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cressidagrey · 1 day ago

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Such A Mystery - Part 7

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Colette Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen fell in love at the ripe old age of 12 and never looked back.

Colette Leclerc really regrets posting that particular Taylor Swift Lyric to her private Instagram account, because it made George Russell go insane.

The rest of the world has absolutely no idea that the Dutch Lion and Charles Leclerc’s twin sister have been a couple for 15 years and are expecting a baby.

Warnings:

Pregnancy, Mention of multiple miscarriages, Pregnancy complications, George Russell Bashing (he's probably really nice in real life but in this, he's the bad guy, sorry), Jos Verstappen

Author Notes: Huge thanks to @llirawolf for holding my hand through this. Happy New Year! Chapter count is continuing to go up, because I need to halve this chapter after hitting 6k. Should be 10 parts. Hopefully.

Arthur did eventually show up with enough McDonald’s in tow to feed an army.

Fries, Nuggets and even including apology milkshakes.

“I am really sorry,” her little brother apologised to her, looking distraught.

Colette exhaled slowly, trying her hardest not to laugh at the sheepish look on Arthur's face.

"The next time, maybe you should think before you post. But then I clearly didn’t do that either,” she said drily.

“I mean, karma is the guy in the car coming straight home to me, did amuse me very much,” Vic said brightly.

Arthur blushed deeply, and ducked his head in embarrassment. He set down the bags of takeout on the counter, and then looked up to her to apologize again, his eyes wide like a puppy begging for forgiveness.

"Come here," Colette said with a sigh, holding out her arms for him. "I love you, ma petite puce."

"Colette!" Arthur complained with a grimace, but she just grinned.

"Oh you'll always be my little flea," she teased her younger brother.

"Oh god, don't call me that," Arthur complained, letting her pull him into a tight hug. He let out a long suffering sigh. "I said I was sorry!"

"I know you are," she said, patting the top of his brown hair, even when that meant that she needed to stand on her tiptoes to reach. "But the fact remains that you were an idiot before."

Arthur groaned in embarrassment and dropped his head to her shoulder in defeat.

"Eat your fries," his voice was muffled. "And please tell me you have some salad or something in the fridge so Max doesn't kill me for feeding you nothing but junk food."

"I do have some salad in the fridge," Colette said and ruffled his hair. "I'll eat lots of veggies, I promise. And I’ll even tell Maxie that I blackmailed you into getting me fries, if you want,” she suggested brightly.

Vic just snorted. "Let's just get that back in the living room and we can put on Sky News and bitch about the commentators."

"You guys are awful," Arthur protested, but he was already gathering their food and following along obediently. "The comments on Sky Sports are not nearly as bad as you make them out to be..."

Colette rolled her eyes and instead collapsed onto the couch, wriggling to get comfortable, because her back was still killing her.

Arthur was also very wrong. Danica Patricks definitively was that bad. Colette could just stare at the train wreck in front of her.

"Vic. Why in the world has Sky Jos on there to talk about Maxie's anger issues. What anger issues?" she demanded. Max didn’t have anger issues. Who in the world had come up with that? This was utterly ridiculous!

Victoria stared at her. "You don't know?!" she asked, sounding shocked.

"Know what?" Colette demanded. "Enzo deleted every social media app in existence from my phone. Why do people think that Max of all people has anger issues?!"

"George Russell," Arthur mumbled. "He said some...things."

Things. George Russell had said some things.

Colette sat up a little straight at that, her eyes widening in disbelief. "What things?" she demanded. "What did he say?"

Victoria and Arthur exchange a look.

"He may have said that he wouldn't want Max to date his sister because he is sure that his girlfriend is the one dealing with his anger issues?" Arthur offered.

"He. Said. What?" Colette bit out.

No wonder there had been this tone in Max's voice when they had talked this morning...No wonder he had sounded upset, when that George fucking Russell had pretty much accused him of hurting her. And of course, he hadn't wanted to worry her, so of course, he hadn't told her.

Victoria reached out and grasped her elbow, as if she worried Colette would jump up and attack the screen.

"You need to stay calm," Vic said firmly. "You can't get worked up, it's not good for you, and it's not good for the baby," she warned her.

"I will murder George Russell," Colette growled in response.

"No murder," Victoria said in a no-nonsense voice. "You can't kill him, he's not worth it. And you can't have this stress, for your health. And the baby."

Colette huffed but she was still seething.

Only to then have Danica Patrick pipe up from the TV Screen: "What are your thoughts on your son’s supposed anger issues?"

"He doesn't have anger issues!" Colette snapped. "I have anger issues right now! I am going to find George Russell and punch him in the face!"

Arthur stared at her with an ill-hidden combination of horror and fascination.

Victoria laughed again, but it was mostly out of surprise and disbelief. "Well, at least we know that your temper is firmly intact," she said dryly.

"I'm sure Max is going to loooove seeing you this worked up over this," Arthur grumbled.

Colette had a lot of problems with Max's father, but at least for once she actually agreed with him:

"On the circuit…as soon as Max lowers his visor, he turns into a lion. He is really motivated and the only thing that matters is winning. It was always in him. What I see in Max now, I saw in karting," Jos answered Danica's question. "But that’s not the same Max you see when he is at home. On the race track, he is a lion, but at home, he’s a teddy bear. He got that from Sophie. He’s very sweet, very gentle…Incredible protective of the people he cares about."

For the first time in recent history, Colette found herself agreeing wholeheartedly with Jos Verstappen.

"He is a teddy bear," she mumbled in agreement. "The sweetest thing on earth. And that bastard has no idea what he's talking about," she bit out.

"Of course Max is a lion on the track," Arthur said with a scoff. "We've witnessed that ourselves. Everyone in the paddock knows that Max is a machine when he's in his race car, but George has his head up his ass if he thinks that Max is aggressive off the circuit."

"We all know that Maxie is the gentlest, most generous person out there," Victoria agreed, shaking her head. "George Russell is clearly jealous and is making stuff up just to get attention."

Colette just huffed.

"So you don't think he has anger issues?" Danica Patrick pushed.

"What kind of a stupid question is that?" Colette grumbled in response, her shoulders taut with anger.

Arthur laughed and Victoria squeezed her arm.

"No," Jos answered flatly.

Danica Patrick, who was clearly fishing for a different reply, seemed a little thrown by the firm response. But she rallied quickly enough to pivot: "And what can you tell us about your son’s relationship with Colette Leclerc?"

"Oh, come on!" Colette snapped.

"They have been together for a very long time," Jos replied simply, his accent strong as ever. "…since back in Karting. I don’t think anybody believed that that relationship would last, but they did prove everybody wrong."

The answer was unexpectedly charming and sincere.

Colette found herself blinking at that, surprised at how fond he sounded when talking about her and Max. Even Arthur was gaping stupidly, and it looked like Victoria was struggling not to choke on her drink from surprise.

"I think the great thing about Colette is that she understands his life, his career. She has a brother who does the same job as Max, so she was always incredibly supportive of him," Jos continued. "She is there for him. She supports him completely, and she’s been there for him through the good times and the bad. I don’t think Max would be the man he is today without her."

Arthur and Victoria stared at the screen with dropped jaws, stunned into silence.

"Is that Jos actually giving a heartfelt compliment?" Arthur muttered in disbelief.

“I think he is?” Victoria responded questioningly. This was certainly a new experience for everyone.

On the screen, Jos continued: "I have been watching their relationship for over half of Max's life, and Max really did pick the right girl."

"Your son hasn’t talked a lot about his relationship," Danica said leadingly.

"Oh, you won’t get anything from him," Jos said with a snort. "He’s very protective over her, always has been. Especially with her in her current condition."

Colette’s eyes widened and she immediately put a hand over her stomach in a protective gesture.

"Fuck," Victoria cursed.

“Did he seriously just do that?” Arthur croaked. “Did he just tell all of F1 - no, all of the world - that Colette is pregnant?”

All three of them just gaped at the TV.

Danica Patricks looked like a vampire that had just tasted blood. "Her current condition?" she asked, her voice honeyed sweet.

"Yes," Jos confirmed simply. "The baby is supposed to come any day now. We’re all incredibly excited for the new addition to the family. I mean, it took them long enough, they definitely practiced enough."

He said like it was a joke. Like it hadn't taken them the better part of 3 years and 2 miscarriages.

Colette’s whole body had tensed, her heart clenching painfully in her chest as the words echoed in her mind: It took them long enough, they definitely practiced enough. Those words felt like a punch to the gut - like a mockery of all the pain and disappointment and suffering.

All the stress and anxiety and anguish that they had gone through. All the tears and the desperation and prayers for a miracle.

And all of it reduced to a cheap, dirty joke.

"I am going to throttle him," Victoria said, her voice shaking.

"Get in line," Arthur grumbled, looking equally enraged.

Colette just sat there staring fixedly at the screen, feeling like her whole mind had gone numb.

It was one thing when Jos made his snide little comments to them, but it was quite another when he decided to talk about that on international TV. He made it sound like their troubles to conceive had only been a matter of not trying hard enough.

It felt like a gut punch. Colette had always known that Jos had no idea how hard the last couple of years had been for them, but now, in light of his comment, it sounded like he somehow assumed it had all been their own fault.

They had kept both miscarriages quiet...had only shared it with a handful of people. She knew that Max had told Vic about it, but he had never told his father.

Her hands were shaking with anger. The urge to throw something - anything - was almost overwhelming as the words echoed in her head over and over: It took them long enough, they definitely practiced enough.

How could he have been so cruel? How could he go and announce it on international television and make it sound like it hadn’t been the hardest thing that either of them had ever been through?

It felt like a betrayal. Colette had never expected much out of Max’s father, but this? This felt like twisting the knife in a still-healing wound and pouring salt into it.

It felt like a stab to the back. Jos had no idea. No idea how hard it had been to keep the hope up. No idea how much it had hurt with every failed test and every lost dream. And no idea how much they both had longed for the baby that was growing within her.

And now he was just treating it like it had been a matter of not working hard enough, as if it had been an easy task and they had simply taken their sweet time to do something that came naturally to most people.

Her mind would have continued to turn into circles...if there hadn't been a sudden stabbing pain low in her abdomen.

Colette winced as the pain flared. It was a shock, and her hands immediately flew down to press against the source of the pain.

"Are you alright?" Victoria asked immediately. Colette clenched her teeth as the cramping pain seemed to grow even worse, before easing.

"Just...just a cramp," Colette managed to breathe out. "It's fine. It's fine. I just- it just startled me, that's all."

She tried to assure herself that it was nothing. Just Braxton Hicks - just the body preparing for the labor, the pain sometimes got intense. But something about it felt...off.

"Is that the first one today?" Victoria asked her. "You winced a few times this morning."

Colette thought back to this morning, recalling how she had woken up with a stabbing pain in her lower back. She hadn’t thought much of it then, since her muscles hadn’t been happy with her in a long time at this point - and it had passed pretty quickly after a few minutes.

"I'm not sure, I-" she started, her breath catching.

There was pain again, another stabbing contraction.

"Are they getting stronger?" Victoria asked, her voice sharpening.

The pain receded after a few seconds, and Colette had to force down the urge to curl up on the couch with her hands on her stomach as she tried to take deep breaths."It's nothing. I still have 4 weeks," Colette said with a shake of her head.

The words sounded like a prayer. Because she wasn’t due for at least another month, after all. This was just the Braxton Hicks contractions that her doctor had warned her about. The practice contractions that were supposed to help get her body ready for labor, nothing to worry about.

It was just her body preparing for the birth, that was all.

But the pain came back again, and this time, Colette couldn't quite suppress the gasp as she closed her eyes and tried to breathe through it.

"Colette," Victoria said, her voice sharp. "I don’t think they’re just practice contractions. The way you’re tensing and wincing...this is the real deal. I think you’re going into actual labor."

“No,” Colette said, her heart lurching in her chest. “No, no, I’m not…I’m not supposed to go into labor until January, this is- this is not supposed to happen.”

She had just hit her 36th week, and she was due at the start of January. It was far too early for the labor to start.

"I don't think the baby cares about that," Victoria said with a laugh. "Come on, we'll need to get you to the hospital."

"No, I can't be in labour. Max isn't here," she disagreed.

Colette felt a fresh wave of panic wash over her. The very last thing she wanted to do was start labor without Max there, and Max was currently in the middle of a race on the opposite end of the world.

“Where’s your hospital bag?“ Victoria asked her, all business. “Where’s are the car keys? Arthur is driving.“

“What, no!“ Arthur squeaked. Arthur clearly looked terrified, his eyes growing like saucers as he stared at them. "No - no, I don’t think I can-"

But Victoria was already rounding on him. "Oh yes, you can. Just get the keys and get the damn car ready. I‘ll help Colette get her things, and you'll drive us."

The authority in her voice was intimidating enough that Arthur didn’t dare to disagree with her, and he nodded mutely and hurried away to look for the car keys.

Colette was torn between laughing at her brother’s expression and panicking over the fact that her labor was actually starting.

Just like that, she felt frozen in place a few moments longer, before Victoria snapped her fingers in front of her face. "Hey, no freezing up. We need to get moving. We need to get to the hospital, and your kid doesn’t care that it still needs 4 more weeks. So come on, come on, get your things."

It snapped her out of her temporary daze, and she managed to focus back to the present again. "Right, yeah," Colette mumbled, and she quickly went to get her hospital bag.

She had already packed it, just in case - but she had definitely not expected to actually use it.

Her hands were shaking as she picked it up, the whole situation still not entirely sinking in yet. Max was not here. She was going to have her baby without him here - that wasn’t how it was supposed to be!

But the pain came back again, and her body seemed to agree that there was no time left to waste.

She winced through the contraction, and Vic’s face tensed as she saw it.

"How are you doing?" she asked, watching her worriedly. Colette had to take a deep breath, trying to keep breathing as the pain faded out again. "I’m-” she started, but that was the same second that Arthur appeared again with the keys.

"The car is ready," he said, sounding very much like he’d rather bolt.

"Right," Victoria said, and she looked at Colette. "We gotta go. You good to go?"

Colette felt a surge of panic as the truth of leaving to go to the hospital finally sank in - she felt very much like her entire body had seized up. But Arthur was already waiting at the door with an expectant look on his face that did not look at all reassuring, and Victoria had picked up her hospital bag and was ushering Colette’s towards the hallway.

The contractions didn’t seem to care about any of her feelings, anyway.

"Come on," Victoria told her quietly. "We're gonna go and have a beautiful birth, and when you're done, there’ll be a healthy baby in your arms, okay?"

Colette was sure that her face had gone pale, and her hands were shaking as she slowly made her way through the hallway. Victoria led her the entire time, supporting her as they moved.

She was more than grateful to slip into the backseat of the Audi and her hands could claw themselves into the buttery soft leather interior.

“Are you sure we can’t wait for an adult?“ Arthur asked weakly.

“You are an adult. You literally drive race cars for a living,“ Victoria snapped.

Colette would have laughed at Arthur’s terrified expression in any other situation, but at the moment, she really wasn’t up to find anything funny.

“Just drive the damn car, Arthur!“ Victoria snapped, and Arthur flinched, his eyes wide as saucers.

A whimper escaped Colette as another contraction gripped her, and she curled up in the back seat, both hands clawed in the seat as the wave of pain ebbed away again. Her breathing was ragged, and she felt like she was slowly coming apart at the seams.

"Keep breathing," Victoria’s sharp voice came from her left side, and she felt a cool, smooth hand on her forehead. "Just keep breathing. You're doing great."

The words managed to cut through the panic, and Colette managed to gasp out a shuddering breath. “I-” she choked out, “I can’t…I can’t do this without Max, I-”

"You are doing it," Victoria cut in, her voice steady and sharp like a blade. "You are doing it, and you are going to be fine. Max will be by your side the moment he can, but you will make it until then. Just keep breathing and keep talking, you’re doing great."

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theostrophywife · 2 days ago

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Overstimulation w Theo or Mattheo soon pls??

— play with fire.

NAVIGATION // inbox. tags. writing. library.

pairing: mattheo riddle x reader.

song inspiration: play with fire by sam tinnesz.

author’s note: happy new year my darlings! please accept my little gift to you in the form of jealous! mattheo.

anger.

it was such a volatile thing — even the smallest spark could light a fire. too little and it barely kept you warm. too big and it consumed everything it touched. the secret, as it was for all things, was about finding balance.

you thought you were doing a rather fine job of teetering that fine line as mattheo stalked you from across the room. there was something sickeningly sweet about watching the flames burn in your enemy's eyes, the hatred and loathing reserved only for you simmering in his gaze as you perched yourself on his best mate's lap.

"you're playing with fire, y/n." theo stated with an amused smirk.

"maybe," you agreed, purposely ignoring mattheo's pointed glare. there was anger burning within him, that much was clear, but underneath all that hatred was something darker, something more dangerous. desire. "but i'm a gryffindor. I can handle a little heat."

you had no idea how much you'd come to regret that later.

"how many times do I have to teach you this lesson, hm?" mattheo growled as he backed you against the wall. his fist wrapped around your throat, squeezing the breath out of your lungs while you looked up at him.

"as many times as it takes for it to stick," you responded with a cheeky smirk.

mattheo's gaze darkened. "you'll fucking regret that, princess."

without warning, mattheo picked you up and deposited you on the bed. you blinked, tracking his movements in the dark as he shed his clothes. "this is theo's bed," you noted.

"isn't this where you hoped you'd end up tonight after crawling into my best mate's lap like the little slut that you are?" mattheo spat as he hovered at the edge of the bed, his fingers curling around your ankles before he yanked you towards him.

"it was just a bit of fun," you said sweetly. "don't tell me you're jealous, riddle."

"me? jealous of nott?" mattheo sneered. "don't make me fucking laugh, y/n."

"why wouldn't you be?" you mused, cocking your head at the furious man above you. "i've heard the rumors, you know. the girls in this school are terrible gossips and word in the castle is that theo has a big dick. I wouldn't mind taking him for a ride —"

you gagged as mattheo shoved his fingers in your mouth, effectively shutting you up. "the only one you'll be riding tonight is me." tears welled up in your eyes, but you couldn't deny the heat zipping through your veins like molten gold. you loved it when mattheo was like this — possessive and territorial and utterly unhinged. "now take your fucking clothes off and sit on my cock like the good little slut that I know you are."

twenty minutes later, you were on the verge of tears as you bounced on mattheo's lap, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix as he fucked up into you. his fingers left bruises on your hips from how rough and brutal the angry sex was, but still you savored every second of it.

"that's right," mattheo said meanly as he squeezed your tits. "you're all bark and no bite, hm? crying on my cock while I split you apart. it's fucking pathetic, princess."

your pussy squeezed at the demeaning words, the head rush making you feel dizzy as your release came closer and closer. "I can feel you squeezing me. this is what you wanted all along, isn't it? you play your little games to make me angry so that you'll end up screaming underneath me."

"n—no—"

"don't lie to me, princess. you love it when I fuck you like I hate you." you moaned as mattheo thrusted upwards, making you see stars. "you're such a fucking brat, but don't worry. i'll fuck that attitude right out of you."

you keened as his long, slender finger circled your puffy clit, urging you towards the edge of the cliff of your release. a cry bubbled up in your throat as mattheo made you cum, his groans and curses sounding garbled as your eyes rolled and your toes curled.

before you could come down from the high, mattheo flipped you onto your back and draped your legs over his shoulders. your vision was spotty, static making your brain fuzzy as he slid inside of you again, thrusting in and out of your sensitive walls. mattheo grabbed your chin and forced you to look down, directing your attention to where your bodies met. his hard cock slid all the way out, coated with your release.

"see that? you talk up such a big game, but at the end of the night this is what it all comes down to." mattheo said, teasing his tip in and out of your sensitive pussy. "watch, princess. watch this greedy pussy take my cock."

"mattheo," you whined, pushing his hips back. "i'm so sensitive, please..."

"too fucking bad," he responded as he pinned your wrists above your head. "you should've thought of that before making me fucking angry."

all thoughts were wiped clean from your mind as mattheo set a punishing pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the dungeons as you moaned and screamed his name. as much as you hated him, you couldn't deny the fact that he knew your body better than you knew it yourself, because it was only a matter of minutes before you were cumming again, tears streaming down your cheeks from the overstimulation.

mattheo yanked your legs apart and licked your pussy, slurping and gulping down your juices while you thrashed underneath him. when you tried to squirm away from him, he held your hips down and circled your clit with his tongue, making out with your pussy desperately like he wanted to devour you whole. you keened, half delirious from the pleasure of it all.

"s'too much I need a break — please, I need —"

mattheo chuckled darkly, your cum dripping down his handsome face. he curled his delicious fingers inside of you, touching that spongy spot that seized your body from head to toe.

"aw, baby, I don't give a fuck what you need. you'll take what I give you. over and over again. until you get it through that pretty head of yours who you really belong to."

#hey hi hello just casual toe curling smut for you this new year #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle imagine

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formula-ghost · 3 days ago

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Read Your Diary (FC43 x fem!reader)

Chapter 5: Valentine (FINALE)

CHAPTER SUMMARY: The end of the 2024 F1 season brings regret and a newfound desire for reconciliation—but is your relationship with Franco beyond saving?

WORD COUNT: 13k

WARNINGS: Sadness. Angry Hispanic mother. Creepy men in bars (not Franco ofc). Drinking, drunk Franco is a media menace. Use of the word whore jokingly. Smut 18+ MINORS DNI. Hickeys, hair pulling. Dom Franco and sub reader, use of good girl, light choking, Oral (m receiving), p in v, protected sex (wrap it before you tap it!)

SERIES TAGLIST: @scopeiguess @storyteller-le @xivilivix @htpssgavi @wierdflowerpower @justsisse @uncreativetm @ncrsbrg @tillyt04 @amz824 @ellelabelle

A/N: My baby is now complete!! I did not plan for this to be the ending originally, but as I was writing it just kind of came about, and who am I to anger the writing Gods? Honestly, though, the beginning of this chapter destroyed me trying to find a way to redeem Franco. Fun fact, I very loosely based my depiction of Franco off of my real life ex, which explains why he is so horrible lmao (but unlike my real life ex, Franco has been redeemed!). I cannot express how grateful I am for everyone’s support throughout the writing of this story. More to come, but for now, enjoy!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

All this love, I'm so choked up, I can feel you in my blood

All this lust for just one touch, I'm so scared to give you up

Valentine, my decline is so much better with you

Valentine, my decline, I'm always running' to you

Valentine, Valentine

The block button did nothing to assuage Franco’s obsession with you. In fact, it only made it worse.

If he hadn’t blocked you, he would at least know that you weren’t contacting him. But since he pressed the button, there was now the ever present question of if you had reached out, and if the digital barrier he erected had led it to be lost forever.

But why would you reach out after what he had done?

Truthfully, it took everything in you to not call him. You had both said things you didn’t mean—at least, you prayed that Franco didn’t mean them—and you wanted nothing more than to just make up and act like it never happened.

But the words kept echoing in your mind at night when you couldn’t sleep. You were a distraction.

All the years of supporting him, all the sacrifices you made—all for nothing.

You couldn’t help that you loved him. And the Franco you knew and loved didn’t mean those things. He couldn’t.

So you checked your phone’s international clock. It was still night where you were at home, but morning in Abu Dhabi, where he’d be completing his last F1 race tomorrow.

There was still time. If you called and made up now, you could be there for the final race. You could be there at the end, just like you had been there at all of his beginnings.

So you swallowed your pride, tapped on his name in your contacts, and pressed call. But it didn’t even ring before it hung up. You knew what that meant. He had blocked you.

At first you wanted to puke. You wanted to burst down the stairs of your apartment and run into the street screaming. You wanted to throw a bottle of wine on the walls and cry in the wreckage.

But after a few hours of getting all the crying out, a strange peace fell over you.

It was just�� over. That was that.

In the morning, however, the grief came back from a familiar notification. His mother.

You had been putting off her messages ever since your argument with Franco. You couldn’t bear to tell her what had happened. But she was worried about you, evident by her increasingly concerned messages.

You finally gathered the courage to type up a response.

Hi Mami, you began—she had forbidden you to call her by her name, instead telling you to call her Mom—I tried to talk to Franco like you asked. It didn’t go well, and we both said a lot of hurtful things. It ended on bad terms and he ended up canceling all my passes and flights, and I think he blocked me. I’m sorry, I tried to get through to him. Thank you for all the kindness you’ve shown me over the years <3

You read over what you’d typed. It was honest. You could have spared her more of the details, but why? Franco would have to live with the consequences of his actions. That wasn’t your problem.

It was only a few moments later that she responded. Oh dear, I am so sorry. I am ashamed of Franco—that is not the son I raised. I hope you know we all love you, and I wish you all the best.

You liked her message and left it at that. But she called you later that night.

She began, “YN, words can’t describe how sorry I am. What happened?”

“I… I don’t know,” you began, carefully choosing your words. You weren’t quite sure how much you wanted to tell her. “He was already upset when I got there. He kept accusing me of lecturing him, but I was just trying to tell him I was worried. He said… that I was a distraction.”

“I can’t believe him! You have never been a distraction. You’ve been there for him when we couldn’t, we’ve always been so grateful for you.” Her admission nearly brought tears to your eyes. “I just… Dios Mio.”

The conversation was short, but vulnerable.

“YN, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“You had feelings for him, didn’t you?” She asked it as if it were a statement, rather than a question.

You were silent for a beat before answering. “I did. I… I do.”

“Oh, dear, I wish I was there to give you a hug.” You could feel the care in her voice, a soothing comfort. “I want you to know you’re always welcome here, no matter what my idiot son says.”

You chuckled, thanking her for her kindness before ending the call. You were truly grateful for her invitation, but you couldn’t imagine being in Argentina without Franco. The call had felt more like a farewell.

In Abu Dhabi, Franco was having his own farewells. It was bittersweet; he had worked so hard for so long to get here, but he couldn’t wait for it to be over. He was exhausted, mentally and physically. He just wanted to go home.

Home—the only place he felt like he had left. His Madrid apartment would feel empty without your laughter echoing in the halls. But back in Argentina, the people still loved him, and he could come back to a warm, home-cooked meal.

It was the only thing on his mind as he was forced to retire the car early, ending his last F1 race of 2024 with a DNF. But he didn’t care about that at all when he stepped off his flight from Abu Dhabi to Buenos Aires.

Unfortunately for him, what was waiting for him at home was not peace and a warm meal. It was a very angry Hispanic mother.

He came through the door, jet lagged, struggling with his luggage. She didn’t help him.

When his father and sister ran up to give him a hug and help him in, she didn’t move an inch. She just stayed in the kitchen, silently chopping vegetables with her recently sharpened knife.

After putting away his bags into his room, Franco made his way to the kitchen to greet his mother, who didn’t even look up from her cutting board.

“Hi Mami, I’m home,” he said tentatively.

“Welcome home,” she replied, no warmth in her voice.

“Aren’t you excited to see me?” he joked. He knew he was dodging landmines. He knew she had every right to be angry—he had gotten caught up in everything after Singapore, and after his controversy, he had been dodging her calls and texts, other than to arrange plans to come home for the holidays. Others may have gotten over their frustration, or chose to ignore it for the sake of the holidays. She was not that kind of woman.

“Oh, I’m thrilled,” she said, her voice flat. “Dinner is almost ready. Can you set the table for five, please?”

“Five? There’s only 4 of us.”

“Well, isn’t YN going to join us?” She already knew the answer. She just wanted to see him squirm as he answered it. He had nowhere to run anymore.

“Uh… no. Not this year.”

“And why would that be?”

“She’s, uh, busy.” His mother didn’t respond. He had to fill the awkward silence. “And she’s probably mad at me…”

She paused, holding the knife in an iron grip. She lifted it from the cutting board to point towards him. “And why would that be, Franco?”

“Mami…”

“Do not lie to me.” Her voice was cold as ice.

“Mami, it’s complicated. I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to enjoy the holidays and forget about this whole season.”

“I’m sure you do,” she concluded, not an ounce of sympathy in her voice. Franco sighed, getting down the plates to set the table for his family. But he stopped in his tracks when he turned and felt a slipper to the back of his head.

“Ah! What was that for?” The blow didn’t hurt anything but his ego.

“You know what you did,” his mother seethed. “You can’t run from this forever. Now get out of my kitchen.”

Franco obeyed, muttering under his breath.

“What was that?” his mother asked.

“Nothing!” he chirped, setting the plates on the table.

During dinner, it wasn’t any better. His father and sister, oblivious to his mother’s rage, chatted as if nothing had happened. They had been angry at his…questionable dating decisions, yes, but they clearly had let it go in the meantime and decided to just enjoy the time together as a family. His mother, however, had not.

And whenever anyone asked about it, she said she was fine. But she was clearly not fine.

As Franco took the dishes into the kitchen to help clean up after dinner, he sighed, knowing that his mother was right. He couldn’t go the entire holiday ignoring it—she would make sure of that.

He couldn’t sleep that night. The bed of his childhood home was warm and comforting, but he couldn’t relax under the weight of it all.

Maybe some fresh air would do him good. That’s what he reasoned when he slid open the back door and inhaled the cool night air. He sat cross legged on the back terrace, just taking in the sounds of the serene night.

That was, until he heard another person closing the door behind him. His mother.

“Not now, Mami,” he said, not even turning to look at her.

“I’m not going to chastise you.” She handed him a mug of something warm. For a moment they just sat next to each other, sipping their drinks in silence.

Franco began to speak unprompted. “YN has every right to be angry at me. I…ruined everything. I was so cruel to her.”

His mother just gave him a reassuring hum.

He continued, “She had feelings for me. I know I should have known it sooner, but I was in denial. But I had feelings for her too. And I got distracted. But it wasn’t her fault. I was so worried about my future that I ignored how she had always been there in my past.”

The mug in his hands trembled and his voice wavered. “She was always there for me. Every race, every win, every failure. She was always there.”

His mother reached for him, lovingly stroking his back as he confessed.

“She probably hates me now. I don’t blame her.” A tear fell into his mug. He turned to look at his mother, her expression far more sympathetic than it was at dinner. “Can I fix it?”

“I don’t know. But first of all, you owe her an apology.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t. Because if you did, you would have already done it.” He was silent. “It’s possible that she will forgive you. Or, she may not. You have to accept that.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

“Franco,” she began, “you did this. You have to suffer through the consequences of your actions. And if you are lucky enough that she forgives you and wants you back in your life, it’ll be a hell of a lot of work to regain her trust.”

He nodded. “I’ll do it. I’d do anything.”

“Then why haven’t you?”

He paused. “I’m scared. Scared that it really is beyond saving.”

“The longer you wait, the more likely that is to be true.”

This time, he actually knew what he needed to do.

Neither of you knew the parallels between you two; each of you pining for the other’s love, wanting nothing more than just to speak to the other. And when he unblocked you and called, it was like the stars aligned.

You didn’t answer.

He didn’t panic at first. It was close to the holidays, in the middle of the day in your timezone. Maybe you were with your family.

But as one missed call turned to two, and days of no contact turned to weeks, Franco began to know the bitter taste of his own medicine.

You had seen him call. And yes, you were with your family at the time. You told yourself that was the main reason why you hadn’t answered. As if seeing his contact on your phone didn’t shatter your heart into a million pieces.

But later that night, when you were finally alone, you couldn’t bring yourself to call him back. He hadn’t left any voicemail or text, just his name and a missed call icon.

What would you even say to him? He knew you were angry. And you knew you couldn’t just act as if nothing happened.

So despite your desperation to speak to him again, you just let his calls keep coming and coming over the weeks.

A dark part of you enjoyed having his attention. You waited to see his icon pop up, just to let the call go to voicemail. It made you feel wanted again.

And you were wanted. When he tried to sleep at night, he wanted you. When he talked with his manager about future plans for the next season—back down to F2—he wanted you.

Both of you knew it was a delicate balance. He couldn’t keep calling forever. At some point you’d have to answer, or he’d have to stop. But you loved the dark thrill of pushing it.

And this continued for weeks.

The calls lessened as the F2 season began. Franco was back at work. You had finally let go of the need to watch his races.

But there was another contact you hadn’t ignored: Lily.

She called you out of the blue one day. “YN! I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

The last time you saw her—it must have been Austin—felt like years ago.

“Yeah, it’s been a while,” you replied.

“Do you… wanna talk about how you’ve been?” It was late January now. You had spent the weeks just passing time, lost, but somehow also at peace with all of it.

“Um… not if you don’t want to ruin your day,” you joked. Humor was a good coping mechanism, you had learned. You’d grown tired of explaining to people why Franco was no longer in your life. You had once been so intertwined, and now, nothing. You were thankful that she didn’t press further.

“Well, we should go out,” she suggested. “I know a great new club in Madrid, and Rebecca and I will be there the weekend before Valentine’s Day.”

Valentine’s Day. The bane of your fucking existence. Worst holiday ever.

But you had spent Christmas in a daze, and New Years alone. You didn’t know if you could do another holiday like that, so acutely aware of Franco’s absence. So you agreed.

But Lily’s phone call wasn’t as out of the blue as you had thought.

One thing about Franco was that he was determined. If he wanted something, he was going to get it. So yes, he called and called and called and let all his calls be missed.

He couldn’t just text you or leave a voicemail. What he needed to say was too important. He needed to see you.

So he called up the only other woman he knew besides you and his own mother: Lily.

He pitched the idea simply. He just needed her to arrange something where you and him would meet. Lily was skeptical.

“Franco, you know when a woman isn’t answering your calls, it’s usually because she doesn’t want to talk to you, right?”

“I know,” he signed. “I know she’s pissed at me. She has every right to be. I just want to apologize to her.”

“Then why not, like, send her a letter or something? Trying to organize an event where she’s forced to see you is kind of…creepy.”

Deep down, he knew Lily was right. “It’s not like that, though. I just need to see her, say it to her face. If she gets angry and never wants to see me again, I’ll respect her wishes. But I love her too much to not try.”

Lily was a hopeless romantic if nothing else. And Franco was charismatic and too smooth to deny with his one-liners.

So she agreed. Besides, she knew you needed a girls night.

And you realized it too when Rebecca and Lily came over to your apartment to get ready a few weeks later.

You vented to them as they helped you apply your eyeliner and zip up your dress—yes, THAT dress—about how hard the past few weeks had been.

“And then,” you explained, as Rebecca dusted a brush along your cheekbones, “he told me that I didn’t need to be there! As if he wasn’t the one who begged me to go!”

Rebecca made a sour expression. “Girl,” she said, “Good riddance to him.”

When you looked at yourself in the mirror, you nearly gasped. You looked fucking amazing.

Yes, you were wearing that dress that always reminded you of him—his favorite color, bought while on vacation to see his family. But if he couldn’t see your beauty, someone else would. And right now, that someone was Lily, as she snapped photos of you all before you left for the club and posted them on her story.

As you entered the club, you felt the bass in your bones. Yes, this was exactly what you needed.

You drank. You danced. You felt the eyes of tipsy men on you.. And for a while, all your troubles faded away.

You approached the bar for your second drink of the night. A man walked next to you, presumably to order his own drink. You recognized him as someone you’d danced with earlier.

“You look great tonight,” he said, eyeing you up and down. His tone was too sleazy for your liking.

“Thanks,” you said, hoping a short response would end the exchange so you could get your drink and make your way back to Lily and Rebecca, who were waiting for you in a booth.

“D’you always dance like that?”

“Like what?”

He smirked. “You’re cute when you play dumb like that.”

You genuinely had no idea what the man was going on about. “Sorry, I need to get back to my friends.”

You turned to leave, but the man grabbed your arm. “Don’t you need to get your drink? Stay a minute.”

You grimaced, but a surge of anxiety kept you frozen to your spot. You turned your glaze to the floor, silently beginning for an out.

“So, what’s your name?”

“Uh…” You were unable to answer. You feigned ignorance. “Sorry, it’s loud in here, I can’t hear you.”

“Oh, it doesn’t matter. I don’t need to know your name to take you home tonight.”

“What?” You wanted to puke.

The man started to reach his arm out toward your waist. You stepped back and bumped into someone. You cursed your own awkwardness. When you turned to apologize, you saw a familiar face.

Franco. Fuck. You felt your stomach drop.

“You know this guy?” The man behind you asked.

“She does,” Franco answered for you. You were grateful—you were unable to speak, choked with anxiety.

“You let your girl act like that?”

“Fuck off, mate.”

The man took the hint and shrugged, taking his drink and disappearing into the crowd.

Your eyes were still glued to the floor. “Thank you,” you said.

“Don’t thank me,” he said, “it’s the least I could do.”

The bartender handed you your drink. Part of you just wanted to go back to Lily and Rebecca and act like all of this never happened. But by the look of Franco’s face, one of grave seriousness, you knew it wouldn’t be that easy.

But the other part of you was thankful. Thankful that Franco had saved you from that creep, yes, but also thankful that the stars had aligned to bring you and your best friend back together. What were the odds?

Wait. Maybe the stars hadn’t aligned.

“Franco, what are you doing here?”

Now it was him who looked to the floor in embarrassment. “Lily told me you were here. I asked her to help me talk to you.”

“So you… arranged to find me in a club, because I wasn’t answering your calls?”

Franco may be Latino, but he sure had the audacity of a white man.

“When you put it like that, it sounds bad…”

You rolled your eyes and walked away. He followed you through the crowd.

“YN, wait! Why won't you answer my calls?”

“Because I have nothing to say to you.” That wasn’t true. You actually had a lot to say, you were just too afraid to say it.

“Okay, I get it. I fucked up. But will you just listen to me? Please?”

You just kept walking.

“YN! Please!” You had nearly reached the booths, and he was still following you. You just kept ignoring him.

“YN—” You slammed down your drink on the table, startling Lily and Rebecca. When Franco came into view behind you, they exchanged knowing glances.

You turned around to face him. “Are you really begging?” you whispered in a hushed tone.

“Yes,” he said, his voice equally low.

Lily got out of the booth, standing next to you. “What’s the harm in just hearing him out?” she said, low enough that he wouldn’t be able to hear her over the thumping bass.

You swallowed. The harm? You would fall for him again. And he would hurt you again and again. You’d lose him again. A never ending cycle of pain.

But his pleading expression in front of you was too much to bear. You couldn’t say no to the man you still loved.

“Let’s get some air, hm?” he said, and you nodded, silently following him back to the crowd. He led you to a staircase where a bouncer nodded and silently let the both of you pass.

The staircase led to the roof of the club, with a beautiful view of the city. The space was clearly set up for patrons to enjoy, but there wasn’t a soul there besides you and Franco.

The view took your breath away. You had seen so much beauty when you had traveled the world with Franco for his races, but this was home, and he was warm next to you as he snaked his arm around your waist, silently taking in the sight next to you.

You relaxed into the touch. For a moment, you just let everything fade away into the peaceful scene.

But as you smelled Franco’s familiar cologne and relished the feeling of his touch, you couldn’t help the anxiety that rose in your throat. It felt like it was choking you. You moved forward, forcing his arm away, and leaned against the railing on the edge of the rooftop.

“Say what you have to say,” you said plainly.

“I want to apologize.” His opening sentence was simple, yet powerful. “YN, I was horrible to you. I lied and I betrayed your trust. I blamed all my problems on you, when you were the only one who was ever there for me.”

You watched the cars on the road below, like ants in a colony.

He continued, “And you were right, about everything.”

The silence in the air was thick.

Your voice was shaking when you began. “Franco, you made me feel like I was insane. You… you accused me of using you. You called me a distraction. You said I was disgusting. You uninvited me from the last races and you blocked me.”

“You tried to call?”

“Of course I did.” The tears in your eyes threatened to mess up your mascara that Rebecca had so carefully applied. “I tried to call you before Abu Dhabi. I wanted to forgive you and be there for your last race.”

“Shit, YN… I’m so fucking sorry.”

“I don’t know if I can forgive you now.”

It was him, now, who had eyes full of tears. “YN, I…I love you. I can’t lose you. I know I hurt you, and it kills me. But I miss my best friend. My friend who skipped prom to come to a race. My friend who helped me dry my clothes after she found me trying to use an oven to do it. My friend who is the only one that really gets my sense of humor.”

You finally broke down at his confession. He reached out to hold you.

“Don’t cry,” he whispered. “I’m here. It’s gonna be okay.”

He let you cry it out, before pulling back and looking at you. He gently used the pad of his thumb to wipe away your tears and fix your smeared makeup.

“I can’t ask for everything to go back to normal,” he said, looking you in the eyes. His eyes were teary, too. “I know I can’t. I did things that are beyond awful. But I promise you that if you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I’ll do whatever I can to regain your trust. You’re too important to me.”

All you could do was bury yourself in his chest. He wasn’t expecting the sudden gesture, but he slotted his arms around you like they always belonged there. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. You don’t know how long you stood there, warm in his embrace. You could have stayed there for years.

You were brought out of the perfect scene by the sound of a notification on your phone. You broke the hug after a moment to check it. A text from Lily: everything okay?

You chuckled. “I think Lily is worried about us.”

“Well,” he asked, “is everything okay?”

He wanted an answer. You didn’t know if you could say it.

But is this not what your entire journey had been leading up to? You had begun writing in your journal to communicate what you feel. And now, you had no choice.

You were strong. You had changed.

“I want to forgive you,” you said. “But it won’t be easy. It’ll take time.”

“I have all the time in the world.”

“And I can’t promise that I won’t be scared or insecure.”

“Whatever you need, I’ll do. I’ll listen, I’ll show you—”

“Franco.” You cut him off. “I know. I love you.”

You couldn’t name the expression on his face. Like relief. Or love.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked.

You were scared of what door that would open, of how much you truly wanted him to. So you didn’t speak. You just reached up to caress his cheek and tell him with your actions.

Your lips met his, and all the sorrow melted away. You could feel the vibrations of the club under your feet, the gentle pumping of blood through his veins, faster now that he could touch you. He pulled you in by the waist, and you brought your other hand to the back of his neck, making the space between you infinitesimally small.

But you pulled away before he could deepen the kiss. You couldn’t rush it, no matter how badly you wanted it.

When you opened your eyes, he had that expression you had grown to yearn for; it gave away how badly he needed more of you. You could feel a blush rise to your cheeks at the thought of his wanting.

“We should go back down before Lily gets too worried,” you said. He smiled and nodded, but as his expression of desire faded away, you saw the familiar signs of anxiety. He didn’t know how far to push, how comfortable to act.

You grabbed his hand. “And then, you should dance with me.”

His tentative smile grew more relaxed. “Of course.”

Turns out, there’s nothing an honest conversation and a little alcohol couldn’t fix. And in the aftermath of the former, you definitely indulged in the latter—maybe a little too much.

You went downstairs to retrieve your drink that Lily and Rebecca had so kindly watched for you. It was a little watered down from the ice melting, but it would do the trick.

Rebecca helped you fix your makeup as Lily glared at Franco for making you cry. He knew he’d have work to do to earn back their trust, too, but he was more than willing.

So when you were ready, he wasted no time taking you out to the dancefloor to give you the night of your life.

The only problem was that Franco was not a frequent club goer, and therefore unable to handle his liquor. And you all had a lot to drink that night.

You finally cut him off when he threatened to get on the table and start stripping.

“Oh, Lord, Franco, I’m cutting you off, you’ve had too much to drink,” you slurred. You were tipsy yourself, in no state to talk, but at least you were committed to staying clothed for the night.

“What are you gonna do? Fuck me about it?” he joked, sticking his tongue out playfully.

You don’t know if the blush on your face was from the drinks or his taunting. But God, even when he was wasted, he looked so good. As the night had progressed, he had become more disheveled, his shirt buttons coming undone to expose his toned chest and a sheen of sweat from all the dancing. He leaned over, running a hand along your cheek. “Bet you would want that, wouldn’t you?”

“Okay, time to get you home!” you told him. Lily and Rebecca had left a bit earlier, satisfied that their mission was accomplished.

You got up and tried to corral your drunk friend out of the club. He didn't want to cooperate, though.

“No, YN, I don’t want to go home! I missed you, dance with me!” He reached out to grab your waist, his hands wandering up and down your body.

“Franco, you’re drunk,” you said, moving out of his grip. “I’m calling an Uber and getting you home.”

It’s not like his touch was unwelcome. But you were in public and he was inebriated, unable to consent to what he was actually doing. You knew it was time to go.

You finally dragged him outside as you waited for the Uber on the corner. You hoped the cool night air would sober him up a bit.

“Have I told you that you look fucking gorgeous tonight?” he slurred. You ignored him as you watched the little car icon drive closer and closer.

“I always loved that dress on you,” he continued, “but it’d look better off of you.”

“Our Uber is here!” you said through your blush.

But even in the Uber, he was relentless.

“I missed youuuuu” he cooed in your ear.

“I missed you too, but could you not be a whore for 5 minutes?” you laughed. You hoped the humor would distract him. He lowered his voice to a husky whisper.

“But YNNNNN, I want you so fucking badly. Every part of you, even the parts that you’re ashamed of—fuck, especially those parts. I want to know the version of you that you’re scared to be. I want you to use me like a toy to get what you want. And when I read what you wrote I was… fuck, I couldn’t stop myself. Every day I’d read it and touch myself and wish it was you. God, I just need to fuck you so badly—“ he practically moaned in your ear as his hand again reached to your waist.

You grabbed him by the wrist, stopping him in his tracks. His doe eyes looked up at you, deceptively innocent, hiding behind them the true depths of his lust.

You moved his hand away and let go. He was silent and still.

“Franco, you are drunk. I am going to get you home and you are going to get some rest.”

“I know you’re mad at me. You should be, I’m a fucking idiot,” he slurred. “But you can take it out on me, on my body—“

“Franco! We are in public,” you hissed through gritted teeth.

“Is being horny a crime? You can arrest me, put me in restraints—”

The Uber pulled up in front of your apartment and you wasted no time getting Franco out of the car and up the stairs. You made sure to tip the driver well.

Franco didn’t even let up as he collapsed on your bed, dizzy from stumbling up the stairs and into your apartment. He grabbed you, pulling you back to the bed, burying his face in your hair.

“You smell so good,” he muttered. You wrestled free from his grip, throwing a pillow back at him playfully.

“I am not going to fuck you when you’re this drunk. Get changed and go to sleep.”

He pouted, but complied, undressing agonizingly slowly behind you. You had turned away to give him privacy, but your mind wandered as you heard the shuffling of his clothes.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he apologized, still behind you.

“You didn’t,” you said, and it was true; you loved that he wanted you, just…not in that setting. “Just sleep it off. I’ll take the couch.”

“No, come here,” he said, patting the side of the bed. You turned and jumped, seeing that instead of changing into the pair of old pajamas that he had left at your place many months ago that you had laid out for him, he had just stripped down to his underwear.

“Absolutely not,” you said, your face turning a bright red. “Put some clothes on.”

“But it’s hot in here!”

“Then I’ll take the couch.”

“YN just snuggle with me—”

You cut him off by closing the bedroom door.

A few hours later, you were convinced that you had the world’s most uncomfortable couch. You couldn’t sleep a bit.

You filled the hours by scrolling on your phone. The F1 gossip pages were calling your name.

The reappearance of YN! The former friend (and suspected ex girlfriend) of Williams reserve driver Franco Colapinto was featured in a post from a nightclub in Madrid with current Williams wags Lily Muni He and Rebecca Donaldson. Several attendees also caught videos of her dancing with a mysterious man that is definitely not Franco. YN hasn’t been publicly seen since the 2024 Brazilian Grand Prix, which fans assume has something to do with Franco’s fling with a controversial Argentine actress.

Above the caption was a slideshow: the pictures of you, Lily, and Rebecca on the first slide, and the next being a video of you dancing with the creep. You cringed at the memory.

The top comment made you chuckle: I can’t believe Franco fumbled his 2025 seat AND a baddie.

You scrolled to the next post.

Former F1 driver for Williams, Franco Colapinto, spotted in a nightclub in Madrid getting very handsy with best friend YN!

The two have not been seen together since the Brazilian Grand Prix in 2024. At the time, fans speculated that the two were dating, but sources close to the driver reported that a falling out regarding Franco’s dating controversies during the season led him to cancel her VIP pass for the last triple header.

But luckily for Franco x YN shippers, the pair seem to be quite comfortable with each other again. Do you think they’ll make it official soon? Comment your opinion below!

Fuck. Someone had gotten a video of you trying to get Franco out of the club, and without context, it looked bad.

You were pushing him off of you, yes, but not because you didn’t want his touch. You were just afraid of this exact scenario happening. You prayed a silent apology for his manager.

Your scrolling was interrupted by the sound of Franco waking up and stumbling into your kitchen for a glass of water. Even with only a few hours of rest, he had slept off the drunkenness, but was left with a horrific hangover.

You probably should have just pretended to be asleep until he went back to bed. But, against your better judgement, you got up to meet him at your kitchen counter.

He still hadn’t put any clothes on. Typical.

“You alive there?” you joked.

He downed his entire glass of water. “Barely,” he grimaced. “Worth it, though.”

You gave him a half smile. “You’re probably gonna have a million notifications from your manager. I tried my best.” You handed him your phone to watch the video.

“Jesus, that’s how I looked? I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t mind. But it’s a good thing that you probably don’t remember what you said.”

“Oh no, I remember.” You blushed. “And I don’t regret a word. I meant everything I said.”

“Franco, when we were in the Uber, you said I could use your body as a toy.” You cringed as you repeated his words back to him.

“I know. Offer still stands.”

“Franco…”

“YN, be honest with me. If I was sober, and we were alone, what would you have done?”

You swallowed. He was sober. You were alone.

He saw the thoughts cross your eyes. He broke the space between you walking to the other side of the counter. He pulled you in by the waist until all that separated you was the thin fabric of your pajamas and his underwear.

The breath had been taken from you. “Talk to me,” he said. You couldn’t. The anxiety choked you. “YN, I’m tired of pretending like I don’t want you.”

“Don’t do this to me, Franco,” you pleaded. “I want this but … we shouldn’t.” You looked away. You couldn’t handle the intensity of his gaze

“Why not?”

“Because… we just made up. I don’t want to lose you again.”

“You won’t. I’m here to stay. Trust me. If I promise that everything will be okay, will you trust me?”

You paused. “… I can’t. I don’t trust you. Not yet, at least.”

You had to be honest with him, but it broke your heart to say those words. You didn't know yet if he was genuine, or if his fling with the actress hadn't worked out and he was using you as a placeholder. The thought made you want to puke.

He loosened his grip on you. Your words felt like a thousand knives going through his chest, but he knew he was going to have to face the very real consequences of his actions.

“I understand,” he said. “Just let me hold you. I know my words don’t mean much anymore. But I promise I’ll do everything in my power to earn back your trust, and I mean it.”

He buried his face in your hair. “Come back to bed with me.” You knew the request was innocent, so you allowed it, snuggling up into his warm chest and falling asleep as the sun began to peak in the sky outside. “I’m letting go of you. Never again,” he murmured. Both of you knew that it wasn't about the sex, or about how right you felt curled up next to him. It was something deeper, more intimate, than the bare skin that he now innocently wrapped his arm around.

When you woke up, for a moment, you thought you had dreamed the whole thing. But the soothing sound of Franco’s soft snoring proved you wrong.

Over breakfast, you laid out boundaries. You both needed to take things slowly, build up the trust that had been lost.

But when you woke up a week later on Valentine’s Day to a bouquet of pink roses on your nightstand, you couldn’t help but blush darker than the petals, remembering the reference from your diary.

Franco had planned to take you out, and of course, you wore his favorite dress.

The night was perfect—a little too perfect. In the back of your mind, you couldn’t help remembering the salacious ending to that diary entry, replaying the fantasy over and over in your mind. But as he took you home for the night, Franco was ever the gentleman, perfectly keeping his hands to himself.

The longer you looked at him, the more you wanted him to touch you.

You had only made it to your apartment for a few seconds when the sight of Franco taking off his suit jacket was too much to bear. You grabbed him by the collar, pulling him into a frantic kiss.

He wasn’t complaining, of course.

He took your actions as a sign, gently pushing you into the wall behind you until you were pinned. His lips never left yours, instead deepening the connection, tongues exploring each other’s mouths.

When you did come up for air, there was a faint hint of your lipstick on him. He chuckled. “Mi amor, what was that?” he teased, stroking your cheek and he looked down on you. He rested his arm above your head, leaning his body into yours. You could feel both of your chests breathing heavily with a growing desire.

“I wanted you.”

“I thought you wanted to wait?” He was right. You didn’t want to rush into physical things so early. Franco had been nothing but respectful and apologetic all week, but still, only those few days had passed.

“...Yeah,” you said. You were frustrated at him. For being so fucking attractive. For making you want him so badly.

“It’s alright, hermosa,” he teased, “I’m sorry that I’m so irresistible.” Only a week since you all had made up, and he was already back to reading your thoughts.

“Oh, hush.”

In the following weeks, Franco’s return to racing made resisting him a lot easier. He had asked you to come to a few races, but you had declined. The memories of his time in F1 were too fresh, the wounds not quite sealed. Besides, you didn’t want to be seen in public with him just yet. You hadn’t exactly made your relationship official—though neither of you were talking to other people—and you were anxious for the public eye to be on you again.

That was, until Franco got a very exciting phone call.

Carlos Sainz had gotten in a minor biking accident—nothing major, just a sprained wrist, but enough that he needed to take a week off to heal—so Franco would be back in his car.

When he asked you to return to the F1 paddock with him, this time, you couldn’t refuse.

So that’s how you found yourself in a hotel room with your best friend (and now sort-of boyfriend).

Before bed on Wednesday night, after a long day of meetings, he wanted nothing more than to come back to the hotel and lay in your arms. And that’s exactly what he did.

You absentmindedly ran your fingers through his hair. “You nervous for tomorrow?” you asked.

“No,” he answered truthfully, “not one bit.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I mean, I have nothing to lose. Nothing could be worse than the end of last season.”

“Franco, don’t say that.”

“It’s true, though.” He chuckled. “I can’t fuck up any worse than I already did. For a while there, I lost everything.”

You stopped playing with his hair to crane your neck down and kiss the top of his head. “Well, I’m not going anywhere,” you said.

He sat up, looking you dead in the eyes, his expression as serious as it could get.

“I love you.”

You were taken aback for a moment. You had both said it back in February when you confessed, but it was different now; more real, vulnerable.

“I love you too.”

“I want you to be mine.” His gaze traced the line from your lips to your eyes, finally meeting you where you couldn’t look away.

“I already am.”

“Then I’m yours, too. And I want the world to know it.”

You finally broke the stare, looking down at the comforter. “I’m nervous about what people will say.”

“YN, who gives a fuck what they say? They’re not here. They don’t know us.” You knew, deep down, that he was right, but that did nothing to temper your anxiety.

Franco playfully grabbed you and pulled you to sit on his lap. You let out a yelp that dissolved into laughter as you saw the smile on his face.

“I don’t care what anyone says. You’re my girl, yeah?”

You smiled too. “Yeah.”

“And I'm yours. You wanna prove it?” he teased, pulling down the collar of his shirt, exposing his neck. “Show them all what’s yours, hm?”

“Franco,” you said, blushing, “everyone will see.”

“That’s the point, mi amor.”

“Your manager will kill me if you show up to media day covered in hickeys.”

“I’ll cover them up.” You knew better. He absolutely would not cover them up. He’d wear them like a badge of honor.

But Franco’s refusal to be media trained was one of the many qualities you loved about him.

“Come on, you know you want to,” he teased. He was right. Right now you wanted nothing more than to cover him in love bites, claiming him as yours.

But you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he could read you so well.

“Oh, hush,” you said, grabbing his chin to bring him into another drawn out kiss.

You trailed the kiss down to his neck, finally giving in to his request. Yes, he was yours. And now the world would see it.

You relentlessly nipped at the rough skin, enjoying the soft but labored breaths that came from Franco. You kissed his earlobes, his jaw, his collarbones, until you found that perfect spot on his neck. He gasped when your teeth met his skin, softly moaning when you gently sunk your teeth in and sucked to leave a bright red mark.

You pulled away, and his expression was one of deep wanting. Sitting on his lap, you could feel him hardening under you, desperate for whatever he could get of you.

You rested your hands on the hem of his shirt. “This is getting in my way,” you complained.

He wasted no time in taking it off.

He slid his hands under your shirt too, drawing you closer to him, burying his face in your neck and smothering it with kisses. You gently grinded down on him, giving both of you the friction you so desperately needed.

But you didn’t want to be the focus of the night. You took back control, running your hands through his hair and roughly pulling it, forcing his head back.

His doe eyes on you were full of lust. He paused for a moment.

“Sorry, was that too much?” you whispered, embarrassment beginning to flush your face bright pink.

“Oh no, I..” he panted, “I liked that a lot.”

You smiled, and went right back to your attack on his skin. He ran his hands up and down your back underneath your shirt, teasing with the clasp of your bra.

You felt his phone buzz in his pocket. You both ignored it.

“YN…” he exhaled, a breathy moan. You pulled back, seeing the red flush on his face. You could feel his excitement beneath you.

“Can I take this off?” he asked, his hands tugging at your top.

You weren’t quite sure what to answer. You figured that you’d sit down and talk before your first time. You all hadn’t gone beyond heavy kissing—Franco had been respectful of your desire to wait. But it had been months now, and he’d gone above and beyond to prove that you could trust him.

His phone buzzed again. And again, you both ignored it.

“You don’t have to if you’re nervous,” he said. “We only go as far as you want.”

You nodded, silently giving him permission. He leaned in to softly press one last kiss to your lips before moving to pull off your top.

Only for his phone to ring, ruining the moment.

Your shirt remained on as he fumbled to get his phone out of his pocket and turn it off. But the caller was James Vowels.

You both saw the contact info and knew that the mood had been ruined.

“I’m sorry, amor, I have to take this—” he apologized as you climbed off of his lap and he answered the call.

As he spoke, you took a deep breath, trying to process what had just happened, and what was about to happen before you had been cockblocked by the William’s team principal.

After only a minute he hung up the call, continuing to apologize. “I’m so sorry, they need me right now.” His voice was full of urgency.

“It’s okay, go,” you assured him, your tone genuine. He placed a chaste kiss on your cheek before grabbing a Williams quarter zip from the floor to cover up the darkening marks on his neck.

He raced down to the hotel conference room, hoping that his…little problem would not be visible in what had sounded like a very important meeting. The tone in James’ voice had been one of immediacy, and Franco had no idea what to expect.

And when he finally made it to the room, he was met with faces both new and familiar: James, his manager, and…Aston Martin employees?

He made a confused face and he gave the group a cursory nod and sat down in the last remaining seat, next to his manager.

“Oh, Franco, you’re here,” James said, exhaling. “We have some exciting news.”

His manager had a smile that beamed across the room. “We’ve been talking to these lovely folks from Aston Martin,” she said, gesturing to the other side of the table. “It hasn’t been officially announced yet, but soon they’ll be putting out a statement. Fernando Alonso is retiring.”

Franco gave them a polite smile, unsure of what that information had to do with him.

“So, Aston Martin would like to offer you the seat for 2026.”

Franco felt the air leave his lungs. “I…uh…yes,” he said, too stunned to really speak. “Yes, I want it. Where do I sign?”

“Well, not so fast,” his manager responded. “We have a lot to discuss regarding the new contract, brand deals, buying you out of your Williams contract…”

But Franco was on cloud nine. His manager’s words faded into the background. He felt like heaven had opened up, and the absolute novel of a contract that now sat on the table in front of him was dropped directly there by God Himself. He could even hear the chorus of angels singing.

His presence there was merely a formality, it seemed, as the Aston Martin officials and his manager talked back and forth on minute details for what felt like hours. Nothing would be set in stone today, of course, but she wasn’t lying when she had said that a mountain of work laid ahead of them.

As the time droned on, the officials filtered out one by one, leaving only Franco and his manager alone in the conference room.

“I’m so proud of you, kid,” she said, patting him on the shoulder. “You really earned this.”

“Thank you,” he replied, genuine.

“Look, go back to your room and get some rest. You’ve got a big day tomorrow. But this is strictly confidential, you hear me? You can’t tell a single soul. Not even your own mother. Not even YN.”

“I hear you.”

“And, tomorrow, maybe cover that up better, yeah?” she said, gesturing to her neck. But Franco felt no shame.

“Well, can’t help that you all called at a very inconvenient time.”

His manager grimaced. “I didn’t need to know that. Get some rest,” she laughed, shaking her head. Even she was too happy to truly scold him.

When he finally returned to the room hours later, you had already fallen asleep waiting for him. He quietly undressed and got in bed, gently brushing your hair out of your face to gaze on your sleeping form.

You were perfect. He had gotten the seat and the girl; what else could a man ask for?

The morning was chaotic. You had both overslept.

“I’m sorry about last night, amor,” Franco said as you applied concealer to his neck. “It was urgent, and they kept me there for hours.”

“What was it about?” You gently dabbed a makeup sponge across the reddened skin.

“I can’t say. Strictly confidential. But it’s amazing, you’ll see.” He beamed, but you made a face at him. Smiling flexed his neck muscles and made it harder to cover up the evidence of your intimacy.

At the paddock, it was chaos as usual. It was the return of the Franco Colapinto—now triumphant, having had a solid season in F2 so far—and this time, he walked in with you on his arm.

The only problem was that Franco kept tugging at the neckline of his quarter zip, and the friction was causing the hastily applied makeup from the morning to smudge, revealing the marks beneath.

Thankfully, no reporters said anything. But the fans online certainly were.

Steamy! Franco Colapinto arrives today at the paddock with suspected girlfriend YN in tow, and the driver appears to have several red marks on his neck. YN and Franco have not confirmed any relationship other than being friends, and this is the first race she has attended since Brazil 2024.

COMMENT: Franco showing up to the paddock absolutely covered in hickeys was not on my 2025 bingo card

COMMENT: Okay but that is so on brand for him. This man simply does not give a fuck and I love it.

You chuckled to yourself as you read the comment. But you tensed up as you felt Franco’s manager walk up next to you. You were already anticipating the earful she’d give you.

“He’s a natural at this, ain’t he?” she asked, more a statement than a question. In the distance, Franco was making a reporter laugh.

“Yeah,” you said. Franco’s manager always made you nervous, for some reason.

“I’m so proud of him.”

“Me too.” You paused, unsure of whether to broach the subject. “You’re…unusually chipper today.”

His manager laughed. “Yeah, I guess so. But even I have to relax sometimes. I mean, he’s doing a great job.”

“I heard there was some exciting news. Franco wouldn’t tell me what, though.”

His manager’s casual smile now stretched from ear to ear. “Oh yeah, big stuff. But top secret.”

“I can’t wait to hear.”

Media day went smooth as butter. Practice 1 and 2 went perfect. With the arrival of Carlos Sainz, the Williams car had vastly improved, and Franco drove like an expert.

Such was evident by his P8 finish in qualifying the next day; his highest ever qualifying in F1.

Since your night had been interrupted the day before, your wanting of him hadn’t lessened; in fact, it had grown stronger ever since you realized how you truly were ready. But quali day had taken it out of him, and you knew he needed to rest before the Grand Prix tomorrow.

And on that next day, as you watched him climb in the car from the Williams garage, you hoped that he’d put that rest to good use. You said a prayer for his safety even more than his success.

You held your breath through each lap, silently cheering him on through the knots of nervousness in your stomach. But it seems like your prayer was working; he was gaining places, P8 to P5 only a fourth of the way into the race.

He boxed halfway, and your eyes traced the lines of his car and helmet as he pulled into eyeshot of you and sped away in only a few seconds. He wasn’t looking at you, of course, but it didn’t matter. Your heart felt like it would burst with love.

At first, you didn’t even notice the cameras capturing your sentimental expression. That was, until you glanced away from his car in the distance and looked toward the screen. You were shocked to see your own reflection, captioned with your job title and ‘Franco Colapinto’s partner.’

He really was yours, now. You smiled at the camera and waved before it cut away to the action. Franco just kept gaining. He had dropped a few places after boxing, but made up for it in no time. P4.

You could hear the commentators through your headphones.

“And really, Franco Colapinto is stunning us all here. As we all remember, he had a rather disappointing end to the 2024 F1 season, but he seems to have come back with a vengeance. A podium is a real possibility for him today.”

Your smile couldn’t be contained. He was going to do this. You knew it.

With only five laps left, he overtook for P3. The garage cheered. You cheered with them. But it wasn’t over yet. It was a tense, wheel to wheel battle. Your heart was beating out of your chest.

He was able to inch just slightly enough ahead to cinch the spot as he crossed the checkered flag.

The William’s garage erupted in applause.

You ran to meet him as he pulled up the car, catching him when he jumped into the arms of the crowd of William’s employees. He nearly ripped off his helmet and balaclava, grabbed your jaw and brought you into a rough kiss.

You broke with a smile. “I love you, I’m so proud of you!” you said, unsure if he could even hear you in the chaos.

“Te amo, YN,” he said, tears of happiness clouding the edges of his vision. He continued speaking in Spanish, but you couldn’t make out what he was saying over the crowd. He had to break the embrace to go to the podium.

As he stood up there, you beamed with pride below. He really had made it.

After the podium, you hid away in his driver’s room, waiting for all his media obligations to be over so you could go back to the hotel together. To pass the time, you scrolled. The internet was losing their mind over your hard launch.

And even better, people had already uploaded videos of you and Franco exchanging words of love at the barriers. His words were difficult to make out, but a few dedicated lip readers had attempted to decipher the message. But there was no internet consensus just yet.

You made a mental note to ask Franco what he had said later, but for now, you were sure he was exhausted.

Your assumption was proven correct as he walked into his driver’s room, rolling his shoulders and sighing. But upon seeing you, his face lit up. You greeted him with more hugs and words of praise.

As you both stood there, holding each other, it was like the world around you melted away.

“YN, can I tell you something?” he muttered into your hair, hand snaked around your upper back.

“Anything,” you answered, your face pressed into his chest.

“I’m not supposed to tell anyone. You can’t let my manager know that I told you.”

You hummed in response, but he broke the hug to look at you, indicating the seriousness of his statement to come.

“I got a contract for 2026.”

Your eyes went as wide as dinner plates. You were speechless.

“Franco… that’s, oh my God, that’s amazing!” You thought you were going to burst with love for him.

“Nothing is set in stone yet,” he explained, “but she’s been negotiating the contract, and they’ll probably announce it in a few weeks.”

You reached your fingers up to run them through his curls. “You’re incredible.” He blushed.

“I think we should go back to the hotel and celebrate, hm?” he teased.

“You don’t want to go out?”

“We can if you want,” he mused, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, “but I think the world has seen enough of us today, yeah?”

So you celebrated in your hotel room alone. The bottle of champagne that decorated the desk of the room was left untouched—but you sure as hell weren’t.

The podium had emboldened him. He explored the curves of your body over your clothes with reckless abandon. You wordlessly helped him remove his shirt, trailing your eyes of the muscles that were sure to be sore in a few hours. You traced the marks you had left the other day, now beginning to fade.

“My turn,” he joked, bringing his lips to your neck to give you your fair share of love bites. He brought one hand to gently hold your neck, while the other inched further and further up your shirt, teasing the edge of your bra. You felt like you could drown in his touch. You closed your eyes and fell deep into bliss.

“YN,” he whispered, “are you sure you want to do this? Are we ready?”

You swallowed, nervous. “Yes.”

But he could sense your anxiety, and was hesitant to continue. He pulled back, raking his eyes up and down your form. You couldn’t help your nervousness. But having read your darkest fantasies, he knew what you really wanted.

“You know, the reason I read your diary is because I knew there was something about you that you try so desperately to hide,” he said, his voice soft and smooth as honey. “I wanted to know whatever part of you that you try to hide away from the rest of the world,” he let his hands trace down the length of your arm, and leaned in closer to whisper in your ear, “and that part of you is that you’re a needy girl who’s desperate to get fucked.”

A shiver ran down your spine at the vulgarity of his words, a side to him you’d never seen.

He brought his hand from your arm to your neck, gently tracing the curve towards your chin. “And there’s nothing wrong with that, of course.”

His voice was soft and tender, but when his hand grabbed your chin and forced you to face him, his expression was anything but. “You just needed a man who can fuck you like the desperate girl you are.” Your eyes widened at his words, and you could feel the warmth rush to your cheeks in a rosy blush.

His eyes met yours. “Just say the word, mi amor. Do you trust me? Will you let me fuck you like you want… no, like you need to be fucked so badly? I can do it. I’m not afraid. I want to give you everything you’ve ever dreamed of…” His voice trailed off as he turned his head and closed the gap between you, placing his lips right below your ear. The kiss was soft and made you release your breath. “Say it, YN. Tell me you want this as bad as I do.”

“You really want this?” you said, your voice almost trembling with anticipation.

His lips near your ear were going to be the death of you. “Of course. Can’t you feel how badly I do?” he whispered. You could feel him beneath you, hardening with every second that went past. You imagined the feeling of grinding your hips down on his length, recalling the memories of only a few days before.

Oh God, how badly you wanted to. You wanted to give him everything. You could feel his soft breath on your neck, his hands now resting on your waist, tentatively waiting for your permission to resume roaming the curves of your body. But your breath was caught in your throat.

“Franco…” The soft exhalation of his name was all you can muster. “What, amor?” he replied. You swallowed and closed your eyes, knowing your next word would let the floodgates of your desire open.

“Please.”

His lips met your neck in a kiss that was tentative at first, like you were something fragile that could be broken by his touch. But the feeling of his soft lips finally meeting your skin caused you to draw in a breath.

“You want to take the lead, or should I?” he asked.

“You,” you answered simply, too distracted by the absolutely heavenly feeling of his velvet lips on your neck.

He hummed in response. “If you ever want to stop, just tell me, okay?”

“I will.”

He placed one final kiss on your neck and helped you take off your top. You felt his eyes undressing you more than his hands.

He wordlessly turned you around to sit on his lap, your back against his chest. His hands traced lower and lower down your stomach until they met the lacy waistband of your shorts.

“Are you going to be a good girl and take these off for me?” he purred.

“Why would I do that, when I have you to do it for me?” You could tease him right back. He let out a dark laugh, kissing your neck from behind.

“Little brat…” he cooed, but you took no offense. He slid your shorts off, and you were left with only your bra and panties. He ran his hands up and down your now exposed stomach. His touch was warm and inviting as it traced down to the now wet fabric of your panties.

He began slowly, just tracing the skin through the fabric, inching lower and lower. He could already feel how wet you were. “Doesn’t take that much to get you going, hm? So wet just from my words.”

You blushed in embarrassment at his teasing. “Shut up…”

“Oh, amor,” he kissed your cheek, your face now turning away from him. “It’s okay. I know how badly you needed this.”

You let out a breathy moan as he began to outline your pussy with the feather-light touch of his fingers. He tentatively dipped his fingers under the fabric, spreading them around your growing wetness as he circled your clit.

Slowly and carefully, he put a finger inside you curling it up to hit that sweet spot. With his other hand, he roughly groped at your chest. He unclasped your bra with one hand, tossing it across the room, and let his free hand paw at your chest and circle your nipple.

“See, bébé, what a reward you get when you use your words and tell me what you want?”

“Yes,” you moaned, breathy and full of desire.

“And what do you want?” he asked.

“I want… you.” The words stuck in your throat, your mind too preoccupied with the pleasure of his thumb swirling softly around your clit and the two fingers now pumping in and out of you. You were vulnerable, at his mercy, but you trusted him.

“You want me to…?”

“I want you to… to fuck me.”

“Good girls get what they want. You’ve been so good for me, haven’t you? Can you do one more thing for me?” He smirked, removing his hand from your sensitive bundle of nerves. You already missed the friction.

“Yes, anything,” you promised.

“Get on your knees for me.”

You obeyed. The sight of you on your knees below him, gazing at home longingly with your big doe eyes, made his cock twitch. But he saw something beyond obedience in your face.

He knelt down next to you. “Are you still nervous?” he asked.

You laughed. “I’m always nervous.”

He brushed your hair out of your face, removing all the barriers between the two of you. “Do you want to stop?”

“No. I’m just… not as experienced as you. What if I'm not good?”

“You’ve already been so good for me,” he said, cradling your face in his hands. “I’ll guide you.”

You watched him with your innocent eyes as he stood up, unbuckled his belt, and took off his pants. You dug your knees into the pillow beneath you as he shed his last remaining layer of clothing.

He had no right to tease you for being so wet, when his own arousal coated him. His cock was dripping precum, so hard that it nearly hurt.

“Open your mouth,” he instructed, and again, you obeyed. He gently led you to him as you pressed your tongue to the bottom of his length and licked up to the sensitive head.

He moaned. “I don’t think you need any help, do you?” You just hummed as your tongue traced the lines of his veins up and down his shaft, before you took as much of him as you could, closing your mouth to trap him in the warmth.

He grabbed your hair to gently guide you to a good rhythm. You looked at him in admiration, but his head was thrown back, eyes closed in bliss.

He moved your head faster, and you gagged a bit at his cock filling your mouth. You dug your hands into his thighs. Franco cursed in Spanish under his breath.

Soon, he pulled you away. You were embarrassed. Did you do something wrong?

“God, you feel too good. I can’t finish yet. I want to take my time with you.” He led you back to the bed, finally taking time to gaze at your form laid bare before him.

For a moment, he was silent, just taking in the sight of you. “You’re beautiful, YN.”

You blushed. “You don’t need to flatter me, you already got in my pants,” you joked.

“It’s not flattery,” he replied as he crossed the room to grab a condom from his bag and put it on, “it’s true.”

He returned to the bed, climbing on top of you. “You’re perfect. Every part of you.”

The vulnerable praise made you uncomfortable. “Franco…”

“Touch me, amor.” You obeyed, bringing your hands to his broad shoulder, bracing for what you knew would come next.

“You may not think you’re beautiful, but I do. And I’ll make love to you as many times as I need to until you believe it.”

You blushed and brought your hands to your face. You were not immune to his Argentine charm. He gently pulled your hands away, kissing your wrists, so he could see your face.

As he guided himself to your entrance, he slowly and carefully slid inside you with a deep groan. His eyes rolled back into his head at the heavenly feeling of your pussy, and your breath hitched.

He stopped to give you a moment to adjust to his length. You felt filled and warm; all his.

For a moment he just stayed there, still, looking down at the sight of you stuffed with his cock, ready to be ravished.

“You alright?” he asked, softly tracing circles along your hips with his hands. You nodded through the sweet burn of being stretched on him.

But he could feel the tension in you. “Just relax, YN,” he cooed at you. “I’m going to take good care of you, hm?”

He leaned down to place a gentle kiss on your forehead and you whined. He whispered something in Spanish, too fast and incoherent for you to understand, but with a soft enough tone to recognize the love behind the gesture.

His thrusts at first were slow and shallow, giving you time to adjust. As he gently fucked you, he leaned down to softly whisper sweet nothings into your ears. You felt safe in his arms.

But soon the softness faded away into lust. You both wanted it, and you showing him by how you sang a chorus of noises the faster he fucked you. His rough thrusts brought forth sinful noises from the both of you, lost in your pleasure. “It’s okay, YN. I know how badly you needed this,” he cooed, his own breath strained. “And I needed it too. I needed to feel you wrapped around me. You feel so fucking good, so tight and wet.”

His words weren’t lost on you. “Fuck, Franco…” you begged between his thrusts. You dug your nails into his back as he continued his unrelenting pace.

“Talk to me, pretty girl,” he said, slowing down for a moment. “You okay? Is it good?”

“So good,” you responded. “Don’t stop.”

He wordlessly continued, pumping his full length into you with reckless abandon. You were sure that your nails in his back would draw blood with how roughly you clung to him.

All you could do was take it, all of him, and let the moans and gasps fall from your lips with every touch.

As he sped up, his tone changed, becoming something rougher. He was clearly emboldened by the noises that left your mouth with every movement.

“I love hearing your pretty little noises. I want you to scream for me. Fucking scream my name,” he commanded. You didn’t have the strength in you, too distracted by how good he felt, burying his cock in you.

“F- Franco,” you gasped. He pulled back so you could see him and grabbed your chin, forcing you to look him directly in the eyes.

“What’s that, love? Did you say something, or am I fucking you too good that you can’t even speak properly?”

“Franco, I—” you were cut off by your own whine, “I’m gonna cum.”

“Oh, pretty girl,” he cooed at you, “let go. Cum for me.”

You wanted nothing more than to obey him, and you came closer to the edge hearing his command.

“I want you to look at me when I make you cum,” he instructed. You nodded at him.

But he slowed his pace down to a torturously slow speed, savoring how every inch of him went in and out of your drenched pussy.

Even with his switch, you could feel that knot in your stomach tightening, threatening to explode as you held his intense gaze. Any self consciousness you would have had was cast aside by your desperate need to obey him.

And when he moved his hand from your hips down to your sensitive clit and began to rub, you couldn’t help but follow his command, climaxing in his arms.

He held you as you let the waves of pleasure come over you, not letting up his soft assault on your bundle of nerves. Even as you began to buck your hips involuntarily from the sensitive touch, he just whispered, “It’s okay, mi amor. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

He softly shushed your whimpers of pleasure, gently running his free hand up and down your curves. “Are you okay to keep going? Because you know I’m not done with you yet.”

You didn’t know if you could handle any more, but you sure as hell weren’t going to tell him to stop. You’d waited too long for this, wanted it too badly, to go back now.

You nodded, so he kept going, hitting every spot inside you just right, causing you to throw your head back in pleasure. He was careful not to overwhelm you, taking an even and steady pace, but neither of you could help so heavenly it felt to have him inside of you.

Franco chased his own release, sitting up so he could see your whole body as he fucked you. He held onto your hips hard enough to leave marks, but you’d gladly wear them with pride.

It didn’t take long for him to pull out and rip off the condom, pumping his hand up and down his length.

“YN, I’m so fucking close,” he moaned. “Where—”

You didn’t answer him, just leaning down to take him in your mouth. He grabbed the back of your head, roughly pushing you closer to him.

“Don’t stop, you’re gonna make me cum, don’t—”

He couldn’t finish his sentence before he climaxed, filling your mouth and letting out a low and low groan.

You pulled away from him and swallowed the stickiness that coated your mouth.

He collapsed on the bed next to you. “Fuck, YN.” You laid down next to him. “That was so good.” His chest was still heaving with the intensity of his orgasm.

But as he turned to you, the lust left him, growing into something softer as he brushed your hair out of your face. You were both covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

“You okay?” he asked.

You hummed and nodded, closing your eyes and leaning into him, taking in the smell of sex and his cologne. You couldn’t get close enough to him.

He kissed the top of your head. “I’ve got you,” he assured. You were too overwhelmed to say anything. He just held you.

Eventually, you both got up to take a shower before you both got ready for bed. Snuggled close to him, you felt the quiet warmth of his presence protecting you, and it lulled you to sleep quicker than anything else ever could.

When you woke up in the middle of the night, you checked your phone. The internet sleuths had finally deciphered what Franco had said to you—a heartachingly sweet confession of love. He had said you were his life, his everything. He couldn’t have done it without you.

Within the thin crack of light from blinds and the streetlights outside, you could see Franco’s backpack, with your diary still in it. If you wanted to, you could have stolen it back. But instead, you left it be, snuggling deeper into the bed to get close to the man you loved who slept peacefully beside you.

It was true that more work needed to be done until you all could fully communicate with no difficulties—no language barriers, no journals, just heartfelt words. But you knew you both could do it. You loved each other too much to not.

So you smiled as you felt his arm sleepily wrap around you and pull you close. You were safe. You were home.

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capuccinodoll · 2 days ago

Text

Honey love, dark eyes

♡ Chapter ten ♡

Summary: You open the door to Joel, preparing yourself to hear what he has to say. WC: 9.9k A/N: Helloooooo! Wishing you all happy holidays! I hope your holiday season was wonderful, and that you enjoy reading this part. Be patient <3 I def enjoyed writing it lol Don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifications! love u all

“I... I know you probably don't wanna see me,” he said, his voice low, almost strained, his eyes dark and heavy with something blue, looking at you with controlled desperation. “But I... I... can we talk? Please?”

Your eyes blinked rapidly, lashes brushing against your skin in quick, involuntary flutters. Joel caught the movement immediately. Of course he did. He noticed everything about you, even now, even after everything. It was obvious he had startled you, but whether that made him feel vindicated or more like an intruder, he couldn’t tell.

The week had been hell. He had been hell. Work was relentless, a grind of demands and decisions that seemed designed to erode what little patience he had left. Coming home wasn’t much better—Sarah’s teenage tolerance for him was wearing thin, and he knew it. Her exasperated sighs, her eyerolls, the way she barely looked up when he walked in the door.

The last time you’d spoken, your voice had been steady, measured, almost clinical, which somehow made it worse. “I think you should go,” you’d said, calm and certain, slicing through the rising heat of his anger like a blade. “I just... I just need some time.”

Anger had only been the surface. Underneath, he was wrecked. Broken in a way that felt unfamiliar, even compared to the times he thought he’d been hurt before. While you spoke, his mind had fixated on Travis—his stupid smirking face, the condescending edge to his voice. It was all Joel could see, all he could hear, drowning out everything else.

He’d slammed the door of his house that day and told himself he was done. He wasn’t going to call, wasn’t going to show up, wasn’t going to see you again. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He told himself he was done. Done with you, done with all of it.

You won’t see her again. You don’t want to see her again. The resolve felt like armor at first, solid and impenetrable. But later, as he sat in the dark of his room, it hollowed out, echoing back every memory of you he couldn’t seem to let go of.

And now here he was, standing in front of you, stripped of any armor he thought he had. He told himself he looked calm, his posture straight, his face neutral. But his hands betrayed him, fidgeting with the edge of his shirt, his fingers curling and uncurling like they didn’t know what else to do.

“Joel,” you said finally, and it wasn’t anger in your voice. He heard that right away, though what it was instead, he couldn’t quite name. “Need somethin'?”

The coldness of your tone startled him more than he wanted to admit. Not anger. Indifference. He recognized it only because it was unfamiliar coming from you.

“Yeah,” he said, too quickly, the word tumbling out before he had time to second-guess it. “Yes. I... I need to talk to you. Please, can we talk?”

“What do you wanna talk about?”

Your question was measured, but it wasn’t an invitation. He felt his lips twitch into an awkward half-smile, the kind you used to find endearing in its clumsiness. Now it only seemed to widen the space between you. You both knew the answer; you were just making him say it.

“About everything,” he said, stepping closer without thinking. The movement was automatic, but the way you took a step back wasn’t. It hit him like a sudden ache, sharp and lingering. “My birthday. What happened after. Travis. Everything I said to you, everything I did.”

“I don’t wanna fight, Joel.”

“Neither do I,” he said quickly, his voice soft. “I ain't here to fight. I swear. Please, just... give me a minute. If you don’t wanna hear me after this, I’ll—” He hesitated, his throat tight. “I’ll respect that.”

Your head tilted slightly, a small, almost imperceptible motion. “You’ll leave me alone?”

The words landed hard. He felt it, like a stone dropping into his chest.

“If that’s what you want,” he said finally, his voice quieter now, his gaze locked on yours. “If that’s what you really want, then yeah. I’ll leave you alone.”

You shifted to the side, a subtle movement that opened a narrow space between your body and the doorframe. Joel hesitated for just a moment before stepping through, his eyes flicking to your face as his arm brushed lightly against yours. The contact was fleeting, accidental, but it sent a strange charge through him that he couldn’t quite ignore.

As he walked past, he inhaled deeply, letting the scent of your home wash over him. It was grounding, like stepping into a memory he hadn’t realized he was carrying. The air was thick with the comforting notes he associated with you—freshly brewed coffee mingled with the faint, clean sweetness of the textile spray you spritzed religiously on the couch cushions. Beneath that lingered the softer, subtler scents: the warm floral of your fabric softener, the trace of your favorite perfume still clinging to your skin, and something else he couldn’t quite name but had always recognized as distinctly you.

It was the same scent that used to cling to his shirt after one of your hugs, when his nose would inevitably dip into the curve of your neck without thinking. The thought of it now hit him like a whisper of nostalgia, equal parts tender and bittersweet.

Joel’s gaze swept the living room as he entered, and he paused, taking in the familiar organized chaos. Two mugs, each half-full, sat abandoned on the coffee table. Next to them lay the crinkled remnants of half-finished snacks. Soft blankets were strewn across the couch, their folds still marked with the shapes of bodies that had recently lounged there. Two candles flickered on the mantel, filling the air with the warm, tropical scent of coconut and vanilla. On the floor, two pairs of slippers rested haphazardly, as if their owners had kicked them off mid-laughter.

The first pair was purple, dotted with little blue hearts—Cassie’s, he assumed. The other pair he recognized instantly. The white pom-pom slippers, soft and well-loved, and he could still picture the Christmas he’d given them to you. You’d hurt your foot a week earlier, and he’d insisted you needed something sturdy to wear around the house. At the time, you’d rolled your eyes at the practicality of the gift but had smiled when you slipped them on anyway. After that, he gave you his other gift: the complete box set of Nightmare on Elm Street.

Now, seeing them here, Joel felt a tightness in his chest, a painful warmth that spread through him as he took in the scene. This mess, this lived-in disarray, was evidence of you. Evidence of life. And he missed it.

For weeks now, his own home had been the opposite—too quiet, too clean. No lingering smells of scented candles, no forgotten mugs on the table. Sarah had been retreating to her room more and more, and the spaces she used to fill with her presence now felt hollow. The house smelled of little more than coffee, and the silence stretched long and thin, oppressive in its stillness.

“Have a seat,” you said, your voice cutting through his thoughts. “Want some coffee? Cassie made a pot before she left.”

Joel didn’t want a tidy house. He didn’t want a quiet living room. He didn’t want the emptiness that had taken root in his home.

He wanted noise. He wanted laughter echoing through the halls, the kind that erupted out of nowhere and carried long after the joke had ended. He wanted his living room cluttered with the evidence of conversations and evenings spent together. He wanted his house to smell like candles, fresh bread from the oven—burnt edges and all—and your perfume lingering in the air. He wanted the warmth of Sarah and Tommy and you, all of you there together, filling the house with life again.

“Sure,” he replied, watching as you moved past him toward the kitchen. His eyes followed the curve of your shoulder, the way the light caught in your hair, until you disappeared through the door.

He sat down on the couch, his hands resting on his thighs as his gaze landed on the coffee table. A book lay there, its spine tilted just enough for him to read the title: Jane Eyre. His fingers reached for it instinctively, brushing over the cover as memories flickered to life. Two years ago, you had insisted he watch the movie with you. He’d been indifferent at first, grumbling about how slow it was, but by the end, he’d found himself blinking furiously, swiping at the tears that kept slipping past his guard. You and Sarah hadn’t let him live it down, teasing him gently once the lights came back on.

A quiet laugh nearly escaped him at the memory, but it faded as you reappeared, two mugs balanced carefully in your hands. You set them down on the table and took the seat across from him.

Joel reached for his mug immediately, grateful for something to do with his hands. He lifted it to his lips, the warmth spreading through his palms as he took a sip. The coffee was strong and slightly sweet, the taste familiar and comforting. But as he lowered the cup, he couldn’t stop his eyes from drifting back to you, watching as you settled in place.

You sat next to him, the cushion between you a quiet, unspoken boundary neither of you seemed willing to cross. Your arms rested on your lap, fingers absently tracing patterns on your knee, while your eyes fixed on him—watching, waiting. He wasn’t looking at you, not yet. His gaze was locked on the mug in his hands, the coffee inside long forgotten, as if it were the only thing keeping him tethered to this conversation.

The silence stretched, uncomfortable and taut, until finally, he broke it.

“I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout what to say to you,” he began, his voice steady but low. He didn’t look up, still focused on the mug. “How to say it, what order to put it in so I wouldn’t just… trip over myself and make it worse.”

You said nothing, your eyes trailing across his profile, noting the tension in his jaw, the slight furrow between his brows.

“And even after all that thinkin', there doesn’t seem to be an ideal way to do this,” he continued, his fingers tightening around the ceramic. “But I think… I think the first thing I gotta say is that I’m sorry.” He paused, swallowed, then lifted his eyes to yours. They were heavy with something raw. “I’m so sorry. For everything.”

Your chest tightened, but you forced yourself to hold his gaze, refusing to give him an inch.

“What’s everything?”

You already knew. Of course, you knew. But you needed him to say it, needed to hear the words from his mouth.

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “For not being enough. For not living up to what you needed. For being a coward.” His voice cracked slightly, but he pressed on. “I’ve been afraid—terrified, actually—and I hate myself for it.”

Your tone was sharper than you intended. “Afraid of what?”

“Of making a mistake. Of ruining things.” His gaze dropped back to his hands, his lower lip trembling in a way that made something inside you twist painfully.

“You already ruined things, Joel. You already blew it.”

At that, he looked up, his face pale, his expression something close to stricken.

“I know,” he admitted, the words barely above a whisper. “I know I did. But… I was hurt.”

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. “You were hurt?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice rising just a touch, a hint of frustration there. “Last time we talked, at my place, we said things… things that stuck in my head and twisted ‘round ‘til I couldn’t think straight. And then Travis—he blindsided me. He said things I wasn’t ready to hear, and before I knew it, I was just… angry. Angry and too stubborn to think if any of it even made sense.”

“You could have asked me about it,” you said, leaning forward slightly, your voice tight with restrained anger. “It would have been that simple. All you had to do was ask.”

Joel shook his head, running a hand through his hair, his frustration palpable.

“You say it like it’s easy. Like it’s that black and white. But it wasn’t. I couldn’t think straight. My head was full of these awful, painful thoughts, and I didn’t know if I could face the answer. I didn’t know if I wanted to face it. What if you told me it was true?”

“What if I told you it was true?” you repeated, incredulous, your voice sharp enough to make him flinch. “Joel, it’s me. Not some stranger off the street. It’s me. Why is it so fucking hard for you to talk to me?”

“'Cause it’s you!” he said, his voice breaking slightly as he finally set the mug down, turning fully toward you. “You’re not just anyone, don’t you get that? You’ve never been just anyone. You’re you, and that’s why it scared me so much. That’s why it’s always scared me.”

You stared at him, your hand brushing against your neck as you tried to process his words.

“What does that even mean?” you asked, your voice quiet but loaded with frustration. “I’m me, but you treat me like I’m a stranger. You accuse me of things I would never do. How does that make sense?”

“It doesn't make sense, I know,” he said, his voice soft now, filled with remorse. “I know, and I’m sorry. I should have—”

You cut him off, leaning closer, your tone sharp and unforgiving.

“I talked to Travis, Joel. He told me everything. He told me what he said to you—that he implied we’d slept together that night.” Your voice faltered for a moment, but you steadied it. “And it was a lie. He lied to you. And you didn’t even stop to think. You didn’t come to me. You just believed him.”

“I know,” he said again, his voice a little stronger this time, though his eyes dropped to the floor. “I know it was a lie. I know that now.”

Your brow furrowed in confusion, anger bubbling just beneath the surface. “How?”

He met your eyes, and for the first time that evening, there was something solid in his expression, something that felt like conviction.

“Travis confessed to me. Earlier today.”

You blinked, stunned, the words hitting you like a physical blow.

“What?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “What are you talking about?”

“He came to my house this morning.” He paused, glancing at his hands like they might steady him. “When I saw him, I wanted to beat him to a pulp. I thought about it—what it’d feel like, what it’d fix. But he looked… pathetic. Like a wet dog. And I don’t know why, but I listened to him.” He exhaled sharply, his fingers curling into a fist on his thigh. “He confessed everything. Said it was all a lie. That he was angry that night, that he wanted to hurt me, hurt you, us. And that he was sorry.”

That morning, before Joel had even finished his first cup of coffee, the doorbell rang. He wasn’t expecting anyone, least of all Travis, who stood on the porch looking like he’d rehearsed this moment a dozen times but still wasn’t ready. There was a tension to his posture—hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders squared but uneven, like he couldn’t decide between defiance and regret.

Joel opened the door without a word, his eyes narrowing slightly, the kind of look that made most people hesitate. But Travis didn’t flinch. He cleared his throat, glanced briefly over Joel’s shoulder as though confirming they were alone, and began. His confession was brief but clear.

Joel stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, his silence heavy and deliberate. Anger started to build in him, slow and deliberate, like water simmering in a pot. If he’d been alone, he might’ve said something sharp or done something rash—just enough to make Travis rethink ever stepping foot here again. But Sarah was at the dining table, half-hidden behind a glass of orange juice, listening to every word. It was too early in the day for things to escalate, and besides, Joel knew better.

“I don’t know you, Joel,” he said, voice low but firm. He kept his gaze on Joel, unblinking, but his body angled slightly away, as if ready to retreat if things got ugly. “And I don’t claim to know the whole story between you two. Don’t know all the details, don’t pretend to.” He exhaled sharply, a trace of frustration slipping through. “But I know enough to say this—she doesn’t deserve what you’ve done to her. Not a damn bit of it.”

Joel’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening, but he stayed silent, his arms crossed in front of him like a barrier.

Travis shifted again, this time squaring his shoulders, his voice growing firmer.

“Whether you deserve her or not... that ain’t my call to make.” He shook his head, almost as if he pitied Joel. “But, just be enough. Stop lookin’ for ways to screw it up. Fix it. Make it right.”

The last words hung in the air, sharp and unforgiving. Travis glanced back at Joel one final time before stepping off the porch, his body already half-turned away, as if to signal the conversation was over.

Joel’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He stayed there, rooted to the spot, as Travis turned and walked away without looking back. When the door finally closed, Joel exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his hair before heading back to the kitchen.

Sarah was seated at the table, her cereal soggy in its bowl, her chin propped up on one hand as she watched him. Her expression was impossible to read at first—calm, maybe even detached—but there was a flicker of curiosity in her eyes, the kind that always made Joel brace himself.

He dropped into the chair across from her, rubbing a hand across his face.

“So,” she began, her voice light but measured, “are you gonna tell me what that was about, or should I start guessing? Because I can go wild with it if you want.”

Joel looked at her, his mouth twitching into the beginnings of a smile despite himself. “You don’t need to guess anything, Sarah. Eat your breakfast.”

She raised an eyebrow, letting the silence hang for a beat. Then she switched tactics.

"You have the afternoon off today, don't you?”

"Yeah."

“Can I spend the afternoon with Irina?” she asked then, her tone casual, like the question had been waiting for its moment to pounce.

Joel eyed her suspiciously, leaning back in his chair. “Why do I get the feeling this is part of a larger plan?”

“Because it is,” Sarah said brightly, sitting up straighter. “But also because you’re smart, and I’m obviously your favorite child, so you’re always on high alert.”

Joel snorted. “You’re my only child.”

“Exactly,” she said, pointing at him with her spoon. “See how much you have to lose if you say no?”

“Fine,” Joel said, shaking his head. “But be home for dinner.”

“Can I stay over?” she asked immediately, her tone hopeful but strategic, like she was carefully laying pieces on a chessboard.

“Sarah—”

“Tomorrow’s saturday,” she interrupted, grinning now. “And besides, you could use some alone time. Don’t you think? You know, kick back, put your feet up, maybe even watch a movie. Something fun, preferably. You’ve been way too broody lately—it’s not good for your skin.”

Joel raised an eyebrow. “My skin is fine, thank you very much.”

“I’m just saying,” she said, widening her eyes for emphasis. “Take a self-care moment. Relax. Settle your affairs. And let’s be honest—at some point, you’re gonna have to get used to me bein’ gone. In a few years, I’ll be outta the house anyway. Might as well start now.”

Joel chuckled low in his chest, shaking his head. “You’re thirteen, sweetheart. You’re not leavin’ anytime soon.”

“Thirteen and a half,” she corrected. “Which means I’m practically halfway to twenty. Time flies, man. Better get used to it.”

He shook his head, a smile breaking through despite his best efforts.

Joel shook his head, letting out a quiet chuckle. “ Come back for dinner,” he said firmly. “And finish your breakfast, smartass. We’re running late.”

Relief fluttered through you, but it didn’t stay long enough to root itself. Instead, anger rose, sharp and unyielding, burning through your chest like fire.

“So that’s why you’re here,” you said, your voice cutting through the air between you. “Because Travis decided to clear his conscience? What if he hadn’t? What then, Joel? Would you have hated me for the rest of your life without even asking me about it?”

“No,” he said quickly, his posture straightening as if bracing for impact. “Of course not. I wanted to come and talk to you before—”

“How can I be sure of that?” you interrupted, leaning forward slightly, your voice cold and unwavering.

His face shifted, his desperation barely masked. His eyes moved over your features, searching for something—an opening, a shred of forgiveness, anything to grasp onto. It was the look of someone teetering on the edge of losing what mattered most. And seeing him like that, so vulnerable and raw, sent a sharp pang through your chest.

But you didn’t move. You didn’t let him off that easily.

Joel sighed heavily, the sound thick with frustration and resignation. He looked back down at his hands, his shoulders sagging as though the weight of the conversation was pressing him into the couch. For a long moment, he didn’t speak. You watched him wrestle with his thoughts, his jaw tightening and loosening, his fingers twitching slightly.

Finally, he opened his mouth, but no words came. He shut it again, his brow furrowing, his expression pained. He looked like he was trying to pull something out of himself that refused to surface. Then, with a deep breath, he ran a hand over his forehead, his fingers brushing through his hair before he finally lifted his gaze to meet yours again.

His cheeks were flushed, the color spreading to his neck, and when he spoke, his voice was quieter but startlingly clear.

“You could do the worst atrocities in the world to me, and I’d still come crawling back to you,” he said, his words landing heavily in the space between you.

You blinked, stunned, your anger momentarily eclipsed by his confession.

“I’d take it all,” he continued, his voice steady despite the emotion rippling just beneath the surface. “Every insult, every blow. At first, I’d probably bark back—like some angry dog—but it wouldn’t matter. I’d still come back to you. Over and over again. Until you decided I wasn’t worth the effort anymore. And even then…” His voice faltered slightly, his eyes darkening as he leaned closer to you. “Even then, I’d wait. I’d wait for you like some stupid, loyal, domesticated animal.”

His hand fell lightly onto your knee, the weight of it grounding and electric all at once. His face was closer now, the warmth of his breath brushing against your skin.

You stared at him, speechless, his words circling in your mind, unfamiliar and disarming. You had never heard him talk like this before, never heard him articulate his feelings with such painful honesty.

Confusion flickered across your face, your brows knitting together as you tried to process what he’d said. But before you could respond, Joel pulled his hand back, his movements slow and deliberate, as though he was reluctant to let go.

He sat back, his hand running along his jawline, his thumb brushing against his stubble in an attempt to soothe himself. His eyes shifted away from you, staring somewhere into the distance as he collected himself.

When he finally spoke again, his voice was quieter, almost hesitant, but still carrying the weight of everything he hadn’t said yet. His eyes stayed fixed on some invisible point in front of him, his expression thoughtful and distant.

“I’m a lucky man,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching in a small, almost imperceptible smile. “Though for a long time, I thought life had it out for me.”

The confession lingered in the room for a moment before he continued, his voice lower now, almost as if he were speaking more to himself than to you.

“When I was a teenager, I had all these goals, y'know? Dreams that seemed so big and endless back then. And then every single one of 'em became impossible the moment Amelia told me she was pregnant.” He laughed softly, though it wasn’t a happy sound. It carried the weight of years gone by, of opportunities lost. “It took me a while to make peace with that. To accept that everything I thought my life would be was just… gone. My responsibilities changed overnight, and I wasn’t ready. Not even close.”

You stayed quiet, your gaze fixed on him as he spoke, unwilling to break the flow of his words.

“It was hard,” he admitted, his hand rubbing the back of his neck, a gesture of discomfort. “Harder than I could’ve imagined. But then Sarah was born.” His voice softened when he said her name, a reverence in the way he spoke of her. “And everything changed. Suddenly, none of it mattered anymore—not the dreams I lost, not the plans I’d made. Because I had her. She was all I needed to be happy, even when everything else felt like it was falling apart.”

There was a pause, a stillness that filled the space as he collected his thoughts. His hands, resting on his knees, clasped together tightly, his knuckles turning white.

“And then Amelia left,” he said, his voice dropping lower, his jaw tightening as though the memory itself was still too sharp. “When she walked away, I thought I wouldn’t survive it. I wanted to die. The only thing that kept me going was Sarah. She was my strength, my reason to keep breathing. And Tommy,” he added with a faint smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes, “even if he gave me more headaches than I could count.”

His voice cracked slightly, and he cleared his throat, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Those years were… suffocating. I was drowning, trying to stay afloat for Sarah’s sake. I worked every hour I could, even when it wasn’t enough. And I tried so damn hard to keep her from noticing. She was just a baby, too little to understand, but I noticed. I noticed every empty space, every moment we didn’t have what we should’ve.”

Joel paused, his fingers fiddling with an invisible thread on his jeans, his voice turning steadier as he continued.

“Everything I did was for her,” he said, his tone resolute. “Everything I still do is for her. I didn’t care if I wore the same worn-out shoes for years, as long as she had everything she needed. I didn’t care about working overtime, as long as she had a good christmas, with all the things she’d ever dreamed of.”

A soft smile crept onto his face, faint but genuine. “And then things got better. I started making more money. I was able to move us into a nicer place, give her her own room with everything she wanted—books, toys, a million stuffed animals. Seeing her happy was all I needed. Nothing else mattered. My own dreams, my own goals—they didn’t even exist anymore. I didn’t have room for them. All I cared about was her.”

He exhaled shakily, his hands now clenched together, his shoulders slightly hunched as if carrying a weight he hadn’t quite managed to set down.

For a moment, you couldn’t speak. His words settled into you, heavy and aching. Your throat tightened, and your vision blurred with unshed tears. You knew Joel was a good father—better than most. But hearing him lay it bare like this, recounting the sacrifices he made and the pain he endured, broke something inside you.

He looked down, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

“I had no desires of my own,” he admitted, his words halting, “until I met you.”

Your breath hitched at his confession, your gaze dropping to your hands, folded tightly in your lap.

Joel shifted in his seat, his eyes finally lifting to meet yours. He was waiting, searching your face for a reaction. When you finally looked up, your vision blurred, a single tear slipping down your cheek.

“And then you moved in next to me,” he said softly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “And I became the luckiest man in the world. Because that night, on your birthday, I saw it. I felt it, clear as day, in your eyes.” His voice wavered slightly. “Did you feel it too?”

You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yes.”

Joel’s gaze flickered between yours, searching, probing for even the faintest shadow of doubt. But he found none. Your answer had left no room for uncertainty, and the truth of it settled visibly in his chest. For a moment, his eyes dropped to his hands, fidgeting restlessly in his lap. The reprieve was brief; his gaze snapped back to yours almost immediately, as if afraid to lose the fragile connection.

“You took me completely by surprise,” he began, his voice low and unsteady. “I had this quiet, organized life. Everything was in its place, everything predictable. And then you came along, and suddenly I was thinking about futures I’d never allowed myself to imagine before. Futures where my purpose wasn’t just being a dad, where there was… more.”

His lips pressed together, and he glanced past your shoulder, unable to hold your gaze for long under the weight of his admission. “I tried to act on it. I wanted to. I told myself I’d tell you how I felt, ask you out properly, but I was terrified. You were such an easy part of our lives, mine and Sarah’s, that the idea of risking that, of losing you…” He clicked his tongue, shaking his head as though frustrated with himself. “I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t.”

His eyes returned to you, a mixture of resignation and determination clouding their depths. “So I swallowed it all. All these years, I’ve done everything I could to be the friend you deserved. To not let my feelings interfere. But if I’m being honest…” He paused, his jaw tightening as though bracing for impact. “I’d take anything from you. I’d come back to you every fucking time, no matter what. Because the thought of living without you—” He stopped abruptly, his voice catching in his throat.

Joel exhaled sharply, attempting to recover, and then a faint, self-deprecating humor colored his expression.

“I know how pathetic I sound right now,” he said, his voice lighter but no less sincere. “I don’t care.”

“Yeah, Joel, that’s pretty damn pathetic,” you replied, your lips curving into a soft, fleeting smile. There wasn’t much humor in it, but it was enough to ease some of the tension between you.

Joel chuckled faintly, shaking his head as though chastising himself. He glanced down at the floor, his shoulders sagging slightly.

“I know,” he murmured, almost to himself. “I’ve been feeling pretty pathetic lately.”

“Me too,” you admitted quietly, your voice tinged with an exhaustion that mirrored his.

Silence stretched between you, not awkward but weighted. Joel’s hands stilled, resting loosely against his knees, though you could tell he was still grappling with everything he’d laid bare. You studied him in that moment—every slight movement, every shift in his expression—trying to parse the tangle of thoughts in your own mind.

For Joel, the quiet was a reminder of how vulnerable he’d been. He could feel a knot tightening in his stomach, a lump rising in his throat that he fought to suppress. The fear of baring himself so fully gnawed at him, but it didn’t terrify him as much as losing you did.

“I don’t regret that night,” he said finally, breaking the silence. His voice was steady, though his eyes remained fixed on the floor. “But I hate how it happened. I hate that our first night together came out of a fight. A fight where I was…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Terrible to you. That’s not how it should have been.”

“Oh, God. Stop that,” you cut in sharply, your tone carrying the faintest edge of irritation. You leaned forward, placing your hand firmly on his knee. “I’m tired of hearing you say the same thing over and over. Things are the way they are. Nothing more.”

His head snapped toward you, his brows knitting together in confusion and disbelief. His lips parted, as if he wanted to argue, but no words came immediately.

“I get it, okay?” he said eventually, his voice quieter but no less intense. “But I fucking blew it. Look where we are now. Years of keeping my feelings bottled up—for what?”

You shook your head and pulled your hand away from his knee, covering your face as frustration bubbled to the surface. Your eyes burned with unshed tears, your cheeks felt hot, and bitterness churned in your chest.

“Why are you so uncomfortable with the idea of being more than my friend?” you asked, your voice trembling, broken and laced with helplessness. “If we had never argued, we never would have slept together, and then what? You would have spent your whole life being just that—my friend?”

Joel’s face contorted, a mix of anguish and confusion. “It’s not that, I... I...” He faltered, his words tumbling over themselves as his gaze flickered between his hands and your face, desperate to find the right thing to say. “Relationships are complicated, you know that. No matter how hard you try, sometimes things just... break. Feelings get messy, people hurt each other, and then it’s over. And after that? You’re left with the wreckage, picking up the pieces, trying to put them back together, and... starting over. And I want to be wi—”

“I’m not Amelia!”

Your voice cut through the room like a whip, sharp and unrelenting. Joel froze. His body went still, his eyes wide as he watched you rise from your seat, your palms pressing against your face to catch the tears that spilled freely now. A sob broke through your chest, raw and guttural, shaking your whole body.

Joel stood abruptly, closing the space between you with long, purposeful strides. He reached out, his large hands settling gently on your shoulders, trying to ground you, to pull you closer to him. But you resisted, your body tense and unyielding beneath his touch.

You dragged your hands down from your face, revealing tear-streaked cheeks and an expression so pained that Joel felt an ache bloom in his chest. He swallowed hard, his throat tight, as he took in the sight of you.

“Why do you have to make everything harder?” you said, your voice cracking under the weight of desperation. Your words fell between you, sharp and piercing. “I know what happened to you was horrible, Joel. I know. I can’t imagine how alone you must have felt. It hurts—God, it hurts—to think of you going through that. I wish I could go back in time and change it, spare you all that suffering, but I can’t.”

Your voice broke again, and you shook your head, gripping his arms tightly as if trying to anchor yourself. “I can’t change it, and neither can you.”

“I know, baby,” Joel said softly, his voice almost breaking. “I don’t—”

“No!” you interrupted, your hands squeezing his arms harder. “You know nothing! You don’t listen to me. You’re scared—this, us, it terrifies you because it makes you feel weak and vulnerable, and you hate that. I know you do, because I know you. I know you like the back of my hand, just like I know myself."

Your voice rose, thick with emotion, trembling but unwavering. “You’ve spent years building everything you have, brick by brick, because you know how fragile it all is. You know how quickly it can fall apart. And yes, it’s true—that’s life. That’s how it works.”

Joel tried to interrupt, but you pressed on, your words pouring out like a dam had broken. “But I’m not Amelia, Joel. I’m not going to leave when things get hard. I’m not going to disappear. Just look at me—look at me right now. This has been hell since your birthday, absolute hell, and yet I’m still here. I’m standing in front of you, listening to you, when maybe—probably—you don’t even fucking deserve it.”

Joel’s breath hitched, and his hands slipped from your shoulders to your elbows, holding onto you as if afraid you might disappear. His eyes glistened, his lips slightly parted as he took in your words. For a moment, the room was silent except for the uneven sounds of your breathing.

“I know,” Joel said abruptly, his words choking out in a way that made his chest tighten, like he was barely able to get them out at all. “I’ve been a coward all this time, but—”

“Don’t. Don’t tell me the same thing again,” you cut him off, shaking your head in frustration, taking a small step back, your space suddenly feeling more necessary than ever. “Yeah, real—”

“Can you stop interrupting me and just listen?” he snapped, his voice sharp, the calm restraint in it fraying just a little as he stepped closer, his hands landing gently on your shoulders, grounding himself in the movement.

He stared down at your feet, his gaze lingering there, not meeting your eyes, the words heavy in the space between you. In that moment, he felt desperate, like the situation was slipping through his fingers again, but somehow, there was a strange sense of vulnerability in his posture, like he was standing on the edge of a cliff with nowhere to go but forward.

His hands fell away from your shoulders, but he didn’t move, his eyes finally lifting to meet yours, his gaze unwavering and intense. It felt like there were a thousand unsaid things in the air, and still, he said nothing for a long beat, his mouth opening, then closing again as if he couldn’t quite gather the words.

“Everything you said is true,” he started, his voice quieter now, but carrying a weight in it that felt both final and irreversible. “And everything I told you is true. And I don’t care, not anymore. I’m done with it.” He moved his hand across the space between you, as though trying to sweep away the past, drawing an invisible line through the tension that had hung over both of you for too long.

You let out a slow breath, the question hanging in the air before you could voice it. “And what does that even mean?”

“It means that I want you, that I love you,” Joel started, his voice breaking slightly on the words, the confession so raw it felt like it was tearing him open from the inside. “That I need you. That I can’t… I can't help but resent a life without you.” He took a shuddering breath, his eyes burning, not quite able to meet yours. “I always thought I was fine on my own. I’ve been alone most of my life, you know that. I never needed anyone. I never thought I was missing anything, never felt incomplete. I felt perfectly fine alone.” He swallowed hard, his throat tight. His hands, which had been clenched at his sides, were now trembling, fingers curling and uncurling as if trying to hold onto something, anything, to keep himself from shattering.

“And then I met you,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper, like he was afraid to say the words aloud. “And I realized how empty I’d been. How much I’d been missing. How full I felt when I was with you.” He paused, his face contorting as if the weight of his own words was too much to carry. “And then I screwed up. I messed it all up.” His hands balled into fists at his sides. “And no, I’m not that cold. I’m not some heartless bastard. I need you. I need you more than I’ve ever needed anything. And I can’t—” He stopped, his breath catching in his throat, his chest rising and falling in quick, uneven gasps as he struggled to control the emotion threatening to overwhelm him.

His eyes closed for a moment, as though he could hide from the truth for just a second longer, but when they opened again, they were full of something that felt like desperation. “I can’t live another day knowing you’re just next door, and you’re uncomfortable because of what I did. Because of what I let happen. Because of how I failed you.” His voice cracked on the last word, and it was like a knife to your chest, hearing the hurt in him, seeing how much it was tearing him apart to even say it.

“I know I probably don't deserve you,” he whispered, each word like a burden he couldn’t bear. “I know that. And if you decide not to choose me, I’ll understand. I’ll walk away. I’ll stay away. I promise you, I won’t bother you again. But if you… if you just let me, one last time...” He faltered, his voice breaking as he looked at you, his eyes dark with pain and regret. “If you let me prove to you, show you, how much I love you... the way you deserve to be loved, if you let me do it for the first time...” He shook his head, his voice catching again, barely a whisper now. “I promise I’ll never disappoint you again. I swear it.”

There was nothing left in his voice now but the ragged edges of a man who had bled himself dry in front of you.

“Joel—” you started, but before you could finish, he cut you off, his voice calm but firm, like a man who had already said too much but was determined to say it all.

“No,” he interrupted, shaking his head slightly. “I’m not finished.” His voice held an edge of something deeper now, like he had reached the point of no return. “You have to understand what I’m telling you. When I told you about Amelia, when I told you how much of a coward I’ve been, when I told you about how you changed my life, when I told you I was afraid—what I meant is, that’s why it cost me so much to do all this. But now? Now, it’s all insignificant. All of it. Compared to this. Compared to you.”

Your breath caught as his words settled in the space between you, and you could feel your eyes widen, your body stiffening with an ache you couldn’t place. You watched him, his expression flickering—his eyebrows tense, his lips parted with an unreadable intensity, his eyes dark and glistening, glossed with the unmistakable trace of tears. Your stomach twisted at the sight of them, the tears there but barely contained, and you realized how long it had been since you had seen him like this. Vulnerable. So impossibly vulnerable.

He leaned in slightly, his hands rising to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing the damp skin of your cheeks, as if he could steady you both with his touch.

“I love you,” he said, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “I always have. From the moment I saw you, I loved everything about you. Everything. The way you are. The sound of your voice. The way your face lights up when you smile. The way you move, the way you think, the way you feel. I want it all, I want it all with you. Please.”

The words hit you like a slow wave, gentle but relentless, and before you could stop them, the tears you had been fighting to keep in check broke free. They streamed down your face, hot and heavy, staining your flushed cheeks. Joel’s hands were gentle as they wiped them away, his touch tender, almost reverent as his calloused fingers traced the outline of your skin. He stared at you, as if trying to read the language of your eyes, but there was something in them he couldn’t name. It wasn’t sadness. It wasn’t anger. It was something similar to doubt. Uncertainty, maybe. Something that he couldn’t fix with a touch or a word, but something that still held him captive.

“I would kneel in front of you,” he said, his voice soft but laden with a kind of desperate affection, “and beg all night if you asked me to, sunshine.”

His words had the air of a joke, but the way his lips curled into a smile—slow and warm—made something inside you tighten. Something inside you broke just a little, and you smiled in return, the gesture pulling at the corners of your mouth. The smile felt unfamiliar, like it had been so long since you had smiled for him. Really smiled, without hesitation. And when you did, the effect on him was immediate, like a light suddenly flicking on in a room that had been dark for far too long.

Joel’s breath caught at the sight of it. He looked at you as though he had been waiting for that exact moment, for that exact smile, for weeks. The smile he had missed more than he could admit.

With a quiet, almost embarrassed chuckle, he pulled his hands from your face, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary. You stared at him, confused, as he slowly began to lower himself onto one knee, the movement slow, deliberate, as though he was going to ask something, something monumental and beg. But before he could finish the motion, you instinctively reached for him, hands gripping his sides, pulling him back up with a soft laugh.

“Joel, please,” you laughed, the sound light and disbelieving, as if you couldn’t quite believe what was happening. But in your chest, you felt a soft pressure—the weight of everything he had just said, everything he had just given to you.

Standing before you, Joel didn’t give you a second to pull away, his hands moving with certainty, cupping your face with a tenderness that seemed almost fragile, as if he was afraid of breaking something. His fingers gently traced the contours of your skin, his gaze unwavering, like he was memorizing every detail of your face.

“I fucking love you,” he whispered, his voice rough, the words heavy with an urgency that seemed to echo in the stillness between you. Before you could react, his lips were on yours—soft, tentative at first, like he was testing the waters, and then more sure, more insistent, as he kissed you again, and then again, and again, and again. Each kiss was brief, a fleeting press of his soft lips against yours, but each one held a weight, a quiet desperation that was impossible to ignore.

Your hands rested on his chest, the steady beat of his heart under your palms grounding you in that moment, pulling you closer into the warmth of his embrace. You could feel the tension in him, the way his body seemed to pulse with need, and you knew—without a doubt—that he was hanging on to every second, waiting for you to say something.

"I love you," you whispered, the words slipping out involuntarily, caught somewhere between a confession and a plea. Your lips were mere inches from his as you spoke, your breath mingling with his in the small space between your mouths. As he kissed the corner of your lips, you felt the tremble in his kiss, the way his entire body seemed to respond to the simplicity of those three words.

Joel’s lips curved into a smile against yours, and he pulled back, just enough to watch your face. His eyes searched yours, like he was trying to memorize something invisible, something that only the two of you could understand.

“I love you too, Joel,” you said again, your voice low but steady, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt like it was the only thing grounding you. “And I’m sorry. Truly. If I hurt you—if anything I did made you feel that way—it was never intentional. I need you to know that. Nothing that happened with Travis was ever about trying to hurt you. I’d never do that.” You paused, your fingers tightening slightly. “But I get it. I shouldn’t have let it get so messy, not after what happened between us.”

Joel tilted his head, his gaze softening even further.

“We handled this a little badly, didn’t we?” he said, his voice edged with a hint of humor, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes dark and bright at the same time, his pupils blown wide like he was looking straight at the moon.

You nodded, the corner of your mouth twitching upward. “I think that’s putting it lightly.”

His smile turned rueful, almost sheepish. “I’m sorry—for all of it. I mean it. Please, forgive me.”

Your hands slid upward, fingers tracing the line of his collar, then moving to the soft skin behind his ears, the place where his hair curled just slightly above his nape.

“I forgive you,” you murmured. “It’s okay. I understand. And I love you.”

You leaned in, brushing your lips against his—just the barest touch—before pulling back again, almost abruptly. Joel didn’t move, his eyes flicking between yours like he was searching for something more in your expression. Your fingers played with the hair at the back of his neck, anchoring you both.

“But if you ever do something like that again,” you said, your voice soft but firm, “if you ever run away from me again, Joel Miller, I swear to fucking God—”

He shook his head quickly, cutting you off. “I won’t. I promise.”

You studied him for a moment, your eyes narrowing slightly, measuring the weight of his words. Then, as if deciding you’d had enough distance, you closed the space between you in one swift motion, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling his mouth back to yours.

This time, there was no hesitation. No shyness. No lingering doubt. Just heat and certainty, the kind that made the room feel smaller, the air heavier. Joel’s arms circled your waist, pulling you flush against him until there wasn’t a millimeter of space left.

When you finally broke the kiss, his lips left yours with a soft, audible sound, one that seemed to echo in the stillness of the room. You hovered for a second before kissing him again, this time opening your mouth, your tongue grazing his bottom lip. He groaned softly, a sound that vibrated from his chest to your mouth, and you smiled against him.

Somewhere in the distance, a shrill sound broke through the haze. His phone. It rang once, then twice, before falling silent again. Joel didn’t so much as flinch.

You pulled back, slightly breathless, your hands cradling the sides of his face. His lips were pink, puffy, his cheeks still flushed. His hair was mussed from your fingers, and his eyes—those impossibly dark eyes—looked at you like you were something sacred.

That man was yours.

“Cassie will be back any second,” you whispered, your fingers brushing through the locks that had fallen over his forehead.

Joel hummed, leaning in to press his lips against your neck, his mustache tickling your skin in a way that made you laugh involuntarily.

“I doubt it,” he murmured, his breath warm against you. “But we could go to my place if you wanna keep talkin'. Sarah won’t be back till dinner.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but his teeth grazed your neck, gentle but deliberate, sending a ripple of warmth through you that stole whatever you were about to say.

“Talk,” you managed, half a laugh, half a protest, as his lips pressed against the spot again, and the world outside the two of you felt very far away.

“I wanna take my time with you,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your skin as he kissed a slow, soft trail up to your jaw. “I wanna do things right, without arguments or interruptions.”

You could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, the weight of his intention, and for a moment, it felt like everything outside of this room was suspended. Time wasn’t rushing forward anymore—it was just the two of you, existing in this space, in this perfect, quiet moment.

But just as the last word left his lips, the ringing of his phone sliced through the air, sharp and unwelcome. Joel froze for a beat, the smile on his face faltering slightly. He pulled away, reluctantly, the distance between you growing just enough for him to glance at the phone screen.

“Convenient,” he muttered, his voice holding a note of dry humor, but the amusement quickly faded as he saw the caller ID. His brow furrowed, and he answered with a steadying breath, bringing the phone to his ear. “Yeah?”

You watched him, the way his posture stiffened, his focus sharpening as he listened. His brows furrowed deeply, his eyes narrowing. Your hand, which had been resting on his chest, stilled as you saw the shift in his expression, the tightening of his jaw.

He stepped back slightly, as if distancing himself from the moment, his hand gripping the phone tighter as his voice lowered, more urgent now. “Which hospital?” he asked, his words clipped. “Okay, okay, I’m on my way. Tell her I’m on my way—tell her not to be scared...”

You took a step forward, instinctively, your voice trembling as you whispered, “Joel...”

His eyes flicked to you, a flicker of panic crossing his features, but he quickly masked it. He stood straighter, listening intently, his body still but tense. “I... uh,” he hesitated, his gaze meeting yours, the weight of the moment sinking in. “I’ll be right there.”

The words hung in the air, and just as quickly as the connection was made, it was severed. He snapped the phone shut, his breath shaky as he shoved it into his pocket. His face had gone pale, the usual warmth drained from his expression.

“Irina’s mother is at the hospital with Sarah,” he said, his voice thick with worry. He ran a hand through his hair, the movement absent, almost frantic, as he turned toward the door, his steps hurried. You followed him, your heart now thumping in your chest, your mind spinning with the new reality of the situation.

“What happened?” The question left your mouth, but it felt cold, distant, as if the words hadn’t quite reached you. Your heart raced, the quiet stillness in your chest now replaced by a frantic pulse. “Is she okay?”

“She fell out of the treehouse,” he said, his voice breaking for a moment as he spoke, a touch of guilt in his words. “I... I...” He trailed off, unsure of what to say, his words tangled in the chaos of his thoughts.

Without another word, you grabbed your coat from the rack by the door, your fingers shaking as you pulled it on. Without thinking, you moved toward him, your hand pressing gently but firmly against his lower back, urging him forward.

“Come on,” you said, the urgency in your voice pulling him out of his fog. “I’ll drive.”

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inkasrain · 3 days ago

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Viren: Not the Cliff but the Road

I'm pretty sure that most of The Viren Conversation has been had (and had, and had!), so I don't want to beat a dead (disgraced, former) High Mage. Howeverrrr, there is one element of the way this character finale played out that remains one of my favorite things to come out of the TDP room, and I just want to talk about it a little. (As always, just my take, not canon.)

I have a strong personal bias against the idea of death as an inherently redeeming act in fiction. We are so accustomed to the idea that a succesful hero's arc will conclude in sacrifice, and that therefore a reformed villain's arc must end in the ultimate sacrifice, that we don't think to probe the origins of this concept. To me, this is basically just deeply ingrained Christian pedagogy masquerading as narrative fact. I don't personally think that there is anything inherently salvational or goodness-proving about this arc format, or that it should be the natural default for stories like this. Death does not cleanse; life does. So theoretically, I should be unhappy with the way Viren's arc ends in season 6. He -- a bad person -- dies doing a good thing. He sacrifices his life for Soren and the people of Katolis and thus is redeemed.... right? If I thought that Viren's change arc ends with his death, sure. But that's not how I see it. For me, Viren's arc draws to a close before the attack on Katolis, and before his death. I don't actually think he has a singular redemptive moment. Instead, it is the sum total of his choices and actions from 509 to 606 -- the ways he makes use of his life -- that are cumulatively cleansing. Viren has always thought of himself as someone who makes "the hard choices" but he's been pretty good at wriggling (or being wriggled) out of the consequences. As of 509, that changes; he changes. He makes choices that will be painful for him. That will place a burden on him. And that, most importantly, he believes he will have to live with. There is nothing short-term about the decisions Viren makes after that point in the story. They are all the actions of a man who has finally realized that he can (MUST) live with the consequences of his "hard choices." I'd even include choosing not to kill the Homunculus in that category, as the death Viren faces there is a quiet, lonely, and utterly unremarkable surrender -- all things his character in many ways been defined as working so strongly against.

If there is a true peak of his arc, I personally see it as the moment in 606 when Viren burns his letter to Soren. He has gone through the agony of exposing his darkest moments and can move forward with the clarity that such an experience provides. But even more importantly, he chooses not to burden Soren with that knowledge -- and in doing so, accepts that he will live with Soren's anger and blame. He will not justify himself at Soren's expense; he sacrifices any hope of receiving love from his son because he knows those feelings are the cumulative consequence of his own actions. Viren's death is a culmination, if anything, of his love for Soren and his arc of shifting the focus of his life to others. His death does not retroactively prove his goodness, does not justify his past. It is a sad resolution of a man's struggles, nothing more. So I don't see Viren's choice to sacrifice himself as a redemptive act, because I really don't think he needs one. He is doing the work already, living the life, walking the more difficult road. It's bittersweet that the road ends, but they all do. The important thing is, for me, that Viren isn't defined by the act that ends his life, some kind of spectacular salvational swan dive off a cliff. Instead, he is marked by the journey, the change he underwent to get to that point in his story. (And like, I was a very minor participant in the orchestration of this arc, but I'm ridiculously proud to have been a small part of this kind of storytelling.)

#writing #tdp spoilers #the dragon prince #the dragon prince spoilers #tdp #the dragon prince season 6 #tdp s6 #tdp viren #viren #lord viren #tdp soren #soren #tdp crew

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youngheejay · 3 days ago

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Unusual fights lead to usual love

Where lashing out at your sweet boyfriend wasn’t how you planned your evening but don’t worry - he’ll make it up to you because he can’t stand your tears.

Starring: Jay x fem!reader [established relationship]

—————

You clicked on the contact of your boyfriend. The picture of his profile made you feel a little better before the annoyance and anger started to bubble inside you again.

Why does he have to be so cute?

It truly irked you.

Your eyes skimmed your chat with him. Or more like the messages you sent to him today.

[10:43 am]

< Good morningggg ☀️ >

< have a fun shooting today my love!! ❤️ >

[3:56 pm]

< I’m making dinner for us, so don’t eat with the boys after work ok? >

< feeling really shitty today but I wanted to make you something today ❤️ >

< so that you’ll be energised to give me lots and lots of love and cuddles when you come home hihi >

< Need it so badly jjongie 🥺😞 >

[5:00 pm]

< come home safely >

< love you soooo much ❤️❤️ >

[7:34 pm]

< Babe? >

< Aren’t you coming home today early? You promised me you’ll finish by 5 :( >

[10:01 pm]

< Are you staying at the dorms again tonight? Pls lmk I’m worried. >

That’s the last message you sent to your boyfriend after deciding that you’re not worried anymore and that he can look out for himself.

You sighed, you even called him a few times and you were confused on what to feel.

Usually, when he had a shooting he could spare some time to contact you but today he didn’t.

But lately, Jay had been acting strangely as his messages during work got less and less. He even started to sleep in his dorms because ‘it was easier for his manager to pick them up all together from the same place to go to work the next morning’.

Since you agreed with him it shouldn’t bother you but still, it made you feel weird that he’d rather stay there than at his home with you. He didn’t know that you knew, but two of his fellow members were staying at their own home - that’s what their respective girlfriends told you.

Maybe he found some- before you could even finish the thought you quickly shook your head.

Enough with these thoughts. Work had been hectic lately. And he probably forgot his promise to come early to your shared home.

But it was still weird he didn’t text or call you on a shooting day. Meetings or maybe practices you could understand - it could be difficult to find a moment to be on the phone. But it’s Jay - he’d find a way for you. Usually.

Hmph.

I don’t care anymore. He’s so mean. Every man on this planet informs his woman except for mine. What an idiot.

That’s what you thought until you heard the familiar beeping of your digital door lock.

You hastily stood up from the couch, almost slipping out of your house shoes and before Jay could push the door, you already teared it open, startling your boyfriend in the process.

“Oh, hi. You still up?”

‘Oh, hi?’ - seriously ?! That’s the first thing he said after you were worried so much??

And that’s all it took for you to loose your mind.

„Why didn’t you tell me you’ll be back home so late?!“ you said with furrowed eyebrows. Irritation was shown all over your face.

Well, you didn’t actually mean to sound that harsh but you couldn’t help it!

Today just wasn’t a good day.

You weren’t feeling well the whole day. You had just gotten your period and the pain was unbearable. Your hormones were on a rollercoaster, you cried at the tiniest inconvenience and now, apparently, also couldn’t hold back your anger towards your boyfriend.

You waited for him the whole time. After all, you wanted him to give you some comfort and cuddles but ugh! He had the nerve to come home so late!

You felt aggravated that he couldn’t even inform you.

He stepped into the house, shoving you gently to the side: “I’m sorry, baby. But you know how it is when practice runs late,” he calmly explained as he took of his shoes and jacket.

To be honest, Jay tried his best to keep his cool since he was extremely exhausted and just wanted to sleep, not expecting you to shout at him as soon as he entered your home.

All he wanted was to take a shower and relax with you.

His answer exasperated you, “practice?? You told me you had a shooting today,” you frowned angrily.

“Baby… I had a long day, alright? We had a shooting and practice,” and fucking vocal lessons and recordings and some bullshit meeting, he continued in his head. The exhaustion from todays schedule clouded his mind.

He rolled his neck, his gaze falling on the ground as he tried not to fall asleep on the spot.

“Oh wow! Good to know that I didn’t have any fucking clue where my boyfriend was today!” You attacked right back venomously.

“I just wish you’d be a considerate boyfriend who notifies his girlfriend for once!” You added as you spiralled in your anger, slowly but surely aggravating Jays patience.

Jay looked up from the ground with dark hooded eyes. With confusion written all over his face, he tried to calm you down: “I said I’m sorry, ok? My phone died.”

“Your phone died? Really?” you said with clear doubt in your tone, having trouble to believe him. You stepped closer to him.

Jay scoffed, “what are you implying, y/n?”

“It’s not really believable that your phone was dead the whole day and that you couldn’t borrow a charger from - I don’t know - maybe your six fellow members or really any of the staff you work with.”

“Are you serious now?!” He exclaimed with a slight hurt tone which you didn’t seem to notice. All you could focus on were his angry furrowed eyebrows, indicating to you that he was caught in act.

“Well, maybe if you were a good boyfriend you’d find another way to inform me! Me! Your girlfriend who’s been waiting for you at home!”

Your yelling didn’t stop here as you went on and on:

“I texted you several times! And even tried to call you but it seems like you’re not even interested in trying to contact me somehow!” You exclaimed as the pitch of your voice went higher and higher.

“Y/N…” he rubbed his face in frustration.

Jay had actually a temper himself. But most of the time he tried to be the calm one in your relationship as he knew that you tended to be more emotional driven. Which would also work most of the time - you rarely got into any arguments. He just listened to your rants and always tried his best to adjust to any of your needs. But today you didn’t seem to let go of your attitude as you cut him off.

“What?! I made dinner for us because you told me you’ll be back by 5! I just want to eat dinner with you for once and you tell me your phone was dead?! That’s some lame fucking excuse, Jongseong!”

You put a hand on your hip as you were just getting started to let out everything that bothered you today: “And Ju-gyeong told me that you’re going to Japan next week?? Even Jake could inform his - I don’t even know what they are,“ Jay gave you a confused look, not quite following you as you got sidetracked.

Unfortunately, this only irritated you more: “My point is! Even Jake told Jugyeong about your tour but you couldn’t?!!”

You felt your blood pressure rise, “he even fucking texted her that he’ll come late to their fuck-session,” you didn’t mean to share that but your mouth was working faster than your brain, “and I couldn’t even contact you throughout the entire day! So don’t be surprised that I doubt you!”

And you didn’t stop: “And why did you lie telling me that everyone is staying at the dorms?!!Apparently, Heeseung and Sunghoon sleep at their own houses. So why would you stay at the dorms if not everyone is there? And don’t give me a fucking lame excuse again!!”

You just couldn’t hold yourself back. You were having such a bad mood from your cramps and everything, you just let out your frustration.

Your poor boyfriend had to be the victim since he always made you feel like you could share every little thought and feeling with him - which is a good thing most of the times.

But you didn’t consider that you could be also hurting his feelings by saying things you didn’t even mean. Like the next sentence that accidentally slipped your mouth:

“You know what? You’re actually the worst boyfriend ever!!!”

And that’s when Jay snapped.

“Are you fucking serious, y/n?? I just came home from work and the first thing you do is to fucking yell at me??”

“Well, if you would just talk to me for once you, you-”

Jay cut you off with a loud, anger filled voice: “Enough! Just shut up! You’re giving me a fucking headache!”

The deep and loud bass of his voice made you flinch in response, your eyes widened and your hands started to tremble a little.

You’ve seen your boyfriend angry many times but it was never directed at you. He always talked to you in a calm manner and never snapped at you.

You had to admit, hearing him like this scared you.

But you tried to quickly gather yourself - your own anger dominated your head.

You let out a faux scoff as you tried to cover your fearful reaction: “Me?? Why would I shut up, Jay?! You’re literally-“ Jay cut you off once again.

„Because you’re being really difficult right now, y/n! Quit acting like a child maybe and don’t bother me anymore! For gods sake!“ Jay shouted angrily and walked away heading to the stairs.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at him, “where do you think you’re going? We’re not done yet!”

“We’re done, y/n!” He yelled in frustration. “We’re fucking done.” He repeated quietly as if he talked to himself.

But you could still hear him. What does he mean by that? He’s not breaking up with you, is he?

Your world halted for a minute. Why would he break up with you? You just had a little fight over nothing, that’s not a good enough reason to end things, right?

Right?

You took a deep breath. Ok, that escalated. You didn’t mean to get so mad at him. But still, you were hurt. Why didn’t he tell you that he’ll be on tour again next week for three whole months? Why did you had to find it out through someone else?

And you knew that you shouldn’t compare your relationship with others but when you were talking with Ju-gyeong on the phone she suddenly told you that she received a sweet text from Jake informing her that he’ll be late tonight and that she shouldn’t worry about him.

Normally, this wouldn’t faze you at all but after she told you about the tour you were already feeling a little sad. Well maybe not a little, you were crying the whole time after you ended the call.

Did he not care about you enough to tell you important stuff like this? You couldn’t help but let your mind wander off and even questioned Jays loyalty towards you. What if he found someone else?

It honestly wouldn’t surprise you. Not because Jay neglected you - not at all, he was actually the perfect partner you always dreamed of. He was well mannered, looked after you, always treated you with respect, cherished you and made you feel so so loved.

No, it wasn’t him who did something wrong to make you wonder if you even were worthy of his love. It were those stupid stupid comments and post about your idol boyfriend on every platform you scrolled through.

There were so many pretty people who commented about the good looks of your boyfriend and how they hoped that ‘his girlfriend could fight‘ or that ‘his girlfriend is lucky because he’s such a gentleman and sweetheart’.

Well, duh! You knew that! That’s why you’re together with him for more than 3 years!

But what if he also knows that and realises that he deserves someone better than you? What if he leaves you one day for someone who is just as good looking and treats him way better than you do?

So no, it wouldn’t surprise if he did leave you one day but it would - to put it in mild words - crush your world literally. You already felt sick to your stomach when you thought of this possibility.

And of course, you knew you should’ve just talk with him about it. About everything that’s been on your mind lately. The tour, the dorms, the comments.

Your rational side told you to stop being dramatic and to not let these doubts and fears get to your head. But, somewhere deep inside you, you feared that his answer would hurt you tremendously.

But you guess your final straw broke after todays events and you let out all of your frustration which was previously trapped somewhere deeply hidden inside your heart.

You truly didn’t think that this fight would escalate like that and that he’d say something like this.

I fucked up real bad.

You decided to follow Jay and make things clear but when you went upstairs to your bedroom you heard him taking a shower.

Ok, he wouldn’t be taking a shower if he wanted to break up, right?

You let out a deep breath when you noticed tears flowing down your cheeks.

You tried to be level-headed. The fight wasn’t even that serious. Your relationship is way too serious and secure to end it over a silly fight. You tried to calm yourself down.

You sat down on the edge of your bed and closed your eyes in frustration.

God, I’m such an idiot. He’ll definitely leave me because of this.

You sighed, your head hurt, you stomach was cramping - you just wanted to lie down and forget everything. Regret took over your whole body.

I’m so stupid. I’m so stupid.

You covered your face with your hands as your entire body shook from your sobs. You bit your lips as you tried to not make any noises, not wanting to bother him any further.

When you heard that the sound of the water splashing stopped you quickly lied down and shuffled far away from Jays side of the bed. Wiping away your tears, you sniffled quietly as you hid yourself with the blanket and pretended to be asleep.

You held your breath as you heard him rummaging around your room, probably getting dressed for bed. And when you heard the door click you thought he would join you in bed but you were wrong.

The next thing you knew, you heard footsteps on the other side of the door and after a while you heard your front door close.

Did he just leave like that?

You panicked. You quickly stood up and went to your hallway, your eyes searched for his shoes but they were nowhere to be found.

Tears formed in your eyes as you fell down on your knees and started sobbing yet again.

Did your boyfriend of three years just leave you like that? Without even saying anything to you? You couldn’t believe it.

Uneven gasps left your mouth as you couldn’t control your sobs. You knew that this fight was your fault but still! How could he do this to you? You thought he loved you after all.

Why am I so stupid? He clearly had a tough day and I should be the one who gives him comfort and a safe place when he comes home.

No wonder he’d rather stay at the dorms than here, with me.

Your sobs grew louder and louder. After sitting there for about 15 minutes your headache became stronger and you went back to your bed.

You tried to ignore the emptiness of your shared bed by lying yet again far away from his side and by not facing it.

You closed your eyes but your tears didn’t stop. Your mind was racing, thinking about Jay.

Suddenly, you heard the beeping of your doorlock causing you to open your eyes. You froze on the spot as you recognised Jay’s footsteps heading upstairs.

Yet again, you held onto your breath trying to make no noises when he opened your bedroom door. You shut your eyes and listened to his every move actively. When you heard him settling beside you, you couldn’t help but feel the guilt and sadness eat you up.

You could’ve been cuddling with him now. Ugh, this is so stupid but you couldn’t turn around and tell him you’re sorry just like - you fucked up too bad for that.

Out of nowhere, you felt Jays hand rest on your waist. His warmth and tender touch brought new tears to your eyes as you continued to pretend to be sleeping.

“I know you’re awake.” Jay said quietly with a rasp in his voice. His voice sounded like he just spent some time crying.

Shame and sadness took over your whole being. I made him cry, you thought regretfully.

You took his hand and pushed it off of your waist. You were too embarrassed and ashamed of yourself to face him now.

But Jay wasn’t having any of it as he yet again snaked his whole arm around your waist and pulled your body easily to his firm chest. You tried to wiggle away but he encircled his other arm around your body, holding you down with a strength you couldn’t fight.

He buried his face in the back of your neck, leaving small kisses all over it. Your heart melted at his action.

„Hmm… you’re my whole world, you know that,” he murmured against your skin, making your heart race as a blush crept up your neck, “my lovely precious girl.”

“My sweet sweet flower,” he pulled you closer to him as he sweet talked to you, “why are we fighting, baby? I just want to cuddle my love.“

Suddenly, you turned around and buried your face in his chest. You clutched onto his shirt as you began to sob loudly in his embrace.

„I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” You cried so hard that your whole body was shaking in his hold.

“Babe… my love…” he sighed softly and started caressing your back in hopes to calm you down.

“Why are you crying? Don’t cry, hm..? You’re breaking my heart, babygirl,” he spoke softly as he pressed a gentle kiss on your forehead. Feeling his soft lips on you caused warmth and safety to spread throughout your whole body.

Jay felt himself tear up a little at the sound of your crying. He put one hand on your head and pushed it further against his chest. The other encircled your waist impossibly tighter as he tangled your legs with his own - your bodies almost melted together.

You couldn’t respond to him as you further snuggled into his chest, wetting his shirt with your tears.

“Shh, it’s ok. I’m here, hm? Don’t worry I’m here,” he patted your head lovingly.

“I- I thought you left me just now,” you mumbled so softly and quietly against his chest that he couldn’t even understand you.

“I’m sorry, princess, I couldn’t quite catch that. Please repeat that for me, my love,” he spoke ever so tenderly and with upmost love and affection reflecting in his voice.

You looked up to him and his heart broke at the sight of your crying face. Your eyes were reddish, your cheeks were wet and a hue of pink shimmered on your nose from all the crying.

He put his hand, which was previously patting your head, on your cheek. It encouraged you to speak again.

“When I heard you leave just now, I thought you le- left me because you said ‘we’re done’,” you hiccuped, your whole body shook yet again because of the anxiety you felt at the thought of him breaking up with you.

“Babe.. aw my precious girl,” he pulled your head back to his chest as he snuggled his cheek on the top of your head.

“You’re so cute, you know that? When you cry like this. It truly breaks my heart,” he put a kiss on your hair, rubbing his hand on your back again.

“Hm? Don’t cry, my darling. I would never leave you, baby, you know that, hm?” he cooed at you as if you were a baby - his baby.

“We’ll never break up, honey. Especially not because of a silly fight. This relationship with you is it for me. I’m gonna marry you one day and we’ll grow old together - you know this, baby. Why’d you think something like this, sweetheart?”

“I- I-“ you sniffled lightly, having trouble to express your emotions, “I don’t know. You never yelled at me. I don’t know,” you repeated, “I think I got scared because I was really mean to you.“

You tried to calm yourself down but you couldn’t help and sob quietly when you muttered: “and then you said we’re done and left me just like that. I thought you were angry at me and meant that our relationship is done.” You clutched onto his shirt as tightly as you could.

“Oh Baby…“ he put his forehead against yours and caressed your cheek with thumb, “I just didn’t want to fight with you, baby. I was just really exhausted and I’m sorry I talked to you like that.”

He kissed your nose as he continued, “that was wrong of me. And I’m not angry at you. We’re good, babygirl.”

He kissed your temple as he put your face against his neck, trying to calm you down. Which really helped - you felt like a heavy weight was lifted off of your heart. In response you wrapped your own arms around his torso.

“I only went outside to take out the trash and then I felt like the weather was refreshing. So I took a walk to calm down. I really regretted how I spoke to you. I’m your boyfriend after all, I should make you feel loved and protected. Not scared…” he whispered the last sentence as he felt a lump forming in his throat.

He cleared his throat, “I shouldn’t have told you to shut up. I’m really, deeply sorry. Please forgive me, princess.” He took your hand and kissed the back of, then held it firmly against his chest.

“Hm?” he put his chin on your head and closed his eyes, waiting for your response.

When he didn’t hear anything from you for a moment he got worried. “Baby?”, he leaned slightly back to look at your face as he brought his fingers to your chin in order to lift it up.

But you quickly tightened your grasp around him and hid your face in his chest. That’s when Jay realised that you started to cry again.

Jays concern grew bigger as his eyebrows furrowed in worry, „y/n? What’s wrong? Did I say something wrong?“

You let out a quiet sob and shook your head. „No,“ you answered.

„My love, please tell what’s wrong so I can fix it, hm?“ he requested ever so gently and rubbed your arm.

You looked up to him, your eyes were shiny and adorably big and your lips formed a small pout as the guilt and regret grew bigger.

“This fight was totally my fault, Jay. I shouldn’t have talked to you like that. Especially not if you just came home from work. I shouldn’t have doubted you. I should be the one apologising but you’re too good for me,” your tears streamed down your face and Jay’s crease between his eyebrows grew bigger.

“I think you did the best in that situation otherwise it would’ve escalated further if you wouldn’t have ended it, Jay. So please don’t apologise. Please forgive me,” you sniffled.

“It’s ok, baby. Sometimes when I get irritated and feel my blood boil you just have this magic in you where you immediately calm me down. I should’ve done the same to you but I was just exhausted from todays schedule I couldn’t contain myself. And it’s also my fault because I gave you reasons to be mad. I’m sorry for everything. Let’s just forget everything today. Ok, my love?”

Jay hoped that this would help you calm down entirely so that you could spend the rest of the night in peace together.

You shook your head again. You were tired from all the crying, but still, you just couldn’t hold the tears back in front of your boyfriend.

“Stop apologising, Jay!“ You whined. “This fight was entirely on me, you’re making it worse!”

„Sorry,“ he chuckled to annoy you and to lift up your mood. You just snuggled further into him as a response.

“Let’s talk about it then, baby. Tell me everything that bothered you,” he pushed your hair behind your ear as he looked in your eyes with nothing but love and patience.

You bit your lips and your eyes wandered elsewhere, avoiding his.

“Y/n.“ he demanded in a soft tone.

“I didn’t tell you I’ll be late today, hm? That’s what bothered my princess? From now on I’ll let you know, ok?“ You nodded quietly in response.

„But babe,“ he chuckled softly while he caressed your hair again lovingly, „I already told you that my phone died. And usually you don’t really mind when practice runs late. Tell me what’s really wrong,“ he just knew you too well.

„I just,“ you took deep breath as you tried to stabilise your voice, “I felt really awful today because, you know, I told you… I got my period and you know how I need you to cuddle with me especially when it’s the first day. And then I prepared dinner for us even though I wasn’t feeling good but I wanted to because we never eat dinner together… but when you didn’t show up it just broke something in me I guess…” you blinked your tears away.

You looked at Jay but he was already gazing at you with the softest eyes. He gave you the reassurance that he was listening. He repositioned you two, now you were lying on top of him and snuggled your face in the crook of his neck as he was on his back.

“I’m sorry, that was stupid of me. I had in my mind that I needed to be home early but we were so caught up in our schedules, I didn’t even realise it was past 10. We were so busy, I honestly forgot that I had a phone and a girl waiting for me,” you chuckled at his silliness, “when I realised how late it had gotten, I thought you’d already be sleeping so I didn’t even bother to charge my phone. Who else would I need it for other than my girl?” He spoke softly.

You pouted at him, “you’re so cute.” You kissed his cheek lovingly, when regret clouded your heart.

The corner of your lips went down, “I’m sorry for saying you were lying. That was so wrong of me, please forgive me.” Your eyes glistened with nothing but sorrow and regret.

“It’s ok, baby.” Jay comforted you, unsatisfied with the sad look on your face.

“And then? What happened that you were so upset, princess?”

“And then I - I don’t know - I saw these comments online talking about how great you are and it made me insecure that maybe I’m not good enough for you and that’s why you didn’t bother to contact me.”

Jay had to hold himself back from interrupting you and to tell you to stop thinking such nonsense, but he let you have this moment to pour your heart out.

“I now know that you couldn’t, but at that moment it just got too much. Because the other day I went to a café date with Minju and Sooyun - you know the cute café with the cute rose petal cups that I wanted to find?” Jay hummed, reminding himself in his mind to buy them for you, allowing you to continue, “that day, we were just talking and I told them I don’t see you so often because you sleep in the dorms. Then they told me that their boyfriends never go to the dorms, they looked at me with such a pity look. It just felt weird, like I exposed your secret and they felt bad for me. Why-“

You bit your lips, hesitating to continue your question. “Why would you sleep there when the others don’t?” you asked in small tone and your heart started to beat a little faster.

While Jay stroked your hair he spoke softly: “Baby, everyone sleeps there nowadays except for those two selfish idiots. Hee is just being a stubborn idiot who likes to make life harder for our manager and Hoon’s apartment is nearby our dorm. That’s why they don’t stay there. Well, Hee did sleep for one night and then he had a fight with Jungwon. Maybe Sooyun forgot that in the moment.”

“Minju’s apartment is not near your dorms,” you stated confused.

“Baby, Hoon’s home is. Not Minju’s.”

“They don’t share a home?”

“No, I think they use both of their apartments and take turns, or something.”

“Oh,” you truly felt embarrassed.

“I’m-“ Jay put a finger on your lips shushing you, “no apologies no more. It’s okey, misunderstandings happen. That’s why we’re the best team on this earth because we make everything clear.” You nodded shyly.

“What else did you wanna talk about?”

“Uh, nothing-“ you then remembered the one big thing.

Of course your boyfriend noticed the shift in your voice and raised his eyebrows.

You nuzzled your face against his neck again, sadness taking over you yet again for nth time this day.

“You’re going on tour next week…? Jugyeong told me today. I pretended that I already knew - but you have no idea how devastated I was, jjongie,” you said his nickname with so much pain in your voice that he couldn’t help but close his eyes in regret.

You sniffled quietly and clenched onto his shirt, “after that she got so excited because Jake texted her ‘so sweetly’ that he’ll be visit her later. I don’t know, I guess I was jealous? And then I got mad… I know it makes no sense but I was just hurt.”

“It made me feel like I’m not important enough for you.”

Jay’s heart broke at this sentence.

“Don’t say something like that, princess,” he kissed your head, “you’re the most important person in my life. And I’m sorry I made you feel the opposite.”

“why didn’t you tell me about the tour, jjongie? Why?”

He sighed softly, “It’s just… I didn’t tell you because you always get so sad whenever I have to leave for a long period of time. And I always feel like I failed you and our relationship whenever I have to leave you alone.”

“So what was your great master plan? Telling me one night before?”

When you didn’t hear a response from Jay you lifted your head to look at him.

Then you saw a sheepish smile spread over his stupid yet cute face. His expression resembled a child who was caught by his grandma stealing a candy from the kitchen drawer.

“Jay!” You exclaimed in disbelief. “Are you for real?”

“Babeee…” he whined childishly,

“I don’t know what my plan was. I just didn’t want to make you sad - that’s all I know. Whenever I had the chance to tell you - I couldn’t. You always are so happy and beaming so brightly, I just didn’t want to ruin your mood. Please don’t be mad.” He nuzzled your cheek with his nose.

“But! I am mad, Jongseong! Of course I’ll be sad when you leave me whether it be for three months or three hours. I like having you around me!”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he grinned as he put your head back to his chest.

You huffed, “I want you to share every little thing with me, jjongie. No matter how sad or mad I’ll be, that’s why you’re here with me, right? You always know what to do to make me happy again. And even if you don’t - you alone are enough to give me comfort and happiness.” You pressed a kiss on his clothed chest as you rested your chin on the same spot to look at him again.

“From now on you have to share every information you have from your company immediately with me. On the same day as you get it. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He pulled your body upwards so that your face lied directly next to his. His arms were wrapped around your body, meanwhile your hand rested on his chest.

Then he lowered his voice, “I already have my schedules for the upcoming year, should I show you?”

“Not now, jjongie. I still need to process the news from today,” you chuckled sadly.

“Can I kiss you now? I’ve been waiting the whole day.” You didn’t verbally respond to that as you just leaned in with closed eyes.

Jay kissed you slowly and sensually, trying to convey his apology and love for you in a way he couldn’t do with words.

You felt safe and protected, caged in his arms like that. The kiss expressed nothing but pure love and devotion.

“I love you, you know that, right?” He murmured against your lips.

“Hm,” you couldn’t quite response as he didn’t wait and entered his tongue inside your mouth. One of his hand laid now on your jaw and guided you. You quickly realised that this kiss had a faster tempo and tried to catch up.

Needing a quick break from the kiss-turned-into-a-makeout, you pulled away slightly.

But his kisses didn’t stop as he kissed you all over your jaw and neck.

As he did so he changed your position by laying you completely flat on your back while he went on top of you.

Pushing the blanket aside, he supported himself by resting one of his arm next your head whilst his other hand went down to hold your waist.

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he mumbled as he left wet kisses on your cleavage.

He leaned into you as you felt his warm minty breath against your lips, “don’t ever doubt our relationship, baby. And before I forget-“ he leaned back slightly to look at your face properly and squeezed your face with a firm hand, giving your squished pouty face a stern look: “from now on you’re on a social media ban. No comments or contents. Don’t mind those comments, they don’t know me like you do. You’re perfect for me. And no fight will break us apart. Even death won’t do us apart. Alright?”

You nodded slightly as you tried to suppress the lump in your throat. However, a single tear escaped your eye, exposing yourself.

Jay kissed away the tear. “Good girl,“ he whispered as he let go of you face and attacked it with several kisses - on your nose, on your temples, your eyelids, and lastly, he kissed your lips.

You kissed him back and encircled your arms around his neck, pushing him further down to express your need for him.

He hummed against your lips in satisfaction and let his hand wander underneath your shirt to caress your bare stomach - leaving goosebumps all over it.

His hand then travelled down your ass, squeezing it lovingly.

“Jjongie-“ you gasped in surprise.

“Let me make it up to you, my baby. Let me show you how truly sorry and regretful I am,” his kisses trailed down to your cleavage again.

You wanted to protest - but he didn’t give you any chance to speak up as he started to suck on your nipple through the thin fabric of your top. You relaxed in his hold and sighed so softly, “feels so good.”

Since you prepared yourself for bed earlier you didn’t wear a bra which resulted in making you feel every movement of his mouth - and his tongue.

You stuttered his name in a quiet moan, “J- Jay,” and closed your eyes to feel every tingle rushing throughout your body.

Unconsciously, you tangled your hands in his hair and pressed his face into your boobs.

Just as he was about to hook his finger around your pyjamas to pull it down you stopped him by grabbing his hand, “w- wait!”

He gave you a questioning look - confused at your sudden movement.

“I’m sorry! I totally forgot that I’m on my period.” You pouted sadly.

He gave you a cocky smirk, “well, that didn’t stop us before.” He raised his eyebrows in amusement but didn’t make any movement to continue.

He actually did the opposite - he pushed your pyjama and top back to place and laid back next to you. After covering you both with the warm blanket, he cuddled you just like you had been doing before.

“That was one time,” you said in a scolding tone, feeling your neck and ears heat up.

“And it was in the beginning of our relationship! How do you even remember this? At that time we hadn’t seen each other for a few months, ok? I think it was 4 months,” you started to ramble, “or was it 3? And if I remember correctly, it was a huge mess. And, you know, that’s not healthy. Actually I read somewhere-“

Before you could continue, Jay put his hand along your jaw and pressed his thumb against your lips, making you shut up. You were flustered, to say the least.

“It’s okay, baby, I was just teasing you. I forgot it myself,” he glided his thumb across your lip.

You took his hand in your own and pecked his lips.

“I’ll reserve the energy and gladly fuck you into oblivion next week before I leave,” he whispered against your lips, catching you off guard.

“Jongseong!” You exclaimed. Flabbergasted at his boldness, you hit his chest with your palm.

“What?” He teased, “why are acting so shy now?”

You didn’t reply to him - you were too embarrassed, even after all those years of his teasings. You hid your face in the crook of his neck as you cuddled further into him.

The atmosphere shifted quickly into a cozy one as he started to rub your lower stomach.

“Does this feel good?” He asked in a soothing tone after a couple of minutes passed.

You hummed, “it’s making me sleepy,” closing your eyes.

“Hm? My girl is so strong. Sleep tight, baby. You cried a lot today, you should rest,” he kissed your forehead, worried that you might get a headache.

Suddenly, you disturbed the silence.

“Jjongie?” you whispered.

“Hm?”

“I didn’t mean that earlier, you know? You’re the best boyfriend I never ever even dared to imagine. I’ll work on my temper,” you mumbled sadly, full of regret thinking about your words earlier.

Jay had to think for a few seconds as he didn’t understand what you were talking about at first.

When it clicked, his embrace around you got tighter, “I know you didn’t mean it. Don’t worry your pretty little head over nothing.”

He caressed your head in order to help you fall asleep: “I’ll work on my communication.”

“‘s oke,” you mumbled sleepily.

“Love you ver’ much jjong’,“ you muttered incoherently.

“I love you more, my love,” he whispered.

———————

Comment and reblog pls, appreciate likes but tumblr doesn’t :(

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tuttle-did-it · 1 day ago

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@quodo-brainrot cheers, friend. I mean.... with regards to ST:PIC, all I can say without going into a very long rant is that it made me hate not only ST:PIC and nearly every character on that show, but it also retroactively made me never want to watch TNG again. Aside from showing a friend two episodes - 'Threshold' and 'Sub Rosa'- I have not watched Trek since. I haven't wanted to. And when I think about TNG now, the characters are so retroactively poisoned with how much I absolutely loathe ST:PIC, I may never watch TNG again. Not even the episodes I enjoyed. Because sometimes, things are destroyed and you cannot save that.

Why did I show a friend 'Sub Rosa,' and 'Threshold' you ask? Why, Tuttle, out of all the episodes of Trek would you do that to someone who has never seen any Star Trek? Simple. We were all celebrating the annual holiday Threshold Day, and she asked what I was going on about. And I explained Threshold Day because she didn't believe me. Then after we watched 'Threshold,' she said 'so, that's the worst Star Trek episode, ever? And I said 'of course not. Each show has several of the worst. Then, I explained 'Sub Rosa' and the granny ghost sex candle. She didn't believe me. So we watched it. I think she regretted the conversation.

Anyway... one of the reasons people were so mad at the Enterprise finale is because they shoe-horned in the TNG crew, made it all about them, and ENT didn't even get to finish their own show. PIC does this-- but for their entire last season!!! like, the premise of the show was his adventures after TNG-- new crew, new adventures, moving on the way people move on. For two awful seasons. Then season 3, they just jam in ever TNG character they can with the worst storylines possible-- if they got storylines-- and just took over PIC-- for an entire season. And in doing this, they pushed all the PIC characters aside- they either disappeared completely or were turned into wallpaper. It is not PIC s3, it is TNG S8, and it's the absolute worst.

Seven -- one of the most dynamic Legacy characters-- spends the entire last season sitting in the dark listening to Picard's *horrible* son monologuing, or being abused and deadnamed by some arsehole shit man. She's not even allowed to be with her lover-- Raffi, a Black woman who was, arguably, the best character in the show-- because Raffi spent the entire third season getting told that she needs to learn how to control her anger by a man. Yeah. They literally went there. I thought we left telling a woman of colour to control herself behind with B'Elanna, but here we are.

I have hundreds thousands more reasons to hate PIC, but the main point is that not only was PIC hijacked by the TNG crew-- something Patrick Stewart promised would never happen when the show began-- but they then spent that entire last year torturing the queer women on the show mand making me absolutely hate every single TNG character to the point where I wanted every one of them to die.

Oh. Oh. And they fucking fridged Ro Laren. In her ONE fucking episode appearance. The rage. I cannot tell you the rage I have for them all.

I grew up watching Trek. I grew up loving it, I grew up loving TNG, and have spent over 40 years loving it. DS9 is still some of the best TV I've ever seen, and I used to rewatch TOS, TNG, VOY and DS9 regularly. Like, as in, I've been rewatching it for over 40 years -- on VHS and then on DVD/streaming. There has been very little time in my life I was not rewatching some Trek.

And PIC made me never want to watch Star Trek again. In just a few months, it will have aired 2 years ago. And in all that time, I have watched two episodes-- 'Threshold,' and 'Sub Rosa' - and that was for my friend. Had she not asked to watch them, I would probably not have watched ST since. And I have not had the urge to watch ANY of it. Closest I've come is watching the Delta Flyers podcast as Terry and Armin talk about DS9 with Robbie and Garratt. Terry, Armin and Robbie often have a lot of interesting things to say about how they really feel about storylines, how they really feel about certain characters or Trek in general. I find they add interesting context to it, so I have watched that. But I don't rewatch the episodes they talk about. Because PIC has poisoned it all for me. Every Trek. All of it.

So.... mayyyybe watching ST:PIC will help? If you are a cis het white man who consistently fails upward, it might be your bag! Or maybe, like me, it will contaminate any love for Trek you've ever had. A tv form of Russian Roulette, I guess? Good luck to you, friend, if you do.

star trek characters will literally go through the most life changing traumatic multidimensional extrasensory eldritch hell torture imaginable and then they're fine and the next episode they gotta deal with a guy who is bald

#picard is legit one of the worst tv shows i've ever seen #and picard's son is genuinely one of the worst characters i've ever seen #and the idea of Q being interested in him is laughable and insulting #god i hate this show #star trek #star trek picard #fuck you star trek picard #sorry for the rant but christ #they could have done SO much more #picard could have been a good show #picard season 3 #made me hate star trek #which i will never forgive them for it #and i'll never forgive Patrick Stewart for agreeing to all of it #they fucking fridged ro laren the absolute wankers #delta flyers podcast #is interesting at least #and armin shimerman is delightful #as is terry farrell #and robbie duncan mcneil seems to be an interesting person as well #i mean i guess this is a long rant? but honestly this is about the first mimilmetre of the iceberg on how much I hate Picard #so actually it's a pretty short rant #for me at least #granny ghost sex candle #threshold #threshold day is coming

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anamina0 · 21 hours ago

Text

Echoes

Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V , Part VI, Part VII

warnings/themes : lots of angst, unresolved emotions, anger, sadness, fluff

word count : 4.8k

Vi’s hand wrapped firmly around yours as she pulled you into the bedroom, her grip protective but not harsh. You stumbled slightly, barely able to catch your breath after what had just happened. The second the door closed behind you, she stopped, her hand falling to her side as silence filled the air. You didn’t look at her. Couldn’t. Instead, your gaze stayed fixed on the floor, the storm inside your chest growing stronger with every passing second.

“Hey,” she whispered, stepping closer. Her voice was soft, familiar, and achingly patient. Her fingers tilted your chin upward gently, forcing you to meet her gaze. “How are you holding up?”

Your throat tightened, her concerned blue eyes cutting straight through your walls. You tried to answer, but words felt heavy, impossible to form.

“I… we can’t catch a break, can we?” you said finally, forcing a laugh that sounded as awkward as it felt. Vi huffed a soft chuckle, but her focus never wavered. Her thumb brushed your skin lightly, and her touch grounded you, tethered you in a way you didn’t feel worthy of.

“You know,” she started, her voice steady but impossibly kind, “no matter what happens, I’m with you. Right here. Always.”

Her words were like a balm on the chaos inside you. You didn’t deserve her—her tenderness, her faith, her love—but gods, you wanted her.

“I know,” you murmured, your lips curving into a small, shaky smile. The sight of your smile made hers bloom, a quiet warmth spreading across her features. But then her expression grew serious again, her brows knitting slightly.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” she began carefully, hesitating for only a moment, “but you have to talk to her.”

The words felt like a punch to the gut.

“Vi, I can’t—”

“You have to,” she interrupted, her voice gentle but firm. “You need to find out what happened to your brother. You deserve to know, more than anyone.”

Her words lingered like a poison in your mind. You deserve to know. No, you didn’t. You didn’t deserve anything—not this kindness, not her warmth , not her. She had this, beautiful heart, and all you’d done was fill it with your secrets and lies. She didn’t deserve someone like you; she deserved someone better.

“Vi…” you whispered, your voice trembling under the weight of the truth you wanted so desperately to tell her. She didn’t know the full story, didn’t know the lies you’d built to protect yourself. But you had to tell her. You had to. Her touch pulled you from your downward spiral. She stepped closer, cupping your face with both hands as her thumb brushed lightly across your cheek. “Hey,” she said softly, anchoring you with her calm presence. “I’ll be in my apartment . When you’re done talking to her, come to me, and we’ll figure out what to do. Together.”

“I don’t even know if I want to find him,” you admitted, voice cracking. “He left me, Vi. Left me all alone.”

“Then we won’t go after him,” she said simply, her gaze never leaving yours. “No matter what you decide, I’ll stand by you.”

Her promise shattered something inside you, and you reached for her, your arms wrapping tightly around her as if holding on for dear life.

“You have no idea how lucky I am to have you,” you whispered into her shoulder, your voice barely steady.

She pulled you closer, her embrace warm and sure. “Actually,” she murmured, “I think I do.”

By the time you stepped out into the living room, Vi’s warmth still lingering on your skin, the air was sharp with tension. Ellie was waiting, leaning against the arm of the couch with her arms crossed, her eyes trained on you the second you appeared. Her gaze flickered to Vi briefly, and something dark flared there—jealousy. Ellie’s eyes followed Vi’s every movement as she stood by your side, her hand slipping into yours instinctively. The connection was simple, natural, but you didn’t miss how Ellie’s jaw clenched, her lip curling slightly like she was biting back something bitter.

“Fifteen minutes,” you said coldly, your voice steadier than you felt inside. “I’m giving you fifteen minutes.”

Vi gave your hand a small, reassuring squeeze before stepping away. She didn’t spare Ellie a glance, her focus entirely on you as she nodded once and slipped through the door, leaving you with the silence and Ellie’s piercing stare.

Ellie raised an eyebrow, an almost bitter smirk tugging at her lips.

“She’s really got you wrapped around her finger, huh?” she said, her tone cutting. “Bet she loves playing the hero.”

Her words stung more than they should have, but you refused to let it show. Instead, you locked eyes with her, glaring in defiance.

“Say what you came here to say, Ellie,” you said, your voice sharp and strained. “The clock’s ticking.”

She rolled her eyes like she always did when she was trying to cover up her nerves, but her movements weren’t as confident as you remembered. With a slight sigh, she sank onto the sofa like the weight of her own words had dragged her down.

“To be honest, I don’t know much either,” she started, her tone quieter now, uncertain. Her eyes flickered to yours and lingered a moment too long. “All I know is that one day, Faye shows up at my door. She tells me that she met this guy… said he’s supposed to be your brother.”

Your heart raced every time Ellie mentioned your brother. Each word felt like peeling back a wound you’d buried deep. It had been years since you’d last seen him—since the day he left, throwing a rushed “See you sooner than you think” over his shoulder as if it would make everything okay. it didn’t. You hadn’t wanted him to leave. But you also didn’t want to hold him back. He needed to find a new path for himself, one far away from all the mess you were trapped in. And yet, knowing that didn’t make it hurt any less. His absence tore at you in a way you never expected. For a while, you told yourself it was fine, that he’d come back like he promised. But as the weeks turned to months, and the months into years, doubt crept in and built a home inside you.Two options haunted you, weighing on your chest like lead. Option one: he wasn’t alive anymore. Option two: he was alive, but didn’t want you in his new life. You didn’t know which one hurt worse. One option meant you’d failed to protect the only family you had left. The other meant he’d abandoned you on purpose, like you hadn’t mattered enough to keep. Either way, you couldn’t win, and it killed you every time your mind wandered back to him. As you sat there now, listening to Ellie talk, your head spun. This was the first time someone had said your brother’s name in what felt like forever, and it was too much. Too sudden.

And then there was Ellie—sitting there so casually, like she wasn’t tearing apart the fragile life you’d managed to piece together after everything fell apart. She had her own ghosts, sure. You could see them in the way her hands trembled when she gestured, in the way her voice faltered when she told you about Faye and whatever shady business your brother might be wrapped up in now. But that didn’t make this easier. Ellie showing up, out of nowhere, with a handful of riddles and a hint that your brother might still be out there—it wasn’t fair. Not after everything you’d been through. Not after losing your sister, your mother, and everything else you once called home. The past didn’t feel like some distant thing you’d left behind. It felt like a ghost, like a weight pulling you down, and now, Ellie had just ripped the scab clean off.

“How does she even know what my brother looks like?” you asked, the words stumbling out.

You sat down next to her before you realized it, pulled down by the weight of old memories. You were too lost in thought to notice how close you were. It wasn’t until she shifted, her shoulder barely brushing yours, that it hit you.

“She wouldn’t say,” Ellie admitted, her brows furrowed like even she was doubting everything Faye had told her. “But the way she found me—she showed up out of nowhere. And then she begged me to go to Zaun, to find you. Said your brother’s alive and part of some group running really sketchy business in the city.”

You turned to her then, unable to stop the disbelief from crossing your face.

“That’s insane,” you muttered. “She just—she magically stumbles onto him after all this time? Tracks you down, of all people? Ellie, this is ridiculous.”

“I know it sounds crazy,” she said softly, the bite from earlier replaced with something fragile. “But… I believe her. I think she’s telling the truth.”

The anger flared in you first, burning hot and unchecked.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you snapped. You leaned forward, clutching your head in your hands. “She finds him, just like that? Then she gets you—you of all people—to be the one to tell me? Like it’s some kind of normal day, like you didn’t—”

Your voice cracked.

“It’s not fair,” you said, quieter now, but the venom was still there. You let out a shuddering breath, dropping your face fully into your hands. “None of this is fair.”

There was a pause. A silence so loud it felt like it could crush you both. You felt her shift beside you, hesitating before her fingers lightly brushed against your back.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. Her voice was so quiet it might’ve been a ghost of her guilt.

But the contact sent a shock through you—not of comfort, but of rage. You straightened immediately, jerking away from her hand as if it burned. Your eyes met hers again, now filled with a mix of anger and old hurt.

“You don’t get to be sorry,” you snapped, pulling away and spinning to face her. Your voice rose as you glared at her, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes despite your best efforts. “Do you think this is okay? Do you think this makes it better? What, you think you’re some kind of hero now? Coming out of nowhere to ‘rescue’ me, telling me my brother might still be alive, like you didn’t—like you didn’t destroy me—”

Her expression shattered like glass. And yet, she didn’t pull away.

“I—”

“Don’t. Don’t say you’re sorry again,” you spat, cutting her off before she could try. The words were sharp enough to carve through steel.

But she still tried anyway.

“I am. I really am.”

You barked out a humorless laugh, leaning back and shaking your head. “Well, I don’t believe you. And I never will.”

The tension hung thick and heavy in the room, suffocating you both. But she didn’t leave. She stayed, the same way her presence had always lingered like a ghost in the corners of your life.

The silence in the room stretched painfully, punctuated only by the uneven rhythm of your breathing. You tried to focus on something—anything—other than the person in front of you, but the weight of her presence made that impossible. Finally, you broke.

“Where is he now?” The words felt foreign leaving your mouth, as if they belonged to someone else. Ellie hesitated. Her lips parted to speak, but no sound came at first. When she finally did answer, her voice was small. “He’s still with that group, as far as I know.”

Your gaze drifted from her face to her hands. She was fidgeting with her fingers again, twisting them in that anxious way she always did. She hated being vulnerable, and yet here she was, cracking in front of you. “So is Faye,” she added quietly, almost like an afterthought, but it was anything but.

“What?” The word came out sharp, cutting through the stale air. Disbelief clouded your voice, thick and angry. “What’s her plan? What is she even doing?”

The anger bloomed fast, fiery and all-consuming. You weren’t even sure who you were angrier at—Faye, for sending Ellie to deliver news this heavy, or Ellie, for actually coming. Faye had known that Ellie was the last person you wanted to see. The sight of her now was dredging up too much—too many feelings you’d buried under layers of resentment and pain. And as much as you hated it, a small, biting voice in the back of your mind whispered, Vi should be here. This wasn’t just your burden to carry. Not when it involved her supposedly dead sister.

Ellie stood suddenly, her movements jerky and defensive. ��Listen,” she began, voice taut and trembling, “you know how Faye is. She just… she appeared out of nowhere. She told me your brother is alive, and that he’s with her group now. She said I had to find you. She said she couldn’t come back to Zaun herself.” She shook her head as if trying to clear the memory from her mind. “That’s all I know.”

Your nails bit into your palms as your hands curled into fists. Every part of you was screaming for release, but instead of unleashing the storm brewing inside, you forced out a question. “Would you have still come?”

“What?” Ellie blinked, caught off guard.

“If Faye hadn’t told you she couldn’t come here, would you still have come to tell me?” The boldness of your question hung in the air, your voice daring her to answer. Ellie froze, visibly struggling to find her words. When she spoke, her voice was quiet, but it carried a weight that made your chest tighten. “The only thing I know is that you deserved to know,” she said, her hands falling limp at her sides. “After everything you’ve been through…” She swallowed hard, her voice cracking as she went on. “I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t tell you. I had to. For you.”

Her words should have meant something. They should have mattered. But instead, they felt like salt in a wound that refused to heal. Your thoughts were a hurricane—anger, grief, confusion, all swirling together in a chaotic mess you couldn’t untangle.

“Say something,” Ellie pleaded, taking a step closer. Her foot brushed against yours lightly, like she thought the small contact might help break through the barrier you’d built around yourself.

Your eyes snapped to hers, your voice colder than ice. “What do you want me to say?”

She faltered for a moment before the desperation poured out of her. “I don’t know. Yell at me. Curse at me. Tell me I’m the worst person you’ve ever met. Hit me, even. Just don’t…”

“Don’t what?” you interrupted, your voice rising. The anger you’d been trying to suppress spilled out in waves. “You don’t deserve my anger, Ellie. You don’t even deserve this conversation.”

The words came faster now, sharper, harder to stop. “You couldn’t live keeping a secret about my brother, but you could live with walking away from me? Like I was nothing to you?” Your laugh was bitter, hollow, and it sounded alien even to your own ears. “You’re so full of shit, Ellie.”

You stood, towering over her now, your heart pounding so loud you wondered if she could hear it. Her eyes searched yours, and for the first time, you thought you saw cracks forming in her composure.

“I left because I couldn’t—because you deserved better than someone as broken as me.” Her voice broke as she said the words, but it wasn’t enough.

“You don’t get to decide what I deserved,” you shot back, the words heavy with years of buried resentment. “You walked away from me when I needed you most, Ellie. And now you think you can show up out of the blue with this… this bombshell and act like you care? Like you ever cared?”

Ellie flinched as though you’d struck her, and for a fleeting moment, you thought she might fight back. But instead, her shoulders sagged, and something in her seemed to crumble. “I never stopped caring about you,” she whispered. “Not for a second. But you… you’re right. I left. And that’s on me. But I couldn’t stay. Not the way I was.”

The storm in your mind refused to quiet, her words only adding fuel to the fire. You wanted to scream, to curse, to demand answers to questions you weren’t even sure how to ask. But instead, you just stood there, letting the silence fill the space between you. The air between you and Ellie felt thick, oppressive, and heavy with all the unsaid words that had built up over time. You stared at her, searching her face for any sign of the girl you had once loved so fiercely. It felt surreal to even be having this conversation after everything.

“I wish I believed you, Ellie,” you finally said, your voice steady but brittle, like glass that could crack at any moment. You paused for just a moment before continuing. “But I don’t.”

Ellie flinched, your words landing like a slap. She bit her lip, the nervous gesture so familiar it sent a pang through you. “I understand,” she mumbled, barely meeting your eyes. “I deserve that.”

Her response fueled the anger simmering inside you, and you couldn’t hold it back anymore. “You did the worst thing anyone can do to someone,” you said sharply. “You left without answers.” You paused, trying to gather your thoughts, because you weren’t sure if you’d ever get this chance again. “I loved you more than anyone. You were the only person who made me feel like I wasn’t completely broken. After everything that happened to me, everything finally felt clear once I met you. I was excited to wake up again, Ellie. I was finally happy. For the first time in years, I had a future, and you were the biggest part of it. I would’ve sworn on my life that you felt the same.” Ellie looked down, guilt etched across her face, but you pressed on, unwilling to stop now. “I never doubted it—not for a second. And then one day, you just… packed your things and left. No warning, no explanation, no goodbye.” Your voice cracked slightly, but you didn’t care. “Do you even understand what that did to me? Do you have any idea what it’s like to spend every single day wondering what went wrong? What the hell I did to make you leave me?” Ellie tried to step closer to you, but you backed away, keeping the distance between you. “It was a living hell,” you spat. “I hated myself because I thought I wasn’t enough for you. Because you were everything to me, Ellie. Everything. I would’ve done anything for you. I would’ve stayed, no matter what. But clearly, I wasn’t enough for you to stay.”

“That’s not—” Ellie started, her voice a whisper, raw and broken. She stopped herself, swallowing hard before trying again. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” you snapped, anger flashing through you again. “Don’t lie to me now.”

Ellie inhaled sharply, visibly steadying herself. When she spoke again, her voice was soft but trembling with emotion. “You were more than enough for me,” she said. “That was the problem.” Her words stopped you in your tracks, the sheer vulnerability in her tone making your heart falter for a moment. She hesitated, her eyes brimming with unshed tears, before continuing. “You were the most important person in my life,” she said, her voice growing quieter. “I loved you so much it terrified me. I’ve never met anyone like you—someone so funny, smart, beautiful…” She hesitated, her voice shaking. “Sexy. You were everything I’d ever wanted, but I was scared. I was scared I couldn’t give you what you deserved.” She looked down at herself, almost disgusted, and motioned to her chest. “Because this is all I am,” she said, her voice bitter. “And you deserved more than that.” You stayed silent, watching her unravel in front of you. “That’s why I left,” she admitted, finally looking at you again. Tears shimmered in her eyes, but she blinked them away. “Because I was a coward. I was so scared of failing you, of disappointing you, that I did the only thing I knew how to do. I ran. And I hate myself every single day for it. Because leaving you was the stupidest, cruelest thing I’ve ever done. And know it was stupid. I walked away from the only woman I’ve ever loved… the only woman I will ever love. And I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”

Ellie’s voice faded into silence, her words hanging heavily in the room like an echo that refused to dissipate. She finished speaking, her eyes locked on yours, raw and unguarded. The sight of her like this—open, vulnerable, confessing every emotion she’d buried—was shocking. You had never seen her so honest, so exposed.

And yet, it didn’t make the pain go away. Her words didn’t undo the nights you spent crying, questioning, or the endless pit of loneliness she left behind. They didn’t erase the broken pieces of yourself you had to pick up alone. Even now, standing before her, hearing her say the things you’d once longed to hear, it still hurt. For a moment, you felt torn. Deep inside, something stirred—something that almost made you forget all the pain she had caused. Seeing Ellie like this reminded you of who she used to be to you, the way she used to make you feel… warm, safe, loved. But that flicker of feeling was snuffed out as quickly as it came. Because no matter what she said now, it didn’t change what she had done. You stared at her, speechless, your emotions tangled in a way that made it impossible to find the right words. Ellie, too, seemed unsure, the silence stretching until she cautiously stepped closer. Her hand lifted hesitantly, trembling slightly, as she reached for you. Her fingers brushed your face lightly, tentatively, as though afraid you’d pull away. The warmth of her touch was familiar, so gentle it was almost like muscle memory. For a moment—a brief, fleeting moment—you almost let yourself lean into it. But the bitterness inside you clawed its way back, and you hardened once more.

“It’s too late now,” you said quietly, taking her hand and pushing it away.

Her face fell, the hope in her eyes dimming as you took a step back, putting more distance between you.

“I need to talk to Vi,” you said, your voice firmer now. “You’ve been traveling a long time, so you can spend the night here. There’s food in the fridge, and you can grab fresh clothes from my closet.”

You scratched your head, your gaze drifting away from hers. The weight of the conversation was suffocating. “I’ll be on the floor below. If anything comes up, you know where to find me.”

You glanced at her one last time. Her face was etched with sadness, nerves, and an overwhelming amount of regret. She looked so small, so defeated. And for a moment—just one brief, maddening moment—you felt bad for her. You thought about staying, about sitting with her and saying something kind. But then you remembered how she had left you all alone, abandoned and broken. And whatever guilt you felt melted away under the anger that burned within you. She didn’t deserve your pity—not after what she had done.

“Okay,” she mumbled, her voice barely audible.

You turned to leave, your hand gripping the door handle. But then her voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Do you love her?”

The question hit you like a thunderclap. You froze, your heart racing, your mind scrambling for a response. It was so unexpected, so out of the blue, you didn’t know what to say. Not to Ellie. Not even to yourself. Because deep down, you knew the answer. It lived in the quiet corners of your heart, a truth you were too scared to face.

You took a deep breath, keeping your back to her. “Get some rest, Ellie,” you said softly, your voice carefully void of emotion.

And then you stepped out, closing the door behind you before she could say anything else. The weight of everything crashed down on you all at once. Seeing Ellie, hearing the news about your brother, and feeling that old wound tear open again—it was unbearable. You didn’t realize you were crying until hot tears began streaming down your face. It was too much. Everything was too much, and you needed something to make it stop. Without thinking, your feet carried you to Vi’s door. Before you knew it, your fist was rapping against the wood, your body trembling. Seconds later, you heard hurried footsteps, and the door swung open.

“Hey,” Vi’s voice came, soft but concerned. Her eyes scanned your tear-streaked face, immediately registering the situation. “Hey, hey.”

In a heartbeat, she pulled you inside, shutting the door behind you, and wrapped her arms around you. The moment she held you, it was as though the dam inside you burst. All the pain, fear, and frustration you’d been holding back erupted, and sobs wracked your body as she lowered you both onto the floor. Vi didn’t let go for a second. Her grip only tightened, holding you as if to shield you from the storm raging inside your mind. “I’m here,” she whispered, her voice steady and grounding. “I always will be.”

Her words broke something even deeper in you. You buried your face in her neck, clinging to her like she was your anchor in the chaos. Her warmth surrounded you, and her fingers traced soothing patterns on your shoulders, each touch grounding you. For a fleeting moment, you let yourself melt into her embrace, but seeing Ellie today had unearthed the reason you were so afraid to let yourself have this. Vi. She was everything you never dared to hope for. With her, it felt right—it felt real—but that only made it terrifying. You couldn’t lose her. You wouldn’t survive being left again. The fear clawed at your chest, fighting against the undeniable comfort her presence brought. The urge to pull away warred with the desperate need to hold on to her forever. Suddenly, Vi leaned back slightly, her hands finding your face. She tilted your chin gently, forcing you to meet her eyes. Her smile was small but reassuring, and when she leaned forward, her lips brushed over your tear-streaked cheeks. She kissed you so softly, so reverently, it was as though she was trying to take some of your pain into herself.

She didn’t speak, but she didn’t have to. In those fleeting touches, she told you everything: I’m here. I’m with you. You’re not alone. And it worked. The unbearable ache dulled ever so slightly, her warmth filling the spaces where the pain used to be. Being with her—it just made sense. You couldn’t imagine losing this. Losing her. When she pulled back, her thumbs brushed the tears from your face, her smirk breaking through her otherwise tender expression. “So… want me to kick someone’s ass?” she teased lightly, raising an eyebrow.

A small laugh bubbled up through your tears, and it startled even you. “Maybe,” you replied, trying to smile despite the mess of emotions still overwhelming you.

Vi grinned wider. “That’s better,” she said, pressing her forehead lightly against yours. “Talk to me. What happened?”

You shook your head, letting out a shaky breath. “It’s just been an awful day,” you admitted, your voice cracking. “I’m a mess, Vi. Everything’s… I don’t know.”

“You’re not a mess,” she said, her voice firm but warm. Her hand moved to your back, tracing circles that made you feel like you weren’t coming apart at the seams. “But we can talk about it, yeah? Whatever you need.”

You hesitated, chewing on your lip. “Actually… I do need to talk. About a lot of stuff.”

She smiled, leaning back slightly to look at you fully. “I’m all yours, stranger,” she said softly, her attempt at humor landing with the kind of warmth that only Vi could provide.

Her words made your chest tighten, and suddenly, the weight of what you were about to do felt like too much to bear. You knew this moment mattered more than anything—it was now or never. Your heart pounded as your mind raced through the decision you had to make. Either you told Vi the truth about her sister—that she was alive—and risked everything, or you kept secret and carried the guilt alone. Betray your best friend and reveal the truth… or stay silent and live knowing you had hidden something that could change Vi’s life. Either way, there would be no going back.

It was now or never.

Author's note: Ahhh I'm so sorry for taking it so long! I was busy plus writing this chapter was extremely hard, I want to show every emotion , everything clearly. It was challenging . Sorry that Vi isn't present in this chapter much, but I had to dedicate one chapter to Ellie and reader. Please let me know what you think, it means a lot to me!

p.s. we're unfortunately close to the finale. Next chapter/two chapters probably will be the last. I'm truly not ready for it. I don't want their story to end.

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