofficial]

bad sanses… as girls!????? 😳

BAD GIRLS???

Horror appears less unstable. She's a little taller than regular Horror. She comes across as calmer, a touch more aware and alert, you can clearly tell she's taking in everything around her. She snaps far less often - she lets slide things our Horror would never let slide. But this false 'calm' is because this Horror only attacks when she 100% means to kill. She doesn't bluff. She silently waits, watching until someone crosses the final line... and when they do, she's far more aggressive, going for the kill. Our Horror snaps more often, but is easier to sway out of his rage... this Horror? Once she's decided she wants to kill there's nothing that can get in her way.

She's not quite as cuddly, but she fixates much faster on people she loves. It doesn't take her long to decide whether you're one of 'her people' or not. And if you are, you're not going anywhere.

Dust really has no visible difference. Dust is so disconnected from herself, thanks to her overwhelming LV, that there's not really much of a person left. Her friendship with Horror is the same, her tolerance of Killer's antics is the same, her dislike of her current position is the same - and her feelings for you are the same. If our Dust and this Dust met, you honestly wouldn't be able to tell them apart at a glance.

The only real difference is that she prefers menthol cigarettes. It gives her a strange scent, bitter and light, and a dry mintiness to her kisses.

Killer is a girl's girl. And more flirty, if that's somehow even possible. She's very touchy, always leaning on you, nudging you for attention, coming up behind you and resting her arms on your shoulders. She wants to do your makeup, swap outfits, paint your nails... if you're not careful you'll find yourself sitting between her legs while she does your hair. For someone with no hair, she's surprisingly good at hairstyles, and you may even find yourself coming back to her asking her to recreate something.

She's more openly jealous than our Killer, getting visibly irritated far faster by people taking up your time. She's also more open about her possessiveness - she's quick to drag you over to her when her spot in your heart feels threatened. But honestly? The toxicity might be worth it. She makes your hair look so good.

Nightmare enjoys using humans as chew toys. She thinks it's hilarious that she can get such easy access to someone's mind just by virtue of looking 'feminine' - though she wouldn't actually touch most humans with a ten foot pole she very much enjoys the process of invading someone's sleep and watching their terror as what they thought would be a very pleasant dream turns into a nightmare. Bit of female spider imagery going on.

She's just as proud, just as cold and arrogant, just as determined to be treated like a God. Hates her 'dear sister' just as much. Her major difference is that she's much weaker to flattery. She wants to be feared, but she also wants to be worshipped; she spares those who grovel deep enough, or address her appropriately reverent names. She loves being compared favourably to Dream.

Who knows. If you've got a silver tongue she particularly likes, she might just take you with her to hear more.

[psformybss]

What about something with secret fiancé reader where she’s very pregnant and they are at an OBX thing and Drew is just so loving and supportive and dotting on her and everything. No pressure to do this, just a thought, totally under stand if you don’t want to.

Let Me, Baby

series masterlist

warnings: pregnancy mention, fluff, third trimester softness, drew being doting, domestic vibes, casual dialogue, obx cast dinner

an: i love this idea so much, thank you anon! this lowkey inspired me to write a little blurb for like each month of her pregnancy so i’ll probably post that soon i just gotta finish it lol

By the time they pulled up to Madelyn’s place, the porch lights were glowing and music was already drifting out from somewhere inside.

She unbuckled her seatbelt with a grin. “I swear, if JD didn’t bring his mac and cheese, I’m walking out.”

Drew was already out of the car and opening her door before she could even reach for the handle. “You’re not walking anywhere. I’ll carry you to the kitchen myself if I have to.”

She rolled her eyes, but took his hand anyway. “I’m not that pregnant.”

“You’re in the third trimester,” he said, steadying her with one hand on her back. “You’re not lifting a finger tonight. Or walking more than ten feet.”

“I did laundry, walked the dog, and vacuumed today,” she pointed out as they made their way up the front steps.

“And I offered to do all of that,” he said, holding the door open. “I was overruled.”

Inside, Madelyn’s place smelled amazing—something garlicky and warm—and laughter came from the kitchen. Carlacia was leaning on the counter drinking a Topo Chico while Chase and JD were pretending to help her cook. Madison waved from the couch, bowl of chips in her lap.

Madelyn came over first, grinning. “Look who finally made it.”

“Traffic,” Drew said like an excuse, even though they lived ten minutes away.

Madelyn hugged her, then looked her up and down. “You look so good. Seriously, you’re glowing.”

“She always looks good,” Drew said, kissing her temple like it was second nature.

“I can hear you,” she muttered with a grin as she kicked off her sneakers.

“Let me—” Drew was already scooping them up before she bent down. “I got it. Go sit, I’ll bring you food.”

“I just walked in the door.”

“Exactly. That’s enough effort for one night.”

Madison snorted from the couch. “He’s been like this the whole time?”

“Worse,” she said, waddling (fine, maybe a tiny bit) over to the couch. “He tried to carry my water bottle to the bathroom this morning.”

“She was carrying laundry at the same time!”

“You were still brushing your teeth!”

“I’m efficient,” Drew said, appearing again with a throw pillow that he fluffed and wedged behind her back. “You comfy?”

“I was fine until you started fussing.”

“I’m not fussing,” he said, adjusting the blanket on her lap. “I’m taking care of my girl. Big difference.”

Chase popped his head around the kitchen door. “You two are disgusting. I mean that in a loving way.”

“Let them be gross,” Carlacia said, stealing a chip. “She deserves it. She’s carrying a whole human.”

“She reminds me every day,” Drew said, heading back toward the kitchen. “But still makes her own coffee like a rebel.”

“Because I like doing things for myself!”

“Yeah, and I like doing things for you,” he said over his shoulder. “So let me win once in a while.”

She leaned her head back against the couch, smiling. “If you weren’t cute this would be so annoying.”

Madison grinned. “Nah, you love it.”

She did. He came back a few minutes later with a plate that looked like it had been carefully constructed by someone with a culinary arts degree.

“I got the corner of the lasagna, no onions in the salad, and one of JD’s muffins before they all disappeared,” he said, handing it over like it was made of gold.

She blinked at the plate. “Are you psychic?”

“Just observant,” he said, then flopped down beside her and gently lifted her feet into his lap. “Eat. Hydrate. Relax.”

“Who are you,” JD muttered, walking by with a soda. “And how do I get someone like you in my life?”

“Grow a uterus,” Drew deadpanned.

Dinner was loud and easy, everyone talking over each other and arguing about whether JD or Carlacia made the better pasta dish. Drew made her another plate without asking and refilled her drink twice before she could even notice she needed it.

When they all moved out onto the patio afterward, she stretched out on one of the benches and Drew sat down, immediately tugging her feet back into his lap like it was his job.

“You good?” he asked, rubbing slow circles into her calves.

“Mhm,” she said around a yawn. “Still got some energy left, I’m not crashing yet.”

“Let me know when you hit that wall,” he murmured. “I’ll get you home fast.”

She opened one eye to look at him. “You know you don’t have to do everything, right?”

“I know,” he said with a small smile. “But I want to.”

Carlacia wandered over and sat beside them. “You two are kind of unfair, by the way.”

“What, ‘cause he treats me like royalty?” she joked.

“Exactly. Now my standards are all messed up.”

“He’s setting the bar,” she teased, nudging Drew with her foot.

Drew leaned down and kissed her knee. “Just taking care of my girl.”

“Okay, ew,” Chase called from across the patio. “Can’t y’all save that for not a group hang?”

“Don’t be mad just ‘cause your love language is roast battles,” Madison said, tossing a pillow at him.

Eventually, she started to fade a little—nothing dramatic, just the usual post-dinner slump—and Drew noticed without her saying a word.

“You ready?” he asked quietly.

She nodded and let him help her up, even though she didn’t need it. He held her hand all the way to the car, carried her leftovers, and made sure she was buckled before even starting the engine.

As they drove off, she looked over at him and smiled. “You’re sweet, you know that?”

“I better be,” he said, lacing their fingers on the console. “You’re doing the hard part.”

She laughed. “Pretty sure you’ve carried 80% of the workload tonight.”

“And I’d do it again tomorrow.”

Her smile stretched wider as she looked out at the road. “Yeah. I know.”

taglist: @maybankslover

[trippinsorrows]

dreamland: little do you know

authors note: this is part three of the ’can you stand the rain’ mini series within dreamland. make sure you’ve read ’the rough patch’ and 'faded' before reading this one.

warnings: angst (including discussion and mention of disease)

words: 13k

song inspo/rec listening: little do you know by alex and sierra

Lina isn’t having a good day.

Not really. 

It’s not horrible, but it’s not great, either.

Almost burning herself with her flat iron, completely forgetting about that quiz in Geometry that she’s certain she probably flunked, on top of a shitty soccer practice, she’s just ready for the day to be over so that she can try again tomorrow. 

Never mind the fact that she’s had more….not so great days than she’d like to admit. 

Some really bad days, even.

But, fresh out of the shower, ready and eager to call it a day by getting in bed and sleeping her problems—not really—away, seems like the best plan. Unfortunately, it’s a plan that won’t come to fruition. It doesn’t come to fruition because the minute Lina opens the door to her bedroom, not only is the light already on, but her space is occupied.

Her siblings. All of them sans Aroha who was put to bed by their mom almost an hour ago. 

Leya sits on her twin sister's bed, legs crossed, chewing down on her bottom lip. A clear indication of anxiety. Aria is right next to her in the same position, looking even more worried than her big sister. Koa sits at the chair at her desk, Kai on her fluffy bean bag. Normally, she’d tell him to get off, but the bothered expression on his face, Koa’s as well, has her biting back her comment.

Tama stands, leaning against the wall near the doors of her balcony, arms crossed, gaze mostly downward, eyes lifting up to hers only for a minute. Lina frowns. Of all her brothers and sisters, Tama is the only one who doesn’t look nervous or anxious or even frightened.

He looks pissed off.

Lina waits to close, and lock, the door behind her before stepping into the room, gaze suspicious. “What’s going on?”

Tama is the first to answer. “We need to talk.”

Lina scoffs. “Clearly.” She also crosses her arms, expression softening as she looks at her twin. “What’s going on, sissy?

Except, it’s not her womb mate who answers. It’s instead a clearly shaken Samaria. “Mom and dad aren’t sleeping in the same room anymore.” 

“Wh–what?” Lina has to break a small smile. It has to be the craziest thing she’s heard all day, and she’s not afraid to express as such. “That’s ridiculous.”

Aria shakes her head. “I saw it.” Shifting on the bed, she starts to explain. “I couldn’t sleep last night.” Just that portion makes Lina’s smile drop. She’s never known her little sister to not be able to sleep, but something tells Lina she knows exactly why. Not that she’ll admit it. Not aloud, at least. “So, I got up around 1 to get some Melatonin out of the kitchen, and when I was coming up the steps, I saw daddy go in one of the guest bedrooms.”

Lina stills. “What?”

Leya’s frown deepens. “I know.”

Again, another unimaginable thing, prompting Lina to shake her head. “He was probably getting something.”

“I waited, Lina,” comes Samaria’s small voice, her shoulders dropping. “I waited for 15 minutes on the stairs to see if he would come out.” Her voice goes quiet, frown deepening like her sister beside her. “He didn’t.”

Lina has never really been the child with nothing to say. In fact, most would argue that she has too much to say. No sign of a filter anywhere. Her father’s daughter in every sense and way. But, in that moment, she’s truly speechless. Koa is the one to voice exactly what she’s thinking.

“That’s never happened before.” He looks around the room. “This has never happened before.”

“It’s getting worse,” Kai adds, making eye contact with Lina. “First it was the ignoring each other, then the fighting, and now they’re not even sleeping in the same room?” He shakes his head, jaw clenching. “Something’s going on with them.”

“I think we know what’s going on.” Tama breaks his silence, voice just as tight as the expression on his face. “Dad did something.”

At that, Lina breaks her silence. “What?” 

Tama kicks his foot off the wall, arms still crossed. “It’s obvious, Lina, and you know it.” His eyes flash with something before hardening once more. “I think he che—”

“Don’t you say that,” Leya’s voice cuts through the air, sharp and threatening almost. It draws all sets of eyes on her. “Dad would never cheat on mom.”

“Then, why is all this happening?” He demands, anger clearly masking the same fear and confusion the rest of them are experiencing. “And, if he’s not the one who did something, then why isn’t he in their bedroom and mom the one in the guest room? She put him out.” 

“That’s not even like dad,” Koa speaks up, looking at his twin. “He loves mom.”

“He loves all of us,” Lina corrects, demanding the attention and floor once more. “And, he would never hurt her or us like that.” Lina’s second statement is directed to her younger brother, her best friend in a lot of ways, different from her connection with Leya but still deep. However, in that moment, they couldn’t be on two different pages. She sees it though. Sees that the anger is just a cover-up for what he’s really feeling. They’re similar like that. Emotions sometimes being harder for them to open up about, but right now, in this moment, she doesn’t have the luxury of letting those feelings flow.

Her siblings need her.

It’s time to be the big sister. 

“Look guys, Tama is right that something is definitely going on, but it’s not that. It’s….something they’re not telling us, and it’s probably because it’s none of our business.” Which, Lina can wholly understand, she may only be almost 15, but she’s smart enough to know there are some things husbands and wives keep between themselves, and this has to be one of them. “But, what we do know is how busy they’ve been these past few months. Ripping and running, taking care of us.” She frowns a bit. “They barely have time for themselves.” Or each other. “We’ve gotta….we’ve gotta help them.” She has the focus of all her siblings, something sustains as she sets her plan in motion. “We are going to help them.”

Samaria is the one to ask, voice still low, concern still abundant. “But, how?”

Kai voices agreement, shrugging and reminding, “we’re just kids.” 

“That doesn’t mean we’re helpless,” is her calm counter, Lina’s brain calculating and planning in real time as she shares her plans. “We can help them, and we will by easing their stress. Not making things hard for him.” She starts with Koa and Kai. “No more hacking.” Then Aria, “I know you like to talk about and do your plays for them, but for right now, if you have something to share, share it with one of us. And no asking daddy for anything. Mommy, neither.” Then, Leya, her gaze softening. “Sissy, if your anxiety gets bad, talk to me. If it happens at school, text me. I’ll help you.” Finally, Tama. Lina takes a deep breath. “You and I can’t crash out like we do. If someone pisses us off, we just have to brush shit off or something. Work it out in the gym.” A look around the room, a general statement. “We can’t make things harder for them, you guys. They can’t…they can’t handle it right now.”

Lina won’t admit it, but a part of her is scared what will happen if they don’t make these changes.

What it could mean for the family as a whole. 

Koa speaks up, suggesting, “we could maybe pick up some chores, too.”

Leya nods, clearly agreeing. “Take over laundry.”

“We can also alternate cleaning the kitchen, maybe even cooking,” Samaria adds, the rest of them clearly in agreement.

“Exactly. We do as much as we can so they can do as little as possible.” It feels like a good, solid plan, one that clearly has the cosign of them all, Tama included, who offers a small nod of agreement.

Lina is ready to also suggest they try to handle dinner more days than not when a small knock on her door is followed by it opening. Her expression softens. 

“Roro, what are you doing up?”

Aroha answers in the softest voice, rubbing at her eyes. “I had a bad dream.” A frown followed up with an almost emotional, “and, mommy and daddy didn’t answer the door when I knocked.”

Lina stills. Was it because mom didn’t want Aroha seeing that daddy wasn’t sleeping in the room with her? Is she in the bathroom, maybe? Slept through the knocking? Lina has no idea, she just watches as Leya opens her arm for Roro who shuffles over to the bed, climbing into Leya’s lap as she holds her and kisses the top of her head.

Sighing, Lina closes the door and waits for Leya to calm down their little sister before sitting on the edge of her bed. “Aroha…” Roro’s eyes fall on her, waiting and expecting. “I know…I know you like to wear your costumes to school, but you gotta wear your uniform every day for a little while.” Remembering something else, she adds, “and you gotta make sure to put all your toys away when you’re done playing, okay?”

Before Aroha can ask an understandable question of why, Leya is already five steps ahead. “We’re all trying to help mommy and daddy a little more, and make things easier for them, so they don’t get so stressed.” She cranes her head to look at her while asking. “Does that make sense?” 

Somewhat to Lina’s surprise, Aroha nods slowly, following up with a question of her own. Quiet. Soft. Hopeful. “And then they’ll be happy again?”

It’s such an innocent but valid question. One Leya, nor Lina, or any of the Reigns’ children, have the answer to, because they all have similar, scarier questions. 

Can their parents be happy again?

As her siblings spill out, all in agreement with the plan, Leya holding Aroha who will sleep with her tonight, Lina extends her arm to stop Tama as he’s the last to leave.

She looks at him. “Hey.” Lina moves to close the door, standing and leaning against it. “Don’t do that.”

Tama gives it away without even saying a word, eyes diverted to the corner of her room, the bookshelf that houses countless trophies. Similar to the ones in his room. “Do what?”

“That thing we do,” she sighs. “Where we have a shit ton of feelings and hold it all in.” A pause. “Or, take it out on people.”

He cracks the smallest smile, and in that moment, he reminds her a lot of the man he’s holding that anger towards. 

“What you’re thinking, Tamasa….” Her little brother returns his gaze to her, smile wiped and replaced with that same expression. “He didn’t do it. Daddy would never cheat on mom.” Words already said but also words that need to be repeated. “You’ve seen how he is with her. He’s not like that with anyone except her. He loves her.”

A heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping. “I know. I know. It’s just…” He shakes his head, running his hands through his long hair. “I just don't know what else to think. Whatever it is has to be bad for her to put him out the room, Lina.”

“I agree.” Because, she does. Catalina can’t and won’t deny that. “But, it’s not that, and it will never be that, because I know daddy, and so do you. He’s not that kinda guy.” Lina sighs, pulling from historical receipts. “The way you treat mommy. How protective you are of her and how much you love her. Where do you think you got that from?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. Doesn’t need one. “Daddy. You got it from daddy. Since you were little, he’s always shown and talked with you about how women should be treated. So, why would he do the opposite?”

She’s met with silence, expected and appreciated, because she knows, like herself, when Tama is quiet, it’s because he’s thinking. Reflecting. Processing.

Just like daddy.

“You’re right.” A sigh of defeat, the anger from earlier almost entirely melted away. “He wouldn’t do that.”

Lina sighs. “Exactly.” She reaches out her hand, lightly squeezing his shoulder. “We’re gonna get through this….alright?”

A small nod, their gazes locked, the smallest wry smile falling on his face. “Thanks, Lina.” She smiles back. “Who knew you had a heart somewhere in there?”

“Shut up, dumbass.” She rolls her eyes, the two sharing laughter as she offers, “hey, you wanna join me for my workout tomorrow after school?”

His eyes light up, the answer and obvious one. “Hell yeah.” The older Tama gets, the more she’s found they bask and revel in their shared love of sports and fitness, the reunification of the “terror non-twins” as their Uncle Dwayne used to call them.

They share a fist bump before he leaves, allowing Lina the silence to process it all. The conversation. The reassurance and hope she hopes she successfully fed her siblings. Hope that she can only pray doesn’t turn out to be fruitless. 

—-----

It’s a sickening sense of deja vu. A level of dread Solana never in a million years thought she’d have to experience. A type of hurt and pain that feels more physical than anything yet weighs down her mental unlike anything else. It’s knives to the chest, slashing and stabbing, slowly, gradually, carving out deeper and deeper, finding new layers to mar. To scar. 

To burn. 

To say Solana has been doing well would be a lie. A bold faced lie. She was already struggling, more than she realized, but this….this….this has been something entirely different. Something that's had her reaching for her PRN pills she hasn’t taken in God knows how long. A necessity given the two panic attacks she’s had since that.

It’s just too much. All of it. Solana has always done her best to remain as “strong” as possible, largely for her children, her entire world. But, she’s only human, and a woman, a woman who finds herself facing a type of betrayal she would have bet her life could and would never happen.

She was wrong.

So so wrong.

The first few days are the hardest though. Even harder than trying to pretend like everything was okay for the sake of her children. A facade. 

He’s tried to speak with her. Several times. And, not just the forced conversation they manage in front of the kids but attempts to pull her to the side in those rare moments of privacy between the two. She shuns him every time. It’s not that she doesn’t want to talk to him, because she does. Some part of her, at least. It’s that she can’t. She can’t, because Solana knows all she’ll do is just breakdown and cry. Not that she hasn’t done that already. It feels like all she’s done since then.

A brave face during the day only to sob profusely on the floor of their once shared bathroom, sitting against the locked door, legs pulled up to her chest as she cries into her thighs.

A privacy allotted due to her kicking Roman out of their bedroom. Their separation might not be able to come right away, but that doesn’t mean she can’t do what she can to keep as much distance between them as she can for the time being.

Because despite his protests, a separation is what’s desperately needed since that.

A horrible, awful suspicion confirmed that’s wrecked her entire world.

She tried her best to push the thoughts away. He would never do that to me. A hill she would have died on at one point, but a hill that she started to gradually descend at his changing behavior over the past few weeks to months. She figured it was work stuff, as that’s usually what causes Roman to shut down more or lean more on the irritated side. Not that he ever showed that side of her. He didn’t. He’d instead slip into a space of quiet, allowing her to comfort him. Rubbing his scalp as he laid on top of her. Shirtless, laying on the bed, as she sat on his back, giving him a massage. Sometimes just laying and sitting with him in silence. 

But, none of that happened. It hadn’t happened, because instead of welcoming her, he’d pushed her away. A distance between them she felt, saw widening but tried to make excuses for. The touch was less. The sex was non-existent. 

Tears burn her eyes as she recalls the few times she tried to initiate the latter, only for him to reject her, albeit kindly. 

“Not tonight, baby. I’m tired.” 

An understandable excuse, usually. But, not for her husband. Roman never turned down any opportunity to be intimate with her. Ever. 

But, he had, and now….now, she’s certain she knows why.

Solana sniffles and wipes at her eyes, continuing to overthink and drown in her thoughts.

Revisiting and analyzing every interaction with him over the past few weeks, from the most minute of details that seemed irrelevant at times to the more overt ones, not even involving him. 

The way she’d casually spoke to Matteo during one of his trips to the house to see the kids and bring over his own. How she’d mentioned Roman seemed more tense than usual. Insinuating concern. The way his brother simply dismissed those concerns, kindly and in a Matteo sort of manner, hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. “I’m sure he’s fine.” His eyes held a kindness and something else she now wonders was something else. “You know how Roman is.”

No. No, she doesn’t. Because Roman, her Roman, would never do something like this.

Would never do this to her. 

And, then the overthinking continued. Did Matteo know? Was he simply covering for his little brother? She’d always heard that when men cheat, it’s not uncommon for their closest male friends to know, and who was closer to Roman than this brother?

Dwayne, as well, but she has no evidence to support that.

Nevertheless, it doesn’t stop the spiraling from continuing. 

Worsening as Solana resulted to looking her up on Instagram. A public profile that boasted a variety of pictures, many of her smiling and posing, showing off an impressive body that anyone would envy. Including a mother of seven whose shape has changed over the years from age and multiple childbirths.

Celeste’s face is stunning, her waist tiny, hips and ass thick.

Just his type.

That only dug up another layer of anxiety. Tapped into long buried—or, so she thought—insecurities that once marred the very early days of her marriage. 

Solana comparing herself to other women. The type of women Roman once entertained. Maybe the type of women he still wants to entertain. Because, while Solana has definitely put on a little weight over the years from age and children, it seems her husband only gets better with age. At 54, he’s in arguably the best shape of his life. Any woman would want him. They’ve always fawned at his feet, and he’s always paid them no mind.

But, Celeste….something made her different. 

A sickening thought crossed Solana’s mind as she recalled another age-old saying.

“If he’s not getting it from you, he’s getting it from somewhere.”

Celeste

He’s been getting it from Celeste.

It brings her to the toilet, emptying the little food she’d had that day. Her appetite was all but gone the past few days, another indication of a pending depressive episode. 

The only thing that keeps her going is her kids, though it pains her to have to put on such an act in front of them. A necessity though, as Solana knows the pending separation between herself and Roman will be hard enough on them. And, she hates that. Hates that they’re even in this situation. Hating that that’s what most likely will happen once they figure….whatever out.

She hates it all.

Every single bit of it. 

—-------

It’s hard to say who notices it first. 

Roman or Solana. Maybe both, to some extent. Regardless as to who took notice first is less important as to the thing itself.

Neither parent would ever describe any of their children as bad. Far from it. They can just be….a lot, at times. All the time. But, that’s a given with most things, because at the end of the day, they’re just kids.

Because, one promise they’d made to each other, even before Lina and Leya were born was that they’d do anything and everything they could to make sure the kids had a childhood. That they got to be kids. That they got the experience Roman and Solana never truly had.

And for the most part, they’d like to think they’ve been successful with that. There’s not much the parents wouldn’t do for their babies, bending over backwards sometimes to ensure that happy and stress free, as much as possible, childhood. 

That’s why they took notice to the changes. Some subtle. Some more overt. Solana found herself not having to remind the kids of certain things like chores and homework. Roman didn’t have to repeat himself. Not once.

School mornings a thing of ease. Aroha coming down the steps already in her uniform, her hair also done, courtesy of Leya. Solana finding several of her kids in the kitchen sometimes before she could get there to start preparing dinner, either there to help her or already on the brink of finishing said dinner. 

Evenings were also a thing of ease. Roman didn’t have to spend two hours getting them all in their rooms and down for bed. It now took under an hour. 

The Littles even in the midst of some type of peace treaty, no arguing occurring between them. 

No protest. No pushback. It felt like the Twilight zone. It felt off, because something was off.

Very much so. 

Walking down the steps from her shower, Solana was fully prepared to clean the kitchen. Only to find it all done, all of her seven children boasting proud smiles, but none more than the youngest.

Aroha rushed over with all the excitement. “Look, mommy and daddy!” She points back to the kitchen. "We leaned it for you."

It's the acknowledgment of her husband that makes Solana realize Roman was nearby, clearly having just come from his office. A brief glance. Nothing more. She doesn’t maintain their eye contact. Not at all. 

Clearing her throat, Solana braves a smile, walking deeper into the kitchen. “It looks so nice.” It really does. She can tell it was a collaborative effort, as it’s been for the past few days since the start of her kids off behavior. “But, you guys don’t have to keep cleaning the kitchen for me. I want you to focus on your homework—”

“I don’t get homework,” Aroha announces, still with the biggest smile on her face. “So, I can do lots of cleaning!”

His deep voice sounds from behind. A chuckle. “You’re a kid, baby girl. You don’t need to be doing lots of cleaning.” A pause. “None of you do.”

Solana catches it, and she’s certain Roman does, too, the flick of something that appears in almost all of the kids’ expressions. Subtle but visible, with the exception of one, the youngest and most open with her often big feelings. 

Aroha’s eyes light up with excitement, as she asks with a big smile on her face. “Does that mean you guys are happy now?”

Leya gasps, the first to try to do damage control. “Roro.”

Solana frowns, too focused on her youngest, recognizing there’s clearly something behind that. Walking over and crouching down, Solana asks, “what do you mean, baby?”

Tama steps forward, nervousness visible. "It's nothing, mama."

Solana says nothing, knowing that the answer she's looking for won't come from him. Or the rest of them.

It'll come from Aroha.

And with the truest innocence of a young child, she shares with all of the excitement. “We’ve been really good so you and daddy can be happy again.” 

Solana has to hold back her tears. 

Them.

The kids have been doing all of this, bending over backwards, just to try to make them happy.

Damn.

Thankfully, Roman takes over, gently ordering the rest of them, on the same page as his wife, even without verbal communication. “Kids, come sit down.” 

Solana takes Aroha’s hand, guiding her to sit right next to her on the sofa, as the rest of the kids find various seats in their spacious living room. Roman sits in the love chair. 

Solana would be lying if she said the lack of him next to her, where he always sits when they need to discuss something with their children, isn’t felt. Necessary. But, still….difficult. 

Swallowing, being mindful of her tone and volume, she takes the lead, “you guys…your dad and I….” She stops herself, refusing to let herself cry. Not in front of her babies who have clearly been more impacted by all of this than she initially realized. “We’re going through something right now.”

“And, it has nothing to do with any of you,” Roman adds before anyone can say anything, warm eyes surveying the room. “It’s…it’s between us.”

“We know,” Lina says in a quiet voice, looking between Leya and Tama. “That’s why…we’ve been trying to help out more.” 

Leya nods. “We can do whatever you guys need. You just…you have to tell us.”

"And you only have to tell us once," Samaria interjects. "We promise."

The sweetest, kindest, most heartbreaking thing that Solana has heard in some time. A sentiment clearly shared by her husband, given the brief, shared glance between them.

Roman handles the next portion, voice equally firm as it is caring. “The only thing we need you all to do is be kids.”

That’s all they’ve ever wanted. Was for their children to be children, and to know that hasn’t been happening, maybe even longer than the past few days, is a tough pill to swallow. 

But, the clarification seems to only whip the premature smile off Aroha’s face. “So…so we didn’t make you happy again?”

“Oh baby,” Solana pulls her youngest into her arms, holding her and kissing the top of her head. “As long as mommy has you all, I’ll always be happy.” 

Even if happiness seems like a hard emotion to acquire these past few days, it’s still felt every time she looks at her children. Though in this moment, she’s filled with regret. Regret that her issues with her husband have bled over into her children, filling them with obvious worry that no child should have to experience. 

She hates it.

Hates it all. 

“Your dad…” Solana allows her gaze to fall on Roman, once more the two of them engaging in unspoken conversation. He gives a subtle nod, encouraging her to continue. “Your dad and I are gonna go away for a couple days. Probably a week.”

As expected, a bombardment of questions. 

“Why?” 

“When will you be back?”

“Can we come with you?”

“Is it because of us?”

It’s that last comment that has Roman beating Solana in the metaphorical race to immediately shoot that down. The last thing they want is any of the kids thinking what’s happening is somehow their fault. 

“Not at all. None of you have done anything wrong.” His voice is firm and final, as he makes eye contact with each and every one of them. “Mom and I just need some time to talk and figure out things, and we need to do it away from you all, so you don’t continue to worry and stress.”

Words similar to what she’d texted him not even an hour ago, recognizing that they couldn't go on the way that they were. 

Solana: i know we need to talk, but that’s not going to happen with the kids around. i talked with bayley and rhea, they’re gonna come stay with them for a week while we go away and try to figure all this out.

Roman: Where do you want to go?

Solana: fetu’s place…

Roman: Okay.

Naturally, both Bayley and Rhea were filled with questions, some she answered, most she didn’t. Truth be told, Solana hasn’t really talked much with anyone regarding what’s been going on within her marriage. She hasn’t wanted to. For a variety of reasons, most of which being the only person she really wanted to speak with was shutting her out.

And, now it seems the roles have reversed.

But, like she said in her text to him, this can’t continue, and it’s not going to get addressed so long as they have the kids to worry about and be mindful of. They both need to get away. 

Figure out how this separation is going to work, because Solana doesn’t know a lot of things, but what she does know is that some time apart is clearly what they need. 

Whether he wants it or not, and she knows he doesn’t, but perhaps seeing the impact their marital problems have been having on the kids will hopefully help him see her side of things. 

Even if just seeing just that impact on said kids just from their issues has her wondering if the separation will do more harm than it will good. 

—-------

The drive up to Fetu’s place is eerily similar to the first time she was taken to meet Roman’s late aunt, following an even more eerily similar incident. A misunderstanding, that time. 

This time…not so much.

Solana keeps her earbuds plugged in, body angled away from where he sits in the drivers seat. Eyes closed almost the entire time, sleep calls her name, but the discomfort of not being awake and conscious while in such close proximity to him is too much. Theres’s an unease that accompanies this closeted space, like being around him is too much. And, it is. Several times she has to fight back tears from spilling over.

It all hurts so much, and the first few days at the cabin are rough.

He tries to get her to talk, to open up, to actually discuss things. 

“Solana…we came here to talk.”

“Please just talk to me. Please.”

“Yell, scream, something, Sol. I need something.”

It goes in one ear and out the other. Pleads met with continued silence. He’s not wrong. She knows he’s not. If not for them, then for the kids, they have to make use of this rare alone time.

She won’t let it go to waste. She can’t. But, it’s utterly difficult to bring herself to it. She can’t even think of it without crying, and she knows he sees it. The way she quickly wipes at her eyes whenever he enters the room she’s in. The same way she sees that flash of hurt that appears in his eyes every time he witnesses the brunt of his betrayal.

The hurt he’s caused. 

After multiple failed attempts to initiate conversation, he doesn’t say much to her, and she doesn’t say anything to him. There’s continued attempts, similar to how it was back at the manor, but they’re not home, and she doesn’t have to fake shit for the sake of her babies. 

She ignores him. Ignores him the same way he’s ignored her the past few weeks, bordering on months. It’s petty, she knows this, but on top of the mountain of hurt he’s caused her to experience is anger. Anger at him. Anger at herself. Anger at her. Just a tremendous amount, and while she’s never considered herself to be a vindictive person, there’s a small part of Solana that finds joy in knowing she’s not the only one suffering. 

Roman’s distress is palpable. She can see and even feel his hurt, but it’s difficult for her to care, even with her selfless ways, when it’s a situation he put himself in.

Put them in. 

And, she’s not stupid, she knows that not only did she initiate this sort of “getaway,” but that they only have a number of remaining days to sit down and discuss things. That her children are expecting their parents to return back home the way they’re used to seeing them.

If only she was convinced that’ll be the case.

But, she’s not. Truth is that Solana isn’t sure just how she and Roman get back to where they were.

Or, if they even still can. 

She’s sitting out back on the patio, drawing, on the bench where she first sat so many years ago, enjoying the sounds of nature. Embracing the solitude. 

While it exists. 

Solana doesn’t bother to spare Roman a glance when she hears the backdoor open, nor does she care to lift or redirect her focus from the sketch at hand. 

Not that it makes a difference.

“I know you don’t want to speak with me right now,” he starts, and she’d be lying if it didn’t do something to her. Something strange. Something that has her heart feeling heavy all over again. “And, I'll respect that, Solana. But, I just….I need you to look at something for me.”

The pressure applied to the paper intensifies just a bit more at that last part. She doesn’t want to do anything for him.

A far cry from the woman who’s told him countless times over the years just the opposite. 

How things can change. 

Solana remains focused on her drawing—not really—as he places something beside her, something that has enough weight for her to feel the shift from the padding underneath her. Sparing a glance to the side, not to him, she sees it’s his laptop. A laptop bearing a variety of stickers, most courtesy of their children over the years always wanting to make it look “cool.”

Decorations he never saw to it to remove or even correct them on, because he just enjoyed their wanting to always be involved with him. In any sort of capacity.

It chips away just a bit at some of anger, because she cannot and will not deny what an amazing father he’s always been. The best. She’s always been so in awe of how he is with the kids. The same way she was in awe with how good he’s always been with and to her.

Again, what a switch.

Solana stares at it for a moment, as he clears his throat, voice strained. “Please.”

Another chip. Roman has never been a man to wear his heart on his sleeve or to be openly emotive. Except for with her and the kids, but it started with her. She’s always been the one he’s most open with, so it’s impossible for her to ignore the fact that he’s clearly just as much a mess as she is. Holding it together. Barely.

It…it tugs at her. She’s upset with him, but she doesn’t hate him.

She could never hate him. 

Still unable, or maybe unwilling to look at him, Solana simply offers a small nod. Okay. 

She doesn’t need to be looking at him to know that has to mean a lot to him. The smallest but more important of wins. 

“Thank you.”

Still no acknowledgement. She’s not there yet. 

It’s not until he walks back into the house, and Solana hears the sound of the door shutting that she sets aside her pen and sketchbook. Trades it in for the MacBook Pro, settling it in her lap and opening it, partially surprised to see it's no longer password protected.

But, it’s something she can’t think too much about because of what’s on the screen. It’s a video that’s paused, ready to be played. CTV footage. Footage of her.

Of Celeste. 

Solana is just about ready to pitch the laptop off the porch, suddenly filled with anger. What the hell is Roman trying to do? It feels like salt on an open would. It feels cruel, and while she knows good and well that Roman is more than capable of that, it’s never been directed towards her. 

She closes her eyes, forcing herself to take a deep breath. While Roman’s behavior and conduct has been….awful, to say the least, he has to have a purpose for wanting her to see this. A purpose that can’t be to make things worse. It has to be for a reason that’s intended to help. How, she’s not sure, but she also knows that at this point, what does she stand to lose?

She hits play. 

The footage begins, showing Celeste sitting at her desk, admiring her nails only to abruptly shift in her seat at the entrance of a man.

Roman.

He’s just stepped out of his office, expression hardened, walking past the desk right as Celeste stands up. “Mr. Reigns.” She clears her throat, adjusting that short ass dress of hers. “Can I—”

“Leave me alone.”

Abrupt. Curt. Mean.

Solana would be lying if she tried to deny a flurry of humor flutters within at the way Celeste’s smile quickly collapses into a frown. Embarrassed. She looks embarrassed. 

The clip transitions to the same setting. Celeste at her desk, alternating between typing and scrolling on her phone when instead of seeing Roman exit his office, he's instead seen arriving. Flanked by Dwayne and Matteo.

She stands up, flashing that flirty smile. “Gentlemen.”

Dwayne, unsurprisingly, returns the charm, removing the sunglasses from the top of his head. “I like that dress, sweet thing.” Solana rolls her eyes. Even at his big age, Dwayne continues to be the biggest flirt. But, it’s the reaction of her husband that Solana is focused on. 

Because there is no reaction. 

Roman actually rolls his eyes, Matteo chuckling as once again Celeste tries and fails to capture the attention of the Tribal Chief.

“Mr. Reigns, your meeting got pushed back—”

“I know.” Another clipped response as he doesn’t even look her way, and the three men head into his office space, the sound of Roman mumbling something that sounds a lot like “...annoying” before the door is shut, once again leaving Celeste standing there looking stupid.

And, that’s exactly how the rest of the footage goes. Celeste clearly trying to capture Roman’s attention, and him straight up ignoring, dismissing, or being straight up rude to her in the process. 

Solana watches the montage once, and then twice, searching for any and all cues of anything she could have missed. The only thing being the way Celeste transitioned about halfway through from calling Roman “Mr. Reigns” to just calling him Roman.

On the third watch is when she stops it not even halfway through. She slowly closes the laptop, mind racing, running, and and everywhere. 

She understands it now. Understands why he wanted her to watch. Beyond that. He wanted her to see for herself the dynamic, the “relationship” that existed between him and Celeste. A “relationship” that, based upon what she’s seen, was simply Celeste trying for her life to snag his attention but failing every time.

It’s…confusing. 

Solana is confused, because she knows what she just saw in the videos. But, she also knows what she saw that day. It doesn’t make any sense. How did it go from Roman barely acknowledging that girl’s existence to her being in his lap, straddling him?

Something different stirs within Solana. Something that has her no longer feeling like putting as much distance between herself and her husband. That desire is still there, but it doesn’t outweigh the other thing.

That sudden desire for answers and clarification. 

She’s ready to talk. 

—-----

“I watched the video.” It’s the first thing she says to him when she walks in the living room. He’s on the sofa, glasses on, iPad in hand. She stands before him, blanket wrapped around her shoulders, gaze even, voice steady. “All of it.”

He says nothing, his eyes never leaving hers as she walks over to sit on the sofa next to him. Not next to him. No, that feels….it feels too soon.

“Every minute,” she whispers, tightening the blanket as he hit the sleep button on the tablet, setting it on the coffee table. Solana shifts her focus to the rug that she can still recall Lina and Leya crawling all over the first time they took them here. The apple juice Tama spilled and waste, as he was too excited for the show he was watching on TV. 

Memories.

So many memories.

“Okay.” He sounds unsure, and that’s almost unnerving for her. Solana has never known her husband to be unsure of anything in his life. “What do you—”

“How did you not see it, Roman?” A whispered question. One she’s had since watching the footage. “How…how could you not tell what she was doing? What she wanted?” She shakes her head, emotion rising. “I told you to be careful. I warned you about her, and you didn’t listen.”

Because in the half hour that passed between Solana sitting on the bench and finally deciding to speak with her husband, more thoughts crossed her mind. Like what happened during those times where Celeste entered his office, a place where there were no cameras? Did something happen? It had to have, based on what Solana saw that day. 

Then, there’s the fact that she told him. Warned him to be careful. Expressed her discomfort with that girl, and he’d done nothing. A far cry from the man who's always moved heaven and earth for her and their kids. That Roman would have fired Celeste the minute Solana expressed her concerns, which looking back, deep down, Solana realizes that’s what she wanted him to do. 

But, he didn’t.

And, she can’t figure out why. 

Roman keeps his voice low.  “I know.” The quietest acknowledgement. No denial. No justification. Just validation. “Solana, I didn’t…my goal wasn’t to ignore you.”

At that, she scoffs. “That’s all you’ve done, Roman, is ignore me.” She shakes her head, finding her voice after days of overthinking and repressing. “I told you that I didn’t trust her, and you ignored me. I’ve tried to talk with you and—” She stops herself, emotions flooding along with countless previously silenced thoughts. “I’ve felt so lonely lately, Roman.” Beyond lately. For almost two months, Solana has felt this, felt this void in the wake of his distance. “Even when you’re here, you’re somewhere else. Physically present. Mentally elsewhere.” Her voice cracks, anger diminishing with each word that leaves her mouth. “You’ve shut me out.”

He looks at her, voice soft. “Baby—”

She closes her eyes. “I’ve always felt so close to you, but these past two months, I just….” She shakes her head, looking down, playing with her hands, finally voicing what she’s been too scared to say aloud. Afraid it would make it the truth. “I’ve felt like I’ve lost you.” A heartbreaking thing to admit to the man she once thought she couldn’t live without. Still does, in some ways. Solana lifts her head, eyes still closed, as she takes a deep breath. “So, when I opened that door and saw you with her—”

“Solana, nothing happened—”

“I started to blame myself.”

He pauses. “What?”

She opens her eyes, taking him in, taking in this man who’s held her heart for the better part of her life. Who she’s always considered her better half. Who saved her life so many years ago.

The man she loves. 

“I—” It’s such a difficult thing to share, to disclose, all of the many anxieties and concerns and thoughts she’s had since and about this whole thing. But, she knows it needs to come out, and if not now, then when? “I started—I started comparing myself to her.”

“Baby—”

“She’s young, and–and she’s beautiful, skinnier than me, and—” Solana blows out a shaky breath. “And, then I started thinking about what kind of wife I’ve been. If I was attentive enough, if I—I forced all this on you.” She gestures around them, shrugging helplessly. “If…having all these children is something I–I pressured you into, and I unintentionally pushed you in her arms–”

“Solana.” 

She gasps, eyes shooting open at the feel of his hands on her face. He’s no longer sitting on the sofa but instead on his knees in front of her, cradling her face, eyes burning into her with all the sincerity and honesty. “Solana, I love you. There’s no woman on this fucking earth I could ever want besides you, and don’t you ever fucking say that you pressured me into anything.” He swallows, clearly also feeling all the emotions that flow through her entire body. “I love our kids. The family we have, the family you’ve given me, means more to me than you could ever know.”

Looking at him, really looking at him, for the first time in days, since it all happened…Solana believes him. Believes he’s telling the truth. Similar sentiments he’s expressed to her over the years at various points, but something she needed to hear once more from him. 

Needed that reassurance. 

But, as helpful as it is, as much as it means to her, it still doesn’t answer one important ass question that she manages to ask him.

“So, how did we get here, Roman?”

Here. At Fetu’s place. At this place in their marriage. At this place in life.

But, instead of continuing to display a necessary vulnerability with her, Solana sees it. Sees the way he’s starting to shut down. “I don’t…” That’s all he can get out, because just like that, the brief spark of hope fades, stomped out by reemerging isolation. He’s separating himself again, and she can’t take it anymore. Solana stands up to leave, unable and unwilling to put up with any more rejection. Because that’s what he’s made her feel lately.

Rejected.

Roman is fast though, standing with her, his body practically pressed against hers, hands on her hips, holding her, keeping her from leaving. Her eyes momentarily flutter. Having him this close to her, the woodsy scent of his cologne invading her senses the same way he invades her private space.

It’s so hard. She’s missed him so much. 

Solana manages to lift her eyes to meet his, his gaze pleading an unspoken request. 

Please.

Torn and so lost, she ignores the screaming in her head to walk away and leave him be. Doesn’t allow it to dictate her behavior as she instead sits back down on the same sofa. He does the same, next to her. 

But, Solana scoots to the other end, placing some distance between them. Something that makes him wince almost but doesn’t prevent him from talking. Something that’s confusing to her as well. How can she both want and not want him at the same time? A cruel, wicked  dichotomy indeed. 

Roman clears his throat, voice still low. “I don’t want to make this about me.”

An easy thing to respond to. Probably the easiest thing in any of this. “But, it is about you, Roman.” Is her calm counter as she shifts, angling her body toward him, one leg up on the sofa, the other on the ground. “It’s about you. It’s about me. It’s about us. It all ties in together.”

He nods, clearly sitting on her words. His elbows are on his thighs, hands clasped together between slightly spread legs. He’s focused on the same rug that she’d previously used to reflect on the life they’ve worked so hard to build for themselves.

“Do you remember when I took Aroha to that birthday party back in January?” He suddenly asks, forcing her to think back hard. Their kids do so many things, it’s hard to keep up at times. “You couldn’t take her because—”

“I had to work,” Solana finishes for him. She remembers now. “Yes, what…what about it?”

Solana sees the way his jaw flexes, indicating he’s struggling to express himself. 

“I was the oldest person at that damn fucking party, and it…it got me thinking…” He trails off, clearly deep and heavy in thought. “I’m 54 years-old, Solana. I’ll be 55 in less than three months.”

She continues to study his side profile, struggling to follow just where he’s going. “Okay…” This is nothing new, nothing that comes as a surprise to her, and he knows this, so why they’re even discussing it is truly confusing her.

“Aroha is five. Five years old.” Solana shifts on the sofa once more, moving to her knees, frown deepening with every pained statement that leaves his mouth. Now…now, she’s starting to understand. “By the time she’s 18 and just graduating high school, I’ll be almost fucking 70 years old.”

Her chest tightens. “Roman…”

He continues, visibly deep in the throes of his distressing concerns regarding the fragility of life. “All I’ve been able to fucking think about is time, all I can think about is time. Time I have left. Time I might not get with her, with them—”

She shakes her head. “Don’t say that—”

“With you.”

Solana grows quiet. She knew something was going on with Roman, just knew it, but she could have never guessed it was this. Nor could she have anticipated how deeply it’s been bothering him. Tormenting him, it almost feels like. 

He sits back against the sofa, still not looking at her but continuing to pour out months worth of worries in a matter of minutes. “I spent years being stupid, wasting my time with women who meant nothing to me, whose names I didn’t even know half the damn time, and now that I have you, I have the kids, I have to deal with the consequences of that. The fact that I might not be able to experience so many things because I was too busy being a fucking whore....” He swallows. "I fucking hate it."

She winces at the bitterness that seeps through his deep voice. Bitterness and blame directed inward. A sort of anger that feels almost unfair. It’s all unfair, but the fact that he feels so deeply about this, feels as if he’s to blame for the timeline of their story being the way it is feels wrong to her.

Has her sympathizing for him. Such a stark contrast for everything she’s felt the past few days, longer even, but what she feels, nonetheless. There’s no thought that goes into when she moves closer to him on the sofa, what has her gently cupping his face when he finally looks at her, or has her asking with all the love, “Roman….why….why didn’t you say anything to me?”

Years. For years, they’ve been each other’s biggest support system. Biggest confidants. Safe spaces. So, to know he’s been suffering in silence with what almost sounds like some sort of midlife crisis hurts her. It hurts her a lot. She might have been (is still?) upset with him, hurt especially, but she’d never wish this kind of pain on him.

Walking around everyday wondering and worrying about mortality and time he won’t get to have with their children.

With her. 

He closes his eyes, carefully choosing his words. 

“Because, you don’t get it, Sol. you’re 10 years younger than me. That makes a difference. It makes a big difference.” He stops, opening his eyes, tone shifting into something softer than the almost edge that took over with his initial answer to her question. “You don’t…you don’t have to worry about these things like I do, and I didn’t want you to worry about it.”

“Roman….” Her voice dips, filled with all of the emotions. “All I’ve done is worry about you.”

About him. About them. His silence may have seemed like protection, but it was really just ammunition. Fuel that drove and sustained the separation between them, maintained the distance and disconnection. 

“Solana…” He trails off, and a shaky breath tumbles out of her mouth when he moves his hands to her waist, holding her. “The reason…the only reason I haven’t touched you is because I keep thinking about what if you get pregnant again? Is that just going to be another child of mine that I don't get to experience as much with because of my age?” An unexpected admission but one that answers another of her insecurities with this whole situation. She’d been so scared he hadn’t made love to her because he didn’t want to. Because his attraction to her was no longer there. 

She couldn't have been more wrong.

“Roman…” It’s a bit of a difficult task. She doesn’t want to invalidate his feelings, but she also doesn’t want him to continue to torment himself over something that he can’t control. “We can’t control time. The same way you couldn’t control when we met. But, I believe we met exactly when we were supposed. Our children have been born exactly when they were supposed to.” She does. With everything in her. “The same way I believe and know that we’re both going to see them all grow up and be happy and have families of their own someday. All the way from Lina to Aroha.” The faintest hint of a smile, the first she’s had in days, appears on her face. “Well…my money would be on Leya starting that family first, since we both know how Lina is.”

His small chuckle means a lot to her. Same with the way his grip on her waist tightens ever so slightly. “You’re not gonna miss any of it, Ro…” She lifts a hand to gently stroke his beard. “I promise….”

Because Solana cannot and will not accept a future where this all doesn't end exactly as she predicted. They will only close their eyes after seeing the family they created build and create their own future. 

“Thank you.” Comes his strained voice. She manages a small smile.  He tugs her even closer, their foreheads pressed together.

Solana’s chest is fluttering, a different, both foreign and familiar emotion simmering within, hastening to a boiling point. “Roman…”

An unspoken but known continuation of addressing her insecurities. “It’s not and never will be because I don’t want you,” he vows. I’ve always wanted you, and I always will. I only want you, Solana.”

His mouth hovers over hers, Solana moving her hands to his shoulders. “Ro…”

One locked gaze, and seconds later, his lips are on hers. It’s all feeling and sensation. No thoughts. Just feeling. She doesn’t want to think, doesn’t want to worry, doesn’t want any of the things that have been weighing her down. Weighing them both down. 

It’s not perfect. It’s not fixed. It’s not even necessarily alright, but right now, she doesn’t care about any of that. This isn’t about that. This is about connection. It’s about togetherness. It’s about being one. 

Clothes are shed and bodies repositioned, their mouths only separated in moments of necessity, desire a powerful, blinding emotion consuming both of them. 

Synchronized moans at the entrance of him inside of her, Solana’s hands clutching and clawing at his back at the familiar stretch and initial burn. She whines, legs tightening around his hips, craving him. All of him. Every single inch. His body melting and molding into hers. She can’t get close enough, feel close enough. It’s just not enough.

Tears blur her vision, a vulnerable, breathy, “I’ve missed you,” escaping her mouth. 

He looks at her, one hand cupping her face, “I know, baby.” Solana whines into his mouth, his hips pressing into hers, driving his dick deeper inside of her, feeding and correcting her every neglected need. “I’m sorry.” Her eyes shut, as he moves his full lips over her eyelids, kissing her tears away. “I’m sorry.”

Solana gasps once more, her head craned back, as he angles his hips upward, finding her spot almost instantly. Her nails dig into his back as his mouth continues to travel her face, placing the softest of kisses that accompany the dutiful thrusts, the melding of their bodies. The becoming of one.

“I’m sorry,” a prayer on his mouth that he can’t seem to cease, remittance and remittance it feels he believes there is no cutoff point for. A level of contrition that penetrates her soul. 

Solana clutches him, body to body, chest to chest. One and one. He drives into her with all the dedication and repentance coursing through his big body. And, she takes it all, every bit of it. She’s never been been able to get enough of him, of this, and after so long of going without, she just wants to be and not think.

Just wants to enjoy and savor in this moment. 

In the love. 

It’s not like most of the time when they make love. He doesn’t turn her over or initiate different positions. Doesn’t prolong it for the rest of the night. They stay like that, face to face, gazes locked almost the entire time, a level of intimacy reserved only for that of the deepest of lovers. Of two who decided long ago that there was no them without one another. A perfect union.

And, when they’re done, when both reach their shared climax, they don’t move. There’s a shift to allow Solana to lay on top of him, her ear to his chest, as he uses her blanket to partially cover them. But, outside of minimal adjustments, no movement. Just gentle caresses of Roman’s finger down the small of her back, Solana’s hands moving across Roman’s chest and abs. Light, loving touches between two lovers. 

She’s not sure how long they stay like that. Hours, most likely. Long enough for her to fall asleep and wake up to find him still stroking her back. Solana opens her eyes but doesn’t look up at him, just focuses on the faint outline of the sofa on the other side of the room. 

“What happened before I got there, Roman?”

A question entered into the silence, posed to him, an answer she both needs and doesn’t want. 

Knowing what she now knows, Solana leans more on the side of nothing horrible happening between them, but Celeste ending up in Roman’s lap is still a story that needs to be told.

Whether she wants to hear it or not. 

She feels him sigh loudly before moving into the explanation she’s been dreading since that fateful, awful day. 

“They found something when I went in for my mammogram.”

Words that play on repeat in his head. Loud. Quiet. Fast. Slow. Countless variations with a sole impact. Devastation. For a lot of reasons. For the fact that she hadn’t even told him until that point. For the fact that she’s clearly been sitting on this alone until that point. For the fact that this could mean something completely fine or completely life changing. There’s no in between. No wiggle room. 

And, he fucking hates it.

Weeks, months, he’s been so in his head, so focused on his own mortality, playing out different hypothetical outcomes. Thinking about life when it’s no longer a thing. When his is no longer a thing.

Not once did it ever cross his mind that she could be dealing or struggling with the same thing.

Roman knows he’s fucked up. He’s not stupid. He recognizes now, at least, how his refusing to open up about his fear of death, growing old, and not being able to see his children grow up and pursue whatever routes they choose in life. He realizes holding in all of this has inadvertently caused problems within his marriage. 

That him being too stubborn to be honest with Solana, instead avoiding her and distancing himself from the very person he should have been leaning on, has hurt her.

While she’s already been hurting and dealing with a terrible possibility. 

Roman leans back in his chair, focusing on nothing but that damn statement. It’s a complete 180. He couldn’t give two shits about himself at this point. All he can think about is Solana, think about how he should have pushed harder for them to actually talk last night. He understands her being upset with him, she has every right to be. He’d done this. Was 100% to blame. But, that situation is different.

This is her health.

Her life, and nothing means more to him than that.

It’s why he’s had that nagging, burdensome, weight sitting on his chest. For years, his biggest fear has been something happening to his family, to his children, to his wife. Hence why he’s always been so protective of all of them. Worked tirelessly to keep them from any and all danger.

But….this….this is a fight he doesn’t know he would even handle. Doesn’t want to think about having to handle it, because even after all these years, years of hard work in therapy, the thought of something happening to Solana still scares him shitless.

Especially something he can’t protect her from.

“Roman?” There’s a knock at the door. Celine, or whatever her name is. He still hasn’t bothered to learn it. And won’t. He doesn’t even bother to look her way, knowing she most likely has the stock report he’d asked her to get him when he came in this morning. “I have—”

“Leave it on my desk.” A simple command. Not as rude. No, Roman doesn’t really have it in him right now to be that asshole that could drive even a nun to swear. Too much on his plate.

His heart is too heavy for that. 

The faint sound of footsteps, her saying something he couldn’t give two shits about. Again, in one ear and out the other. He can’t stop thinking about Solana. About everything that’s happened the past couple months. How they’d gotten to this strange, almost foreign place.

He’s never felt so distant from her, and it’s the worst feeling in the world.

Was. Because one minute, Roman is sitting in his chair, legs spread, forearms rested on the arms of the smooth leather, gaze focused on the intricate design of the carpet in his office, and the next, a complete invasion.

Cecilia is on his lap, legs spread, the scent of her cheap ass perfume borderline nauseating. But, the feeling of nausea is minimal compared to the rage that instantly fills him, that has Roman seconds away from doing something out of character.

Because his first immediate instinct is to snap her neck. To kill her for this shit. And, that’s not like him, a sick and borderline sadistic creature when he has to be, he’s always drawn a line in the sand when it comes to women.

Even more so after being with Solana and learning/seeing the impact of her abuse and trauma. After having daughters himself. He’s never seen himself as a man capable of hurting a woman, not physically, at least.

But, this bitch is trying it.

It takes everything in him to not snap, his hands squeezing the arms of the chair so hard that his knuckles are practically white. “What the fuck are you doing?”

The bitch has the nerve to smile, to fucking smile, batting her eyelashes like it’s supposed to do something for him. “You seem….upset.” Her eyes dip to his mouth, Roman completely and utterly revolted as she licks her bottom lip. “Let me help you with that, daddy...” 

And the minute she lifts her hand, clearly aiming to touch his crotch is the second he loses all sense of self-control. 

Roman doesn’t give two shits if she hits her head and dies on the spot, using all his strength to shove her off and away from him. His face is completely distorted into the deepest scowl, and he’s burning with desire to grab his gun and just off her right then and there. 

But, something else. 

Something else captures his focus, steals the focus of both of them.

Solana.

“I wasn’t even fucking paying attention to her. I was in my fucking head, and I should have…” Roman trails off, finishing his recalling of what she now is starting to realize, eerily similar to the last time, was an honest to God misunderstanding. “I should have noticed the minute she got that close to me.”

Solana doesn’t necessarily disagree. 

“I believe you,” she whispers, feeling him look down at her. Feeling both his relief and surprise at her acknowledgement. “But…” Solana sits up, using the blanket to cover her chest as she looks down at him. “Roman, that only happened because you didn’t listen to me.”

Two truths can exist in the same universe. Roman has been dealing with a lot, which has clouded his judgment, among other things. But, that doesn’t necessarily excuse the fact that his lack of honesty with her carved out a path that led Celeste do what she did. He didn’t set that boundary soon enough, and she wasted no time in exploiting and crossing that. 

Solana can both be upset and empathize with her husband. Maybe more than she’d like to admit. 

“You’re right,” he agrees, unsurprising to her. Roman lifts his hand to cup her face, repeating for what has to be the hundredth time in the past few hours. “I’m sorry.”

She knows he is. 

But, she also knows sometimes….sometimes that’s just not enough. 

“Roman…” Solana licks her lips, that feeling of dread filling her all over again. A reluctance that has her just wanting to lay back down against him and succumb to the escape of sleep. But, that solves nothing, and they have no shortage of things that need just that—solving. “I–I think….” A deep breath. “I knew he was attracted to me.” Even in the dark of the room lit only by a small lamp on the side table near the other sofa, she can see it. See his surprise. “I think….I think I liked the attention.”

A stunning, horrible admission but her truth, nonetheless. Because if this situation has caused her to do anything, it’s reflect. Not only on what happened with Roman and Celeste. But, what happened between her and Robert. 

The brief conversations. The smiles. The compliments. The flirting. She never reciprocated, never did anything to make him think she felt the same. But, she also never did anything to shut it down, either. 

“I think, on some level, I liked….I liked how it made me feel,” she continues, hating the pitting at the bottom of her stomach. “Good. Wanted. All….all things I wasn’t feeling from you.” She swallows, shaking her head. “And, it’s not because I like him. I don’t. I don’t want him. I don’t like him. I love you.” Full, unabridged honesty. “But, the fact that it even got that far, in both of our situations, is a problem.” She gestures between them. “We have a problem.”

Because in all of the years they’ve been together, Solana has never once had that happen with another man. Never enjoyed any time of non-innocent interest from anyone not her husband, and she doesn’t want that to happen again. 

It can’t. 

“You’re right.” Solana can hear the faintest hint of anger and irritation in his voice, and instantly, she knows why. Knows that it’s directed not at herself, but the doctor she works for. Or, used to work for, because she also has no doubt in mind after he recovers from his injuries sustained in a “random mugging,” he’ll mysteriously be transferred to another hospital out of state. 

Way out of state.

“What do you want us to do?” A gentler tone, an honest inquiry. “Just tell me, and I’ll do it.” Roman sits up, moving his hand to her back, pulling her against him. “I’ll do anything to make this right.”

Desperate. He sounds desperate.

Solana thinks about it, palm resting over his chest. “I think we should go to marriage counseling.” An expected suggestion and what feels like the best move at this point. “Just…just to continue to work things out.”

Because as helpful, and maybe even healing, these conversations have been, Solana recognizes they still need more. Recognizes there’s still something within her she needs to work through. 

Forgiveness. She needs to find a way to fully forgive him, something that she’ll tackle with Gail, but also something they need to tackle together, as a couple. 

“Okay.” He agrees, rubbing small circles at the base of her back. “Let’s do it.” Truth be told, Solana didn’t have much doubt in her that he would agree to it. They’ve both done individual therapy for years now, and she knows he sees the benefit. She also knows he means it when he says he’ll do anything to make their marriage work.

She believes him.

“Solana…” A shift, a change even in his facial expression. “We need to talk about—”

And just like that, she’s shaking her head. She knows exactly what he’s about to say. “Not…not right now.”

His frown deepens. “Sweetheart—”

“I know we do, and we will.” Because avoiding things is how they got into this situation, but the fact that just the thought of talking about that right now has her chest tightening, skin warming, tells Solana that she just can’t handle it right now. “Just…not right now…please?”

His disagreement is visible, but he nods quietly, offering no protest as she goes to lay them back down, inching closer to him, holding onto him and closing her eyes. 

They still have things to work through. A lot to figure out. 

The potential C word conversation to have and handle right now, but in this moment, she doesn’t want to think about any of that. 

Right now, she just wants to enjoy her husband. 

—--------

The adjustment to being back home goes smoother than Solana anticipated. She’s not sure what exactly she was expecting, but what she received is not something she will complain about. Overt enjoyment from her children at their parents being home, the big, warm hug from her youngest who commented with the biggest smile on her face, looking at both herself and Roman. 

“You’re happy again.”

Right there, in that moment, Aroha couldn’t have been more right.

Solana can’t say that she feels all the way better in the days following their return home. She definitely feels better than she was feeling before they left. Felt even more relieved when she and Roman sat the kids down and reassured him that they were working things out and were not planning to separate or divorce.

A sense of relief that helps her as well.

It’s a strange thing, how she went from seriously contemplating asking Roman to leave the house for a while to looking up marriage counselors for them, welcoming him back in their bedroom, him sleeping next to her. Him attending the follow up testing with her.

That….that has been at the forefront of her mind. Test being done two days prior, Solana knows she’s in the window for a callback and her results to be uploaded to MyChart.

She does her best to keep herself busy, mostly with the foundation, as going back to work at the hospital feels….too soon. She just needs some time away from that. 

But, in the meantime, catching up on things around the house, handling foundation business, gradually re-entering herself back into her friend and family group have been the focus. The best things for her to focus on.

She's in the middle of gathering the laundry from her kids bedrooms, chuckling when she finds Coco lounging on the bed in Aroha’s room.

“Hey, girl,” she greets, petting the dog’s head when music fills the room. Familiar. Her ringtone.

Solana is quick to grab her phone out of her back pocket but slow when she sees the familiar number light up her screen.

The number of her doctor’s office. 

A nervous glance at Coco who remains oblivious to what this could mean. Solana’s eyes shut.

Here goes nothing.

Sitting on the edge of her baby daughter’s bed, Solana sends a quiet prayer to the man upstairs and hits the green button. 

“Hello?”

—--------

Roman was in the middle of a meeting when he noticed his phone light up. A phone that had always sat on the table, screen up, regardless of what he was doing.

It was something he’d drifted away from over the past two months due to his internal struggles but something he has no intentions on changing ever again.

But, it’s when he sees it, that the meeting comes to a premature ending. For him, at least. He leaves Dwayne and Matteo to handle the rest of it, because he has something more important to tend to.

Much more important. 

The drive from Bloodline Headquarters to the Reigns Manor feels like it takes longer than it ever has before. The driver too slow, too many cars on the road, too much interference keeping him from his destination.

From her.

The minute they pull up, Roman is out of the SUV, jogging into the house, calling her name, searching, looking for her in all of her most frequented locations. The kitchen. The laundry room. Her art room. But, where he finds her is unexpected.

Roman stands outside of Solana’s walk-in closet, paused by the sight before him. She’s sitting on the floor, surrounded by the clear containers containing years worth of family photos, many of them spread across the carpet, almost entirely obstructing a clear path for him to her.

Her, his wife, who's in the middle of it all, smiling at whatever polaroid she has in hand.

“Solana…”

She looks up, and her smile deepens just a bit, but he sees it. Sees something in her eyes. Something unsettling and boiling over. Something building by the second. 

“Do you remember this day?” She flips the photo, revealing a smiling photo of their oldest three kids when they were younger. “It was from one of their first Disney trips.” Solana chuckles, flipping it back over to continue admiring. “They were so happy…”

Though sensing something unsettling, Roman won’t invalidate her. He’s done more than enough of that to last a lifetime lately. “Lina and Tama kept wanting to talk to everyone…”

She giggles, shaking her head. “Meanwhile, Leya was too shy, which was why we kept having to initiate talking to the characters for her.”

A quick chuckle kept within. That’s one of those memories that will always stay with him. They all will. 

Solana grabs another photo. “Oh my gosh, this was the boys’ first birthday party.” Again, she shares the photo with Roman who’s managed to make his way through the sea of memories, kneeling near her. “They were so irritated with us.” She hands him the photo of Koa and Kai, sure enough, scowling while being held by their parents, surrounded by people. 

Another internal chuckle. His twin boys have always been just like him with their antisocial ways, even from a young age. 

Clearly. 

But, that’s not the focus at hand. 

Something else is.

Something that had her text him while he was at work. Three simple words.

i need you.

“Look at Aria,” Solana awes, looking at a photo of Samaria at what Roman would guess was after one of her recitals. “She was so proud of herself that night…”

Attention on the polaroid is brief, as Roman’s frown deepens, sensing the slightest shift in Solana’s voice. “Baby…what’s going—”

“Roro….” He’s cut off by Solana grabbing another photo, this time of their youngest. A glance reveals it’s from only a few months ago. Christmas morning. Her smiling bright while holding up one of her gifts, a stuffed monkey dressed in a pink tutu. “She’s five…”

Roman looks back at his wife, seeing her smile gradually dimming with each stroke of her finger across Aroha’s face. “She’s…she’s only five.”

He swallows. “Solana—”

“You know I….I spent so many years not wanting to be alive.” Such a dark, sudden switch that has Roman taken back. Something that doesn’t happen often. If ever. “Tried to kill myself, even. Twice.” A bitter, humorless laugh, as she sniffles. “And then, it all changed.” She lifts her eyes to him. “I met you, and everything changed.” Emotion builds, her bottom lip trembling, the stammering returning. “We—we built this life together. This—this family. Our—our kids. My—my babies. Aroha is only—she’s only five, Roman.”

He sees it, sees the way her breathing is shifting, infrequent, difficult. A panic attack. She’s about to have a panic attack. “Baby, look at me. I need you to breathe,” he guides, placing his hands on her face, forcing her to look at him. “Breathe for me.” 

The distant sound of the washing machine going off somehow snags her attention, Solana’s eyes widening, her mouth trembling. “That’s—that’s the laundry. I have—I have—to get it done.”

A gentle reassurance. “Don’t worry about that right now, baby.” 

“No,” she objects, shaking her head, breaking away from him. “I have—I have to do it.”

He stands with her, blocking her, recognizing what’s happening and knowing the last thing she needs right now is to be concerned with that. “Sol, that’s—”

“I have to!” She shouts, looking up at him with wide eyes. “I have to get the laundry done before the kids get home from school, because I have to help Tama with his English homework, and—and Lina likes to recap her day with me.”

His chest tightens. “Sol—”

“And, and I like to ask Leya how her day was and make sure she’s not struggling with her OCD—”

“And, Koa and Kai love when I bake cookies when they get home. And, Roro—” Her voice cracks, the facade crumbling. “She loves to hug me and tell me she missed me as soon as she gets in the door.”

“Solana…”

“I—I have things to do, Roman. I have—I have so many things to still do. I don’t—” A crushing realization, cumbersome and devastating, overpowering whatever hold she had on her emotions. “I’m not ready to go yet.” 

Words he’d never thought or wanted to hear from her. Not…not in this context. Never in this context.

A sound. A broken gasp. A strangled cry. Roman catches her the minute he sees her body about to collapse to the floor, is down on his knees, holding her as she wails into his chest. 

“I don’t want to die.” A repeated plea for mercy and strength as her fingers grasp his shirt, her face buried into his chest, body almost trembling from the strength of her sobs. “I don’t want to die.”

Roman says nothing, just continues to hold and comfort her, wanting more than anything to have the right words to make her feel better, to take away her pain, but nonverbal comfort is the only thing he has to offer her in this moment. It’s the only thing he has to offer, because he finds himself also struggling. Struggling to keep his own composure, a necessity given how she’s breaking down before him.

Struggling to grasp what’s happened, because despite her not saying it, he knows exactly what’s happened. 

There’s only one thing that could evoke this type of visceral, emotional response from his wife.

Her test results came back positive.

Solana has cancer. 

[himasgod]

HELLO HI I CAME TO REQUEST SOMETHING 💪

Kalimx reader where Reader spends the night at Scarabia where they go on a stargazing date, in where the reader tells him that they love stars and the VERY NEXT MORNING Kalim's like "I BOUGHT AND NAMED A STAR AFTER YOU :D" pretty pls

KALIM X READER

Where he buys you a star

Where after a night together gazing at the stars, the next morning he shows up saying that he has officially bought you a star.

writing nice and fluff things just ignore my last post haha

Kalim had insisted you stay the night at Scarabia — "Just for fun! We'll stargaze, and you can sleep in the guest room with all the pillows!" — and who were you to say no when he looked at you with that radiant, carefree grin?

His excitement was infectious, as always.

Now, hours later, the two of you sat on the wide balcony overlooking the dunes, wrapped in blankets and surrounded by plush cushions and trays of sweet fruit and pastries.

Kalim had gone all out. Of course he had.

The air was cool and gentle, and the sky... The sky was endless.

“Wow,” you breathed, tilting your head back until your neck ached, eyes full of stars. “It’s so much clearer out here than anywhere else.”

Kalim laid back beside you, arms folded behind his head, eyes mirroring the glitter above.

“Pretty, huh? It’s my favorite part of the desert. When I was little, I used to sneak out of bed to watch the stars.”

You turned your head toward him, smiling softly.

“I love the stars,”

“Oh yeah?” he asked, tilting his head your way.

“Mhm. They’re… I don’t know. Constant. Peaceful. Like no matter what happens, they’re always there. Watching, glowing, listening.”

Kalim’s lips parted slightly, but he said nothing right away. He just looked at you, as if he were soaking in your words and memorizing every one.

“That’s beautiful,” he finally whispered.

“You’re beautiful.”

Your heart thudded loudly in your chest.

He glanced up again, and then grinned like the sun had returned to the sky early.

“Okay! Okay!! New plan! Let’s try to find the weirdest-shaped constellation we can.”

You laughed, rolling onto your side, your gaze never quite leaving his.

You didn't say it aloud, but the real stars didn’t matter much anymore.

Kalim was the brightest one.

The next morning you were awakened by the sun streaming in through gauzy golden curtains.

Someone was humming a happy tune.

You blinked blearily, trying to remember where you were — and then it hit you.

Scarabia.

Kalim.

The stars.

A very sweet cozy memory of falling asleep on Kalim’s shoulder with his jacket draped over you and his fingers softly tracing constellations against the back of your hand.

You barely had time to stretch before the door to the room burst open.

“GOOD MORNING!!! YOU’RE A STAR!!”

“Wha—Kalim?!”

He skidded to a stop in front of your bed, scroll in one hand, sandals squeaking on the floor, he bouncing. He was grinning so hard it was a miracle his face hadn’t split in two.

There were glitter stars stickers on his face. You didn’t know if they were new or had always been there.

With Kalim, it was hard to tell.

“Good morning!! I got you something!!” he declared, bouncing excitedly. “Look!! Look look look!!”

You rubbed your eyes.

“You... got me something? This early in the morning?”

“YES!! BEHOLD!!” he said dramatically, and unfurled the scroll like a stage magician revealing his final trick.

Across the parchment in swirly gold letters, it read:

"This certifies that the star officially registered as 8450-WZ in the Pegasus constellation has been named: Yuu’s Light."

There was even a tiny sketch of the constellation with one star circled and labeled with your name.

You blinked at the scroll.

Then at Kalim.

Then back at the scroll.

“…You bought me a star.”

“I DID!!” he shouted proudly, as if this was a perfectly normal morning gift.

“You said you loved stars, so I wanted to make sure you had your very own! That way, even if it’s cloudy or you’re far away, or you're back to your home someday, there’ll always be a part of the sky that belongs to you!”

You sat there in stunned silence.

“You actually bought. A literal star. Last night.”

“Jamil helped!” he added cheerfully.

“Well, he complained a lot, but he helped. I woke him up at like four. He was so mad. It was funny.”

“Of course he was mad,” you mumbled, staring at the certificate.

“You bought a star for me.”

Kalim nodded enthusiastically, flopping beside you on the bed, scroll still in hand.

“You inspired me!! I had to act fast before the feeling faded!”

Your heart was doing fucking backflips.

“Kalim, this is… insane. And really, really sweet.”

He leaned toward you, eyes wide and full of pure, unfiltered joy.

“So you like it?! Really?!”

You laughed — breathless and warm.

“Of course I like it! It’s probably the most over-the-top thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

He beamed, practically glowing. “Then it’s perfect!”

You laughed again and buried your face in his shoulder, overwhelmed in the best possible way. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m romantic,” he corrected proudly.

“And besides… you deserve a star. Because you’re the one who lights up my sky.”

You swatted his arm gently.

“Stop being so smooth!”

“Never!” he declared.

Just then, the door creaked open again — this time far slower, more ominous.

In stepped Jamil, looking like he hadn’t slept a single second. There was a cup of coffee in one hand and a dead-eyed stare that could haunt dreams.

“Kalim,” he said, voice low and very unimpressed.

“Oh! Jamil! They loved the star!! Isn’t that great?!”

“I was up until five in the morning helping you fill out a star registry form written entirely,” Jamil said with a flat glare. “You owe me a new thermos. Mine melted in your star-shaped pancake experiment.”

Kalim winced. “...Right. Sorry about that!”

You muffled a snort into your sleeve.

Jamil rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Please, for the love of the Seven, stop buying celestial bodies at ungodly hours.”

“But it made them happy!” Kalim beamed.

Jamil paused. His gaze flickered to you. You were glowing with laughter and hiding your face behind the star certificate.

He sighed, long-suffering. “…Fine. I’m going back to bed. Wake me for lunch. Or if another star explodes. Whichever comes first.”

As he shuffled away, Kalim flopped back beside you again, head bumping against yours. “Sooo… what should we name our next star?”

You shook your head, giggling. “You’re already planning the sequel?”

“Well, obviously!” Kalim grinned. “You deserve a whole constellation!”

Later that night, the two of you were back under the stars again — only this time, Kalim was holding your hand, and your head was resting against his chest.

He pointed upward.

“There! See that one? That’s you. Yuu’s Light.”

You smiled, heart full. “I love it.”

He squeezed your hand gently. “I love you.”

"You’re my favorite person. You light up every part of my life.”

You didn’t need a star to know that Kalim’s heart burned bright enough to light up the whole sky.

But having one sure didn’t hurt.

[boopiemadz]

okay this literally came to me in a dream but like lowkey pre crash travis and (fem) reader r like best friends and go to one of lotties houseparties and trav ends up getting way too drunk and emotional so reader has to drive him to her house and take care of him (and maybe tells reader he has feelings for her 🫢🫢) because i just know this man YAPS when he’s drunk

TS IS SO CUTE OML. I might combust reading this back bro, I love a good drunk confession 🤭🤭🤭. I cant put effort into adding warnings anymore so, just dont read if sensitive ig... anyways here u go bae!

[Drunk words are sober thoughts]

You and Travis weren't the kind of best friends who told each other everything. You were the kind that didn’t talk about feelings, because if you did, the whole thing might shatter.

You’d met in middle school during a group project. Ever since, there was this weird, stubborn loyalty between you. You were one of the only people who saw the soft, quietly funny, sometimes-stupid version of Travis that lived underneath all the brooding.

Now, in senior year, nothing had changed, except that everything had. Every brush of his hand against yours stuck in your head for days. Every time you made him laugh, it lit you up like a light switch.

But you didn’t talk about that. That would ruin everything.

“Lottie’s throwing one of her weird mansion parties tonight.”

You glance up from your locker. He’s leaning against the one next to yours, arms crossed, doing that thing where he looks anywhere but at you when he’s trying to sound casual.

“So?”

“So,” he shrugs, “you’re going, right?”

“Do I look like I want to get wine drunk next to Jackie and her cocky boyfriend?”

Travis snorts. “Kinda. Yeah.”

You squint at him. “Wait, do you want to go?”

“I mean... if you go.”

And there it is, one of those sentences that hovers in the air, daring you to make it mean more than it does.

You lean your shoulder into your locker and smirk. “Wow. You’re inviting yourself to hang out with me?”

“Shut up,” he mutters, but he’s smiling. Barely. “I’m just saying. Could be fun.”

You pretend not to notice how his voice goes soft when he says that. How he never uses that tone with anyone else.

“Alright,” you say. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”

By the time the sun starts to set, you’re regretting your outfit and the fact that you even agreed. Lottie’s house is the kind of place where even the people who hate each other pose for pictures together.

You pull into Travis’s driveway and honk once. He jogs out a second later, unzipped carhartt jacket over a worn tee, hair still wet from a rushed shower.

“Hey,” he says, climbing in. “You look nice.”

“Thanks,” you say, a little too quickly. “You look like... you.”

“Wow. That’s flattering.”

You grin as you pull back onto the street. “You’re welcome.”

The ride is quiet after that, but not uncomfortable. The kind of quiet that’s normal for you two, like pressing pause on the world before walking into the chaos together.

When you get to Lottie’s house, the party is already alive, music pulsing, kids swarming the porch, smoke curling out from the side yard.

Travis hangs back a step as you approach the door. “If I end up getting alcohol poisoning,” he mutters, “you better not leave me for dead.”

You nudge his arm. “I’d drag your half-conscious body to safety. Maybe.”

“You’re such a good friend.”

But he says it in a weird voice. Half-teasing, half-sincere.

---

After a while, Travis disappears, something about needing another drink, or maybe just needing a breather. Either way, he slips off into the crowd, and you don’t follow.

You find the girls again, this time in the living room where someone’s pushed the coffee table against the wall and turned the place into a dance floor. Music blasts through the speakers. Van grabs your hand before you can second guess it. “Get over here, party girl!”

You laugh, already pulled into the middle of the room, where Jackie and Taissa are dancing like they don’t care who’s watching. Natalie’s nearby too, drink in hand, swaying lazily with a detached kind of rhythm.

“Where’s your brooding boyfriend?” Van shouts over the music, still holding onto your wrist.

“He’s not my…” You try to yell back, but Jackie cuts you off by spinning into you, hands on your hips, eyes gleaming.

“Oh my god, shut up. Just dance!”

You do.

At first it’s just goofy, half-dancing, half-laughing, letting go of whatever weird weight’s been hanging around your neck all night. Suddenly, you’re pressed between Tai and Van, all hips and hair and the kind of reckless freedom that only happens at house parties hosted by girls with no limits.

Taissa’s behind you in a second, grinning against your shoulder. “Look at you! Who is she?”

You laugh so hard it burns, head tipped back, hands in the air. Someone’s grinding against you, one of the girls, and for a second you stop thinking about Travis entirely.

You feel electric. Unstoppable.

“Holy shit,” Natalie says from the couch, watching the chaos unfold. “You’re like... five seconds away from making that boy combust.”

You slow a little, breath catching. “What boy?”

She just raises an eyebrow. “You know exactly which one.”

But before you can reply, someone stumbles past, and your heart lurches a little.

Because it’s Travis.

He’s across the room now, red Solo cup in hand, hair sticking to his forehead. His eyes scan the crowd like he’s trying to find something, or someone. But he doesn’t see you yet.

When he does, he stops dead.

You freeze, too.

And for a second, the noise fades.

His mouth opens like he’s going to say something.

But then someone calls his name, probably one of the guys, and he vanishes again, swallowed back into the crowd like he was never there.

You stay rooted in place, pulse loud in your ears, warmth still buzzing from the dancing, but now with a different kind of burn.

Mari leans in, hair stuck to her cheek. “You should probably go find your boy.”

You pretend not to hear her.

But your feet are already moving.

---

The air upstairs feels hotter, heavier, like the party's heat and sweat followed you up. You weave through the crowd, past couples pressed against walls and kids laughing too loudly, until you finally spot him, slumped sideways in an armchair in what looks like some weirdly formal sitting room.

Travis has his legs sprawled out in front of him, drink in hand, jacket missing, hair a mess. He’s flushed and a little glassy-eyed, talking to someone who’s not even listening anymore, some JV soccer girl already halfway out the door.

“Hey,” you say, stepping inside. “Are you alive?”

He blinks like it takes him a second to recognize you. Then he grins. “There she is.” You fold your arms. “I turn my back for five minutes and you vanish.”

He holds up his cup like it explains everything. “Hydration.”

“Right. Is that what we’re calling vodka now?”

“Could be,” he says with a crooked smile. “Also could be tequila. I genuinely don’t know.” You step closer, studying him. “You look like you’re losing a very polite fight with gravity.”

“I’m winning, actually. This chair loves me.” You raise an eyebrow. “That why you’re trying to flirt with underclassmen now?”

He snorts. “She started it.”

You smirk. “So what, you rebounding from something?”

Travis shrugs, a little too dramatically. “Maybe I’m just putting myself out there. Y’know, seeing what happens. Might hook up with someone. Who’s to say?”

You stare at him, and for a second you’re not sure if you want to laugh or drag him out by the collar of his T-shirt. “Really?”

He shrugs again, all fake casualness. “It’s a party. People do stuff.”

“You’re so bad at pretending not to care.”

That gets him. His grin falters just slightly, and he looks down at his cup. “I’m great at not caring, actually.” You sigh. “Okay, come on.”

He glances up. “What?”

“Let’s get you out of here.”

“What? No, I’m thriving.”

“You’re slurring your words, and I think that chair is the only thing keeping you vertical.”

You offer him your hand. “Come on. You’re not hooking up with anyone tonight. I’m taking you home.”

“Home-home or like... your house home?” You snort. “You think your parents would be okay with this?”

He pauses. “Okay. Yeah. Fair.”

Travis grabs your hand, warm and heavier than usual, and lets you pull him up, wobbly on his feet. “This is, like, deeply embarrassing,” he mumbles.

You grin. “Nah. This is just very on-brand for you.”

As you guide him through the hallway, you hear him mutter under his breath: “At least it’s you.”

You don’t ask what he means.

---

The drive home is quiet at first, aside from the low hum of your car’s old speakers. His window is cracked, letting in the cool night air, and he’s slouched low in the seat with one leg bent up awkwardly, head leaning against the door.

After a few minutes, he speaks.

“You’re, like... such a good driver.”

You glance at him. “Thanks?”

“Like, I feel very safe right now,” he adds, dramatically patting the dashboard. “This car? Sanctuary.”

He turns his head toward you slowly, like it takes effort. “Did you know you’re my best friend?”

You blink. “You’ve mentioned it.”

“Yeah, but like...” He pauses, squinting out the windshield. “I mean it. You’re, like, my actual best friend. Not a fake one. Like... the real-deal, ride-or-die, would-hide-a-body kind.”

You smirk. “I’d bury a body for you, but only if you stop talking like you’re in a soap opera.”

“I’m being serious.”

You glance over. He’s staring at you with his cheeks pink from the alcohol and honesty, head still tilted, curls falling into his eyes. “If I was gonna kiss anyone,” he says suddenly, “like, tonight? At that party? It’d be you.”

You nearly swerve.

“I didn’t,” he adds quickly, hands up like you’re about to arrest him. “I’m not. I just... thought about it.”

You grip the wheel tighter. “Okay. Time to shut your mouth, Romeo.”

He snorts, slumping back again, grinning. “Whatever. You’re blushing.”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” he insists, half-asleep now. “It’s cute.”

You roll your eyes and flick the turn signal. “You’re sleeping on the couch.”

“Aw, come on…”

“Nope.”

“But I said something sweet…”

“Exactly.”

---

Inside, you flick on the dim kitchen light so the house doesn’t feel too silent, then walk back and sit down in the middle of the couch with a sigh, expecting him to collapse beside you.

Travis follows like a puppy, blinking at you as if trying to calculate something complicated with his very alcohol-slowed brain… and then promptly drops down sideways, head landing in your lap with a muffled, content groan.

“Seriously?” you ask, freezing.

“Mmhm.” His eyes flutter shut. “This is good. You’re warm. Don’t move.”

You glance down at the mop of dark curls now sprawled over your legs. “You’re literally using me as a human pillow.”

“You’re the softest thing in this house.”

“That is not true. We have like a million blankets.” He grins, eyes still shut. “They don’t smell like you.”

Your heart does something dumb and weird.

You huff a breath, trying to ignore the way he’s curling in slightly, knees bent over the armrest like he lives here, like this happens all the time. One of your hands hovers awkwardly in the air before giving up and settling on his shoulder.

“You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re drunk,” you mutter.

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

There’s a beat of quiet. His breathing slows a little, not asleep, but closer to peaceful. He shifts just enough to glance up at you through heavy lids.

“You were dancing with Jackie.”

“Yeah?”

“Grinding,” he says, a little accusatory.

You smirk. “A little.”

He narrows his eyes. “Hot.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe I got jealous,” he mumbles.

“Oh yeah?”

He shrugs. “Maybe.”

“Was that before or after you tried to flirt with that sophomore?”

“I wasn’t flirting. She offered me a Capri Sun.”

You snort. “Right. Seduction by juice pouch.”

You sit there, fingers gently brushing through his dark hair, the steady rise and fall of his chest the only sound in the room. The silence stretches, stretching tighter as the alcohol slowly fades from his system, leaving something raw in its wake. Travis shifts again, his hand grazing your leg as he adjusts himself in your lap.

You glance down at him, his eyes still hazy but now more focused, an intensity in them that makes your pulse quicken.

"Hang on," you mutter, breaking the silence. "I’ll grab you some water."

You slide off the couch, careful not to disturb him, but he lets out a soft groan of protest, his arm reaching out to catch your wrist.

“Don’t go,” he mumbles, eyes barely open.

“I’m just getting you some water,” you reassure him, offering a small smile as you tug gently out of his grasp. “I’ll be right back.”

You leave the couch and walk to the kitchen, the soft sound of your footsteps echoing in the stillness of the house. You open the cabinet, fill a glass with water, and take a deep breath. Something about this night, about the way things have shifted between you two, is weighing heavily on your mind. You can't shake the feeling that something is about to change.

You return to the living room, the cool glass of water in your hand. Travis is sitting up now, his gaze fixed on the floor, but you can see the way his hands twitch with restlessness.

“Here,” you hand him the glass, your voice a little more unsure than you’d like. “Drink.”

He takes the water from you, fingers brushing yours for a split second. He’s quiet for a moment, drinking deeply, before he sets the glass down and meets your eyes again. There’s something different in his gaze now, something more vulnerable.

"You know," Travis says, his voice low, hesitant, "I don't really... know how to say this."

You frown, stepping a little closer. "Say what?"

He shifts slightly, his eyes flickering to your face and then away, almost like he’s battling with himself to find the right words. The tension is thick, the air between you both charged with something unspoken.

He exhales, a sharp breath, and finally says, “I don’t know how to act around you sometimes. I try to keep it cool, but… I can’t. You’re my best friend, and I think about you all the time. More than I should. More than I want to, really.”

Your heart skips, but you stay quiet, your chest tight as you try to make sense of his words. There’s something vulnerable in his tone, something that tugs at you. It’s not like him to be this open, this raw.

“I don’t wanna mess things up, but I can’t help it,” he continues, his voice soft, almost like he’s confessing something he’s been carrying for too long. “If I were gonna kiss anyone tonight, it would be you, I meant that when I said it. I’ve wanted to for a while now.”

The words hit you like a wave, catching you off guard. Your breath catches in your throat, your hands suddenly cold as they hang limply by your sides. The air feels thick, suffocating, and for a moment, you wonder if you heard him right. You try to step back, your heart racing.

“Travis, I…” You stammer, the room spinning slightly as your thoughts scramble to catch up with his confession.

He quickly notices the hesitation in your face and his expression falters, turning slightly panicked. “Look, I know this sounds crazy, and I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, but I needed to tell you. I don’t want to just hide it anymore. You deserve to know.”

You take a deep breath, your mind racing. “But you’re drunk. This isn’t…”

“I’m not just drunk,” he interrupts, his voice steadier now, more intense. “I’ve felt this way for a long time. I’m not just saying this because of tonight. I’ve been trying to ignore it, pretend like it’s not there. But it is. And I can’t just go on like everything’s normal when it’s not. Not anymore.”

His eyes are searching yours, so deep, so desperate for an answer, and in that moment, everything feels too much. You take a step back, unsure of what to do with the knot in your stomach, the confusion swirling inside you.

He lets out a breath, running a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated with the way this is going. “I’m not expecting anything from you,” he says, his voice quieter now, a little sadder. “I just needed to tell you.”

The silence stretches between you both, heavy and thick. You feel the weight of his words sitting in your chest, and despite the way your mind is spinning, you can’t ignore the pull in your stomach, the way your heart aches with something you can’t quite name.

You finally move toward him again, your body reacting before your brain catches up. You sit beside him. He looks up at you, eyes soft, his vulnerability almost unbearable to witness.

“I don’t want you to regret this,” you whisper, your voice shaking slightly. “I don’t want to be a mistake.”

He shakes his head, “You’re not a mistake,” he says firmly, his voice low and full of certainty. The words hang in the air, thick and charged with tension, and for a moment, neither of you moves. Then, slowly, carefully, you close the distance between you both, your lips meeting his in a tentative kiss.

At first, it’s soft, careful, like both of you are testing the waters, unsure of what this will mean. But then, as the tension breaks, the kiss deepens, and suddenly it feels like everything falls into place. His hands move to your back, pulling you closer, and you respond in kind, your hands threading through his hair as you kiss him with everything you’ve been holding back.

When you finally pull away, you’re both breathless, hearts pounding in your chests.

“I’ve wanted this too,” you whisper against his lips, your voice trembling as the weight of your own confession settles in.

He smiles, his forehead resting against yours, and for a moment, everything feels perfect.

You close your eyes and let yourself relax into his arms, knowing that this isn’t just a drunken mistake. This is real, this is happening, and for the first time, you both feel like you can finally be honest.

As you both slowly pull back and settle down on the couch, your heads finding a comfortable position against the cushions, you slip your hand into his, your fingers entwining naturally. You close your eyes, your heart still racing from everything that just happened, but it’s not scary anymore. It feels right.

Travis’s voice breaks the silence, soft and full of contentment. “I’m glad I finally told you.”

“Me too,” you reply, letting out a sigh of relief as you snuggle closer to him.

With his arm around you, you both finally drift off to sleep, your hearts beating in sync, leaving nothing left unsaid.

[16wolke11]

Double Trouble - Franco Colapinto + Paul Aron

A/N Someone save the boys from Alpine, they are suffering from the curse Oscar left (or dodged?)

WORDS: 6707 It wasn't planned to be that long...

WARNINGS: NSFW (threesome/oral ->f receiving/fingering (anal)/double penetration(both holes/protected sex)

____

Entering the Paddock of the Miami International Autodrome still feels unreal when I take the first steps in it this morning. Being an F1 fan since I was a little child, making it just a bit more amazing and even though I thought I would never experience it, here I am. Amazed by my surroundings, spotting more and more things that make my heart flutter happily. Until I stumble into someone.

"Watch out." A voice with a heavy accent, hands holding onto my arms to keep me up and not embarrass myself even more by falling to the ground. I look up and for a second, I am stunned. Franco Colapinto is right in front of me, eyes scanning me like he fears that he just hurt me by grabbing me by the arms.

"Oh god, I am sorry." I apologise, stepping back and out of his touch, feeling how I blush. Great, not even five minutes in and I already managed to run into a driver quite literally. Well, I wanted to meet them, but not like that, not by making myself a laugh of the paddock.

"Don't worry, nothing happened." Franco reassures me, his head tilting slightly to the side, eyes drawn to the paddock pass around my neck. It's full of different cards, giving me access to different areas on the paddock and when his eyes are back on my face, he looks like he is thinking if he should know me from anywhere. Like I am a celebrity visiting for the first time, granted that Miami is an obvious spot for that, and he has to know me because of it.

"Where are you heading so quickly?" He then asks and I do hesitate a second before I answer.

"Alpine." I tell him and immediately his eyes light up.

"I can show you the rest of the way." Franco offers me and even though I already spotted the building in the distance, I wouldn't mind some company. If someone told me before that the first person I met in the paddock would be Franco Colapinto and that he is willingly talking to me, I would have accused them of a lie.

"That would be nice." I smile at him and get a big one in return. Franco asks me what my name is, introduces himself even though that isn't necessary and we are almost at the Alpine hospitality, when he asks me:

"Soo, tell me what you are doing..."

His question is interrupted by a screech of my name, making me flinch slightly. Franco frowns, eyes finding the person at the front door of the hospitality making stressed gestures at me to come over. I am just a trainee and should probably go over to Kai, my boss for the weekend, as quickly as possible.

"Sorry, have to go." I apologise to Franco, who just waves at me and then I walk over to my boss. He is looking at me like I just did something bad and I know he doesn't want me to be here. Believing that women shouldn't work anyway, but my instructor talked the company into letting me come with him. Granted, I did a lot of the brainstorming for our upcoming tasks.

"Where the hell were you?" Kai hisses at me with a lowered voice, eyes flickering around to check if there are any eyes on us. I glance at my watch, showing me I still have around five minutes left before our appointment, knowing my short conversation didn't do any damage to me.

"I am still on time." I tell, trying to stay confident around him, a tip my instructor gave me. If I am not bothered by his behaviour, he might get frustrated, give up and search for a new target. Not nice as well, but better than him terrorising my days.

"You are on time if I say so." He squints his eyes at me, and I just want to make a remark, when two more people join us.

"Good morning." They greet us, we say hello back and then we chat for a short time, exchange names and they ask us if the trip was fine. Alpines' PR team contains two women and I am pretty sure my companion isn't happy with it, but for the sake of the job, he acts like it.

"We thought of splitting the drivers between the current ones and the reserve drivers. Would that be okay?" One of the asks and I can feel the eyes of my boss on me. Kai is probably debating with himself if he should cause a scene, but then acts like he is a reassuring boss for me.

"You think you can handle that?" He asks, a hint of a threat in his voice and I just straighten my back, looking at him.

"Sure, I know exactly what we planned." I probably know better than he does, with me being the one creating many of the questions for the outline of this interview. We nod at the PRS and one of them asks my boss to follow while the other waves me over.

"Don't mess this up." He hisses in my ear, making it look like, with a pat on my shoulder, he is just wishing me good luck. I roll my eyes and walk over to the friendly PR. This is going to be so much more pleasant.

"So, we planned an hour, we can either do thirty minutes each or both together?" She offers me and with knowing the personalities of the reserve drivers, I ask her back.

"Will half an hour be enough for Franco's yapping?" For a moment, she just looks at me and I fear I overstepped a border, before she just starts laughing, making me grin.

"Probably not." She then tells me and I can only imagine. If Franco starts talking about something he likes, he isn't going to stop easily. "Let's do it with both of them. Sometimes being with Paul stops him from babbling too much." She offers and I nod at her. Then she opens a door, reprimands the boys for something, and tells them to behave. "All yours." She mutters before leaving me alone.

Just when I enter the room, I spot Franco and Paul sitting on one of the couches. Franco's face pulls into a grin when he spots me. "Well, hello there." I greet him and Paul, tell them my name, before sitting down on the opposite couch, placing my backpack on the ground.

"Where did we stop? I think you wanted to tell me why you are here." Franco asks me, relaxing against the backrest of the couch, acting like our conversation wasn't stopped a few minutes ago.

"Exactly." I say, beginning to prepare to tell them what this is about, when Paul speaks up.

"Whatever it is with Franco here, I am not going to be able to say a word." He huffs and I frown. The Estonian's eyes flicker between Franco and me and I feel slightly discouraged.

"Oh, your press officer said it would be better that way." I hesitantly speak up, trying to find a solution, "But we can still split the time between you two if you prefer that?" I ask them, specifically looking at Paul, who seems to have the bigger issue with the situation.

"Nope, I was promised an hour, so I get an hour." Franco pouts, arms crossed in front of his chest, making Paul sigh. Poor PR, which has to deal with them every weekend or for every event they attend. Paul looks at Franco, then at me, before nodding his head.

"Fine, but only if you shut up from time to time." Paul shoves Franco, who just laughs, shoving Paul back, making me smile at both of them.

"Not promising that." Franco grins, but then the boys settle down, both looking at me curiously.

"Okay, so I am here with a publisher. We want to create a children's book about F1. How a journey to it could look, the difficulties and the good things." It will follow the amazement of a child falling in love with the sport, wanting to do the same, going karting, making their way up and facing the downs until they reach the top.

"Isn't that too heavy for young kids?" Paul asks, probably thinking about the rough side of the sport. The issues both he and Franco faced during that process and that just reaching F1 doesn't mean that you will drive. Both of them are reserve drivers and no one knows if they will ever have a fair chance in F1.

"We plan on doing two versions, one lighter and one heavier one for older children." I explain, because I thought about the same thing as he did. Some topics just shouldn't be covered when it is a book for small children. In the version for the older kids, we could cover the downsides at least a little bit.

"To make it as accurate as possible, we want to speak with many different drivers and will probably try to reach out to other teams as well." I explain further. Alpine was just the first team to reach back out to us, but we are also in talks with other teams, hoping to get a broad variety of drivers to contribute to this. "Today is for the basics and then we will reach out to you for the details, little Easter eggs to show who the story belongs to." Things like numbers on the kart, belongings of the drivers, like Seb Vettel having his teddy on the kart, special helmets and other stuff that will show which driver the story talks about in the illustrated part.

"Any questions?" I ask the boys, but they just shake their heads, sitting comfortably in front of me.

"Not yet." Franco tells me and I nod.

I ask them if I can record from now on, not wanting to type everything done right now, to be able to fully concentrate on the conversations. They give me the go and then we talk. About how they discovered F1, how they convinced their parents to try, and what it was like growing up different from other children. About the ups and downs they faced and the points where they wanted to give up.

We laugh together, it gets quiet during the heavier themes, but it feels like bonding. They add to each other's stories if they experienced the same thing or tell if they had a different path. Time feels like it is flying by and we do a quick water break, mate for Franco, before we settle down again.

"And what about you? How did you get into F1 or your job." Franco asks me back after I was the one asking them questions for this whole time. He looks genuinely interested and Paul also wants to know the answer.

"If we talk about us, strip our souls, you should tell us a bit about yourself." Paul says, emphasising the strip, almost making a blush creep to my cheeks.

"Spill all the dirty secrets." Franco whispers, leaning forward, elbows placed on his thighs. The atmosphere shifts and my heart stumbles. This conversation doesn't feel as casual anymore, but rather suggestive. I clear my throat, shaking my head to clear my thoughts.

"I would like to keep the rest of this professional." I manage to choke out, fingers playing with each other. Not knowing what else to do, how to even react to something like this and then I wait. The boys exchange a glance, Paul nods slightly, before Franco answers.

"We can work with that."

We just continue from that point on and even though the boys still answer my questions without hesitating, something has shifted. I feel their eyes on me constantly, the lingering stares on my body, how Franco licks over his lower lip while looking at me, how Paul barely looks away anymore and I don't know if I like their attention or not. When the door opens, it kind of breaks the tension in the room.

"Everything okay in here?" The PR from earlier asks, glancing at the boys, before looking at me again. "Yeah, we just wrapped it up." I tell her, clicking on the Dictaphone to end the recording. She lifts one of her eyebrows, looking from the boys to me and back to them.

"I'm surprised I don't have to save you." She tells us, making me grin, "Me too." I thought I would be talked against the wall, but the conversation with them was rather pleasant.

"Oh, come on. We aren't that bad." Franco huffs, again that adorable pout on his lips, before Paul adds, "...sometimes." Then there is just laughter for a moment and I love that it is so relaxed in here.

"Can we stay, or do we have anywhere else to be?" Paul asks, making the PR frown in question.

"Why?"

"She just wanted to tell us how she ended up in F1, or more, her job." Franco tells her and now I am the one looking confused. I wanted what? Yes, they asked me, but I never said I would tell them anything.

"You want to listen to someone else talking?" She asks the boys and Franco just groans.

"Is that so hard to believe?" Paul grumbles, hands gesturing like he learned it in Italy during his time at Prema.

"Fine, you don't have anything to do in the next hour, but that includes your food break." She tells them and both of the boys nod, "That's okay."

That's my cue to speak up. "Well, but I might have to leave." I tell them, making both heads whip around to face me.

"Why?" Franco asks like I just have insulted him personally and I gesture to my work stuff.

"Because I have to work?" I tell them, knowing I should probably transcribe the information as soon as possible to get the follow-up questions ready.

"Oh, your boss is still interviewing with the other boys, I am sure he doesn't mind you staying here." The PR pipes up and I don't have anything to defend myself, especially not with Paul and Franco staring at me.

We do talk about my way to F1, how I ended up with that publisher, the fact that I know Paul longer than Franco and some random facts. They do throw in suggestive comments from time to time, but with every bit, I can handle them better. Franco persuaded me into trying some mate, laughing at my face when the first sip was too bitter for me and somehow I ended up sitting between both of them.

Some subtle touches here and there, both of their shoulders touching mine, making me feel small but somewhat safe between them. Franco playing, or as he said, investigating, the bracelets on my wrist, Paul's fingers brushing over my neck occasionally and somehow the temperature in the room gets higher and higher.

I don't even know what I am doing, what they are doing, but it doesn't scare me too much. My body acting on its own, one of my hands is placed on Franco's thigh, while my head rests on Paul's shoulders. We just continue chatting, but I think because we are in public, they don't try to go any further.

But when my phone rings, the bubble pops. I flinch out of that cuddly state, letting the hands of the boys fall off my body when I stand up quickly to reach for my phone. Of course, it's Kai.

"Where are you?" He barks at me and I flinch. All of the relaxed feelings leave me in seconds. "I want to talk about the interview results now!" He demands and I let my shoulders hang. "Will be there in a second." I promise, get snapped at with a "Hurry up," before he hangs up.

Hastily, I search for my things, making sure I don't forget anything, even though I just placed the list of questions and the recorder on the table. Without me noticing, the boys stand up, coming near me.

"Everything okay?" Paul asks, catching my phone when I flinch and let it fall out of my hands. Franco is positioned behind me, hands carefully placed on my arms, like he is trying to calm me down.

"Yeah, just my boss." I stutter, nothing left from that confident behaviour. "He is an asshole." Franco huffs and I know he is right, but he is still the only one from my workplace here and kind of responsible for me. His fingers brush up and down my arms and I look over my shoulder, meeting his worried eyes.

"Sorry, I have to leave." I excuse myself and see that he isn't happy with my decision. Before I even know what he is doing, Franco leans down, kisses my cheek, his lips lingering there for a moment, before he pulls his head back.

"Text Paul when you are back at your hotel?" He asks me to and I look at the Estonian, frowning. "How?" I ask, not having the number of any of them, but Paul just gives me my phone with a wink and I understand. Thanking them both, I take my stuff and leave to face the dread of my boss.

The bossing around is even worse than usual this time and while Kai is typing slowly on his laptop, I am the one transcribing both of the interviews. For his liking, I am way too slow, stopping all the progress we could make today. I listen, type and scrobble down little notes for parts we might need more details for. The hours pass by and slowly the sun dips. My neck feels strained, there is a soft throbbing in my temples and right now I want nothing more than just to be back cuddled between Paul and Franco.

The hospitality is almost empty when we finally leave the track. Paddock is no longer flooded by working people as well, just some of the big broadcasters still packing in their stuff just to return her tomorrow. The ride to the hotel is luckily silent and I am more than glad to finally enter my hotel room. I kick off my shoes and fall face down on my bed, sighing deeply when my head hits the soft pillow, until a thought comes to my mind. I promised the boys to text them. Pulling out my phone, I spot Paul's number easily and simply text him a:

Finally back at the hotel.

It doesn't take him long to answer, grey checks turning blue almost immediately, like he just waited for me to text him.

This late?

Yeah, everything was taking longer...

I rub my neck, knowing it might form into a headache if I don't stretch it for a bit, but I don't really want to move right now.

Want to come over?

I hesitate, biting my lower lip. As much as I would like to see the boys, usually the team hotels are flooded by fans, paparazzi and even though the boys are "just" reserve drivers, they still have a lot of eyes on them.

I can't just wander into your hotel.

Come outside your hotel and one of us will pick you up.

I don't know...

Please? You don't have to if you are uncomfortable with it, but Franco and I would like your company.

I sigh, this is way too good to be true. But being with them might be just what I need. Sharing time with them today made me feel so relaxed, so safe and I would give everything to just feel that again.

Okay.

Great! Put something comfortable on and Franco will be there in ten?

Fifteen?

I ask, suddenly no longer feeling tired anymore. The least thing I can do is to freshen up, the day was warm and I don't want to smell bad when I am close to them.

Fifteen it is.

Wrapped in a comfy hoodie and some sweatpants, I wait outside of my hotel. The temperatures have dropped without the sun, but luckily, I don't have to wait long. A car pulled up just a minute later, revealing Franco in the driver's seat, giving me one of his signature smiles.

"Hi."

"Hey Franco." I greet him and sit down in the car. Without hesitating, he leans over, presses his lips against my cheek like he did this morning, making me blush while he drives off. Just being with him makes my heart beat quicker, but at the same time, calmness waves over me.

"Paul is already in my room." Franco informs me and I just mutter an "Okay," eyes looking into the night. He sighs softly, making me look at him.

"Don't go all shy on us now, okay?" Franco asks, gaze flickering over, before he keeps focusing on the street. "Nothing you don't want will happen tonight." He reassures me and I sigh. Knowing they don't force me to do anything, but this whole situation feels so absurd to me.

"It just feels weird." I mutter, but reach out to gently touch his arm. Feeling the need to show him I am comfortable around them, just more than nervous.

"I get that, but just relax, we are two normal boys who like to talk too much." He grins, making me smile at his words.

"That helps."

The rest of the ride is silent, but it is a comfortable one. Franco reaches out to place his hand on my thigh while he doesn't need it to shift, me playing with his fingers in the process and a shared look from time to time. With Franco, I don't need to enter through the front; we park the car in a secluded area in the back without any fans or cameras visible, before we enter the hotel. Franco holds my hand on the elevator ride, leading me to his hotel room. He opens the door, letting me enter first, before he announces our presence.

"We're back." We get rid of our shoes and enter the spacious bedroom. Paul is lying on the bed, but sits up when he sees us. He is dressed in a shirt and some sweatpants, making it seem like he and Franco chilled in here before they decided they wanted my company.

"Hi." Paul grins, hops on his feet and with three wide steps, he is in front of me. Without even giving me the chance to answer, he kisses me. Presses his lips onto mine, making my eyes widen, but I don't pull back. Sighing softly against his lips before slowly moving my lips in sync with his. I can hear Franco grumble something and Paul pulls back with a smile, eyes looking at mine reassuringly.

Just blinking, I stare at him for a moment, until I feel a soft touch on my chin. I look at Franco, who's is looking at me, head slightly tilted to the side. When my eyes flicker to his lips, he smirks, leans down and kisses me. His lips are soft and I can do anything but sigh against his lips as well. This isn't how I imagined my evening to be, but I won't complain. Pulling back from me, Franco has that little smirk on his lips again, making me blush furiously.

"You can stop us at any second." Franco reassures me, just like he did in the car. Only the things I want to happen will happen tonight. I nod slowly and it seems to give the boy the okay to start. Fingers tug on the hem of my hoodie and I lift my arms, letting them pull it over my head. Wanting to be cuddled into a hoodie tonight, I didn't put on an extra shirt, making the boys groan when they spot me just left in my bra. Paul pulls me into another kiss and I'm glad because it gives me something to do. They both taste good on my lips and it feels like a drug I can't get enough of.

I can feel hands roam over my skin, guessing Franco is the one touching me and try to lean my body into his touch. Paul's tongue dips into my mouth, making me whimper. God, how am I supposed to go through the night with them, if just kissing makes my knees go weak.

Franco's fingers hook under the straps of my bra, pulling one side down, then the other. Lips caressing the spots where they rested before. But he doesn't open the bra just yet. His hands hold onto my hips, pulling me against his chest, my lips still entangled with Paul's. I gasp when Paul pulls back, eyes hooded, only to see his hungry gaze on me. He looks over my shoulder, communicating wordlessly with Franco again. Franco loses his grip on me, hand sneaking up my back, opening the bra and makes it fall to the ground. Making me gulp.

"Fuck, I never...never done this before." I whisper, feeling the need to say anything. A threesome might have been on my mind one or two times before, but I never thought that I would have one. Especially not with people like Franco and Paul.

"That's okay, we can take it slow." Paul reassures me, hand cupping my cheek, thumb brushing softly over my skin.

"It's all about you." Franco promises, kisses my other cheek like he did so often before and I whisper a soft "Okay" to tell them I am ready. Well, more or less.

Paul stays in front of me, Franco behind. They start kissing my skin. One on each side of my neck. Softly dragging their lips over the skin, not giving me a chance to tilt my head to the side, giving one of the more access. Franco nips at my skin and instinctively, I reach up to tangle my fingers into his hair. His tongue licks soothingly over his bites, exploring more and more of my skin.

Paul's hands touch me as well. At first kind of aimlessly drawing patterns into my skin. Fingers wandering up my ribcage, making me arch my body into his. I don't know what to do, so overwhelmed by the feelings of the two touching me that I can't do anything but let them use me and whimper. At one point, I manage to impatiently tug on their shirts. Making them pull back one by one, pulling their shirts over their heads, before they are back with me.

My naked back is pressed against Franco's chest and when I tilt my hips slightly I can feel his length pressing against my back. I lift my hands, start to touch Paul's chest while he kisses me again. Makes his tongue dance with mine, sending shivers down my spine. Franco's kisses slowly wander from my neck to between my shoulder blades until he has to drop to his knees to keep getting lower.

His lips keep wandering lower until they reach my lower back and then his hands join in. He hooks them into my sweatpants, manages to grab my panties as well and slowly drags them down my body, following the fabric with his lips. Franco helps me to step out of the trousers one foot by one, before he kisses up the other leg. Cheekily he grazes his teeth over my butt, making me whimper against Pauls lips, but push my hips back into Francos mouth.

"So pretty." Paul whispers, eyes scanning my body like he has never seen someone prettier before. I would blush if my head wasn't red anyway and for the first time this evening, I can feel how wet I already am. Behind me, Franco is back on his feet, hands brushing up my sides, hands finding my breasts, covering them with his fingers.

"So responsive." Franco praises me, fingers pinching my nipples, making me arch my back to get more of his touch. I feel high on lust by now, but this night is just getting started. Trying to get more active as well, I hook my fingers into Paul's sweatpants, looking in his eyes, waiting for him to nod before I pull them down.

I try not to stare, but both of them are so trained. Admiring Paul's physics, I don't even realise that Franco has undressed himself. Only when I see him going to the bed, my eyes are back on him. Franco lies down in the middle of the bed, leaving enough space for Paul and me.

"Sit on my face." Franco instructs me and I hesitate. Eyes wandering from Franco to Paul and back to Franco, who just waves me over. Carefully, I walk over to the bed, kneel beside Franco, first not sure if I should really do this. But he helps me drape one of my legs over his body, parting them naturally. I shuffle a bit higher, hovering over Franco's face at first, bracing myself for the impact, but he isn't patient. Without hesitation, Franco pulls me down to his face, making me squeak. Hand finds the headboard to hold me upright while Franco starts to devour me.

Tongue finding my clit easily while his hands hold me firmly in place. Lips perfect to suck the little pearl into his mouth, making he whimper, "Fuck, Franco." I look down on him, only to find his gaze. Eyes dark while he keeps pleasuring me with his mouth. I try not to grind down on his face, but with every lick, every soft suck it gets harder and harder.

"Relax, okay?" Paul mutters, approaching me from behind and I look over my shoulder to see that the Estonian has a bottle of lube in his hands. Fingers trailing down my back and I get what he wants to do, making me tense up slightly. Franco stops his movements, fingers softly kneading my thigh.

"Be careful, please?" I ask Paul because even though I had anal sex before it was some time ago and I don't know easily I manage to relax under the touch of both of the boys.

"Of course." Paul promises, kisses me softly on the lips, before opening the lube bottle. Warming it up in his palm, before coating his fingers with it. I turn my eyes back to Franco, trying to find a point to distract me and when he sees me looking at him he takes up his movements again. Tongue swirling around my clit takes my mind away from thinking and I don't even flinch when I feel Pauls finger at my backside.

The coated fingertip rests against my hole, slowly massaging it, until it relaxes enough for him to push one finger in. I gasp, grinding down against Franco's tongue, making him groan in response. The vibrations sending waves through my body and I just have one thought in my mind. More. More. More.

Paul moves his finger, twisting and turning it to work me open enough to slide a second finger inside. Franco's fingers are dug in my thighs, holding me tight to his face, not letting me move away when the pleasure slowly gets more and more. Tip of his tongue dipping into my hole, lips sucking on my clit, drawing whimper by whimper over my lips. The second finger of Paul doesn't hurt, just makes some tension ripple through my body.

"Shh." Paul softly hushes me, keeping his hand still, until I relax under their touch. He twists and scissors them carefully to open me up while I drip down on Franco's tongue.

"I'm..." I whimper, feeling my body clench around Paul's fingers and Franco's tongue. Only managing to whimper more while orgasming for the first time. Instead of stopping Franco just keeps lapping my clit slowly. Paul slips a third finger inside, using the moment of my body relaxing to shove it inside for further preparations.

Just when I slowly realise they aren't going to give me a pause, Franco manages to sneak his fingers between my legs as well. Adding two of them to my dripping hole, making me gasp. Just by the feeling of the boy's fingers filling my holes, I feel full, stretched and can only imagine what will happen after the preparation part. Both of the move their fingers, slowly stretching me open, Francos tongue on my clit distracting me from any remaining pain, while I just moan under they touch. I can feel my thighs shaking, a second orgasm building up and they have to feel it as well by how hard I clench down on their fingers.

"Oh god, I can't." I try to get myself out of their touch, but together they hold me in place, fingers thrusting in and out like it is their only goal to make me come. "You are doing so good." Paul whispers into my ear, lips nipping on the sensitive skin below, sending me straight over the edge. I can barely hold myself up anymore and I am more than glad when Paul and Franco both pull their hands back and when Francos tongue is no longer working on my clit. My thighs feel damp and shake slightly while I try to connect myself to reality again.

Looks like the boys have decided to give me a little break. Letting me rest between them, head resting against Franco's chest while Paul is pressed against my back. I can feel their hot skin on mine, their hard lengths pressing into my body, but they stay calm and give me a moment to breathe. Fingers drawing patterns into my body while my breathing is slowly getting back to normal. When I sigh softly and start to return their touch, live comes back into them.

"Ready for us?" Franco asks, sitting up slightly, making me slide off his chest. I roll onto my back, looking up at both of them, who look at me, observing. Trying to listen to my body, I figure out how I feel. Definitely sore tomorrow, but abdomen still clenching in anticipation.

"I guess?" I mumble, not matching the enthusiasm of my body.

"You don't have to, if it is getting too much, we are just going to take turns." Paul suggests and Franco nods. I don't know what will drain my body more, both of them together or one after the other, one always having time to recover and maybe even going for another round.

"If you can take us both, we can still take turns later tonight." Franco grins and I huff slightly.

"I am not getting any sleep tonight, will I?" I ask them, but grin during it, not finding that idea unpleasant.

"Hardly." Paul confirms and I nod my head, "Okay."

Franco sits up, reaches for something on the bedside table and hands Paul a condom. They both prep themselves, pumping their lengths a couple of times, before pulling the condom on and spreading a generous amount of lube on top. Even though I am probably more than wet right now, they want to make this as easy as possible.

I straddle Franco's hips, hovering over his length for a moment while holding onto his shoulders. He holds his tip against my entrance, but waits for me to move first. I look him in the eyes when I slowly sink down, taking his length inch by inch. Franco groans, hips bucking slightly, his fingers digging into my side, but he stays still. I take the time to kiss him, taste myself on his lips and whimper against them. Franco lets himself fall back, pulling me with him to make some space for Paul.

Paul kneels behind me, fingers softly caressing my butt, hands spreading the cheeks for his cock to slide between them. His tip pushes against the hole and I tense up just slightly before relaxing again. Bit by bit, he pushes inside, hushing me softly when I whimper and cramp. Just when I think I cant take all of them Paul fingers find my clit, toying with it, making me relax enough for him to slide in fully.

"You feel so good around me." Paul groans before Franco adds, „Doing so well." Their little praises help me take my mind away from the slightly burning stretch. Pauls fingers keep rolling over my clit, Franco helping me to sit up slightly, changing the angle of the cocks. My fingers dig into Franco's chest, making him groan, but both of them stay completely still. I try to listen to my body and when there is just anticipation and lust left, I give them the go to move.

"You can move."

They chose slow, deliberated movements. Paul pulls his hips back slightly, before pushing in again and Franco finds a way to buck his hips up. It does need a moment for them to find a rhythm, but then it is just lust flooding my veins. I don't know what to do, to think, just feel and let them move me. Being so on the edge already that just a few thrusts are enough to push me over, making me clench down on them and draw groans from their throats.

It's like this flips a switch and they are no longer keep grinding into me but get more force behind their thrust, using me for their pleasure. My finger dig into Franco's chest, probably leaving marks behind, drawing some moans over his lips. They both hold onto my hips, hands covering he ones of the other while they pull me into their thrusts. Paul slightly backwards and Franco down, stretching me open on their cocks. I don't know how much time passes until I feel that familiar tugging in my lower abdomen.

"Fuck, fuck fuck." I whimper between them, not knowing if I can take another one. "Yes, come again." Paul groans and I can feel his hand sneaking from my hip to in between my thighs. Just when his fingertip brushes against my clit I orgasm, spasming around them while feeling completely blissed out. Being in a hazy state, barely realising that the boys come to their high as well.

We all collapse on the bed for a moment, my body aching but kind of in a good way. I have my eyes closed, barely feeling the boys pulling out of, before they cuddle themselves against my body. My heart rate slowly comes down again and the exhaustion takes over my body. I yawn softly, cuddling myself against the damp skin of Franco, or is it Paul? I don't really care.

"Are you okay." One of them asks and I just hum in return, "Hm."

"Can you open your eyes?" This time, I am sure it's Franco and slowly open my eyes, blinking at them tiredly. Both have a soft smile on their lips, hair slightly sticking to their foreheads, but I am sure I don't look any better.

"We got you some water." Paul tells me and helps me to sit up slightly before giving me the bottle. "Thank you." I mutter, drinking a good amount of it, only now realising how thirsty I am. Franco disappears for a moment, returning with a damp washcloth in his hands.

"Can I clean your thighs?" He asks me, because even though they didn't spill inside of me, but into a condom, my thighs are still sticky with slick and lube. Knowing this might get uncomfortable, I smile at Franco. "Yes."

He sits down beside me, tenderly letting the lukewarm washcloth brush over my thighs, cleaning away the remnants of the night. "You did so good for us." Franco praises me, lips meeting my cheek, making me sigh softly.

"Now rest for a bit." Paul says and we all cuddle back together in the bed. Barely visible where one starts and the other ends, covered by the big hotel blanket, all drifting into a deep slumber not long after.

We might not have done it again that night, all too tired, but who knows what the morning has in store for us. 

[onlyangel4]

rough day. cm punk.

cm punk x wrestler!reader

synopsis: you and punk had been seeing each other backstage for a few months and one day when your mood is the worst it has been in a while, he reads you like a book.

the hallway outside gorilla smelled like adrenaline and old metal. you’d just wrapped your segment, if you could call a thirty-second backstage appearance a segment and the weight of it was dragging behind you like dead air.

you tried to walk tall as you made your way toward the locker room, but everything felt heavy. you’d trained like hell, put in the work, said yes to every creative pitch, even the ridiculous ones. and still, nothing. no momentum, no matches, no push.

you were still clutching your gear bag when you spotted him, leaned against a wall near the trainers' area, arms crossed and eyes locked on you like he’d been waiting. cm punk. phil. your… well, you weren’t quite sure what to call it yet. something new. something good. if only the rest of your life matched that.

he didn’t smile. didn’t crack a joke. just tilted his head slightly.

"bad night?" he asked, voice low and calm.

you blinked. "how could you tell?"

"i can read people", he said simply, stepping closer. "especially ones i care about."

your shoulders dropped. you hated how quickly your eyes burned. you weren’t going to cry. not in the hallway. not in front of him.

"it’s stupid", you muttered. "just another week of being a background extra. another week of busting my ass and getting passed over."

punk nodded, but didn’t interrupt. you expected him to say something textbook, keep grinding, it’ll pay off eventually. but he didn’t.

"i used to sit backstage watching matches i should’ve been in", he said, voice quiet. "listen to creative tell me i wasn’t ‘marketable enough.’ i remember thinking, maybe i’m not. maybe this is it for me."

you looked at him, surprised. "but are at the top of the roster"

he huffed. "eventually. after a hundred ignored promos and a dozen matches they tried to bury me in. i didn’t get where i am because they believed in me. i got here because i refused to let them forget me.”

you didn’t say anything for a second. just stared at him, that slow burn defiance in his eyes matching the spark you usually carried in yours, when it didn’t feel so dim.

"you’re not invisible", he said gently. "not to me. not to the crowd. and not forever."

that’s when he reached for your hand, a quiet, private gesture even here in the chaos of backstage.

"i know we’re still figuring this thing out", he added. "but if you want someone in your corner, i’m not going anywhere."

you squeezed his hand, the words hitting you in places you didn’t know still hurt.

"thanks", you said softly. "for seeing me."

he leaned in, his voice close to your ear. "always."

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

the hum of the air conditioner was the only sound in the room as you stepped out of the bathroom, hair damp, skin warm from the shower. punk was already stretched across the bed in a loose hoodie and sweats, the tv playing some old match on mute not his, but one he was clearly judging based on the slight smirk tugging at his lip.

he turned his head as you came into view, and you saw it, the soft shift in his face. that quiet admiration he wasn’t always brave enough to say out loud yet. you were still learning each other’s rhythms, but that look? it said everything.

you crawled onto the bed beside him, the mattress dipping slightly under your weight as you leaned back against the headboard. for a moment, neither of you spoke. you just let yourself exist in the safety of the room, the low light, and him.

he reached over without a word, tugging you closer until you were tucked against his side, your head resting on his chest. the steady beat of his heart was grounding.

"you feeling any better?" he asked quietly, thumb grazing along your arm.

"a little" you admitted. "still kind of sucks. but it helped, what you said earlier."

he nodded. "it’s not always about fixing it. sometimes it’s just about not being alone in it."

you looked up at him, searching his face. "does it ever stop bothering you? the being overlooked?"

he took a breath before answering. "no. not completely. but it gets quieter when you’ve got someone who gets it." he glanced down, meeting your eyes. "i get it. i get you."

your chest tightened in the best way, emotion catching you off guard again, only this time, it didn’t feel heavy. It felt like release.

"i like this", you whispered. "us"

he smiled, slow and real, and pressed a kiss to your forehead. "me too. a lot."

his hand found yours under the covers, fingers lacing together, and he gave them a gentle squeeze.

"tomorrow they can try to overlook you again", he said, voice low and firm. "but tonight? you’re right here, and i see everything."

you didn’t need more than that.

wrapped in his arms, in the hush of a room that felt more like home than anywhere else lately, the fight could wait. tonight, you were allowed to be held. to be seen. to be soft.

and that was enough.

[serapharua]

୨୧ 一 ENHYPEN HELPING YOU CALM DOWN AFTER A PTSD FLASHBACK

enhypen 0T7 — GENRE : comfort angst imagines headcanon — PAIRING : gn.reader — WARNING : panic attack imagery, flashbacks — REQUESTED : by 🦢 anon ! ☆ — enha masterlist

note: In Sunoo’s part, “I saw the lights flicker” is another way of saying “I noticed something was wrong,” but in a way I thought suited how ptsd feels at times, and also more comforting wording.

HEESEUNG :

The air is still, but everything inside you is trembling.

The flashback has passed, but its shadow lingers, tight in your chest, buzzing under your skin. The world feels far away, muffled, like you’re underwater. Your hands clutch the edge of the blanket like it’s a lifeline, the fabric damp with sweat. You don’t even realize you’re crying until a tear slips off your chin.

Heeseung doesn’t say anything at first. He doesn’t rush in with panic or questions, he just moves gently, quietly, like he’s entering a sacred space.

He sits on the floor beside the bed, folding his long legs beneath him. He stays at eye level, not towering over you, not demanding your attention. Just there.

Then, softly

“Can I hold you now?”

You blink, slow and heavy. Your throat is too tight to speak, but you nod, just a little.

He doesn’t move quickly. Heeseung is careful, always. He climbs into the bed with a reverence usually reserved for lullabies, and slips his arms around you like he’s afraid you’ll shatter if he’s too rough. One arm wraps around your shoulders, the other rests over your hand, still clutching the blanket, and he holds it too, without prying it away.

He hums something low. Not a song, not really. Just notes that barely reach the air, something familiar and soothing. A rhythm to catch your breath on.

“You’re okay,” he whispers into your hair. “You’re not there anymore. You’re here… with me.”

The blanket starts to slip from your fingers. His hold tightens just slightly, a promise without words. He rocks you a little, side to side, not enough to make you dizzy, just enough to remind your body: this is now. This is real.

“You did so good,” he breathes. “Just breathing through it… I’m so proud of you.”

You finally exhale. A full breath. The first in what feels like hours.

Heeseung stays there, quiet and steady, until the shaking fades and you let go, not of the blanket, but of the fear. Not all at once. Just enough.

He doesn’t let go of your hand.

JAY :

The silence after a flashback is the worst part.

It’s too loud. Too sharp. Like the world pressed pause, but your body didn’t get the memo. Every breath you take feels too big in your chest. Your jaw is tight, your hands tingling, and your eyes… your eyes won’t focus. You don’t even know where you are.

But Jay does.

He’s already there when your vision clears, kneeling just beside the couch, his eyes locked on yours, calm but so focused, like he’s ready to catch you even if you don’t fall.

He hasn't touched you yet.

Instead, his voice comes slow and steady, like a candle flickering in a dark room. “You’re here,” he says. “You made it through. That was the past. You’re not there anymore.”

The words aren’t said to fix anything. They’re reminders. Anchors. Jay knows better than to speak over your pain, he speaks beneath it, under the surface where the fear still claws.

You flinch. You didn’t mean to, but the memory’s claws are still in you.

Immediately, his voice softens further. “Hey. You’re safe,” he says, like it’s a promise. “Look at me. Just me. Can you try?”

You do. Slowly.

And when your eyes finally meet his, Jay still doesn’t move, not until he’s sure. Then, he reaches out and rests his palm gently over yours. Not grasping. Just there. Steady. Warm.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs. “Even if you can’t talk right now. Even if you can’t breathe yet. I’m staying right here.”

Your throat tightens. The guilt tries to creep in, the shame of needing comfort, of being “too much”, but Jay cuts it off before it roots.

“You don’t have to explain it,” he says, reading your silence like a language only he understands. “You never do. I’m just proud of you for coming back.”

His hand squeezes yours, not hard, just enough for you to feel something solid. Real.

“You did good,” he says again, like he’s trying to press those words into your bones.

And for the first time, the air around you doesn’t feel so sharp.

JAKE :

The storm inside you has passed, but it left wreckage behind.

Your chest is still tight. Not with panic, not anymore, but with the hollow weight it always leaves behind. The echo of fear. The exhaustion of surviving it. Your hands tremble in your lap, and your throat burns like you’ve been screaming even though you never made a sound.

Jake doesn’t speak right away. He knows. He always knows.

He crouches in front of you, not touching, just waiting for your eyes to find his. His brows are drawn, but not in worry, more like devotion. He looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters in the room. Like your pain isn’t frightening, just something he wants to hold for you.

Without a word, he reaches beside him and offers you a glass of water.

It’s small, simple. But it’s Jake, and somehow, even that one gesture feels like a lifeline. Like a breath.

Your fingers brush his as you take it. Unsteady. Cold. But he doesn’t flinch. He just smiles, softly, warmly, and says, “There you go.”

You drink a little. Not much. It’s enough.

Jake settles onto the floor in front of you, sitting cross-legged, close but not smothering. “You don’t have to talk,” he says, gently. “Not unless you want to.”

You nod, barely. And then, because your lungs still haven’t quite figured out what peace feels like, you let out a shaky breath.

Jake’s gaze softens even more. “Okay. Let’s breathe together, yeah?”

He lifts a hand to his own chest and exaggerates his inhale. “In… one, two, three…”

Then out. “One, two, three…”

You try. It’s messy, uneven. But Jake doesn’t care. He smiles like it’s the most perfect thing you’ve ever done. Like he’s proud of you just for existing.

“You’re doing so good,” he says quietly. “You’re here now. And nothing’s going to hurt you while I’m around.”

He scoots a little closer, letting his knee brush yours. His presence hums with warmth. Steady, like a heartbeat.

“Just keep breathing, alright?” he whispers. “I’ve got you.”

And somehow, little by little, the pieces inside you begin to fit again.

SUNGHOON :

The room is still. But not in a peaceful way.

It’s the kind of stillness that follows a collapse, like the air itself is holding its breath, afraid to move. Your body is curled in on itself, not from fear anymore, but from fatigue. the bone-deep kind that comes after your mind has dragged you through memories you’d rather forget.

Your muscles ache from tension you didn’t realize you were holding. Your throat is sore. Your eyes are dry. And still, somehow, you feel like you might fall apart again at the slightest touch.

So Sunghoon doesn’t touch you.

Not at first.

He sits a few feet away, back against the same wall as you, legs stretched out in front of him. He doesn’t ask if you’re okay. He knows the answer, and he respects you too much to ask for a performance.

Instead, he speaks into the stillness, his voice quiet but sure. “I stayed.”

Two words. That’s it.

And they work better than anything else could.

You blink, barely. You’re not sure why that hits so hard, but it does. Maybe because it means he didn’t run. Maybe because you expected him to.

Sunghoon glances over at you, not intrusively, just enough to let you know he’s there. Present. Calm. “You don’t have to say anything,” he adds, voice softer now. “I just wanted you to know I’m here. Still here.”

Your fingers twitch against your leg, and he notices. Of course he does.

He shifts a little closer, slow enough that you have time to stop him if you need to. When you don’t, he reaches out, just his pinky brushing lightly against your hand. Nothing more. Like he’s leaving the door open, not walking through it.

“That thing in your head,” he murmurs. “It doesn’t win. You made it through. And I saw how hard that was.”

He doesn’t flatter. He doesn’t dramatize. He just tells the truth.

You look at him, finally. And in his eyes, there’s no fear. No pity. Just that quiet loyalty that’s always been there, just beneath the surface.

“I’m not leaving,” he says again. “Not tonight. Not tomorrow.”

Then, still not pushing, he offers a blanket, the corner of it brushing your knee. An invitation. Warmth without pressure.

You take it.

And when you finally lean your head against his shoulder, he exhales like he’s been waiting for this moment, not because it’s a relief for him, but because it means you’re back.

And that’s all he ever wanted.

SUNOO :

The room is dim. Quiet. But not peaceful.

The flashback left you wrung out, your breathing shallow, your body heavy like it’s been drained of color. You’re sitting on the floor, knees pulled to your chest, your gaze fixed somewhere far away. You’re not crying anymore, but it feels like you could start again if someone even looked at you too kindly.

So when Sunoo appears in the doorway, your stomach knots instinctively.

Not because you don’t trust him, but because he sees everything.

And that kind of tenderness can be terrifying when you’re raw.

He doesn’t speak right away. Doesn’t smile. Just kneels across from you, folding into your space like someone slipping into warm water, delicate, unthreatening.

“I saw the lights flicker,” he says softly, like an apology for interrupting. “I figured something wasn’t right.”

His voice is like sunlight behind clouds, not bright, not blinding. Just enough to warm the edge of the moment.

Your lips part, but nothing comes out. Still, Sunoo doesn’t rush you. He just reaches into his hoodie pocket and pulls out… a soft little object. A stress ball. Shaped like a cat.

“I didn’t bring it because I think you need it,” he says quickly, watching your face. “I brought it because I know how your hands feel after.”

You glance down at your fingers. You hadn’t even noticed how tightly they were curled until now. Your nails bit into your skin.

You take the cat without thinking. And Sunoo’s smile is small, grateful, not proud.

“There you are,” he says quietly. “Hi.”

Your eyes sting again.

He shifts, sitting beside you now. He doesn’t try to wrap you up or say all the right things. He just leans his shoulder against yours, a soft point of contact, like he’s lighting a candle between you.

“Do you want to stay here for a bit?” he asks. “We don’t have to talk. We don’t have to move. Just sit. Until the world feels less loud.”

You nod. He leans into you a little more, his warmth grounding and gentle.

“I’m so proud of you,” he says, more a breath than a statement. “Even if all you did was survive.”

And with Sunoo beside you, survival suddenly feels a little more like living.

JUNGWON :

The silence in the room is thick, not peaceful, but suspended.

Your breathing is slow now, almost mechanical, like your body is trying to remember how to function one step at a time. The panic is gone, but it left a crater in its wake, emptiness, exhaustion, a cold that has nothing to do with the air around you.

You feel small. Tired. Detached.

And then… you feel him.

You hadn’t heard him come in, but Jungwon’s presence is unmistakable, grounding, even when he doesn’t speak. He closes the door behind him with a gentleness that doesn’t disturb the quiet, only softens it. No sudden movements. No pity in his eyes.

He approaches slowly, crouching in front of you, not making you look up, not asking anything of you. Just being there.

“Do you want to sit with me?” he asks, voice low, warm like a blanket you forgot you were under.

You don’t answer. Not because you don’t want him to, but because your body is still catching up to your brain. So he waits. Patient. Still. He doesn’t take the silence as rejection. He understands.

When you finally, wordlessly shift toward him, he exhales so softly you wouldn’t notice it if you weren’t so tuned in to the world now.

He sits beside you, not too close, not too far, letting the space be yours. Then, gently, he offers his hand. Palm up. Open.

You stare at it for a second. Then place yours in his.

No words. No need.

His thumb brushes over your knuckles slowly, rhythmically, like he’s reminding your skin what safety feels like. Like he’s anchoring you without tying you down.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” he says. “Not now. Not ever, if you don’t want to.”

There’s no tension in his posture. He’s not waiting for you to break down or open up. He’s just present, ready to sit here as long as it takes for the pieces of you to come back.

“I’ll be here until you feel steady again,” he adds, and you believe him.

Because with Jungwon, words aren’t just words.

They’re promises.

NIKI :

The silence is overwhelming in a way that feels too loud.

The flashback has left you breathless, your mind replaying the images in flashes, while your body is frozen, as if it hasn’t caught up to where you are now. Every part of you is taut, like a string pulled too tight. Even your skin feels too sensitive, the air too thick.

You don’t realize that Niki is there until you feel the weight of his presence, he doesn’t speak, but the way his footsteps move, steady and sure, makes your heart settle just a little.

“Hey,” he says softly, and his voice cuts through the fog like a spark in the dark. It’s calm, nothing frantic, nothing too much. But it’s warm. His voice is always warm.

When you don’t respond, he sits down beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushes yours. He doesn’t ask if you’re okay, he doesn’t need to. The question is always there, but the way he asks it isn’t with words; it’s in the way he leans into your space, offering his energy without pushing it on you.

For a long moment, he stays silent, just letting the space between you be filled with the quiet rhythm of your breathing.

Then, he reaches over and gently rests his hand on your back, nothing too forceful, just a light touch, like a hand guiding you back into yourself.

“You’re here now,” Niki says, the words careful, as if testing their weight. “You made it through. I’m right here.”

His thumb moves in slow, soothing circles, like he’s trying to ease the tension out of you, but never too fast, always keeping it gentle.

And even though your body feels like it’s trying to fall apart, his presence feels like a tether. The way he is both calm and full of energy, the way he radiates warmth without pushing you. He’s like a constant flame that never burns too hot but always keeps you warm.

“If you need to take your time, take all the time you need,” he murmurs. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll wait until you’re ready to come back.”

His words are light, but there’s a firmness in them that makes you feel safe, like the weight of the world can’t touch you when he’s around.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you start to breathe a little easier, not because the storm is over, but because Niki’s presence is strong enough to hold you through it.

Word count : 2672 | serapharua, 2025.

[paucubarsisimp]

𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨 𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨…

➳ always sending you random memes or videos that he thinks will make you laugh (and he’s probably laughing more than you)

➳ insists on giving you piggyback rides whenever you’re tired or just for fun

➳ loves teasing you about how cute you look when you’re trying to concentrate on something

➳ definitely has a collection of your favorite snacks in his room or car just in case

➳ sends you a selfie every time he’s at the racetrack, asking if you think he looks “race car driver cool”

➳ loves sending you little surprises, like tickets to something you’ve been wanting to do, or just something he thought would make you smile

➳ insists on driving you places just so he can hold your hand while he’s driving

➳ can’t resist putting his arm around you while you’re watching a movie, even if he claims he’s not the cuddly type

➳ gets super shy and blushy whenever you tell him something sweet, but can’t stop smiling like a dork

➳ will casually ask for advice from his friends about how to be a better boyfriend (but it’s more for reassurance than actual advice, haha)

➳ randomly calls you while he’s in the middle of something, just to tell you something funny that happened, even if it’s not that important

➳ constantly makes sure you’re comfortable, like adjusting your seat, or checking if you need a jacket, and always stealing little peeks to see if you’re happy

➳ will press kisses to the back of your hand or your forehead when you’re not looking, just because he loves you

➳ probably makes the worst breakfast in the world, but it’s the most adorable thing because he’s so excited about it

➳ never lets you leave without a hug and a kiss, even if it’s just a quick “see you later”

➳ always shows up with flowers or something cute because he knows you’ll appreciate the little things

➳ when he’s tired, he loves resting his head on your lap and letting you play with his hair, even if he pretends it’s a “guy thing” to do

➳ whenever he’s away racing, he’ll send you pictures of random things he sees that remind him of you, like a nice view or a silly sign

➳ loves when you give him compliments, but he acts like he’s not used to it and gets all shy, even though it makes his whole day

➳ no matter how busy he is, he’ll always make time to send you a quick “thinking of you” message

➳ takes every chance to hold your hand in public, but he’s also a little nervous when people are watching—he just thinks you’re so cute

small little fluffy imagine:

the morning light seeps in gently through the curtains, warm and golden, but not enough to tempt you out of bed. not when lando’s wrapped around you like this—like he’s trying to become a part of you.

his legs are tangled with yours, arms tucked tightly around your waist, and his face is buried in your shoulder, his breath soft and steady against your skin. every time you move even slightly, he holds on tighter.

“don’t go,” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep, words slurring together. “not yet.”

you smile, your fingers lazily threading through his messy curls. “i wasn’t going anywhere.”

“good,” he breathes, pressing the softest kiss just under your jaw. “you’re warm. and you smell nice.”

his hold on you tightens for a second before he relaxes again, cheek smushed against you, completely content.

“you’re like a human space heater,” you tease quietly.

“and you’re my favorite blanket,” he replies, not missing a beat, even half-asleep. “i need you. for survival.”

you laugh under your breath, shifting just enough to look at him. his eyes are still closed, lashes fluttering slightly, a sleepy smile tugging at his lips. he looks so peaceful here, like the rest of the world doesn’t even exist when he’s with you.

he opens one eye slowly. “what are you looking at?”

“you,” you whisper.

he grins, leans up just enough to kiss your nose, then your cheek, then your lips—soft and slow and lazy, like there’s all the time in the world. “i like when you do that.”

“what?”

“look at me like i’m your whole world,” he says, voice barely audible as he pulls you impossibly closer. “because you’re mine.”

your heart melts. completely. hopelessly.

“lando…”

“shh,” he murmurs. “just stay. forever, maybe.”

taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, @levidazai, @hollyf1,@mxryxmfooty, @halfwayhearted lmk if you want to be added!

[bwobgames]

There’s a light breeze over their heads.

They slowly walk towards Nina’s faculty.

Marigold would be happy not interacting at all here, but that’s not how it goes.

What could Nina possibly want? Is she testing her? Trying to get some information? Did Eugene asked her to?

There’s only one way to find out.

“So-”

“Um-”

Failed step one.

“Go on”

“No, no, I interrupted you, go on”

Trying to win the politeness battle, huh?

“What are you hiding”

“Nothing really, just wanted to compliment your attire”

“Oh! Really? Thank you! It means a lot coming from you!”

“...From me?”

“What is it that you really want.”

“Ah, it’s just… You’re really admirable…”

“You always dress so elegantly and look so smart…”

“And, um, you probably didn’t notice but I was walking by when I saw you talk back to Mr. Adams…”

Oh, so she’s just another vapid sort of hippie girl. Should’ve seen it coming.

“I don’t know if Gene has told you anything about him but he’s super harsh when he criticizes my essays, so for you to win an argument is so...!”

...Huh.

“And that’s not even mentioning being a girl in such a male populated field! If I had to deal with 5 more Gene’s I’d go crazy, haha.”

“Is she trying to get something from me? Or perhaps she’s solidifying our alliance as well?

That was… unexpected.

She might not be her brother, but there must be something of that in there, right?

This could benefit me greatly.

After a long and exhausting overnight studying session with Eugene, he let out information about his… home situation.

Surely she must have a sense of responsibility in there, right?”

Practically orphaned siblings, a pair who had to grow too soon.

Creating a path that assure him to never go back to that life again.

Marigold can’t help but resent Nina after that story, is she really just going to use him for life?

The responsibility he carried in the form of a smaller, more scared, more vulnerable person.

“If you admire these qualities so much, why didn’t you follow the steps of your brother?”

(She ignores that Marigold also wants to use him, but they’re not family. It’s different.)

“Ahaha, that’s really not for me…”

“You’d rather be a teacher? In this economy? If you wanted something easy, you could’ve gone with hotel management or the like. I’m sure Eugene can get you a place there.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Miss Marigold. It’s not where my soul calls to.”

“If she’s staying she’s going to work for it!”

“It’s where money calls to. That's why Eugene’s doing it. It’s why everyone does anything”

Ugh. Hippies.

“But I’m afraid there’s a bigger mission I must fulfill.”

“Haha, that is something he would say.”

“Has Gene told you about our, um, raising? Our parents perhaps?”

“...What do you mean?”

“I’ve been told about your old home life, yes. My condolences”

“I actually retained a lot of memories from when I was young. I probably developed way faster just from pressure alone but, um”

“I remember feeling helpless”

“I’m not blind, Miss Marigold, I can tell where Gene’s need for money comes from. I know of his sacrifices. I’ve witnessed them”

“When you are alone in a big house, you need to survive. But to survive, you need knowledge.”

“And every bit of knowledge made me feel… powerful”

“Gene is sensible, he needs something soft to fall on. He needs to feel safe, so he works towards that”

“When I learned to tie my shoes, I could run anywhere without falling. When I learned to use the washing machine, we no longer had to wash by hand, and goodness when I learned to read…!”

“I want to give them the tools for that”

“But I… I can’t live with myself knowing there are others like us. Small, scared beings who need to be stronger than they are.”

“I want to give people the means to fulfill themselves, whether it be something as simple as tying your shoes so you don’t fall to how to plaster your inner turmoil into poems”

“Ah, don’t take me for a silly dreamer, though. I know it’s hard. Especially with the number of people being crammed into one classroom nowadays!”

“I have that responsibility. I want to give everyone what Gene did for me”

“But isn’t that… bad? You won’t get anywhere as a mere school teacher”

“But someone has to.”

“A little house, with a small garden. Quiet enough for me to sing while working.”

“I’ll get exactly where I want to be”

Happy…?

“And that’s all I need to be happy”

“Ah, that’s doesn’t mean I don’t want anything else! Um. I’d like to get married too, and visit Easter Island! Ah, and learning some more baking recipes…”

That’s… That’s wrong. That’s not how you become happy at all. She’ll have to deal with bills and sickness and lack of luxury and normal clothes and..!

That makes no sense. Nina makes no sense.

...And she’d be happy.

Does that mean that… she really isn’t hiding anything?

Is she just nice and polite for what? For sport? Out of fear?

“What about you? What are you studying business for?”

It seems Marigold misunderstood her. She really is just as hardworking as her brother.

That’s exactly what Marigold doesn’t want to think right now.

For money, yes? That’s normal. That’s what everyone does.

Except Nina. Except Uncle Jacinto.

“I… I’d like to form a business. A technology business”

Except people who smile freely. Except people who don’t have to act. Except people without hidden intentions.

“Oh, you like cool sci-fi stuff?”

Not really. She knows technology is advancing rapidly and she needs to get in it if she wants those stocks to grow so-

“It’s necessary. Everyone is doing it”

What’s the point of it?

Everyone is doing it. So it’s good. So it’s right.

“New technologies are always needed, you’re right”

Right?

“I think you’ll make it. You and Gene are way too much of a try-hard pair not to, hehe”

Thank you Thank you Thank you Thank you

“Are you just, naturally poetic?”

“And while you two reach the stars, I’ll take care of the Earth”

“Ah, sorry, I just had class about that, hehe”

“Oh! Finally! We’re here! Ah, please stay outside!”

Nina is nice.

“What? Why? I have my student pass?”

“Wait for me!”

“Alright look away!”

Nina is weird.

“What”

“Just for a second!”

She’s probably not gonna suddenly axe her in the back, so Marigold turns for 1 to 3 seconds

A strong gust of wind passes through.

She sees…

“Happy birthday!”

“What…?”

“I saw this in a store the other day and thought you’d like it!”

“…”

“I love it”

“Ah! Your hair stick thingy! I’ll go get it!”

Nina is exactly what her parents warned her about.

Nina is… dangerous.

The sweetest apple in the whole garden. The one thing that could ruin her. That could completely erase the paradise she is in.

The paradise she constructed. That her parents constructed.

And yet, a single blue Marigold hungers. She hungers for that sweetness.

The perfect garden.

She wants to take a bite from her.

Marigolds aren’t supposed to be blue.

“Did you see it, Nina?

What made her think that, in any of the ways Marigold presents herself, that’s she’d like this silly plushie?

And why was she right?

Did you see what’s inside me?

When you look into my eyes, can you see it?

Can you see me?

Can you tell me what’s in there?

Can you open me up and take it out?

But she won’t. She refuses to follow the steps of Eve. She’ll stay in paradise.

Can you let me out?”

There’s nothing to gain from leaving.

There’s nothing else she needs.

But.

She’ll protect this little apple. It is not it’s fault that they’ve been chosen for such a task.

Such a beautiful, ethereal being. Twirling in the wind with laughter and warmth.

Free.

She hears her uncle’s laugh in the distance.

Surely a few nibbles can’t hurt, right?

<PREV START NEXT>

[sugardollcurse]

idk if you've heard the song Paul by big thief but it got me thinking about if reader was also a singer & wrote a song post-break up about one of the bugs & it got real popular....at least in paul's case i firmly believe the man would go NUTS. like late night phone call to you or on your doorstep within the week hoping there might still be a chance kinda mad, but all of them would probably in their own way.

𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒅𝒈𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔

꒰ pairing ꒱ paul mccartney x reader

꒰ contains ꒱ exes-to-maybe-again

꒰ summary ꒱ your song about paul becomes a hit. he hears it once, twice, twelve times... and then he’s outside your door

꒰ note ꒱ i screamed because i love big thief.. i'm inhaling this.. also doing paul for this cuz you mentioned him! :b the ending is left open on purpose, so you decide what happens next! do they try again? do they let go for good? it's up to you!

The studio was quiet when you recorded it.

One microphone. A single guitar. A couple takes, and not much fuss.

You hadn’t planned on it being anything. It had started out as a confession you didn’t have the nerve to speak aloud, a quiet half-song you’d been playing to the walls of your flat in the weeks after it ended. You’d written it sitting cross-legged on your bed, with a mug of cold tea on the windowsill and a Polaroid of the two of you still tucked inside your journal like a bookmark. Paul smiling with his eyes squinted shut, you laughing in motion. Summer clung to your skin then. Now it just sat heavy in your chest.

And so you played. You sang it once. Then again. Then one more time, barely above a whisper.

The engineer asked if you wanted another go.

You said no.

That was the take.

And just like that, it existed. A thing separate from you. Still bruised, but real.

You didn’t think it’d go anywhere. You certainly didn’t think anyone would hear it, outside your team, a few friends, maybe the odd radio station that owed your label a favor.

You didn’t expect it to move people.

But it did.

Like wildfire.

You found out when you walked into a café and heard it playing from the overhead speakers.

Your heart froze before the chorus.

You stood there like someone had poured ice water down your back, then turned and walked out before anyone could recognize your face.

It was already in the charts. Already in everyone’s mouths. People whispered about it with reverence and awe, like it was sacred or scandalous or both. They asked who it was about. Some guessed. Others knew. Beatles fans weren’t stupid.

Paul didn’t say anything publicly.

Not yet.

━━

It’s not the radio that kills him.

It’s George.

They’re in the car together, some charity thing in Hampstead, Paul half-asleep behind his sunglasses, and George is fiddling with the dial, quiet as ever, until something catches.

He doesn’t say anything. Just looks over, still.

Then: “That one’s about you, innit?”

Paul frowns. “What?”

George nods toward the speaker.

The song’s almost over, but the voice, your voice, filters in like smoke through cracked windows. Familiar and soft and sharper than he remembers.

Paul goes still.

George lowers the volume. “Didn’t know Y/n was puttin’ out a single.”

Paul doesn’t answer.

George glances over. “You alright, mate?”

He isn’t.

But he lies. “Yeah.”

━━

But then came the night.

Three weeks after it dropped. A week after it reached #1. Five months since the two of you last spoke.

It was nearly 1:00 a.m. when you heard the knock.

Three of them, steady and insistent. Not drunk-persistent, not a neighbor with a complaint.

You froze where you stood, halfway to brushing your teeth.

Another knock. Louder.

You padded to the door, heart thudding, every cell in your body already knowing before you looked.

And there he was.

Paul.

In the dark. In a coat that didn’t quite match the weather. Rain in his hair, on his collar. His eyes were huge in the porch light, like he couldn’t believe you were really standing there.

You opened the door without a word.

“Hi,” he said, and his voice cracked.

You didn’t let him in.

Not at first.

You stood just inside the doorway with your hand on the knob and stared at him like he might vanish. But he didn’t. He just shifted on his feet like he didn’t know what to do with his hands anymore.

“I weren’t gonna come,” he said. “Kept tellin’ meself I wouldn’t.”

“Okay.”

“But then you-Christ, you sang it. And I thought…” He swallowed. “Maybe you wanted me to hear it.”

You didn’t say anything.

The porchlight buzzed quietly above you both. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed and faded.

“I’ve been going mad,” he said, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “You know that? Proper losin' it.”

“Paul-”

“You wrote a song,” he went on, voice raw, “and now every bloody café, every car, every soddin’ club’s playin’ it. You’re hauntin’ me.”

Your throat tightened. “I didn’t write it for you.”

“You didn’t write it for me?” He laughed, once. Bitter. “I’m in every bloody word.”

“You’re in the feeling,” you said. “Not the audience.”

“Well, I heard it.” He took a step closer, rain dripping from the edge of his fringe. “And I know what you meant. You said things in that song you never said to me.”

You looked away.

That was true.

Because the truth was: you hadn’t known how to say it then. Not while everything was unraveling, not while he was in motion all the time, flying to cities you couldn’t follow, disappearing into interviews and egos and late-night mixing sessions. The version of Paul you’d fallen for, the one who made tea barefoot in the mornings, who hummed melodies against your shoulder, who used your ankle as a footrest while strumming his bass... he got harder to find.

And when you’d tried to talk, he’d said “we’ll figure it out.” But figuring it out never came. Just more miles. More silence. Until it collapsed.

You rubbed your arms and stepped back. “Do you want to come in?”

He nodded once. Like it hurt.

Inside, the flat smelled like old books and chamomile tea.

Paul stood awkwardly near the table while you fetched him a towel. He used it to blot his hair, his hands trembling faintly.

“You still listen to records?” he asked.

“Sometimes.”

“I figured you’d gone all posh by now.”

You gave him a look. “It’s not a palace.”

“No,” he murmured. “But it smells like you.”

You ignored that.

He turned to face you fully now, eyes flicking across your face like he was memorizing it. “Why did you write it?”

“Because I couldn’t sleep.”

“That’s not an answer.”

You sighed and sat down, curling your legs beneath you. “I had all these feelings, and nowhere to put them. So I wrote a song. That’s what people like us do.”

“People like us,” he echoed. “Right.”

He ran a hand through his damp hair. “You know what it did to me?”

You looked up.

“It wrecked me,” he said. “I’ve played it more’n a hundred times. Know every breath, every pause. I put it on in the dead of night like I’m tryin’ to torture meself.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Didn’t you?” His voice rose, not loud, but sharp. “You didn’t just bleed, you broadcast it. You put the ugliest bits of us on show.”

“No,” you said, steady. “I put myself on display. My heartbreak. My mistakes. The parts I never let anyone see, even when we were together.”

Paul stared at you, shoulders heaving. You could see the walls cracking.

“I loved you,” he said.

You closed your eyes.

“I still do,” he added, quiet.

You looked at him again. “Then why didn’t you stay?”

Silence.

Rain pattered on the window.

He dropped into the chair across from you and buried his face in his hands.

“I didn’t know how,” he said, muffled. “I thought I’d have time. Thought you’d wait. Thought everything else’d calm down eventually and I’d come back to you.”

You stared at him. “That’s not how love works.”

“I know,” he snapped. Then softened. “I know. Now I do. But then… God, everything was noise. You were the only quiet thing I had, and I-” he looked up, eyes red, “I let you slip away.”

Neither of you spoke for a long time.

The kettle clicked off in the kitchen. A wind rattled the windowpane.

Paul leaned back, arms crossed, like he was holding himself together with the fabric of his coat.

“D’you think,” he said slowly, “that we could ever try again?”

You blinked. “What?”

“I’m not askin’ to fix it all. I just…” He leaned forward. “I miss you. You. Not the song. Not the idea of you. Just… the person who’d sit up with me at 3 a.m. talkin’ shite. The one who made up daft lyrics for my tunes when I couldn’t think of any. The one who looked at me like I wasn't disappearin’.”

Your throat closed.

“I want to be that person again. For you.”

You swallowed. “That’s not just something you want. That’s something you do. Every day.”

“I know.”

You looked at his face. Really looked.

There was no arrogance left. No public Paul, no charm turned up for a crowd. Just a boy, wrinkled around the eyes, wet hair curling at the temples, desperation clinging to his words like moss.

He was asking.

But he wasn’t begging.

He was offering you the first version of honesty you’d heard from him in months.

And still…

The pain hadn’t vanished. The trust hadn’t rebuilt itself in an hour. The song still existed. So did the silence that had followed your breakup. The long nights. The hollow mornings. The feeling of being unloved in someone else’s spotlight.

You rose slowly and walked to the record shelf. Ran your fingers along the spines. Stopped at the blank-labeled acetate, your demo copy, and turned it in your hands.

Paul watched you.

“What are you thinkin'?” he asked.

You set the record down gently.

“I don't know,” you said.

Paul frowned.

And you turned to face him again.

He left a little after that.

You didn’t say yes.

You didn’t say no.

You stood in the doorway again, barefoot, as he stepped into the street and looked back once, waiting. Hoping.

You nodded.

That was it.

Not a door slammed. Not a kiss in the rain. Just a look. A maybe.

taglist: @sharksausages, @wavvytin, @wimpyvamps, @finallyforgotten, @lennongirlieee, @silly-lil-lee

[swtnjk]

moments with dealer bf iwaizumi

you sit crisscross on his bed in one of his hoodies that cover your whole top half, looking at the pre-rolled joint in between his fingers.

“i don’t know if i’ll like it,” you say, brows furrowed. he smiles softly, “you said the same thing about matcha and now you drink it like it’s your life force.”

“that was different. that didn’t make me see sound.”

he chuckles, low and fond, lighting the joint and holding it out for you. “just one hit. you don’t have to do anything else after that.”

you take it, and with the most dramatic inhale, immediately start coughing. iwaizumi pats your back, trying not to laugh while also looking mildly horrified.

“why does it taste like lawn clippings and sadness?” you croak.

“because it’s the good stuff,” he says, proud. “now give it a sec.”

ten minutes later, you’re flat on your back on the rug, feet on his chest, staring at the ceiling like it personally insulted your family. “hey, hajime?”

“yeah?” “do you think ducks have dreams?”

he blinks at you, “what?”

“like… what if a duck dreams of being a chef? but they can’t tell anyone, because duck society isn’t ready for that.”

he just stares. you giggle, flipping onto your stomach. “also. your hands are so… handy.”

he squints, “are you flirting with me?”

you crawl over and plant yourself in his lap like it’s your natural habitat. “maybe. your eyebrows are like, aggressively attractive. it’s annoying.”

“okay,” he says, laughing, arms wrapping around you. “you’re officially cut off.” you gasp dramatically. “are you gonna arrest me, officer iwaizumi?”

he sighs, kissing your temple. “never again. you’re a menace.”

it’s 2:17 AM when you feel the mattress shift. you groggily blink awake, face mushed against your pillow, and all you can make out in the darkness is a very warm, very heavy body flopping half-on top of you.

“…hajime?” you mumble, voice soft. he groans like he’s melting into the mattress. “baaaabyyy.”

you rub your eyes, “are you high?”

“mhm. very.”

you roll onto your back, and suddenly he’s got his face buried in your chest. his arms are wrapped around you like a koala. tight and not letting go.

you try to wiggle. you can’t.

“hajime,” you whisper, laughing a little. “you’re squishing me.”

“don’t care, “ his voice muffled. “need to feel you. like… all of you.” you blink, “i’m right here.”

“nooo, but like… feel you. your arms. your tummy. your soul. i missed your soul.”

you smile, brushing his messy hair out of his face. “you were gone for like six hours.”

“longest six hours of my life.”

you hum, still half-asleep, but you run your fingers through his hair anyway. he sighs, “you smell so good. like vanilla… and dreams.”

you giggle, “you’re ridiculous.”

“you’re soft,” he mutters. “and warm. and pretty. and i love you. and i might cry if you stop holding me.”

“okay, okay,” you say, wrapping your arms around him, kissing the side of his head. “no one’s going anywhere.” he lets out a long, whiny breath like he’s been holding it for years. “God, you’re my entire existence.”

then dead silence. he hiccups, “… did i say that out loud?”

the cafe is busy, the summer heat making the windows fog slightly from the steam of espresso and fresh bread.

you’re halfway through your shift, apron tied tight at your waist, hair up, cheeks a little flushed but you spot him through the front window, parked across the street.

or course he’s here. again.

you throw a quick sandwich together. his favorite, the #4. and sneak out the back door, dodging your manager’s eagle eyes. he’s reclined in the driver’s seat, eyes closed, music low, one arm up on the wheel.

you knock on the window with the sandwich. he immediately perks up. opens the door. smirks. “you sneaking me food again, baby?”

you hand it over, “gotta keep your muscles fed or you’ll get all scrawny.”

“mean,” he mutters, taking a bite anyway. “mmm. you make sandwiches better than anyone on earth.” you smile and lean in, hands on the door. “alright, baby, love you! i gotta get back in—”

but he grabs your wrist, tugging you closer, and suddenly you’re halfway in the car as he kisses you. it’s slow and warm and just a little possessive. hands sliding to your waist as he leans in further.

then he bites your bottom lip softly.

you gasp-laugh, swatting at his chest. “stop! i love you!” he grins, eyes dropping to your uniform. “i love you more, beautiful.”

you try to pull away. bad idea. his hand sneaks down and smack! right on your ass.

“HAJIME,” you yelp, your face warm.

he just raises an eyebrow. “what? it’s my break too.”