#easier to keep track of things this way I GUESS

[lokh]

ok it's not just me right. these patterns are not written well. text transcribed under cut. its cut off in the photo but on the side of the page there is a key to the colors so thats not part of the complaint

SUN

With a 4mm hook and Colour 21, make a magic ring.

Rnd 1: ch2, 9hdc in ring, slst in second ch of initial ch2. [10hdc]

Rnd 2: ch2, hdc in same st, 2hdc in each st to end of rnd, slst in second ch of initial ch2. [20 hdc]

Rnd 3: ch2, hdc in same st, hdc in next st, *2hdc in next st, hdc in next st**, rep from * to ** 8 times, slst in second ch of initial ch2. [30hdc]

Rnd 4: ch2, hdc in same st, hdc in next 2 sts, *2hdc in next st, hdc in next 2 sts**, rep from * to ** 8 times, slst in second ch of initial ch2. [40hdc]

Rnd 5: ch2, hdc in same st, hdc in next 3 sts, *2hdc in next st, hdc in next 3 sts**, rep from * to ** 8 times. [50hdc]

Fasten off Colour 21.

Join Colour 17 in FL of any Rnd 5 st. All sts in this rnd are made in FL of Rnd 5 sts:

Rnd 6: sc in st, (hdc, dc) in next st, ch2, (dc, hdc) in next st, sc in next st, slst in next st, *sc in next st, (hdc, dc) in next st, ch2, (dc, hdc) in next st, sc in next st, slst in next st**, rep from * to ** 8 times, slst in initial sc. [20dc, 20hdc, 20sc, 10slst, 10ch-2]

Rnd 7: slst in next 2 sts, (slst, ch, slst) in next ch-2-sp, slst in next 3 sts, slst over Rnd 6 slst and in FL of Rnd 5 st, *slst in next 3 sts, (slst, ch, slst) in next ch-2-sp, slst in next 3 sts, slst over Rnd 6 slst and in FL of Rnd 5 st**, rep from * to ** 8 times. [90slst, 10ch]

Fasten off Colour 17.

SQUARE

Join Colour 1 in BL of any st in Rnd 5 of sun with a standing dc. All sts in this rnd are made in BL of Rnd 5 sts:

Rnd 8: dc in same st, dc in next 4 sts, *2dc in next st, dc in next 4 sts**, rep from * to ** 8 times, slst in first dc. [60dc]

Fasten off Colour 1.

Join Colour 31 in any st of Rnd 8 with a standing tr.

Rnd 9: tr in same st, ch2, 2tr in next st, dc in next 2 sts, hdc in next 3 sts, sc in next 3 sts, hdc in next 3 sts, dc in next 2 sts, *2tr in next st, ch2, 2tr in next st, dc in next 2 sts, hdc in next 3 sts, sc in next 3 sts, hdc in next 3 sts, dc in next 2 sts**, rep from * to ** twice, slst in initial tr. [16tr, 16dc, 24hdc, 12sc, 4ch-2]

Rnd 10: slst in next st, slst in ch-2-sp, ch3, (dc, ch2, 2dc) in same ch-2-sp, dc in next 17 sts, *(2dc, ch2, 2dc) in ch-2-sp, dc in next 17 sts**, rep from * to ** twice, slst in third ch of initial ch3. [84dc, 4ch-2]

Fasten off Colour 31.

Join Colour 39 in any ch-2-sp of Rnd 10. All sts in this rnd are made in BLO:

Rnd 11: ch, *(sc, ch2, sc) in ch-2-sp, sc in next 21 sts**, rep from * to ** 3 times. [92sc, 4ch-2]

Fasten off Colour 39.

Join Colour 45 in any ch-2-sp of Rnd 11. All sts in this rnd are made in BLO:

Rnd 12: ch, *(sc, ch2, sc) in ch-2-sp, sc in next 23 sts**, rep from * to ** 3 times. [100sc, 4ch-2]

Fasten off Colour 45.

[savedpeople]

@ambiences-stuff a week or so ago commented on this post, asking:

For the ask, curious; 🧂 Least favourite part of canon

And I'm very late to it but I'm finally able to sit down and answer!

So I'm going to stick to only Negan's part of canon, and also stick to TV canon without comparing it to the comics-- because off the top of my head I have no real complaints about his comic canon, and a LOT of my issues with TV canon involves changes made from the comics and we'd be here all day if I went into that lol, but it could be summed up with "they made loads of changes to Savior-era Negan that made him more unnecessarily evil."

So all of that aside, my overall least favorite parts of Negan's canon on the show are his random love interest/baby plot in season 11, and honestly most of the plot of Dead City.

I want Negan happy more than anything but, without writing a whole essay about it: him randomly showing up with a new wife and kid on the way was unrealistic, their entire relationship happening off-screen was insulting, we learn absolutely nothing about Annie or them as a couple leaving it all feeling one-dimensional (virtually everyone only refers to Annie as "Negan's pregnant wife," even Negan himself most times), and we never get to see them interact except to talk about the baby and staying safe. The relationship itself turned out to just be a plot device to further Negan's storyline with Maggie (this continues to be true in Dead City), and was not to mention a slap in the face to Lucille's memory and importance to Negan when almost "losing everything" (Annie and unborn baby) was what pushed him to relate to and apologize to Maggie, and not when he had actually lost his everything (Lucille.) Even JDM didn't like it.

As for Dead City, my biggest issue is that the entire plot hinged on the Croat knowing things he realistically couldn't know. It was literally "random character the audience has never met but was totally there during the story, tells other character we've never met everything they need to know for the plot to happen, even things they have no way of knowing." It's a HUGE pet peeve of mine when characters learn important information off-screen in ways that don't make sense. How could Jerome the random Savior know about Negan and Maggie working together in season 11 when that was years after the Sanctuary had fallen (which is why Jerome ended up in NY in the first place)? On top of that, how did the Croat have any idea what Maggie and Hershel looked like? How did he find out where they lived, when they were no longer at the original Hilltop location? I also hate that this leads to everything being Negan's fault one way or another.

[robo-dino-puppies]

friends (anyone) want to offer an opinion? i've been making an attempt to recreate my Hawke's freckles:

thoughts? I messed around with making a freckle tattoo but I've been staring at various versions (eight? ten? idk. help.) of it for so long I no longer trust my eyeballs lol.

the type of freckles I wanted were nowhere to be found in either the original complexions (so many have five o'clock shadow wtfff) or the mods I've seen on nexus (wrong freckle size/density/wrong complexion if tied to a complexion). I probably used a mod to give her the freckles in da2 anyway haha.

there's three different areas at different opacities here. I tried doing a facepaint also/instead since this means if I ever wanted to use this for an elf who has vallaslin (or any character with any face tattoo) I wouldn't be able to but. uh. editing the paints is not as straightforward as the tattoos. whatever was happening (or not happening?) with the alpha channel was... not great. I'll try again eventually though.

[bookishdiplodocus]

The Neurodivergent Writer’s Guide to Fun and Productivity

(Even when life beats you down)

Look, I’m a mom, I have ADHD, I’m a spoonie. To say that I don’t have heaps of energy to spare and I struggle with consistency is an understatement. For years, I tried to write consistently, but I couldn’t manage to keep up with habits I built and deadlines I set.

So fuck neurodivergent guides on building habits, fuck “eat the frog first”, fuck “it’s all in the grind”, and fuck “you just need time management”—here is how I manage to write often and a lot.

Focus on having fun, not on the outcome

This was the groundwork I had to lay before I could even start my streak. At an online writing conference, someone said: “If you push yourself and meet your goals, and you publish your book, but you haven’t enjoyed the process… What’s the point?” and hoo boy, that question hit me like a truck.

I was so caught up in the narrative of “You’ve got to show up for what’s important” and “Push through if you really want to get it done”. For a few years, I used to read all these productivity books about grinding your way to success, and along the way I started using the same language as they did. And I notice a lot of you do so, too.

But your brain doesn’t like to grind. No-one’s brain does, and especially no neurodivergent brain. If having to write gives you stress or if you put pressure on yourself for not writing (enough), your brain’s going to say: “Huh. Writing gives us stress, we’re going to try to avoid it in the future.”

So before I could even try to write regularly, I needed to teach my brain once again that writing is fun. I switched from countable goals like words or time to non-countable goals like “fun” and “flow”.

Rewire my brain: writing is fun and I’m good at it

I used everything I knew about neuroscience, psychology, and social sciences. These are some of the things I did before and during a writing session. Usually not all at once, and after a while I didn’t need these strategies anymore, although I sometimes go back to them when necessary.

I journalled all the negative thoughts I had around writing and try to reason them away, using arguments I knew in my heart were true. (The last part is the crux.) Imagine being supportive to a writer friend with crippling insecurities, only the friend is you.

Not setting any goals didn’t work for me—I still nurtured unwanted expectations. So I did set goals, but made them non-countable, like “have fun”, “get in the flow”, or “write”. Did I write? Yes. Success! Your brain doesn’t actually care about how high the goal is, it cares about meeting whatever goal you set.

I didn’t even track how many words I wrote. Not relevant.

I set an alarm for a short time (like 10 minutes) and forbade myself to exceed that time. The idea was that if I write until I run out of mojo, my brain learns that writing drains the mojo. If I write for 10 minutes and have fun, my brain learns that writing is fun and wants to do it again.

Reinforce the fact that writing makes you happy by rewarding your brain immediately afterwards. You know what works best for you: a walk, a golden sticker, chocolate, cuddle your dog, whatever makes you happy.

I conditioned myself to associate writing with specific stimuli: that album, that smell, that tea, that place. Any stimulus can work, so pick one you like. I consciously chose several stimuli so I could switch them up, and the conditioning stays active as long as I don’t muddle it with other associations.

Use a ritual to signal to your brain that Writing Time is about to begin to get into the zone easier and faster. I guess this is a kind of conditioning as well? Meditation, music, lighting a candle… Pick your stimulus and stick with it.

Specifically for rewiring my brain, I started a new WIP that had no emotional connotations attached to it, nor any pressure to get finished or, heaven forbid, meet quality norms. I don’t think these techniques above would have worked as well if I had applied them on writing my novel.

It wasn’t until I could confidently say I enjoyed writing again, that I could start building up a consistent habit. No more pushing myself.

I lowered my definition for success

When I say that nowadays I write every day, that’s literally it. I don’t set out to write 1,000 or 500 or 10 words every day (tried it, failed to keep up with it every time)—the only marker for success when it comes to my streak is to write at least one word, even on the days when my brain goes “naaahhh”. On those days, it suffices to send myself a text with a few keywords or a snippet. It’s not “success on a technicality (derogatory)”, because most of those snippets and ideas get used in actual stories later. And if they don’t, they don’t. It’s still writing. No writing is ever wasted.

A side note on high expectations, imposter syndrome, and perfectionism

Obviously, “Setting a ridiculously low goal” isn’t something I invented. I actually got it from those productivity books, only I never got it to work. I used to tell myself: “It’s okay if I don’t write for an hour, because my goal is to write for 20 minutes and if I happen to keep going for, say, an hour, that’s a bonus.” Right? So I set the goal for 20 minutes, wrote for 35 minutes, and instead of feeling like I exceeded my goal, I felt disappointed because apparently I was still hoping for the bonus scenario to happen. I didn’t know how to set a goal so low and believe it.

I think the trick to making it work this time lies more in the groundwork of training my brain to enjoy writing again than in the fact that my daily goal is ridiculously low. I believe I’m a writer, because I prove it to myself every day. Every success I hit reinforces the idea that I’m a writer. It’s an extra ward against imposter syndrome.

Knowing that I can still come up with a few lines of dialogue on the Really Bad Days—days when I struggle to brush my teeth, the day when I had a panic attack in the supermarket, or the day my kid got hit by a car—teaches me that I can write on the mere Bad-ish Days.

The more I do it, the more I do it

The irony is that setting a ridiculously low goal almost immediately led to writing more and more often. The most difficult step is to start a new habit. After just a few weeks, I noticed that I needed less time and energy to get into the zone. I no longer needed all the strategies I listed above.

Another perk I noticed, was an increased writing speed. After just a few months of writing every day, my average speed went from 600 words per hour to 1,500 wph, regularly exceeding 2,000 wph without any loss of quality.

Talking about quality: I could see myself becoming a better writer with every passing month. Writing better dialogue, interiority, chemistry, humour, descriptions, whatever: they all improved noticeably, and I wasn’t a bad writer to begin with.

The increased speed means I get more done with the same amount of energy spent. I used to write around 2,000-5,000 words per month, some months none at all. Nowadays I effortlessly write 30,000 words per month. I didn’t set out to write more, it’s just a nice perk.

Look, I’m not saying you should write every day if it doesn’t work for you. My point is: the more often you write, the easier it will be.

No pressure

Yes, I’m still working on my novel, but I’m not racing through it. I produce two or three chapters per month, and the rest of my time goes to short stories my brain keeps projecting on the inside of my eyelids when I’m trying to sleep. I might as well write them down, right?

These short stories started out as self-indulgence, and even now that I take them more seriously, they are still just for me. I don’t intend to ever publish them, no-one will ever read them, they can suck if they suck. The unintended consequence was that my short stories are some of my best writing, because there’s no pressure, it’s pure fun.

Does it make sense to spend, say, 90% of my output on stories no-one else will ever read? Wouldn’t it be better to spend all that creative energy and time on my novel? Well, yes. If you find the magic trick, let me know, because I haven’t found it yet. The short stories don’t cannibalize on the novel, because they require different mindsets. If I stopped writing the short stories, I wouldn’t produce more chapters. (I tried. Maybe in the future? Fingers crossed.)

Don’t wait for inspiration to hit

There’s a quote by Picasso: “Inspiration hits, but it has to find you working.” I strongly agree. Writing is not some mystical, muse-y gift, it’s a skill and inspiration does exist, but usually it’s brought on by doing the work. So just get started and inspiration will come to you.

Accountability and community

Having social factors in your toolbox is invaluable. I have an offline writing friend I take long walks with, I host a monthly writing club on Discord, and I have another group on Discord that holds me accountable every day. They all motivate me in different ways and it’s such a nice thing to share my successes with people who truly understand how hard it can be.

The productivity books taught me that if you want to make a big change in your life or attitude, surrounding yourself with people who already embody your ideal or your goal huuuugely helps. The fact that I have these productive people around me who also prioritize writing, makes it easier for me to stick to my own priorities.

Your toolbox

The idea is to have several techniques at your disposal to help you stay consistent. Don’t put all your eggs in one basket by focussing on just one technique. Keep all of them close, and if one stops working or doesn’t inspire you today, pivot and pick another one.

After a while, most “tools” run in the background once they are established. Things like surrounding myself with my writing friends, keeping up with my daily streak, and listening to the album I conditioned myself with don’t require any energy, and they still remain hugely beneficial.

Do you have any other techniques? I’d love to hear about them!

I hope this was useful. Happy writing!

[norrisradio]

HALFWAY HOME

LINE BY LINE ᝰ.ᐟ "I guess I was running from something / I was running back to you" - 5 Seconds of Summer, Outer Space / Carry On

ᝰ PAIRING: lando norris x reader | ᝰ WC: 1.9K ᝰ GENRE: a study on something to everything, fluff, angst, some suggestive scenes ᝰ INCOMING RADIO: god i miss u 5sos. i could fill a library with the number of situationship!lando ideas i have but i digress ꨄ requested by anon !

send me an ask for my line by line event.ᐟ

The first time Lando kissed you, it tasted like he was trying to forget something.

It was Monaco, of course. Everything always began there—the city of sunlight and shadows, champagne-slick smiles, and nights that never seemed to end until they bled into morning. You weren’t supposed to meet him. You weren’t supposed to stay. And yet, you did both.

You met on someone else's yacht. Someone with too much money and not enough personality. You were there for a reason you couldn’t remember now—something about a friend of a friend and needing a break from your own life. He was leaning over the rail, drink in hand, face tilted toward the wind like he was hoping it would carry him away. When he turned and saw you watching, he smiled like he’d been waiting for you.

And maybe, in a way, he had.

That first night was laughter and fingertips brushing in the dark, the thrill of someone seeing you in a place where you didn't belong. He looked at you like the world wasn’t loud for once. You let him.

It was easy at first. That’s the dangerous part.

It was late-night texts that buzzed against your thigh like a secret.

You up?

Come over.

And you did. Even when you knew better. Even when you told yourself this was the last time, that you wouldn’t fall back into the same gravity.

His hotel room always felt like a suspended world—half-lit, half-dream, the kind of place where time slipped between your fingers and consequences didn’t exist. He'd answer the door in joggers slung too low on his hips, hair tousled like he hadn’t really slept since you last saw him, a ghost of a grin playing on his lips like he already knew you weren’t going to say no.

You never said no.

There were no pleasantries, not really. Just the heat of his mouth on yours before the door even clicked shut, your back pressed to cool walls or warm sheets, hands in each other’s clothes like you’d both been starving. It was teeth grazing skin, fingers threaded through hair, the sharp sting of need wrapped in laughter and breathless curses.

You’d lie tangled in the aftermath—his hand tracing idle patterns along your spine, your leg thrown over his like it belonged there. Sometimes he’d whisper things in the dark, half-jokes, half-truths. 

You drive me insane.

This was a bad idea.

Stay.

And you always did, curled into him like it meant something.

For a while, it was easier to pretend that it didn’t.

He told you things he didn’t tell anyone else—like how sometimes he felt like he was driving in circles, chasing something he couldn’t name. And you told him things you’d buried years ago, things you didn’t even remember knowing about yourself.

But still, you never called it love. Not then.

Lando was the kind of boy who said I miss you without meaning I need you, and you were the kind of person who pretended that didn’t hurt. You called what you had a thing. A situationship. Like naming it would make it easier to lose.

You started keeping track of the cities like notches on a belt—Barcelona, Montreal, Budapest. He’d fly you out, and you’d come running, telling yourself each time that this would be the last. But it never was. Not when his hand fit so perfectly at the small of your back, or when he said your name like it meant home.

There were silences, too. Days where he disappeared into the noise of the world he belonged to. You watched him on your screen, smiling that familiar smile, your name buried somewhere between the lines. You’d tell yourself not to care. You never listened.

You broke it off on FaceTime, halfway through the season.

He’d just finished a press day—still in his fire suit, hair a mess, jaw flexing the way it always did when he was tired but wired, running on adrenaline and caffeine and whatever else kept him going. You were curled up on your couch, blanket around your shoulders like armor, pretending it didn’t make you feel pathetic that you'd waited all day for him to call.

He grinned when he saw you. “You look cute.”

You didn’t smile back. “Don’t.”

“What?” He tilted his head, playful. “I’m not allowed to compliment you now?”

“Lando.”

His smirk faltered. Just a little. “Okay… what’s up?”

You stared at the little box of his face on your screen. Thought about all the nights you'd spent falling asleep to the sound of his voice, all the mornings you woke up alone. Thought about what it felt like to watch him post and perform and glow for everyone but you.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

He blinked. “What?”

“I’m breaking up with you.”

“But we’re not together, baby,” he said, like this was some joke, like maybe you were just feeling a little too much and he could charm you out of it.

You exhaled, slow and quiet. “Exactly.” 

There was a beat of silence, long enough for your stomach to twist.

He laughed. A hollow sound. “So you’re breaking up with me… from something that doesn’t exist.”

“I know it doesn’t.” You folded your arms tighter. “That’s the fucking problem.”

He didn’t say anything. Just stared at you like he was trying to figure out whether this was real or not, like maybe if he said nothing, you’d take it all back.

You didn’t.

“I need space,” you told him. “I need to feel like I matter to someone who doesn’t just want me when it’s dark and convenient.”

Still nothing.

You ended the call before he could hang up first.

He didn’t call for three weeks.

You didn’t breathe for four.

And then—Brazil.

The track was slick with rain, the paddock quiet except for the hushed shuffle of crew and cold wind. You weren’t even supposed to be there. You’d come with a friend, told yourself it didn’t matter if you saw him.

But when he saw you, something broke open in his face.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just walked up, wrapped his arms around you like you hadn’t been gone at all. You stiffened, then melted. Because you always did.

“I thought you hated me,” he murmured, voice low against your temple.

“I did,” you said. “I still might.”

He laughed, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

You found yourself in his hotel room again, familiar and strange. He kissed you like he’d been starving. You kissed him like you were scared it would be the last time.

It wasn’t.

The next time he texted you, it wasn’t at 2 a.m.

It was a Thursday afternoon, and your phone buzzed with a quiet, cautious How’s your week been?

No winky face. No follow-up demand for a photo. Just that. Like he was knocking instead of barging in for once.

You stared at the message for a while before answering.

The shift was slow, almost unspoken—like he was trying to rebuild something without naming what had broken. He started calling at odd hours. Not just when he was lonely or half-drunk in a hotel room, but in the middle of the day while waiting at the airport, or on the drive back from the track. The conversations stretched longer. Silences didn’t feel like landmines anymore.

Sometimes he just wanted to hear your voice.

“Tell me something boring,” he said once, voice muffled through the speaker. “Like… what you had for breakfast.”

You laughed. “Lando—”

“I’m serious. I wanna hear the stupid stuff. The everyday stuff.”

So you did. You told him about your run-in with the woman who always blocked the elevator with her dog, how your coffee machine made a noise like it was possessed, how you accidentally sent a flirty email to your boss. He listened like it mattered. Like you mattered.

Then there were the cities.

He started showing up in ones he had no business being in. You’d look up from your table at a café in Rome, and there he was across the street, sunglasses pushed into his curls, grinning like he hadn’t just flown five hours on a whim. Once, he knocked on the door of your Airbnb in Copenhagen with a bag of pastries and no explanation except, “I had a free weekend.”

“You raced yesterday.”

“Yeah. And I wanted to see you today.”

You stopped questioning it. Not because it made sense—but because it started to feel like something you could believe in.

He never said what changed. You didn’t ask.

But he started saying goodnight instead of send a pic, and I miss you with a kind of softness that didn’t try to cover its teeth.

Then, one night—London, rain glossing the streets until the streetlights looked like they were floating—he knocked on your door again.

London was cold that week. The kind of cold that crept into your sleeves and settled in your bones no matter how many layers you wore. The rain hadn’t stopped in two days—it tapped against the window in a steady rhythm, soft and insistent, like it was trying to lull the city to sleep.

He hadn’t meant to stay long. He was supposed to drop by, grab the charger he left the last time, and leave. But now it was past midnight, and he was still there, cross-legged on your floor, eating crisps out of the bag with one hand and scrolling aimlessly with the other. His hoodie was damp at the cuffs, his curls flattened from the drizzle, and he looked so soft like that—disarmed, a little tired, almost real.

You sat on the couch above him, your fingers absently carding through his hair. You didn’t mean to. You just started and never stopped, and he didn’t ask you to.

The silence had stretched long and comfortable, but he broke it.

“I always felt like I was running from something.”

You paused. Your hand stilled in his hair.

He didn’t look up. Just kept staring ahead, like the truth was easier to say if he didn’t have to see your face. “Turns out I was just running back to you.”

Your breath caught.

He said it so simply, like it wasn’t everything. Like it hadn’t been gnawing at the edges of both your hearts for months.

Your fingers slipped from his hair. He finally turned his head, resting his cheek against your thigh now, eyes lifted to yours.

The rain filled the space between your heartbeats.

“This still isn’t perfect,” you said. Your voice was low, careful.

You watched the way his jaw tensed, the way he swallowed like he was bracing himself for the worst.

“I don’t want perfect,” he said.

He leaned forward just slightly, enough for his palm to find your knee, warm through the fabric of your joggers. His thumb brushed the curve of it, grounding.

“I want you.”

There was a pause—not dramatic, just true—where you realized he meant it.

All the nights he hadn’t called. All the times he held you like a secret. All the versions of him you tried to make peace with.

And still—him, here. You, here.

You didn’t answer. You just leaned down and kissed him, slow and certain, like maybe this time, it would mean everything.

And maybe, for once, it did.

[bunny-jpeg]

ugly guys

max verstappen

cw: smut/pwp, teammates au, driver!reader, doggy style, (non-con) filming/recording, jealousy, (semi)dark fic, mad!max, long fic,

a/n: happy, happy, happy birthday to yooooou!!

max could usually keep his expressions to himself. he knew how to play a good poker face for the media, but when he saw your ugly boyfriend on the track, he could barely keep it to himself.

you were the first female formula one driver in decades and you picked the ugliest guy to date. not that max was the image of a greek god, but you could do better. it didn't help that when he went to shake max's hand, his palms were painfully sweaty and the guy looked like he was going to have a panic attack when he saw max.

"to each their own." max tried to say to himself. as if he hadn't been harbouring feelings for you for what felt like a lifetime.

so imagine max's complete shock when he found out this ugly guy fumbled you so badly that you ended up in max's hotel room the next night with tears in your eyes.

max handed you another tissue as he sat on the other end of the couch. he then rested against the arm of the couch and asked, "so what exactly happened? all i heard was that you two weren't together anymore and you didn't want to be alone."

you sniffed, "i didn't know who else to call. all my friends are back home or in monaco." you wiped your eyes, earlier you took all your make-up off by evidence of the wipes all over the bathroom counter.

max shrugged, "well, glad i could help." in all fairness, he was glad that your boyfriend (not ex-boyfriend) was out of the picture. hated the guy and not because he looked like the personification of a dumpster. he was getting in max's way.

you leaned against the couch and pouted at him, your arms crossed. you ordered pizza for the both of you, not caring about the diet you were both on. you wanted something greasy and filling and a salad wasn't going to cut that. you explained a little calmer, "he... he called me annoying, he said that when we talked i changed the subject too many times. he said the 'vibes' were off." you gave air quotations, "i tried to forgive him last month when my friend found him on tinder." you sighed, "but... i guess i wasn't good enough. feels like i'm never good enough."

max replied, "i think it's because you give these guys a false sense of confidence. you give these greasy losers an ego boost because they gets to be with you and they go off and think that they're all that. what did this guy do for a living anyway."

"he worked at the gift shop at the circuits of america..." you looked away.

he knew you refused to go on apps like raya, even if it would be easier for you. max thought you liked scrapping the bottom of the barrel and expecting gold.

he pinched the bridge of his nose, "you were flying out and fucking a guy who worked at a gift shop!" he sighed, "i know you want a real, nice guy. but, you're inflating their egos!"

you looked down, "he seemed nice at first."

max couldn't be mad at you. he really couldn't. it wasn't your fault. these guys always put on a show for you, and then when you got too close, the trap came down and you always limped back to max with tears in your eyes. he reached over and sighed as he wiped your tears with his thumbs, "you need standards."

you slumped your shoulders, "i have standards."

"what are they?"

you made a face, "nice. considerate."

"you know you can train a dog to be nice. it's not a very high bar. you are the third ranked driver in the world and all you want is nice. considerate." without thinking he added, "maybe i should date you and show you how to be properly treated."

you stilled for a moment, your eyes wide at max. you said, "don't say things you don't mean." from your expression he could tell you were getting heated in the face.

oh... oh.

he let go of you to move the pizza box out of the way, he was soon crowded in your space with your back against the arm of the couch. "does someone like me?" he watched you swallowed. you had been max's teammate for two years now, after perez retired.

"i never said that." you looked away, but max took you by the face to look at him. something in his blue eyes should've alarmed you, but instead you melted a little into his touch.

"you didn't need to say anything. i could see it in your face." he smiled, "did you date all those greasy-haired, directionless losers to make me jealous?" if he were a worse man, that would've been an ego boost.

"i did like them."

"but you liked me more."

there was a beat of silence between you two before you sighed. you admitted, "yes... i tried to date guys who weren't you, so i'd forget about my... feelings for you." you swallowed.

max found it endearing. if he had known sooner, he would've easily swept you off your feet and made sure no other man got in his way. so without much of a second thought, he kissed you. it was passionate and the result of over two years of wanting you. needing you. the kisses continued until the pizza was long forgotten and you were on max's hotel bed.

you bounced a little when he pushed you onto it. some of your belongings were in his room as you were going to stay the night. his hands under your shirt.

"i've thought about this often." he said, "i wonder if any of those guys ever made you feel good. or were you wishing it was me." he whispered in your ear, "did you think about me when they failed to make you cum?"

you swallowed, "the last guy..." you admitted, "his cock was really small and he didn't know where the clit was." and blushed more when max looked at you in shock.

he laughed, "and he's going on tinder and acting like a prick! cheating on you and calling you annoying! he broke things off with you and you were suffering with piss-poor sex. c'mon. you need standards." he pushed your shirt off of you, "you need me."

call max verstappen a possessive man. he'd chalk it up to his childhood and the constant feeling of inadequacy. being knocked around a few times in the head probably scarred him. but, he was happy that he could finally lay claim on you.

he got you undressed and did the same to himself. you both had seen each other naked a few times. it was the price of being in close proximity for most of the year. walking into driver's rooms without knocking, that time you asked him if this bra looked alright, the other time you had to hold his hand while he got that small tattoo on his hip (that not even the other drivers knew about). you two knew each other more intimately than most, if not everyone.

so it only made sense that max felt you up while you laid under him. with promises on his tongue as he kissed your collarbones, "i'm gonna make you feel good. i promise." he his cock was sticky and heavy. he needed you asap.

you got on your hands and knees with your hips arched to the perfect angle for him. in the bright lights of the bedroom, he could see your wetness cling to your pussy lips. this was what your ex-boyfriend left? this! max assumed the man needed his head checked, but now he was certain he needed to be locked up somewhere.

only an idiot would mess up their chances with you.

he rubbed his hard cock against your click cunt. he said, "might be a bit of a stretch. i'm guessing i'm about double the size of him."

"he was three inches." you replied, "i measured after he lied to me and said he was five." you felt embarrassed, "i can't believe i gave this guy a chance! more than one chance!"

max tried not to laugh, he didn't want you thinking he was insulting you. but max was close to seven inches, well beyond double what your ex-boyfriend was packing. and maybe it was rude of him to think so, but it made his confidence a little higher.

when he sank his cock into you, you buried your face into the pillows and arched your back. your nails dug into the fabric. the whole floor didn't need to know you two were fucking.

not that max cared, let them hear. let them know.

the idea only came to him when he started to thrust up against you. he watched your ass shake with every hard thrust of his hips. he soon had you bouncing on his length. his size buried in your just right, at least he knew where your clit was. and the thought of it against his tongue later left him more excited.

there was so much for him to try on you. missionary would be rarely on the table. max wanted to devour you like a fine meal. but you'd always get your fair share of orgasms. can't have his girl go without.

however the thought crossed his mind and as he thrusted into you. he grabbed his phone and started to record. he changed his pace a little, harder thrusts that were a little slower. really get his cock comfortable inside of you.

he pressed against areas that had you moaning louder. all picked up on the camera. he asked, "do you like that, baby? do you like how it all feels?"

you whimpered. you weren't aware he was filming, instead just doing dirty talk to make you pant and whine. you replied, "it feels good, max. ah!"

max smiled, as the camera caught the sight of his cock going in and out of you. his cock sticky with your wetness. even a ring of milky white around the base from how good he made you feel. he wanted to speak directly to your asshole of an ex-boyfriend. he wanted to know that he'd always be less than. less than max verstappen.

"better than with anyone else." he couldn't give away that he was filming you. even with the camera directed at your pussy taking all of him so nicely.

you nodded.

"use your words, i want to hear you." he said with a bit of cockiness in his tone, "i want to know how to make you feel." c'mon, tell your dickhead of an ex how good your own teammate made you feel. tell max everything.

"shit, max. please. no one has ever fucked me like this before." you held onto the pillow a little tighter. the rush was to your head, you couldn't believe it. it was even a little better than when you pleasured yourself.

"a girl like you deserves a good fuck. how big was he again?" now max was just taunting the man. maybe it was a step beyond, but the greasy-haired prick should've known better than to get in max's way.

"three."

"yeah, yeah. didn't know how to use it either. but that's alright, schat. i'll make sure to give you all the orgasms he failed to give you. right?"

you nodded, "right, max, right." you arched your back a little more. the pleasure was flooding your brain. almost overwhelming as he fucked you with such force that it moved the bed up against the wall. the expensive headboard knocked against the wall a little harder.

no more worrying about idiot men for you, not while max was still upright and breathing. you were his. even if max had to raise your standards himself in any capacity. he would make you see that the two of you were a better fit. and to not give these low-lifes any chances. you were above them.

far too beautiful, far too funny, far too charming. if they couldn't handle a woman who liked to ramble then they were weak. max had already been listening to your rambling and ranting for years. the only difference was now he could keep you quiet with about seven inches in your mouth.

"who's going to make you cum?"

"you are!" you said a little louder. your voice a little tighter.

"who?"

"you are!" you yelped as your back arched further and eventually you came around max's cock. the noises you made were angel choirs in max's perverted mind. there, that should get the message across to this other dickhead.

he ended the video and tossed the phone on the bed before he gripped you by the middle and pressed his chest against your back. he fucked you with a heavy pace. it made you see stars and feel the throb of need in your core.

already overstimulated, your body craved for more. now you certainty weren't going to find another man. with a few ore heavy thrusts, you came once more and almost punched the pillow from the intensity. it was soon followed by max who pushed himself all the way inside of you and finished.

"shit." he croaked.

you laid under him as he slowed to a stop and dropped your hips when he pulled out. you laid there, finding comfort in the pillow under your head as you felt on cloud nine.

while max would've loved to eat you out right after. he could tell that you had already had enough for tonight. he laid down next to you and you rolled to your side to face him. your expression was blissed out and sleepy.

so, like any good boyfriend. he held you. and soon you drifted off to sleep. the rush of chemicals to your brain made you sleepy. and soon you were curled up under the covers with max.

"good girl." he said softly as you laid on his chest in a post-orgasm bliss. it wasn't until you were fully asleep that max got to work.

as you laid asleep beside him, he had your phone in his hand. he knew your pass code because it was the same as his. his number (33) and your number. it was a cute thing you wanted to do as teammates. so it wasn't easy to send the video and photos of him fucking you to your ex-boyfriend.

you shifted a little in your sleep from the feeling of the bright light of a phone nearby. you made a noise and almost woke up.

"shh, shh." he said as he kissed the top of your head, "just checking emails, go back to sleep." he was quick to send the video from his phone to your phone then to your ex-boyfriend. you simply snuggled closer and relaxed more. unaware.

max attached a message to the video, the one of him completely taking your pussy, "thought you were dumb, now i think you're completely stupid. don't text or call this number. congratulations of fumbling someone way out of your league. but don't worry, she's better off with me now.- mv." then blocked the number before he put the phone down.

it was his loss honestly, not that max cared. the guy could live forever or die tomorrow. forever irrelevant because now max had you. and as you snuggled up closer to him, a sleepy smile across your face.

you could've gone through a hundred guys, but that didn't matter. because you'd always find your way back to max. <3

[ethe-realfantasy]

I don’t need time, I need you. (Part IV)

(ANGST, Simon is out of his mind with jealousy and ends up in front of your door at night...

guys I love this part so much I just wanna smooch his silly face ugh)

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

When you step out of the firm, the evening air is settling gently over your skin like silk. The day had dragged... depositions, emails, clients, but now that the work is behind you, all that weight still doesn’t quite lift. If anything, it shifts into something else, something heavier. A familiar ache that tightens in your chest when you glance at the street and don't see him there.

It's been three months now since the last time you kissed him, if you count precisely. And you do. Your heart is annoyingly good at keeping time.

Your coworker‘s voice breaks into your thoughts before you can look around again.

“You’re awfully quiet today,” he says lightly, falling into step beside you like he’s done almost every evening this past week.

You offer him a small smile. It’s not that you don’t like Shawn, he’s bright, smart, even charming in that overly-slick-lawyer kind of way. You're sure there’s some woman out there who’d fall for that precise blend of competence and timing.

But that woman’s not you.

Because Shawn isn’t him.

And every time Shawn jokes, every time he offers you a casual “Just dinner” kind of invitation, it only reminds you of the man who never had to try to charm you, the man whose silence could unravel you more than anyone else’s words.

Simon ruined you for other men. That’s the truth you carry like a bruise under your ribs. No one else ever stood a chance.

You hum faintly at Shawn's remark. “Just tired, I guess.”

“I could make you laugh, you know,” he says, flashing you a grin. “Eventually.”

You give him a polite chuckle, but your smile is strained. Your eyes... they drift again. Toward the spot across the street, where Simon used to stand like clockwork. Always there, always watching for you after work. Protective and present.

But not anymore and you hate how much it still guts you.

You don't tell Shawn that you spend every night wondering if Simon’s okay. You don’t tell him that you still sleep in one corner of your bed, as if the rest is waiting for him.

You definitely don’t tell him that, right now, walking beside someone who isn’t Simon makes you feel… off. Like you're acting in a role you don’t belong in.

Shawn tells a joke about trial schedules and you nod, playing along. It’s easier than explaining that your thoughts are stuck on a pair of eyes that saw you even when you tried to hide. A pair of hands that held you like you were the last good thing in the world.

You reach the curb and just for a moment, something crawls up the back of your neck: a sensation, electric and unshakable.

A feeling that someone is watching.

You look around slowly, but see no one. Still, your heart picks up in your chest. You feel him, like you always could.

You shake your head and quickly say goodbye to Shawn, polite and warm, but distant. He lingers and you know he’s hoping for something... a crack in the door, an invitation. But you won’t give him something you don’t have to give.

-------

It’s nearly 6 pm.

Simon stands across the street from the firm, tucked into the deeper blue of dusk, half-shielded by the brick of the coffee shop wall. He’s been here for nearly half an hour. Just standing and waiting. He tells himself he just wants to see you.

He shifts his weight, slow and silent and draws the hood of his sweatshirt lower. He doesn’t do it to hide, but rather to stay still, unnoticed. That’s what he’s always been good at… letting the world pass over him when he wants it to. Going still like a shadow on the wall.

His hands are in his jacket pockets, curled into fists around the ache in his chest.

Three and a half months. He counted the days.

Even out there, between dirt and steel, the long heat of days and the cold glass of night… he kept track.

Deployment was… familiar. He kept his head down and did what needed doing. He slept with one ear open, like always.

There wasn’t time to miss you, not really. Not with the constant motion, the low-level hum of tension that kept him wired through the hours.

But still he thought of you in those brief seconds before sleep took him under or in the quiet seconds after his boots hit the ground again.

And now he’s back and the world feels louder than he remembered.

You don’t know he’s home... yet. He didn’t want to tell you over the phone, he came here instead. He’ll say a quick hi.. maybe offer to drive you home, because it’s late. Maybe you will even smile at him the way you used to.

And then you step outside. You're laughing at something and you're not alone.

Simon stiffens.

There’s a man beside you. Tall, clean-shaven, smart suit. Your coworker maybe or someone from the firm. Simon doesn’t recognize him, but he’s walking close, too close, and when you say something under your breath, the man leans in, grinning like he’s been let into something private.

Simon’s jaw locks. He doesn’t move, he just watches, his heart hammering slow and heavy in his chest, the breath catching rough in his throat.

He came here to see you. To maybe ask if you wanted to grab something small to eat... just to see your eyes again up close, just to be near you. But now he sees you like this, bright and soft in someone else’s orbit and something ugly twists inside him.

The man’s hand brushes your arm briefly, casually and Simon’s fingers clench into fists at his sides.

He’s not angry at you, he knows better than that.

But still... how could you smile like that? Touch someone else like that? After all the nights he’s been losing sleep? He watches as you walk further down the block together, your steps unhurried.

You're not laughing too hard, but you're smiling. And that smile… that smile was his.

Simon stays in the shadows, he's trained to remain undetected. You can't see him, he knows you can't. Still you keep glancing into the distance as if you're aware of him. He leans harder into the brick behind him, letting the shadows swallow him whole.

His throat burns. You're seeing someone else... at least that’s what it feels like, but the thought alone is enough to send his mind spiraling. He stays there for a long time, staring at the spot where you disappeared down the block.

Eventually he gets in his truck. He drives a little, parks, then drives again. The city outside the windshield blurs into the evening. And around 10 pm, almost without realizing it, Simon finds himself parked on your street. He's just sitting there.

He can’t shake the image of you walking with that man, can’t stop the jealousy, the quiet rage. He just needs to see you again.

--------

There’s a knock at the door. Three times. It's firm and oddly familiar.

Your heart jumps. You weren’t expecting anyone, certainly not at this hour, but something in your bones already knows it’s him. You cross the room slowly. It’s late and your apartment is dim and quiet. When you finally reach the door, you quickly glance through the peephole before opening it.

He's towering, brooding and disheveled. He looks like he’s been walking for hours, hair tousled, tension radiating from every line in his face and the way his jaw ticks, like he’s barely holding something in.

“You’re back?”, you ask, surprised that he is standing in front of you.

He doesn’t answer. His eyes, dark and tired, flit past your shoulder into your apartment. It's a quick scan, not subtle in the slightest.

Your brow draws gently. “What are you looking for?”

Simon’s eyes flicker back to yours, but not before something passes over his face, something raw and cracked open.

He exhales quietly. “No one,” he says, but it’s not convincing. Then he adds, low and dry, “Just checking if I missed someone slipping out the back.”

You blink, stunned for a second. “Simon…”, you start softly.

He shrugs a little, defensive. “Don’t look at me like that. ’m not accusing you of anything. I just…” He trails off, eyes shadowed. “I don’t know how to not think about it."

Your chest aches, because he’s obviously not angry at you. He’s angry at what this space, this distance, has done to him. To you.

“I couldn’t,” you say quietly, stepping closer. “Even if I tried. I couldn’t let another man touch me.”

Simon looks at you, eyes locking onto yours like you just gave him breath.

“I would never even try,” he says, voice rough.

Your heart thuds painfully behind your ribs and for a moment, neither of you moves. You're just standing in the doorway like that, both knowing this is love.

“You look… tired,” you say gently. “Really tired.”

“I am,” he admits.

You hesitate for just a second, but then you open the door wider. “Do you want to come in? I was just about to make some tea.”

His eyes meet yours, quiet gratitude behind the fatigue.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

And as he steps in, something in the air shifts... it's not yet relief, but closeness, familiarity.

You walk into the kitchen, flicking on the soft overhead light, and he follows, slow and heavy-footed. You're not talking yet, just being there together feels like a lot.

The clink of ceramic fills the silence as you set the mugs down on the kitchen table. You sit across from each other, barely touching the edges of conversation. A quiet word here, a glance there. Something about the weather, nothing real. It’s not cold, but it’s tight. Tension folded into every pause between sips.

"He walk you out every night?”, he finally says. His tone isn’t sharp, but there’s an edge there. Hurt twisted into sarcasm.

“He's just a coworker, Simon”, you whisper.

He exhales quickly. “Look, I know I said I’d give you space. But seeing you, looking like you’d already moved on…”

Your face softens. “I haven’t.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying,” you say softly. “He’s a coworker. That’s all.”

His eyes meet yours bloodshot, tired and aching. “You looked carefree.”

“I smiled,” you say. “That’s allowed.”

He looks away, his jaw flexing. “Just didn’t think another man would get to see it,“ he mumbles.

That stops you. Your expression wavers and for a second, you don't know what to do with your hands. You decide to stand up and carry both mugs to the sink.

Simon’s eyes trail over you when you're not looking. The way your hair falls behind your ear, the soft stretch of your collarbone when you lean forward. He doesn’t mean to stare, but he’s starving and you're still… you.

He doesn’t move right away. He just watches you from behind, how your shoulder blades shift beneath the thin knit of your top, how your breath subtly lifts your ribcage when you exhale. The rhythm of you is imprinted on him.

“Still drink your tea too hot,” he murmurs, the first real tease of the night.

You glance back, smiling a little. “Still don’t mind burning my tongue.”

He stands slowly and walks over to the counter with that same steady weight he always carried, like everything in him is trained on one thing and that thing is you.

You feel him before you hear him, the way the air changes when he gets close. You put the mugs down, trying to act unaffected, but your fingers linger on the ceramic just a second too long.

He stops behind you, not touching. He's just... there.

“You look good,” he says quietly. “Happy.”

It’s a loaded word. You know it. He doesn’t mean it cruelly, but there’s something biting under it.

“Simon..”

“Don’t worry,” he cuts in, softer now. “’m not gonna ask. Just… saw you with him.”

Your shoulders still and he doesn’t feel the need to say more... he stops himself. Then you turn around slowly, leaning back against the counter and look up at him.

“I didn’t replace you,” you say.

He breathes in through his nose. “Felt like it.”

“You know I couldn’t do that.”

He steps in closer, close enough for you to feel the heat of him again. His hand rises slowly, not to touch, just to hover. His fingers linger near your waist, like he wants to remember what it felt like to rest there.

“Because I haven’t.“ he says. “Haven’t even thought about it.”

You swallow and your back presses just a little harder into the counter.

“I want you,” he says. “I still think about you every goddamn night. Still feel you in my hands. In my mouth. In my chest.”

You try to move past him, to escape the heat, but he reaches out, catching you by the wrist. It’s not hard or demanding, but rather gentle.

“Don’t go“, he says. His eyes are soft and wide open. It’s that same look he gave you the night you asked for space, full of ache and apology and something so pure it nearly brings tears to your eyes.

“I can’t do this,” you whisper, barely able to breathe. “Being near you.”

“No,” he murmurs.

You lean in, just a little, just the slightest tilt of your face toward his and he immediately takes it.

One of his hands moves to your waist, while the other is brushing the back of your neck as he kisses you. It’s not greedy, not rushed. It’s deep, filled with honesty.

Your lips part and your breath catches. He tastes all that longing, all that restraint you‘ve both been clutching like glass in your fists. You‘re not sure who breaks the kiss first, but when it ends, he stays close. His nose is brushing yours and his hands are still on you like you’re the only steady thing in a world that’s been unraveling.

“I miss you, I really do,” he breathes.

Your breath stills in your throat, the weight of his words pressing against the space between you like heat trapped beneath skin.

Simon doesn’t ask for permission again, not when your eyes soften like that, not when you’re still holding on to his biceps like you might fall if you let go. So he leans in slower this time, deeper and kisses you again, but it’s not the kiss of someone unsure. It’s the kiss of a man who’s starving, who’s been holding himself back for weeks, for months, trying to do the right thing, trying to respect your needs.

His hands slide to your waist, his grip is firmer now, pulling you in like he needs to memorize you all over again. One hand slides to your back, anchoring you and the other lifts to cradle your jaw, his thumb brushing your cheek like you’re something fragile he never wants to break.

Your fingers twist into the fabric of his hoodie. You gasp softly into his mouth when his tongue brushes yours, when he sighs into the kiss like it’s the first full breath he’s had in weeks.

“Simon“, you breathe, pulling back just a little, lips swollen, eyes searching. But he’s already there.

“I know I shouldn’t,” he whispers, voice shaking with restraint. Your hands are on his chest and you can feel the thud of his heart: it’s rapid, desperate. “but I can’t pretend anymore, can‘t pretend I don’t want you. I'm working on myself, y/n. I'm getting better at this.”

You close your eyes, because god, you feel it. All of it… every word like heat pulsing through your skin.

His voice dips to something lower, more tender. „I need you back.“

Your eyes blink open slowly, tears burning behind them, but it’s not pain this time. His hands remain where they are, one resting on your back and the other steady at your waist. And your eyes… they are wide, glassy and burning with desire. You‘re searching his face like you’re reading something old and familiar, something you know by heart but haven’t dared to look at in a long, long time.

Simon, still quiet, doesn’t push you. He just looks back at you as if he’s memorizing you all over again. His eyes are glassy too. He’s not crying, they’re just full with emotion.

“I see you trying,” you say, softly. “I do. And I’m so proud of you for doing the work.“

Simon’s eyes are on yours, searching. His chest rises and falls like he’s just come up for air.

“But I want to take this slow,“ you add gently.

Simon swallows and his jaw is twitching. His arms are still around you, but looser now, he's not pulling, not pleading.

He nods, measured and then exhales.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, voice low and hoarse. “Okay.”

But it’s not an easy okay. There’s a slight edge in his tone, it's not anger, just… hurt.

You glance at the clock and it's just past 11 pm. And maybe you feel it before you say it... the ache of needing to pull back. The quiet ache of being the one who has to.

“It’s late", you say gently.

His brow furrows. “Yeah.”

You hesitate, not because you're unsure of your decision, but because you hate having to make it.

“I don’t think… it’s a good idea if you stay."

He studies you for a second. “I figured", he says, voice low.

You don’t explain why, you don't feel the need to. The room still smells like him and your lips still feel his kiss. You both know what might happen if he stayed.

You walk to the door with your heartbeat loud in your ears. Behind you, you can hear Simon’s footsteps slow and steady.

When you reach the door, you can feel him next to you. He's standing close, too close. He's not touching you, but standing close enough that your senses blur. The warmth of him makes your skin prickle and for a moment you forget what you're doing. Why you're even walking toward the door.

“Alright,” you say, your voice a little thinner than usual.

But he doesn’t move. He just stands there, behind you.

You finally turn around, meaning to say something light, something final. But the second you meet his eyes, you stumble over your words, because he’s right there. Your breath brushes his collarbone.

His gaze drops, not to your mouth, not to your hands, but somewhere in between. Like he’s holding himself still, tightly contained. Like if he leaned in just a little more, something would snap.

“I should go,” he murmurs, still not moving.

You nod, eyes flicking down, then back up. “Yeah,” you say, almost a whisper. “You should.”

The silence is thick now and there is so much left unsaid. So much pressing between you, it’s a wonder you're both still standing upright.

“I better not see you with that guy again", he says finally, low and steady, but unmistakably firm.

Your eyes snap to his. He's not angry, but you hear the weight behind his words, the pain. It lands somewhere low in your chest, unexpected and so deeply wanted you hate yourself for it.

You should remind him that you're free to talk to whomever you want, that he lost the right to say things like that when he shut you out. But you don't, because the only thing you can feel right now is how close he is. How badly you want to reach up and kiss him again. How furious your heart is that you're not already doing it.

Instead, you nod, holding his gaze. It's a clipped, restrained motion. “Good night, Simon.”

He nods too, slowly, his eyes are on yours for one long second. Then he steps back, finally giving you air to breathe.

“Night, y/n.”

And then he’s gone, the door closing behind him like the snap of a thread stretched too tight.

You lean your forehead against the wood and exhale shakily.

God.

If he had touched you just now, even a little, you don't know what you would’ve done.

[Part V]

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

taglist:

@preeyas-world

@succulambb

@izzycstairs

@mindsofjade

@simonexxx1

@lovelycurls

[pensthoughts]

call me crazy… and this just came to me recklessly… but i KNOW you would write the most insane, angsty and somehow fluffy, van palmer fic based on “pushing it down and praying” by lizzy mcalpine… van is just so that song and i’d love to see what you would do… ty!

pushing it down and praying | v.p

a/n: okay so i saw this request and was like omg why didn't i think of that because i seriously love that song and it matches van so perfectly! hope you enjoy <3 pairing: van palmer x f!reder summary: (au where no crash happened) you've spent years pushing it down—what you feel for van, what you're afraid to want. then one night, everything unravels in your bedroom. and suddenly pretending isn't so easy anymore. word count: 2.5k contains: angst, smut, fluff, alcohol

you were in bed, naked. and your boyfriend was over you as you stared at the ceiling.

he kissed your neck. said something about how much he missed you this week. you were always at soccer, and when you weren't at soccer you were hanging out with van. you murmured something back, a vague sound of agreement.

but your eyes stayed fixed on the water stain in the corner of his bedroom ceiling. you watched it like it meant something.

you knew a lot about him. you knew how he liked his eggs and his favorite baseball team. you knew he was sweet, and that your parents liked him, and that he always offered you his jacket when it got cold.

but he didn't make you feel electric. he didn't make your stomach twist just by walking into a room.

he wasn't van.

you and van had been friends since freshman year. soccer brought you together—late bus rides and bruised knees, the way she always made fun of your shoelaces and then tied them for you anyway. somewhere in the middle of all that, she became your favorite person. and then, without warning, something more.

it was easier not to name it.

easier to keep dating the boy who liked you and didn't ask questions.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

friday after practice, you were supposed to meet him. he said that he'd drive you to that diner you liked, grab food and then drop you off at home so you could get ready for jackie's party. he'd even told you that he'd wait outside the field.

"you better not flake," he's said with a half-smile.

"i won't," you'd replied.

but when practice ended, and you jogged off the field, still tying your hair up, it wasn't your boyfriend you saw.

it was van—leaning against her car, eating a granola bar, her hair messy but still cute. she raised her eyebrows when she she saw you.

"you need a ride?" she asked. "i got a fresh mixtape and a slurpee craving."

you froze. your cleats scuffed the pavement.

"my boyfriend's supposed to pick me up," you said slowly.

van made a face like, of course he is. "guess i'll just take my superior taste in music elsewhere, then."

she turned to go, keys jangling in her hand.

and you—before you even thought about it—called after her. "wait."

she looked over her shoulder.

you hesitated, then said, "can we just... go for a little bit?"

a beat passed. then she smiled—slow and crooked. "get in, loser."

the 7-eleven parking lot was mostly empty. you sat on the hood of her car, passing a bag of chips back and forth. she was ranting about a song she hated on the radio.

you didn't talk about the fact that you ditched your boyfriend. she didn't ask.

but your knee kept bumping against hers. and neither of you moved.

"you coming to jackie's tonight?" she asked

"i guess," you said, trying to sound casual

"you guessing because you're playing it cool, or because lover boy's dragging you there?"

you rolled your eyes. "he's not dragging me."

van smirked. "sure."

your fingers curled tight around your unfinished slurpee, "are you going?"

she shrugged. "only if you are."

and that was the problem. the way she said things like that, offhand, careless, but it never felt like nothing.

it felt like everything.

in her car, she had music playing low, some old tracks you both liked, and the windows cracked just enough to let in the spring air. she drummed the steering wheel as you passed through your neighborhood.

"you wanna hang at my place for a bit before you get ready?" she asked. "i still owe you a rematch. foosball."

you bit your lip. "i should go home. gotta figure out what to wear."

van shrugged. "i could help. i have amazing taste."

you rolled your eyes, but you still said, "fine, but only because i don't trust jackie to not wear the same thing as me."

you pretended that was the reason. but it wasn't.

in your room, van flopped onto your bed like she owned it, grinning at the pile of clothes on your floor.

"this what fashion looks like?" she teased.

you shot her a look, rifling through your closet. "help me pick something or shut up."

she stood and walked over, close enough that you could feel the warmth of her behind you. her fingers brushed past yours to pull out a black dress.

"this," she said. "you look good in black."

you turned. her eyes were already on you.

the air between you shifted.

you could've kissed her. you wanted to. your heart was hammering and your throat felt tight and her mouth was right there, soft and parted, like she was waiting for something.

you swallowed it all down.

"we shouldn't," you whispered, eyes flickering from her lips to her eyes

van didn't step back.

she didn't say anything either—just watched you, gaze heavy and unreadable, like she was trying to figure out if she should let you go or pull you in.

and when you didn't move, when your breath caught just slightly, when your fingers stayed tangled in the hem of your shirt instead of pushing her away; she closed the space.

her hands were careful as they found your waist, thumbs slipping just beneath your t-shirt. her mouth brushed yours like a question—one she'd already asked a thousand different ways in a thousand quierter moments. you answered her without words.

the kiss started tentative. but it didn't stay that way.

you clutched at her shirt, pulled her closer, and suddenly everything you've been holding back cracked wide open. van kissed you like she was starving. like she'd been holding her breath for years. and you let her.

clothes dissapeared in pieces. her mouth didn't leave yours until she had to—only when she knelt at the edge of your bed; her hands gripping your thighs like she was afraid you'd vanish if she let go.

"you sure?" she asked, voice low, wrecked.

your answer was a nod, breathless. "please."

van lowered her head, kissing the inside of your thigh first—slow, like she was learning you with her mouth. and when her tongue found you, warm and right, your whole body went taut.

she moved carefully at first. gentle licks. soft circles. testing what made you gasp, what made your hips rise off the bed. but once she found your rhythm, she didn't let up. her tongue pressed deeper, more deliberate now, and the heat in your gut coiled tight and fast.

you moaned—quiet, shaky—and van hummed against you like she liked the sound.

one of your hands tangled in her hair, the other fisting your sheets. your thighs trembled. she didn't stop. her grip on your hips tightened as her mouth worked you over, unrelenting, like she was trying to rewrite something in your bones.

it was too much. it wasn't enough. you whispered her name, broken and desperate, and that was what did it—van's eyes flicked up, locked on yours, and you came undone under her mouth, under her hands, under her everything.

you collapsed back against your pillows, heart pounding in your ears. van pressed a kiss to your hip, then rested her head against you like it was where she belonged.

neither of you spoke. you stayed tangled in each other for a few long, quiet minutes.

van's thumb traced lazy circles on your hip, her head resting just below your collarbone. her breath had evened out, but yours hadn't. not really.

you wanted to stay like this forever. you couldn't.

you cleared your throat softly. "you probably have to go."

van didn't move at first. just blinked, slow, against your skin. "oh. yeah. the party."

you nodded, not meeting her eyes as you sat up, pulling the edge of your comforter over your chest like it made a difference. "my boyfriend's supposed to pick me up soon anyway."

the silence that followed was thick.

van swung her legs over the side of the bed, grabbing her shirt off the floor. "right. of course."

you stood too, avoiding her gaze as you picked your clothes up one by one, like if you moved fast enough, you could pretend none of this happened.

but it did.

you felt it in every inch of you.

van paused at your doorway, one hand braced on the frame. she looked back once, her expression unreadable. "i'll see you tonight?"

you hesitated. "yeah."

she gave you a small smile. not her real one. not the one that lit up her whole face. just the one she wore when she was pretending to be okay.

and then she was gone.

you sat on the edge of your bed, still half-naked, staring at the closed door like it might open again. like she might change her mind and come back.

but she didn't.

you exhaled, long and shaky, then reached for the black dress van had picked out for you.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

jackie's house was already packed when you arrived. the music was loud enough to make the walls pulse. shauna pressed a red cup into your hand. mari grabbed your wrist and dragged you into the kitchen. jackie, the perfect host, was fluttering throughout the rooms making sure to greet everyone. you saw lottie sitting on the couch, laughing with laura lee, looking like a daydream.

and then van walked in.

you wouldn't be lying if you said you felt it before you saw her—that electric shift, the twist in your chest. her jacket was tied around her waist and she was talking to taissa. you couldn't hear the words, just the way van's face lit up when she laughed.

your boyfriend's arm slipped around your waist. you didn't lean away, but you also didn't hear whatever he was saying. not really.

"hey, did you hear me?" your boyfriend asked.

you blinked. "what?"

"i said i'm gonna grab drinks. you want one?"

you nodded, "sure."

when he disappeared into the kitchen, you started toward van. you didn't plan it. your feet just moved.

but before you could reach her, she turned—and someone pulled her in to dance.

you stopped short. just watched.

she didn't even see you.

the backyard was quieter. you stepped out with a red solo cup you weren't drinking from and sat on the steps. your heart was thudding in your throat and you couldn't name why.

until she sat down next to you.

van's jacket brushed your arm. "you ghosting me already?"

you glanced at her. "thought you were busy dancing."

her eyebrows lifted. "were you watching me?"

you didn't answer.

she took the cup from your hands and drank from it without asking.

"i saw you with him when i walked in," she said.

you stared at the grass. "he's my boyfriend."

van was quiet for a long beat.

then: "right. forgot. that makes everything fine."

you looked at her. "don't."

"no, seriously," she said, her words slurring slightly. "we fucked a few hours ago and now you're back to playing house. it's seriously impressive."

you flinched. "van—"

she laughed, bitter and sharp. "what? you thought i'd forget? that i'd pretend nothing happened because you're pretending too?"

"i'm not—" you started.

"yes, you are," she snapped. "you do this every time. you pull me in, and then you shove me back like it didn't matter."

"of course it mattered," you said. your voice cracked. "you think that didn't mean everything to me?"

van looked at you, really looked. "then say it."

you couldn't.

so she stood. her fingers were shaking a little as she brushed them through her hair.

"i'm trying," you said. your voice cracked. "i'm trying to do the right thing. it's just confusing"

van's face twisted. "then why does it feel like you're lying every time you touch him?"

the words hit like a slap. because they were true. and she knew it. and so did you.

"you're not confused," she said. "you're scared. and i get it. but i can't keep being the thing you hide."

"i didn't mean for it to go this far," you whispered.

van looked at you. "yeah," she whispered. "me neither."

she turned to go, but paused. her voice was quiet when she said, "why do you keep doing this? pushing it down like you're praying it'll just disappear. do you even want it to?"

you didn't have an answer. not one you were brave enough to say.

and then she was gone.

later, when the party spilled back inside and the music got louder, you stood in the doorway and watched van laugh with shauna, beer in her hand, head thrown back like nothing had ever happened.

"you okay?" your boyfriend asked, noticing your bad mood

you nodded.

you weren't.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

that night, when he dropped you off, you kissed him goodbye and said "i'll call you," knowing you wouldn't.

then you climbed into your bed, the ceiling dark above you, the silence heavier than usual.

van's voice echoed in your head.

"you're not confused. you're scared."

you closed your eyes. but van's face was still there.

you tried to sleep. you flipped onto your side, then your stomach, then your back again. nothing helped.

you stared at the ceiling again. but now all you could think about was the way van had looked at you when she said, "do you even want it to go away?"

you didn't.

so you got up. pulled a sweatshirt over your pajama top, sat by your baywindow, and just...waited.

for what? you weren't sure. maybe a sign of some sort.

and then, just like some cosmic joke or a small miracle, you saw it.

headlights. her car pulling up to the curb, engine cutting off.

a few seconds later, a pebble tapped against your window. you were alredy opening it.

she looked up at you from below, jacket zipped halfway, hair a little windblown. "you gonna let me in or just keep staring like some tragic diary entry?"

you smiled before you could stop it. "come up."

she climbed the lattice by your window like it wasn't her first time, slipping in with the same ease she always did. but tonight felt different.

heavier and lighter all at once.

you stood across from her in the dark then finally said it.

"i don't want to keep pretending."

van's shoulders softened. "good. 'cause i'm really bad at pretending."

you walked to her, slow. "i'm scared."

"me too," she whispered.

she reached for you gently—just fingertips at first. then a full touch. her hands resting at your waist, like she was checking to make sure you were real.

and you leaned in. no one had to make the first move. you met in the middle. quiet and warm and finally, finally honest.

outside, the streetlights buzzed softly.

inside, you fell asleep with her breath on your neck.

and for the first time in forever, you didn't feel like you had to run from it.

[littlegochu]

2am text 2/3│ jjk 18+

"You still up?"

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader (f)

genre: exes to lovers, cold male lead, cold female lead

rating: 18+, smut

synopsis: we broke up eight months ago. mutual, no dramatic fights—just distance and timing. but we made one rule before ending things: no texting each other after 2AM.

tonight, he breaks it.

the room is quiet. too quiet. he’s standing by the counter like this is neutral ground, like we didn’t bury pieces of each other in this space.

i sit on the edge of the couch, arms crossed tight.

“so?” i say. “what now? what did you come here for?”

he shrugs. slow. like he’s still thinking about it. “i didn’t plan it. just ended up here.”

“that doesn’t sound like you.”

“maybe i’m not the same.”

i huff a breath through my nose. “guess we’re both different.”

he looks at me then. for real.

“you are,” he says.

i blink. “what?”

“you’re different,” he repeats. “better. prettier.”

my chest tightens.

he pauses, jaw tightening like he wants to swallow the next part but can’t. “i hate that i didn’t get to see it happen.”

i look away. stupidly. “that’s not fair,” i say.

“i know.”

we fall quiet again. the only sound is the fridge humming and the blood in my ears.

“you missed it too,” he says, voice low.

he’s not wrong. but that doesn’t make it easier.

“we could’ve grown together,” i mutter.

“we tried.”

i nod. “and then we stopped.”

his gaze drops to the floor. “second year,” he says. “that’s when it started feeling like i was dating a stranger.”

i scoff. “funny. i thought i was the one dating someone who wasn’t there.”

he flinches, just barely. “maybe we were both gone.”

“but neither of us left.”

“until we did.”

i press my lips together. “we were kids.”

“we still are.”

i look up at him again. he’s staring at me like he wants to say a hundred things and won’t let himself say one.

so i say mine first.

“i missed you.”

his whole face shifts—like he’s been waiting for that but didn’t think i’d actually give it to him.

“fuck,” he mutters. “don’t say that unless you mean it.”

“i mean it.”

he exhales, and i watch his shoulders drop like he's been holding that breath for a year.

i stand.

his eyes track me, cautious. still as stone.

i take a step. then another. and then i’m right in front of him. close enough to feel the heat off his skin. close enough to hear the catch in his breath.

his hands stay in his pockets. like he’s trying not to scare the moment away.

i reach for his hoodie. twist the fabric in my fingers. “i don’t want to keep wondering,” i say quietly. “i just want to know.”

and then i kiss him.

slow. intentional. like i want him to feel every second of it.

he doesn’t move at first—just stands there like he’s stunned. like i cracked through whatever wall he built to survive being without me.

then his hands rise. one finds the back of my neck. the other slides around my waist. and he kisses me back like breathing hurts less this way.

i pull back just enough to whisper, “say something.”

his forehead presses to mine, lips still brushing. “this wasn’t the plan,” he says.

“what was?”

“i came here to beg for you back.”

my fingers tighten on his hoodie.

he exhales shakily. “but this? you kissing me first? you still feeling it? fuck. it’s better than i hoped.”

i kiss him again, deeper, letting all the ache in my chest pour into it.

“i feel it,” i whisper. “i never stopped.”

his mouth crashes into mine this time—no hesitation. no control. he kisses me like he’s remembering everything he tried to forget. like he’s done pretending he doesn’t want this.

my back hits the wall. his hands are on my hips, then my waist, then everywhere at once.

i arch into him, mouth parted, breath gone.

his voice is low, rough, wrecked.

“tell me this isn’t a dream,” he murmurs. “tell me you’re still mine.”

i kiss him again. “i never wanted to stop being yours.”

he groans—just once—and it sounds like regret and relief colliding.

whatever this is, whatever comes after, we’ll deal with it later.

right now, we’re here.

and for the first time in over a year… it feels right.

part 3

[coracaodeleao]

NSFW Alphabet — Letters G, H & I | Viktor x GN!Reader

(Here we have: Viktor being his cute loser self, discussion of have a beard and bush lover!Viktor because I truly think he is into it and cute and in love shenanigans)

G - Goofy 

Viktor, unfortunately for him and very fortunate for you, is surprisingly funny during sex. His complete lack of dirtiness in his dirty talk is honestly your absolute favorite thing about your time together. Orgasms aside.

He leans down, eyes serious like he’s about to drop some big, steamy line. You stare back at him, wide-eyed and excited, waiting to hear the voice that always turns you on whisper the nastiest things possible.

Only for him to completely miss.

“I’m going to make you… float,” he says, voice low and confident.

You blink.

A moment passes. He’s waiting, hopeful.

And then your laughter. “Float?”

He blushes deeply, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah… like, float with pleasure? I thought it sounded cool.”

You shake your head, still giggling. “It’s adorable.” You kiss his nose gently. “But please, fuck me harder than that.”

Or, when he’s not trying out new, awkward phrases, he tends to give very direct instructions. Sometimes you wonder if it’s more for himself than for you.

His hands explore you, both of you lost in the moment, until suddenly he starts narrating like he’s giving a lecture:

“Now, if I kiss you here, you’re gonna feel something down there.”

You bite your lip, trying not to laugh. “Are you giving a lesson or…?”

He grins sheepishly. “I just want to make sure I’m doing it right.”

“You are, don’t worry” you taps his chest “But you sound like a professor and not the hot kind” 

And the best part? He gives himself live reviews out loud. Because Viktor may struggle in the journey but he always nailed the destination. Orgasms included. 

“On a scale from zero to ten, I’m definitely an eleven… technically.”

You roll your eyes, smiling warmly. “Always the perfectionist.”

He winks. “Gotta keep my reputation.”

You shift closer, tracing your fingers along his jawline. “You know,” you say softly, “even if your words are goofy, I still find it very hot because is you.”

He catches your gaze, his own eyes shining with something tender and a little shy. “Well, maybe the reason why I can’t do it right is because you make me lose track of my mind.”

Leave for him to still be able to make you laugh even after all.

And honestly? That’s exactly what you want.

H - Hair 

“Would you like me more if I had a beard?” Viktor asks out of nowhere, as you both stand shoulder to shoulder in front of the bathroom mirror, brushing your teeth.

You spit out the foam, frowning at him. “What makes you say that?” You wipe the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand. “I like you barefaced and all that.”

He rolls his eyes, spitting into the sink and mimicking your gesture with his own towel. “I know you do,” he says. “But I also know you’ve got a thing for a little… body hair appreciation.”

“My bush is strictly downstairs,” you reply, grabbing a towel to dry your face before handing it over to him. “You want your face to match now?”

Viktor’s voice is muffled by the towel. “It would be cute. When I’m down there, imagine the friction we could make.”

You snort. “What we’re going to make is electricity. That’s what’s gonna happen.”

He drops the towel and examines his reflection again. “Maybe just the chin… a little shadow. Like a scientist’s beard.”

“A mad scientist’s beard,” you tease, leaning in to kiss his jaw. “Still not as hot as that clean jawline.”

Viktor hums, clearly pleased but pretending to stay neutral. “I guess I’ll remain sleek and aerodynamic. For science.”

“That’s right,” you nod at him. “One of us has to be shaved clean and the other has to have a little bit of hair.”

“We can switch from time to time,” he offers.

“Are you sure you won’t miss my bush?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. “It’s way easier for you not to have hair than it is for me.”

“I like a challenge. And maybe facial hair would suit me,” he says, staring into the mirror and touching his chin, trying to imagine a beard. “But to answer your question—yes. I will most likely miss it.”

“I knew you were into it. You freak.”

He hums, still searching his reflection for nonexistent stubble. “But maybe I’ll be so busy growing and taking care of mine that I won’t notice.”

You grin and slip your arms around his waist from behind, resting your chin on his shoulder. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to help you groom it. Beard oil, little comb, moisturizing routine... the full experience.”

Viktor chuckles. “Careful, you’re making it sound appealing.”

You hold his gaze in the mirror, eyes locked on his. “You’re not gonna last a day with it.”

He makes a face, not denying it. “Probably.” He taps your arms wrapped around his waist, clearly pleased. “Let’s bet on it, then.”

Your smile mirrors his as you hug him tighter. “You’re on.”

I - Intimacy 

The way Viktor looks at you sometimes makes your skin feel too small for your body. It’s not lust. Not just lust, anyway.

He’s above you now — slow and warm — his hand tracing the shape of your cheek like he’s memorizing it. His eyes are locked on yours, so focused it almost startles you.

Being naked with him doesn’t mean much when he looks at you like he sees below, above, and through you.

“You always stare at me like that,” you whisper, your hand resting on his back.

He doesn’t look away. “Because you make me forget everything else.”

You smile, soft and crooked, brushing his hair away from his forehead. “Even your precious equations?”

“Especially them.”  His mouth ghosts over your skin, lingering at your temple, your jaw, your neck.  “You’re the only thing that makes sense when nothing else does.”

The rhythm is slow. Patient. Like he’s not in a rush to get anywhere, because being with you is already the destination.

He murmurs things against your skin — quiet, reverent.

“You feel like home.”

He goes south on your body, a trail of lips mapping you — a journey back to that very home.

“Here... here is where you like it most, isn’t it?” he says, hands caressing your legs. The sweat of his palm blends into your own warmth.

“You’re so beautiful when you let go.”

Forehead to forehead, eyelids almost kissing.  Your breath melts into his mouth as he crashes into you.

“Let me take care of you.”

He never raises his voice. He doesn’t need to.

One of his hands finds yours, fingers sliding together like puzzle pieces. He presses your joined hands above your head, while his other hand explores every inch of you — like you’re a mystery he’s not trying to solve, just... experience.

Afterward, he doesn’t move away.

Instead, he tucks himself into the curve of your body, forehead resting on your shoulder, breath steady and quiet.

“You’re always so calm after,” you say, voice low, your fingers tracing along his spine. “Is it because you’re tired?”

“I’m always calm with you,” he replies — and you feel the words more than you hear them. “You’re the reason.”

Then softer:  “Can I stay here? Just like this, for a while?”

You don’t answer right away. You don’t need to. You just hold him tighter.

If someone saw you from the outside, they wouldn’t know where you end and Viktor begins.

The bed is big enough for the two of you, but neither of you has ever felt the other side.

You always sleep tangled — heads tucked into necks, a hand on a chest, legs interlaced.

That is intimacy to you.

[justastraymoa]

Yet Unnamed

A soulmark/bond/mate fic ot8 x y/n

Masterlist | Ch 2.

A/N: I am still working on the last bit of Unwilling Alpha, but needed a break to think how I wanted to end it so I started typing this one up.

If you read the teaser reread this first part. I changed some things and added things.

Warnings for Yet Unnamed: Kidnapping, cuffs, injuries, drugging by injection, mentions of needles, lots of swearing, kissing, fluff, angst, idiots in love all around.

First chapter is really long because I couldn't find a good stopping place. Enjoy.

○

You sat in the backseat of a vehicle, metal cuffs cutting into your wrists and blindfold and gag pulling your hair by the knots.

To be fair, they only tightened the cuffs so much because you broke out of both sets of zip ties, they put you in earlier. They were officially annoyed as hell. But you weren’t going to just sit back quietly while you were kidnapped!

But they wised up and got themselves metal cuffs somewhere so now you were stuck until you found another opening.

You tried to keep track of your route in your head. You were in another country for sure. And judging by the Korean your 4 kidnappers kept speaking and the roughly 12-hour flight, you were in Korea. You lost count on the flight a couple times, but you were close. Maybe an hour or two hours, at most, off. Accurate enough for a good guess.

Unfortunately, by the time you came to a stop and the car shut off you were hopelessly lost. You had no hope of finding your way back to the airport even if you did somehow escape your captors. You were so turned around that you couldn’t even tell what direction you were facing now.

The door to your right opened and someone gripped your upper arm roughly and pulled. Immediately you started fighting. You had the entire car ride to rest and now you were ready to give them hell all over again. They would earn your captivity, or you would earn your escape.

“Don’t you ever give up?” A relatively high-pitched male asked through his teeth. He was farther away so he wasn’t the one holding you, fighting to get you into wherever you were going.

You grunted curses at them in English and Korean through your gag as you were dragged from the car and fell hard to the cold ground.

“Just give it to her now. It will make this easier.” A gruffer voice in your ear ordered.

His words spurred you to fight even harder in a panic. Give you what? Drug you? Knock you out so you were easier to handle? Fuck that! Who knows what they would do to you once you were out and couldn’t fight. And who knows where they would take you! You wouldn’t even have a semblance of how long you were out to know what time it was!

Another set of hands joined in restraining you, grabbing at your flailing legs to stop your kicking. You continued to fight, screaming through the gag as loud as you could and hoping someone – anyone – would hear you and come to help.

No one did. Your head was roughly jerked to the side, making your neck crack painfully, then a sharp painful prick as a needle was stabbed hard into the side of your neck. It was only seconds before the world you could hear around you started to muffle and your body became heavy and sluggish. You couldn’t remember how to find your legs to keep kicking and fighting. You couldn’t even keep your head from flopping uselessly back.

You remember very little after that. You were in and out of consciousness. There were voices and something was placed into your right hand, and it was forcefully moved as someone talked close to your ear. You couldn’t make any words out. At some point, way after you lost track of any sense of time or place the gag, and blindfold were removed and the handcuffs gently unlocked and taken off. You remember the too bright light after being blindfolded for so long and the relief of having the painful cuffs taken off.

There were warm hands on your face, gentle fingers rubbing your sore wrists. Blurry figures closer to you and raised voices. It got harder and harder to remember why you were fighting to stay awake. You were so tired, so heavy. The darkness and liquid in your mind were wo inviting. Promising a moment of peace and ease. And soon you finally gave up and let the blackness take hold. Floating in the pool in your mind.

Forcibly dragging yourself out of the pool an unknown amount of time later, the first thing you became aware of is that you were laying on your back on a soft surface. The second was a gentle brush across your forehead and voices arguing nearby in Korean.

You sprang up and away from the unknown fingers touching you, ready to fight to escape again. Still half awake and unable to find your balance you stumbled towards a door, not paying attention to anyone or anything around you.

A big man next to the door stepped in front of it and reached out to grab your upper arm tightly in the same move.

“Lemmego.” You slurred out trying to pull your arm from his grasp and get away.

“Hey, hey, hey, let her go!” Someone ordered behind you. You flinched away from that voice as well, overwhelmed, surrounded, and confused about what was happening. But the big guy obeyed the second voice and let you go, staying firm in front of the door.

You backed away and hunched in on yourself, trying to wake yourself up the rest of the way, gripping your head and shaking it, trying to get your thoughts and memories in order. What was happening? Where are you? Who else was here? You stumbled when your heel hit a wall unexpectedly.

“Go slow. You’re okay.” The second voice coaxed as hands entered your vision reaching towards you but not touching you. Just ready to catch and help you if you needed it.

You glanced up to see a very familiar face belonging to the hands, and you were even more confused. “What in the fuck is happening?” You were happy my words came out clearer than before, loud and firm, even if your mouth and throat were so dry that the short sentence made you cough painfully.

A second, very familiar man handed you a small cup of water, making sure it was steady in your hands, but being respectful about your space at the same time. “Drink, we will explain everything. You’re safe here.” The words were glittered with an Australian accent, making your ears twitch and brain spark.

As you slowly sipped at the water, you took in more of who was in the room with you. There were 4 unfamiliar faces, security from the looks of em. One stood in front of the only door in the room, blocking anyone from getting out or in, the others were in corners of the room, watching you very closely. An older man, JYP, who you were only mildly surprised to see at this point. And 3 members of Stray Kids. Han and Felix were closest to you, hovering close and looking worried. BangChan was currently arguing with JYP, hushed and inaudible from this distance, but with the way they occasionally gestured in your direction you could guess what it was about.

Completing your survey of the room you let your eyes land on Felix – who had promised you an explanation – and raised your eyebrows expectantly and waited, silently contemplating the strange warm safe feeling in your chest when you looked at him and Han.

He laughed awkwardly. “Hi, um…I’m Felix. Ah, this is Han.”

“No shit.” You responded. You were meeting your favorite idols in the worst possible way. you have been kidnapped, drugged, bruised, and god knows what else. My sarcasm and snark will not be contained.

Han rubbed his palms on his thighs in nervousness and Felix glanced behind him to BangChan, possibly looking to him for help.

“I want to go home.” You announced loud enough for BangChan and JYP to hear you clearly.

JYP immediately snapped his attention to me mid-sentence. “No, you will not leave.”

You backed flush against the wall and away from the room full of men in front of you. “Are you telling me Stray Kids and JYP have kidnapped me and are now holding me hostage?” You asked voice going up and down in pitch as the fear coursed through me and turned my blood cold. “What are you hoping for? I’m no one. And I have no family to pay a ransom.”

“You aren’t a hostage. You belong to us now.” JYP responded. Somehow this was even worse. The surety and finality of his words made a sob start to build in your chest.

“Fuck! No, you don’t!” BangChan was quick to correct, eyes wide. “You can’t just say shit like that!” He snapped at JYP. JYP shrugged unconcerned with the matter and unapologetic.

You couldn’t help the anxiety and fear filled tears that formed and fell from your eyes. You were so overwhelmed with everything that had happened and now you were being held against your will in some kind of nightmare scenario that should be saved only for fanfiction.

“No, no, no, no! Don’t cry!” Han immediately started fretting around. He pulled several tissues from a box on a side table and patted at your cheeks gently, either ignoring or not noticing you flinch away.

“She signed the soul marriage certificates already and they have been turned in. Its official.” JYP argued with BangChan, ignoring your tears altogether.

“I did what?” You asked sniffing. You didn’t remember signing anything and you definitely didn’t remember meeting your soulmates. You scratched absently at the 8 banded mark you were born with on your thigh.

You were always glad it was easily covered and hidden. As happy as you were to have 8 soulmates, having a soulmate mark and bond was getting rarer and rarer as time passed. People out there were in mixed reactions to them now. Some were indifferent, some hated anyone with one, some hated anyone without one, and some were extremely and sometimes violently jealous of anyone with one. They blamed their last soul incarnations for breaking the soul bond their souls had once had.

“You drugged her and forced her to sign! She doesn’t even remember doing it J!” BangChan was getting exceedingly angry and frustrated with the whole messed up situation and you could see it on his face. It made your leg twitch towards him, automatically wanting to go and comfort him. The feeling confused you. Maybe it was just because you were such a big fan and hated seeing him upset. (Even if it was secretly also very hot sometimes.)

Felix revealed his own soulmark, which matched yours perfectly. You stared at it dumbfounded. No fucking way were you Lee freaking Felixs soul mate!

Wait a whole fucking minute!

It was well known that Stray Kids were a soul group, unfinished, but all a part of the same soul bond. If Felix was one of your 8 total soul mates, then that means that the other members were too. And that just wasn’t possible. No way was that possible!

“We are your soul mates. Surprise!” Felix said doing small jazz hands and making the Lee Know ‘surprise’ meme pop into your head. You shook it out, now was not the time for Stray Kids memes!

You could feel your jaw drop open and your brain fizzled and went out like a candle. Completely stopped working, frozen on the words Felix just casually threw out and the soul mark he carried with him.

Behind Felix, JYP huffed. “You know why we needed to find her. We discussed this.”

“We discussed searching for our 9th member, not kidnapping and drugging them!” BangChan was nearly yelling how.

Your fear was slowly morphing into anger and disbelief as you got more and more information on what had led up to this moment. You were being used as some publicity stunt for JYP and Stray Kids. They didn’t care that you had spent the last god knows how long scared out of your gourd and fighting for your life as you were bound, blinded, silenced, and whisked away on a plane where they could take you to a place where no one would know you and know that you needed help. They didn’t care that you injured yourself fighting to get away even when you knew you were outnumbered and outgunned. They didn’t care that you were drugged, last thought being how you were going to be raped and sold.

No, they only cared about their views. Their numbers. How much money they could get. They only cared about the benefits for them, they thought nothing of anyone or anything else.

“She looks like Lino when he’s mad.” Felix whispered to Han who just nodded with wide eyes.

You ignored them for now, focused on the two people in charge across the room. “You mean to fucking tell me that I have been, kidnapped, bruised, and drugged all because you wanted some media fucking attention!” Your voice cracked in anger multiple times.

JYP still looked unapologetic as he looked at you bored. “Stray Kids is the largest only bonded K-pop group right now. And being a completed one would set us up.”

BangChan slapped his forehead. “You are not helping the situation!”

You balled up your hands, the now empty cup being crushed in your fist. You were ready to start throwing punched on principle. Mainly towards JYP.

BangChan grabbed a chair and sat down facing me. Han and Felix followed his lead, sitting in the chairs they had vacated when you launched off the couch earlier. “Please sit. I’m Chan. Or Chris. Whatever you are comfortable with.” He gestured to the pleather couch you had woken up on.

You glanced at the couch automatically but didn’t move from your spot against the wall to sit down. You may not be as afraid and confused as before, but you were still being held against your will by very powerful people. You had no doubt that they could make you disappear, and no one would ever ask any questions or even suspect them.

“Please. I know this situation is out of control but let me explain.” BangChan pleaded with you. “After that if you want to leave, I will personally make sure you get home safely and are left alone. I give you my word.” Chan tried to bargain with me.

Huffing shortly, you sat heavily on the couch, tossing the crushed cup on the side table. You sat as far away from the three of them as you could and on the edge of the seat, ready to move at any wrong movement from them. No way would they get a jump on you again. You would let them try and explain their way out of this, then take Chan up on his offer and go home, questioning ever listening to Stray Kids ever again.

Okay no, you wouldn’t question that. You still love the music and there was no way you would be able to just not listen. Their songs occupy most of your playlists and are all top 5 of your favorite songs. Their music was quite literally a part of your everyday life. Woven into your existence and history.

Chan let out a gentle sigh and smiled at you thankfully. “First off, I am so sorry. About everything. Its true that we were starting to really look for you, but it was never supposed to be like this.”

“If we did it your way, we never would have found her!” JYP put in, arms crossed and rolling his eyes.

“And now we may lose her because you just had to do it your way.” Felix snapped back. He immediately looked shocked at himself for speaking out like that and if you were in any other situation you would laugh. As it was you are so messed up in the head that you felt the tiny bubble of humor wanting to break free and make your lips tilt up.

Chan ignored them both. JYP wanted to find you for media attention. We would be the largest completed and only bonded in the industry. It would be huge for Stray Kids and by default JYPE.”

“You are not making this any better. At all.” You informed him. He was only making them seem worse and worse.

Han nodded in agreement with me. “Honestly, you are making us sound horrible.”

“We kinda are.” Felix grumbled. Chan absently reached over and rubbed his back to comfort him. You were again struck with a fluttering as you wanted to fangirl over the sweet moment.

“We weren’t just looking for you for that. It was only a bonus for Stray Kids. A means to get JYP to lend us resources to help in the search. We wanted to complete the bond. Desperately.” Chan stressed. “We have been feeling your absence for years and it was starting to get to us. The need to complete the bond and be all together was overwhelming.”

“We were going to woo you.” Han agreed again.

You almost snorted at his old-fashioned words. “Woo me. Wow. Well, you did a great job. Really. I’m so wooed right now its insane.” Your sarcasm dripped from your words like liquid.

“We didn’t know JYP would go this far, or we would have stopped him. Everyone is super mad. And worried. You were really out of it earlier.” Felix explained. He bit his lip and wrung his hands. You had the feeling he wanted to reach out to you. And normally your STAY heart would jump (then swoon) at the chance, but not right now. Not under these circumstances. Even if the pull to do so made the muscles in your arms clench.

“Bin was ready to start hitting the asses who bruised you up. It took 3 of us to calm him down.” All 3 of them looked down at your wrists.

You looked too. You hadn’t done a physical inventory since you woke up. You were just happy you still had clothes on. But now you looked. Your hands and wrists were covered in nasty looking bruises and red welts from the cuffs and zip ties. Your upper arms had long slim finger shaped bruises going around them in several spots and some shallow scratches from nails. There were various over scrapes and bruises that you assumed you got while fighting. You lift a hand to your neck where you remember the needle jabbing into your skin. You felt the sting of a bruise and the irritation of the injection site. “What was I drugged with?” Its not like you would know what it was, but somehow just knowing would make you feel better.

JYP snorted. “Doesn’t matter. Even if you go to the hospital, it’s undetectable. You can’t prove we drugged you.”

You scowled at the side of the mans head. “I don’t like you.” You announced plainly. Childish? Yes. But worth it. It needed said. The man was a creepy ass dick!

Felix let out a barking laugh while both Chan and Han ducked their heads to hide their amusement.

“I didn’t ask, and I don’t care.” The man retorted. Now you did laugh. The whole of this mans life revolved around getting attention.

“Yeah, you do. You crave attention like a whore. It kills you.”

“Alright, alright! This isn’t helping. Can we talk to her alone?” Chan cut in before JYP could respond to you.

JYP stormed from the room without a word, almost shoving past the security guard still standing in front of the door. The security all went with him, slamming the door on the way out.

The entire room seemed to relax as soon as they were all gone. The tension lessened by waves.

“What’s your name?” Chan asked.

“Y/n. F/n L/n.” You respond automatically even as you suspected they were all already very aware of what your name was and just wanted to be polite. The act of being normal humans and not idols did actually help put you at ease despite the situation still being sketchy.

“Pretty name. Its very nice to finally meet you, y/n. And I really hope you will give us a chance to show you we aren’t horrible people who kidnap others.” Chan had a hopeful look on his face. And as appealing as it sounded, you didn’t think it would be a logical decision to stay.

Now Felix did reach forward and grab your hands, gently and loosely so you could easily escape his grip if you wanted. He looked a little crazed gazing up at you with wide, watery, pleading eyes. “Please give us a chance. Meet the others, stay for a couple weeks! We can find you a bed in our apartment!” He begged. “Let us make this up to you!”

“We could also put you up in a hotel if you are more comfortable putting some space between us.” Han added. Felix looked at him scandalized, but didn’t argue like you knew he wanted to.

You watch Felix trace circles on the back of your bruised hands gently so he didn’t hurt you. Your ultimate life goal had always been to find your soul group. And now here they are – well, some of them. And you could feel the sense of comfort and home just from the 3 soul mates here now. People say that when the bond is complete, it's unlike any feeling of comfort and completeness you have ever felt before or will ever feel again. They say that having an incomplete bond is like the feeling of phantom limb pain. It's there, but not there, and it hurts.

Since you had never met any of them the feeling of emptiness was normal to you. You didn’t even notice it, even if sometimes you felt like you were always searching for something or craving something you could never quite reach. The 8 of them having an almost complete bond would cause enough phantom limb pain to drive anyone to drastic measures after long enough. Not that that excused anything that was done to you over the last day or so.

If I left them now it would hurt not only you, but them as well. And it would possibly break the bond forever. It would be the end of this soul group in any incarnation of our souls.

At the same time, since this is the way it went down, how could you stay. You knew what would happen. It wouldn’t be just about your life being flipped upside down. Or dropping everything and moving to Korea. STAY would find out about the kidnapping. They are the best detectives out there. You want something found, ask a STAY. And it would all be over, for all of us.

That being said, now that you know the feeling of being near a soul bond mate, could you go without it? Would you be able to survive the pain. They would have each other. You would have no one. You would go back to no one. You would go back to no family, a dead-end job that pays shit and you hate. And an overpriced crappy apartment you couldn’t stand.

You were smart. If you could stay hidden from STAY and dispatch long enough, you could find a way around the negative start to this whole situation. A way to permanently cover up the kidnapping and bury it forever. It’s not like anyone would ever report you missing. You had no friends; you hated everyone in your life. Barely tolerated them. And the little family you once had were all gone now. It was just you. And since you were a no call no-show at work, you didn’t even have a job to go back to anymore. Maybe a new adventure is needed. But on your terms.

“I don’t want to have to deal with JYP alone, ever. That man gives off paedo vibes like nothing else. He is creepy and gross.” This was non-negotiable. You couldn’t stomach the man.

Chan nodded. “We can work with that.”

You took a deep breath and squeezed Felixs hands still holding yours. “Then ill stay.” You held up a finger as they all smiled widely. “But it has to be kept quiet until we figure out a way to keep the kidnapping a secret.”

They nodded. Felix squealed and swung my hands. Han’s smile reached both ears and showed lots of gum. And Chan looked deeply relieved.

○

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[novascharms]

teach please me — tutor!reader x soccer player!rafe

reader's life is meticulously planned, from high school to becoming president of the country—she knows exactly where she's headed and every step to get there. but her airtight plan hits a snag when the principal ropes her into tutoring rafe cameron, the school’s star soccer player, who’s failing algebra and at risk of being benched next season. the team needs him on the field, and reader needs the principal’s glowing recommendation to secure her spot at her dream school. balancing her ambitious goals with rafe’s chaotic charm might just throw her perfectly crafted plan off track.

word count — 2.9  chapter index — prev. chap. — next chap. masterlist

nine 

tuesday, february 4th

rafe’s house was nothing like you’d imagined. for some reason, you’d assumed it would mirror him—bold, maybe a little intimidating, with an edge that kept you guessing. but it didn’t. it was a california coastal house, nestled right by the beach, with open spaces, too many windows, and sliding glass doors that made the whole place feel like it was constantly trying to let the outside in.

it wasn’t ugly—far from it—but it felt impersonal, like something plucked straight from a magazine. it just didn’t feel like rafe.

“found him,” rafe’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts. he strolled into the sleek, sparsely decorated kitchen with dona tucked securely in his arms. the small dog blinked up at you, and your heart melted on the spot.

“hi, buddy,” you beamed, leaning forward eagerly as rafe handed him over. “hey, cutie.” you scooped dona up, cradling him against your chest like he was the most precious thing in the world.

“he was hiding in my mom’s office,” rafe explained, leaning against the counter. “he’s so quiet, she didn’t even notice he was there.”

it was true—dona was the quietest dog you’d ever met. you couldn’t even recall hearing him bark before. was that normal? you made a mental note to research silent dogs later.

“he’s so sweet,” you whispered, stroking his soft fur and holding him close. “i just want to keep him in my pocket forever.”

rafe chuckled, sitting beside you on the kitchen island. “pretty sure he’d love that,” he said, watching as dona curled up contentedly in your lap.

the island was smooth, polished to perfection, but the kitchen itself felt untouched, like it had been designed for show rather than actual use.

you looked down at dona, unable to take your eyes off him. “i don’t think i can focus on anything else for the next two hours,” you murmured, gently scratching behind his ears. “maybe we should reschedule.”

rafe laughed, the sound warm and familiar, though it startled dona, who shifted slightly in your lap. you swatted rafe’s shoulder. “don’t bother him,” you hissed, trying not to smile.

“midterms are in a month,” rafe reminded you, his tone a mix of teasing and genuine. “don’t leave me hanging.”

you groaned softly but relented, cracking open his algebra book. “fine. but dona stays right here.”

“deal.”

as you explained the next chapter, you couldn’t resist sneaking glances at dona every few minutes. he napped peacefully, his small chest rising and falling, and it took everything in you not to smother him with affection. fortunately, this chapter was easier, and rafe caught on quickly, diving into the exercises with a focus you didn’t always see in him.

you watched him work, giving him space to make mistakes and correct them as he went. at first, you focused on his process, the way his pencil hovered before he committed to an answer. but then your attention drifted—to his concentrated expression, the way his brows furrowed slightly when he wasn’t sure of something.

his hair, tousled and messy, fell into his eyes, and you found yourself wanting to reach out and brush it away. he chewed on his pen cap absentmindedly, his lips pursed just so, and suddenly you weren’t thinking about algebra at all.

it had only been two days since that night in your room when rafe had confronted you so forcefully that you’d been left reeling. for the first time in your life, you’d gone against one of your plans—your carefully constructed, foolproof plan—simply because he’d asked.

the scariest part was how easy it had been to give in. there hadn’t even been a debate in your head; you’d just done it. and now, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to cut him loose. the thought of not seeing him anymore felt heavier than it should have, like something you weren’t ready to carry.

things between you weren’t the same, not really. there was a distance, subtle but undeniable, and you couldn’t tell if he felt it. you hoped he didn’t because it was the only way you could continue this friendship in any capacity.

"i just heard that angelo called callie to tell her that—" a young girl, maybe thirteen, with dark brown hair tucked behind black-framed glasses, walked into the kitchen mid-sentence. she stopped short when her eyes landed on you and rafe sitting at the kitchen island. her gaze darted between the two of you, assessing the situation with a curious tilt of her head. "jenny, i'll call you back later," she said quickly, pulling the phone from her ear and hanging up.

you glanced at her, then at rafe, who was already setting his pen down with a smirk. "hey, wheeze. don’t let us interrupt," he said, leaning back in his chair. "i bet jenny’s dying to know what angelo told callie."

she rolled her eyes, shaking her head as she stepped closer, her elbows resting on the cool marble of the island across from you. "he told callie that jamie told him he doesn’t want to be with jenny anymore, which would totally break her heart, but she’ll recover," she said, delivering the gossip like a headline.

"this is my little sister, louisa," rafe said, gesturing toward her with a casual wave of his hand. she grimaced immediately at the mention of her name.

"just say wheezie," she corrected, scrunching her nose as if the full name physically pained her.

you smiled warmly. "nice to meet you, wheezie. i’m y/n, rafe’s tutor."

her eyes lit up with recognition, and she pointed accusingly at rafe. "oh, you’re the reason i’m stuck eating dinner alone with mom and dad twice a week."

"i’d argue that it’s rafe’s fault for failing algebra in the first place," you quipped, the words slipping out before you could second-guess them.

wheezie burst out laughing, a high, genuine sound that echoed through the kitchen, while rafe placed a dramatic hand over his chest, feigning offense. "god, take it easy," he groaned, though the grin on his face betrayed him.

you shrugged, running your fingers through dona’s fluffy fur as he dozed beside you, his little paws twitching occasionally in a dream. wheezie was still laughing as she pushed off the counter and started to head out of the room. "i like her," she called over her shoulder, glancing back with a mischievous grin. "you should keep this one."

you knew she was joking, her tone playful and light, but her words hit differently. they echoed in your mind, intertwining with cora’s comment about there being a new girl every day. your thoughts began to spiral.

how many girls had sat right here, in this exact spot? how many had met wheezie? had they laughed with her the same way, joked with rafe like this? suddenly, the weight of it all—the lingering questions you hadn’t dared to ask—pressed heavily on your chest.

"it’s just you and your sister?" you ask softly. rafe shakes his head, the movement slow and deliberate. "i have a twin," he says, almost like it’s nothing.

your eyes widen, and if dona weren’t napping peacefully on your lap, you’d scream. "what? you have a what?" you gasp, leaning forward, incredulous.

he laughs under his breath, the sound low and almost teasing as he scribbles on his notebook. "i have a twin," he repeats. "you know, when a baby splits apart in the stomach and—"

"i know what a freaking twin is, rafe!" you hiss, sliding his paper away from him. his head lifts, amusement sparking in his eyes as he looks at you. "how did i not know this?" you whisper-yell, your voice sharp but quiet enough not to disturb the dog in your lap.

still chuckling, he pulls out his phone, scrolling for a moment before sliding it across the table toward you. you grab it quickly, the screen lighting up with a picture of a girl.

"she’s beautiful," you mutter, the words slipping out absentmindedly as you study the image.

"she is, right? her name’s sarah," he says, his gaze softening as he looks at the picture. but there’s something about his smile—it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

"she doesn’t go to our school?" you ask, confused. you’d never seen her around, never even heard a whisper about "rafe’s twin."

"she doesn’t live here," he says simply, locking his phone and setting it aside. the shift in his tone makes you pause, your attention fully on him now. he’s fiddling with his pen, spinning it between his fingers like it’s the only thing grounding him.

"we have a… complicated relationship," he begins, his voice quieter now, tinged with something you can’t quite place. "a lot of ups, a lot of downs." his words come slowly, deliberately. "her leaving was… inevitable, i guess. it had to do with a lot of things—some of it was my fault, some of it was stuff i couldn’t control. ultimately, space just… felt like the only option. she lives with my aunt now."

"do you see her much?" you ask carefully, not wanting to push too far.

he hums, shrugging lightly. "less than i’d like," he admits, his lips pressing into a thin line. "but she was just here for christmas." his expression falters for a moment, the vulnerability on his face making your chest ache. you want to smooth away that little frown, want to say something to make it better.

"we can stop talking about it," you offer gently, tilting your head to catch his gaze.

his eyes meet yours, searching for something, and then he shakes his head. "no," he says firmly but not unkindly. "she should be talked about. she’s really, really great. i don’t talk about her enough."

"why is that?"

he hesitates, the words sticking to his tongue before spilling out. "i’m… protective," he admits, his voice low. "i want to protect her. her reputation, her choices… everything. i don’t want anyone talking shit about her because of the stuff we’ve been through. and honestly—" he pauses, running a hand through his hair, his laugh soft and bitter. "—it just really fucking hurts."

your heart twists at the way his voice breaks, the way his fingers curl tightly around the pen in his hand. "i feel like no one’s ever going to get me like she does," he continues. "and then there’s the twin thing, you know? it’s like… walking around lopsided all the time. like something’s missing. she’s missing."

as if sensing his distress, dona stirs, lifting his head and turning his sleepy gaze toward rafe. you smile softly, reaching down to pick him up and hand him to rafe. his arms encircle the small golden retriever instantly, and he pulls him close, burying his face in his fur for a moment.

"thanks, buddy," he mutters, his voice muffled. "such a good boy."

"it’s obvious you love your sister more than anything," you say honestly, your voice quiet but firm. "and it’s obvious you have a bond no one else could ever understand. i know you’ll find your way back to each other eventually."

he looks up at you, a small smile tugging at his lips. this time, it’s real.

"you know," he says after a beat, "we were born holding hands."

"wait, seriously?" you lean forward, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "that’s amazing. there has to be some kind of paper or article about that, right?"

"yeah," he says, his smile widening just a little. "we were even on the news for it."

"how did i not know this? that’s so cool. how does something like that even happen?"

he shrugs, scratching dona behind the ears. "i don’t really know. our mom had a c-section, and we just… came out holding hands. i think about it all the time."

you grin, your chest feeling a little lighter. "see? even more proof that you’re connected for life."

he nods, his gaze dropping back to dona as a soft hum of agreement escapes his lips.

you straightened up at the sound of footsteps approaching from behind, and rafe glanced past you. "hey, dad," he greeted casually.

curious, you turned to see a man who bore a striking resemblance to rafe, carrying three paper bags in his hands. "evening," he said with a nod toward rafe before his gaze shifted to you. "you must be y/n. the tutor. it’s nice to meet you. i’m rafe’s father."

his handshake was firm and businesslike—not overly warm, but far from cold or intimidating. you appreciated the straightforwardness of it.

"yes, that’s me," you replied with a polite smile. "it’s nice to meet you, too. i really appreciate you inviting me for dinner—you didn't need to do that."

"of course, we did." a soft, welcoming voice caught your attention, and you turned to see a woman descending the staircase. her smile was radiant, warm in a way that instantly made you feel at ease. "you’re tutoring my son for free and feeding him twice a week? we should be inviting you over every week."

you couldn’t help but smile at her sincerity. "he’s a good student. he makes my job easy," you said, glancing at rafe.

his mom walked over to him, pressing a kiss to the top of his head and ruffling his hair in an affectionate gesture. rafe groaned softly in protest, brushing her off with a half-smile as she moved toward her husband, who was already unpacking the food.

"that’s a relief to hear," mr. cameron said, his tone carrying a subtle hint of authority. his eyes narrowed slightly as he gave rafe a pointed look. "don’t waste this girl’s time."

"i’m being an exemplary student, don’t worry," rafe replied smoothly, though the quirk of his lips suggested he wasn’t taking the admonition too seriously.

"regardless, i’m very happy you’re here," mrs. cameron said, her voice warm as her eyes, which you now realized mirrored rafe’s almost exactly. "i’d like to show my gratitude however i can."

"thank you. that’s really kind," you said softly, struck for a moment by how much of her charm and warmth rafe seemed to have inherited.

"rafe, go get your sister," mr. cameron instructed, turning back to the bags. rafe nodded, pushing off the counter to head upstairs just as your phone buzzed in your lap.

you glanced down at the screen, spotting hazel’s name flashing with an incoming call. when you looked up, mrs. cameron was already watching you, her expression understanding. "go ahead," she said with a small wave of her hand. "we’ll wait a couple of minutes."

you smiled gratefully. "thanks," you murmured before slipping into the hallway, phone in hand, leaving the warm hum of the cameron household behind for just a moment.

“hello?” you call out softly, your voice barely echoing as you walk through the wide, pristine hallway. the walls are lined with pictures and art pieces, each one meticulously arranged. there are plenty of rafe and wheezie—candid smiles, school portraits, snapshots of them growing up. sarah’s presence is sparser, almost like an afterthought, but she’s still there in glimpses. a photo of her by the beach, another of her with their mom, both smiling like they’re sharing some private joke.

your phone buzzes in your hand, and hazel’s voice spills into your ear, sharp and annoyed. “are you still at his house?”

you wince, knowing exactly where this is going. “yes, hazel, i’m still at his house,” you say, your tone gentle, trying to diffuse her frustration before it spirals.

she sighs loudly, her irritation evident. “i don’t like that you’re there.”

you walk over to one of the massive windows, the kind that seems to stretch forever, letting in streams of golden sunlight. outside, the pool glitters under the sun, the water sparkling like a lure. it looks so inviting, and for a moment, you imagine dipping your toes in, though you know the water would be icy cold.

“like you haven’t made it abundantly clear,” you smile, trying to keep the edge out of your voice.

“are you sure he’s not going to hurt you again?” hazel presses, her concern bleeding through the frustration.

“he won’t,” you say firmly. “the first time wasn’t even really his fault. it was mine.”

“you’re sure he has good intentions? i feel… iffy about him.”

you take a slow breath, your fingers brushing against the edge of the curtain as you stare out at the idyllic backyard. “hazel, it’s fine,” you assure her, but she isn’t convinced.

“how do you know?”

“because he’s not a bad guy,” you say, the words steady but soft. “i agreed to do this, and i have to see it through.”

“just promise me you’ll keep your distance. don’t let him get too close.”

“okay, i won’t,” you say, the words automatic.

“promise!”

“alright, i promise. i won’t let him get too close.”

“because you don’t want a repeat of last week, right?” her words sting more than you expect, the memory of your little breakdown flashing vividly in your mind.

“no,” you say quietly, “i do not want a repeat of last week.”

“alright, then you better listen to me. don’t play games with me, y/n,” she says, her tone softening slightly but still firm.

“okayyy, mom.” you drawl, a hint of teasing slipping into your voice, trying to lighten the mood. “stop scolding me now.”

“whatever,” she mutters, but you can hear the affection hidden in her exasperation. “i love you. call me when you’re on your way home.”

“mkay. love you too.”

you hang up, slipping your phone into your pocket and taking one last glance at the sparkling pool before turning back to the house. hazel’s words linger, her concern wrapping around you like a tether, but you shake it off. you’d promised her, after all.

chapter index — prev. chap. — next chap.

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[agentstarkid]

ALL ROADS LEAD TO YOU ✦ DR3

✦ DEBRIEF: After his final race, emotions run high, and lines blur. But when the adrenaline wears off, will this be a fleeting moment or the start of everything they’ve been too afraid to admit? — based on this request.

✦ TRACK LIMITS: friends to lovers; language; singapore gp outcome; pure and simple fluff—and a wee bit of horniness.

✦ CHECKERED FLAG: 3.3K words

✦ MAY'S RADIO: when it comes to this man i can't hold myself back.

< back to general masterlist

Daniel had always thought of you as his best mate—the one who stuck by his side no matter what. Through every high and crushing low, you were there, unwavering in your support. From his move to Renault to the bitter end at McLaren, from the uncertainty of being Red Bull’s reserve to the whirlwind of VCARB—you never wavered. When the final blow came, when the seat was ripped away without warning, you didn’t try to fix it. You just sat beside him, quiet and steady, like you always did. And maybe that’s when it hit him—this wasn’t just friendship anymore.

Daniel sat on the couch, staring at the unopened beer in his hand. The hotel room was quiet, save for the occasional honk from the street below. His phone buzzed for the hundredth time that day—messages, interviews, people weighing in on his future like he wasn’t the one living it. But the only message he cared about was yours.

Tonight had been his last race in Singapore—his final Formula One start before Liam took over for the remaining six races of the season. The reality of it sat heavy in his chest, pressing down like the country’s humid air. He had always known this moment would come, but knowing didn’t make it any easier.

A sharp knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. He already knew it was you before he even got up. You didn’t text him that you were coming—you never had to. That was just the way it was with you two.

When he opened the door, there you were. Dressed in an old RIC3 hoodie, eyes scanning his face like you could see straight through him. No pity, no empty platitudes. Just you. And God, he needed that more than anything.

“Figured you hadn’t eaten,” you said simply, holding up a takeout bag. “Also figured you’d be brooding.”

He huffed out a laugh, stepping aside to let you in. “I don’t brood.”

You raised a brow. “You absolutely brood.”

Daniel flopped onto the couch as you set the food down. He rubbed a hand over his face before glancing at you. “You don’t have to keep showing up, you know.”

“I know.” You sat beside him, reaching for your drink. “But I want to.”

That was the thing—he never had to ask. You just knew. And right now, he didn’t need another pep talk, another person telling him he’d bounce back. He just needed someone who saw him, who didn’t expect him to put on a brave face when he didn’t feel like it.

“How are you holding up?” you asked softly.

A humorless chuckle left him as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, rubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I feel… numb, I guess. I knew this was coming, but—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Doesn’t mean it hurts any less.”

“Of course it hurts, Danny. It’s supposed to.”

He exhaled slowly, picking at the label on his beer. “I think I’m done,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. It was the first time he’d said it out loud.

You didn’t flinch. You just nodded, as if you’d known this was coming. “Okay.”

“Okay?” He frowned, searching your face for disappointment, for doubt, for something.

“If you’re done, you’re done. You don’t owe anyone an explanation, Dan.” Your voice was soft but certain, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “And you sure as hell don’t have to keep fighting for a team that doesn’t fight for you.”

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his chest loosening for the first time all day. He turned his head to look at you properly, taking in the way you sat there so sure, so steady, like you’d carry some of the weight for him if he let you.

“You’re always in my corner,” he murmured, more to himself than anything.

You smirked, nudging his knee with yours. “Of course. Someone’s gotta keep you in check.”

Something in his chest shifted. It wasn’t new, not really—this feeling had been creeping in for a while now. But tonight, under the dim hotel lights, with you sitting beside him like you always had, it finally hit him with full force.

He was falling for you. And maybe he had been for a long time.

Daniel swallowed hard, his fingers still idly picking at the label on his beer. The realization sat heavy in his chest, but it wasn’t the kind that hurt. It was the kind that made him feel like he could breathe for the first time in months.

He turned his head slightly, watching as you unpacked the food, completely unaware of the war raging in his mind. You’d always been here—through every win, every heartbreak, every stupid decision, and every fleeting moment of hope. And somehow, it had taken him this long to see what was right in front of him.

You held out a container to him without looking up. “Eat.”

He took it without argument, shaking his head with a small smile. “You’re bossy.”

“You love it.”

His grip on the takeout tightened slightly. Yeah. He did.

The two of you ate in comfortable silence, the tension in his shoulders easing with every bite. You didn’t push him to talk, didn’t force positivity down his throat like so many others had. You just let him be.

After a while, you leaned back against the couch, stretching your legs over his lap. “So… what now?”

Daniel sighed, rubbing at his jaw. “Dunno. No one really tells you what to do when your dream ends.”

“Maybe it’s not the end,” you said, tilting your head. “Maybe it’s just… a different dream now.”

He let that sit for a moment, rolling the thought around in his head. He’d spent so long chasing the same goal, trying to prove he still belonged, that he hadn’t stopped to consider what life outside of racing could look like. But when he looked at you—when he thought about what mattered, about the one person who had been there through it all—maybe the dream had already changed.

Daniel set his empty container on the coffee table and turned to you fully. “You really think that?”

You met his gaze, something quiet but certain in your eyes. “Yeah, I do.”

A beat of silence passed between you, thick with something unspoken. His fingers traced light patterns on your knee absentmindedly, his mind racing with everything he wanted to say but couldn’t quite find the words for.

Finally, he exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “What would I do without you?”

You grinned. “Probably starve. Maybe get a really bad haircut.”

His laugh was louder this time, but it softened into something fonder as he looked at you. His best friend. His constant. And now, maybe something more.

His voice was quieter when he spoke again. “You’re my favorite person, you know that?”

Your teasing smirk faltered slightly, your brows drawing together in something like surprise. “I–”

He didn’t let you finish. He reached for your hand, threading his fingers through yours like it was the most natural thing in the world. And maybe it was.

Your breath caught slightly as his fingers laced through yours, warm and sure. You had held his hand before—countless times, in fleeting moments of comfort or celebration. But this… this felt different.

Your heart thudded against your ribs as you looked at him. “Dan…”

He squeezed your hand gently, his thumb running over your knuckles in slow, absentminded strokes. “I mean it,” he murmured, voice steady despite the storm you could see brewing behind his eyes. “You’re my favorite person. Have been for a long time.”

The air between you shifted, something fragile and electric crackling in the space that had always been so easy, so familiar. You should say something—laugh it off, make a joke, anything to break the weight of it. But you couldn’t. Because, deep down, some part of you had been waiting for this.

Daniel exhaled, looking down at your joined hands like they held some kind of answer. “You were there for all of it,” he continued, his voice softer now. “Every high, every low. Even when I didn’t want to face it, when I felt like the whole damn world was moving on without me–you stayed.”

Your throat tightened. “Of course I stayed, Dan. You’re–”

“I know. I know,” he cut in gently, his lips twitching into a wry smile. “I just… I guess I didn’t realize how much it meant. How much you mean.”

You felt yourself leaning in before you even realized it, your heart hammering against your ribs. “Daniel…”

He let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head. “I know I’m probably screwing this up. Should’ve planned some grand speech or–fuck, at least made sure I wasn’t covered in takeout sauce before telling you I think I’m in love with you.”

Your lips parted, but nothing came out. Your brain had completely short-circuited. “You–”

He winced slightly, squeezing your hand like he wanted to ground himself. “Yeah. I know. I’m an idiot for taking this long to say it, but… I do. I love you.”

The words hung between you, settling into the quiet like they belonged there. And maybe they did. Maybe they always had.

A slow smile curled at the corners of your lips. “Took you long enough.”

Daniel blinked. “Wait–”

You surged forward, your free hand reaching up to cup his jaw as you closed the space between you, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that was warm and certain and long overdue.

He froze for a fraction of a second before melting into you, his arms looping around your waist as he pulled you in like he had been waiting for this just as long as you had. When you finally pulled back, breathless and laughing, his forehead rested against yours, his grin wide and unabashedly bright.

“Well,” he murmured, thumb brushing over your cheek. “Guess that means you love me too, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. “Yeah, you idiot. I do.”

Daniel chuckled, pressing a quick, giddy kiss to your nose before pulling you into his arms, holding you close like he never planned on letting go.

And honestly? He didn’t.

He held you close, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist as if he was afraid you might slip away. You could feel his heartbeat against your cheek, fast and uneven, mirroring your own.

“Can’t believe this,” he muttered, his voice muffled against your hair. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

You grinned, fingers toying with the fabric of his hoodie. “Oh, I have an idea.”

He pulled back slightly, tilting his head to look at you. “Wait–what?”

You bit your lip, enjoying the way his brows furrowed in confusion. “Daniel, come on. Did you really think I stuck around just for the hell of it? I care about you. Always have.”

His eyes searched yours, like he was trying to make sure this was real, that you were real. “You mean to tell me I could’ve kissed you ages ago?”

You smirked. “Yep.”

He groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “Oh, that’s just cruel. Do you know how many times I talked myself out of it? How many times I convinced myself you’d never see me like that?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “And yet, here we are.”

He exhaled, shaking his head in disbelief before looking at you again, his expression softening. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Here we are.”

His thumb brushed absentmindedly against your side, tracing small, soothing circles that sent shivers down your spine. The weight of everything—the years of friendship, the unwavering support, the slow realization of something more—settled between you like a quiet, undeniable truth.

“So, what now?” you asked, tilting your head up to meet his gaze.

Daniel’s lips twitched into a smirk. “Well, I’d like to kiss you again. A lot, actually.”

You hummed, pretending to consider it. “That’s a strong argument.”

His grin widened. “I’m full of good ideas, y’know.”

You opened your mouth to tease him, but before you could get a word out, Daniel closed the space between you.

This time, there was no hesitation.

Daniel surged forward, his lips crashing into yours with a desperation that sent a shockwave through your body.

It wasn’t soft this time. It wasn’t careful. It was months—years—of unspoken words crashing into each other. A desperate, toe-curling, world-tilting collision of lips and breath and need; so utterly consuming that you could feel yourself melting into him.

His hands, once steady on your waist, tightened, pulling you flush against him, as if he was afraid you might slip through his fingers. 

Daniel groaned, deep and guttural, as he pulled you onto his lap, his hands splaying across your back. You gasped into the kiss, and he seized the opportunity, deepening it, his tongue sweeping over yours in a way that made your knees buckle.

His fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your head just right so he could devour you properly. You clung to him, hands fisting in the fabric of his hoodie, needing something to ground you as he kissed you like he was making up for lost time—like he was trying to pour every unsaid word, every missed opportunity, into this moment.

Your fingers tangled in his curls, tugging just enough to make him moan into your mouth. He could feel your heart hammering against his, the rise and fall of your chest mirroring his own ragged breaths.

And then—because you’d thought about it for ages, because you’d been tempted so many times but never let yourself—your teeth grazed over his bottom lip before you bit down, just enough to make him groan. His lips had always looked so full, so inviting, and now, as he sucked in a sharp breath, you knew you had been right.

Singapore’s humid air had clung to your skin, but now all you could feel was him—his warmth, his strength, the way his body pressed so perfectly against yours. When he finally pulled back, his breathing was ragged, his forehead resting against yours as if he was trying to catch up with himself.

“Fuck,” he panted, his voice wrecked, his lips swollen from the intensity of the kiss. “That was—”

You swallowed hard, trying to steady yourself, your heart hammering against your ribs. “Yeah,” you breathed, because that was the only word you could manage.

Daniel let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head slightly. “I should’ve done that years ago.”

You traced your fingers over his jaw, your touch featherlight, memorizing the way he looked in this moment—flushed, eyes dark with want, still catching his breath. “Yeah,” you murmured, letting your thumb graze over his bottom lip. “You really should’ve.”

His lips twitched into a smirk, though his voice was still laced with something heavier, something raw. “Guess I’ve got a lot of time to make up for, then.”

You shivered as he pressed another kiss to your lips—this one slow but just as consuming, like he was making a silent promise. And as the city lights flickered outside the hotel’s windows, the weight of everything that had come before—every race, every heartbreak, every moment spent on the sidelines of his life—faded into the background.

Because now, finally, he was yours. And you were his.

There was no going back now—not that either of you wanted to.

Daniel’s thumb brushed over your cheek, his touch reverent, like he was still trying to convince himself that this was real. That you were here. That you had always been here.

“I don’t want this to be a one-time thing,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. His forehead was still resting against yours, his breath fanning over your lips. “Tell me this isn’t just the moment, tell me you want this too.”

Your heart clenched at the vulnerability in his voice. Daniel Ricciardo, the man who always had a joke ready, who masked his pain behind easy smiles, was looking at you like you were the only thing tethering him to solid ground.

You cupped his face, your thumb tracing the curve of his jaw. “It’s not just the moment, Danny,” you murmured. “I’ve wanted this for a long, long time.”

A slow smile broke across his lips, but there was something almost disbelieving in his eyes, like he was waiting for the universe to rip this moment away from him.

You kissed him again—softer this time, but no less certain. A reassurance, a promise. His hands squeezed your waist, grounding himself in you, his chest rising and falling beneath your palms.

Daniel let out a shaky breath, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns along your spine. “You realize this means you’re stuck with me now, right?” he teased, but his voice was hoarse, still raw from everything that had led to this.

You laughed softly, pressing another kiss to his lips just because you could. “I figured. Guess I’ll just have to deal with you.”

“Deal with me?” he huffed, his nose brushing against yours. “I’ll have you know I’m a delight.”

You grinned. “Yeah, yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night.”

His arms tightened around you, pulling you impossibly closer. “Think I’ll sleep just fine tonight,” he murmured, pressing his lips to your temple. “For the first time in a long time.”

You hummed in response, tracing lazy circles over his shoulder with your fingertips. His body was warm beneath yours, solid and steady in a way that made something deep in your chest unclench.

Daniel let out a slow breath, his nose skimming the curve of your jaw before pressing a soft, lingering kiss there. “Feels nice,” he murmured, voice thick with exhaustion and something softer—something that made your heart squeeze.

“What does?”

“This,” he said simply, his hands running down your back, over the dip of your waist. “You. Us.”

Your breath hitched slightly as his palms settled on your hips, holding you there like he wasn’t quite ready to let go. The intimacy of it made warmth bloom in your chest, a quiet sort of comfort settling over you.

But then you shifted, just slightly, and that warmth turned into something else entirely.

Daniel inhaled sharply, his grip on your hips flexing as you unintentionally pressed against him—against the unmistakable evidence of just how much he wanted you.

You froze for half a second, heat flooding your cheeks. But Daniel’s reaction was instant—his hands tightening around your waist, his breath coming out ragged as he exhaled against your skin.

So, you did it again.

This time, slower, more deliberate.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice strained, thick with warning and want. His head dropping back against the pillow, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

And you shifted again—just slightly, just enough to test the tension hanging in the air. His eyes snapped open, his jaw tightening and his grip on you twitched as if his restraint was hanging by a thread. “You really wanna start something you can’t take back?.”

Your lips curled into a smirk, fingers tracing idly over the nape of his neck. “Who says I want to take it back?”

Daniel swore under his breath, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he let out a low, wrecked chuckle. Then, lifting his head, he caught your gaze—his eyes dark and heavy with something raw, something that sent a delicious shiver down your spine.

“Fuck,” he muttered, shifting beneath you. “Guess we’re not sleeping just yet, then.”

And with that, the last of his restraint snapped.

< back to general masterlist

[yamumsyadadd]

We meet again

a/n: talks of homophobia, ignore this if that isn’t your thing.

happy New Year’s Eve, it’s 9pm where I live so this will be my last fic of 2024 ;) stay safe, have fun!

It was a warm evening in Barcelona when I saw you again. I still loved you, not that you ever really knew, or maybe you did. 

You were sitting there in the restaurant with your friends. I was there too, waiting for a guy I barely knew but was giving a chance because my father had begged me to. 

It was the same routine. Giving them a ‘chance’ knowing I’d stopped talking to them. I started to realise that I was waiting for you. A forbidden love. 

You hadn’t noticed me yet, I of course noticed you, I always did. My date arrived and we sat down. He was different to you, they all were. Blonde, clean cut, men. I tried not to glance over at you. 

I engaged in conversation, I smiled, I laughed. I did everything you’re supposed to do on a date. But I couldn’t help stealing glancing at you. 

You got up to use the bathroom and as you walked by my table, that’s when you finally saw me. You stopped dead in your tracks, then slowly made your way to me. 

“Hey I’m sorry for interrupting, I didn’t see you walk in. How are you?” You asked, eyes genuine, truly curious. 

“Oh I’m good. I didn’t see you either!” I laughed even though it was a lie, somehow I find you in every room, every stadium. 

You look at my date and introduce yourself, you never need an introduction, everyone knows who you are but you do it anyway. “I was just heading to the restroom but let’s catch up soon.” You smiled, the kind of smile that isn’t real, just polite. 

“Yeah let’s.” You walk away, and I allow myself to breathe again. I smile at my date and we continue on. I keep thinking about you, I must be a horrible person. A good looking, well educated man sitting in front of me and all I can think about is you, you with the tattoos, the long black hair and cocky smile. The fingers that can make me forget my name. 

When you get back to your seat, we make eye contact, you smile then turn back to your friends. I recognise them all, how could I not. Alexia sits with Olga, Irene with Lucia, Patri and Claudia huddled together listening to whatever drama Maria and Leila have to share. 

There’s this weird thing about loving someone who you never got to love openly. A frightening feeling that your feelings won’t be shared. And a harbouring desire to scream them at you. 

It becomes suffocating knowing it is everything you want but wanting to protect your heart because you’re tired of people not feeling them same or being ashamed. Jenni loved the same way you did, loud, unapologetic and all consuming. No man your father picks could do that. Because no man was Jenni. 

Because of that, it becomes easier to stay quiet. To love from afar, scrolling through her instagram late at night, the shared photos, the messages. To love from a distance is to play it safe. 

My date eventually comes to an end. We get up and walk out, you’re still there laughing loudly. I look back at you one more time and then leave with him. 

I say goodbye to my date, thank him for dinner. He’s a nice guy, and will make a girl happy but he isn’t you. No one is. I don’t know what I’m waiting for, I guess I’m always waiting for you, I shouldn’t though because you won’t come. You never do. 

As I continue my walk home, my phone chimes with a message. I pulled it out, expecting it to be from one of the girls asking about the date, but it’s from you. You texted me a simple ‘get home safe.’ 

I smile, eyes skimming past our last exchange. I text back a simple ‘I will thank you.’ I watch as you start to type more, then it disappears. I convince myself it’s nothing and continue on home and I think about you. I wonder if you think about me too. 

—————————————————————————

It was a tumultuous relationship. Plagued by fighting and jealousy. You were young, only 20 when you met her at some gala your parents were throwing. She was older, closer to 30 than you were to your teenage years. 

You’d seen her before, at one of the many parties your parents had through. She always excluded the same energy, she knew she was hot, and that made her cocky. Always with the same group of people, who you’d come to learn was the football team your parents loved. 

It was the third party they attended that you finally met. You were forced into conversation at the bar, you knew from that first interaction that you were doomed. 

Being gay wasn’t something that was spoken about within your family, they all knew but chose to ignore it. The phrase ‘you just haven’t met the right man’ was burned into your brain. Maybe you hadn’t, but you didn’t want to wait and find out. 

After the last party of the year, that happened to be the Christmas party, you left with her. the way her hand felt on your lower back, the grip her fingers had on your exposed skin, the way she made you chant her name like she was a god. It was addicting. 

Your friends hated her. While she was never outwardly rude to them, you’d always run to them after a fight. Telling them everything she said, leaving out how you were just as bad. But that’s what friends were for, right? 

Most of her friends discouraged the relationship, Jenni loved loudly and unapologetically, you did not. It was two different words, she was a star footballer, older and wiser. You were just some rich kid who had barely started their adult life. 

After a toxic and bitter end to the 18 month relationship, she left for Mexico. Not even bothering to say goodbye. Your heart shattered into pieces. The final words she spoke to you playing over in your mind for months. 

“I’m done loving someone who won’t love me back.” It’s not that you didn’t love her, the opposite in fact, it was that you never said it. She said it within the first few months, and every time it filled you with a sense of dread. 

How would you explain it to your family? The consequences of your love would outweigh anything else, so you kept quiet. 

The multiple parties a year continued on, the Barcelona players continued to come and you’d do everything in your power to steer clear of them. Occasionally it wouldn’t work and you’d be stuck with some of them for a photo or whatever. Alexia and Irene watched you sympathetically, you hated it. 

————————————————————————

Jenni’s pov 

The air in the restaurant was charged. Like two magnets trying to join each other but I couldn’t figure why, until I saw you. 

At first I didn’t think it was you. It had been two years since I last saw you. You were older now, more elegant, still as beautiful as ever maybe even more. But then I realised you were with someone. 

A man, who was the complete opposite of me. He was blonde, no doubt rich, clean cut and probably reached of over priced cologne.

I realised, half way to the bathroom that I’d have to walk past you to get there and took a chance. 

“Hey, I’m sorry for interrupting, I didn’t see you walk in. How are you?” I asked. 

“Oh I’m good! I didn’t see you either.” You laughed and looked down. You were lying. Anytime you lied, you would look down and fidget. It was your tell. 

I introduced myself to your date, wanting nothing more than to be polite but I couldn’t help but feel jealous. For the entire 18 months of our relationship, this is what I wanted. To take you out on dates in the fancy clothes and enjoy the overpriced wine. But he got to instead. 

“I’m just heading to the restroom but let’s catch up soon.” I said, giving a small smile. 

“Yeah let’s.” I turned around and continued on to the bathroom. Gripping the sink tightly to calm myself down. It was ridiculous that after all this time, after all the girls, I still wanted you. I still loved you. 

When I returned to the table, I couldn’t help but look over at you and to my surprise you looked back at me. As I turned back to the girls, all I could think about was you. How it would feel to love you loudly like you deserved, to show you off to everyone. It wouldn’t happen though, it couldn’t. 

Most nights, from the comfort of my apartment in Mexico, I’d scroll through your burner instagram account. The one you parents didn’t know you had, it only had a select few on it and I’d like to think you kept me there for a reason, but it was likely you just forgot. 

I watched you leave with him, his hand sprawled across the small of your back like mine used too. You looked back a final time and then you were gone. Out of sight, but not out of mind. 

I took a few minutes before pulling out my phone, rereading the last few messages we had sent each other before sending a simple ‘get home safe.’ You replied quickly, you always did. I wanted to say more, tell you everything that had happened in the last 2 years, how much I still loved you, how no one was you, but I couldn’t. 

When Leila made a joke about me texting a girl, I shook my head and put my phone away. Alexia must’ve seen, giving my shoulder a squeeze and a sad smile. 

You were the one that got away. Maybe it’s better to love you from afar, I wish you nothing but happiness, even if that means finding happiness from someone else. 

—————————————————————————

The first party of the summer had arrived. As always it was a full on affair. Your parent’s house was decked out, over the top in your opinion. The older you got, the more insufferable these parties became. 

Other businessmen bought their wives and children, both the men’s and women’s team were there, celebrating the end of the season and their spectacle winning run. 

Tuxedos and ball gowns littered the main floor and the garden but you were stuck upstairs. A heavy weight weighing on your heart. You knew, the minute you went downstairs your father would try and introduce you to a man, your mother would be making comments about your appearance and your aunts would join in. 

The sound of knuckles on the door pulled you out of your thoughts. A few seconds later she was there, leaning on the doorway. Her usual cockiness was gone and replaced with what seemed to be anxiety. 

“Thought I’d find you here.” 

“What are you doing here? I thought you’d be in Mexico already?” 

“And miss this? Absolutely not.” She studied you with ease, reading you like a book, “your father is waiting for you. He has some guy he wants to introduce you too.” 

“Of course he does.” You stood up, smoothing down your dress. 

“Why don’t they stick?” Perhaps it was a thought she meant to keep in her head or she was actually curious. 

“What?” 

“The guys your father introduces you too? Why don’t they stick? You’re smart, elegant, attractive, so why don’t they stick?” 

“I don’t know.” You looked down towards the floor again. You knew, she knew, but she wanted you to say it. 

“You’re lying. Why don’t they stick?” She cocked an eyebrow, waiting for your reply. 

“Because none of them are you.” 

It was her turn to ask, and with bated breath she did, “what?” 

“None of them are you Jenni! You think I didn’t love you but I did! I do! My father can set me up with a hundred men but that’s a hundred people that aren’t you. So that’s why they don’t stick, because they aren’t you.” 

Her long legs crossed the room in what seemed to be milliseconds. Her lips smashed onto yours, hands holding your face tightly. It took a moment to register what was happening but when it did you couldn’t help up pull her closer. 

It could’ve been seconds or minutes that you were stuck in this battle of tongues and teeth but when the door opened you shoved her away from you, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. 

Your aunt Elsa was standing there, out of all the people she was the best one to catch you. Her own family, your father, considered her the black sheep of them family. Never fitting into the mould, wild and free. Loving whoever she wanted, loudly and unapologetically. It’s what you admire the most about her. 

“Your father is about to come up here and get you. You have two options.” You stared at her, confused, “option 1, you leave this room, separately and go enjoy the party. Option 2, you leave this room together, your father would be mad, your mother disappointed, the countless men waiting to meet you too. If you chose option 2, I have a friend in Mexico who can give you a place to stay, because you’ll need it. The fall out from this won’t be good. If you chose option 1, then we can walk out together, I won’t say anything ever and we’ll just pretend.” 

“I don’t want anyone else.” You blurted out, “I’ll have nothing. If I leave I have nothing.” 

“You’ll have me.” Jenni spoke up, “I can support us both, you can live with me.” 

“What if this doesn’t work out? What if it’s too good to be true?” 

“You won’t know unless you don’t try calabaza. If it truly doesn’t work out, then I’m still here. Being the black sheep.” Your aunt winked at you. “Take care of her Jennifer. I have a lot of money and can find you very quickly.” With that she left, you could hear her in the hallway, ushering your father back downstairs. 

“I’m scared.” It came out as a whisper. 

“I know. I am too. But we can do it together. If you don’t want to come to Mexico, you can stay at my apartment in Madrid or we can figure something out. Please just give us a shot. A proper shot.” It wasn’t often that Jenni begged for anything, usually she’d flash her charismatic smile and people would do as she asked. 

“Okay.” 

You left the room, together, hand in hand ready to face whatever was going to happen. The unknown is terrifying. You didn’t know how it would work with Jenni, what the future held, but she was there in your ear calming you down. 

When your father pulled you away she followed, when he exploded saying the relationship wasn’t right, she was there. She stood up for you against your parents, that’s when you realised you shouldn’t have waited so long. 

At the end of the day, all you needed was Jenni. It didn’t matter that your parents barely spoke to you, or that you were outcasted from your family. What mattered was right in front of you. 

[xxstylefntsyxx]

Daisuke Darling, You're My Bestfriend

A/N: Part 2, Yall a lot has been going on Jesus if I had a close friends I'd tell yall but just know I'm back for good and I'm sorry to stray! Now yall been clawing up the doors for this one so... TADAAAAAA!!!

Themes: NSFW, Fluff and Admitting feelings *sorry it took so long*

Bestfriend!Daisuke

Who's been pondering his feelings after that day and has been super awkward. You took notice and wondered if you did something that made him this way. Lots of are you okays and are you sures'; you just couldn't put your finger on it, and he was just being a major blocker about it. So you dropped it for some weeks, still worried about him, though.

Meanwhile, this boy was fighting the demons of hell. Your touch is too good for him now, and he felt so unworthy of your smile. He wanted to crumble and sob to you about how he got off with just the smell of you and that he was just wanting to hold you and touch you and! And!

"Daisuke! Pay attention!" Swansea yelled. He slipped up and fell off the small ladder, hitting his ass. "Ow!" He yelped. Swansea rolled his eyes, "Keep your head out yer' ass and keep going! You're not done!" He said, pointing back to a piece of the air shaft he told him to fix.

"Ah shit sorry! It just- like, have you ever been in love like super hard?" He asked. He wiped his knees and checked his ass for any dust. Swansea huffed, "Kid, I have a wife. Of course I've been in fuckin' love before! What do ya' want!?"

Daisuke set down the flame tool and leveled himself with Swansea, "I fell in love with my best friend. Look I'm not asking for a coach, I'm asking for a...dad."

Swansea stopped in his tracks. His face once was angry, and now was sullen and stern. He walked towards him, with his fist clenched around a singular wrench, "Look... I- what do you want to know? I'll tell you, but then you're back to work! Got it?"

Daisuke nodded happily, "Girls are complicated, and I recently found myself liking her. But like I don't know how to tell her."

Swansea grunted, "Son, you're grown. Other girls like her are a flirt away."

"But not like her! She's so nice to me and kind and comforting, and I love her smile. She makes me giggle, and I don't mind getting in trouble with her if it means that I can be with her every single day." He said, thinking about you and sighing in love. Swansea could almost see the hearts in his eyes as he thought about you.

Swansea let a little chuckle out, "Alright son, I see it, I see it. You're in love like I was. I asked my pops for the same advice and he told me the same thing. Guess I thought it would be okay to tell you too. I see you need Swansea Advice, not my dads..."

"Look, I'll be honest. Women are complex creatures that work on scales a bit higher than ours. Course being in love comes easier to them than to us. We wanna bawl up or just flirt it off our shoulders. But then she gives you those eyes of love, that touch that makes you feel alright. She gives you feelings that - yeah, I'd follow her. If that's the one, then you go to her and you tell her. Don't just wait. Never wait cause when you don't see her again, you'll wish you did."

Bestfriend?Daisuke

He pondered about what to do for weeks. He decided he'd own up and tell you! Fuck how everyone else feels. He was sick of the constant running and hiding! You're that girl who can only come once in a life! Its only a matter of time before their back off this dump, and he never sees you again.

"Hell yeah! Fuck it! Time to find her and-"

"RUN!" He heard you yell from down the hall. He squinted hard to see what was behind you. As you got closer, so did the figure.

"What the-"

before he finished, you grabbed him. Then he realized, "Holy shit! Is that Jimmy!?"

He didn't have time before you were whisking him along with you. "Y/N! What did you do!?" He yelled. You laughed loudly, "Fuck that bitch! He yelled at me, so I tipped his coffee, and it fell on his feet! It burned him, and now he wants to kill me... and you because I involved you."

(Insert that meme of the dog with its eyes closed, poor daisuke)

You two ran around a corner before stopping and sliding into a small room. You hushed him until you couldn't hear jimmy. "It was a good prank! I fucking got em'" You were giggling and laughing quietly under the darkness of the room and not noticing just how close you and daisuke was.

Bestfriend?Daisuke

Freak out? Now? Yes.

Shit! This isn't how he wanted to admit his feelings to you. Not in a- what the fuck is this!?

The space was too close, and he only had enough room to slightly move away, but you were pressed against him like a sandwich. He didn't understand what this room was for, but whatever it was for, it wasn't - He felt around, and then he sucked his teeth, sighing. It's a closet for the brooms... why the fucking closet room for the brooms of all places!?

When you were done, you turned somewhat around to face him. "What's wrong, Dai? Are you okay? We can find another hiding space!"

You were almost if it wasn't for the little bit of space granted from moving the brooms close to his chest. He breathed out a, "No! No, please, I'm just... really close to you, don't you think?"

He was flushed out. You were so sexy right there. So cute. He has to tell you, has to tell you how he feels. Before, he never sees this sexy beiw ever again, unless in his dreams. Or his horny flustered events in his room.

You pondered, "What's up with you? Afraid I'll give you cooties? Dick."

Your face turned sour, but he shook his head. "NO! please, no, that's not it! I swear!" He was stammering. You pressed closer, chest entirely too close to his, "Then what is it!?"

"I- I-!"

Bestfriend?Daisuke

"Y/N! Fuck man I've been holding this for weeks okay! I like you! When you're close, you make me feel flustered and very confused, and I don't know if it's cause I like you or if I like you! I've even taken asking Swansea! I'm crazy! I know, but i-"

He stopped. Fuck, he just spilled like a can of beans to you. Poor daisuke, never could keep to himself. You were happy he did it first. Cause now you could tease him for being the loud mouth. Since he likes to call you one.

His face was a deep shade of red. He let go of your hands and wiped them off on his shirt. You did the same because he sweated so bad. "Well, now we know who the real loud mouth is." You tempted, still processing everything.

Even though you felt the same for the past weeks, his offness and blushing got to you. It made you slightly frustrated because of how cute he looked. Made you mad someone so handsome could look so cute when he was in love. But you weren't gonna admit it first. You just couldn't wait anymore.

"Dude, I like you. What's up?" He whispered. You jolted from thought, "Uh! I- I mean, yeah, me too!"

"That sounds so unconvincing!" He half yelled.

You scrunched your nose, "At least I don't sound like a fucking baby! Oh! Y/NN! I likeee youuu! Mwah mwah mwah!" You made fun of him. He scrunched his nose back at you.

He pinched your leg, which made you yelp and hit him. You and him caused a bit of noise, fussing and yelling. You hit his shoulder, and he pushed back against the broom, which scuffed against the floor.

"Ow! You pinch me one more time Daisuke! And I'll-!"

*Eeerrrrrrkkk!*

"You two are in... SO much fucking trouble."

Shit...

"Jimmy." You two said in unison.

UPGRADE LVL.1

Boyfriend!Daisuke

You two went to work, scrubbing and cleaning the walls of the tulper until Curly felt tired. That's what Jimmy said-

"I don't want you two to stop until curly walks down these halls to his room to sleep! Even then, you will clean behind him before you even think of escaping. Shitty brat, I should end your fucking life! And you! Daisuke!" He pointed at poor daisuke on his knees, shirt wrapped around his waist, crying and sniffling.

One thing you know about daisuke is that he hates cleaning even when Swansea makes him. Cries like a little bitch. Spoiled kid indeed. You've occasionally heard him whine and cry while Swansea yelled at him to clean his tools until they shine. Poor thing shaking and crying over tools, snot and drool I mean the whole diva works.

Looked like he went through the worst heartbreak ever when, it's just a snobby boy who never cleaned a dish a day in his life, but will climb in a capsule and fix whatever an old fart tells him to.

Choosy snobby fuck.

"I'm sorryyyy!" Here he was again. Poor daisuke, apologizing for something he didn't even fucking do and crying at the fact that he had to clean. Jimmy berated him, causing him to bend down and wipe his tears off the metal floor, sloppily and half-assed.

You were wiping some of the windows, looking out at the galaxy. You felt a hand around your neck, two quick squeezes, "I'll end you. Don't ever fuck with me!"

You winced but mustered a bastard smile, "Polle says-"

Jimmy growled, "Shut up!" His face was red.

Earning a sniffled snort from daisuke. Jimmy turned around and daisuke went back to sniffling and wiping the same spot.

"YOURE NOT EVEN CLEANING SHIT!" He yelled.

"Polle says-"

"Y/N!"

After doing Jimmy's dauntless task, you two were tired. Yes, but now you two had each other.

Boyfriend!Daisuke

You two were now sitting in his room, cuddled up, talking the day away. He asked you questions about your life at home, and you told him more than he already knew. That comfort you once felt was now filled. His laughter, his sadness, and loving nature showed straight. Why didn't you think of dating your best friend anytime sooner?

Boyfriend!Daisuke

(Alright, I'm tired of the slow jams. We've established it... let's get dirty bitches.)

He turns the music high enough to drown you guys out. You two had fallen into kissing long into your 'Hangout.' He just wanted to make sure their was ambiance so that it could cover up what he was gonna do to you.

"You sure? You can tell me to stop anytime, you know?" He asked you in a low voice. You were breathless, jumpsuit opened, and shirt pulled up. He trailed hickeys down your neck and your collar. You were breathing heavily and nodding, pulling him closer for another heated kiss. He unzipped the rest of your suit to slip his hand underneath it.

Trailing over your cold thighs, he found the lace of your panties, groaning into the kiss. You gasped, swallowed by his tongue and mouth. Lightly his fingers danced over the fabric, warm with your slick and cunt. "Fuck you're hot." He moaned.

He pulled back, and you could see the hardon growing desperately hard in his shorts. "You wanna take it off for me? Give me a show?" He asked with a smirk. You were a bit dizzy from the kissing. Surprisingly, he was good at what he did.

You slowly started stripping, giving him a run for his money. You rubbed your clothed ass, shaking it slightly.

"You're so beautiful~ I never thought I'd see this view ever." He whipsered. Your face felt hot from his words. You turned around now in a shirt and underwear. Straddling his legs, he bounced them slightly., "You're really fucking pretty." Kissing the middle of your collar bone, making his way up with kisses to your neck.

You were moaning, rolling your hips in his firm hands. You gripped his hair when his teeth fond a peice of your neck to bite. He flipped you over on your back, kissing you cheek before winking, "Be back!"

You didn't know what that meant. Like, was he leaving the room? His face slowly disappeared, along with the feeling of your panties sliding down.

"See if I remember what I'm doing... tap me if you need to breathe♡"

Oh

Boyfriend!Daisuke

Oh lord, that's what he meant. Shaking and moaning, he was working your cunt skillfully. Licking long prideful wet stripes up your folds. He circled your clit, sucking it slowly, earning whines from your jolting body. His hands found purchase in your thighs. Crescent moons left angry marks as he held you down with your legs on either side of his head.

"Dai- It's too! Much, fuck! Please!" You whined, trying to remove him. The tufts of his soft hair were delicious. Almost made you cum again, this would be the fifth or sixth? Who cared, it felt so good. Too good. Like crying good, stars in the eyes, you were overstimulated.

You tapped his veiny hand, and with that, he released you. He was panting, "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

No shirt on, body glistening, eyes low with lust and plush lips wet with your juices. He looked so damn good. "I... want you. In me, okay?" You said breathless.

PART THREE IMMEDIATELY I RAN OUT OF WRDS!?

[anamina0]

Echoes

Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V , Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII

Final part

Themes/warnings : mentions of death, mentions of blood, kissing , a lot of anger, a lot of unsolved emotions, fluff

Word count: 10.3 k

You stood up, wiping away the tear tracks on your face. They burned. You had rehearsed this conversation for so long, countless times in your head. You had pictured it, imagined what it would feel like, but now that the moment was here, all your plans felt like they were useless. Words just wouldn’t come out, no matter how hard you tried to find them. This conversation… you’d dreaded it, wished for it to never come. But deep down, you knew it couldn’t be avoided. You couldn’t lie to Vi. Not anymore. Not about something this important, even though doing this meant hurting the one person you had promised you’d never betray. But in the end, you had no choice. Vi deserved to know the truth, even if it felt like you were tearing apart everything that you held so close. This wasn’t your decision anymore. But telling her the truth meant tearing down everything you’d built between you—betraying your best friend, the person who meant so much to you. But this truth wasn’t yours to keep, and Faye had made sure of that.

“Shit,” you whispered under your breath, glancing at Vi. She was standing across from you, her confusion only deepening. She had no idea her world was about to change in a heartbeat, just like yours had. You were pacing now, hands shaking, voice unsteady. You couldn’t seem to calm down.

“I have no idea how to say this,” you mumbled. The words felt foreign in your mouth, as if they didn’t belong to you at all. No amount of thinking, no hours of preparation, could make them feel right. Your heart thundered in your chest.

“You’re freaking me out,” Vi said, her voice small, something almost fragile in it. She sank down onto the couch, trying to settle herself, though it was clear she was more anxious with every passing second. “Just tell me, okay? Whatever you’re scared of… it’s easier to just rip the Band-Aid off.”

You winced at her words. It felt as though she was already anticipating bad news. You looked down, blinking rapidly to push back the sting of more tears, trying to steady yourself before you spoke again. Taking a deep breath, you sat down next to her, slowly reaching for her hand.

“Before I say anything, just… know that you are the last person I ever want to hurt. Last person I’d want to betray,” you said quietly. Your hands were trembling as you held hers, desperate to make her understand, even though you knew it wouldn’t make things any easier. “You mean a lot to me. More than I’ve ever told you. I swear.”

Vi’s eyes softened, her gaze tender as she looked at you. There was a brief pause, a hint of something in the way she breathed. It seemed she knew, without you having to say it, that something had gone terribly wrong. She didn’t smile back, but she squeezed your hand, as if to remind you that she was with you, even through whatever this was.

“I know,” she murmured, her voice thick with something unsaid. There was sadness creeping into her voice now. “Just… say it. Please.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at her for too long, your heart growing heavy as you tried to find the right words—words that might hurt her but were true, no matter how painful they were.

“Is it about Ellie?” she asked, her voice quieter now, as though she was already guessing where this was headed. “She came back, and I… I know there’s something between you two, still.” Her voice almost cracked as she spoke Ellie’s name. You could feel her worry growing.

The panic in your chest rose. You shook your head quickly, frantic. “No, no,” you blurted out, desperate to stop that train of thought. “It’s not about Ellie. It will never be about her. Me and Ellie—” You paused. “We’re done, Vi.”

You could see the uncertainty shift in her face, like a weight lifted a little, but her concern still hovered between you, as she waited for whatever would come next.

“Okay,” she said softly. “I’m listening.”

“Here it comes,” you whispered, taking in a shaky breath. You still couldn’t bring yourself to look her in the eyes. You had no idea how much more of this you could handle. “Do you remember that name Ellie mentioned? The girl who found my brother?” Your voice cracked just at the thought of it, but you pushed forward.

Vi’s brow furrowed for a moment, her lips pressing tight as she tried to recall the name.

“Kinda,” she said slowly. “There was… something about an F, right? But I can’t really remember it. ”

“Faye,” you replied. You almost didn’t want to say it. Saying her name felt like it would break everything all over again. “Faye… does that name mean anything to you?” You almost couldn’t look at her, but you forced yourself to, to catch the faintest flicker of realization—or maybe something worse—in Vi’s eyes.

She hesitated, eyes narrowing slightly as she thought.

“No,” she said after a moment, the disappointment obvious. “Maybe there was someone with that name in my past? Someone from prison, I don’t know… I don’t think they were important, though. I’d remember.”

“She is my best friend, Vi,” you whispered so softly you were almost afraid she wouldn’t hear you. “Or… she was. I met her few years ago. She was new in town—didn’t know anyone. I was the first person she got close to there.” You paused, holding back another wave of tears.

Vi was still confused, still searching your face for the meaning behind your words. You could see her trying to piece things together, her mind whirring with uncertainty.

“She would tell me all these crazy stories,” you continued, your voice growing more ragged. “Stories about her past, her family… She’d talk about her sister, the things they used to do, their life, everything. At first, I didn’t believe her. She never gave names, or clear details, just crazy stories… But over time, I got used to it .”

“Okay…” Vi said, barely above a whisper, her eyes narrowing, not quite understanding but getting closer.

“She told me to move here, when Ellie left..” you pressed on, your voice growing weaker with every word. “Told me to come to Zaun under one condition.”

Vi’s eyes flickered toward yours. “What condition?”

“That I would never, ever tell anyone about her,” you said, voice barely audible now, the truth crashing down harder than ever before. “I promised her that I would never tell anyone, that no one could know about Faye.” You felt your stomach turn, disgust at yourself filling you as you confessed the truth.

Vi was quiet for a moment, clearly taken aback.

“But you’re telling me. Why?”

You could barely even breathe. Your hands were shaking as you clenched them into fists. It was now or never, and there was no way you could run from it anymore.

“fuck,” you whispered, barely able to find the strength to speak, “I think Faye is your sister, Vi. I think… I think it’s Jinx. Powder. I think she’s still alive. And I think it’s her.”

“What?” she breathed, the word barely a whisper. “My sister is dead. Is that some kind of sick joke?” Her voice cracked. The anger came crashing over her, and you could feel it swirling in the air, suffocating you both.

"No Vi,” you began, your own voice a mere rasp now, thick with emotion. “I had no clue when I met you. But when you started telling me stories about your sister, about your past… It sounded so much like the things Faye had told me. It was identical, Vi. The same, same way she used to talk about her sister. That’s when I started thinking… Maybe. Maybe it’s her. So I had to find out. I went to Savika.”

Vi stared at you, and that rage started to rise—her hands trembling at her sides, chest heaving.

“And you went to Savika… you went behind my back?” she snapped, her voice rising, disbelief and fury pouring from her. “Why didn’t you come to me, huh? Why not me?”

“I couldn’t,” you gasped, trying to explain the confusion inside of you.

“I couldn’t! I promised Faye I wouldn’t say anything! I didn’t want to doubt her… but I had to make sure. I had to know the truth, Vi. I never meant for any of this to happen, but she’s alive—alive, Vi—out there, somewhere, living a completely different life!”

“You went behind my back to do your little investigation,to Savika?!” The words slipped like a dagger between you, shattering whatever tenuous hold you had over the situation. “I thought you trusted me,. Why couldn’t you trust me with the truth?”

You couldn’t speak. The sting of her words hit you harder than anything. She was breaking apart before you, and there was nothing you could do to stop it. Vi stood now, hands clenched into fists at her sides, her breath shallow, furious, betrayed.

“Just go.” Her voice was a broken whisper of fury. “Please… just go.”

Every step you took toward the door felt like it would be the last. You had no words. No way to fix this. The silence between you was heavier than any words ever could be. All you heard as you walked away was the faint sound of your own heart breaking. You didn’t want to leave. But Vi’s words hit you like a wave, cold and sharp, crashing through everything you’d known between the two of you. She didn’t want you here. Not now. Not anymore.Every step you took toward the door felt like it tore a little bit more from you, from what you’d shared. The silence between you wasn’t just heavy—it was suffocating. It was the kind of silence that pushed you to the edge, forced you to confront the reality that everything you’d thought would bring you closer had pulled you apart. Vi didn’t look at you anymore. She just stared at the floor, arms folded across herself, trying to shield the pain you knew was there but couldn’t reach. You hesitated for a moment, one foot out the door, but you couldn’t bring yourself to leave completely. Not yet. Not when everything in you wanted to fix this. But the words—the anger, the disbelief in her eyes—they weighed on you, tied you down like a rope around your chest.

“Vi…” Your voice was small, trembling. You took one step back. “Vi, please… Talk to me. I didn’t—”

“Don’t,” she snapped, her voice harsh, cutting you off before you could finish. She wasn’t looking at you now; her gaze was focused somewhere past you, her jaw tight as if to keep herself from breaking. But you knew she was already shattered. Her whole world had crumbled, and you were standing at the edge of it, useless, helpless. She was so far from you now, farther than you’d ever been before, and it was all your fault.

“I can’t do this, ” she whispered, the rawness in her voice clawing at your heart. The hurt was palpable, burning. “I can’t… I can’t look at you right now. I can’t be here with you after what you’ve done. After what you’ve kept from me.”

You nodded numbly, still unable to look away from her.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, but the words felt hollow, barely enough to express everything you needed to say. But even now, standing on the threshold of what used to be your shared space, you knew it wouldn’t change anything. “I never meant for any of this, Vi. I just—I had to know the truth.”

“And now you’ve destroyed everything.” Her words, though quiet, stung worse than any sharp retort. “Everything I thought I could trust. Everything we had… it’s gone now. And I can’t—” She shook her head, cutting herself off again, her hands trembling in fists by her sides.

Tears welled up in your eyes, a bitter, salty wave threatening to break, but you refused to let them spill. You were the one who had broken everything, who had chosen to stay silent when you should’ve spoken the truth from the start. And now you had nothing left. No words. No promises. Only the reality that Vi’s anger, her betrayal—was something you had earned. You had to leave. You could feel it in your bones. But how could you? How could you leave like this?

“Vi…” Your voice was breaking now, a sob threatening to tear free.

She was silent for a long time, and for a brief, fleeting moment, you thought maybe—maybe she would look at you again, listen, understand that you never wanted this. That you never wanted to hurt her. But she didn’t. Her eyes stayed fixed forward, her breath coming shallowly, the emptiness between you expanding with every second.

“I can’t do this,” she said again, voice small, and yet somehow it was final. As if saying your name, one more time, would be all it took to leave the pieces of you both scattered, beyond repair. “Just go. Please. Go.”

A thousand things rushed through you then, but none of them mattered anymore. With her words, she had sealed it—this was the end. You couldn’t fix it, couldn’t undo it. She was shutting you out. You turned, your hand on the doorknob heavy as it grasped it, shaking just like the rest of you. There was a tightness in your chest, something aching, something worse than regret, as you looked over your shoulder once more. There she was—Vi, the woman you loved, and yet she felt so distant now. So unreachable. So far.

And then, quietly, softly—hopelessly—you left. With no one to look back to, no chance at redemption, only the bitter taste of your own mistakes lingering in the air behind you.

What were you supposed to do now? You couldn’t even bring yourself to think clearly. The silence of Vi’s apartment still haunted you, the echo of your conversation echoing in the space. It felt like your soul had been torn open, leaving nothing but raw, aching void inside you. You knew it wouldn’t end well, you always knew. The heavy realization sat like a stone in your chest. What could you do when the weight of it all was too much to bear? You headed up the stairs, your heart racing, mind buzzing with confusion.Stopping in front of your apartment, your stomach twisted as you remembered Ellie. It just felt like one more mess to clean up. You didn’t have the strength to face her either, not after what just happened. You didn’t want to face anyone, but you had nowhere else to go.

“I’ll just go in, go to my room, lock the door,” you murmured to yourself, grasping for anything that would give you some control over this chaos. But deep down, you knew there was no escaping from what was left of you after Vi.

You opened the door to find Ellie on your couch, her head slightly tilted as she sat up to face you. Her voice was soft, almost cautious.

“I didn’t expect you so soon,” she remarked, as if she already knew the weight in the air.

You didn’t reply, instead heading straight for your bedroom. With a quiet click, you closed the door, shutting the world out. And when you lay down, it felt like the weight of the universe pressed down on you. You weren’t okay—far from it. You were furious. At everything. At Ellie. At Vi. At Faye. At your brother. But mostly, at yourself. How had you let it go this far? You had known all along, hadn’t you? You let yourself fall for her, and no matter what you did, you’d be left alone, heartsick again, picking up the pieces of another broken story. Everyone you ever loved disappeared. They died - like your mother and sister, they left- like Ellie and your brother, or—like with Vi—you were the one who destroyed it. You had no idea how long you laid there before the gentle knocking brought you back to the world around you.

“Hey…” Ellie’s voice called quietly through the door. She paused, unsure of how to proceed. “I know I’m the last person you want to talk to, but… I’m here, you know.”

You didn’t move at first. You were too deep in your own misery to acknowledge her words. But you couldn’t let her see you like this, not with the fragile walls you had left. Not when the feelings swelled and pushed against every broken part of you.

“I’m fine, Ellie. Just go away,” you called back, but you knew she could hear the lie in your voice.

A few seconds of silence passed before the door creaked open, and there she was, standing just inside, the vulnerability radiating from her, soft and unsure.

“I said I’m fine,” you repeated more forcefully. You turned away from her, angry with yourself for even allowing her in. " I don't need your pity"

Ellie didn’t leave. Instead, you felt her sit next to you, her hand lightly resting against your back. You almost recoiled from the touch, but some broken, fragile part of you clung to it.

“I have no clue what happened there,” she started softly, “With her…” Her voice faltered before continuing. “But I know you. I know you wouldn’t come back here if something bad didn’t happen. And I…”

“And you think you’re the one who will fix this?” you snapped, finally turning to face her. You wiped at your tear-streaked face and let anger fill the space instead of grief. “Of all people… you.”

She didn’t flinch, just met your eyes with understanding.

“No,” she said, almost too quietly. “I don’t deserve to be here. But you… should work things out with her.” Ellie managed a soft, almost cynical laugh. “God, I can’t believe I’m saying this…” She sighed. “I’m so sorry. You should know, no matter what happened between you two, you’re not the one who should be let go of. There’s no one on Earth more deserving of love than you.”

You froze. Those words hit differently than anything you expected from her. This wasn’t the same Ellie who abandoned you. But what difference did it make now?

“Why are you telling me this?” you whispered, voice trembling like a secret you didn’t want to admit.

Her gaze softened, the truth pouring out of her in hesitant whispers. “Because I wouldn’t forgive myself otherwise. I’ve spent all this time trying to forget you, trying to justify everything, but all I learned was that I should never have let you go.” She swallowed hard before continuing. “You were the best thing in my life. I should’ve never left… but I did, and now… now, I see the same thing happening with her.”

“You know,” you whispered, your voice barely a breath, “just a few months ago, I would’ve given anything to hear those words from you.” You couldn’t meet her eyes as you spoke—your gaze drifting to the floor, to the empty space between you both that felt impossible to close. “Despite all the anger, all the hatred, all the sadness I’ve felt because of you, I would’ve given anything, Ellie…anything to have you back in my life. But I thought you’d never come. I thought I ruined it, I thought I did something wrong, that you stopped loving me.” The words spilled from you, rough and jagged, like secrets whispered in the dark that shouldn’t see the light of day.

Ellie’s breath caught. Her hands were trembling just enough for you to feel the electric pull between you. She leaned in, close enough that you could feel presence so dangerously close, like she might kiss you right then and there, as if the words weren’t enough. She wanted you, craved it—the warmth of your skin, the softness of your touch, the kiss that she once gave with ease, now something so desperate in her eyes.

“But…” she breathed softly, barely able to pull back, searching your face like she didn’t understand the barrier between you. She needed you to finish it, to say something that would bring her closer, something that might bridge the gap of time and hurt.

“But what?” She sounded wrecked, breathless from whatever she could still feel between you.

“But it’s too late now,” you breathed back, pulling away. To give in, to fall into the familiar ache that was both torture and pleasure in her touch. But you couldn’t—not anymore. Not when Vi haunted you and your heart felt torn to shreds by what used to be.

Ellie laughed bitterly, trying to mask the sting, but you could feel her pain as sharp as your own.

“Because of that punk, huh?” She smirked, trying to joke, but it hurt her, just like it hurt you. You could tell.

You swallowed. Her attempt at humor didn’t hide what she was really feeling: jealousy, regret, loss.

“Yes. Because of Vi,” you said slowly, the words cutting like glass in your throat. Saying her name hurt more than you imagined it would, more than you allowed yourself to admit. “But I think we’re quite alike, Ellie,” you added, your voice thick with a truth you could no longer deny.

Ellie raised an eyebrow, confused, wanting to know what was coming. “In what?” she asked quietly, as if this conversation were opening old wounds that she hadn’t wanted to open.

“I just ruined everything,” you whispered, and the confession tore through your chest like a storm you couldn’t stop. “Just like you ruined everything with us. We both destroyed what we had, and now it’s…gone.”

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she didn’t know how to reply. But there it was: the truth of it all. Your fractured past bleeding into this moment, and she was watching you unravel before her. It wasn’t what she expected, but somehow, it was real.

“What happened?” Ellie asked after a long, painful pause. Her voice was shaky, not like the confident, cocky girl you knew, but like someone grasping for understanding.

You took a long, trembling breath and dropped your head into your hands, pushing against the painful weight in your chest. Every inch of you ached. Your legs longed for something solid, something to keep you from falling apart completely. You invited her to sit beside you without thinking, your walls finally crumbling just enough to let her back in. Despite everything, despite how badly she’d broken you, you needed someone tonight. And the only person left in the ruins was Ellie. She sat beside you, quiet, her warmth almost suffocating in the still air. But it wasn’t the warmth that mattered now, it was the fact that she was there, and somehow, you needed it. The night stretched on as the words flowed between you, uncaring of the time. You told her everything—about Vi, about Faye. You talked about your brother still being alive, how he was caught up in this mess. You didn’t spare any detail, letting the painful truths tumble out of your mouth like they were the only thing left. It felt good. Good to tell someone, even if it was the wrong someone, even if it didn’t change anything. Somewhere in the middle of all that, the hate that had lived inside you for so long started to dissolve. It wasn’t gone—nothing like that—but the weight had been lifted, even just a little. The hours passed, her soft footsteps occasionally disturbing the quiet, waking you from the momentary respite you’d found in conversation. And then it hit you, a feeling so sharp you nearly choked on it. She wasn’t staying. Ellie was leaving. Again.

“I think I’m having déjà vu,” you said, the sarcastic chuckle falling from your lips with an edge of bitterness. You walked out of the room, letting the reality sink in, leaning against the wall. And for the first time tonight, you finally looked at her like she was a stranger, not someone who mattered to you at all.

“I’m sorry,” Ellie said softly, her voice flat, no trace of her usual strength. She was packing her things, her hands shaking slightly as she folded the straps of her bag together, organizing it like she was setting her life down for the last time. “I was going to say goodbye, but you had a rough night. I didn’t want to wake you yet.”

You leaned against the doorframe, numb, trying to laugh through it.

“Well, at least this time I knew you were leaving.” You wished you could feel something, anything, other than the painful ache of this goodbye you were forced to live with.

But Ellie didn’t laugh. She didn’t even look at you. She was busy throwing her backpack over her shoulder, coming closer with each small step. The space between you felt like an eternity, like it had always been too much. Too many walls.

“Just before I go…” she started quietly, and her hands were nervously twisting together like she was grasping for the right words. But this wasn’t the same confident girl that once was so sure. She faltered now. “I want you to know… I meant every word I said yesterday.”

You didn’t react, didn’t move, barely blinked. She stared at you, her gaze holding more than you could handle in that moment. You stayed still, terrified to respond, not knowing if it was your heart breaking again or just exhaustion pulling at the edges of your resolve.

“I love you,” Ellie whispered, and those words burned into your skin. There was regret in her voice, sorrow in the way she lingered there, unsure of what she could fix, of what was even worth trying anymore. “And I’m sorry for what I did.”

She moved toward you then, slow and hesitant, but the air between you crackled, pulsing, as if neither of you could quite control it anymore. And before you could even realize , her lips met yours, everything fell away. Her kiss hit like a memory you hadn’t asked for, an ache you hadn’t wanted to feel. Her hands gripped your waist, but you pushed her away. You couldn’t, you didn't want to do that.

“Don’t do that, Ellie,” you whispered, breath shallow. The kiss tasted like regret, like fire, like the love that would have destroyed you all over again.

“Fuck,” she whispered, stepping back but not letting you go. “Come with me. We can start fresh. Just you and me, we’ll start over.” She pulled you close again, her voice thick with emotion, wanting to change everything. But it was too late for that.

“Ellie…” you whispered, pain thickening your voice, too raw to speak through. One tear slid down your cheek, though it wasn’t your crying this time. It was hers. “It’s too late now,” you murmured, feeling your forehead rest gently against hers. There was something so sweetly tragic about this final moment. The tears you were both holding back spilled over, falling from your face as they mixed together.

“I’m afraid this is goodbye,” you said softly, the words breaking your heart.

Ellie just stared at you, her gaze clouded with emotion. It was like she was waiting for a future that no longer belonged to either of you. She moved back slightly, but her lips still brushed against your wet cheek.

“I’ll be waiting,” she whispered softly, like a promise she couldn’t make but still couldn’t take back.

As if you’d turn around and walk out with her.

“I’m not saying goodbye this time,” she added. She wiped another tear from your cheek, her eyes desperate.

But before you could respond, she was gone.

•• •• •• •• •• •• •• •• •• •• •• •• •• •• •• •• •• •

It had been months, yet there was no sign of Vi. Every day since your last conversation with her, you had made your way to her apartment door. You knocked until your knuckles were sore, called her name until your voice broke, but the silence on the other side never changed. The truth didn’t hit you all at once. It came in waves, slow and cruel, when one day, a stranger opened that door instead. You stood frozen, staring at this new neighbor as they cheerfully introduced themselves, completely unaware of the storm inside you. Vi was gone. She’d moved out without a word. The world seemed to shift beneath your feet as you left, muttering something polite to the stranger while the realization pressed heavily on your chest. She wasn’t coming back. But that didn’t stop you—not entirely. Desperation kept you chasing shadows. Anytime you saw someone who looked like they might have known her, you found yourself asking, clinging to the faintest chance that someone had seen her.

“Vi?” you’d ask, voice breaking more with each time.

The answers were always the same. No. No one had seen her. It was as though she’d vanished completely, leaving nothing but the ghost of her behind. And even as months stretched on, she lingered in everything—her scent, her voice, her touch, all burned into your soul. There wasn’t a moment of any day when she didn’t consume you. When you weren’t aching for her. The longing was unbearable, gnawing at the edges of your sanity. You couldn’t escape her, no matter how much it hurt to think about what you’d lost. How you had ruined everything. You were still angry—angry at the world, at her, but mostly at yourself. How could you have let her in only to destroy what you had? It replayed in your mind like a cruel film reel—the look on her face, the way she broke apart. You hurt her so deeply, so fully, that she had to disappear to get away from it. The weight of it crushed you more with each passing day. You had done the exact same thing Ellie did to you. You left her no choice but to run. You couldn’t stop the spiraling questions that followed you everywhere. What if she went to find Jinx? What if something happened to her along the way? What if she was hurt, lost, somewhere she couldn’t make her way back from? And then, more hauntingly—what if she went to Piltover? What if she’s with Caitlyn now? What if she’s found peace, and you’re just a memory she’s glad to forget? Those thoughts made your chest tighten like a vice, but none of the answers—no scenarios you dreamed up—could ever fill the void she’d left. That emptiness was too vast, too overwhelming. It swallowed you whole, threatening to consume every part of you that wasn’t already drowning in guilt and longing. She has become your safety, your chaos. You tried to lose yourself in work, in sleepless nights, in meaningless tasks, but none of it mattered. Every thought came back to Vi. Every single one. And in her absence, the world felt quieter and crueler than ever before. Not even the memory of Ellie could distract you now. She was nothing more than a flicker in the background of your mind. Your brother, once the source of so much confusion and hope, faded into insignificance. Everything else paled when compared to her.

It all came back to Vi.

Always her.

And without her, you didn’t know how to keep going.

“You can’t interrogate every customer that walks in here, you know that, right?” Revek’s worried voice snapped you back to reality. His tone wasn’t scolding, just heavy with concern, like a parent watching their child teeter on a ledge.

“Huh?” you mumbled, forcing yourself out of your daze as you caught him leaning against the bar, arms crossed, his gaze sharp.

“I’m serious, kid,” he repeated. “You can’t keep doing this.”

“Doing what?” you asked, trying to sound indifferent as you busied yourself pouring a drink for the latest customer.

Revek wasn’t buying it. “You know exactly what I mean,” he pressed, his voice softer now. “You keep asking about her. Every damn day.” He paused, watching your face carefully, as if waiting for you to argue. When you didn’t, he leaned closer. “I know you want to find her. But it’s starting to feel like she doesn’t want to be found. Not by you, anyway.” His words cut deeper than you’d expected, like salt in an open wound. You froze, the glass you’d been holding forgotten in your hand.

“You have to accept that, kid,” he continued, his voice gentle but firm. “It’s not good for you to keep doing this. You’re tearing yourself apart.”

You set the glass down a little harder than you meant to, avoiding his gaze.

“Easier said than done, Rev,” you muttered under your breath.

“You managed to move on last time,” he added carefully, though the words felt like a slap to your face.

Your head snapped up, glaring at him with a flash of anger. His face didn’t flinch. He wasn’t trying to hurt you; he was just being honest. You sighed, your expression softening. Revek didn’t deserve your frustration—he was one of the few people who actually cared.

“I won’t ask anyone about Vi,” you mumbled finally, though the bitterness in your voice was obvious. “At least not anyone here.”

Revek gave a quiet chuckle, patting your shoulder as he straightened up.

“You’re the most stubborn person I’ve ever met, kid. Stubborn and reckless.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you grumbled, waving him off as he walked toward the back door.

Your shift ended quicker than you expected. For weeks you’d begged to take on extra hours—to open and close the bar—just to keep yourself busy, keep your mind too occupied to spiral. As the last of the patrons left, you cleaned up in silence, stacking glasses, wiping down counters, anything to avoid being alone with your thoughts. When everything was spotless, you slipped on your jacket, keys jingling in your hand as you locked the doors behind you. The cold hit you immediately, biting at your face and seeping through your clothes. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you tucked the keys into your pocket and started walking toward your apartment. Zaun was eerily quiet tonight. Too quiet. Usually, the air hummed with distant shouts, the rumble of machines, or drunken laughter in the distance. But not now. The stillness prickled at your nerves. The farther you walked, the heavier the silence became, your boots echoing softly against the damp pavement. You glanced over your shoulder, certain for the third time that you weren’t alone. The streets were nearly empty, but unease wrapped itself around you, squeezing your chest.

“Get a grip,” you muttered, shaking your head.

But as you reached a darker stretch of road, the feeling grew worse. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a shadow move. Your stomach clenched. The shadow wasn’t yours. You quickened your pace, ears straining for the sound of footsteps behind you. Your breathing was faster now, your heart hammering. Something wasn’t right.

Then it happened.

A dark figure darted out from a nearby alley, and before you could react, a heavy force slammed into you from behind. You stumbled forward, gasping, your vision spinning. Something hard struck the back of your head, and the world lurched violently before slipping into darkness.The last thing you remembered was the cold pavement against your cheek and the faint, muffled sound of footsteps retreating into the night.

A sharp, pulsing headache pulled you out of unconsciousness. Your entire body felt heavy, and your head throbbed like a drum. Everything seemed hazy, like the moments before waking from a nightmare. For a split second, you didn’t remember how you got here. But then the taste of blood in your mouth brought clarity crashing down—cold pavement, a shadow, the sharp blow to your head.Panic surged as you opened your eyes, only to see nothing but suffocating darkness. Something was covering your head. You tried moving, but your wrists were bound tight behind your back, the coarse ropes digging into your skin. Wiggling, twisting—you struggled with everything in you, but it was no use. Your breathing grew rapid, panic clawing at your chest, when a voice cut through the silence like a blade.

“Look who decided to finally wake up,” a familiar, raspy voice teased from somewhere near you. Her tone was laced with mockery and amusement. “My dearest best friend,” she added with a dark chuckle, like it was all some joke.

Your blood ran cold. You didn’t need to see her to know. The venom in her voice was enough to tell you exactly who it was. Faye. No. Jinx. Powder. The fabric covering your head was ripped off, and light stung your eyes. You blinked rapidly, adjusting as her figure came into focus. She stood before you, cocky as ever, her pink eyes shimmering with mischief and something darker beneath. Danger radiated from her every move.

“YOU.” Your voice was dripping with anger. You glared up at her, your head pounding harder with every heartbeat. “Are you insane?”

Jinx tilted her head, unbothered by your outrage, and shrugged casually. “I’m not insane,” she said, her voice light and matter-of-fact, as though kidnapping you was the most rational thing in the world. “I’m just a bit… frustrated.” Her grin spread wide as she stepped closer, towering over you, every movement of hers a deliberate provocation.

“And this is how you deal with frustration?” you spat, wriggling in your restraints again. “By kidnapping me? Seriously?”

“Sheesh, calm down,” she giggled, rolling her eyes like you were the one being unreasonable. “Nobody’s kidnapping you, look around, you're in your apartment .”

“Oh, really?” You scoffed. “So tying me up and dragging me to… what are you doing Faye?”

Her grin faded into something colder. Her expression shifted, her anger bubbling to the surface as she leaned in closer.

“I could ask you the same thing,” she snapped. Her pink eyes burned into yours. Her jaw tensed, and she leaned closer

“ don’t play stupid with me. You knew she was my sister, and yet—” She stopped herself, the words strangled in her throat, then straightened up.

“No, you know what? Call me by my real name. The one you pretended not to know until it suited you.” She knew. Of course, she knew. Vi must’ve found her—and now Jinx was here, to confront you, to rip you apart for betraying her.

“Listen, Faye—” you began.

“Jinx!” she snarled, her voice sharper now, her pink eyes flashing.

You hesitated, swallowing the bitter taste in your mouth. “…Powder.”

The name hit her like a slap. You saw the flash of vulnerability in her eyes before rage swept it away again. She scowled.

“It’s Jinx!” she barked, stepping even closer, her hands clenched into fists.

“I’m sorry for what happened. Truly, I am,” you said quickly, your voice trembling, but genuine. You didn’t look away from her burning gaze. “I never wanted to hurt you—never even imagined I’d be in this position. But I didn’t know she was your sister. I didn’t know what to do. I had to tell her.”

Her steps faltered for a moment. She wasn’t saying anything, but you could feel her weighing your words. You kept going, even though your voice was shaking.

“I couldn’t keep that from her. How could I? Knowing how much she cared about you… knowing how long she believed you were dead. I couldn’t just sit there and lie to her.” A tear rolled down your cheek, unbidden.

“It wasn’t fair to her. It wasn’t fair to anyone.”

She stared at you with an unreadable expression as she paced slowly, her eyes darting back and forth like she was reliving old memories. She was a storm barely held together—a mixture of pain, rage, and something else. The silence felt like it stretched on forever.

“You promised me,” she said finally, breaking the quiet, her voice cracking under the weight of her anger and hurt.

“I know,” you said softly. “I did, and I broke that promise. I’m sorry. But I hope you can understand. Just like I understood when you tracked down my brother and told me the truth…”

“That’s different!” she yelled suddenly, spinning on you, her movements quick and frantic. She was all fire now, heat pouring off her in waves.

“Is it?” you challenged quietly. “Untie me. We should talk about this. No more yelling. No more games.”

She crouched down in front of you, her pink eyes meeting yours as if searching for something—truth, maybe, or some kind of betrayal hidden in the depths of your expression. Her gaze lingered on the wet trail your tears had left down your cheek.

“You love her,” she murmured, the statement cutting through the tension like a dagger. Her voice was quiet, almost bitter, and her fingers flexed at her sides.

“You’re… in love with my sister.”

The tension in the air was thick as you took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. You needed to calm Jinx down somehow, but the way her eyes were narrowing and her jaw was set told you this wasn’t going to be easy. And honestly? You didn’t blame her for being angry—she had every right to be.

“Listen,” you started cautiously, voice soft yet firm, “Jinx… I know it wasn’t my place to tell Vi about you. You don’t know how many sleepless nights I spent trying to talk myself out of it, trying to just stay away from all of this… from her. But I couldn’t. I didn’t have a choice.”

“You had no right to tell her!” Jinx snapped, her voice a mix of fury and something else—hurt.

“I know, and I’m sorry!” you murmured, your shoulders sagging as guilt wrapped around you like chains. “I swear, I didn’t want it to happen like that. But I had no other option.”

Jinx glared at you before she started pacing the small apartment, her movements quick and jerky. Her eyes flitted across the room, taking in everything with that restless energy she always carried.

“This apartment screams you, you know that?” she grumbled, her tone dripping with judgment as her gaze landed on your record player and the knickknacks scattered on the shelves. “All those stupid decorations. These records—do people even listen to records anymore?”

“Thanks?” you muttered dryly.

She waved you off like she hadn’t even heard you, though the corner of her lip twitched.

“So, what’s the deal now? You’ve clearly lost your mind over my sister. You two together or something? Is it all dramatic stares and tragic poetry?”

You blinked, her sudden shift catching you off guard. But something wasn’t adding up. If Vi had told Jinx where you lived, surely, she would’ve also mentioned that the two of you hadn’t seen each other in months. Unless…

“What are you talking about?” you asked, narrowing your eyes. “Vi and I haven’t seen each other in months. Wait… she didn’t tell you that?”

Jinx stopped pacing, spinning on her heel to face you, her lips curling into a sharp, mocking laugh. “Tell me what? I haven’t seen Vi in years, genius. Remember? She thought I was dead the entire time.”

Your stomach dropped as the realization hit you. “Wait. If you haven’t seen her, then who told you about me and Vi?” Your voice came out quieter than you expected, almost like you didn’t want the answer.

Jinx grinned, her eyes lighting up with a chaotic glee that made you instantly suspicious.

“Your grumpy ex told me, duh,” she said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Ellie’s kind of my favorite now. Oh, and you clearly have a type.”

You stayed silent, not because you didn’t have anything to say, but because the weight of what Ellie had done for you was settling in your chest, heavy and unshakable. You understood now why she’d told Jinx about you and Vi, why she’d stirred a pot that wasn’t hers to touch. Ellie had always had this knack for doing what she thought was best for you, even if it meant tearing herself apart in the process. This wasn’t any different. Ellie loved you—she always had. It wasn’t the loud kind of love, the kind that demanded attention or screamed to be heard. It was quieter, deeper, a part of her she kept tucked away like an old scar. You knew it must’ve hurt her, the kind of pain that lingered and clawed at her, but she still ripped the bandage off for you. She didn’t want you stuck in limbo, hanging on to unresolved feelings or an unfinished story. No, Ellie had always been the one who pushed you toward the truth, no matter how ugly or painful it might be.She didn’t tell Jinx out of spite or jealousy. That wasn’t Ellie’s style. She’d done it for you. She wanted Jinx to understand who you were to Vi, to push Jinx into making peace with her sister so that you—both of you—could finally move forward. Ellie knew she couldn’t be the one to make you happy anymore, but that didn’t mean she didn’t want you to be happy. Maybe that was her way of letting go, or maybe it was her way of saying she still cared, even if you couldn’t love her back the same way. Either way, it was one last act of love—a selfless, bittersweet gesture that left her holding onto nothing but her own heartbreak. Jinx, oblivious to the growing storm of thoughts in your head, raised an eyebrow at your silence.

“What? Nothing to say? Bet you’re wondering if Ellie’s still into you.”

You didn’t respond, knowing she was trying to bait you.

Jinx grinned wider. “Honestly, if my sister doesn’t get her act together and show up, maybe you should go back to plan A. Ellie’s clearly still head over heels, right? Wait… did something happen between you two when she came back?”

“What? No!” you exclaimed, louder than intended. “Nothing happened!”

Jinx squinted, clearly unconvinced. “You’re sure? Because your face is saying otherwise.”

“Look, she appeared out of nowhere, okay? She dropped some bombshells about my brother—who you apparently found, by the way—and then kissed me. That’s it.”

“Ohhhh, I knew something would’ve happened!” Jinx shouted gleefully. “Was it dramatic? Did she sweep you off your feet or—”

“Nothing happened,” you cut in firmly. “I pushed her away, for the record. But yeah, the damage was already done.”

Jinx folded her arms and gave you a slow once-over, a smirk tugging at her lips. “What’s up with you falling for every emotionally unavailable—”

“Shut up.” You shot her a glare. “And untie me, seriously. This isn’t funny anymore. We have a lot to talk about… starting with my brother.” Your tone shifted, growing heavier, the humor replaced with determination. You weren’t going to let her dodge this conversation. Not this time.

" we will talk " she stood up , heading towards you "but not yet " before you could gather what was going on, she hit your head . Once again. And before you knew , you were unconscious.

Your head throbbed as the loud banging on your apartment door dragged you out of the black void. You opened your eyes, struggling to focus on your surroundings. The room was dark, faint streaks of light from outside barely illuminating the scattered chaos of the apartment. You blinked, trying to gather your thoughts, but the pounding in your head was overwhelming. You shifted slightly, groaning as a sharp pain shot through your skull. At least you weren’t tied up anymore. The banging on the door didn’t stop. Each hit felt like a hammer to your already throbbing head. You tried to speak, to call out, but your voice didn’t come. Instead, you groaned again, rolling onto your back and clutching at the pain radiating from your temple. The noise stopped abruptly, and silence settled, except for your shallow breathing. Relief washed over you, but it was short-lived. A deafening crash suddenly shattered the silence.

The door. Someone broke in.

"Shit,” a voice cursed, panicked and familiar. You tried to turn your head toward the sound, but you couldn’t make out much beyond a tall silhouette moving quickly in your direction.

“Fuck,” they muttered again, and then they were kneeling beside you, their hands hesitating before reaching for you. “Hey, hey… are you okay? Talk to me.”

At first, you thought the voice was in your head, some cruel trick your brain was playing after everything Jinx had put you through. But then you felt her touch—warm, real, grounding. Your heart stuttered as recognition dawned. It wasn’t a hallucination. She was here.

“Vi?” you whispered, your voice barely audible, more breath than sound.

“Oh, thank god,” she exhaled, her relief palpable as she pulled you into her arms. “You’re alive. I thought…” Her voice cracked, and the raw emotion in her words made your throat tighten. Her touch, her voice, even the faint scent of her—it was all just as you remembered, painfully familiar and impossible to ignore. You sank into her embrace, your tears spilling before you could stop them.

“Vi.” Her name was shaky on your lips as you held her tighter, burying your face against her neck. Her warmth radiated through you, chasing away the fear that had settled in your chest.

“I’m here,” she whispered, her grip on you firm, as if she thought you might disappear if she let go. “I’m here.”

You pulled back slightly, just enough to see her face in the dim light.

“You’re really here,” you whispered, your tears blurring your vision as you brushed your fingers over her arm, just to reassure yourself she wasn’t a dream.

“I am.” Her eyes searched yours, full of something you couldn’t quite place—relief, fear, anger, all jumbled together.

“What happened?” she asked urgently. “Are you okay? I thought… I thought something happened to you. Someone told me you were in danger, and I just… I ran. I didn’t think, I—”

“Jinx,” you murmured, cutting her off. “She paid me a visit.” You managed a weak chuckle despite yourself.

Vi’s jaw tightened, her hands trembling slightly against you.

“I knew this was one of her games,” she spat. “She sent someone to tell me you were in danger. God, I thought… I thought you were…” She trailed off, her words caught in her throat.

“I’m okay,” you reassured her softly, brushing your fingers over her hand. “I’m okay. Just… help me sit up.”

Before you could finish, she scooped you into her arms like you weighed nothing, carrying you to the couch. Her strength was effortless, her touch so gentle it nearly broke you. She switched on the lamp, and for the first time, you saw her fully. Her mesmerizing blue eyes, glowing with an intensity that felt like it could pull you under. Her tattoos, stark against her skin. Her pink hair, vibrant and wild. She looked… perfect. Breathtaking. Just as you remembered, if not better.

“You’re bleeding,” she said softly, her fingers

grazing the wound on your temple. You winced but tried to wave it off when you saw the panic flare in her eyes.

“Seriously, I’m fine, Vi,” you assured her, offering a small smile. “Your sister, though? Completely insane.”

Vi exhaled sharply, nodding. “Yeah, tell me about it. This isn’t even the first time she’s kidnapped someone I…” Her words faltered, her face suddenly pale as she realized what she was about to say.

Someone I love. The words hung between you like a spark, threatening to ignite everything. You stared at her, your heart pounding in your chest as the realization hit. It was always there, always simmering beneath the surface, but hearing it—almost hearing it—made everything click into place. Every sleepless night, every time you’d thought about her, craved her, longed for her, it all made sense.

“Where is she now?” Vi asked quickly, clearly trying to recover, but you weren’t letting this moment slip away.

“I have no idea,” you mumbled, but you weren’t even thinking about Jinx anymore. Your entire focus was on Vi—her eyes locked on yours, the vulnerability written across her face. She was intimidating, raw, beautiful, and you couldn’t stand it anymore. You didn’t even realize you’d moved until your lips met hers. The kiss was sudden, rough and desperate, like both of you were trying to fill the void the other had left. It was messy, teeth clashing, lips bruising. But as the seconds stretched into eternity, the kiss softened, your desperation bleeding into something tender, something raw. Her hands trembled slightly as they cradled your face, pulling you closer as if she were terrified you’d slip away. The taste of her lips, the feel of her warmth, sent waves of longing surging through you, but what lingered most was the overwhelming relief. Vi was here. She was real. You pulled back just slightly, your breaths mingling, foreheads pressed together.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered between kisses, your voice breaking as you rested your forehead against hers. Tears rolled down your cheeks again, but this time they were tears of release, of relief. “For everything. For hiding the truth about Jinx, for hurting you.”

Her breath mingled with yours as she smiled softly, her own tears catching the faint light. “I know,” she whispered, her voice full of emotion. She brushed her nose against yours, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips again. “I’m sorry too. For leaving. For being gone.”

Her honesty made your chest ache. “I didn’t think I deserved you,” you admitted quietly.

Vi brushed her fingers over your cheek, her eyes soft but filled with determination.

“At first, I was so angry,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “Angry at Jinx for making me think she was dead, and angry at you for keeping it from me. I didn’t know how to deal with it, so I did the only thing I’m good at—I ran. But the longer I was gone, the more I realized…” She paused, her thumb brushing away a stray tear on your cheek.

“I thought I was going to lose you. And I realized I couldn’t survive that. Not again. Not when… not when I love you.”

Her voice cracked on those last words, raw and vulnerable, as though saying them aloud made her break. She buried her face in your neck, pulling you close like she needed to fuse herself to you, like you were the only thing keeping her together.

“Vi…” Your voice trembled as you pulled her closer, your hands gripping onto her desperately, like letting go of her would mean losing the ground beneath you.

“I love you too,” you whispered, your lips grazing her ear as you spoke. You choked on your next words, your chest heavy with the weight of every emotion you’d held back for so long. “I tried to push it away, to pretend I didn’t need you, but I do. I need you, more than anything, more than anyone.”

She pulled back just enough to look at you, her blue eyes glistening with tears but filled with something fierce—relief, adoration, devotion. She exhaled shakily, her lips tugging into a small, fragile smile. “Say it again,” she whispered.

You cupped her face with both hands, brushing the tears from her cheeks as more fell from your own.

“I love you, Vi.” The words came out stronger this time, filled with every ounce of your heart.

Her breath hitched as she surged forward, kissing you with everything she had. Her lips were salty from tears, but they were soft and full of promise, of every unspoken word between you. Her hands tangled in your hair, holding you like you were her lifeline, like she couldn’t bear to let you go.

" get a room you two " sharp, familiar voice suddenly cut through the charged atmosphere between you and Vi. Both of you froze, the moment shattered like glass. Vi’s brow furrowed as she snapped her head toward the voice, her body instinctively shielding you.

" My plan has worked, once again" Vi’s jaw clenched as realization dawned, and you could feel the ripple of tension through her frame. Slowly, she turned to face the figure behind her—someone she had believed, for so long, was lost to her forever.

" Hey sis " Jinx mumbled, her voice unexpectedly soft, though her eyes betrayed a storm of emotions.

•• •• •• •• •• •• •• •• •• •• •• •• •• •• •• •• ••

Yet another chaotic, lively night filled the bar. The room buzzed with energy—laughter spilling over from clusters of friends, glasses clinking together, and the thrum of low music weaving warmth through the air. Tables were packed, couples leaned close over shared secrets, and the familiar smell of cheap liquor and Zaun’s ever-present grit grounded you in this moment. It was chaos, but it was your chaos. You thrived in it, finding bits of yourself among the people who called this part of Zaun home.

“Can you believe this guy just lost ten packs of cigarettes to me in one sitting?” Revek’s voice rumbled as he sauntered up to the bar, slapping a satisfied hand against the counter.

You rolled your eyes with a laugh, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face. “Amazing. Your lungs are gonna thank you for that one,” you teased, smirking as you leaned forward to fix a wobbly glass.

“Don’t act all high and mighty,” he retorted with a deep laugh. “I’ve seen you steal a cigarette or two when you thought I wasn’t paying attention, you little liar.”

“Shut up, old man,” you hissed back, though a smile cracked your feigned irritation. Revek always had a way of making you laugh, no matter how exhausting the day had been.

He smirked and winked. “Speaking of cigarettes, I’m overdue for one now.” He pointed toward the back door, already reaching for his pocket. “Hold the fort, will ya?”

“I always do,” you replied, shooing him away playfully.

Tonight was busy—louder than most nights—but instead of draining you, it energized you. The hum of life in this place reminded you why you stayed, why you found comfort within Zaun’s controlled chaos. Even when things went wrong, this bar had become a haven, a tether to stability in a world that often didn’t make sense. The doors swung open suddenly, the motion catching your eye. Instantly, the corners of your mouth tugged into a smile. A familiar figure strode through the threshold, confidence in every step, her electric pink hair unmistakable. Vi.

She saw you almost immediately and grinned, shaking her head slightly as she approached. Her stride quickened as she crossed the room, her intense gaze locking onto yours with that unmistakable spark of mischief.

“Hey there, stranger,” she said smoothly, a teasing lilt in her voice as she leaned against the counter, her elbows resting casually on the worn wood. Her smirk was downright dangerous as she bit her lip, her eyes sparkling. “Care to make me a drink?”

You chuckled softly, pretending to be unimpressed.

“We were supposed to meet at home later, you know.” You tilted your head knowingly as you reached for a glass, already preparing her favorite drink.

She shrugged, her grin widening as she leaned closer. “What can I say? I couldn’t wait to see you,” she murmured, her voice low and dripping with honesty.

Heat bloomed in your chest, your heart fluttering as her presence overwhelmed your senses. Without thinking, you leaned forward, her face so close to yours that your noses nearly touched. Your lips met in a kiss—soft and slow at first, but as her smile curled into it, she tried to deepen it. But the sound of a sharp, exaggerated cough from the doorway cut through the intimate moment.

“Thirty minutes!” Revek called out loudly, his rough voice breaking the spell. He stood by the doorway with a cigarette dangling between his fingers, smoke curling lazily into the air. “Shift ends in thirty minutes, lovebirds. Surely you two can wait till then.”

You pulled back reluctantly, laughing under your breath as Vi groaned dramatically.

“Sorry, Rev,” she replied with an unapologetic smirk. Her tone was playful, but her hand still lingered on the counter near yours.

Revek chuckled, shaking his head as he blew out another puff of smoke. “Vi, you’re gonna be the reason I have to fire my best employee,” he joked, but his tone betrayed the affection he felt for you both.

Turning back to Vi, you couldn’t help the way your chest swelled at the sight of her. The teasing curve of her lips, the confident edge in her stance, and those intense blue eyes—they held your heart hostage every time. You couldn’t look at her without falling deeper.

“I’ll be waiting outside, stranger,” she murmured, her voice just loud enough to reach your ears. The warmth in her tone felt like an echo that would linger long after she left. She leaned in once more, brushing her fingers lightly against your hand—a touch so fleeting but electric—and then disappeared back into the night. Her words left you breathless, stirring something deep within your chest as you finished the shift with your mind elsewhere. Vi always had a way of making you forget the rest of the world—of anchoring you to her, no matter what storms tried to pull you apart. She’d wait for you, and you’d always follow her.

Author's note: I truly cannot believe that this story is done . It was my first time ever writing something and Echoes became even more important to me since creating this story made me fall in love with writing . I want to thank everyone who even once liked, shared, commented on my story, you guys were the ones who motivated me into finishing it .

As for the last chapter, it took a long time to write it. I wanted to make everything perfect, give each character a deserved (or not so) ending. Please let me know thoughts about it, don't hesitate to message me, to comment, chatting with you guys truly makes my day!

P.S. I will most definitely continue writing more stories, I can't wait to share more with you.

Thank you!