#and someone suggested I do a second (sad) version

[aquastellae]

🌸 Good / Bad ending ❄️

[cherriegyuu]

one and the same | k.mg

pairing: mingyu x f!reader - friends to lovers genre: angst, fluff, suggestive, hurt/comfort word count: 7.6k summary: mingyu only had eyes for gyuri, and you only had eyes for mingyu warnings: mentions of alcohol and food a/n: it's been a really long time since i posted anything at all, so this is almost new lol. huge thanks to @joonsytip who not only was my beta for this one, but also read each paragraph as i wrote it. i hope you like it!!

You lowered the camera in your hands, your eyes focusing on the man at the end of the porch, on his furrowed eyebrows, crossed arms over his chest, and the redness at the tip of his ears—a clear sign that he should have listened when you told him to put on a beanie.

The faint winter sunlight touched his skin in a caressing manner but did very little actually to warm him up. Your words from the night before kept on echoing through his mind

“There’s nothing wrong in taking a step back and putting some distance between you and something that hurts you”

It was the first time he had ever seen Gyuri like that, as a catalyst for pain, in his life. Throughout all the years he had known her, Mingyu thought of her almost as a haven, the one person he went to when he needed comforting. It took him such a long time to understand that she was also the reason why he needed comforting in the first place. 

Maybe it was all his own fault, if he had made a move when an opportunity presented itself, and there was at least a handful of them over the years, he wouldn’t be feeling like that like he had just missed his very last chance. 

He felt even worse for thinking that way when he knew how deeply in love she was with Seungcheol, how her entire face lit up at the mere mention of his name, how the man would break himself into pieces if it meant that he would get to see her smile once again. 

“I didn’t mean to make you sad when I said those things to you last night”

Mingyu finally turned to you, the frown on his face easing once he saw you, a smile taking over his lips as he shook his head. 

“You didn’t. I asked you to be honest and you were, I should have been prepared to not like what you thought of the whole thing”

You hang the strap of the camera on your shoulder, taking decided steps towards him. He suddenly felt shy at the fact that your eyes never left him, even when someone walked by and said hello. Your response came quick and polite, your customer service voice taking over but the person never really got your attention. 

“Mingyu” his name left your lips in a quiet tone, your eyes suddenly searching his face.

“What?” his voice too was quiet, like he could barely push the word out. 

He didn’t know what this sudden change in your demeanor meant. You had always been on each other's tails, bickering away just for the fun of it. He wasn’t too sure how to react to a different version of you, a you who seemed to care for him far deeper than he could have ever anticipated. 

You extended your hand, cupping his cheek while your thumb ran over his lip. A second later your other hand was on his face as well, only this time it ran from his nose up to his eyebrows. 

“Stop forcing yourself to smile when you don’t feel like it. You don’t have to pretend, at least not with me”

It felt weird to be the one nursing someone’s broken heart while said someone is someone you liked. While you sat there, by his side, helping him pick up the broken pieces of his heart, your own stood in front of him jumping up and down as if saying “Look at me! I’m standing right here, all you have to do is notice me”

There you were in this romantic place, in front of a fireplace, a glass of wine in your hand, a blanket around your shoulders, the guy you had a crush on by your side, his knee bumping into yours, all the while you felt your own heart breaking. 

You had set yourself up for failure, that much was beyond obvious, and yet you couldn’t stop yourself. The moment you saw Mingyu stand in front of you, in clear distress, eyes red with unwashed tears, your heart both constricted and expanded, all at once. 

It felt good that he had gone to you but it also felt terrible to know that he was suffering and there was nothing you could do to ease his pain away. 

“I never asked you why you brought me here with you,��� Mingyu said during dinner. 

It was the first week of January, the start of a new year, the start of, hopefully, a lifetime together for your clients, but to you, it was just another day working. In your mind, after calming down a very distraught Mingyu, inviting him to a resort in the middle of the winter made sense. A change in scenario, you had convinced yourself, would be too good for him, it was far better than staying at his apartment thinking about Gyuri and her now imminent marriage. 

“I needed help carrying the heavy stuff,” you laughed. 

It was a clear lie. You had given the week off to Chan three seconds after you said bye to Mingyu, but he didn’t need to know that. You knew that he would never find the truth out, he had never even met Chan before, and the last thing he’d ask was why Chan had to skip work – another lie about Chan’s mom needing him.

“You know I don’t believe you, right?” he had his eyebrows raised, waiting for your confirmation “We both know that you’d rather cut off an arm than ask for help, especially my help”

It’s how two people can have extremely different views of the same situation. In your mind, you always did your best to be around Mingyu whenever you could, most of the time you were truly really close to looking like a pathetic mess. 

Should you have played the damsel in distress card? Would that have helped your situation in the least? It was hard to tell. Although Gyuri wasn’t one to demand attention, Mingyu was constantly around for her, whatever she needed, he was there. 

You sipped on your wine, your eyes never daring to stay on him for more than a second at a time. All the bravado you had shown earlier, getting too close, touching him in a way that felt so intimate, was absolutely gone. There wasn’t a single drop of it in your bloodstream anymore. 

“Come on, I’m not that bad” your voice was a whiny childish sound and you hated it. 

Mingyu laughed, his head tilted back, the corners of his eyes creasing, his teeth on full display. After the laughter died all that was left was his breathtaking smile. Your heart did backflips in your chest, like celebrating a gold medal. It was the first time he had smiled, a real smile after Gyuri told him that she was getting married next September. 

“You’re far worse, to be honest” you rolled your eyes, bumping his shoulder with yours, causing him to laugh once again. 

It was why you had started to bicker, in the first place, because you wanted to see him smile more, wanted to get his mind off of whichever dark place it had drifted to. If a little banter, a snarky comment here and there, were enough to brighten up his day, then you were all for it. 

“Be honest with me, just this once” he asked, trying to make his eyes go as wide as possible like puss in boots.

You laughed and pushed his face away from yours.

“I’m always honest” you played defensive.

It was his turn to roll his eyes. 

“I never know what’s going on in that pretty head of yours” he tapped your temple twice before letting his fingers slide over your face, down to your chin until his hand finally landed back on his lap. 

You pulled your knees against your chest and rested your cheek on them, not giving yourself any option but to look at Mingyu. How many times had you stared at him bluntly but he never noticed? However many it was, it was enough for you to have his face memorized. The light curve of his nose, the tiny mole on its tip, his soft eyes, the way his lips would quickly turn into a pout when he felt contradicted. 

“We’re one and the same, Mingyu” you allowed yourself to say. 

You knew that Mingyu would never connect the dots, knew that he would never be able to tell. Unlike him, you were careful with how you expressed your feelings. Mingyu was loud and obvious, everyone knew about it, and it was clear for anyone to see, while it would take someone who really knows you to tell the difference and in the circle you shared with Mingyu no one knew you that well. So, your biggest secret, the truth you were reluctantly sharing would fall on deaf ears. 

“Who is he?” he whispered, pressing his body closer to yours. 

You thanked the gods that each of you had your blanket, you wouldn’t survive if the only thing separating the two of you was your shirts.

“Doesn’t matter, he doesn’t like me back” your smile was sad, like you had already given up entirely on the matter, and in some way you had. 

“Who is the idiot that doesn’t like you?” his expression turned into a scowl as if he couldn’t really believe you “I can punch some sense into him if want, it would be great to let some aggression out”

He was joking, it was obvious. You knew that it was just a joke, but somehow you found yourself trying to swallow the lump that had suddenly become prominent in your throat, trying to blink away the burning sensation in the back of your eyes. 

Why would his words suddenly cause that reaction? You had, as much as possible, made peace with the idea of never being loved back by him. There would never be a version of the world where the two of you ended together. Hell, not even an end, just a long period of time. 

In Mingyu’s heart, there wasn’t enough space for you. All the love that he had to give was given to someone who didn’t want it. 

“Hey, no, I’m sorry” he wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pulled you into him, placing a kiss on the top of your head “I didn’t mean to make you cry”

His words and actions only made you cry harder. For a brief moment in time, you were exactly where you wanted to be with who you wanted by your side. It was maybe the saddest moment you had ever found yourself in. 

“You’d lose” you whispered against his chest, the steady sound of his heartbeat like a sweet lullaby “It’s the kind of fight you could never win”

You pulled yourself away from him, but Mingyu didn’t seem willing to let you go. His arm barely moved. Instead, he only gave you enough room to move so that you could look at him. 

His eyes had gotten too intense to the point you felt your cheeks get warm under his gaze. Mingyu’s eyes moved from your own to your lips, then back and forth again. 

Your breath got caught when you felt him lean forward and stop. He was half an inch away as if asking for permission or consent. You could have said no, you could have pushed him away, could have done anything at all to stop what was about to happen. Instead, you inched forward and pressed your lips to his. 

Your entire body melted under his touch, the loudness in your mind suddenly quiet at his touch. A quiet moan escaped your lips when Mingyu deepened the kiss, his tongue demanding passage through your lips as one of his hands traveled to your neck, the tip of his thumb on your chin, slightly tilting your head back. Your hands created a kind of their own, running over his clothed chest to the back of his head, your fingernails scratching his scalp. 

It would be a lie to say that you had never imagined yourself in a similar position. Nothing in the world, no amount of imagination, could have ever prepared you for the real thing. How hot your skin got under his skills lips, how your body molded into his once he pulled you over his lap, how you nearly lost your mind when he sucked on your neck leaving a mark that you knew would last for days on end. 

You pulled back for a second, needing to catch your breath again. Mingyu looked at you with glassy eyes while trying to catch his breath too. He moved his hand down your back, going slower at the curve of your ass and the back of your thighs, his touch teasing, daring almost, as he smiled. 

“This is a terrible idea” you whispered. 

Mingyu smiled then, pulling your body flush against his, your center pressed over his growing erection. 

“No” he murmured over your lips “It’s the best idea we’ve ever had”

The sound of Mingyu’s footsteps rang repeatedly in your mind like it was happening all over again. If it had been weeks since it happened, since you pretended to be asleep when you felt he untangle his body from yours, quietly put on his clothes, and leave the room after he made sure you were fully covered with the blanket. It was a sound that kept you awake at night and when you did manage to sleep it haunted you in your dreams. 

You didn’t know what you were expecting from him, from the situation. The truth of the matter was that you shouldn’t be expecting anything at all to begin with. 

Taking Mingyu on your work trip had been the start of all your terrible ideas. It was followed by the colossal mistake of being with him in a dimly lit room and then everything after. 

You had never seen or heard from him again. When you finally managed to move into bed, after the pain in your heart eased enough to allow you to breathe, you saw his text on your phone “sorry, something came up and i had to leave in a hurry, let’s talk soon, okay?”.

The soon he mentioned never happened. You didn’t want to be the first one to reach out to him. You would never give someone, even if that someone was the person you were in love with, the chance to see you at your worst. Being the first one to call would be exactly that. 

On top of it all, you were well aware of what you were getting yourself into. You knew Mingyu was in love with Gyuri, you knew that there wasn’t the slightest chance of that weekend becoming something more than it was, of somehow changing your relationship with him. It did, in fact, change, but not in the way you’d expect. 

Your phone on the table lit up, an incoming call. There were days you had expected a call from Mingyu, wished and prayed for it. You had chosen to believe when he said that the two of you would talk soon, but a day turned into a week, a week into two. Eventually, you gave up. 

The only person that still called you was Gyuri.

“Are you free this weekend?” she asked before you even said hello. 

“No, I’ve got work, on both days” 

You put your phone on speaker, not bothering to even raise it to your face. You were tired, your entire body aching from the kickboxing classes you started a few days before. All you wanted was to finish your meal and go to bed. 

“Your job sucks” she complained and you could hear Seungcheol’s laugh in the background. 

“My job is great and it pays more than yours, babe” the teasing in your voice was evident, the first time you smiled at something regarding Gyuri. 

“I’m still waiting on Seungcheol to make me a housewife,” he said something in the background but you couldn’t tell what it was. 

Their relationship dynamic was cute, it was clear from the moment Gyuri introduced Seungcheol to the friend group. She made a whole announcement off of it, there were so many warnings around it. You still remember clearly how Mingyu’s entire expression changed, his bright eyes slowly lost their spark. It was the first, and only, time you hated Gyuri. 

“Where will you be working?”

“Saturday on the cathedral downtown and Sunday two towns over, a beach ceremony”

“Your favorite,” she said dreamily.

Over the years being a photographer you found out that your dream perfect wedding wasn't one many people were willing to have. The whole setup for a wedding was expensive on its own, the word wedding making every price skyrocket, but having it on a beach was that much harder. 

“Yeah, my absolute favorite”

Mingyu was an asshole, he was well aware of it. He felt like an asshole when he left you, when he wasn’t the first one to reach out to you even though speaking with you was probably the one thing he wanted the most. 

The problem was him, it had been all along. 

When Mingyu was with you during that weekend it felt like the pieces of his shattered heart were mending together. All cracks and scratches were still visible, the pain was still kind of there but much more subtle than it had ever been. And then you were in his arms, body tangled with his, a mess of shaky breaths, sweat, and moans. Suddenly it was like all the gears in his mind and body had clicked together, like everything was finally in the right place. 

And it scared him. 

For a moment, perhaps in his innocence, Mingyu thought that spending the night together would bring somewhat of a solace to the both of you. He didn’t think something in him would change. He didn’t think a change could happen so fast. He was overcome with fear, so he left. 

Seeing you there, wrapped up in him, a look of complete peace on your face caused a new wave of feelings to crash over him. He didn’t want to leave, didn’t want to untangle himself from you. He wanted to enjoy the warmth of your body, wanted nothing more than to simply hold you the entire night and wait to see what morning brought to him. But as Mingyu lay there, the feel of your heartbeat on his chest, the conversation you shared a couple of hours before suddenly came back to him. 

We’re one and the same, Mingyu. 

Doesn’t matter, he doesn’t like me back.

Yet again, Mingyu saw himself in the position of being interested in someone who had no interest in him. So he left. 

Every single cell in his body demanded that he call you, that he went to you. He wanted to hug you again and know, god knows how, that you were made to be in his arms. He wanted to kiss you again and hear the sounds you made. He wanted to fall asleep by your side and wake you up with kisses on that sweet spot on your neck that he learned all too quickly about. 

Still, he held himself back. 

The whole situation seemed unfair to him. He wanted to be with you while still kind of liking someone, you wanting to be with someone else but somehow settling for him. 

“What happened between the two of you?” he heard someone ask by his side. 

Mingyu looked away from the door and to Gyuri, who had a perfect frown on her face. When she called and invited him for dinner he almost said no, but when she mentioned that she had invited you as well, he knew that he would be there.  He waited for the thing for days, his heart flipping as it got closer to the time of the dinner. But once Mingyu got there and realized that you were nowhere to be seen and that you wouldn’t show, he wanted to leave. 

“What do you mean?”

Gyuri rolled her eyes and sighed, clearly pissed off. 

“I know yn invited you to go on her work trip and although I might not know why and what you even did there, I do know that something happened. She’s barely talking with me, and you’re barely speaking to me. She shuts down the moment I say your name and you’ve been looking at that door like you’re waiting for someone and the only other person I invited today was her. So you’re going to tell me what happened between the two of you, right now, or Seungcheol is going to beat you until do”

She was out of breath when she stopped talking. Mingyu turned to Seungcheol, eyebrows raised, but all the other man did was laugh and shake his head. 

It’s almost comical how Mingyu used to see Seungcheol almost as a competitor, but while sitting on said man’s couch he looked like just any other dude. 

Mingyu half expected something to happen inside of him when he saw Gyuri but it was just like seeing any other of his friends. Nothing happened, there was no tension, no urge to leave because he hated to see you around Seungcheol. There was indeed a need to leave, but it was to go towards you. 

“Can you find out for me where she’ll be this weekend?” 

He was avoiding his question, sure, but he had also made a decision. Mingyu was a man with a mission. 

There was something that brought you peace when you worked. It was hectic, yes, and loud, but the second you held the camera and pointed it at something it was like the volume of the world was turned down. It was like an almost out-of-body experience. This feeling paired with the incredible view of the beach, made your heart feel good for the first time in months. 

It was already the end of the celebration, half of the guests were drunk and the other half was helping those who were. The newlyweds had left and there wasn’t anything else to do. You packed your equipment, put it in your car, and went in the opposite direction of the wedding. 

Although you enjoyed being at the beach, you rarely went to one. The craziness of the day, the lack of a routine, and sudden weddings, all made it impossible for you to have a day or two off. There was also the fact that you had been avoiding free time because it gave you a chance to think about Mingyu, and thinking about him usually led to crying, crying led to binge eating sessions that would inevitably cause a migraine. 

You doubted your heart would heal any time soon. It was like the wound was still open, thinking about him or talking to Gyuri was like throwing salt at it. 

You heard your name being called and turned around. Slowly you turned around, certain that you were confused about who was calling you. There was no way it was actually Mingyu. 

However, there he was. In light-colored pants and a dress white shirt with the first three buttons open, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hair was much longer than it was the last time you saw each other, falling over his eyes slightly, his cheeks were red from being exposed to the sun for too long. He had the most beautiful smile as he walked towards you, one of his hands in his pocket, the other carrying his shoes. 

It was almost pathetic how your heart was suddenly filled with hope and joy at the mere sight of him, after months of complete silence. 

“I can see why beach weddings are your favorite, it’s really beautiful out here”

You wanted to ask how he knew that or why he was even there, to begin with, but you didn’t, sure that Gyuri’s sudden call on Thursday had something to do with it. Instead, you turned around and kept walking until you reached the spot you were looking for. Looping down on the sand you removed your shoes and tossed them aside, happy to finally feel the sand under your skin. 

“I’m sorry I left like that,” he said as he sat by your side “and I’m sorry I didn’t call you like I said I would”

You shook your head. 

“It’s fine, I could have called you too” 

Whatever was the meaning of the conversation, whatever was the reason why he went after you, you wanted to be over already. There’s only so much hurt a heart should be able to handle and your quota had been met a long time ago. 

“Can you let me explain?” 

Mingyu reached for your hand but you pulled it away. You were already so close to just allowing yourself to fall into that same wheel of repetition with him, putting yourself through absolute pain to be around him. You needed to break the cycle and that meant being away from him – though you were sure the whole what the eyes don’t see, the heart doesn’t feel thing was actually a bunch of crap because your heart was hurting plenty, even after months of being away from him. 

“You don’t need to” you hid your hands under your thighs when you noticed that he might reach out again “I knew what I was getting myself into that night, it’s not like you played me or anything”

Saying those things out loud brought an entire new wave of pain to you. In a certain way, keeping quiet about those feelings, refusing to cry over them, was like shoving all of it into a box and pretending it never really existed, or maybe that it was a dream all too real. 

“I left because I was overwhelmed. I thought I had all my feelings figured out, and thought that it would be about two people with a one-sided crush finding a bit of solace in each other. But then…” he paused and turned his body to you and you had to use all your self control not to look at him, to not fall into the deepness of his eyes “Being with you was like finally being able to breathe or stepping out of a cave for the first time in my life. You were the light drawing me out the whole time and I was just too dumb to realize it sooner”

You closed your eyes as the tears started to roll down your cheeks, even if crying in front of him was the last thing you possibly wanted. 

Mingyu was saying all of the right things, all the things you always wanted to hear from him, but somehow your heart got tighter inside your chest. There was no relief, just more pain. 

“So you’re not in love with Gyuri anymore?” 

Your heart constricted just at the thought of his answer. 

“I’m sure I was at some point but I think somewhere along the line I simply got used to it so I didn’t know how to fully let go”

“So I’d be your rebound? The getting under someone to get over someone thing?”

Those words hurt so much to say, it was like taking a knife to your skin and pricking it open, not enough to bleed but just enough to burn and scorch. 

“No! No, of course not!” the desperation in his voice made you open your eyes and turn to him “I know it’s confusing and I know it doesn’t make any sense. I know that. But something changed that night and I got scared, so I left”

He was saying all the right things and even so… It felt like it was both too soon and too late. Too soon to get over someone he had been in love with for years and too late to try something with you. It had been a whole three months since you saw him for the last time since you interacted in any way. You had been hurt too deeply, perhaps even beyond repair. 

“Do you remember that night, when I said that you could never win a fight with the guy I like?” Mingyu’s face twisted like the mere mention of the guy brought a sour taste to his mouth “You could never win because you’d be fighting yourself”

You watched as his face went from confusion to relief like he had finally reached the shore after swimming for hours. 

“I have liked you almost as long as you have liked Gyuri” you started before he could say anything else “I watched as your heart broke when she talked about someone, when she introduced Seungcheol, and how we all collectively understood that he was the one for her. I watched you suffer through their relationship and even more so when she announced they were engaged. Your heart was hurting for her while mine was hurting because of you. I don’t believe you when you say that you’re over her because I watched all of that happen”

You stood up and picked up your shoes. You needed to leave, needed to put some distance between yourself and Mingyu. 

“All the things you said just now? I dreamt, wished, and prayed for the moment you’d see me and say those things. I never thought I’d walk away from you if it did happen” when Mingyu stood to follow you, you raised your hand, smiling sadly at him “Please, don’t follow me”

The weird thing about a broken heart is how physical it can get. Hearts were simply muscles and therefore it shouldn’t hurt over emotional pain, still as you lay in bed that night it felt like you had been run over. No part of your body wasn’t in pain. A weird mix of heartache and sobs was all that you could feel. 

It was like that for days. You only forced yourself to get out of bed when you were needed for work and if you didn’t need to be there, Chan was running things on his end. 

There were countless texts and calls from Mingyu, all left unanswered. You used to sit and watch and your phone screen would light up with his name and go dark, just to light up again a few minutes later. He gave it no rest but once he realized that you’d never pick up his calls, he started to leave voice notes. 

“I know why you won’t pick up my calls, but I hope at least you’ll hear this message, like you have been reading all of my texts until now” 

You had put off listening to them. You desperately wanted to, but you were scared that millions of pieces of your heart would break again and leave nothing but dust. A heart that could never really be mended again. 

Liquid courage was needed to even click on his name, a double shot was required to listen to the first message. 

“Out of all the things you could have possibly said that day, me being the guy you like was at the bottom of the list. When you told me about the guy, I got so angry. All I could ask myself was who is dumb enough to let her go? Turns out I’m the dumb guy. You see, the reason why I left was because I got scared, but only because I realized that I liked you way more than I ever anticipated and once again in my life, I saw myself liking someone who didn’t like me back. It’s kind of ironic, isn’t it? I was scared to put myself out there with you, scared to see you with someone else, that I kept myself from you for months, when all I wanted was to be by your side. The moment I got into that train I wanted to go back to you and never let go again. I know you don’t believe me, but I wish you would”

At the first word he said your eyes filled with tears. You had wanted nothing more than to just be around him, in his presence for whatever reason. Listening to the first one was like breaking a dam and you couldn’t bring yourself to stop. 

“I’ve thought about it, why you’d think you’d be my rebound and I want to assure you, though I’m not really sure how yet, that you’re not. There’s no version of the world, even the ones I’m dumber than I already am, in which I’d treat you like a rebound. The only reason why it took me so long to get to you was because I wanted to be sure, that I wasn’t making a big mess in my mind. I have you in so high praise in my mind that I’d rather cut off an arm or a leg than do anything to hurt you”

“I feel like the greatest jerk ever, you know? Before, we used to meet alone and then I’d just cry about some other girl and you were just so willing to listen. I remember how sad your face would turn when I said something and I used to think that you were simply feeling sorry for me but now that I know the truth? I’m so sorry that I put you through that. For the longest time, I kept thinking that I was in the worst position one could be, while you were in a much worse one. I’m so so sorry”

You listened to audio, after audio. Each one of them brought a new wave of tears to your eyes, a new sob to leave you. 

After all the audio messages, there was a text. 

“Please, agree to meet me. Give me just one chance to prove to you that I’m not just talking out of my ass, that I mean everything I said”

The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, not a simple cloud in the sky to ruin a perfect sunny day. The perfect weather for the kind of pre-wedding pictures Gyuri wanted. 

“After the week we had, I thought we would have to postpone today's shoot,” Chan said, setting down the equipment on the ground. 

It had been raining the entire week, the one of rain that just setting the foot outside the door meant getting drenched. Gyuri had called you in complete desperation every single day, almost crying. Both you and Seungcheol going around in circles to calm her down. 

“God listened to all of my prayers this week,” you joked. 

While you and Chan were setting up your equipment, Gyuri and Seungcheol were getting ready inside the house. 

You turned around when you heard the sound of another car approaching. You thought everyone had already arrived. 

“Shit”

It was a car you were all too familiar with, having learned how to spot it from far away, even if you weren’t exactly the kind of person who knew a lot about cars, despite having your own. 

The car parked right by yours and a second later Mingyu stepped out. His eyes were covered by sunglasses and in unusual casual clothes. He smiled as soon as he saw you. 

He took out a few boxes from the back seat and turned to you. 

“Do you mind?”

Blinking away your surprise you took one step forward but froze in place again. 

“I’ll help,” Chan said, already going towards Mingyu and taking the boxes from his hands “Where do I put these?”

Mingyu's smile faded a little. He blinked the surprise away and turned to Chan. 

“On the kitchen, please” Chan simply nodded and entered the house while Mingyu walked to you, his most charming smile in place “Don’t think you can simply ignore me today”

The words whispered in your ear, causing a flash of that night to cross your mind. 

God have mercy on my soul. 

The entire day was a big test of self control, on how much you could focus under enormous pressure. The pressure of being the photographer at your best friend’s wedding was already enough. But having Mingyu around? That was a whole new level of pressure. One you were still yet to meet. 

You could feel your eyes tracking your every move. Every step you took, every word you said, every breath you took, was under his watchful eye. 

When Gyuri and Seungcheol went inside to change clothes, Mingyu approached you. 

“Here, drink some water” he extended a bottle of delicious cold water, but you hesitated for a second “Come on, it’s like a hundred degrees, you’re all in black. It’s just water”

“Why are you here?”

Mingyu took the cap of the bottle out and handed it over to you. He waited until you drank some before he answered. 

“I invited myself, figured it was a good excuse to run into you” you rolled your eyes and turned away from him “You don’t believe me?”

That’s the thing, you did. 

For days you kept listening to his messages, one after the other, and then the ones he sent after. Sweet, sweet words that made you giggle like the teenager you never were. His date ideas, followed by not-so-sweet things he’d like to do with you. 

“I do” you handed him the bottle back. 

Mingyu blinked at you a couple of times, like he was having a hard time registering what you just said. His confused face was easier on his eyes than his charming, flirty, side. 

“I’m sorry I hurt you, that’s absolutely the last I ever want to do. I’m sorry for being a complete idiot and never realizing both of our feelings, because honestly, it takes a complete idiot like me to overlook something that was right in front of me the entire time”

He reached for your face, his hand covering almost the entire side of your face. 

Finally, you caved in. 

You closed your eyes and leaned into his hands. The weight that had covered your heart for months was suddenly gone. All that was left was this fluttery feeling. 

“I missed you”

The admission came in a whisper. 

You missed him in every sense. Mingyu was your friend before he was the guy you liked, a presence so constant in your life and then suddenly there was no him. 

No random annoying texts, no midnight tours to McDonald's, no sudden barges into your apartment because you’re not fooling me, I know you haven’t eaten the entire day miss. 

“Oh, sweetheart”

He smashed his lips over yours. Mingyu was like a man who found water after days in the desert, a hungry man gifted with a banquet. Your body was pulled entirely against his, both of his hands on your face, holding your face close, your own on his back. 

Mingyu was the first one to pull away. He placed small kisses all over your face, up your nose, your forehead, and then back with a quick peck on your lips. He sighed as he pressed his forehead to yours. 

“I missed you so much,” he whispered and quickly kissed your lips again. 

“Do you mean it? Everything you said to me both on the beach and in your messages. I can’t take another heartbreak, Mingyu”

He tilted your head back, making sure that he had your full attention. 

“Every part of me is yours. There’s only one person I want by my side and that’s you”

You stood on your tiptoes and pulled Mingyu to you. The heat taking over your skin had nothing to do with the scorching sun, but everything to do with him. 

“I missed you so much,” he said before pulling you close again. 

The world seemed to have stopped moving. It was just you and him and nothing else. 

“Oh great, the sexual tension in the air will be even worse now” someone groaned behind you. 

Unwillingly you detached yourself from Mingyu and turned around. Seungcheol had a grin on his face while Gyuri had a full-on smile. 

“Oh, so that was the issue. Just two idiots taking too long to realize that they wanted to fuck” 

“See? I told you but you didn’t believe me!”

Gyuri threw her hands in the air. 

“I thought she couldn’t stand him”

“Sweetheart, that’s called sexual tension”

You pointed a finger in their direction. 

“If you two keep talking, some pictures will get ruined” you turned to Chan “You, not a single word about this”

Mingyu laughed and turned to him, hitting his shoulder once and then pushing him away. 

“And you, go away. You’re too distracting to be around”

There was an unfamiliar weight over your body. It was too hot under the sheets and the extra weight wasn’t helping a whole lot with it. The night sky didn’t help tell the time or even an approximation. 

When you tried to move the weight around your body got tighter and heavier. You turned around in bed and all the irritation over the heat vanished. 

Mingyu had your body wrapped up in his. His right arm and leg over you in a position that couldn’t possibly be comfortable for him but you didn’t dare to move again. 

You had struggled to fall asleep. Your mind constantly took you back to that night, to the sound of Mingyu leaving and your heart shattering at the same time. 

“Sleep, I’m not going anywhere” he promised, placing a kiss on your forehead and tightening his hold on you “This is the only place I want to be, with you”

After a few minutes, Mingyu noticed your breathing evening out and he too was able to relax. He hated that he was the one who caused you so much pain. 

When you told him about it, Mingyu was washed with both happiness and regret. Happiness because you liked him back and regret because he wasted so much time. 

He had liked Gyuri, he wasn’t going to shy away from that. He had and that was it. Finding out her engagement wasn’t as soul-shattering as you had thought, or at all. What was truly soul-shattering was seeing the pain so evident in your eyes, how you seemed to barely be holding yourself together, and knowing he was the cause of it. 

Slowly he started to notice the difference in your actions. Small things that you’d do for him but not for other people, shit you’d take from him but never from someone else. 

He had so much he wanted to say to you, things that maybe would make the situation clear for the both of you, but you, rightfully so, weren't taking any of his calls. When he noticed that you were at least reading his texts, he took it as his chance to expose his feelings. At first, he thought about writing but those would be too long and that was something he knew you hated. His second option was audio messages. He could only hope that you would listen to them. 

Having you accept his feelings for you was indescribable. You were the light in life, pushing away all the dark clouds that threatened to darken his day. 

“You’re thinking way too hard in this ungodly hour” he murmured with his eyes still closed. 

Mingyu noticed when you stirred awake, the tension going over your body. The light sleeper on him woke up to every small movement you made, and you moved a lot. 

“I’m hot” you whispered.

“Yeah, you are”

You laughed out loud and Mingyu pushed his face further into your hair, taking in the soft jasmine from your shampoo. He missed your laughter, he had taken it for granted for too long. 

“Laugh again and I’ll let you go”

You poked his rib trying to push him away.

“You have to be funny first and you're, like, the most unfunny person I ever met”

Mingyu made a quick movement, suddenly he was sitting on top of you, holding your arms over your head.

“Take that back right now” you simply shook your head, doing your absolute best to hold back a smile that threatened to peak out “You're sure about that?”

You simply nodded and that was enough for him. He slowly moved his hand to the side of your body. What could have easily been a sensual touch quickly turned into a merciless tickling session. You did your best to keep your laugh in, not make a single sound, but there was no fighting against it. Soon enough you were a mess of laughter, tears running down the side of your face. 

“Okay, I surrender! You win, I laughed”

Only when your body stopped shaking that Mingyu fully let go of your hands. 

“From now on, tears of happiness are the only ones you’ll ever cry. I’ll make sure of that”

Slowly, you ran your hand up his arm that was holding his weight next to your head, to his shoulder, until you were able to tangle your fingers through his hair. 

“Well, I was hoping that I could cry because of other reasons too”

Something in his eyes changed.  The softness was gone, replaced by mischievousness. 

“We can arrange that”

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[helvegen-s]

do I wanna know?

Hozier's version

an Oscar Piastri one-shot

Summary: Oscar Piastri wasn't looking for love when he met Amélie in a Monaco nightclub. But their undeniable chemistry sparks a passionate connection that quickly becomes something more. As their secret relationship deepens, her surname, Vasseur, becomes the real problem.

Word count: 12k (stoppp, so long but so worth it)

TW: emotional manipulation, gaslighting, sexually suggestive content, alcohol, strong language...

A/N: I DID IT. Another day, another one-shot. I love Oscar with all my heart. I swear I’ve done everything to make this as little angsty and as least sad as possible. I hope you enjoy it <3

My previous one-shot, Step by step, has received so much love. I adore you all, and thank you for the reblogs, for the comments and the likes!

have in mind that English is not my first nor my second language, excuse any mistakes that you might find

Monaco at night had a different glow. It wasn’t just the shimmer of lights reflecting on the sea or the lingering echo of engines that still seemed to vibrate in the air. It was the luxury, the exclusivity—the feeling that anything could happen in a city that never truly slept.

Oscar Piastri wasn’t the kind of guy who frequented nightclubs. Not because he didn’t like having fun, but because the idea of being surrounded by strangers, with deafening music and alcohol flowing freely, wasn’t exactly his scene. But a couple of friends had come to visit him at his new apartment in Monaco, and after a few beers and plenty of teasing about how boring he was, they had managed to drag him there.

The club was a chaos of strobe lights and moving bodies. The music, a heavy, immersive beat, pulsed through the floor and into his chest. Oscar stayed in a corner, a drink in his hand, pretending to enjoy himself while his friends disappeared into the crowd.

That was when he saw her.

She moved with an almost insolent confidence, the kind of presence that made people turn their heads without even realizing it. She was dressed in black, her loose hair falling in soft waves, her smirk suggesting she already knew something the rest didn’t. Oscar wasn’t the type to stare at just anyone, but there was something about her that kept his gaze locked.

When their eyes met, she didn’t look away. Instead, she smiled, amused, as if she could read exactly what was going through his mind.

And then she walked over.

"You don’t look like someone who enjoys places like this," she said, leaning in just enough for her voice to be heard over the music.

Oscar raised an eyebrow.

"And what kind of person do I look like?"

"Someone who’s already calculating how much longer they need to stay before they can leave without looking like a buzzkill."

Oscar let out a laugh.

"And what about you? Are you the life of the party?"

She shrugged, her expression shameless.

"Could be."

Oscar couldn’t help but smile. There was something about her attitude, the way she didn’t give him a break, that had him completely hooked.

"Are you always this quick with words?"

"Are you always this easy to throw off?" she shot back.

He laughed again, more at ease than he expected to be. He wasn’t usually like this with strangers. He didn’t usually let himself go this fast. But with her, it felt inevitable.

They stayed like that, challenging each other with words and smiles, until conversation was no longer enough. He wasn’t sure who made the first move—if it was her or him. Maybe, in the end, it didn’t matter. The only thing that did was the exact moment their lips met in the middle of the dance floor, with the music pounding around them and the world shrinking to that single instant.

Oscar didn’t know her name. He didn’t know who she was or where she was from. All he knew was that the night had just become a lot more interesting.

The kiss tasted like gin and danger. The kind that arrived without warning, set skin on fire, and became impossible to ignore.

Oscar wasn’t thinking too much when he had her this close. He wasn’t thinking about the loud club, his friends, or anything other than the way she smiled against his lips, as if this were a game she already knew she was going to win.

His hand instinctively slid to her waist, pulling her closer, feeling the way her body fit against his like they’d done this before, like it was meant to happen. She didn’t pull away—on the contrary, her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging gently, just to tease him.

"Do you always kiss strangers like this?" she whispered when they pulled apart just a fraction.

Oscar smiled, still holding her.

"No. Do you?"

"Neither do I." She leaned in again, barely grazing his lips with hers, tempting him. "But today seems like a good day to start."

Oscar chuckled lowly, unable to resist the effect she had on him. This wasn’t normal. It wasn’t what he usually did. But something about her made him want to play along, to fall helplessly into the pull of her presence.

The music shifted to something slower, more intimate. She took advantage of it, letting her hands trace the edges of his shirt while looking at him with that wicked amusement.

"Do you dance, driver?"

Oscar frowned, half amused, half confused.

"How do you know I’m a driver?"

She tilted her head, pretending to think.

"The way you move. Besides, this is Monaco. Everyone’s a driver here."

"That sounds like a very well-crafted lie."

"Could be." She leaned in again, her lips brushing against the curve of his jaw. "Does that bother you?"

No. It didn’t. Not when he had her this close, the dance floor spinning around them, and the feeling that this was all a mistake—but the kind worth making.

Oscar took her hand and spun her effortlessly, making her laugh. They danced without a plan, without thinking too much about the rest of the world. Her body felt light against his, her laughter vibrating against his skin every time they pushed the limits a little further.

Until, in a moment of clarity, Oscar leaned in and whispered in her ear,

"You haven’t told me your name."

She stopped, looking at him with a spark in her eyes.

"Do you really need it?"

Yes. Probably. But the way she said it, the way she smiled afterward, made him hesitate.

Because maybe, just for tonight, he didn’t need it at all.

Oscar watched her, waiting for an answer. She only smiled, stretching the silence just enough to keep him on edge.

"Amélie," she finally said, savoring each syllable of her own name.

Oscar nodded, repeating it in his mind, making sure not to forget it. Amélie. It suited her.

"Nice name."

"I know."

Oscar laughed. God, she was unbearable. Unbearable and utterly fascinating in equal measure.

They kept dancing, though the music no longer mattered. What mattered were their hands gliding over each other’s skin, the whispers in their ears, the way their lips brushed together, turning into something more. The attraction between them was like an electric current, a dangerous game neither of them seemed willing to lose.

Amélie leaned in, her lips just a breath away.

"Let’s get out of here."

Oscar didn’t think twice.

The Mediterranean breeze was warm as they walked through the streets of Monaco, away from the noise of the club, adrenaline still coursing through their veins.

"Your place or mine?" Amélie asked, hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket.

Oscar hesitated for a second. His friends would be crashing at his apartment, and the idea of going back with her only to find a couple of drunk idiots passed out on the couch wasn’t exactly appealing. His mind also flashed to the countless unopened boxes, unpacked suitcases, and unassembled furniture piled up in his new place.

"Yours."

"Good choice." She smiled but didn’t say anything else. She simply started walking, knowing he would follow.

Her apartment was in an elegant building near the port, with massive windows and a breathtaking view of the illuminated city.

"Nice place."

"It’s not bad." She shrugged off her jacket with a swift motion, letting it fall onto a chair. Then she turned to face him, that same defiant look in her eyes. "Do you want something to drink or…?"

Oscar didn’t let her finish.

The tension that had been simmering between them all night exploded the moment their lips met again. It was different from the kiss at the club—more urgent, more desperate. Like every second they had spent holding back had only been a prelude to the real moment of the night.

Amélie smiled against his mouth and, in one swift move, pushed him back until his spine hit the wall.

"Are you always this easy?" she murmured, her fingers playing with the collar of his shirt.

Oscar let out a low chuckle.

"Are you always this bossy?"

"When necessary."

"I like it."

This time, he took control.

They stumbled through the apartment, kissing and laughing, too caught up in each other to care about bumping into furniture. Clothes disappeared along the way, leaving a trail neither of them bothered to follow.

The way Amélie moved was hypnotic, as if she was in charge without even trying. She pulled back just enough to look at him, her breath warm against his lips.

"If at any point you want to stop—"

Oscar cut her off before she could finish, kissing her again, deeper, more desperate. Amélie grinned against his lips before pulling him further into the apartment.

There was no rush, yet no hesitation either. They moved with an absurd level of synchronicity for two strangers, as if every touch had been rehearsed a hundred times before.

When the back of his legs hit the edge of the bed, he took the opportunity to flip their dynamic, pinning her beneath him with ease.

"So, you like competing off-track too?" she teased, fingers tracing down his back.

Oscar lowered his head to her neck, pressing slow kisses against her skin.

"Always."

Amélie exhaled softly, letting the heat of the moment consume everything.

That night was one to remember.

Because, even though neither of them knew it yet, it was a night that would change everything.

Oscar woke up to sunlight filtering through the curtains.

He blinked a few times, trying to get his bearings. It took him a second to remember where he was—the spacious bedroom, the messy sheets, the lingering scent of perfume and warm skin in the air.

And then, the body beside him.

Amélie was lying on her stomach, her hair a tangled mess on the pillow, the sheet barely covering her back. Her breathing was soft, completely oblivious to his wakefulness.

Oscar rested his head on the pillow and watched her for a moment. He remembered every detail of the night before—the taste of gin on her lips, the way she laughed against his skin, how they had lost themselves in each other without holding back. It had been wild and sweet at the same time, like they were on the edge of devouring each other yet somehow knew exactly how to touch.

Definitely, one of those nights you don’t forget.

But now came the tricky part—the mornings.

It was never exactly awkward, but it was never simple either. There was something about waking up in an unfamiliar bed, with the faint haze of a night too good to regret, that always brought the inevitable question: Now what?

As if sensing his gaze, Amélie shifted slightly and murmured something unintelligible before cracking her eyes open.

"Mmm… you’re still here," she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.

Oscar raised an eyebrow.

"Did you expect me to sneak out in the middle of the night?"

"I didn’t take you for a coward," she said, a lazy smile tugging at her lips.

Oscar chuckled. He propped himself up on his elbow, taking her in properly for the first time without the dim club lights or the haze of lust clouding his perception. He noticed new details—the way her skin caught the morning light, the faint scar on her collarbone, the relaxed yet mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Do you always analyze people this much when you wake up next to them?" Amélie asked, meeting his gaze.

"Do you always have a comeback ready?"

"I warned you last night."

Oscar smirked, shaking his head. He couldn’t help it. There was something about her that intrigued him. It wasn’t just that she was stunning or that the sex had been incredible. It was the way she carried herself, the confidence, the effortless way she set the pace without him even noticing.

She stretched lazily before sitting up, letting the sheet slide down to her waist.

"I’m making coffee," she announced, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed.

"Does that mean you're inviting me to stay?"

Amélie turned around, giving him a defiant look.

"It means that if you touch the coffee machine before it's done, I'll throw you out of my apartment shirtless."

Oscar let out a laugh and fell back onto the bed, arms resting behind his head.

"You're trouble."

"And you walked right into it with your eyes wide open, driver."

With a satisfied smile, Amélie disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Oscar with the certainty that this night wouldn’t be something he could forget so easily.

He lay there for a few more minutes, staring at the ceiling with a small smile. He couldn’t remember the last time a night had been like this. Not just incredible in the physical sense—because it had been, no question—but fun.

There was something about Amélie that kept him hooked, and that worried him a little. She wasn’t like him. She wasn’t like any other girl he’d been with before.

He sighed, running a hand down his face before getting up.

Gathering his clothes scattered around the room, he pulled his pants halfway up as he walked out toward the kitchen.

The apartment was modern and spacious, with a spectacular view of Monaco from the floor-to-ceiling windows. In the distance, Amélie’s silhouette moved effortlessly between the coffee machine and the shelves, wearing his shirt—barely buttoned.

Oscar leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms.

"Nice shirt."

Amélie didn’t even turn around.

"Nice coffee machine," she shot back. "Which you still can’t touch."

He chuckled, stepping closer until his hip brushed against hers at the counter.

"And what if I need caffeine to function?"

She turned her head just enough to give him a look filled with teasing amusement.

"You're an F1 driver, not an office worker with a coffee addiction."

"We all have our weaknesses."

Amélie smirked, as if considering his words for a moment, before focusing back on her coffee.

The coffee machine bubbled softly as the rich aroma filled the kitchen. Amélie, arms crossed and feigning exasperation, watched Oscar stir the scrambled eggs he had insisted on cooking—with infuriating ease.

"Seriously, you don’t have to cook," she repeated for the third time.

"And yet, here I am."

"This isn’t your house."

"No, but it’s not a restaurant either, so if I want a decent meal, I’d rather make it myself."

Amélie huffed, leaning against the counter with her coffee cup in hand.

"Are you implying that I can’t cook?"

Oscar shot her an amused look.

"I haven’t seen any evidence that you can."

"You're incredibly arrogant for someone cooking with my pan in my kitchen."

"I call it survival," he said with a shrug.

Their dynamic was captivating. Amélie fired off comebacks at lightning speed, but Oscar kept up, responding with dry, precise remarks. There was no tension, no awkward pauses. It felt as if they had known each other for years, as if this was a routine between them.

As the eggs finished cooking, Oscar glanced toward the living room. From the kitchen, he had the perfect angle to see the main wall, and that’s when he noticed it.

Above the TV, hung proudly, was a massive painting.

It wasn’t a photograph, but a stunningly detailed painting of Monza’s circuit, featuring the faces of Michael Schumacher and Rubens Barrichello, dressed in their iconic Ferrari red suits, holding their trophies with beaming smiles.

Oscar raised an eyebrow.

"Is that Monza?"

Amélie, mid-sip of coffee, glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.

"Mhm."

Oscar set down the spatula and turned fully toward the painting.

"It’s incredible."

"It is."

"Did you buy it?"

"No."

Oscar narrowed his eyes, noting how she didn’t elaborate.

"Are you a Formula 1 fan?"

"Mmm… not actively."

"You have a giant painting of Schumacher and Barrichello in your living room, Amélie. I find that hard to believe."

She sighed, as if she had been expecting this conversation.

"It was my father’s. He gave it to me when I bought this apartment."

Oscar tilted his head.

"Is your father a fan?"

"Let’s just say he’s very involved in motorsport."

A small alarm went off in Oscar’s head. Something wasn’t quite adding up, but before he could ask more, Amélie set her cup down and crossed her arms.

"And yes, I know who you are."

He tensed slightly.

"Oh."

"I didn’t sleep with you because you’re famous."

Oscar let out a quiet laugh, surprised by her bluntness.

"I didn’t think you did."

"Good. Because I didn’t."

They held each other’s gaze for a moment. Amélie’s expression was calm, but with that ever-present challenge in her eyes that made her impossible to ignore. Oscar felt there was more to this, something she wasn’t saying.

But for now, he let it go.

"The eggs are ready," he said, serving them onto two plates.

Amélie gave him a small smile and took hers.

"You’re a decent driver. Let’s see if you’re a decent cook too."

Oscar shook his head, chuckling as they sat down to eat.

Breakfast carried the same strangely effortless energy as the rest of the morning. Oscar couldn’t recall the last time he’d shared a moment like this with someone he’d just met. Maybe never.

They talked about everything and nothing. Amélie teased him about how meticulous he was with the scrambled eggs. Oscar told her the coffee was so strong it could wake the dead. She told him that if he couldn’t handle it, he probably wasn’t man enough to be in her kitchen.

Oscar could only laugh.

And then, it was time to leave.

"I’d stay longer," he said, leaning against the counter, "but I left my friends at a club, and I still don’t know if they’re alive or if one of them ended up in a ditch."

Amélie chuckled.

"I’d say there’s an 80% chance they’re sleeping on your couch and a 20% chance they’re in jail."

"That’s exactly why I need to check."

She set her cup in the sink and nodded.

"Alright."

But neither of them moved.

Oscar pulled his phone from his pocket and held it up.

"Want to exchange numbers?"

Amélie raised an eyebrow, as if she hadn’t expected that, but didn’t hesitate for long before taking her own phone and typing her contact into his.

"Call me if your friends are dead. I can help you hide the bodies."

"I’ll keep that in mind," Oscar joked, saving her number.

And then, the real problem arose: how to say goodbye?

A simple “bye”? Too cold.

A hug? He wasn’t sure if that was right.

A kiss? Maybe too intimate for what they really were—two strangers who had just spent the night together.

But when their eyes met, the decision made itself.

Oscar leaned in slightly, and Amélie didn’t step back. Their lips barely brushed—a short kiss, nothing like the intensity of the night before, but charged with something else. Something harder to define.

When they pulled away, Amélie smiled, that mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Don’t let it get to your head, Piastri."

Oscar laughed, shaking his head as he stepped toward the door.

"See you around, Amélie."

"See you."

And with that, he left.

Though, as he walked out of the building, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was only a matter of time before he saw her again.

Oscar entered his apartment in Monaco, his body exhausted and his mind scattered. The weekend's race was still buzzing in his head, memories of the paddock and strategy meetings blending with the roar of the engines. He knew he should take a shower, eat something decent, and, most of all, sleep.

But the moment he crossed the threshold, he thought of her.

It had been weeks since he last saw her. Neither of them had written, not even a casual message, as if the night they spent together had been nothing more than a fleeting moment, not something strong enough to leave a mark.

Oscar dropped onto the couch, rubbing his eyes. He had no reason to text her. No excuse. But before he could think too much about it, his fingers were already moving over the screen.

🟠 Oscar: "If you want to see me, come over. I'm exhausted."

The possibility that she wouldn’t reply crossed his mind. It was late. And if he hadn’t bothered to reach out before, why would she now?

But against all odds, his phone vibrated instantly.

🔴 Amélie: "What kind of invitation is that? Doesn't sound very tempting."

Oscar let out a quiet laugh.

🟠 Oscar: "It's the best I can offer in this state."

This time, Amélie took longer to reply. He pictured her with her phone in hand, debating whether to accept or keep playing along a little longer.

🔴 Amélie: "Alright. But I’m bringing dinner."

🟠 Oscar: "No objections here."

🔴 Amélie: "You should have some. I might bring something terrible just to see your face when you try it."

🟠 Oscar: "If you poison me, you’ll pay for it."

🔴 Amélie: "I love a man who takes risks."

Oscar shook his head, and as he wrote his address in the chat, he couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips.

Whatever this was, he liked it.

The doorbell rang about forty minutes later.

Dressed in sweatpants and an old T-shirt, Oscar made his way to the door unhurriedly. When he opened it, Amélie stood there, a paper bag in hand and a half-smile on her lips.

“Don’t ask what’s for dinner,” she said before he could say a word.

Oscar arched an eyebrow as he stepped aside to let her in.

“That sounds concerning.”

“Come on, trust me.”

She took off her jacket and tossed it over the couch with a familiarity they probably shouldn’t have yet. Oscar didn’t comment on it, but his gaze flickered to the jacket for a second before he shut the door behind her.

“I hope you’re not expecting anything gourmet,” she warned, pulling containers from the bag.

Oscar leaned against the counter, watching her.

“Honestly, as long as I don’t have to cook, I’ll take anything.”

Amélie pulled out two boxes of pasta from an Italian restaurant.

“Not much effort, huh?”

She shot him a sharp look.

“You wound me. This is from one of the best places in Monaco.”

Oscar opened one of the boxes, and the second the aroma hit him, he had to admit—it looked amazing.

“Alright, point for you.”

They sat on the couch, legs crossed casually, no rush. They ate in a comfortable atmosphere, filled with sarcastic remarks and glances that lingered just a little too long.

“So,” Amélie said at some point, twirling her fork in her pasta, “how does it feel to be home after the races?”

Oscar shrugged.

“Quiet. Maybe too quiet.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Does that mean you missed the chaos?”

Oscar watched her for a second before replying, amusement in his voice.

“I think it means I missed the person who brings it.”

Amélie smiled but didn’t reply right away. Still, in her eyes, Oscar saw something—a flicker of recognition, of acceptance.

This game between them was far from over.

Amélie held Oscar’s gaze for a few seconds before flashing a lazy smile.

“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an accusation,” she said, taking another bite of pasta.

“A bit of both.”

She let out a low chuckle.

“I’ll take it as a compliment.”

They kept eating, their conversation flowing as easily as their playful jabs. There were no awkward silences, no need to fill the gaps with unnecessary words. It was strange. Strange because Oscar wasn’t usually this comfortable with someone he barely knew.

But Amélie wasn’t just anyone.

And that’s what kept him hooked.

When they finished eating, she set her takeout container on the coffee table and leaned back on the couch with the ease of someone who had no intention of leaving anytime soon.

“I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting you to text me,” she said suddenly.

Oscar glanced at her while finishing his last bite.

“Oh yeah?”

“No. You seemed like the type of driver who disappears after one night.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“That’s what you think of me?”

Amélie tilted her head slightly.

“I don’t know. I’m still deciding.”

Oscar licked his lips, amused.

“And how’s my evaluation going so far?”

She pretended to think about it for a moment before answering.

“A solid seven out of ten.”

Oscar let out a laugh.

“Just a seven?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“What would get me a ten?”

Amélie turned her head to look at him, and Oscar caught the subtle glint of challenge in her eyes.

“You’ll have to figure that out.”

The air between them shifted, almost imperceptibly. It wasn’t an invitation, but it wasn’t a rejection either. Amélie kept him right on the edge of what was safe and what wasn’t, and Oscar wasn’t sure which one tempted him more.

He studied her in silence for a moment.

“Do you want a drink?” he asked finally.

Amélie smiled.

“Only if you have decent wine.”

Oscar stood up, shaking his head.

“Picky.”

“Always.”

He walked to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of red wine he had stashed away. He wasn’t exactly a wine connoisseur, but he hoped it was good enough for his guest. When he returned to the living room with two glasses, Amélie had already changed positions on the couch, sitting with her legs tucked beneath her.

“I’ll give you an extra point if it’s good,” she remarked as Oscar poured her a glass.

“Then you’d better lie if it’s not.”

She laughed softly before taking a sip.

Oscar watched her as she did, surprised by how much he enjoyed having her in his space.

“Approved,” she finally said, handing him back the glass with an amused look.

“Great. So am I at an eight now?”

Amélie tilted her head.

“That depends on how the night ends.”

Oscar leaned back against the couch, smirking.

“Interesting.”

And somehow, they both knew the night was far from over.

Eventually, the wine was forgotten on the table.

He wasn’t exactly sure how it happened. One joke led to another, a smile turned into a fleeting touch, and now Amélie was straddling him, her legs tangled with his, her lips caught in a kiss that had no intention of ending anytime soon.

Oscar’s hand slid down her waist, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath the fabric of her shirt. Amélie let out a laugh against his mouth before pulling back slightly, her eyes gleaming with amusement.

“For someone who was so tired, you have an impressive amount of energy,” she teased, not bothering to hide the playful lilt in her voice.

Oscar chuckled, his fingers still tracing lazy circles on her waist.

“Must be the high-quality dinner you brought,” he shot back with equal sarcasm.

Amélie arched an eyebrow.

“Then I should feed you more often.”

“Good idea. But, to be fair, it’s not just the food.”

“Oh, no?”

Oscar tilted his head, his lips grazing the skin of her neck.

“Let’s just say the company helps, too.”

Amélie smiled, sliding a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

“You’re more charming than you let on, Piastri.”

“And you’re more dangerous than you look.”

She let out a soft laugh before kissing him again, her fingers tangling in his hair. And for the second time in his life, Oscar let himself be swept away by Amélie without a second thought.

Somehow, between laughter, sharp comebacks, and hands growing bolder by the second, they ended up in Oscar’s bedroom. It was a whirlwind of discarded clothes, breathless whispers, and a crackling electricity that filled every inch of space. Amélie was a storm—unpredictable, defiant, impossible to ignore. And Oscar surrendered to her without hesitation, without caring that they barely knew each other, without worrying about what it meant.

Because in that moment, the only thing that mattered was her.

The first thing Oscar noticed upon waking was the faint morning light filtering through the curtains. The second was the warmth beside him—the shape of Amélie beneath the sheets.

For a moment, he simply lay there, watching her in the dim light. Her breathing was slow and steady, her hair a tangled mess against the pillow. She looked peaceful, nothing like the woman who challenged him with every word when she was awake.

Oscar smiled to himself before stretching slightly, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle in his muscles.

"Do you always stare at people when they’re sleeping?" Amélie’s voice, husky from sleep, pulled him from his thoughts.

Oscar blinked, a little surprised to find her awake.

"Only when they try to kill me with their sense of humor," he replied, smirking.

Amélie cracked one eye open, amusement flickering in her gaze.

"Don't blame me if you can’t handle it."

Oscar let out a low laugh, shaking his head.

"I might need some intensive training."

"I doubt it. You handled yourself pretty well last night."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Pretty well?"

Amélie shrugged, feigning indifference, but the smirk tugging at her lips gave her away.

"I don’t know... I might need a second evaluation to be sure."

Oscar studied her for a second before rolling over, pinning her beneath him once again.

"That can be arranged."

And before she could say anything else, he kissed her, swallowing the breathless laugh that slipped from her lips.

They weren’t exactly sure how they made it work, but every time Oscar returned to Monaco, somehow, they ended up together.

It wasn’t planned. They didn’t text ahead of time or make promises to see each other again. It just happened—Oscar would come home after a race weekend, drop his bag, sink into the couch, and before he could think too much about it, he was already typing out a message to Amélie.

And she always answered.

Some nights, she was the one who showed up at his door with takeout, her hair tied up, a playful smirk on her lips, as if the last thing she wanted to do was admit she’d been waiting for that message too. Other times, he was the one crossing the city, ringing her doorbell with some vague excuse about ordering too much food and not wanting to eat alone.

Either way, the outcome was always the same.

An accidental touch on the couch that turned into something more. Oscar’s hands finding their way to her waist, tangling in her hair as he kissed her with the same intensity as the first time. Amélie murmuring something teasing against his lips before pushing him onto the mattress, or him pulling her into his arms, refusing to let her get too far. The feeling that every night with her was an inevitable spiral, a pull neither of them could resist.

It was easy. Natural. As if it couldn’t be any other way.

But there was something—something Oscar couldn’t quite figure out.

Every time he mentioned the idea of going out, Amélie’s answer was always the same.

"Go out? For what?"

Sometimes, she said it with a smirk. Other times, just a simple shrug, as if the thought of walking through Monaco together or going to a restaurant was unnecessary. And in the end, they always stayed in, watching a movie neither of them really paid attention to.

Oscar swore it didn’t bother him. It really didn’t. They didn’t need to go out to enjoy each other’s company. They didn’t need formal dates or candlelit dinners to keep doing whatever this was.

And yet, there was something about the way Amélie avoided it that didn’t quite sit right with him.

He didn’t push. He didn’t ask.

At least, not yet.

Until one day, in a surge of something he couldn’t quite name, he decided to push back.

"Why don’t you ever want to go out with me?"

It was blunt, direct. They were in her living room, a movie playing in the background, a half-eaten pizza between them. Amélie, her legs draped over his lap, looked up, caught off guard by the question.

"Where’s that coming from?"

Oscar held her gaze.

"From the fact that every time I suggest it, you dodge it."

She picked up a slice of pizza and took a bite, far too calm.

"Because I don’t like going out."

"That’s not it." He shook his head. "It’s going out with me that you don’t want."

Amélie chewed in silence, eyes locked on his. For a second, Oscar thought she’d throw back a sarcastic remark, a joke to deflect the conversation. But instead, she just sighed and set the pizza down.

"I don’t want you to take this the wrong way," she finally said. "I like what we have. I like you. But I’d rather keep it… like this."

"Like this?"

"Private."

Oscar frowned.

"Private or secret?"

She didn’t answer immediately.

And that was enough for Oscar to understand the difference.

"I’m not saying we have to make our… whatever this is, public—nothing like that," he said, trying to keep his tone steady. "I just want to understand why the idea of going to a damn restaurant with me bothers you so much."

Amélie crossed her arms, her expression hardening.

"It doesn’t bother me. I just don’t see the need. We’re fine like this, aren’t we?"

"Are we?" Oscar let out a dry laugh, running a hand through his hair. "Because, honestly, it doesn’t feel like it."

She clicked her tongue, as if the conversation was testing her patience.

"Oscar—"

"No, seriously. I like being with you. I don’t know what this is, and I don’t care about putting a label on it, but… I feel like I only exist within these walls. Like I’m a secret you’d rather keep hidden."

The atmosphere in the room shifted in an instant.

Amélie parted her lips, as if to respond, but said nothing.

Oscar let out a slow breath, rubbing his face with his hands.

"Look, I don’t want to be the guy who makes a big deal out of this. We’re not together, I have no right to demand anything from you, but—"

"Exactly." Her voice was sharper than usual. "You have no right to demand anything from me."

Oscar blinked, taken aback.

"It’s not a demand, Amélie. It’s a conversation."

She shook her head, exasperated.

"There always has to be a problem, doesn’t there? We can’t just enjoy what we have without overanalyzing it."

Oscar felt something inside him tighten even more.

"I’m not questioning what we have. I’m questioning why we have to keep it hidden."

"Because it’s easier that way."

The answer came instantly. But the way she said it… Oscar saw something in her eyes. Something she was trying to hide.

"Easier for who?" he asked quietly.

Amélie clenched her jaw, looking away.

And there it was. The confirmation he didn’t want.

Oscar felt a weight in his chest, an uncomfortable knot in his throat.

He stood up from the couch.

"Okay," he said, his tone colder than he expected.

Amélie frowned.

"Okay what?"

"Okay, if that’s what you want, I won’t push."

She got to her feet too, watching him closely.

"I’m not saying you matter less to me just because I don’t want to be seen with you in public."

"No, but it sure feels like it."

Anger flickered in her eyes for a split second, but she said nothing.

Oscar grabbed his keys from the table.

"I’m gonna go."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah."

Amélie looked at him, a mix of confusion and wounded pride in her expression.

"I thought you weren’t the kind of guy who walks away in the middle of an argument."

Oscar turned to the door.

"I also didn’t think you were the kind of person who was afraid to be seen with me."

He didn’t wait for a response.

He walked out, closing the door behind him.

And even though he tried to shake it off, tried to convince himself he had no right to feel this way, the truth was that the idea of being just a secret to her burned more than he was willing to admit.

The days turned into weeks.

Oscar fell back into his routine, throwing himself into the world of F1 with an almost obsessive intensity. More hours in the simulator, more technical meetings, more training until exhaustion. Anything to keep his mind off her. But no matter how hard he tried, Amélie always found a way to creep back in.

He saw her in the most absurd moments. In the reflection of a window when he least expected it. In a woman’s laughter at a restaurant that sounded too much like hers. In the damn jasmine scent that had once lingered on his pillow. And he hated it. Hated it because she was the one who walked away. Because she was the one who put up walls between them. And yet, he was the one paying the price.

He swore he wouldn’t reach out. Told himself he had his pride. But every time he landed in Monaco after a race, the battle started all over again. He turned off his phone before temptation could win. Repeated to himself that she wasn’t worth it, that if she wanted him out of her life, he wasn’t going to beg to be let back in.

But, fuck, it was getting harder.

Amélie, for her part, stood by her decision. But with every passing day, it became more difficult.

Meetings with investors and networking events became her escape. She made sure her schedule was packed, leaving no room for solitude—no chance for her mind to wander where it shouldn’t. But the problem was that even in a crowded room, her thoughts always found their way back to Oscar.

Every time she saw a headline about him, every time his name came up in a passing conversation with her father, her chest tightened. She wasn’t searching for him, but the world insisted on reminding her.

And the worst part? At night, when she closed her eyes, guilt consumed her.

She had fallen for him more than she ever wanted to admit. More than she should have. And by the time she realized it, it was too late. Because she knew that if she had stayed with him, she would have dragged him into a scandal, into a shadow he’d never escape.

But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

She let him go to protect him.

So why did it feel like she was doing the wrong thing?

And then, the invitation came.

Monza. Ferrari’s home turf. The race that electrified the entire country.

Her father’s voice had been calm, expectant, as if he already knew what her answer would be before she even said it. "It’s been years since you’ve been to a race," he had remarked casually. "Come. Enjoy yourself for once."

She knew exactly what it meant. It wasn’t just an invitation; it was a reminder of where she came from, of the legacy she couldn’t escape no matter how hard she tried.

And more than anything, she knew Oscar would be there.

He would see her. He would learn the truth—who she really was, who she had been all along. And maybe, just maybe, he would hate her for it.

But what did it matter anymore?

They weren’t together. They never had been.

She told herself that as she accepted the invitation, as she packed her bags, as she prepared to step into a world she had spent so long keeping separate from him.

For once, she wouldn’t think about consequences. She would let herself breathe. Even if it meant standing face to face with the one person she had tried so hard to forget.

The roar of the engines filled the air, vibrating through her chest as Amélie stepped into the paddock. Monza was alive, electric with anticipation, and the sea of red surrounding her was almost suffocating.

She had been here as a kid, too many times to count, but this time was different. This time, she wasn’t just the daughter of a powerful man in motorsport. She wasn’t just another face in the Ferrari hospitality suite.

This time, Oscar was here.

And at some point, he would see her.

She exhaled slowly, adjusting the sunglasses perched on her nose, letting her expression settle into something unreadable. She had no reason to be nervous. She wasn’t here for him. She was here for her father, for Ferrari, for the world that had shaped her long before Oscar Piastri had stumbled into her life.

And yet, as she moved through the paddock, as she exchanged polite greetings and forced smiles, she felt the weight of it pressing against her chest.

Would he be angry? Confused? Would he even care?

She told herself it didn’t matter.

But then, she saw him.

Oscar was walking towards the McLaren garage, deep in conversation with an engineer, his expression serious—focused. But as if he could sense her presence, as if something in the air had shifted, he suddenly glanced up.

Their eyes met.

For a second, everything around them faded. The noise, the people, the flashing cameras—it all disappeared.

Oscar’s face didn’t betray much. There was no immediate reaction, no flash of surprise or recognition. But there was something in the way he held her gaze, something unreadable and sharp, that sent a shiver down her spine.

Then, just as quickly as it happened, he looked away.

And continued walking.

Amélie let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

So that was it.

Oscar didn’t understand why seeing her there had shaken him so much.

It wasn’t like she had no right to be in Monza. After all, she had once mentioned that her father was a big F1 fan. Maybe she had simply come to enjoy the weekend, like any other fan with the right connections to wander through the paddock without restrictions.

That had to be all.

And yet, something inside him twisted with discomfort.

He had spent weeks suppressing any impulse to look for her, forcing himself to bury her deep in his mind. But now, with just a single glance, she was back—settled in his head as if she had never left.

He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing she affected him.

So he did the only thing he could. He forced himself to look away, to keep walking as if nothing had happened.

But while his body moved forward, his mind stayed behind.

Because seeing her there, in a place so intimately tied to his world, made everything he had tried to forget resurface with even greater force.

The last time they had been together, she had looked at him with sadness before pulling away. Now, however, she seemed calm, indifferent, as if nothing between them had meant enough to leave a mark.

And for some reason, that infuriated him more than anything else.

The day of qualifying unfolded like any other. Oscar was focused on his team, on preparations, on lap times, on making sure his weekend in Monza was solid.

Or at least, that was what he was trying to do.

But every time he moved through the paddock, his eyes searched for her.

Not on purpose. Or at least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

And then, he saw her.

She was in the Ferrari garage, surrounded by mechanics in red overalls, laughing with them as if she were part of the family. One of the engineers handed her a water bottle with the same casualness as if he were passing it to a driver. Another whispered something in her ear, and Amélie rolled her eyes with a smile, giving him a light shove on the arm.

That wasn’t the attitude of a mere spectator.

But what truly made something tighten inside Oscar was when he saw Charles Leclerc approaching her.

The Monegasque driver greeted her with the familiarity of someone who had known her for a long time—an embrace that lasted too long, a kiss on each cheek. He spoke to her calmly, comfortably, with that ease that wasn’t shared with just anyone. Amélie responded just as naturally, with that half-smile Oscar knew all too well.

The same one she had once given him.

And suddenly, something twisted in his stomach with rage.

He didn’t know what hit him first.

How did she know Leclerc? Why had she never talked about him? She knew about Formula 1, she knew who Oscar was—why had she never mentioned she knew Charles? Especially when, in front of the Ferrari garage, they spoke like lifelong friends.

Or maybe it was something more.

Oscar’s mind began to spiral, to descend into the worst possible explanations.

Had Amélie done to Charles what she had done to him? Seduced him, lured him into her bed, had her fun, and then tossed him aside like nothing?

Maybe to Amélie, it had all been just a game.

Maybe he had never been more than a fleeting adventure, just another amusement in her world of luxury, connections, and opportunities he hadn’t even realized she had.

Maybe, while he burned inside trying to understand what had happened between them, she had already forgotten him completely.

Oscar could feel the anger building in his chest like a bomb about to explode. His jaw was clenched, his hands curled into fists, and no matter how hard he tried to focus on something else, his gaze kept drifting back to the Ferrari garage.

Back to her.

He didn’t know what infuriated him more.

The thought gnawed at him. Was there something between her and Charles? Had there ever been? Had he just been a passing distraction?

"Alright, mate, what the hell is wrong with you?"

Lando appeared beside him, arms crossed, his expression somewhere between concern and exasperation.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" Lando scoffed. "Come on, Oscar. You’re standing there looking like you’re about to murder someone. I’ve seen that face before, and honestly, I’d rather you not make a scene right before qualifying."

Oscar let out a sharp breath, running a hand over the back of his neck.

"It’s just…" He pressed his lips together, struggling to find the right words. He didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to say it out loud because that would make it real. But Lando was watching him with that look—the one that said I’m not leaving until you tell me—and Oscar knew there was no way out.

"It’s complicated."

Lando snorted.

"When is it not with you?"

Oscar shot him a murderous glare but continued anyway.

"I met someone. In Monaco. We… saw each other a few times. Okay, not a few, a lot. But we ended it. Or she did. Doesn’t matter. The point is, she’s here. In the Ferrari garage."

Lando blinked, processing the information.

"Okay… Wait. Are you telling me all this rage is over a girl?"

"She’s not just ‘a girl,’" Oscar growled before realizing he had just given himself away.

Lando raised his hands in surrender, but his eyes gleamed with the excitement of someone who had just stumbled upon something juicy and wasn’t about to let it go.

"Alright, alright. She’s not just a girl. She’s her. And what’s the problem with her?"

Oscar shook his head.

"It doesn’t make sense for her to be here. I mean, she told me her dad was an F1 fan, but this… This is something else. She moves around that garage like she lives there. Like she knows everyone."

Lando tilted his head, studying him. His gaze flickered toward the Ferrari garage, and suddenly, something in his expression shifted.

"Hold on a second… Are you telling me that the girl you were seeing is Amélie Vasseur?"

The surname hit Oscar like a sledgehammer.

Vasseur.

Ferrari’s team principal.

A hollow feeling settled in his stomach, quickly followed by a wave of fury that made his teeth clench so hard his jaw ached.

Everything clicked into place.

That’s why she was so comfortable in the garage. That’s why everyone treated her like family. That’s why Charles Leclerc knew her as if they had grown up together.

She had played him.

She had never told him the truth. Never even given him a hint of who she really was. And while he had spent weeks agonizing over what had happened between them, wondering if it had meant anything, she had simply moved on with her life like it was nothing.

His blood boiled.

If he had been angry before, now he saw nothing but red.

Lando was silent for a second before bursting into laughter.

"Wait, wait…" He leaned slightly toward Oscar, as if he couldn’t quite believe it. "Are you telling me you didn’t know who she was? Seriously?"

Oscar shot him a murderous glare, but that only made Lando laugh harder.

"Mate!" Lando exclaimed, still chuckling. "How the hell did you not recognize Vasseur’s daughter?"

"Because I’ve never seen her before. And she never told me" Oscar growled, feeling the anger rise in his throat like fire.

"But it was right in front of you! The French accent, the ‘I’m going to destroy you but with elegance’ sense of humor, the way she never shuts up—" Lando shook his head, grinning. "Damn, now that I think about it, it’s so obvious."

Oscar, however, wasn’t amused.

He was furious.

Not because she was Vasseur’s daughter. Not because she had been surrounded by the world of F1 her entire life.

But because she had never told him. Because she had kept everything from him. Because she had walked away without even giving him a damn chance to understand.

Because he, like an idiot, had thought that what they had mattered.

And now he realized that, to her, it had probably just been a game.

Qualifying had been one of the best of his career.

Second place, right behind Lando. An incredible result for McLaren, a statement in Monza—Ferrari’s territory. But while the mechanics celebrated in the garage, while his team congratulated him, while the cameras captured his serious expression during the post-qualifying press conference, Oscar could only think about her.

About the last name she had never told him. About the laughter she had shared with Ferrari’s mechanics. About the way Charles Leclerc looked at her with the kind of familiarity that only came from having someone in your life for a very long time.

The anger still boiled inside him, pulsing with every breath, with every damn image his mind replayed.

He went straight to the hotel after the interviews, not lingering with the team, not responding to the congratulations with the enthusiasm expected of him. Locked in his room, he paced back and forth, replaying every moment, every conversation, every fucking lie disguised as omission.

Why?

Why had she never told him? Why had she let him make a fool of himself, thinking she was just another girl, when in reality, she belonged to this world even more than he did? Was it a game to her? Had she laughed at him once he was gone?

Every time he tried to sleep, his mind dragged him back into the same spiral. He tossed and turned, shifting positions over and over until finally, when the clock hit 3:00 AM, he made a decision.

He had had enough.

If he couldn’t sleep, she wouldn’t either.

Throwing on whatever clothes he could find, he grabbed his jacket and left the hotel without a second thought. Anger, frustration, and the need to confront her pushed him forward, stronger than reason. He walked through the rain, not caring that the water seeped into his clothes, not caring that his breathing was uneven from the fury coursing through him.

He knew where the Ferrari team was staying.

And when he arrived, soaked to the bone, he asked for Amélie Vasseur’s room at reception and went up without hesitation.

He didn’t even think before raising his fist and knocking.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

There was movement on the other side.

Then, the door opened, and there she was.

Amélie blinked, still groggy, her hair a mess, wrapped in a sweatshirt far too big for her. It took a second for her to process what she was seeing—Oscar Piastri, drenched, his chest rising and falling with restrained fury, his eyes burning with something far more than just anger.

“Oscar?” Her voice was hoarse from sleep, but mostly, from sheer surprise.

He stared at her, silent for a moment, as if he needed to remind himself why he was there.

Then, with his jaw clenched, with the storm still raging inside his chest, he said,

“Tell me the truth.”

Amélie felt a knot tighten in her stomach. She knew exactly what he meant.

She sighed, casting a quick glance down the hallway before stepping aside to let him in. Oscar crossed the threshold without hesitation, dripping onto the floor with every step, shoulders tense, eyes locked onto her as if she were an enemy, not someone he had once spent entire nights with.

“Let me explain,” she started, closing the door behind her.

“Explain what?” Oscar let out a dry, humorless laugh. “How you played me this whole time? How you laughed at me while I thought—” He stopped abruptly, like saying it out loud would hurt even more.

Amélie felt the pang in her chest, but she kept her composure.

“I never laughed at you.”

“Oh, come on.” Oscar scoffed, running a hand through his wet hair. “Do you have any idea how fucking stupid I feel right now? The entire goddamn paddock knew except me. Lando knew, the engineers knew—Jesus, Amélie.”

Amélie clenched her jaw.

“Oscar—”

“And meanwhile, I was here wondering why you never wanted to be seen with me in public, why you always seemed like you were hiding something.” His words were sharp, cutting, like he wanted to hurt her just as much as he felt she had hurt him. “Was it fun? Did you enjoy watching me, completely clueless about who I was actually sleeping with?”

“It wasn’t like that!” Amélie snapped, her voice louder than she had intended.

Oscar fell silent for a second, taken aback by her reaction.

She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself.

“I didn’t do it to laugh at you. I didn’t do it to play with you. I did it for you, Oscar.”

He let out a bitter laugh.

“For me?”

“Yes.”

“Explain to me how lying to my face for months was for me, because, honestly, I’d love to understand.”

Amélie felt her own anger rise.

“Because if people found out about us, if it got out that we were together, the first thing they would do is question you.” She pointed at him, her voice firm. “They’d say you were with your rival’s daughter, that Ferrari was favoring you, that your seat at McLaren was in jeopardy. You don’t need that kind of shit on your shoulders.”

Oscar clenched his jaw.

“And who decided that was your problem?”

“It became my problem the moment this turned into something more. The moment it stopped being just a fling,” she shot back, her gaze burning into his. “Do you think it was easy? Do you think I wanted to walk away from you?”

“I don’t know what you wanted, Amélie. You never said anything, you never explained anything.”

Silence fell between them like a heavy wall.

For a moment, Amélie saw something in Oscar’s eyes beyond the anger.

Something that hurt even more than his words.

Disappointment.

The silence between them was thick, heavy with everything left unsaid.

Oscar was breathing heavily, water still dripping from his hair, his clothes clinging to his skin. He didn’t care. Not when anger burned in his chest, when confusion suffocated him.

“Tell me,” he demanded, his voice rougher than he intended. “Did you have something with Charles?”

Amélie blinked, surprised by the question, but her expression remained unchanged. There was no trace of guilt or nervousness. Only exhaustion.

“No,” she said firmly. “Never. Ew”

Oscar let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. “Do you expect me to believe that?”

“Yes,” she replied without hesitation. She took a step toward him, but Oscar remained rigid. “Charles and I have known each other since we were kids. He’s like a brother to me. Nothing more.”

Oscar stared at her, searching her face for any sign of a lie, anything that would reveal she was hiding the truth. But all he found was sincerity.

And yet, it wasn’t enough to ease the knot in his stomach.

“Then explain it to me,” he murmured, his voice trembling almost imperceptibly. “Explain why you did what you did. Why you never told me who you were. Why it felt like you were trying to hide me.”

Amélie pressed her lips together, looking away for a moment. When she met his gaze again, there was something vulnerable in her expression.

“Because I never thought this would go this far,” she confessed. “I never thought I’d fall in love with you.”

Oscar felt the air ripped from his lungs.

Amélie swallowed hard and continued. “At first… I thought it was something fleeting. Something fun. But then I realized that every time I saw you, I wanted to see you more. That when you left, I missed you more than I should have. And I didn’t know what to do with that.”

Oscar closed his eyes for a moment, trying to process her words.

“I was scared,” she whispered.

He watched her, his chest rising and falling with every restrained breath. “Scared of what?”

Amélie exhaled in frustration, running a hand through her hair. “That if people found out, they would use it against you. That my last name would harm you. That this would stop being ours and turn into a scandal.”

Oscar let out a bitter laugh. “So you chose to push me away? You made me feel like I meant nothing to you?”

Amélie clenched her fists, her gaze burning. “Oscar, I’ve never felt this way about anyone before! I was scared, and I didn’t know what to do—you can’t expect me to have all the answers to my life.”

“You could’ve told me. We could’ve figured it out. We could’ve found a way to make this work. Together.”

The pain in his voice hit her harder than any shout could.

For a moment, she said nothing. She just looked at him, eyes glistening, chest rising and falling as if her words weighed too much.

Finally, in a voice so soft it sounded like admitting it would break her, she whispered:

“I think I love you.”

Oscar felt his world shift beneath his feet.

Amélie swallowed. “And that terrified me.”

The silence returned, but this time, it wasn’t the same.

It was broken. Uncertain.

One that only Oscar could decide if he wanted to fill with something else.

He let out a long, heavy sigh, as if trying to release all the anger, frustration, and pain built up inside him. But something still remained stuck in his chest.

“Amélie…” His voice was no longer sharp, but it wasn’t soft either. It was caught somewhere in between—that thin line between anger and understanding.

She didn’t look away. She faced him, vulnerable but steady, as if ready to take whatever response, whatever emotional blow he had to give.

Oscar ran a hand over his face, exhaling slowly. “Do you know what hurted me the most?”

Amélie didn’t answer, but the tension in her shoulders was telling.

“It’s not that you’re Vasseur’s daughter.” He shook his head. “It’s not that you were in the paddock, in Ferrari, with Charles, with all those people who always knew who you were and I didn’t.”

He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering, as if confessing something he never wanted to say out loud.

“It’s that you made me feel like I didn’t matter.”

Amélie’s eyes shone with an emotion she couldn’t hide.

“Oscar…”

“You made me doubt everything,” he went on, his voice rough. “Whether what we had meant anything or if I was just a distraction. Whether everything I felt was real or if I was the only one feeling it.”

Amélie closed her eyes for a second, as if his words cut through her. When she opened them again, her expression was softer, more open.

“It wasn’t just a distraction.”

Oscar let out a dry laugh.

“It wasn’t,” she insisted, stepping closer. This time, Oscar didn’t move away. “It never was.”

He looked at her, searching for something in her eyes. Something that told him he could believe her. Something that said all the anger in his chest could finally start to fade.

Amélie let out a nervous laugh, but there was no mockery in it. Only uncertainty.

“I’m not good at this,” she murmured, running a hand through her tangled hair. “At… feeling things so quickly. At not being in control.”

Oscar tilted his head slightly, watching her more intently.

She sighed. “I always thought it was better to keep my distance. Not get too attached. But then you came along.”

Oscar felt his heart pound harder.

“I didn’t expect to feel this,” she continued, a small, resigned smile forming on her lips. “And when I realized I was already too deep, I got scared.”

Oscar’s anger didn’t disappear all at once, but something inside him started to loosen.

Because he understood.

God, he understood her more than he wanted to admit.

Amélie looked at him with a silent plea, as if waiting for him to tell her that it wasn’t too late.

Oscar lowered his head for a second, exhaling slowly. Then, without a word, he reached out and took her wrist, his touch barely there.

Amélie trembled at the contact, but she didn’t pull away.

Their eyes met again, and this time, the anger between them had softened.

“And now?” Oscar asked quietly.

Amélie swallowed. “Now…”

She took another step closer, until only inches separated them.

“Now I don’t want to keep running.”

Oscar’s heart skipped a beat.

She wetted her lips, and with almost fearful softness, slid her hand over his.

Oscar looked at the gesture—the warmth of her skin against his, the way their fingers fit together like they had done this a million times before.

And without thinking too much, he intertwined his fingers with hers.

Amélie let out a breath, as if she hadn’t realized how much she needed that touch until now.

Oscar lifted his gaze and met hers.

There was no fear anymore.

Only them.

And with the slightest movement, Amélie leaned in, pressing her lips to his in a kiss so slow, so sincere, it seemed to erase everything else.

Because in the end, love always won.

The kiss was slow, unhurried, as if they both needed to make sure it was real. There was no urgency, no desperation—only a mutual need to find each other again, beyond the anger, beyond the doubts.

Neither of them moved. Amélie still had her fingers intertwined with Oscar’s, her forehead nearly touching his, breathing the same air.

It was Oscar who broke the silence first, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Well… that was intense.”

Amélie let out a breathy laugh. “The kiss or the fight?”

Oscar tilted his head, thoughtful. “Both. Though if I had to choose, I think I’d rather keep the kiss.”

She smiled, playing with his fingers. “Good, because the other thing was exhausting.”

Oscar let out a low chuckle. “Tell me about it. I literally walked through the rain like some dramatic movie idiot.”

Amélie burst into laughter. “You did.”

Oscar sighed dramatically. “If this were a romantic cliché, someone was definitely watching us from a window with sad music playing in the background.”

“Let me guess,” Amélie said with a teasing smile. “In the movie of your life, who would play you?”

Oscar pretended to think. “Mmm… obviously someone handsome. Ryan Gosling, maybe.”

Amélie raised an amused eyebrow. “Gosling? That’s ambitious of you.”

“Excuse me?” Oscar looked at her, feigning offense. “Are you saying I don’t have Gosling-level attractiveness?”

Amélie shrugged. “I’m not saying you’re not handsome, but…” She rested a hand on her chin, analyzing him. “I see you more as… a Tom Holland with a boyish face.”

Oscar narrowed his eyes. “I feel both flattered and offended at the same time.”

She smiled and, in a spontaneous gesture, ran her fingers through his damp hair. “But seriously, you didn’t have to come all the way here soaking wet. You could’ve just texted me and avoided looking like a stray puppy outside my hotel door.”

Oscar looked at her in mock indignation. “How disrespectful. This was a romantic gesture, obviously, not a tantrum.”

Amélie laughed, but soon her smile softened. “Do you really want to try?”

Oscar sighed, looking at her directly, all traces of humor gone. “Of course I do. But I don’t want you to disappear again. I don’t want to be a secret. I don’t want you looking at me like you’re about to run.”

Amélie lowered her gaze for a second, biting her lip, before meeting his eyes again.

“Okay,” she finally said, with a small smile.

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “‘Okay’? That’s it?”

Amélie huffed in amusement. “Okay, let’s try. I won’t run, I won’t hide, I won’t play mysterious—well, maybe a little, because it suits me—but I promise not to run from you.”

Oscar studied her with a half-smile, as if making sure she was serious.

“So that means I can take you to dinner in public without you throwing a smoke bomb in the middle of the restaurant?”

Amélie rolled her eyes. “If you insist.”

Oscar grinned. “Perfect. But I warn you, if this gets too romantic, I’m going to assume we’re in a cheesy rom-com and start calling you ‘my love’ out loud just to annoy you.”

Amélie playfully shoved his chest. “If you do that, I’ll be forced to pretend I don’t know you.”

Oscar leaned in slightly, his smile turning mischievous. “And if I kiss you in public? Will you pretend not to know me then too?”

Amélie looked at him, her eyes shining with that same ever-present challenge. “Depends on how good the kiss is.”

Oscar let out a laugh, and without wasting another second, kissed her again.

Because if there was one thing they knew for sure, this game between them was far from over.

Amélie pulled away, a peculiar light shining in her gaze, a foolish smile stretching across her lips. “This is going to cost us a fortune. McLaren and Ferrari are going to have to spend a ridiculous amount on PR to manage this scandal and the press.”

The Monza sun filtered timidly through the curtains, but neither of them had any intention of moving.

Oscar had no idea what time it was, and honestly, he didn’t care. The only thing he knew for sure was that Amélie’s bed was much more comfortable than his and that the warmth of her body against his made any other thought irrelevant.

Amélie stirred slightly beside him, her breathing still steady. She half-opened her eyes just enough to look at him and smile—that lazy, satisfied smile that made Oscar feel a small tug in his chest.

“What time is it?” she murmured.

Oscar, still with his face buried in the pillow, huffed.

“No idea. My alarm hasn’t gone off yet, so don’t worry.”

Amélie let out a soft laugh and stretched before snuggling against his chest again.

“We can stay like this a little longer.”

Oscar slid a hand down her back, pulling her even closer.

“Sounds like a perfect plan.”

And so they stayed. Letting laziness wrap around them, the distant sounds of the hotel waking up nothing more than a faint murmur. For the first time in months, they weren’t in a hurry.

Until someone knocked on the door.

Both of them froze.

“Were you expecting someone?” Oscar whispered.

Amélie frowned. “No…”

Another knock, this time more insistent.

And then, a voice unmistakably cut through the silence.

“Amélie, open the door.”

Oscar felt his soul leave his body.

Amélie went completely still. Then, without moving a single muscle, she slowly turned her head toward Oscar.

They looked at each other as if they had just seen a ghost.

Frederic. Freaking. Vasseur.

Still in bed, all Oscar could murmur was:

“Oh, shit.”

Amélie covered her face with her hands. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Oscar darted into the bathroom with the reflexes of a driver avoiding a crash. He shut the door behind him, pressing his back against it, taking a deep breath as if that would make him invisible.

From the other side, he heard the hotel room door open, followed by the unmistakable voice of Frederic Vasseur.

“Amélie,” her father greeted, his tone casual—the same tone he used right before ruining someone’s day. “Bon matin.”

“Dad,” Amélie replied, trying to sound natural, but with a slight hint of panic. “What are you doing here so early?”

“I was passing by and thought, ‘I’ll check in on my daughter, have breakfast with her, make sure she’s not getting into trouble…’”

Amélie watched him cautiously. If she was lucky, this would be a short visit.

But then, her father stilled.

His gaze drifted toward the window.

More specifically, to Oscar’s clothes—a pair of pants, a t-shirt, and a sweatshirt with the McLaren logo—strategically draped over a chair to dry.

Amélie followed his gaze.

Shit.

Very slowly, Vasseur turned his attention back to his daughter.

She tried to think fast. “It’s—”

“Don’t.” Vasseur raised a hand to stop her, his face the very picture of paternal disappointment. “Please, don’t insult my intelligence.”

He turned, crossing his arms. “Amélie,” he said with exaggerated patience. “Who’s hiding in the bathroom?”

Silence.

Amélie looked at the bathroom door.

Then at her father.

She tried to smile.

“…No one.”

Vasseur closed his eyes, exhaled through his nose, and then, without hesitation, walked straight toward the bathroom door.

Oscar’s eyes widened in horror.

Amélie sighed dramatically. “Dad, please. Don’t assume things.”

“Oh, I’m not assuming anything,” Vasseur said, clearly amused. “I’m just analyzing the evidence. Let’s see: wet McLaren clothes. A nervous daughter. A locked bathroom door. Where there’s smoke, there’s a fire.”

Oscar felt the doorknob move.

He held his breath.

Then, three firm knocks.

“Knock, knock,” Vasseur said, clearly enjoying himself way too much.

Oscar closed his eyes. “Shit.”

“Oh! He speaks.” Vasseur’s voice sounded even more entertained. “What a surprise! I wonder who it could be.”

Oscar felt like he was living a nightmare.

He sighed and rested his forehead against the door. “I’m in my underwear, and I’m coming out, okay?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Vasseur replied, in the tone of someone having the time of his life. “Whenever you’re ready, champ.”

Oscar slowly turned the doorknob and stepped out like a prisoner about to receive his sentence.

Vasseur looked him up and down with a lazy smirk, crossing his arms.

“Piastri,” he greeted, as if they were old friends.

Oscar tried to maintain his dignity. “Mr. Vasseur.”

“Tell me, son,” the Ferrari team principal said, tilting his head. “How desperate does one have to be to show up here in the middle of the night, soaking wet?”

Oscar felt Amélie stifling her laughter beside him.

"I…"

"I mean, your hotel must not serve a good breakfast. Did you come here just for croissants, or did my daughter offer a more interesting menu?"

Amélie burst out laughing and immediately regretted it when Oscar shot her a glare.

"Sorry."

"What was your plan if I caught you?"

Oscar blinked. "Hide in the bathroom?"

Vasseur looked at him with absolute disappointment. "Terrible strategy. Verstappen, at least, would have jumped out the window."

Amélie let out another laugh, covering her mouth with her hand.

Oscar sighed. "Sir, with all due respect, is this going to last much longer?"

Vasseur grinned. "Oh, absolutely. I'm enjoying this way too much."

Oscar closed his eyes for a moment. "Great."

Vasseur patted him on the shoulder. "Relax, Piastri. This could have been worse."

Oscar looked at him skeptically.

"Oh yeah? How?"

Vasseur’s grin widened.

"My daughter could be fucking Lando Norris. At least you're the good half of McLaren."

Amélie burst into loud laughter.

Oscar just dropped his head into his hands, accepting his fate.

The sun was slowly setting over Monza, painting the sky in golden hues as the tifosi roared, celebrating the victory they had longed for. Charles Leclerc stood at the top of the podium, drenched in champagne, carrying the love of Ferrari on his shoulders while the Italian anthem echoed with an almost sacred intensity. Beside him, Lando Norris and Oscar Piastri completed the scene, their smiles shaped by the effort of the race, by the adrenaline still pulsing through their veins.

But Amélie wasn’t looking at Charles. She wasn’t even truly paying attention to the podium as a whole. Her eyes were fixed on Oscar.

From where she stood, surrounded by mechanics, engineers, and Ferrari executives, wrapped in her father’s embrace, she felt something strange in her chest. It wasn’t just happiness, nor was it simply pride. It was something deeper. Something far more terrifying.

Because she had never thought she would care so much about someone outside of this world of engines and strategy, beyond her surname, beyond the pressure of Formula 1.

And yet, here she was.

Oscar was searching for her in the crowd.

She swallowed hard as their eyes finally met.

Words weren’t necessary.

They understood each other in an instant, as if they had already had this conversation a thousand times before.

And in that gaze—laden with everything they had been through, the arguments, the fears, the secrets, the doubts—they made a silent promise.

They wouldn’t run anymore.

Amélie felt her heart pounding too fast, as if she were running her own race.

Without realizing it, she clung a little tighter to her father’s arm.

Vasseur, who had been watching in silence, let out an amused huff.

"Looks like someone has extra reasons to celebrate today."

Amélie turned sharply, frowning.

“Dad, please…”

“No, no. Don’t look at me like that,” he replied, raising his hands in feigned innocence. “I’m just saying, I’ve never seen you this focused on a podium before.”

She rolled her eyes, but the small smile that slipped through betrayed her.

“Whatever.”

Vasseur chuckled, giving her a pat on the back.

"You know, if Piastri has already survived breakfast with me, maybe he’s not entirely useless after all."

She shot him a glare, but he only shrugged, clearly entertained.

"I say this for his own good, you know? I wouldn’t want him to get run over by everything that comes with being with you."

Amélie narrowed her eyes.

"And what exactly does that mean?"

Vasseur smirked.

"It means I come with the package."

She scoffed, but a laugh escaped her before she could stop it.

Her gaze returned to the podium.

Oscar was still there, trophy in one hand, champagne glass in the other, but his eyes were searching for her again.

The noise, the crowd, the madness of Formula 1—it all faded into the background.

They had found each other.

And for the first time, Amélie had no desire to run.

@smoooothoperator

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[targaryenfelikayt]

Little wedding stories. |Boys from horror|

wc: 5, 049 summary: short one-shots about touching, chaotic and sometimes imperfect wedding moments, where love still wins. tags/warnings: hurt/comfort, established relationship, brideandgroom, soft, domestic fluff, lots of horror romance. Notes: ten days and nights was written especially for you💋

Bo Sinclair.

You were flipping through an old magazine with a hint of melancholy. Today was your last day as a free woman, not because Bo Sinclair had decided to lock you in the garage basement again, but because tomorrow, at the altar, you'd say the cherished "I do." Your friends and family had suggested throwing a bachelorette party with a stripper jumping out of a cake, but you had chosen to spend the night quietly, setting your mind on the right track.

The wedding dress stood in the corner on a mannequin from a nearby tailor's shop Bo had long planned to repurpose. Your shoes and jewelry lay on the vanity, and the lingerie, fit for a real princess (or her sinful version, as your best friend had said), peeked out from a paper bag. You checked everything again, as if physical objects could suddenly vanish, and then crawled back under the crumpled covers.

For obvious reasons, you couldn’t have the wedding in Ambrose with guests present, so New Orleans became the only viable option for both of you. The city was the place of your first date: romantic kisses with jazz music and alcohol in your veins. As you played the memories of your life together, the good and the bad, you almost didn’t hear the soft ping of your phone under the pillow.

“I thought you changed your mind about marrying me, gorgeous.” The familiar rough baritone made you smile like a fool as you rolled over to check the time.

“Bit late for backing out, don’t you think?” Laughter followed on the other end, mixed with the distant wail of a police siren.

“That’s not for you, is it?”

“Nah, babe...” he chuckled again, cursing someone in the background. “Wanna come downstairs for a minute?”

Ah, so that’s what this was about: Bo was afraid you’d vanish from his life, running off in a swirl of white fabric. He wasn’t afraid of the electric chair for what he’d done, but the idea that the one person he loved could leave him like everyone else in his life, except his family, that terrified him. Maybe that’s why he proposed so quickly, not wanting you to become part of the sad statistics.

“No, it’s time to sleep. I don’t want a single bruise or blemish on my skin tomorrow, and for that, I need rest. I’m sure my bed here is just as comfy as yours.”

He breathed heavily into the phone for a long moment, long enough to make you anxious. But just as you were about to say something, movement in the corner of your eye made you turn toward the window and there he was.

You almost screamed at the sight of your man at the window. Rushing over on trembling legs, your fingers fumbled with the old latch, trying to open it.

“What the hell are you doing? The last thing I need is for you to break something the night before the wedding!” you scolded him like a misbehaving child.

“I can’t sleep in a bed you’re not in. Check under my jacket.”

“Only after I pull you inside, you idiot.”

Taking in a deep breath of cool air, you started dragging Bo’s heavy form into the room. He wasn’t drunk enough to resist, but you couldn’t expect much help either. Eventually, you managed to get him onto the bed. Your attention was then drawn to his two brothers down below.

“Sorry, we couldn’t stop him. After his second beer, he just started whining about how miserable he was, and your relatives wouldn’t have let him in,” Lester said, waving up to you. Vincent only shrugged, silently apologizing for their brother's behavior.

“It’s fine, just get some rest, and promise me you’ll enjoy the wedding tomorrow.”

You turned back to your fiancé, torn between disappointment and pride that, even in his state, he’d climbed to the second floor like a lovesick hero. Bo pulled out a slightly crumpled bouquet from inside his jacket, offering it to you as a peace gesture.

“Sinclair… You’ll go to any lengths to sleep with a beautiful woman.”

“With the woman I love,” he corrected you. “The only one I love.”

Vincent Sinclair.

This morning, the house greeted you with acrid silence that wrapped the whole town. Crickets and dragonflies occasionally broke the strange atmosphere of detachment: you were still part of society, still watched the news, voted in elections, and occasionally went shopping. But as soon as you return to Ambrose, life froze.

The alarm clock on the nightstand reads 10:40. At this hour, you were usually already at work, having washed the breakfast dishes and cleaning somewhere in town. Many buildings lacked care: clean windows, cosmetic repairs, or vibrant flowers on the lawn. By contributing to the town’s upkeep, you could avoid thinking about the creepy wax figures, distance yourself from the feeling that through their sclera, Death itself was watching you (or worms slowly devouring flesh). One place that was unbearable to stay in was the cinema and the church. One visit had been enough to make you tremble for a week afterward.

Vincent noticed. He always noticed. After you break down crying in bed from another nightmare where all the figures decayed into rot, he banned you from going there. The longer you stayed here, the more your psyche changed, became flexible to everything happening around you. But it could still break you, and that was the last thing he wanted.

Maybe this and a hundred other situations made him consider holding the wedding somewhere else. Far from Ambrose and its surroundings. Closer to the ocean. Vincent thought about the honeymoon more often than the ceremony itself, if only because it was a valid excuse to get you out of here. After countless arguments with Bo, who kept saying his brother was signing his own death warrant by letting you roam free, you stopped even getting offended. Who in their right mind would choose to live here? Apparently, only you.

You rolled onto your other side, brushing your hand over the empty but still warm spot. So, he had gotten up recently and was probably downstairs already, maybe packing the last of the things or making breakfast.

An excited anticipation took over you, urging you to finally begin the first day of your trip. First stop: the bathroom. Toilet, quick shower, brushing your teeth, and makeup. The man had dug up an old Polaroid and tons of film, promising to collect every precious shot, ones where you’d want to look beautiful. Besides, when else would you feel like putting on makeup while living in an abandoned town?

When you packed the last bag with random little things and headed downstairs, the first thing you saw were the open doors, through which Bo's grumbling voice could be heard. Judging by the coherent conversation, Vincent was nearby, scribbling answers in his notebook with disappearing ink, one of the modern world’s novelties you had introduced, which stuck around, unlike the child’s magnetic drawing board.

Not wanting to interrupt the brothers, you went into the kitchen where their usual breakfast was already laid out: loads of bacon and eggs with fried bread. Breakfast passed in silence. Finally, you washed your plate and stepped outside, mentally saying goodbye to the shelter you were leaving for an indefinite time. You still hadn’t decided how long the trip would last: a week, a month, half a year. It didn’t matter, if you had each other.

Vincent saw you first, hurried to take your bag, and greeted you with a soft kiss on the cheek, before putting on his mask. Bo, on the other hand, looked grumpier than usual.

"Good morning. Looks like everything’s ready for departure." You addressed them both, but your chosen one couldn’t stop smiling, reaching for your hand again and again.

His older brother snorted at that, slamming the hood shut. To him, all this was nauseating romantic nonsense, likely to trigger either vomiting or rage.

"Be careful with the car. I spent a month fixing it while you two whispered sweet nothings in bed about romantic getaways." he said, tossing the keys straight into your hands and stepping aside.

"Is the only thing you care about is the car?"

Bo adjusted his cap, clenching his jaw. He wanted to say a lot more, but Vincent patted him on the shoulder. The two exchanged a look, an invisible bond between them that no one else could feel or understand.

"Grab the tool kit from the garage too, just in case."

Vincent nodded but first led you to the driver’s seat, patting your thigh. Bo clearly just needed an excuse to send him off. As soon as he was out of sight, Bo turned to you and said.

"If I find out you ran off or hurt him, don’t doubt I’ll find you before the cops even know you’re gone."

Your face twisted. Of course. Only he was allowed to hurt his brother.

"If I wanted to do that, I wouldn’t have waited this long. You need to accept the fact that I want to be with him. I want to try and be happy, however much that’s possible. Is that so hard?"

"You think I believe some city girl would trade a better life for this?" He gestured around. "No way in hell."

"Then you don’t have a choice."

You were silent the whole drive. Hands clenched on the wheel, lips pressed into a thin line, eyes on the window, on the gray fields and sparse trees stretching into the fog like they were disappearing. Vincent watched your profile from the corner of his eye, saw your cheeks still red from the recent fight, betraying more than you wanted to show.

When the car turned off the main road, you stopped at a small gas station, not for fuel, just… to breathe. To give you both space. Vincent circled the car and opened the door, not out of anger, just unsure what to say to keep it from getting worse. He reached out, a hesitant hand, as if afraid his love would push him away. But you didn’t. Finally, he pulled out the notebook.

"Forgive him. He doesn’t know how to be different. I… I didn’t want you to feel unwanted. Especially today."

"It’s not about him," you finally said. "It’s about us. I just… I don’t want you to have to choose between me and your family. It’s not supposed to be like this."

He stepped closer. Cautiously, like he was approaching a wild animal that might bolt. His arms wrapped around your waist, gently, uncertainly. His forehead pressed to your temple, when Vincent felt that if he didn’t hold you now, tears might fall from a face made for museum paintings, not for pain or disappointment. With one hand, he scribbled clumsily:

"I’m not choosing. You’re part of me. Just like he is."

You trembled but embraced him back, holding on tightly, as if only now letting yourself exhale.

"I just… don’t want to be a stranger."

And so, you remained on the roadside, in the dust and wind: two figures hiding in each other, at the beginning of a journey meant to become a new life.

Michael Myers.

The wind swayed the trees beyond the window, sending a colorful swirl of leaves right through the open pane. October had never been your favorite month; it marked the true arrival of cold and endless nights. As usual in the evening, you sat at the table on the first floor, writing a letter.

At first, it seemed like a silly suggestion from your therapist: if you couldn’t speak your thoughts out loud, let the paper do it for you. A small ritual with a strict sequence. Sit down, focus, write, and drop it into the old mailbox, long unused for its original purpose. Thankfully, your house was far enough from the neighbors that you didn’t have to deal with their curious stares.

For a couple of weeks, everything went as usual, the envelopes piled up in their designated spot, and every Sunday, you collected them and stored them in a box. Until they started disappearing the next day. It could have been a group of nosy kids passing by or the old woman on the corner who always peeked out her window when your car drove past. So, you decided to change the timing, hoping to catch the thief and give them a piece of your mind.

Days passed, but you never caught anyone.

One Sunday, while all the neighbors were at church, you threw on a knitted cardigan and walked to the mailbox. Instead of your usual white envelope, there was a new one, slightly yellow around the edges. It made you so nervous and excited that you had no choice but to open it on the spot, forgetting that the person who sent it might be watching from the trees. Inside, there was only a clipped article about national suicide rates. Hilarious.

You never intended to leave this world, you just wanted to let go of the emotional weight. Sitting down to respond, you addressed the stranger directly, explaining that reading someone’s personal diary, even in this form, was unethical at best, and demanded that they stop.

Of course, they didn’t listen. The newspaper clippings were replaced with sketches, cutouts of dresses from women’s magazines (eerily like what you wore that day), and even short letters made from torn-out words. The peak of your strange correspondence came in the form of a ticket to a late-night screening of some old horror movie.

There weren’t just many people that day, there was a huge crowd. It turned out the event was the closing night of a timeless horror film festival, and your seatmates were a college student and a couple of goths. No one approached you before or after the film. You came home disappointed, until the next morning, when you found a brief note in your mailbox thanking you… and a keychain shaped like a blood bag. Very original.

You thought about ending the strange communication, pretending none of it had happened, but… the stranger with the simple signature “M.” read every line you wrote multiple times, always responding with precise questions in return letters. He arranged dates, if they could even be called that, and increasingly sent you small gifts.

A stronger gust hit the window, pulling you from your pleasant memories. Exactly one year ago, on Halloween Eve, Michael revealed himself in the amusement park. Since then, the holiday became not just a symbol of monsters and masks, but the beginning of something far more beautiful.

You were just about to lock the front door when you saw Michael’s figure moving between the tree toward the house. He never made you wait, always arriving at the same time for dinner (one of the hardest human habits to teach him). You opened the door, and he slipped inside quickly, avoiding the attention of any potential passersby, especially since you had made it clear that no one in the neighborhood should be harmed because of him.

“Hi, Mikey, the spaghetti’s still boiling.”

Your lips brushed his cool cheek as you pulled him into the living room, guiding him toward the couch.

“Sorry, I ran out of envelopes. I’ll stop by the post office tomorrow and grab a few for later.”

He nodded, expressionless. After all, this was your personal little ritual, a tribute to the past.

“I wrote down some ideas for our anniversary. You know… a date, and all that. If you want, of course.”

He nodded again, but this time handed you a letter. You felt something inside — could it be that Michael had come up with a place you could go for such an important day? Excited, your fingers tore open at the bottom of the envelope, and everything fell onto the table: a gold ring and three cut-out words:

“Will you marry me?”

Thomas Hewitt.

"Lord Almighty, I look like an unshorn sheep!"

You stared at your reflection in the mirror in horror, as if it were nothing more than a terrible dream. The hairstyle that was supposed to be the epitome of softness and romance had turned into a nest and all because you decided not to waste the morning curling your hair with hot irons and went with countless braids instead.

You and Thomas slept separately the night before the wedding. He was in the basement, due to lack of space, and you were in the familiar double bed. In a place where no one could see the lengths you had to go to just to look beautiful on your own wedding day.

"This can all be fixed. Let's just take a deep breath and calm down."

Your friend, who had taken on the roles of bridesmaid, hairstylist, and makeup artist, received your heaviest glare, one that could either silence or send her fleeing.

"I mean it, honey. The volume will settle down, we’ll take the rest with hairspray, and we’ll pull a few strands back from the front..." She gently led you away from the mirror and settled you onto a wooden chair.

An event meant to be light and joyful was anything but relaxing. First, the thoughts about how to explain to your family the man whose looks and behavior were far from ordinary; then the venue and guest list, which made your eye twitch nervously; and now, the wedding day itself, where nothing was going right. The morning wind had knocked down the arch Thomas built, and Luda Mae decorated, and now your appearance made you question whether becoming a wife was even the right thing.

You were desperately trying not to cry. Where was Thomas? Why wasn't he here? His presence had become so familiar that without it now, you felt even more lost.

"You’re doing great. Want some water?"

Your friend glanced sideways at you as she continued working on your hair.

"I want Tommy."

All she could do was let out a soft sigh. She wasn’t sure how to break it to you gently that your future mother-in-law, despite allowing you two to sleep together under her roof (as she was very eager for grandchildren), had strict old-fashioned views and had forbidden him from seeing you before the ceremony.

"If... if I bring him to you, would that help?"

You nodded quickly, and she had no choice but to give in. She rushed out of the room, and no sooner had the tears begun to sneak back to your beautiful face than a tall, familiar figure appeared in the doorway.

"Tommy!"

Your legs carried you to him the second the door closed. Hewitt wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into his lap, sitting awkwardly on a chair far too small for him. His hand gently stroked your wavy hair as he quietly listened to every doubt and anxious word pouring from your lips.

By the end, when you have run out of things to say, you simply hiccup from nerves while fiddling with a button on his black jacket. He reached over, grabbed a pen and a piece of paper from the table, and wrote:

"Just say the word and I’ll call off the wedding."

You frowned.

"But that means we wouldn’t be husband and wife. I’m not saying anything like that. Not in this life or the next."

He nodded and added a small line beneath the first:

"That’s my brave girl."

Even if the words were far from the truth, to him, you were always the best girl in the entire universe.

Jason Voorhees.

He did not want you to stay with him. Did not want you and yet craved you more than anything in the world. What could he give you, being a man… a revenant… a what?

He was not a fairytale monster. He breathed, walked, bled, and suffered like any man. Only silently. Only with a machete in hand. His heartbeat, but inside it, there was only his mother: her voice, will.

Until you came along. Originally, your mortal body was supposed to become fertilizer for the local forest. But something changed in him the moment he realized you were not afraid, you pitied him. And you did not break the sacred rules of Crystal Lake.

“Jason? You are so deep in thought again you missed my story.”

The man blinked, coming back to himself: there you sat in the clearing before him, weaving a flower crown and looking at him with loyal eyes.

“Sometimes I think that mask is just there so I will not know whether you’re listening. Are you bored?”

He quickly shook his head, wishing your voice would keep flowing endlessly. Talk about anything, the weather, the butterflies, maybe even the absurdities of the modern world. He had a lot of gaps to fill.

“Great, because I was just suggesting you get fake documents. A friend of mine’s connected to the whole system, so if you ever wanted to leave this place, or… I don’t know, try something new — a passport could come in handy.”

Voorhees tilted his head, still watching you through the slits of his mask.

“Oh, right. Sorry. It’s a… piece of paper. It proves that you are who you say you are. That you have a name, a photo, a place of birth. With a passport, you can travel the country. Or get married. Or just stop hiding.” You laughed softly, setting the half-finished crown aside. “Well, in your case, it’s more of a cover. Not real — fake. But with it, you could be someone.”

He turned his head. Not sharply, just a little, like an animal not entirely understanding what was being asked of it. Too much new information at once. You had already overwhelmed him with a flood of unfamiliar terms; Jason did not always grasp them.

You looked into his eyes or where they would be, and added, gently, as if afraid to scare him off:

“For example… my husband.”

Suddenly, the world fell quiet: birds scattered from distant branches, the wind stilled, the sun slipped behind a cloud.

And then Voorhees looked away, pulled a container of sandwiches from a woman’s backpack, opened it, and held one out to you. A silent cue to drop the topic, at least for a few minutes.

There was nothing left to do but press your lips together and nod in agreement.

If you were to become his wife, you’d forever bind yourself to this place. The last thing Jason wanted was to keep you here, in isolation, in danger. Crystal Lake was his hunting ground. He had always done his duty here. But people could be just as dangerous as he was. And if they found you… well, he knew too well how that story ended.

“We’ll sit down and figure it out,” you offered. “It’ll feel real, even if it’s… pretend. Only if you want it. If not, we’ll act like this conversation never happened.”

Your fingers clenched the bread, as if it was the only thing keeping you grounded. You lowered your head, not out of fear, but from the quiet anxiety that you might’ve broken the trust of the man you loved with a single phrase.

And then he reached out, and with the pad of his pinky finger, gently touched your bare knee for just a moment.

Maybe.

Voorhees, for the first time, didn’t feel like fleeing back into the shadows. He wanted to stay. Just a little longer. As long as he could.

Art the clown.

A quiet rustling pulls you out of sleep.

Rustle, rustle, rustle.

You crack one eye open, pushing the edge of the blanket off your face: white and black balloons, garlands made of old newspaper clippings with cut-out hearts, dark roses placed in coffins instead of vases. Somewhere, carousel music is playing, like from Silent Hill 3, before suddenly breaking into a screech.

It all feels like one of those strange, feverish dreams.

Art appears, as always, without warning. In a tuxedo, but with an enormous black bowtie… and bloodstains on the collar. Blood has become such a regular feature in your relationship that you’ve stopped asking where it comes from.

He jumps onto your bed, scattering confetti across the unmade sheets.

"Art, you really know how to surprise someone," you say, falling back onto the pillows and rubbing your face.

The temptation to sleep a little longer is strong, but Art is completely against that, he starts tickling you. You twist and turn, bumping your forehead against his chest: solid, cool, with a faint creak of fabric. He doesn’t breathe, but you know he’s far too lively for this early in the morning.

He’s watching you. As always. But this time, it’s not frightening.

"Alright, alright, I’m getting up. What’s the occasion?"

Art suddenly jumps up and points at one of the big balloons floating under the ceiling. Drawn with a black marker are two people: one with a tiny hat, the other in a long dress and veil, both have heart-shaped eyes with little Xs.

"So, it’s a date?" you chuckle quietly, his smile fades instantly.

The clown stares at you, frozen in place. The longer he does, the more unsettling it becomes.

"I was joking, Art, stop."

But he doesn’t move.

"You want to marry me, so you prepared a surprise."

Finally, the clown comes to life again, nodding like a bobblehead. He doesn’t need your consent, just like that day he decided to become a part of your life.

You couldn’t get rid of him, couldn’t say "no", couldn’t hide behind locks or even in a church. Only accept.

The ceremony takes place later in an abandoned amusement park. A clown arch with a sign reading "HAPPILY NEVER AFTER" glows in red neon, smeared —God, let it be ketchup. He leads you to a stage, where the priest is a doll dressed in a vicar’s suit, and the witnesses are mannequins in party hats and outfits made of guts.

It’s all absurd, but you can’t help smiling, he really did try. Maybe his idea of beauty exists in both murder and affection.

When you "exchange vows", he pulls out a notebook and flips through it, finally showing you a single phrase, scrawled in crooked, childlike letters:

"You're art now too."

Pennywise.

You stand in front of the circus tent, pulled straight out of dark literary novels. Robert Grey had a knack not only for dazzling children with his unusual tricks but also for charming women, showering them with so much attention and compliments that they lost their heads, providing the whole troupe with expensive backstage passes just for a few moments of conversation with the owner. You, on the other hand, had always tried to stay far away from this place and everything associated with it, until invitations arrived at your workplace bearing his name: a dark envelope, silky paper, and ink that smelled of caramel popcorn.

History repeats itself.

After that time, Robert unexpectedly slipped into your life, inviting you on numerous dates, lunches, or simple walks, anything to make you happy. The circus was supposed to leave by early autumn, but now it’s October, and he hasn’t even mentioned packing up. Today, there were no calls, only brief messages saying he was busy and would talk later. Then came the familiar letter.

And now, here you are, standing on dry grass, unsure why you're hesitating.

Pulling the fabric aside, you finally take a step into the dimness. The air inside contrasts sharply with what’s outside: dusty, sweet, and stuffy. The half-empty circus, as if pulled from your dreams, is lit by hundreds of candles. Their flames flicker, reflected in old mirrors, where you don't always see just yourself. On the stage stands Robert himself. His hair is slicked back, his black suit perfectly tailored. He stands among red velvet curtains and looks straight at you. There's a calm smile on his face, too wide to be truly human. It's unsettling.

You’ve seen him angry, happy, excited, but never wearing a smile like this.

"Welcome, my dear. Usually, the hall is full of thrilled spectators but tonight is an exception to every rule. Just for you, of course."

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice more members of the troupe emerging from the shadows, watching, perhaps even participating in their director's performance.

"I don't quite understand what's going on, Bob."

He jumps off the stage and approaches you.

"Shhh..." His finger gently presses against your lips, as if that’s completely normal. "Just an unusual date, my style. Now go. We can’t let the star of the evening appear without the right attire, can we?"

The gymnast sisters lead you to a distant dressing room, answering all your questions with a smile, saying that it might ruin the surprise their master had been planning for so long. They work quickly: applying makeup, curling your hair, and dressing you in a silk gown. It clings to your skin like a second layer—dark, with iridescent shades like the inside of a seashell; a sheer cape rests lightly on your shoulders. The moment the delicate fabric touches you, Robert appears behind you, dismissing the girls.

"Aren’t you a wonder?"

Man pins your hair himself, leaving a few strands loose, so he can twirl them around his finger when you're alone later. A ridiculous habit you could never get him to drop.

"I’d love to keep admiring you, but everyone’s waiting. It’s not proper to keep guests waiting too long."

His hand grips your waist slowly but firmly, guiding you out of the room.

"This is a very strange date, Bob. If you wanted to have dinner, you could’ve just said so. I feel like a fool or worse, like a doll that has no say in anything."

He chuckles softly, looking at you as though you’re the only important thing in the universe.

As the red curtain opens before you, you see an arch, the troupe standing with lit candles in hand, and a gentle melody played by a pianist.

This isn’t just a celebration — it’s a performance written just for you.

[wendichester]

Hi! Can you do one showcasing all the ways the reader protects/watches out for Dean. He’s always the afterthought for everyone because they just expect him to lead and be strong. Your last response about his version of Heaven probably being bittersweet had me sad! So, reader putting her foot down for her man, please! Reminds him he’s hers and not a soldier, not expendable. When someone comes up with a plot that requires him to sacrifice, she speaks up for him tells them to F off

read the heaven bit first .ᐟ

so first off, let's clarify the core dynamic here: 𖤐 dean is everyone's weapon or leader, but never their priority. it's always let's save the world, instead of let's keep each other safe. 𖤐 everyone is just used to him sacrificing himself because that's his default setting. 𖤐 you ( aka reader ) flip the damn table and say not anymore. it's the prompt he's not a weapon, he's mine and i'm lowkey totally here for it.

‧₊˚✩彡 the pattern that needs breaking sam loves dean but tends to go along with dangerous plans, trusting dean will handle it. cas is always focused on the mission, kind of emotionally stunted, tends to expect dean to endure because he has. mary and john? ugh. never really saw him--as said previously--saw a soldier, not a son. jack is a whole celestial being born with a messiah complex. thinks sacrifice = love because that was what dean and the others always showed him too. they all value dean, but none of them really protect him. because they think they don't have to. but you do.

‧₊˚✩彡 moments where you put your foot down 𓂃⋆ you speak up against the plans where dean is bait or the one bargin in as the distraction. and god damn the moment you do? everyone's stunned into silence. dean most of all. because he doesn't expect anyone to stand up to him--to stop the mission for him. 𓂃⋆ they always assume dean will handle dangerous people. but not you. "no. he's not your buffer. try talking to your own damn shady contacts." maybe you even go instead of him once and everyone's like oh, okay. 𓂃⋆ dean tries to pull the "if i don't come back" speech. you cut him off. "don't you dare act like you're a ghost in front of me. you come back. you always come back." you don't romanticize his self-destruction like others do. you hate it. 𓂃⋆ cas suggests an angelic solution that risks dean's soul. like, maybe siphoning something through him or binding him to a sigil. "use anyone else. he's not your empty vessel." cas looks conflicted. you stand between him and dean and he's flabbergasted like she's actually challeging a damn angel. 𓂃⋆ mary mentions all the things dean's good at and it's all war-related. "you ever ask him what he actually wants to be good at?" it's awkward. it's uncomfortable. maybe even explosive. but it cracks open something for dean. he's never heard someone challenge his family on his behalf.

‧₊˚✩彡 the emotional undercurrent of this: dean doesn't think he's allowed to be safe. he doesn't even notice when people don't choose him because it's so normalized. you saying "you are not theirs. you are mine." is like pouring honey on a lifetime of bruises. it's not just protective--it's possessive, but in a way that restores his sense of self. you're saying you're not just worth fighting for. you're worth keeping safe. every damn time.

They’re talking about him like he isn’t standing right there.

Like he’s just a checklist item. Like his life is a resource—burnable, forgettable, expendable.

Dean’s got that mask on. The one he thinks is subtle—stone face, arms crossed, jaw ticking every few seconds like a time bomb. You can tell he’s already accepted the role. The “if it gets ugly, I’ll take the fall” card.

You’ve seen this play before.

You hated it the first time.

So when Sam starts laying out the plan—meticulously, logically, with words like “timed entry” and “distract the hellhounds long enough,” and then casually drops Dean’s name as bait, your hands curl into fists without thinking.

“Sorry, what?” Your voice cuts in like a blade.

They blink. You never interrupt these planning sessions. You’re the quiet one. The observer. The one with a hand on Dean’s back under the table while the world maps out how to use him.

Sam looks confused. “It’s just that he’s the best shot we have at getting the demon away from the door. You know Dean—he can take it.”

Take it.

Like he’s a wall. Like he’s a gun.

Not a man.

Dean shifts beside you. He’s about to say “It’s fine”—you can feel it in your bones—but you’re already standing.

“No. He’s not doing it.”

The room goes quiet.

Dean tilts his head, looking up at you like you just spoke Enochian. You never do this. But now? Now you’re fire in a gasoline world.

“I’m serious,” you continue. “You all act like he’s made of Kevlar and pure damn luck, but he’s tired. He’s bleeding from that werewolf hunt yesterday. And I don’t care how good of a shot he is or how much ground he can cover—he’s not being used as a sacrifice so you all can sleep at night.”

Sam looks like you slapped him.

Cas shifts like maybe he agrees but doesn’t know if he’s allowed to say it.

And Dean… God, Dean looks like you just gave him breath after drowning.

You step closer to him. You don’t even care how dramatic it looks. Your fingers find the edge of his sleeve, tugging it like a lifeline.

“He is not your weapon. He is not your armor. He is mine.”

The words hit the floor like thunder. No one speaks.

You kneel slightly and tap his knee, forcing him to look you in the eyes.

“You hear me, Dean?” you whisper, just for him now. “You’re not the one who has to go first. You’re not the shield anymore. Not when I’m here.”

He swallows hard. His eyes are glassy, like maybe no one’s ever said that before. Like maybe he forgot he was allowed to hear it.

You straighten back up and look at the room.

“Find another plan.”

And they do. They scramble. They rearrange. Because your tone is sharp and final and God help anyone who tries to touch him without your say-so.

Later, you’re patching him up on the edge of a dusty motel bed. He’s shirtless, bruised, quiet.

“You meant all that?” he asks, voice low.

You blink at him. “What kind of question is that?”

“I just… no one’s ever…” He trails off. Like it hurts to say it out loud. “It felt good. Hearing it. You fighting for me.”

You look at him—really look at him.

He’s so used to doing. Saving. Bleeding. Leading. Everyone thinks he’s bulletproof because he acts like he is. But you see the cracks. You kiss them. You love them.

“I’ll always fight for you,” you murmur, smoothing your fingers over the bruise on his side. “You’re not alone anymore, Dean. You don’t have to carry the weight. Not while I’m still breathing.”

He leans forward, cups your face like you’re the miracle. Kisses you slow. Deep. Desperate.

“Thank you,” he breathes against your lips.

You pull back just enough to whisper:

“Don’t thank me. Just promise you’ll let me protect you, too.”

His voice breaks a little when he says, “I will.”

And you know he means it. For once.

[dovesdreaming]

౨ৎI want to wear his initial on a chain round my neck౨ৎ

Hi I hope this is good! I found getting jacks character hard and when I first imagined this it was a lot fluffier than what it turned into! But I would be happy to right a fluffier version of anyone would like that!! 1.3k words

Needs editing!!

Warnings: suggestive

Requested:@fuck-i-burnt-the-tea

Jack had never been a sentimental person. He was a pirate, they couldn’t care for anyone but themselves. Jack was widely known for that, not even having loyalties to his crew. There were very few things Jack cared about in this world. The first being his compass he kept it by his side at all times and never let it out of his sight and the second was a recent development. He had developed feelings for you. He didn’t know how it happened it went from you joking around with each other to him actually confiding in you, what was happening to him. Jack thought he could get rid of these feelings by pushing you away but the distance only made his heart want to be in your presence more. Jack didn’t understand feelings and he’d be damned if he let them get in the way of finding his recent treasure interest. There was a slight issue with this though as his compass would point in the direction of the treasure but then make a ticking motion towards wherever you were. He debated throwing you overboard or getting rid of you somehow so that he could finally get back to his pirate life yet he just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

His crew had also become attached to you, it was impossible not to. You had a way of drawing everyone and making them feel comfortable. The men aboard also didn’t mind a woman on ship but they all respected you and would protect you if needed but after they had seen you fight a rival pirate ship they decided they more than likely would never be needed.

Gibbs had noticed a change in jacks behaviour, how could he not he was the only other person than you that was close to him.

He had suspicions but never brought it up because he knew that the Jack sparrow would never admit to having feelings for someone.

Jack was always a flirtatious person and when he noticed his feelings for you develop he cranked his flirting up to the point he would flirt with a mop if it looked like a woman to rid himself of thoughts about you. He needed you out of his head and this lead him to have multiple one night stands every time the ship docked somewhere, sometimes even several a night. He thought it was working but in reality it only made him crave you more.

You had feelings for Jack sparrow before you even joined his crew. His name was whispered throughout the pirate community with many mixed comments about him. From some of the stories you had heard he sounded like just your type of man. You however ended up on his ship by accident you had been looking for a permanent crew to join and this had been the only ship accepting new crew mates. You and Jack found common ground straight away and from there you only grew closer. You never thought much of your relationship until you felt you stomach bubble with a mix of anger and sadness every night when you saw Jack take another woman to bed. Inside you knew you were jealous but you weren’t ready to admit that to yourself yet, especially when he takes a new woman every night.

One night when you and Jack were hanging out at the bar you both had a few two many drinks. Most of the words coming out of your mouths now didn’t make sense to anyone, it was just drunk babbling. Jack had been eyeing up a few women that were across the bar all night and this had deepened the feeling in your gut. You were nearly blind drunk and jealous which were not good combinations. You became touchy with Jack, reaching your hands out to touch his hair and rub his shoulders. You also stared directly into his eyes making Jack question what had gotten into you. You launched yourself at him, grabbing his face in your hands and smashing you lips into his. He hesitated before his drunk haze of want took over and he kissed you back. The kiss got deeper and deeper before he lead you away and you became another woman he took into the night with him.

You woke up in an unfamiliar bed and you looked around to see clothes strewn across the room. The vague memory of last night was at the forefront of your mind yet the face of who you left with was a blur until you turned your head to find no other than your captain. Realisation hit you like a wave and you were frozen in panic. Your mind raced with thoughts and as you saw Jack stir from his sleep all your mind could come up with was to pretend you were asleep til he left, leaving all decisions to him.

Jack awoke and collected his clothes like he did every morning after his nightly activities. It was routine at this point and he usually didn’t bother to even spare a glance to the person in bed with him. He couldn’t remember any of their faces if he tried. Yet as he was walking toward the door he stopped dead in his tracks as he recognised the article of clothing on the floor. It was your average dress yet it sparked an image in his mind and that’s when his memory flooded back. He saw images of the night before with a woman under him. The face of the woman slowly came into focus and it was you. His head snapped to the figure in bed still and sure enough he saw your face just peeking from the covers still asleep.

He panicked and ran out the door slightly slamming it in his hastily exit.

Your relationship was slightly strained from this point on both wanting the other yet feeling as though the other didn’t feel the same. Jack was also still struggling to allow himself to have feelings like this. He wanted to make a gesture to show he cared for you. He was just waiting the perfect thing to present itself to him.

He had found what he thought might do the trick. He found a necklace within the chest that the crew had been looking for the past couple of weeks. It was a chain necklace embroidered with jewels and conveniently a j engraved into it. It was like his compass had led him here all along, knowing his heart wanted to give you himself. He snatched it from the chest before anyone else saw and stuffed it into his pocket for safekeeping.

Jack had been going back and forth about giving you the necklace. He couldn’t decide whether it was too big of a gesture or too small of one. He just wanted to show you that he cared about you.

He had called you into his quarters and sat down on his desk. You were left standing in front of him, questioning why he had brought you in here. He stared at the ground before reaching into his pocket. You saw the necklace shimmer in the sunlight from the window behind, it casted spots of sunlight across the room. This made you even more confused. He twirled the necklace in his hands before speaking “this is for you”. He leant his arm out with the necklace in. You took the necklace carefully into your hands, taking every detail of it in. You heart jumped when you saw the j engraved and ran you thumb over it. You looked up to him questioningly, what did this mean? He looked away and said he wanted to show his fondness for you (jacks code word for something along the lines of love you guessed). You walked over to him and asked him to put it on for you. As he clasped his initial round your neck you didn’t feel owned by Jack, you felt he knew you. This necklace was the silent acknowledgement that you both liked one another and wanted more. It was a silent agreement that you were each others and no one else’s.

Thank you for reading! And again if anyone wants a fluffier version I have a good idea for it!!

[p3sephone]

My baby. (Dark! Ex! Wanda Maximoff x reader)

Prologue

Summary: you are Wanda's ex and you broke up with her a long time ago. Then Wanda decides it's a good idea to become your neighbor and take her baby back, one way or another.

Warnings: this is a dark! Serie about Wanda Maximoff that will contain dark themes such as violence, breaking in, non-con and similar stuff in the future chapters. Every chapter will have its own warnings to be safe. This is pure fiction and this character does not belong to me. Minors are NOT allowed, only +18. Any kind of interactions such as reblogs, comments or likes are much welcome and appreciated. 🤎

Prologue warnings: breaking inside, little use of magic.

Masterlist serie.

"I'm home!" you exclaimed with a smile on your face, closing the door behind you. You were happy to be back, you had a wonderful surprise for your roommate. You were sure that she hadn't suspected anything, after all you hadn't mentioned anything in these weeks and you knew how difficult it was. You had lost count of how many gifts and surprises you had ruined because you often spoke before thinking out of excitement.

But this time you didn't think, as you walked briskly towards the living room. The lights were on, she was surely sitting there on the couch watching some movie. You were already anticipating the scene. Your smile quickly dropped as the gift bag slipped from your hand and fell to the floor. The personalized mug inside had surely broken into a thousand pieces, but that was now the least of your problems.

Your roommate was lying there, apparently asleep, but you knew that wasn't the case. Not when Wanda was sitting on the other side of the couch with her arms crossed, then looking straight into your eyes. She had a small smile on her face, sly and arrogant you would say, but you could see all the hatred hidden behind her eyes. You were together, as teenagers, a long time ago. Wanda had lost everything, you too: you had regained everything and left Wanda behind, and Wanda had lost what was left of her, left with total nothingness. Considering that you had left her too. Or at least, that was what Wanda thought; in reality, your version would have been very different from hers, but you weren't really sure she wanted to hear it and even less that she was interested. "What are you doing in my house?" your own cold tone surprised you. It was as if someone else was talking to you and you didn't know how your knees could still hold up. But Wanda wasn't stupid, she could feel how your heart was beating like crazy, this still allowed her to act arrogant. She stood up from your couch and walked over to your boyfriend’s sleeping form, approaching you and freely ignoring your question.

“Is this your house? Our apartment was better.” It was a suggestion, obviously. It wasn’t the first time Wanda had tried to make you change your mind and tell you that the two of you were meant to be together, and at first you believed it. The first, the second and even the third time. Then you finally realized that she would tell you anything and lie shamelessly just to have you back by her side and reduce you to an object again.

You had loved that woman, but it was over. And she had to understand that.

“No, this house is better, with my roommate who I sincerely hope will wake up soon.” You made a suggestion and she immediately took it, laughing in your face.

“She’ll be fine, I just put her to sleep... I wanted to be alone with you, I missed you.” she said playing with your hair, and you could almost see the sincerity in her now slightly sad face. But you couldn't fall for it again and you had certainly been through too much because of her.

"But I haven't missed you, Wanda. Get out of my house."

You had caught her attention now, her fingers slowly stopped playing with your hair finally letting it go. Now you saw the real Wanda. Her hateful gaze with a red aura was intensely scrutinizing you and you swore they could see much more than your eyes or your face. Her eyes immediately became clear again and Wanda gave you a sweet smile, waving her right hand and using her magic. You remembered what that magic had done to you, you still had the scars.

"I can also go out, after all we will see each other every day. It's a pleasure to meet you again, neighbor!" she teased you giggling, then walking out of your door without you even accompanying her. You stood there in shock, standing numb in the doorway to the living room, watching the front door close and then the couch, where your roommate was now starting to wake up.

The nightmare had begun again.

[logysworld]

Ouch! | Vi x Reader

You're a tattoo artist and Vi wants a tattoo.

Fluff?, suggestive, kissing, flirty, casual! F!reader.

-

Music played on the radio beside your table, balancing on the plethora of papers and pens that you had scattered around your table. A sketch was finally coming together, just a little something that popped into your mind after months of an artist's block that kept your sketchbooks dry. It was a small yet profound design, depicting two hands just shy of touch. One hand robotic and slender, ripples of metal flowing around each curve that were shaded perfectly in depth. The other appeared normal at first, but upon closer inspection revealed a tension, fingers taut and desperate, scared, as if the other hand was impossible to reach. You sketched a galaxy around the hands, streaks of the sky and swirling stars surrounding them, like the universe itself was gently forcing the hands apart.

The familiar twinkle of your door chimes echoed as someone entered the shop and you peered over your shoulder briefly, not long enough to see who came in.

"Hey, you got an appointment?" You called out, twisting the dial of the radio to lower the volume of the music with one hand while the other continued sketching.

"Do I need one? You don't look very busy in here." She said mockingly, the thump of her boots echoing around the empty room. She was right, the shop had been really really slow lately, it was just a habit to ask each time someone came in.

"Yeah you're right, have a seat on that leather chair. Could you give me a minute- sorry- what's your name?" You looked over at her as she settled into the seat, a pale and bruised (also muscular) hand running through her dark pink hair.

"Vi. And you? What's your name gorgeous?" she asked, turning sideways on the chair to manspread.

"Y/n." you replied, a blush creeping onto your cheeks. Her ice blue eyes scanned your figure when you stood up, following the sway of your hips as you walked towards her.

"Cute name. You're real cute." She tilted her head at you, a curiosity flashing in her expression.

You laughed. "How can I help you, Vi?"

"I want a tattoo. a small one, right here on my finger." She spoke low, lifting the red sleeve of her jacket and tracing the side of her left pointer finger. You noticed a tattoo on her forearm, which seemed to lead all the way up. You leaned in closer, nodding as you took in her request.

"and," her voice went quieter, almost a whisper.

"and I want it to say 'POW!', with the mark thingy on the end?" You nodded and scribbled in your sketchbook for a minute or two. Her hand dropped while you sketched and her shoulders hung slightly. You looked up at her, feeling somewhat sad at the sudden change in demeanor, leaning in even closer instinctively.

"Okay, I can do that. What's the occasion? Or... would you rather not talk about it?" You had already drawn three versions of the design in your book, facing the page towards her for approval.

"That," she said pointing at the second design, "..and its not much. Just for somethin' important to me. I'd actually rather talk about you, gorgeous." she sat forward in her seat, resting her elbows on her knees while she watched you turn away from her. You playfully scoffed at the quick switch in attitude, brushing off her previous show of vulnerability as to not make her uncomfortable. You started tracing the design on paper using the tray behind you.

"Is that so? What exactly do you want to talk about?" You span back around in your seat, now scooting closer to her and grabbing her hand. She bit on the inside of her cheek at your touch, letting her hand rest in yours as you pressed the stencil into her finger.

"With that pretty voice? And that face? I could talk about anything with you, babe."

"You use that corny line on every girl?" you cringed, smiling, eyes glued to her hand as you applied the design.

You heard a laugh, and her chest dropped further towards you.

"Mmm.. no? I only see one girl infront of me right now, and she's just. So. Fucking. Gorgeous. What else am I supposed to say?" she came closer with each word, warmth emitting from her mouth as she spoke.

"Are you gonna keep calling me that?" you rasped, not realising you were holding onto your breath. You tried to appear unfazed, but the red flush on the tips of your ears already gave Vi the sense of satisfaction she was craving.

"Yeah I might. Why? You like it?" she tucked a stray hair behind your ear, her hand lingering on the skin of your neck just below your jawline. You felt chills. she was so close, whispering as if it was sinful for anyone to hear.

You coughed and shrugged it off, pressing the design hard into her finger, causing her to sit up slightly. Her hand was calloused and rough, scarred, knuckles red and blue from fighting you presumed. A dirty bandage wrapped around her palm and ended at the wrist, frayed at the edges.

"What? Pretty girl doesn't wanna talk now? Did I get you all nervous?" her stenciled hand turned to stroke yours and she looked at you with a pout.

You pulled your hand away. She's a troublemaker for sure.

"Vi, please. I work better when im not under pressure, okay?" you sighed, turning to grab the needle and dipping it into the black ink.

"Alright, so you are nervous. Got it." So cocky, you thought. She winked at you, putting her hand in yours before you could grab it from her.

You couldn't help but laugh. "God."

"Damn, gorgeous. I know I'm all great and that, but you don't have to call me God."

"Please shut up, Vi."

"Whatever you say, pretty."

You brought the needle to her skin and started drawing over the stencil. You licked your lips and she sucked in a breath, despite her having such detailed, and definitely more painful, tattoos already painted across her arms.

Her gaze was like a heat wave, so hot and so harsh you felt like you were about to start sweating. She watched you carefully, not your hands but everything and anything else. She watched how you tilted your head back and forth to see how the tattoo looked from afar, and how your legs squeezed together everytime you did so. You bit and squeezed your lips as you pressed the needle into her. God your lips. She let her gaze lower further down, admiring the perfect tone of your skin. You really were gorgeous. She didn't even realize how long she was staring at you until she felt the sting of antiseptic being wiped across her finger.

"All done!" you beamed, standing up and walking away to clean off your needle.

She inspected the fresh tattoo.

You heard her swallow harshly, and turned to see her sad smile.

Her smile morphed quickly into mischief and she looked up at you. "Someone has fast hands."

"It comes from practice, Vi." you smiled feeling proud, turning back around to put away your equipment into their designated sections.

"Oh yeah?"

She stood up from the chair, taking a few steps forward until the space behind you felt nearly gone.

"I'm sure you practice a lot, huh?" she teased.

She raised her arm, allowing her fingers to dance on your shoulder, falling lower and lower, drawing lines on your bare skin. your breath hitched and you looked at her hand. She dropped it to rest on your hip, gripping at the skin free from your cropped tee.

"You're so pretty. Let me look at you." Her voice tickled your ear, sending a shiver through your entire body.

"Vi." Your heart rate picked up.

"Turn around, gorgeous. Please."

It sounded like a command, desperate, but soft, all at the same time. You turned to face her and she smiled, now placing both hands on your hips and squeezing gently at the start of the bone.

"Look at that pretty face."

She forced you backwards as she stepped closer, letting your lower back hit the table with a pang. Your hands came up through hers and you shyly let them lay on her chest, not daring to look into her eyes. Then, her hands left your hips and came around the backs of your thighs, wrapping and bringing you upwards onto the metal table without struggle, spreading your legs around her as she did so.

"Hmm. So pretty." she cooed. The cool of the metal felt like ice on your skin and you shivered, leaning into her. She caged her arms around you on the table and leaned forward, brushing her nose against yours.

"Can I kiss you, gorgeous?" She asked, barely audible. You looked into her eyes and she stared back at you, so so sweetly. You let yourself lean in closer, your lips touching but not together just yet. She sighed into your mouth, the tension so strong you could feel it on your tongue. When you licked your lips she pushed herself onto you and kissed you, hands now holding your jaw. The kiss was soft at first, her lips caressing yours so gently it sent a wave flutters to your chest and stomach. But, when you wrapped your hands around her neck and moaned into the kiss, she couldn't hold back a grunt. She licked into your mouth, hands on your ass as she pulled you impossibly close. You stayed just like that for a while, but a growing frustration played out in her kisses, eventually taking over her hands which were squeezing so hard you swore they could leave marks. Your back arched in response, letting Vi push you further onto the table until you had to support yourself with one hand, the other tangled in her hair.

The twinkle of your door chimes interrupted the kiss and you hesitantly pulled back, but Vi was determined, lowering her kisses to suck on your jaw and neck. You peered over her shoulder, fighting the hands which pushed you back down.

"Vi, just- one sec-"

A nice looking man stepped inside, looking at the designs on the walls before landing his eyes on you, or Vi covering you more so.

"Vi-, shit," you swore under your breath, her teeth nipping on your collarbone.

"Hey! I have an appointm- oh, SHIT, hey, it's fine! It's fine it's fine I'll come back later, tomorrow! Im so so sorry! Shit!

The door chimes clinked against eachother as he ran out and you cursed to yourself. Vi finally paused on the marking of your skin when you threw your head back in guilt.

"Hey, don't worry gorgeous. Atleast you have me."

"Shut up Vi." You rolled your eyes, bringing your hand up to flick your nail on her ear.

"Ouch!"

Any requests send in the inbox 😛 this is my first ever fic so I hope my fellow arcane family approves ♡ rizz #vi forever

[r95irth]

Do you know those posters to help your mental health? Someone shared one with a small racoon and my brain went "we can make a 3zun version of this" but in the end i made a Lan Xichen - Jin Guangyao, xiyao version, an implied Wangxian, Twin jade feels, and a Nie bros feels.

Anyways give JGY time to sleep and NMJ something to munch over and also LWJ a hug (don't worry LWJ you'll get your crush back one day)

The last panel really gave me trouble,

at first i wanted to draw LXC in his seclusion time, but someone pointed out that LXC never stinks...And also it broke my heart to give him his canon ending and i had no idea how to make a shower look better (he would just be drowning under the water...)

Then next i wanted to draw Wangxian, with WWX being the one who hated himself and LWJ washing him in the second one...But WWX is (hopefully) not hating himself anymore at the end of canon and i didn't want to make put some sadness in his happy ending (because even if i don't speak much about wangxian lately i do like them a lot x))

Finally I went for Twin jade feels thanks to suggestions and i don't regret it. I liked drawing LWJ popping bubbles underwater while his brother comb his hair. (Besides it's hopeful as he will get his crush back, eventually, we all know this...)

anyways. If you feel like everyone hates you, like A-Yao, sleep.

If you feel like you hate everyone, like Nie Mingjue, eat.

And if you hate yourself, get a shower.

(Might look for therapy too, if the shower is not enough...)

Have a nice evening :)

[yuri-is-online]

I imagine Deuce!Yutu is either A. The Ultimate Honor Student with perfect grades and a plsmile that makes old nannies and mothers swoon (Yutu: "Thanks, its because me and my parent are the local "weirdos" I had to overcorrect and become a golden child (':") OR B. just as bad as pre-NRC Deuce was, a gang member who'd jump anyone who'd look at him wrong (but still cried until he was sick when he watched My Girl (1991) behind Yuu's back. They told him not to because they knew it was sad, he didn't listen).

I imagine Yuu's main memory of Deuce to their Yutu was how much Deuce believed in self-improvement and redemption, always trying to be a better man, which either version of Yutu can't help but admire or respect, despite their complicated feelings over their absent father.

Upon meeting him in the "current" timeline as a student, A or B either can't help but give Pop's an A for effort, despite missing the goal sometimes or finds him a little cringe for being such a tryhard.

I had to google the movie you mentioned and got jump scared by it taking place in Pennsylvania. Pretty sure I have driven through the place it's supposed to be set before... and fuck just reading the synopsis made me cry I don't think I could watch it ;-; poor Yutu should have listened to his parent.

notes: they/them used for Yuu, for context on the fyuuture kid au can be found here and here.

I feel like I have read too much Tokyo Revengers because... we can have both: an honor student with a delinquent mean streak sounds like a good set up for Deuce! Yutu. Not that I think he would behave like Kisaki does exactly, but still. Dylla mentions in the White Rabbit event that she wasn't on the best terms with her mother when she was a teen, and we know about how Deuce was in middle school, so the idea of Yutu having a bit of a temper and rebellious streak to him does make a degree of sense. Sadly, I think that extends to his interactions with Yuu... so things are about to be angsty on two fronts today.

Much like Deuce, Yutu was just the cutest baby. He loved all things cute and fluffy. Bunnies, kitties, puppy dogs, he was such a sweet little kid who really loved chasing around butterflies in the great outdoors. He really loved to read, and learned how to do so at a very early age. When Yuu was having a bad day he would pick out one of his favorite books and insist on reading them a bedtime story so they could take a nap without any nightmares. If he was especially worried he would bring his favorite nightlight with him.

Not that anyone would ever dare to suggest it given what Yutu is like now, but he was very afraid of the dark as a child. He still is, there's just something about the void that exists in the darkness that screams danger to him. When he's isekaid to Twisted Wonderland it evolves into an extreme fear of blot and phantoms. I'd like his unique magic to have something to do with light or stars, something inspired by the Second Star to the Right from Peter Pan? I think it would be cute for someone afraid of the dark to be able to provide their own light.

When Yutu reaches middle school there's a noticeable change in his relationship with you. He's still polite, still bringing home good grades and unoffensive comments from his teachers. But he's a bit cold, as if he is purposefully putting emotional distance between you. His friends all treat you respectfully, but you just have a feeling, left over from somewhere, that you know what is likely going on but you can't put your finger on what. He gets angry when you try to ask questions, yelling something about how you just don't understand, maybe even throws in something about this being your fault...

I wrote about Riddle! Yutu having some fights with Yuu, but Deuce! Yutu's fights are so much worse. While Riddle! Yutu typically comes out of his room blubbering big fat tears ready to apologize, Deuce! Yutu feels the need to double down and save face. He does believe his parent has amnesia, he's seen how they act, but what he does not get is why they insist on feeling so fond of his dad and refuse to move on. In his mind their life could be a lot better if Yuu was willing to be honest with themselves about who his dad probably was. Yutu is very hung up on why Deuce felt the need to be redeemed, focusing on self improvement is all fine and good if you are someone worth redeeming but he's not around for Yutu to judge. And Yuu doesn't remember...

He's young, stupid, and angry, and he takes it out on anyone who looks at him wrong. What's worse for authority figures who want to help is that he's veeeery smart about how he does it. When he jumps someone you can bet there won't be cameras around to see it. When the police start troubling Yuu about what he's doing it's mostly just in the hope that they'll be able to talk some sense into their kid rather than to arrest Yutu or anything like that, but it doesn't work. Yutu gets to see the same thing that his dad did all those years ago, his parent crying because of his behavior but there's no grandparent Yuu is asking advice of. Since I am in the mood to be extra cruel, let's say the day that fight takes place, the day Yutu sees Yuu crying is the day he hears a very important name for the first time.

Deuce. His father's name is Deuce and the reason why he wasn't around was because he was from the other world that came to swallow up him and his parent the instant they began to remember. He doesn't get time to cover up the signs of his rebellion, or really a chance to say sorry. He has to look Grandpa Crewel in the face and admit that he made Yuu cry and added to the overly stressed mess their life had become. Everything they said about Deuce was true, and what's worse he was like him.

I feel like Deuce would be the sort of person who wanted to make a lot of home videos. Cater probably would be too, but he'd store most of them on his phone and I think that would be lost to time by the time his Yutu came home. Maybe it's because of the ghost camera, or his desire to be an "honor student" evolving into wanting to be an "honorable husband and father" but Deuce totally bought a video camera to take cheesy videos to show Yutu as he grew up. Instead the kid gets to see fragments of a life he could have had as he listens to his dad tell him about his life and how he met Yuu.

"Honestly I have no idea why they said yes." Deuce is a dork. A complete dork who looks so... young and life like in the video. He knows what features he took from Yuu but watching Deuce talk, he can pick up on the ticks, the way his mouth sets when determined. The look of shock that always made Yuu laugh, it bursts into view when he hears Yuu laugh as they enter the frame to snuggle into Duece's side, to press their face against his cheek with a happily contended sigh. "Y-yuu you're making me look uncool in front of the baby."

"He's not here yet!" You giggle and for the first time in a long time Yutu feels himself choking up as he watches his dad get all silly looking at the thought of his arrival.

"We're really looking forward to meeting you kiddo. I promise, nothing will ever happen to you. I'm not going anywhere."

"Well. Technically kept that last promise didn't you." He tries to play it off like a joke, but Crewel isn't laughing and neither is Yutu.

Gets put in Heartslabyul, but isn't exactly determined to be an honor student like his dad. While Deuce enjoys a good fight or the feeling of the wind in his hair... Yutu mostly got into fights because he was angry and needed someone to take it out on. Because of that temper he struggles with learning and controlling his magic but he still does pretty well with the practical academic side of things. He's proud of his ability to understand these things, and takes a lot of comfort in knowing his dad would be excited at knowing he was good at things like math and science.

Like with the other Heartslabyul boys, he had to fight his father's phantom. He sees putting Deuce to rest as part of his penance for how he treated Yuu in the years leading up to getting isekaid. He refuses to go back in time until he's able to lay this version of his father to rest next to Yuu so he can promise both of them, to their faces, that he'll create a world where they all can be together and live as a family.

Deuce is extremely friendly to Yutu! He wants to learn as much about Yuu's world as he can so he can help them feel as at home in Twisted Wonderland as possible. He makes sure to let Yutu know that extends to him too once Yuu warms up to having him in the friend circle, Uncle Ace is much less enthusiastic but it's clearly from a place of care towards Yuu. He starts to warm up when he sees Yutu trying his hardest to tutor Deuce, though he claims it's because he just thinks it's funny but really it's because Ace wants to see Deuce succeed.

Very correct on his feelings about Pops. His dad is so wildly cringe it's unreal. His effort is inspiring until he starts getting embarrassed for losing his temper and stuttering, or seven forbid you look at his grades. The more he interacts with both of you the more certain he becomes that Deuce would never have abandoned him... and that he is so getting grounded when Deuce learns about how he treated Yuu. And what's worse is that Yutu sort of wants him to.

Surprisingly that's not what happens at all. When Deuce learns who Yutu is, whether by sleuthing or through a violent confrontation with a monster from the future, when the whole story is laid out before him and his son bows to beg for his judgement it doesn't come at all. His Pops yanks him up by the collar and turns him towards Yuu.

"Say all of that again to your parent." Deuce's voice is as stern as it is serious. Yuu looks distraught, not quite to the point they were on the day everything changed but getting there as Yutu immediately breaks down and chokes, crying and begging for your forgiveness and saying he's sorry as Deuce brings all three of you together into a strong embrace. "I'm not the one you need to make things up to, but it's ok. I know exactly how you feel and we'll work through things together."

Deuce doesn't feel like he can be overly angry at Yutu for taking after him. He does feel the need to apologize to Yuu, profusely and in private, for putting them in so much danger and not being there to help Yutu work through his temper. If I was writing this as a story, I'd make Yuu sort of afraid of Yutu's feelings? I could see them blaming themselves and things being a bit awkward within their relationship with Yutu where they had been very good before the reveal. With Deuce being the loving and understanding partner that he is, the bridge is once again mended and the whole family gets to indulge in hobbies that aren't beating the shit out of other people.

Yutu gets back into reading, and starts looking up manuals and histories of blastcycles so he has something to talk to his dad about. He was right about his dad being extremely proud of him for being smart, he's that classic mechanic working class dad who can't stop talking about his kid who went to college and has pictures of him in his garage he makes sure to point out to everyone who comes in. Said person is really just Ace who really wants to make fun of Deuce and Yuu for being cringe together but is too focused on this whole world ending thing and wants everyone to be more focused on that.

Deuce promises that he is, he has a lot of confidence in the ability of your little group to be able to win against stacked odds. You've done it before you can do it again. Yutu couldn't have picked better allies, he's really determined to show him that and be a dad his son can be proud of. He repeats his promise to Yutu that he's never going anywhere, even though the kid never told him anything about the tapes because he really means it. He wants that world little Yutu dreamed of and older Yutu swore to fight for to be a reality, and it's his job as an honorable dad and future husband (he gets so flustered when he says that) to be the one on the front lines of fighting for it,

... just please please please do not tell Yutu about the egg incident. He doesn't think he could handle that embarrassment.

[animehideout]

LOVE IS THE MOST TWISTED CURSE OF THEM ALL

PART 10

Gojo Satoru x Fem! Reader

check out part 11 here ✨🆕

W.c: 3.4K+

not proofread ⚠️

a/n : Hi everyone, I'm back with another part yaaay, I hope you enjoy it. I need a good cry so I wrote this, where are my Angst enthusiasts at? this part is for you, but no worries I'll make it up for you I promise 😭🩵.

Music Suggestion 🎧 I highly recommend The Neighborhood - Softcore to match the sadness 🥲

You gradually regained your consciousness; you felt a dull throb in your head. You blinked slowly, struggling to focus, your surroundings initially a blur of shapes and colors that gradually sharpened into clarity.

You tried to move, to rub your temples but your heart beats quickened when you realized you were bound to a chair, your limbs securely tied with coarse ropes. Panic surged through your veins, your eyes widening as you struggled against your restrains, each tug to break free was met with resistance. Ropes tightly wrapped around your wrists and legs, a burning sensation, only serving to deepen your sense of helplessness.

“Fuck, fuck” you muttered.

Breathing heavily, your chest rising and falling in wild rhythm. You scanned the dimly lit room, searching for any sign of escape. But there was none, and you found yourself trapped in a nightmare worse than your reality.

Suddenly, a deep voice cut through the silence, coming from behind. A tone that sent shivers down your spine,

“No need to struggle princess”

The words dripped with menace. You were too scared to look behind not knowing what to face. You bit your lips that were quivering. From the shadow, he emerged. With hesitation you looked up to see the tall figure that concealed the dim light from you. His muscles taut beneath his shirt, a sly, dirty smirk tugged at the corners of his scarred lips. His dark black hair fell on his face gracefully, looking directly at your soul with his narrowed eyes. for a split second, you thought it was a more aggressive version of Megumi.

His presence, the way he stood in front of you, looking down at you sent a chill to your whole nervous system, making your breath hitch up.

“W-who are you? What am I doing here?”

He reached to grab your chin with his long fingers, forcing your head up to look at him.

“Shh-hh, don’t ask questions! Lemme introduce myself first” he paused, bringing another chair and sat right in front of you. “I’m sure you’ve heard about me…they probably warned you, I’m-”

“You’re Toji Zenin?!” you interrupted him

With a mocking tone, he leaned forward and said,

“I go by Fushiguro now! So don’t say Zenin ever again…so? Did you sleep well”

You stayed frozen in place, each inhale felt like shards of glass scraping down your throat. Consumed by fear, realizing that the man who’s been searching for you all around Tokyo, just to take your life away finally found you and was comfortably sitting in front of you. Your world narrowed, maybe it’s the end.

*flash back*

With a heavy weight in your heart, you left Jujutsu High in the dread of the night. Spending the night stargazing in the balcony wasn’t enough; you wanted to get completely detached so you left for some fresh air away, far away from Gojo.  The echo of what Gojo said to you still ringing in your ears. “you failed your family and now you’re failing everyone else in Jujutsu High” those words never left your mind.

“He’s right..I even failed myself” you muttered to yourself.

You walked through the streets, each step was a painful reminder that you’ve got nowhere to go, completely lost, nowhere and no one to turn to, feeling that you don’t belong anywhere. The darkness of the night enveloped you like a cloak. Your feet carried you to an unexpected place, standing in front of the big wooden door, you didn’t dare to knock, you just stood there in front of your parent’s house, memories flooding your mind. Maybe your parents were right for keeping you locked inside. Maybe someone like you was never meant to leave the safety of their house, maybe your parents knew that you would get hurt. But your family, who spent their life keeping you in the darkness of your room pushed you to marry a stranger, a man you never knew, never met; Gojo Satoru, just because of his good reputation, because he’s the strongest, maybe your parents thought he would keep you safe and will protect you, but he ended up slit opening a deep wound within you, once again awakening your trauma that you worked hard to learn how to live with.

“I was only a burden to everyone” you said to yourself,

You heard giggles so you stepped closer, peeking through the window. Your heart sank as you saw your family again, after so long. You didn’t know whether to feel happy or sad at their sight. Your parents and siblings, gathered together in the warm glow of the light. Carefree and content, laugher filling the air, a bittersweet melody to your ears. Their faces illuminated by smiles as they talked together.

You stood there, a silent observer on the outside looking in. A tear rolled down your cheek , a broken smile drawn on your face,

“They look happy without me”

You felt a sting in your chest,  loneliness washing over you again and again, it actually never left, loneliness was the only companion you had. It was as if you were peering into a world you had once knew, yet now felt completely disconnected.

History repeating itself, once again your family managed to make you feel like an outsider, a complete stranger. You felt as if you were a completely forgotten fragment of their life, a faded memory lost in the depth of time, as if you never been a part of their past.

Tears welled in your eyes as you turned away from the window, unable to bear the ache of being invisible to them your whole life. As you turned, you were met with a pair of glowing eyes looking directly at you, a tall masked figure that made you gasp , but before you could react, you got hit on your head with a metal bar…falling unconscious.

*End of flashback*

“Was that your parents house?” asked Toji

But you completely ignored his question, looking away from his intense gaze,

“What do you want from me?”

“Kill you, obviously… now answer my question..Was that your parents’ house?”

“Why does it matter to you?”

“As you can see, I feed on other’s suffering .. so it would be nice to learn more about your miserable past”

You frowned your brows in confusion,

“I had a normal, not miserable past" you lied, keeping your traumas to yourself,

“Oh hoho, let me guess, abused? Discriminated? No no ignored? That’s the right word… no one ever recognized you right? No one made you feel welcomed cuz you were different and people are scared of things that are different” he started

How did he know that? How did he know about your past? How could he describe what you've felt so accurately?

“N-no!” you lied again

“Come on don’t lie to me.. I know very well the face of someone who’s been discriminated their entire life for being  different”

“Have you met someone like that to judge so confidently?”

“No, but I look in the mirror everyday”

You looked at him in disbelief, you didn’t dare to say a word. Whatever he was trying to do, was successfully making you feel uncomfortable. Is he trying to torture you before taking your last breath away? But you already gave up, there’s no way you can escape this place, tied hands and legs, him sitting right across you., and probably no one would look for you.

“If you’re gonna kill me then do it already, and spare me from talking about the past”

“Woah, so you give up already? Who pushed you to your limits to the point that you greet death as an old friend?” he asked

“No one, just do it. This is what you captured me for.. SO DO IT” you yelled.

“Hm, interesting! I think I know where all of this is coming from..Gojo Satoru? Did your husband add to your trauma?”

“enough” you whispered weakly

“What? It must be hard to live with him; especially that he’s the strongest. Lemme guess! He made you feel weak at any given chance, reminding you again and again that you’re nothing” he said offensively pushing you to your edge.

“St-op”

“That’s what sorcerers do, they claim they protect the normal, oh I’m sorry the monkeys like us, but in reality they use their power to belittle us…and you’ll soon be like them, soon you’ll turn into your real form; a sorcerer with an immaculate power but ugly usage..and this is my chance to spare the world of the normal from your ugliness”

“What are you talking about? I’m no turning into a sorcerer-”

“What?”

“It’s been weeks and nothing happened, that prophecy they talked about was nothing but a big lie”

“But your curse-”

“Fate is my only curse” you said, your eyes blankly staring at him, completely worn out.

*Back at Jujutsu High*

Satoru’s eyes blazed with fury as he walked towards Mei Mei and grabbed her by the arm, his grip tight and violent. He yanked her aside aggressively,

“You! You’re the reason she’s gone” he spat with anger.

Mei Mei’s face etched with annoyance, narrowing her eyes at him,

“Don’t you dare blame me for this! It’s  your fault Gojo not mine” she fought back.

“You did that on purpose didn’t you? Leading me to your room cuz you know Y/n will be there, you’re trying your best to have me, but you can’t and you never will” he spoke through gritted teeth.

“You started this in the first place. You asked for my help to push Y/n away, and when I succeeded in giving you what you wanted, you started blaming me? Is this your way to say thank you?”

“I already told you to stop, I said that I no longer in need of your help that you got paid for, but you kept pushing, you wanted more than pushing Y/n away, you wanted me to be yours, but too bad for you, I don’t want you Mei Mei _ and if something happens to y/n I’ll end you! Do you understand ?” he threatened and turned his back to leave.

“Do you love her?” asked Mei Mei making Gojo stop in his track. “There’s only explanation for this, you fell for her Gojo: you fell for Y/n!”

A moment of silence washed over the place, making a hundred of thoughts flow in Gojo’s head. But he ignored her; he doesn’t have time to think about his feelings, when the one he has feelings for is missing because of him. So he started walking away to join the others and start their mission to find you.

…..

“We’ll split into three groups and cover as much ground as possible” suggested Gojo and all of them nodded in agreement.

“Megumi and Maki come with me” he added

“I’ll take Yuji-kun  and Panda” said Nanami

“Inumaki and Nobara you’ll go with principal Yaga” ordered Satoru

“What about Mei Mei, where is she? Isn’t she coming with us to look for Y/n-sensei?” asked Maki with suspicion, she never liked her anyway.

“I’ll go with you” said Mei Mei as she joined them in the common room, “Let’s find y/n”

Satoru ignored her presence and left the room, the rest of them walked outside. Spreading across Tokyo streets, searching everywhere for a glimpse of you. Ready for any possible encounter with Toji Zenin.

Satoru walked with powerful step, determined to find Toji’s hideout and save you from his deadly grasp.

“We’ll find her..don’t worry Y/n is strong, she can definitely handle it” said Megumi in a comforting tone, after noticing how stressed Satoru was.

“I know… she’s strong” he finally admitted.

Hours stretched on into the night, Gojo and the other sorcerers students and teachers combed through each and every corner of the city.. every alleyway, every secluded spot that Toji could possibly use desperate to find her, but for nothing.

Despite their exhaustive efforts, the outcome remained unchanged; you’re nowhere to be found.

With heavy hearts and weary bodies they got back to Jujutsu High as principal Yaga called off the search.

*2 days later*

“The higher ups called for an urgent meeting” said Principal Yaga

“We’ll join the meeting!” said Yuji

“No it’s only for the teachers”

“NO! we care for Y/n-sensei, and maybe more than all of you! If this is about Y/n-sensei then we’re joining” said Yuji with a sad tone

With a sigh, principal Yaga nodded, guiding all of them to the meeting room.

*At the meeting room*

Tension hung in the air, faces drawn and expressions grim as they waited for one of the higher ups to speak,

“Any clue? Any hint? Any progress?” asked one of them.

All of them shook their heads in defeat, their silence spoke volumes, conveying their helplessness and the frustration of their failure.

“We expected nothing less from Toji Zenin, it’s already crystal clear-” he added coldly, his words cutting through the silence once again.

“We won’t give up! We’ll go back tomorrow and this time we bring her home and bring Toji to his trial again” said Gojo in fraustartion, his words dripping with venom.

“You’ve been looking for two days but for vain, there’s no point in wasting any more time and effort, once she’s captured by Toji we knew she’s already gone, she’s already dead” said one of the higher ups.

“SHE’S NOT DEAD” yelled Satoru slamming his fist on the wooden table,

all heads turned at his direction at his sudden rage.

“I know it’s hard to swallow, but it’s your fault for letting her wander outside without keeping an eye on her, it’s your fa-”

“YOU THINK IM NOT AWARE OF IT? YES YOU’RE RIGHT IT’S MY FUCKING FAULT FOR LETTING HER GO, IT’S MY FAULT FOR PUSHING HER AWAY FROM ME, IT’S MY DAMN FAULT MY HURTING HER SO MUCH TO THE POINT THAT SHE FAVORED FACING DANGER OUTSIDE THEN STAYING BESIDE ME…stop blaming me because I know, I messed up, I fucked up and I admit it…but you can’t ask me to give up on my wife-” said Gojo his voice cracking.

Without further words, he left the room. Nanami followed him trying to help him,

“Gojo stop…hey stop” said Nanami “Where are you going?”

“To find her”

“Gojo you know you won’t find her…” said Nanami apologetically

“You once told me to treat her as a real wife, so here I am doing , let me for once care for her like a real wife”

“Gojo don’t do this to yourself, I know you still have hope, we all do but the higher ups won’t allow it”

“Well fuck them the higher ups..I won’t rest till I bring my wife home”

“Alright I’ll come with you”

*At Toji Zenin’s hideout*

“Wakey wakey…” said Toji splashing cold water on your head

You gasped for air, completely startled, completely drenched

“W-what the hell!!” you exclaimed

“Someone wants to meet you”

Confusion clouded your thoughts as you glanced towards the door in anticipation. Who could possibly come to meet you? Is there someone else in the dirty game that Toji is playing?

Your heart skipped a beat as the door creaked open, revealing a familiar silhouette that slowly emerged from the shadow to the light.

“M-Mei Mei?” you said in shock

Your mind raced trying to make sense of the whole situation, your eyes didn’t leave hers as she looked down at you. But the smirk on Mei Mei’s face offered no answer,

“I hope you had fun these two days here with Toji”  

“W-what?” your voice almost inaudible.

“Did you think I’d let you win huh? Poor Y/n!”

“You!- you did all of this? What’s your problem with me huh?” you asked your voice trembling with anger.

“The thing is, you are the problem Y/n! I won’t let you have Gojo, I won’t let you turn into a sorcerer and become the strongest..I won’t let that prophecy come true”

“You’re insane!” you shook your head in disbelief

“Well call it whatever you like, but I won’t let you steal my dreams away”

“So you think that stealing my life away is the right thing to do?”

“YES YES” she leaned forward “I can’t bear to see Gojo look at you with much love in his eyes, I can’t bear to see him giving his heart to you-”

“What are you blabbering about? You know well what kind of relationship I have with Gojo, I already know that both of you have an affair”

Suddenly she started laughing hysterically,

“That’s what I wanted but that dick didn’t want me and never did, since you’re going to die so yeah lemme tell you truth, I got paid to do what I’ve done, he never touched me…it was all lie, all of them, I made that up to push you out of the frame, he wanted that at first but then he started to push ME out of the frame, maybe he’s got a liking into you, a liking that I didn’t like, when I noticed the way his heart started to beat for you, when a spark was born I had to intervene, I couldn’t help but release Toji out of prison, pay him a big amount of money  to abduct you and kill you”

“I’ve never thought you’ll get to this level of low” you spat

“Now you’re out of the frame, I succeeded, you’ll die.. Toji will kill you and I’ll work on making Gojo forget about you, I’ll comfort him when he mourns your death, I’ll be the shoulder he cries on and that’s how I’ll win his heart…to the higher ups you’re already considered dead and shortly you’ll truly be” she said happily, playing with her hair

Disbelief washed over you like a tidal wave, leaving you disoriented. You struggled to voice your thoughts, lost in the overwhelming emotions so you started screaming at her,

“I’LL KILL YOU MEI MEI, I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU”

You struggled to break free from the ties that restricted your movement to a minimum, completely going crazy, you hair falling on your face. With each tug and desperate lurch you felt your anger growing more and more, your heart hammering against your chest, redoubling your efforts, till you crashed on the ground, the chair toppled over with a resounding thud, hitting your head on the hard concrete. You laid there, disoriented and dazed, pain pulsed through your skull, world spinning around you. If you managed to break free you’ll make Mei Mei vanish from existence.

You saw in slow mo how Mei Mei was walking towards the door leaving the room, Toji crouched down, brushing strands of hair off your face, placing it behind your ear,

“It’s okay, it won’t be painful…but before I kill you, I’ll do terrible thing to you that will make you beg me to kill you”

You were too weak to answer him, you can feel yourself fading into the background, into the nothingness…losing touch  with what’s real. As you closed your eyes, seeking solace in the silence. His face emerged, Gojo’s features etched in your mind with crystalline clarity. Amidst the chaos, the threat, you were somehow happy and relieved that he did not cheat on you, that hadn’t touched Mei Mei  and that all what she said before was a lie to offend you that’s all. A smile tugged at the corners of your lips, with each passing moment, your thoughts dived deeper and deeper in the memories shared between both of you, the closeness of your faces when both of you bickered, the way he was sleeping  next you but disturbed by his night terrors, you wished that you be there for him, comfort him and put him back to sleep in your arms, maybe you’ll be his dream and replace that ugly nightmare that haunts him every night. Maybe you can try again and be a real husband and wife.

You realized in that moment that you needed him, that you have already fell for him but that feeling needed something to be noticed, and this something is being far away from him. But is there a way back? A tear run on your cheek, a weak smile drawn on your tired face, fate is indeed your curse.

“It’s too late…I’m already gone”

With that you closed your eyes, drifting to sleep, your dream filled with visions of Gojo is your only companion.  

….

“Are you sure about this Maki?” asked Nobara

“I don’t know, but she’s been acting really suspicious, maybe we can find something?”

“You sure we won’t get caught?”

“No…but I’ll do it, if you’re not sure about this you can go I’ll handle it alone!”

“No I’ll be here, I’ll guard the place”

Both of them walked through the dark corridor like ghosts, gently turning the door knob, sneaking into Mei Mei’s room.

Taglist ✨:

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@thoughfullovercreator

[rubra-wav]

[ Entry #10 ] What it would be like actually dating Vox hcs

A/N I love Vox, but the reality of it is that he'd be terrible for a lot of reasons and I'm not gonna sugarcoat it in here like at all.

Me when theoretically very complex but ultimately still extremely problematic character: *foaming at mouth*

I love him.. but God I also hate him... but I also love hi-

This is a long one jfc.

Cw: Nsfw - no smut but strong themes, discussion of toxic relationships, manipulation, discussion of emotionally abusive/controlling behaviour, insecure aa toxic cis man behaviour, suggestive at one point

Someone asked me what I thought he'd be like with a yes-man reader so here it is

The worst out of the way first

The thing about Vox is that he's got a fuckton of baggage and bad traits that need desperate management, and they would sure as hell not be being managed by him on his own choice.

As his partner, you would NOT be able to be a pushover or shy away from any kind of confrontation about actions that have upset you because if Vox had a partner like this? He'd become the absolute worst version of himself in your relationship because you would not be calling him out or enforcing boundaries with him.

- He's insecure, and it's in the worst way possible.

And not in the 'aw he just needs to be loved and then he'll be healed' way. I'm talking in the 'toxic, refuses to remedy his own behaviours, becomes very emotionally abusive abt it if you don't pull up your boots and confront him abt it and make sure he actually does shit about it' way.

The fanfic community likes to portray him as a victim in the relationship with Val, and while it's true Val is certainly worse for obvious/overt reasons - He's still not just a victim in that situation. He's also terrible.

Just for reasons that are less overt and are thus overshadowed a lot. Acknowledging that doesn't make the shit Val (at least seemingly thus far. Vox side-stepped the drink being thrown pretty fast and seems accustomed to violent tantrums) does to him any less terrible, it's just the truth he's not a poor defenceless victim in that. (Vox literally goes to try use his mind control power on Val the second he seems like he's gonna damage their image then throws his lowest earners under the bus.)

- In the beginning if you aren't giving him attention at all times, do something that reminds him of Valentino even slightly, or if you do something that he just mildly doesn't like; then he will be passive aggressive or straight up aggressive as absolute fucking hell.

The second he feels slighted even a little bit, he's going to be so pissy.

- And he can't communicate for absolute shit. He thinks you are doing shit on purpose to piss him off or hurt him. This is due to his relationship with Val, but it's not him being a sad sob story kind of thing (not all around at least), he will be awful to you if you allow him to ever be just a victim who can do no wrong.

- He will project all his bs heavily onto you in the beginning with complete self awareness and no thought given to managing his own shit.

If you ask what's wrong when he's acting up he probably would be the type of bitch to go 'nothing's wrong' and will then proceed to ruminate upon it until he ends up exploding about it later on. Or, maybe he'll even do the 'you know what you've done' type of shit.

- He would probably expect you to be a mind reader and when you inevitably aren't aware of wtf is happening because he hates being emotionally vulnerable at all and can't describe what's going on properly for himself, he will be an absolute bitch about it. (Carried here from my other hc that he has a bunch of self-imposed toxic masculinity he needs to deconstruct)

- If you call him out, he will likely try to convince you he's not doing it.

- He'll become increasingly more self-aware of his behaviour you are aware of and will just be even worse because he hates that you could see something about him he doesn't want you to see.

Basically, he feels embarrassed as fuck about it, and cannot apologise because that's humiliating as all hell to him, so instead of turning inwards and dealing with his crap he then proceeds to consciously project shit onto you even when he knows he's in the wrong.

He'd rather argue the wrong point and behaviour than admit he's capable of making mistakes.

He will probably also try to hypnotise you into forgetting anything he thinks is undesirable you know about him too.

- You will need to actually teach him real consequences for his actions, but also need to be assuring him that you aren't going to do shit like Val would have or leave him for someone else and shit like that simultaneously.

He needs to essentially be taught consequences, boundaries, healthy relationship behaviour, etc. From absolute scratch. I would literally pay for this cunts therapy atp istg.

- And this is gonna be an absolute fucking nightmare because again, he doesn't want to admit that he doesn't know what the fuck he's doing and that he's in the wrong. All that interferes with his image he wants to put out at all times in your relationship with him.

He's got masks on masks. Even one for your relationship. The second that cracks in any regard, he's gonna be rushing to compensate for that, and if that doesn't work, he's gonna be pissed and most likely end up pushing that onto you.

- Speaking of image. I mentioned this in a fic, but he'd most likely be extremely controlling over your freedom to disclose your relationship, too. If he thought you would look poor as a partner for his reputation (ie. Low status, bad reputation), he'd most likely never want to publicly reveal your relationship no matter how much he loves you - he'd likely hide this completely behind you having privacy but if you say you want people to know anyway he's going to slowly become more and more overtly pissy about it.

And, if you are openly known to be in a relationship, he will be wanting to control your own image as well.

If you step one foot out of line of what he deems perfect, good lord he will be an absolute nightmare.

- Also mentioned in another post, but he would absolutely also watch you through cameras you don't know are there. Same as what he's seen doing with Val.

- He's got practically zero qualms in the beginning of your relationship with violating your privacy or boundaries if he thinks he'll get away with it/that you won't find out about it. This also likely goes for things like checking your texts, calls, and search history without permission.

- The possibility that he'd try to interfere with your personal relationships if he thought they would try drag you away from him or if they take up a lot of your attention is also pretty present.

He's an incredibly jealous person (as seen by him seeming jealous of Angel with Val of all people), so the second he sees you giving someone else positive attention? He's gonna be fucking furious.

- Again, you could not be a pushover in your relationship with him because he'd be absolutely awful. You'd have to basically be reality checking him every three seconds - it's NOT for the faint of heart and even if you're incredibly patient you will probably be going insane from it at points.

Implying you can actually get him to change tho he would become a lot better - he's gonna be fighting you on practically everything because the second he feels out of control of a situation or himself he's gonna be freaking out.

He will probably be straight up terrified if it seems like you are making him 'change', even if it's for the better and will ultimately ALSO benefit him too.

The SECOND he feels out of control of a situation in any way, he will be terrible.

- Also, if you manage to push him on the path to behaviour management this cunt will be looking smug and proud of himself as all hell the second he even slightly does what you ask and will be a bitch if you don't rain down praise on him for it. 💀

- He's so positive attention motivated it's actually pathetic lmao

With that out of the way - the slightly better/good other stuff

- Vox works fucking nightmare hours with his position in hell, and he hates not being able to be around you much so he's almost always trying to make it up to you.

- He'll be on calls with you or texting you most hours of the day (even when he probably should not be) because he's honestly clingy as hell.

If you don't like having a million notifications from someone blowing up your phone with random shit then you are not going to like being apart from him because he is chronically on his phone.

- Another thing is the gifts.

If you want a sugar daddy aa boyfriend? This is the man for you because my God will he shower you with the most expensive gifts you have ever received. New phones, cars, jewellery, clothes, so on so on.

It's bad if you don't like consumerism and want to keep devices even if newer ones come out because the second something new comes out he's getting it for you - even before it becomes publicly available to the rest of hell, it's in your hands. He wants the best stuff and only the best stuff for you. How would that make him look if his partner didn't have all the best stuff? To you and also others

- Also, the second you mention you actually want or need something? It's there right in front of you. Bro has personal delivery drones, and it will be there in under 15 minutes delivered to you or someone's getting shot.

- I've seen a few people imply gift giving is his primary love language, and it's certainly up there, but I personally think that it's more likely acts of service.

This man never does anything for anyone unless it's to keep things from being annoying to him, self gain, or damaging his image. So for him to do things for you that he knows you want from him even if he doesnt particularly want to? He is well and truly in love with you, and that would be how he'd let you know that even if he isn't self-aware of it, lmao.

He doesn't like being told to do things, but he's really good at picking up on what people want usually (unless he's being delulu) so if he notices something or you mention stuff off-hand? He'll try to do it/get it/whatever it is for you.

Material things are just material things. He's rich, it doesn't mean that much to drop thousands for him. Him actually doing things for you, though? Even if it doesn't benefit him at all? That's something else entirely.

Will be annoying asf if you don't thank him enough for it, though. Ie. "Well, you're welcome then." While pouting at you.

- As for spending time with him:

I believe he constantly wants to be alone with you and only with you when he actually has time to do so, so he only wants dates to be one-on-ond most of the time.

There aren't exactly limits upon that, though, like at all.

He's absolutely rich and has ridiculous privileges so you could be on comfy home dates where you two just stay in and cuddle after eating dinner, or seeing concerts/watching movies/etc exclusively where they are not available to just anyone, or something fucking ridiculous like eating a fancy dinner at a custom designed restaurant just for dates under a goddamn aquarium (very likely ngl)

The second he gets to show off his power, he's gonna do it with a smug grin.

- He's also extremely big on physical touch but would never admit it. I already go over this in another entry, but he's gonna have a hand on you at all times (hand on your waist, hip or shoulder, purposely brushing against you more then he logically has to be, etc)

Brief mentions of sexual stuff here

I feel like he'd love someone big on physical touch - both in a sexual way but also especially in a non-sexual way.

He's not used to getting someone cuddling him or holding his hands or literally just touching him at all without some underlying ulterior motive, so he'd probably just melt into your touch.

Also I'll link the post bc there's further takes on this in it but they are ✨️sus✨️

- He would be extremely protective of you- this can absolutely become one of the blue sections really easily- but if you're in a relationship he's gonna be constantly concerned about your safety and whether you are at risk.

I mean, you're in hell. Just about anyone could turn out to be some maniac (ironic he would think that 🤨)

Anyways, point is, you'd be safe from any other maniacs. He would give you the best security and protection probably in hell.

Another thing is that he's gonna be super paranoid at all times about whether you're safe or not. Which would probably get honestly annoying rather than endearing at a point. 💀

- Even though he's really against revealing his more vulnerable parts and what he doesn't think are desirable of himself, he's absolutely craving emotional security with someone.

So when you get him passed that? He's gonna be so goddamn clingy - even more then before lmao.

Ending note

He's an absolute nightmare who's high maintenance asf and could become extremely abusive emotionally, but he really also needs to be romanced properly for that to actually get better by a partner who won't take his bs and knows how to take him down a peg and put him in his place when he's being awful.

And definitely therapy.

The fact that I think all this and know how much an awful person he is and still love him this much as a character has gotta indicate some sort of insanity/j

[ Masterlist ]

[mylovesstuffs]

Jin version !

Request: May I pls request jealousy headcanons for BTS members? reader (she's not famous and has a normal job) thinks of them as just friends, cause she never thought they would have a crush on her but they do.Then one day they get jealous when she ignores them for her guy best friend (whom she has a crush on) so they force her to leave but can't confess because they know she only likes them as a friend? unfortunately I am not very good with handling angsty stuff 🥹 so it will be great if you could write some fluffier headcanons about my request

A/N: This is the first post of the series, I hope it's not as bad as I say 😭 it's not the best I know but I'll try my best to improve. I don't know why it didn't turn out like I hoped for.

series masterlist

This is my personal opinion and perspective. It may not accurately reflect their real-life personalities or behaviors.

Jin always tries to be the reliable friend—the one who makes you laugh, gives great advice, and checks in after a long day. But lately, he’s felt like second place to your guy best friend.

He notices how you light up when you talk about your best friend. It stings more than he’d like to admit, but Jin tries to brush it off with jokes like, “Oh, should I start taking notes from him?”

You’ve canceled plans with Jin a few times now, always saying, “I promised g/bsf I’d help him with something.” He plays it cool but spends the rest of the day eating snacks in front of the TV, sulking and grumbling under his breath.

Jin’s jealousy doesn’t make him angry—it makes him hurt. He wonders what your best friend has that he doesn’t, or why you’d never think of him as more than a friend. Am I just not boyfriend material? he mumbles to himself. (Jin, my love, you're not boyfriend material unfortunately instead... you're a husband material)

He gets extra clingy the next time you hang out—offering to cook your favorite dish, teasing you more than usual, and even pulling out his dad jokes just to get your attention lmao.

When you’re with your guy best friend in Jin’s presence, he turns into the ultimate performer. Suddenly, he’s louder, funnier, and more dramatic—ANYTHING to distract you from your best friend.

One day, he snaps when you ignore him mid-conversation to reply to your best friend’s text. Jin blurts out, “Do I have to be him to get your attention?” It catches both of you off guard, and he immediately regrets saying it. *insert skeleton emoji here TT*

Feeling cornered by his emotions, Jin suggests leaving early from your next hangout. “I just remembered I have to be at the studio,” he lies, not wanting to see you fawn over someone else anymore.

He tries to convince himself he’s being selfish. She’s happy, he tells himself. That should be enough for me. But it’s not, and the ache in his chest doesn’t go away.

Jin throws himself into his work, making himself busier than usual to avoid thinking about you and your best friend. Other BTS members notice his uncharacteristic silence and try to pry, but he just brushes it off with a laugh.

One day, you sense something’s off. Jin has been distant—short replies, fewer calls, and even declining an invite to hang out. You confront him, worried you might have done something wrong.

Jin doesn’t confess outright but hints at his feelings. “Sometimes, I feel like I’m not important to you,” he says with a sad smile. It’s the first time he’s ever let his guard down like this, and it leaves you speechless. (Obviously)

You spend the next few days reflecting on your friendship with Jin. You start noticing the little things—how he remembers your coffee order, how he texts you to make sure you got home safe, and how he always seems to know when you need cheering up.

The realization hits you like a truck: Jin isn’t just your friend. He’s the constant in your life, the person who makes you feel safe and valued in a way no one else ever has.

The next time you see him, you decide to test the waters by spending the day with just him. Jin is hesitant at first, worried you’re only there out of guilt, but your warmth and attention slowly ease his nerves.

1By the end of the day, you find yourself looking at Jin differently... like your feelings have finally been reciprocated. When he makes a lame joke, you don’t just laugh—you admire the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles. When he cooks for you, you realize how much love he’s poured into every detail.

Jin doesn’t push you to admit anything, but the shift between you two is undeniable. It’s in the lingering glances, the subtle touches, and the way he prioritize you in his noised life. Neither of you says it out loud, but for the first time, you feel like you have a chance.

Closure: It ends with hope. Jin doesn’t need grand confessions; your actions are enough to show him you’re starting to see him the way he’s always seen you. And for now, that’s all he needs...

Now that you’ve started seeing him differently, Jin becomes even more attentive. He insists on cooking you meals, saying, A love as great as mine deserves a feast. He also gets flustered when you sneak up behind him in the kitchen, wrapping your arms around him. His ears turn red, but he plays it off with a smug.

Jin loves teasing you about your newfound affection for him. He’ll smirk and you roll your eyes, but your shy smile gives you away every time, and he EATS IT UP.

He’s a natural flirt but doesn’t even realize it half the time 😭 Like when he adjust your necklace, his voice dropping to a low, teasing tone. It leaves you breathless, and he definitely notices.

He runs his fingers through your hair absentmindedly, but the way his touch lingers on your shoulder or arm feels a little more intentional these days.

Jin doesn’t try to be sexy—it just happens. Like when he’s focused while rolling up his sleeves (I'm sorry but I'm drooling) or wiping his hands on a towel, you catch yourself staring. He notices your lingering gaze, smirks, and says, “Like what you see?” (OF COURSE WE DO!!?!?!!!!!!!!!?!!)

Mornings with Jin are pure fluff. He’s sleepy and cuddly, pulling you back into bed if you try to get up too early. He mumbles, “Five more minutes,” but those minutes turn into hours because he’s so warm and inviting you can’t resist.

Now that he knows you like him, Jin is more physically affectionate. He’ll casually rest his hand on your lower back, tug you closer when crossing the street, or kiss your temple as he passes by. It’s subtle but so Jin coded.

Honestly, nowadays his cocky side is very attractive.

Jin in cozy sweaters is a problem. When he’s lounging at home in a soft, oversized knit, you can’t help but want to curl up next to him. He teases you for staring, but secretly, he loves how smitten you are.

He doesn’t openly flaunt it, but there’s something undeniably attractive about the way he carries himself. Whether it’s his low, rumbling laugh or the way he looks at you across the room, there’s a quiet intensity that leaves you flustered.

Kissing Expert™: Once you’re comfortable, Jin’s kisses go from sweet and soft to take-your-breath-away levels of intense. He’s got this way of cupping your face and pulling you in like he’s waited his whole life for this moment.

Jin being Jin, he’ll occasionally get dramatic about how much he loves you. “I’d battle an army of chickens for you,” he declares one day, and while you laugh at his comment, the sincerity in his eyes makes your heart skip a beat.

Even when he’s being playful or teasing, Jin’s actions always make you feel safe and cherished. Like holding your hand in a crowded place or softly humming a song while you’re together, every little thing he does says, “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

[gingerteafairy]

𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍

conductor!jpm x drummer!reader

summary: only someone obsessed enough can handle a conductor like him.

tags n warnings: language, suggestive, blood, humiliation, verbal harassment. word count: 1.5

A/N: I've said a million times that Whiplash is my favorite movie, so why not make a version with my dear serial killer?

"James, I can't do this anymore." You complained, your arm muscles trembling from the effort. The drumsticks blurred in a frantic motion, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't keep up with his rhythm.

"Come on, come on." James urged, his melodic voice contrasting with the sheer brutality of his strikes. His movements were fluid, far too precise, as if he had been born for this. His long fingers spun the drumstick between beats—effortless, almost teasing—like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

You gritted your teeth. "I can't go any faster than this."

"Oh, what a shame. Poor thing. I'm so sad." He murmured, his tone dripping with mockery. "Alright, a little break, then."

Relief washed over you as you exhaled, your shoulders slumping, but the reprieve lasted mere seconds before he started counting again.

"One, two, three—"

"Jesus—!" Your heart jumped as James struck the drums again, faster, harder. The rhythm was chaotic, relentless, and yet, he barely looked like he was trying. You scrambled to match his tempo, but every beat you hit felt misplaced, clumsy.

"Faster. Fuck, this is painful to watch. You go faster in your bedroom in the middle of the night and act like a mole here?”

"James, what the fuck?!" You snapped, frustration seeping into your voice. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I keep losing this. Fuck.”

He only laughed, that wicked, cynical glint flashing in his eyes. He knew you were struggling. And he loved it.

"That's it. Keep going. Don't stop. Don't you dare to stop." His voice was softer now, but there was something unreadable beneath it—something that sent a shiver down your spine.

His gaze flickered down to your hands, watching your fingers tighten around the drumsticks, knuckles turning white as you fought for control. Heat crept up your neck when you realized how effortlessly his own hands moved—too fast, too skilled. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to ignore the distraction.

"Yeah… that's my girl."

You grunted, your arms burning as if they were on fire. In a desperate motion, you threw the drumsticks to the floor and pushed yourself up from the seat.

James simply tilted his head, amusement flickering across his features as he watched your chest rise and fall rapidly.

"What’s the fucking point of all this? You could be gentler when teaching me." You huffed, crossing your arms.

James smirked, but this time, there was something different in his expression—something calculated. Slowly, he stood up and closed the distance between you, his movements smooth, deliberate. His hands pressed against the wall on either side of you, caging you in with no urgency, no effort.

"That’s because I know you can take me just fine." His voice dropped to a lazy murmur, his breath ghosting over your skin. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears.

His piercing eyes studied your face, soaking in every little reaction before he finally pulled away, satisfied with the deep flush painting your cheeks.

"And also because you're my best drummer. I believe in you." His smirk softened, just slightly. "I want to see you shine in our band. You’re the heartbeat, and I need you, more than any other instrument here."

Your breath hitched, caught off guard by the rare sincerity in his voice. "Wow… I didn’t expect that…" A small, genuine smile tugged at your lips, warmth blooming in your chest as you met his gaze. "Thank you… really."

James grasped your chin for a brief moment, just enough to hold your eyes locked on his. Then, with a mischievous glint, he let go and muttered:

"Now stop being a brat and take my stick in your hands."

He winked before sliding his fingers playfully along your waist, his touch firm and teasing. You shivered slightly, narrowing your eyes at him before snatching the drumsticks from his hand and dropping back into the seat with a glare.

Then, you struck again. Faster. Harder. The sound of the drums thundered through the room, filling every corner with its raw intensity. Your fingers burned, your wrist ached, but you refused to stop. Not now. Sweat trickled down your temples, loose strands of hair sticking to your skin, but your focus remained locked—on the rhythm, on the challenge, on James' unwavering stare.

He had stopped playing, leaning casually against the drum kit, but you barely noticed. Your body moved on autopilot, arms ablaze as you powered through the sequence, hitting every note with newfound ferocity. Your vision blurred at the edges, the sound reverberating in your chest like a second heartbeat.

"That’s it, that’s it. Keep going. Keep going." James' voice came low, intoxicatingly smooth beside you. "Come on, come on. You’re getting there, push it—go, go."

The final bars were approaching. Your body wavered between the brink of exhaustion and pure adrenaline. You weren’t even sure if you were still playing or merely responding to him—to his presence, to the overwhelming intensity of the moment.

Three. Two. One.

"That's fucking it!" James shouted.

You shot to your feet so fast that the stool toppled over behind you. A raw, unrestrained cry tore from your throat before you could stop it, and before you knew it, you were throwing yourself into his arms, breathless, tears burning hot down your face.

James let out a soft, surprised laugh, but his arms wrapped around you without hesitation, pulling you close. His fingers traced slow, deliberate lines down your spine, warm and grounding.

"Why are you crying, my dear?" His voice rumbled near your ear. "You did it!"

"I... I..." You gasped, struggling to catch your breath, reality snapping back into focus as you became aware of the eyes around you. The entire room was watching. Every single person locked onto you both. The weight of the attention sent a rush of heat to your face. "I just... need a break."

James lifted his hands and waved them casually. "Break time, everyone."

The musicians practically leapt from their seats, scrambling out of the room as if they had been waiting for this all night. Within seconds, the space was empty.

The thick scent of sweat and polished wood filled your senses, and only then did you notice the mess you had become—hair disheveled, shirt clinging to your damp skin, fingers trembling and red from exertion.

James stepped closer, his gaze drinking in every inch of you with quiet satisfaction. Then, with a tenderness that sent a shiver down your spine, he cupped your face and pressed a slow, warm kiss to each of your flushed cheeks, lingering just a fraction longer than necessary.

"My angel of music." He hummed, his thumbs slipping down to the collar of your shirt, kneading the tension from your shoulders with deliberate, measured strokes.

You arched a brow, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from sighing. "The Phantom of the Opera? Seriously?"

"That’s why you’re my favorite." His smirk was razor-sharp, and his fingers pressed harder, forcing a small, involuntary sound past your lips before you could suppress it. James stilled. Amusement flickered in his eyes as he tilted his head. "Christ… even your moans are in tune."

Your entire face burned. "That’s not appropriate." Your voice came out weaker than intended.

He only chuckled, dragging his touch lower, following the line of your spine down to your lower back. You tensed slightly, but he ignored the initial resistance, fingers working expertly to release the knots in your muscles.

"You drummers have this infuriating habit of defying the conductor. Always making me put you back in your place. It's almost like you like to be punished.”

His voice was low, almost hypnotic. His hands skimmed up again, kneading between your shoulder blades, then back to your shoulders, unraveling the tension with infuriating precision.

"Better not be this stiff during tomorrow’s concert. Makes your performance… less fluid. And don’t wear a skirt again. It distracts me."

You shut your eyes for a second, focusing on steadying your breathing. Logic told you to shove him away, but the relief was too good to let your pride win.

"Fuck it…" You exhaled shakily, barely recognizing your own voice. “Okay.”

"That’s it. Good girl." James murmured, his thumbs tracing slow circles against your skin before turning you back around to face him. "When you come back, do it faster."

You blinked, still dazed. "What?"

"It’s the least you can do after making me lower myself to your level." He rolled his neck, a satisfied crack echoing in the empty room. "And hit the cymbals harder. You always go softer whenever you look at me. It's frustrating. Save your neediness for later, Jesus Christ."

The smug glint in his eyes was the final straw. You snatched up one of the stray drumsticks from the chair and pointed it at him, narrowing your eyes.

"You are the worst person in the world, James. I absolutely hate you and I hope you go to hell with this attitude."

James leaned in, his lips nearly grazing your ear. "And yet, you’re always trying to impress me." His voice dropped to a slow, teasing whisper. "That little fetish of yours is getting a bit predictable."

You let out an exasperated sigh, but deep down, you knew he was right. You would push yourself further for him, again and again—no matter what it took.

Even if it meant losing yourself in the haunting melody of the phantom of the music.

[chaifootsteps]

um, hi. it's anon from this ask - https://www.tumblr.com/chaifootsteps/783221152782958592/one-other-thing-i-dont-get-normally-with

I came back because I think I wasn't clear enough with what I was trying to say

my intention wasn't to say people who loved either HH or HB once should just let it go entirely - I also loved both shows at a point in time, even if how bad they've gotten means I struggle to enjoy even the parts I once liked knowing where it ended up going. if someone wants to read second hand copies of HP or rewatch old HB episodes, I don't begrudge them that

my question was more about fans who aren't former fans but are current, active fans. what I don't understand and was trying to drive at is - what are they getting out of the shows anymore? the writing is so bad now I honestly can't fathom how anyone has the patience for it. even if they still love the characters and their potential, there's not a lot of fun in watching them become hollow copies of themselves

fans give so much to these shows just to have their intelligence insulted by bad writing. it feels to me like the only way to enjoy HH/HB nowadays is just don't invest in the plot that much and also agree with everything Viv says

which is why I bring up LD and TADC. not to suggest they should just be able to substitute one show for another - they're very different tone wise and plot wise, for one thing - but to point out that HH/HB don't honor anyone's time or love, where LD and TADC do. it took TADC two episodes to prove it writes characters more competently than Viv has in the entirety of Helluva s2.

and so much of HH/HB makes it hard to divorce the art from the artist even if current fans wanted to. Viv has this almost dictatorial attitude about how her shows 'should' be enjoyed. coupled together, it's why I asked how the show still even has active fans when they're given nothing but lazy slop writing and keep having to have these sad little convos amongst themselves about how Viv should really get off Twitter and stop having crashouts.

this might just be one where I have to stop trying to understand, to be honest? HH and especially HB when written by Viv solo are honestly the most amateur bits of writing I've ever seen get this level of animation quality behind them. maybe I'm just not going to get what current fans see in it - or maybe it's just because they actually prefer the woobified version of the Stolas Show that everyone else bounced off of. maybe they're Viv's real audience and she only cares about pleasing them, and I just need to let it go

anyways, sorry that got long but I hope that makes it clearer what I was trying to say. I certainly have artists better than Viv whose work I still own copies of despite them being problematic, so I wasn't trying to tell anyone 'just cut it out of your heart even if it meant a lot to you'. I'm as sad as anyone about what she did to Blitz, to the point I refuse to watch s3 and will just absorb news about where this car crash goes second hand

Ahh, no worries! Sorry if I came across as defensive; I figured even if it wasn't what you were getting at exactly, there are so many people in fandom who wholeheartedly believe "There's no excuse for watching/reading X when Y exists."

I do get what you're saying. I don't always get the love for Viv's stuff in its current form either, and frequently have to remind myself that it doesn't matter, it means something to the fandom.

[incandescentflower]

The Double had made me nervous for a few seconds - they briefly made me think they had built up this big revenge story and then would have the final moments be more about the political aspects happening around Xue Fangfei and leave her to passively ride it out.

But no! they did not.

I really appreciated she got to be active in the resolution until the very end and honestly for me, the more dramatic, the better.

She never falters, relying mostly on herself (and the help she seeks) to find ways to finally put an end to the insanity that is her relationship with her husband. I found the resolution very satisfying. He was definitely one of the more interesting villains - constantly justifying his actions in the most twisted ways. Honestly not even a fantastical version of domestic violence. Just straight up how some men treat women.

I hate him so much.

Xiao Heng is absolutely my favorite type of cdrama male lead - smart, respectful, doesn't try to swoop in or interfere with Xue Fangfei's plans, but does come to help her when she needs it, is definitely very much attracted to her intelligence and resilience, and once he knows how he feels he is down bad and does not hide his feelings. Even when he gets upset with her putting herself in danger, he doesn't direct anger at her, but does communicate his fears.

A+++ romance.

I also liked that A-Li and Duke Su were equals in every way possible, while still recognizing the circumstances for women were not at all equal in any way.

I do wish that the director listened to Wang Xingyue, who apparently repeatedly suggested that Xiao Heng would be kissing Xue Fangfei in dramatic moments. But alas. We could have had it all. Still, just a glance or a touch was enough with these two to make anyone go weak.

Someone needs to give the actors a modern drama together now.

I didn't really even need the little extra at the end, but still, thank you show for giving us more silly moments with these two. I really enjoyed them. Someone said the producer said they filmed it in response to people interpreting the ending as sad. It's definitely vague and artistic, but I had thought it was hopeful the first time I watched it and it sounds like that was the intention.