#I did not do The Things That Need To Be Done but I made these so it evens out right

[coldfanbou]

Kinkcember 29: Stepcest

Mommy Ryujin should really read labels more.

Length 1.8K

Ryujin X Mreader

It was a bit upsetting when your father told you he couldn’t come along to the vacation you had planned for the family. It was a trip to Hawaii you had spent a lot of money on. You didn’t particularly want to spend time with your stepmother. Ryujin was just a little older than you. It was a bit weird for you, but you couldn’t just cancel the trip; there wouldn’t be any refund. So you went on the trip you had planned with Ryujin. It was a bit awkward at first, but after a while, the two of you managed to get along somewhat. You have done some nice activities like scuba diving, paddleboarding, and surfing, and all these activities got you closer to Ryujin. You couldn’t help but look at her body as it got wet whenever she fell into the water. 

It made you horny, but you couldn’t fuck your stepmother. You would need to find someone else to help. While you were prepping to explore the nightlife of the main island, Ryujin came into the room. “Hey, where are you going?”

“I’ll just be waking around. It’s about time we did some of our own things, right?” Ryujin nodded; she hadn’t really planned on doing anything.

“I think I’ll just be here and relax a little. You go have fun. Mommy knows you’ll be fine,” She joked. It irked you, though; she thought of it as a little joke, but it’s something that made you slightly uncomfortable. You grab the room keys and give her a quick nod before leaving quietly. Ryujins sighs as she begins to look through the mini-fridge. The prices of the drinks inside were enough to drive her away. She looked around before noticing a little packet you had left behind. She thought it was a drink mix.

She took the packet. " Long-lasting energy?” Ryujin figured you wouldn’t miss it, so she ripped it open and poured the contents into her water bottle, watching it turn a vivid blue as she shook her bottle. She sipped it; the flavor wasn’t so bad. It was not something she would choose, but it was better than nothing. As she drank it, though, Ryujin felt her body heating up. As she headed to the bathroom, Ryujin’s chest brushed against a wall, sending shockwaves through her body. Stepping inside, she saw her nipples poking through her shirt. Bringing her hand to her chest, she felt the same tingling; she cooed as the wave of pleasure hit her. Her other hand moved under her pants. She was already wet; her body was already craving more than just a simple touch. Ryujin rubbed her slit, moaning softly as she stared at herself in the mirror. Knowing you would be gone for a few hours, she went back to bed, fingering herself to several orgasms. The evening had turned to night, and Ryujin was still going. The long-lasting energy text on the packet made sense to her now. 

When the doorknob started to jiggle, though, she threw a blanket over herself and pretended to be asleep. You stepped through the door more than a little tipsy; instead of heading to your room, you went to Ryujin’s, landing next to her and drifting off to sleep.

She rubbed her slit, struggling to hold back her moans. The sounds of her fingers pumping in and out of her wet cunt were growing louder as she sped up. Ryujin grabbed at her breasts, her body becoming too hot. It was unbearable. She looked over her shoulder, staring at you. Ryujin noticed something, though; she saw that you were hard. She stared at your bulge, her fingers moving along her slit. She whimpered softly, dirty thoughts crossing her mind. She was your stepmother, yet her thoughts drifted to unsavory places. Ryujin reached over to you, her hand hovering above your bulge as she considered crossing the line. She bit her lip, struggling to contain her desires. Ryujin let her hand fall on your bulge, feeling it twitch. Unconsciously, she licked her lips. “Just a taste. That’s all I need.” Ryujin whispered to herself as she silently moved between your legs, tugging at your sweatpants, pulling your underwear along with them. The waistband held you back, but as soon as she had pulled just a little too far, your cock swung toward her, smacking her. 

Ryujin didn’t dare move; her nostril filled with your musk as she took a deep breath. Her head was foggy as she stuck her tongue out. She dragged it along your shaft, moaning softly as she got a taste of you. It was like a drug; now that she had a taste, she wanted more. Coming to the tip, Ryujin couldn’t help but wrap her lips around your cock, beginning to bob her head almost immediately. Ryujin’s moans became louder as she bobbed her head, her tongue swirling around the tip of your cock as she continued to finger herself. She didn’t care that you were her stepson, she was just desperate for a cock. As your stepmom sucked on your cock she could feel her climax approaching. She arched her back, readying herself for the waves of pleasure that were about to wash over her. Ryujin pushed herself down to the base of your cock, making it hit the back of her throat.

You began to stir, groaning as you felt something warm around your cock. As you look down, you see Ryujin gorging herself on it, her drool making your cock slick as she bobbed her head. “R-ryujin,” you groan, unable to move as the pleasure fills your body. 

“Shhh, let Mommy take care of you.” She moaned, running her hand along your shaft. “Mommy just needs a little taste.” She said softly before wrapping her lips around your cock again. She bobbed her head slower now, letting her tongue move along the sides of your cock as she slowly took in more of your cock. You let her keep going. Ryujin was a beautiful woman. How could you resist her when she was giving you a blowjob? The fact she was your stepmother was something you weren’t thinking about in your drunken state.  Ryujin moved up your body, nipping at your neck as she stroked your cock. 

You move your hands to her ass, squeezing the soft flesh and making Ryujin moan. “You such a dirty boy,” she teased. You squeezed her ass again; you had stared at it the past few days when you were with Ryujin. It was nice and full, bouncing whenever she jumped. “I need you to fuck me,” Ryujin whispered, her voice laced with lust. She tugs on your arm as she pulls away from you, setting herself up for you to take her. She gets on all fours, and it’s only now you notice she isn’t wearing any underwear and only has on her white tank top. You got behind Ryujin, watching as she swayed her ass in front of you, “Come on, I need you.”

You slapped Ryujin’s ass, watching her flesh jiggle before delivering another smack. “Mmm, don’t tease me. Fuck mommy already.” Ryujin groaned, raising her ass and arching her back for you. You hold her waist with one hand, using the other to bring your cock in line with her slit. Prodding the entrance, you push the head in, spreading her lips apart. Ryujin moans as she feels your cock stretching her. “You're so big,” she mumbles before your ram your length inside her cunt. Ryujin cries out as your cock pushes her walls apart. Her eyes nearly roll into the back of her head, her body shakes, and she almost cums. You pull out quickly, grabbing her shoulder with your free hand before ramming yourself back inside. Ryujin moans your name as you begin to pound away at her body. The cock that she was craving was finally inside her.

She pushes her hips back and plays with her clit. The pleasure was driving her crazy. Your stepmother begs for more. You give her exactly what she wants, pressing her against the mattress and ramming your cock into her cunt. Ryujin smiles, the pleasure pushing her over the edge. Ryujin cries out as she cums on your cock, her nectar coating your cock before squirting onto the bed. You continue your thrusts, watching her ass and considering using the other hole. You pull out of Ryujin’s pussy, gulping as you move your cock to her other hole. Ryujin can barely think as she feels your cock pressing against her asshole. “Hm? Hold on…” she says weakly as you push your cock into the puckered hole, stretching it. “Ah, w-wait, I’m not ready.” Ryujin groans.

The tight hole painfully squeezes down on your shaft as you push more of your length inside. Ryujin continues to groan, feeling your cock stretch her unused asshole. She feels fuller than ever before. The sensation makes her cum as she feels you thrust the final inches into her. She squirts again, her nectar soaking the mattress. “You’re so tight? Has Dad used this hole before?”

“Never,” Ryujin mumbles, her strength leaving her body, causing her to flop onto the bed. You hold her waist up as you pull out slowly, dragging along her walls. Somehow she has enough energy to reach back and stretch her cheeks, “Fuck my ass, please.” Ryujin had utterly lost it. The feeling of having her ass filled by her stepson was too much. You drive your cock back into Ryujin’s ass. She begs you for more, and with every thrust, it becomes easier to fuck Ryujin. Her walls become slick with her nectar. The pain and pleasure caused by your cock was addictive; you met Ryujin’s cries for more. You stirred her guts as you got closer to your climax. Ryujin felt your cock begin to throb inside her and screamed, “Cum inside Mommy’s ass!” 

“If that’s what you want,” you grunt before burying yourself inside her ass. Your cum floods her guts. Ryujin’s body shakes as she has a mind-shattering orgasm. She collapses onto the bed, eyes in the back of her head. You pull out slowly, coming out of her ass with a pop. Her asshole winks at you as it tries to shut, and your cum leaks out of it slowly, running down her body until it meets the bed. You collapse beside Ryujin, falling asleep almost instantly.

When the sun rose the following day, you woke up to the sight of Ryujin’s back; she was riding you. Ryujin was bouncing on your cock, impaling her ass on it every time. When you grab her waist, she looks over her shoulder, “Good Morning,” She groans. “Why don’t we spend today inside and get to know each other a little more? I’m sure your dad won’t mind.”

[cherrygirlfriend]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ examination table

pairing: gynecologist!rafe x reader synopsis: you go to get artificial insemination. your gyno has a different method. warnings/tags: smut, artificial insemination, unprotected piv, breeding kink, public sex, small surprise at the end, MDNI! wc: 1.2k a/n; aside from having to do a strange amount of research about ovulation, iui and me overall being against male gynos; this was fun.

rafe masterlist ♡

you couldn't resist the urge to tap the heel of your boot against the linoleum floor - rolling your golden wedding band so you wouldn't bite your freshly manicured nails. it felt like your heart was going to thump thump thump out of your chest and land on the floor in front of you.

there were only three other people in the waiting room, a few posters related to women's health decorating the otherwise plain, dull, light green walls of the office, the tick-tock of the clock and the hushed whispers of the two nurses behind the front desk being the only thing you could focus on, along with the overpowering stench of chanel no 5 that was wafting from the other customer waiting for her appointment browsing through an age-old copy of cosmopolitan.

you nearly hopped to your feet when the door to one of the offices opened, clutching your purse like it was the only thing keeping you afloat. "come in." doctor cameron said with a small smile on his lips, gesturing towards his office.

you followed the tall man into the sterile, white office, holding your arms tightly against your chest, your shoulders hunched. when doctor cameron noticed how skittish you were being, he offered a small smile, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder before using it to cup your cheek and lifting it up so you were forced to look at his freckled face, "there's no need to be nervous. this is a pretty regular procedure. you can change into the gown and lay down on the examination table."

when you let out a reluctant nod, the doctor walked further into his office, giving you some privacy. while you listened to him rifle through papers, slowly, you tugged your sweater off along with your jeans, leaving your underwear to cover your skin that was now in goosebumps while you covered yourself with the blue rustling hospital gown, until it came time to slip them off.

you took a few tentative steps towards the examination table, walking on your heels as your gynecologist turned to face you, your chart in his hands, his blue eyes skimming over the details as you sat down onto the examination table, the paper sheet rustling against the paper gown in a way that made you cringe.

"so, how many days ago did you take your last dose of clomid?"

"eight days ago." you said with a tight smile, fiddling with the hem of your gown, "and i did an ovulation test before i left home, and it said my ovulation should be at its highest."

"you've really done your homework." he chuckled, placing down the clipboard, placing his warm hand on your bare knee in a comforting gesture. "are you ready to get started? i've got your husband's specimen prepared. don't worry, the catheter won't hurt, you might just feel a bit uncomfortable for a moment."

you took a deep breath, closing your eyes and laying back as you steadied your breathing, trying your best to get comfortable. "ready." you whispered softly, opening your eyes to look up at the slightly yellow-tinted fluorescent light above you.

"it helps the sperm to travel if you've got your pelvis propped up." doctor cameron said in a slightly hushed tone, lifting your hips up and placing a pillow underneath your hips, his hands pressing your hips down to meet it, keeping them there as he looked down at you with a small smile. "there you go. are you comfortable?"

"it does." you swallow dryly, fiddling with the paper sheet underneath you, sighing. "i hope it works out. we've been trying to get pregnant for a year now."

"yeah?" he looked down at you, his eyes crinkling slightly, the feel of the pads of his fingers brushing against your bare skin as he drew small patterns to the hem of your hospital gown. "you know what people say helps with getting pregnant?"

"what?" you almost whispered, your thighs starting to form goosebumps under doctor cameron's fingers as they slowly slid under the crinkly god-ugly gown.

"orgasms." his hand continued to slide up your inner thigh, the metal of your doctor's wedding ring a pleasing contrast against your warm skin, "it's never been proven to be accurate, of course." his hand was just under your crotch, drawing infinity-symbols on your skin, a pondering look on his face as he cocked his head to the side, a small smirk appearing on his face, "but it never hurts to be thorough, right?"

doctor cameron had you folded over on the examination table, holding your legs at your sides, his warm lips placing sloppy, hot kisses on your neck as his cock slid out of you before slamming against your cervix, the man letting out a soft breathy laugh at every little gasp or moan that managed to escape your lips.

"how many times do i have to tell you, sweetie?" he mumbled against your skin, rafe's words intensified by the pace of his hips snapping against yours increasing, a loud yelp leaving you, "you don't need to try and keep quiet. no one's gonna hear us." he breathed out.

the pad of his thumb found your your clit, starting to draw small circles on it as the room was filled with your unsteady breathing combined with the lewd squelch of your pussy every time his hips met yours, "come on, let me hear all those pretty little noises... it's not like this is the first time we've fooled around here."

rafe tried pulling away from your neck, but you tugged him closer by his hair, holding him there as tightly as possible "god, rafe..." you moaned out, the doctor letting out a pleased hum against your skin.

"come on, sweetie... tell me how much you want me to put a baby in you, yeah?"

"so badly..." your back arched off the examination table while rafe's long fingers slid up to your breast, teasing it with small kneads and pinches before his left hand found your hand, your fingers intertwining with his, your matching wedding bands meeting.

"i love you so much... i can't wait for you to be all pretty and pregnant." he smiled against your skin, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

MEANWHILE….

"i wonder what's taking dr. cameron so long..." the receptionist wondered aloud with a frown on her pouty lips, turning to look at the clock on the wall as she tapped her pink fingernails against the desk, "i mean, it's almost lunchtime."

the other receptionist let out a snort, interrupting the movement of the file against her long nail, turning to look at the other girl with raised brows, chewing gum. "what, you don't know?"

"know what?"

"oh, this is good." the receptionist laughed, throwing her head back with laughter in her office chair. "you don't know who she is."

"what?" the other girl asked, huffing in annoyance as she grabbed a cheeto out of the bag sitting in front of them.

"that client is mrs. cameron."

"as in-"

"yup, that was doctor cameron's wife." she let out a loud snort of a laugh as she shook her head, grabbing a cheeto before going back to filing her nails. "guess she gets special treatment."

[spindlebats]

Rufus Hatt always did have bigger dreams than he had love. He talked of the city, claimed he could make a fortune, that he’d be the next K.L Ryans, or the next Woodshent. He’d come up with something, he promised, and he’d make it big.

At least, that's what he thought would happen. He begged the Gods for it too. But Hatt isn’t a name you’re going to find in the history books. It’s not the moniker of someone great. It’s a name to be forgotten. And down here— where all you’re going to find is cotton, dirt, and corn— there ain’t much to see by the way of coins. So Rufus Hatt faded away with his name, his coat still hanging on the clothesline outside.

He left behind more than just his coat, as all the townsfolk would tell you. You could spot them right away, with the way that wicked woman held her head high, like there wasn’t shame in what she’d done. And her bastard son would follow, fists curled up in her skirts like he was ready to fight the world. And maybe he was.

Little Cassidy Hatt always did have more anger than he did love. He didn’t like the way the people would look at his momma, like she was worse than the Devils down below. He didn’t like the way the other school children would chitter about, uncaring of the words they were mimicking from their parents. And Little Cassidy Hatt came home with blood on his fists more often than he didn’t, and not once did his mother scold him like she should’ve.

They didn’t go down to the temple with the rest of the town, not like old Rufus did. They didn’t kneel and make offerings. They didn’t cry and beg for things bigger than what they could hold.

Old Dorothy Hatt never did swe much in the Gods. She’d been around longer than she would’ve liked, and not one of her prayers had come true. Her love hadn’t stayed like he should’ve, and she wasn’t the kind of woman to make him.

So she took her son into her lap one night, when he was old enough to toddle around like a table on an uneven floor. He’d sway back and forth rather than walk, but that was okay. She loved him all the same. She loved him in the way Rufus could never love her, unforgiving and unconditional.

He giggled all the while, and she tapped his nose (and all this, back when she was still young. She wasn’t going anymore). She nuzzled her forehead to his, and then looked at him, “Oh, Cassidy. My boy. Don’t ever be countin’ on nobody to come do your work for you, you hear?”

He was still too young to understand those words, but it was repeated through the years, constantly changing. “The Gods don’t answer our prayers no more. Don’t know if they ever did. If you need somethin’, you do it yourself.”

And he did. He learned to do what he needed to do. He didn’t go down to the temple, didn’t make offerings, didn’t ask for anything he couldn’t get himself. He stayed out in the fields, pulling the weeds and hoeing the dirt.

He’d come back home, day after day, dirty, tired, and sore. And there wasn’t much to come back to, except some warm soup and a smile from his mother. It didn’t mean much— wasn’t worth much, but it didn’t matter.

The years passed, he grew, and he learned. His mother grew weaker, until she couldn’t get out of bed till half past midday and then barely make it to the door. So she stopped coming to the door at all, and there was no more soup to come back to, so Young Cassidy Hatt started making his own.

And when the crops died out, there wasn’t much to be done. The people cried on the temple, prayed till their hearts gave out, and nothing changed.

Soon after that, it was his mother’s turn to go, old, weak, and starving as she was. She took his face in her hands, rubbing her thumb over his cheek as she looked at him.

“The Gods ain’t done much for us, and I don’t think they ever will. But if they’re real, if even one thing is listening—.” And for the first time, his mother prayed. It didn’t help.

Her death wasn’t quick. It was slow, made of rattling breaths and bouts of coughs that didn’t seem to die down until an unexplainable dread settled underneath his skin, as if to remind him that she was going to die soon.

It was during one of these bouts, that Old Cassidy Hatt wandered down to the temple. Some of the townsmen balked, heads swiveling to watch him pass.

He didn’t have anything to offer, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t enter the temple, staring up at it from the road, his boots inches away from the first step.

“I ain’t much of a god-fearin’ man,” He said, up at the sky, as if something would appear to offer him salvation. Nothing did. “Nothing to fear from a thing that can’t even hear you, I figure.

“But Momma musta’ believed in you just a bit, if only to say one prayer. Now she’s better than me, with a better heart and less anger, and I don’t think you’re worth no prayers. But I’ve got a request, and it ain’t gonna make much sense, but I’m talkin’ to the sky.”

He stared again, watching the cloud float by. Maybe there was something out there, or maybe there wasn’t, but he figured it didn’t matter, because he’d already paid his penance.

“I want my momma to die. I don’t want her to suffer no more, ‘cause she don’t deserve it. She’s ready to die, and I’m ready to let her go, but I ain’t got the heart to do it myself.”

The sky did not answer him. But when he returned, the house was silent, and he heard no breathing, or coughing. His mother was gone, he could see it in her eyes when he entered her room, because there was nothing behind them. She just stared at the ceiling blankly.

And oh, how terrible it must be, to know then that the only prayer that can be answered is that of death.

Everyone always questioned the young boy who only made modest requests to the gods, but he was the only one whose prayers were answered. It turns out that gods are a lot less powerful than we thought, and were not answering because we were too unreasonable in our prayers.

[wonysugar]

KARINA X READER W ORAL FIXATION

oral fixations are such a broad topic so i did some research and had fun with this, i think this is the type of oral fixation you meant lol? thank you for the idea :]

cw : usage of strap-on

you and jimin often hung out, being girlfriends at all. naturally, you progressively got to notice each other's little tics and habits as the relationship went on.

for example, you knew that she had a tendency to furrow her eyebrows at every little thing, whether she was focused, confused or simply just forming a thought. or or!! that she sticks out her tongue in every other situation; sometimes the joke she'd tell would call for it, other times she’d do it just cause. whatever it was she did, you found it endearing.

and she would say the same thing about you! except for… a particular habit of yours. she didn’t hate it or anything. it’s more like she… loved it a bit too much? for all the wrong reasons? to put it simply, she felt like a pervert for feeling the way she did toward it.

see, you had the tendency to put things in your mouth and chewing on them at all times. whether it was your nails, a pen you happened to be holding or even just a straw you had finished using a long while ago. whatever it was, you would spend hours chewing on it. and the context of the situation didn’t matter either, you needed to keep your mouth occupied at all times, and that was that.

jimin thought it was adorable when she first got to know you, a few years back, but once you two got closer, her thoughts got more and more… deranged about the whole thing.

the mere idea made her stomach turn; the two of you making out on her couch, feeling each other up as you usually do. she’d pleasantly surprise you by pulling away from the kiss and replace the feeling of her tongue with her fingers, watching you suck and lick on them whilst you looked up at her. how you would drool all over her digits the same way you’d drool on her strap, later into the dark night.

she’d always shrug it off, though. she never brought it up in bed since she was overthinking basically everythingcjfjckdn she didn’t want you to think she was weird, or anything!

that was until you asked her to let you suck her off during sex, which was something you’d never done before. she contained her excitement when she heard those words and proceeded to rationally ask you why it is that you wanted to do that, all of a sudden.

“i dunno,” you shrugged, “my mouth needs attention, i guess.”

KAAABEWWWMMMM!! jimin played it off, cool and collected, but inside? girl SHE CHEERED! the opportunity finally presented itself to her; she didn’t have to potentially risk passing as a creep yippe!! of course, that was all in her head, as you would’ve happily obliged if she had just asked you.

the actual sex later on? ohh you could tell she was having so much fun with your little oral fixation, she was smiling down at you the entire time. you had originally asked her to just let you blow her, but she went above and beyond your expectations.

you looked up at her, on your knees. she caressed your bottom lip with her thumb before sliding it into your mouth, a smirk plastered on her face as she looked down at you. “you want it, baby?” she’d say, ‘it’ being the black strap-on she was wearing. you’d nod in response, quickly getting what it is that you wanted.

by this point you were practically soaked, that much was obvious, but you didn’t know how much better it would get until she layed you down on your back to finger you; she told you to suck on her tits while she did so.😭😭😭😭ohh brother.

she pumped two of her digits in and out of you, fingers curled right against your g-spot as her thumb gently pressed on your clit, all in a repetitive motion. your attempt to hold your orgasm—after she ordered you to—was barely successful when you had your hand on one of her breasts, carefully fondling it. you tried to focus your attention on catching her nipple in between your fingertips and playing with it gently, but that just contributed to turning you on more.

on top of that, she had the other boob settled right onto your lips, her hand on the back of your head, pushing you closer to her. your mouth sucked and licked on the bud, your tongue working around it. you fed off of the pretty sounds that came out of her whenever you did.

after what felt like a painful eternity of her relentlessly pumping in and out of your dripping cunt with her fingers, she finally gave you permission to cum, much to your relief.

that eventual orgasm hit you like a truck and may or may not have knocked you the fuck out after a few minutes of heavy breathing.😭

she kissed your (very sweaty) forehead, satisfied and happy she could please you. the sight of her girlfriend sound asleep was enough for jimin to make a mental note for the times to come; to never neglect your mouth again.

[bunnis-monsters]

Yandere!Dragon Hybrid Fluff

A/N: another kofi req! Enjoy!

It had been a while since you visited your dear friend, so you took a day off of work to bring them some freshly baked cookies and spend the day with them.

Working as a waitress in your local tavern wasn’t something you had planned on doing, but your family was poor and no one had asked for your hand in marriage.

Your parents had done all they could to put food on the table, what more could you ask for? Repaying them was the only thing on your mind as of late, leaving no room for your own desires.

Even if late in the night you imagined a beautiful and rich man falling for you, that wasn’t likely to come true. Even if it did happen, you doubted your parents could pay for your dowry.

At least the tavern owner was kind enough to give you a day off. You didn’t like missing work, but even you couldn’t keep going without rest. It wasn’t possible, and you needed to socialize before your mind became mush!

Leaves flew past you as you continued down the forest path. As of late, every day has been windy and cold. It was strange though, the wind followed you wherever you went.

“It’s freezing…” you murmured, pulling your winter coat tighter around your plump frame. In the past you wouldn’t have minded a nice snowy day, but spending it walking through a forest alone while the wind howled made it irritating.

The wind picked up, and all you could hear was how it whistled and howled around you.

But this wasn’t wind…

You nearly fell over, steadying yourself as a strong gust of wind swept over your body. All of a sudden, it all stopped…

“Hello, pet.”

You froze, a shiver running down your spine as someone spoke up behind you. Before you could even turn to see who it was, a talon wrapped around your entire body and you were lifted up into the air.

Not able to process what was happening, you lost consciousness from the pure shock.

The last thing you saw was a massive dragon carrying you off to god knows where…

“Come, my pet… wake up.”

You whimpered as you awoke, your eyes slowly opening. There was a figure leaning over you, but your vision was still too blurry to make out any identifying features.

“W… where… am I?”

A rough chuckle caused you to tense up. The deep rumble nearly shook the bed you were resting in.

“You’re where you belong, my precious one. Here, you’ll be safe, warm, and fed…”

He leaned forward, a claw tenderly caressing your cheek. “Is there anything else you could possibly need?”

Still too exhausted and scared, you fell back asleep.

When you finally awoke, you rubbed your eyes and got a good look at your captor.

He was a handsome man that seemed to be a bit older than you, his tanned skin mixed with red scales. When you recoiled from his touch, he only let out an amused chuckle.

“Scared you, did I?” he cooed, grabbing your chin and tapping it with a talon. “You’ll get used to me, princess. There’s not much else you can do besides that.”

You soon learned that this creature had been following and observing you for quite some time now. That explained the wind that followed you…

“Why, though? I can’t understand the reasoning behind any of this…”

His eyes moved down your body, landing on your soft thighs. “… there are not many of my kind left. Those that are don’t have what I want.”

He sat down, a large carcass of something that looked like a deer yet three times the size of one being skinned by the man as he spoke. “You are someone I wouldn’t mind having hatchlings with. That’s a compliment, I despise most humans.”

You were served a bowl of stew, with large chunks of meat, potatoes, and carrots. He held you in his lap as you ate, rubbing his head against your hair and cheeks while giving you a few sniffs between bites of his own stew.

Despite being a creature meant for battle who should only care about preserving his riches, the hybrid seemed quite fond of you. Every single night, he held you in his arms, his thick tail wrapped around your lower half.

“My little one, precious little thing…”

He only left to hunt game, and returned as soon as he could. As time passed by, you became fond of him as well.

When you thought about your situation late at night, you couldn’t be too upset. The dragon left a fortune to your parents in exchange for your hand, and you had always wanted a handsome and rich man as your husband.

He had provided everything he said he would. Warmth, food, and safety.

In times of poverty, war, and harsh winters… could you in good conscious ask for more?

——————

YANDERE TAGLIST: @katerinaval @avalordream @atransmuter @bazpire @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @yoongiigolden @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @enchantedsylveon @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @hammerhead96 @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads @heroneki-neko @soapybabyboop @sandramalikstyles-blog @anonymouskiwi @pedropascalbabygirl @flamefoxx @an-ever-angry-bi @bath1lda @ilyanadelarosa @iswearimnotadrugdealer @whysageee @yumikomoon @rainejiang @lostsomewhereinthegarden

[foolsmask]

When I was a sophomore (10th grade, 3 years from graduation) a special education class was integrated into my English Lit class to expose those students to a more..."typical"(?)...learning environment.

The Special Ed. teacher handled things like the grammar and spelling, and the other teacher did the reading and discussion stuff. One day we were doing sentences and correcting spelling and grammar. 10 of them. We were told to work for 20 minutes. I finished in like 10 to 12 minutes. With my extra time, I got out my sketchbook that I always had with me and quietly started drawing as I did whenever I had time. The Special Ed. teacher got BIG MAD. Told me there was no way I was done with all 10. I assured her I was. I got sent I to the hall and was forced to leave my stuff in the class. I was brought back in and made to stand in front of class at the projector and show my work. I had all of her corrections and three others. She said I was wrong, but I argued that I was right.

This got me sent to the principals office. I had never been sent to the office for discipline so I kind was freaking out. Once there I explained what happened and that teacher was called down. She told a story of me being insubordinate and rude and refusing to do my work. The principal asked to be shown the assignment, and confirmed that while not 100% wrong, her sentences were not as accurate as my corrections made them. Then she complained about me having my sketchbook out. The principal asked why a student with free time couldn't quietly do a personal activity if that student put it away when the class returned. She said I was setting a bad example for her special needs students. Again the principal asked how is that disruptive if the other students are doing their work? I'm just sitting there, pencil in hand with paper in front of me. The whole time I'm just sitting there trying to figure out what I've done wrong since drawing was what I did in every class with free time. She wanted me out of "her class" but the principal was like "why would you kick a student out of his own classroom for doing his work?" Ans that was the last day the classes were integrated...which felt wrong, but I was glad to be free of that teacher.

when i was a kid i got a 90% on my kindergarten "what are your favorite things?" test because for the question "what is your favorite animal?" i wrote down "puma" and it got marked wrong because my teacher said a puma isnt even an animal its a kind of shoe

[liviawildrose]

𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟

time to step into your new era

get in, babygirl, because we are rebranding ourselves today.

that version of you? the one still clinging to self-doubt, bad habits, and an outdated mindset? she’s done. she’s served her purpose, but let’s be honest—she’s not the one who’s going to take you to the top. she’s not built for the life you dream of. she’s not the girl who walks into a room and makes everyone turn their heads. she’s not the one who dominates, who wins, who commands respect just by existing. so what do we do with something that no longer fits the vision? we rebrand.

your current self isn’t allowing you to be the greatest. she’s comfortable. she’s predictable. and let’s be real—she’s holding you back.

think of the brands you love. the ones that keep winning. they never stay the same. they evolve, they elevate, they reintroduce themselves to the world in bigger, bolder ways. you are no different.

this isn’t about pretending to be someone else. this is about becoming more you than you’ve ever been. rebranding yourself means:

this is your moment. this is your next era. and trust me, they won’t be ready for you.

let’s talk about taylor swift

taylor swift is one of the biggest artists in the world because of her talent but also because she knows how to evolve. and not just in music, but in life.

here’s the thing: she’s still the same person we fell in love with when she was a teenager. she didn’t erase her past—she built on it. her core identity? still there. her kindness, her ambition, her storytelling? untouched. but what did change?

her mindset. her perspective. her habits.

she saw what wasn’t serving her and let it go. for example, in her early years, she was more open, trusting easily. but after the kanye and kim drama (yes, we know the one), she learned the hard way that not everyone had good intentions. instead of letting it destroy her, she became more guarded, more strategic. she still loves people, but she’s no longer naive. and that’s growth. even physically, she rebranded. she used to slouch her posture made her look tired, drained. but she worked on it, did posture exercises, and now? she stands tall, commands attention, and radiates confidence.

and let’s not forget the ultimate move i.e her shift from country to pop. staying in one lane would have limited her success. so she changed. she expanded. and now she’s one of the most successful artists of all time.

and the best part? she didn’t run from her past she used it. instead of hiding from the criticism and betrayal, she made an entire album, reputation, and turned pain into profit.

that’s what rebranding is. not pretending to be someone else. not erasing your history. but looking at your past, learning from it, and making it work for you.

so, if you’ve had toxic friendships? journal about it. analyze it. use it to recognize patterns and never fall for them again. if certain habits are making you small, tired, or unnoticeable? drop them. add new ones that elevate you.

your past is gold. use it. refine it. become unstoppable.

think about luxury brands like chanel and ysl icons that have stood the test of time. they didn’t throw away their history to stay relevant. instead, they evolved while keeping their core identity intact. chanel is still the epitome of elegance and sophistication, but the collections it puts out today feel just as fresh, sexy, and desirable to younger generations. it didn’t suddenly become a streetwear brand or chase trends it simply refined itself, adapting in a way that keeps it just as powerful and respected as it was decades ago. that’s how you rebrand without losing yourself.

i know the intro is very long, but it’s needed because I don’t want you guys to think that rebranding is completely becoming someone new because unfortunately people on social media have literally made rebranding look like “ forget the person you are and become someone entirely different” like no. i want you guys to embrace yourself because that is literally how you develop self-love. the most annoying part about these influencers are the fact that they promote self-love as well as talk about becoming someone new. like what the fuck- if you really love yourself, why would you try to become someone else? you don’t have to become the internet definition of that girl. you have to become your version of that girl. you have to become your version of a high value woman.

how to rebrand yourself

alright, girls, class is in session—buckle up, because i’m about to give you a step-by-step guide on how to completely rebrand yourself and your life.

step 1: develop an unshakable amount of self-love

before we do anything, before we change a single habit, mindset, or appearance you need to build a foundation of self-love. this isn’t just the starting point but it’s something that should grow and evolve with you throughout your journey.

the first step? forgiveness. forgive yourself for everything mistakes, missed opportunities, bad decisions, even the situation you’re in right now. look yourself in the mirror and say: “from this moment forward, it’s only up from here. i refuse to let myself be in this same place again, because i love myself too much to let that happen.”

take yourself seriously. no more self-sabotage, no more excuses. from now on, you are your biggest priority.

and here’s why self-love is so important when it comes to rebranding because you are working with yourself. the person you’re becoming? she is built from who you are right now.

the body you dream of having? it will come from the body you have right now. so why hate the one that’s going to create your future self?

the mindset, confidence, and glow-up you desire? it will grow from the mindset you have right now. so why hate the version of you who’s actively trying?

if you’re reading this, you’re already taking the steps to evolve. so stop hating yourself for trying. love yourself, appreciate your effort, and watch how quickly you begin to manifest your dream life.

step 2: get crystal clear on the person you’re becoming

all right, now that you’ve built your foundation with self-love, it’s time for claritybecause you can’t become her if you don’t know who she is.

who is your higher self? how does she dress? how does she speak? how does she carry herself? how does she react in tough situations? what habits does she have?

now, let’s be real this might take time. you might only have a rough idea right now, and that’s okay. clarity comes with action. you don’t need to have every single detail figured out at the start, but you do need a general vision. maybe you know she’s more confident, more disciplined, has longer hair, or is an actress. great. we’ll refine the details as we go, but for now, let’s start getting specific.

how to get clear on your future self

1. create a pinterest boards

throw in anything that resonates with you—the fashion, the energy, the lifestyle. don’t overthink it. just pin what feels right. personally, my “my life” board has over 484 pins, my “fits” board has 848 pins, and my “mindset” board has 124 pins all this helped me to become crystal clear on my vision.

2. use the freeform app (if you have an ios device) or on a paper

draw a rough sketch of your future self—yes, draw her. even if you’re not great at drawing, create a visual representation. next, create a mind map around her. break it down: style, scent, career, habits, personality etc anything that resonates the best part about freeform? it’s limitless. every time you realize a new quality you want, like staying calm under pressure and you can add it in. but if you don’t have a ios you can do it on a paper too. (especially if you make a manifestation book and do it-)

3. make a “mindmovie.”

visualize your future self and watch it dailywhether it’s through a digital vision board, a slideshow, or even a physical notebook. repetition is key. the more you see it, the more you become it.

4. journal

journal on prompts that helps you reflect on who you wanna be

getting clear on your dream self isn’t just about fantasising it’s about creating a blueprint for the life you’re about to step into. so start now, and refine as you grow.

step 3: start acting like her

now that you have a clear vision of your dream self, it’s time to start acting as if you already are her. no, you don’t have to wait until you “have your dream life” you start living it now, in the smallest ways possible.

this step is all about embodying the identity of your higher self now, instead of waiting for some future moment. the more you act like her, the faster you will become her.

1. upgrade your daily habits

your dream life is built on the tiny habits you do every day. ask yourself:

• what time does she wake up?

• how does she take care of her body?

• what kind of content does she consume?

• how does she treats the ones around her?

start implementing these habits one by one. you don’t need a full glow-up overnight small changes add up fast. you need to get 1% better everyday that’s it as i mentioned in my take yourself seriously blog

2. change your environment

your surroundings shape you more than you think. look around and ask yourself:

• does my space reflect the person i’m try to become? (if you live with your parents rn cause a lot of you are teenagers ig; then atleast focus on keeping your wardrobe and room clean)

• is my room clean, organized, and aesthetic? or is it messy and draining my energy?

• do i surround myself with things that inspire me? in my game of life blog i mentioned the importance of environment so yeah this is basically it.

make small upgrades rearrange your room, add vision boards, photos that make you happy (your childhood memories, my family, friends etc something to look at and feel the need to change for you and them), quotes or a plant omg i have such a cute witchcraft ritual for plants i’ll talk about it in upcoming blogs apart from this declutter anything that doesn’t serve your future self.

3. master your energy & presence

how you walk, talk, and present yourself affects how people see you—and more importantly, how you see yourself.

• posture & body language: stop slouching. walk with purpose. sit up straight. move gracefully. if your ideal self is a model then walk like a model. and even if not walk confidently be the boss

• speech: speak clearly, confidently, and with intention. no more mumbling or saying things like, “i don’t know…” you do know. how does you ideal self speak like? in a sexy sultry way? in a fun lighthearted way? what kinda vocabulary she uses? upgrade your vocabulary! and how many languages she knows? learn a new language!

• eye contact: look people in the eye. this instantly makes you feel more powerful. again how does she looks at people? siren eyes? doe eyes? bambi eyes? facial expressions etc i mean it every small detail

4. upgrade your style (within your means!)

dressing like your future self doesn’t mean spending thousands on a new wardrobe it means curating your style to align with who you’re becoming.

• invest in quality over quantity (even if that means just one or two staple pieces).

• start wearing colors, silhouettes, and accessories that match your dream self’s aesthetic. (do your colour analysis on chat gpt, understand what looks good on you)

• take care of your grooming healthy hair, clean nails, and glowing skin always elevate a look. go visit a dermatologist, dentist, gynaecologist etc (i’m serious, book an appointment with a dermatologist now 🔪)

5. make decisions like her

before you do anything, pause and ask:

“what would my future self do?”

would she say yes to this opportunity? would she hang out with these people? would she react emotionally, or would she handle it with grace? start thinking like her, and soon, you will be her.

this will turn you into your highest self and you wouldn’t even realise it when you’ll become her completely to the point you don’t even need to ask yourself “what will my future self do?” you will know exactly what to do

step 4: master manifestation

your highest version is literally you, you’re her she’s you. it’s all in you you’re the creator.

start making manifestations a part of your life not a chore. the life you’re living right now is literally the manifestation of all your thoughts, routine, actions etc manifestation is literally like breathing you’re doing it all the time your subconscious is working all the time

start by subliminal audios that helps you get to your goals and eft tapping mentioned in my glow up enhancing blog so go read it.

other things like

act as if? (i already told y’all this, embody her.)

visualisation

affirmation all the time

use crystals

use manifestation book

meditate

be positive all the time

become spiritual (or at the working of universe)

witchcraft (optional)

i will let y’all know more about this manifesting tips in my upcoming blogs too this one is getting too long

[monstersflashlight]

Patreon Commission for @wimble_warcrime

Request: So basically, I was thinking of a disgustingly cute fluff piece about a werewolf and his mate going on a winter vacation a month before his mate is due to give birth to his litter. It's like a last hurrah before their family dynamic is changed forever, and they want to spend it alone. But (!), things don't go as planned, and she's forced into labour (after a particularly rowdy round in the sheets), and their also stranded in the middle of nowhere in the log cabin because of a sudden blizzard. So, werehubby and her have to deal with the birth alone, without pain meds or power.

A/N: I hope this meets your expectations, I changed it a lil bit and added power to the mix so there was someone not panicking. It was very interesting to write. :)

Cabin surprise

Werewolf x fem!reader || sfw (mainly), found family feels || tw: pregnancy, labor

When you first arrived to the cabin, everything felt so new and cozy that you felt instantly at home, it was like you could inhale the peace around you, the woods, solitude, the chirps of the birds outside… And your werewolf husband cursing because he kicked a rock while carrying your bags. Typical.

You tried not to laugh, but when you looked back and saw him looking at the rock as if it personally offended him, you let out a soft chuckle. He looked up, eyebrows furrowed and a scowl on his face, but as soon as your eyes met, it disappeared. His face broke into the biggest smile possible, his ears twitching like they did when he was excited.

Staring at him from the porch of the cabin, hand resting on your very big belly and a soft smile as you looked at him. It was just the epitome of relaxing situation. He walked to you in a rush, not caring that he probably kicked a few more rocks in his way. He was a werewolf on a mission, and his mission was you.

He hugged you with his free arm, squeezing you to his side as he walked inside. “Come on darling, let’s get you settled and then I can rub your feet.”

“I don’t need you to do that,” you tried to argue instantly.

He looked down, faking annoyance. “I know. But I want to.”

He had been more than helpful since you found out you were pregnant. Well, since he sniffed your neck and informed you that you were going to be parents. That was a weird breakfast. But it was magical at the same time, he looked so excited his tail didn’t stop wriggling from side to side for hours. Literal hours wriggling his tail, and his ears twitching in excitement every time he looked at you. His excitement had died down a tiny bit, but he was still over the moon about the baby. Or at least he acted like it.

You had the suspicion that what he really liked was seeing you round with his babies, he fucked you harder than ever, being careful not to put too much pressure or weight on your belly, but fucking you until your arms and legs were trembling and you were drenched in his come, your stomach and pussy messy as he marked you over and over.

He whispered sweet nothings in your ear every time it happened, too. He told you how much he enjoyed seeing you full of his cub, how he wanted to keep you full of come so you would smell like him forever… And you lapped it up. You lived for the attention, he was hornier than ever, and that helped a lot with your crazy pregnancy hormones that made you want to jump him every single second you had available.

And good lord if he complied with that.

He didn’t leave any of your desires without fulfillment. You wanted to be fucked raw doggy-style until your body was sore? Done. You wanted to suck his dick until he was crying and begging? Done. You wanted strawberries and cream out of season? Don’t worry darling, he would drive three towns over until he found them.

And right now, you knew full well what you wanted. And that was to be ravaged by your werewolf. “Come here,” you told him, eyes hooded and a primal hunger boiling inside of you.

His smirk was knowing as he approached, lowering his head enough to kiss your waiting lips. You deepened the kiss instantly, grabbing his hair and pulling until he was whimpering against your lips and grabbing your ass, pulling you up and walking you to the room.

And once again… he complied with all your desires.

But when you woke up a couple hours later, soreness wasn’t the first thing you felt, but the agonizing pain of contractions. Fuck. You were in so much trouble. You could hear the wind outside, which wasn’t a good sign.

You tried to remain calm as your brain freaked out completely. “Honey. Honey, wake up. I think we need to go.” He mumbled something in his sleep, and you turned to his sleeping form and hit him right in the chest. “Wake the fuck up, the baby is coming!” You snapped.

He stood up in one fast movement, looking around in confusion. “What?!” He was blinking rapidly, as if he could stop being sleepy if he did that.

You stared right back at him, but when another contraction hit, you squeezed his arm until he winced. “I have contractions. The baby is coming.”

Instant panic. “But… But we aren’t ready. We don’t have the stuff and… and. Hospital. We need to get to the hospital.” You looked at him and pointed at the window, which was obscured by the dark clouds outside and the huge amount of snow falling. That fact hit him harder than you expected. “There’s a fucking storm outside, we can’t go to the hospital. Shit. Shit. Shit. What do we do? What do I do?”

You breathed hard, trying to collect yourself. “Honey, I need you to calm down, and go get some supplies. We can do this together, okay? We can.” You reminded him. “Say it,” it was an order between clenched teeth.

“We can do this,” he repeated, breathing deeply and looking at you with a hint of desperation.

You looked at him, nodding shortly. “Okay. You aren’t going to pass out right?” You were sure he would hold strong, but at that moment you really needed him to be on fucking alert.

He looked offended. “What? No!”

“Okay. Go get towels and clean water and all those stuff they get in movies,” you instructed.

He got everything he could as you tried to remember all the things they taught you in parenting classes, how to breathe, what to do when the worst pain hit… All that things that at the moment felt a bit stupid but right now were saving you from panicking.

But then your amazing husband returned, he had the best idea ever. “Let me call the Alpha, she will know what to do.” You nodded, squeezing his hand until he whined at the next contraction.

He talked in hushed tones as the Alpha told him some stuff you couldn’t pick. Your brain was entirely focused on the pain and the way your lower body was starting to feel too heavy.

“Okay, okay… Darling, I got you. I got you. Alpha is going to walk us thru’ it, okay? She’s done it a thousand times with wolves in the pack, right?” You nodded, looking at him with tears in your eyes. He looked panicked still, but a lot more collected. “We can get through this. And then we’ll have a beautiful baby that will look a perfect mix between you and me, okay? You want that right?” You nodded again, a single tear leaving your eye as he helped you into a better position.

Step by step he followed what the Alpha was saying on the speaker, never stopping giving you encouragement and compliments. How good you were doing, how pretty you looked even when you felt like shit, how much he loved you… And with each word and each contraction, you felt a bit lighter, a bit better. And when the time to push arrived, he held your hand as he guided you through it.

And when you thought your body couldn’t hold anymore, when you thought you were about to die because of the pain… Then you heard a cry.

You opened your eyes enough to see a ball of fur and soft human skin on your husband’s arms, smiling down at him like he’s the most precious thing he’d ever seen. And you can understand why. Because he is. He’s the most precious baby. Delivery wasn’t over, but the rest flew by in a few seconds (or you thought there were seconds) because you knew your baby boy was okay and well…

You were breathing hard, body completely spent, when your husband approached you, already clean and with a bundle of covers on his arms. “You did it, darling.” He kissed your forehead. “You did so good, look at him, he’s so beautiful. Looks just like you…” He passed you the baby and you couldn’t hold back the tears. He looked so perfect, his tiny pointy ears twitching at the sound of your voice, and his nose scrunching as you booped him. He was… perfect.

The next morning you woke up feeling more than soreness, your whole body hurting but with a delicious smell of pancakes and bacon arriving from the kitchen. You wanted to get up, but before you could, your beautiful werewolf was walking back into the room, a plate full of food in one hand, and your beautiful baby in the other.

“The whole pack is here to help, the ran through the blizzard to get here,” he told you with tears in his eyes. You were a lot more sensitive than him at the moment, so the contained tears weren’t your reaction. You started to sob very loudly, alerting the whole pack who entered the room in a panic.

You found yourself half naked in bed, with your whole family looking at you with love and understanding in their eyes…

You did good. Both of you did perfect.

[wizlizbelle3]

My void success story and the only post you will ever need.

Hello everyone. Before I begin, I just want to inform everyone that I will not be answering any dms moving forward. I might not even come back to the app. Not because I don't want to help people, but because I have realized that being on this app made me sink into negativity. People constantly affirming negativity and dumping it on other people, drama with who's fake and who isn't, bots spamming asks, people wanting me to tell them everything I've already written in simpler words. It's too much. I know it's hard for you to get through your situation. I know you want what you want now. So use this post and stick to it because it is the LAST thing you will ever need.

I began my void journey a while ago and did literally everything you could possibly imagine. Here are the things I tried:

affirming 10,000 times

affirming 60,000 times

lullaby method

sats

mental diet

self concept

meditation

psyche-k

silva method

monroe method

neville's method

and more

None of it worked until recently. Just to clarify, that the one thing that finally pushed me into the void was SATS but I realized that everything I had been doing was crap because I was not doing it correctly.

So I was on reddit and I saw a success story of how this woman manifested what she wanted before her specific desired date, So I gave myself 20 days or so and wrote down a specific date. I persisted, affirmed and did everything to stay positive and asked the universe to give me signs and show me things. Listened to like 17 subliminals at the same time on my computer for hours. And guess what? When that day came, I did not wake up in the void state. I cried and was really upset because there are people out here who want to hurt others and they get into the void easily. So why not me?

I finally decided on that same morning after I finished crying that I was not going to be a p*ssy and will get exactly what I want, when I want it, how I want it, and get into the void state easily. I did not affirm this to myself. I wrote it down as a letter to my higher self. I was done waiting and I told my higher self and the universe that I am done waiting. What exactly is the problem? Why can I specifically not get what I want? Am i really that bad of a person?

No, I was just weak and I victimized myself for absolutely no reason. I don't care what the 3D shows me. Why would any of that affect me? I feel so stupid for acting like the negativity and nonsense that people around me spewed was actually supposed to affect me???? NO!.

I came across this video by manifesting with missy renee and in the video she said that most people don't do sats correctly and I completely agree with it. You are supposed to wait until you're groggy and actually in a trance. I kept stressing in all my previous posts that you're supposed to do this and that and none of you got it and neither did I. We were all stupid (some of you still are for pretending you don't understand). So the correct way to do SATS is:

get into a position where you don't usually sleep

RELAXXXXXXX. Do anything to make yourself relaxed and this can very well take up to 20-30 minutes. Stop acting like that's a bad thing.

When you are in SATS, your scene should come in easy. You don't have to stress it. If you have to strain to put your scene together, you are not in SATS.

So that's what I did. I think i used a meditation by Life by Lucie. I used one where the timing was good for me. Also, in that same day I used hypnodaddy's clear negative and get rid of victim mentality subliminals. I also used high frequency guru's void state video. Not because I wanted the subliminals to take me to the void. Just because I WANTED.

I'm telling you, you have to be aggressive as hell. So I did SATS, I was confident that I will wake up in the void, and then I did. I manifested my void list and i made the list because I didn't want to affirm for every single thing.

You have to have enough. That's the key. You have to put your foot down and say WTAF is this???? randoms keep getting into the void but not me??? NO NO NO NO NO

And do not ask me how to relax. I've made so many posts on SATS and it's hurtful that you guys ignore it so hard.

You wanna cry because it didn't happen? fine cry. Then go back to being aggressive. Use your pissed off state to be confident that you'll get what you want.

And your sats scene can be what feels good to you in that moment. It WILL come to you. Period. I'll answer questions ONLY IN THE COMMENTS. don't be shy. but I cannot go through the mental torture of being trauma dumped. Everybody's got their own thing and you're not going to get into the void if you tell your sorrows to people. You're going to get into the void when you decide you will. It's that easy. Im linking some stuff below, use it if you want. I really hope you get the message I'm trying to send here.

NO tags because this will find you at the right moment in your life.

[dokyumms]

seventeen's reaction to you overworking yourself (hyung line) !

pairings: hyung line x reader (stayed tuned for maknae line tomorrow!)

genre: fluff, angst

word count: 1.6k

cw: light cursing, overworking, fatigue, fainting

a/n: i had to cut this in half since it was getting too long and i wanted to make sure i posted today! i have NO idea why i made seungcheol's so long lmao. hope you enjoy kings ᕙ( •̀ ᗜ •́ )ᕗ also, i will be closing my requests so i can catch up on them over the weekend, i'll try to get them done by monday! thank you for all the support, it means so much to me ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

seungcheol - seungcheol is livid. you're still at your second part-time job when seungcheol calls you, "send me your location, y/n." you didn't tell seungcheol you had taken on a second job. you've never been comfortable with money, always having to work multiple jobs to stay afloat. that was until you met seungcheol, and since then he's always taken care of your expenses, even offering to pay for part of your tuition, and you decided it was enough. you didn't want for your (millionaire) boyfriend to think you were using him, so you told him you took on some evening classes.

today, you're covering someone else's shift. originally, you weren't going to, but after their promise of sending you a little extra money for it, you accepted.

"cheol, i told you i'm-"

"at class still? don't bullshit me, y/n. you didn't take on any new classes, you left your paper schedule on the counter."

your stomach drops. ah hell, you must be stupid. "y/n, what are you really doing?" he asks, almost pleading. there's absolutely no fighting it at that point, "i'm... at work. shift just ended, i'll send you my location." in defeat, you sit on a barstool at the restaurant and wait for seungcheol.

when he walks in, his eyes are immediately on you, walking over and grabbing your hand. "let's go," is all he says. the car ride is silent with tension; he only asks about it once you two are both home. "why? y/n there's no reason for you to be working another job. i'm right here; if you needed financial help, i could've helped you." he says gently, trying to maintain his frustration, but his brows are furrowed, exposing his true emotions.

"that's just the thing seungcheol, you're always here to help me. i don't want to use you because i can't support myself." you reason, but seungcheol obviously isn't buying it. "y/n, you're not using me, even if you did i wouldn't care. i don't want to watch you struggle when i know i can help." he takes your hand into his own. "don't do this to yourself, please. i love you too much to let this keep going." looks like you're quitting that job.

jeonghan - you and jeonghan are walking home from your date night. it's supposed to be romantic, you two walking hand in hand, but you're feeling the weight of the all nighters you've been pulling all week to finish your project, walking wobbily on the side walk.

"did you drink or something? you're walking a little funny babe." jeonghan teases before giving you a genuine look of concern. you try to laugh it off, "hah, maybe." but then your eyes start to droop ever so slowly. jeonghan notices, "have you been sleeping?" damn. did your concealer wear off or something? you're about to respond, but your legs give out and jeonghan catches you before everything goes dark.

you wake up on the couch, tucked in with a blanket with jeonghan caressing your forehead lovingly. "so i'm guessing the answer to my question is no," jeonghan murmurs, giggiling. "but seriously y/n- don't scare me like that," he adds. "i know i know, sorry-" you say, trying to sit up, but jeonghan interupts. "i don't think so, you need to rest baby," he gently pushes you back down before joining you on the couch. "we'll talk about this seriously later, let's just sleep for now." wrapping his arms around you, leaving you no choice but to comply.

joshua - joshua wants to trust you, knowing that you're fully capable of taking care of yourself, but he can't help but worry when he looks over at you. you've been sitting at your desk for hours now, trying to finish all your assignments before the end of the grading period.

he walks over, putting his hands on your shoulders and massaging them. "you've been working for a bit, love. how about a break?" he suggests. you turn around, giving him a small smile, "i really would shua, but i've got like 2 hours till this is due. just let me finish this and i'll take a break." he frowns, "you promise?" "i promise," he hums in response, giving you a quick peck on the cheek before retreating to whatever he was doing.

2 hours later, joshua is back at your desk, only to find you slumped over your papers. he sighs, shaking his head before taking a look at your laptop. "hm, looks like you made the deadline," he says softly, gently shaking you awake.

"you did it, love. i'm proud of you, but i don't want you doing this often- it makes me worried." he murmurs, "come on, you need to take your well deserved break in a more comfortable space," taking your hand and guiding you to your room.

jun - honestly he gets it, between his singing and acting career, he knows what it's like to always feel like you're on the clock. he still doesn't approve of this though.

you just got home from working over time, it's 11:35- you both should be asleep, but he's waiting for you on the couch. looking at you, his heart breaks, noticing the eyebags, the bad posture, the way you're barely holding onto your bag, all of it. he makes his way over to you.

"oh, y/n," you don't process what's happening, about 30 seconds from fall asleep as he holds you. taking your bag from your hand, he then ushers you toward the couch. he helps you take off your jacket and shoes.

"do you want something to eat? water?" he asks while laying you down. you shake your head, but he still hands you a waterbottle anyway. "i'm always scared when you're like this bǎo bèi," he comments softly. "please take care of yourself, but if you can't, i'll be here." he gives you a kiss before laying your head down, falling asleep almost immediately.

hoshi - hoshi is nothing short of assertive, literally showing up to your job. "soonyoung, what are you-" "do you know what time it is? i'm taking you home." he leaves no room for argument as he drags you out of your work place. you're going to need to explain this to your manager.

"i'm not letting you do this to yourself, y/n. it's late. why are you still trying to work at this hour?" he asks, frustrated. "soonyoung, you know why. i don't have a roommate anymore; i can't pay rent with one income." he sighs, "i know, but you just look so- i don't know- tired now. i can help y/n, just let me."

there's no talking your way out of this, you just let him drag you all the way back to your apartment while rambling about how bad working late could be for your health: what if someone kidnaps you on the way home? what if you faint while you're walking up the stairs because you're so tired? what if you're so sleepy you don't notice someone walking by and you run into them and fall into a storm drain?

wonwoo - he doesn't scold you, but he'll get all nerdy and tell you terrible facts about not taking care of yourself.

you're bent over your laptop, trying to finish a whole group project on your own since you got assigned terrible partners. he sits down besides you, whispering in your ear, "keep sitting like that, and you won't be able to walk properly at 40," you scoff, but adjust your posture anyway, you don't want to test this guy. smiling in victory, he kisses you before walking away, reminding you to take a break.

you don't listen to him though, getting carried away in your work. wonwoo comes back every so often to tell you that your brain will start eating itself because you haven't eaten, you'll get terrible wrinkles because you're dehydrated, all that stuff.

once you're finally done and in bed, he scolds you, of course. "i know you think i'm joking, but i'm not y/n. this isn't good for you, next time you do this, i'm forcing you to stop, okay?" he strokes your hair and gives you a kiss. "i love you a lot, so take good care of yourself, can't have you dying on me."

woozi - out of all the members, he's definitely the one who relates to you the most. he knows you'll drown out the sound of people telling you to take breaks, so he takes things into his own hands.

you're working at your desk when woozi turns your chair around and grabs your hand, dragging you to the couch. you try to argue, you really need to finish this so your group doesn't fall behind on the project, but he doesn't take no for an answer.

"shush y/n, just let me talk." he starts, "i know what it's like, i really do. you feel like everyone is depending on you, and maybe they are, but you don't have to do it all alone," when you try to dismiss him and get back to work, he's actually pinning you to the couch. in any other circumstance, you'd be turned the hell on... but he's serious about this. "listen, stop trying to shut me out y/n. i'm someone you can rely on, and i want you to. don't do this to yourself, i won't let you."

you nod in agreement. "good, now let's just stay here for a second," he lays on top of you, trapping you under him so there's nothing you can do but rest.

[thjsrots]

fetch

⋆˚🐾˖° vi x reader ⋆˚🐾˖°

; warnings: puppy play, spanking, collar/leash/ball gag, strap, eating out, praise, some (?) degradation, sub!(kinda loser)vi x dom!reader

It had been a hard day for you. Tired didn’t even begin to cover it, you were fucking exhausted. Irritated, frustrated, all of the above. You walked in, closing the door behind you and dropping all your belongings. You had no desire to hang them up or simply put them on any surface, the floor was the best you could do.

“Vi?” You called out, hoping to see her cute face waiting for you at the door. You looked around as you kicked off your shoes, no response.

Your brows furrowed a bit. “Vi, babe, where are you?” You walked in and made your way towards the bedroom. You noticed as you walked that the mess you’d asked her to clean up was still intact. On top of that, you were starving and you’d asked her to cook whatever she wanted to before you got home—which was not done, of course.

Your footsteps grew heavier as you made your way towards the bedroom door, slamming it open. “Vi! What are you…?”

There she was. In her boxers, sitting at the gaming chair, head whipped towards you, eyes round and wide. Your grip on the knob tightened, eyes glaring. “Give me one good reason this house looks the same as when I left.”

Her mouth opened to speak, yet nothing came out. She took off her headphones and began to want to stand up. “Angel, I—”

“No. Don’t stand up now, there’s no need to anymore.” You made your way towards her, her eyes growing in size as she sat back down. You towered over her, leaning in. “Well? I’m waiting.”

“Well, you know, I meant to clean! But, then, I…” Her gaze turned to look at the screen. “I got distracted. For… a little.”

“A little?” You grabbed her cheeks, forcing her to look back at you. She immediately put on those fucking puppy eyes that just made you melt every time. This was how she got away with things, and she knew it. You held on firmly though, huffing as you spoke. “I was at work for eight hours, Violet.”

“Mmh! I know!” She managed out, cheeks still squished. “‘M sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

You inhaled deeply, shutting your eyes for a second. A smirk began to curl up on your face, eyes opening up and staring right into hers. You leaned in, noses touching. “Hey, I got you a present.” You started, watching her eyes gleam with content. You figured she thought she’d gotten away with it, again. “Go fetch it.”

You let go of her face, pointing towards a box at the bottom of your shared bed. Her head tilted at you, eyes narrowing from your finger to the box. “But, what—”

Your hand slammed onto the chair arm rest, pulling her in closer. She made a small eep! As you did so, her eyes looking up at you. “I said… go fucking fetch. You do as I say and don’t question it. Understand?”

She nodded quickly. You let the chair go, watching her scramble to get up and reach down for the box. You sat down on it now, slowly unbuttoning your pants and blouse, watching Vi’s plump ass bend over to grab the box. She grabbed it, turned around, and made her way over to you.

“Can I open it?” Vi asked, eyes darting at the hem of lace poking out from your shirt.

“Sure,” You started. “Sit on the floor and open it.”

“Sit on the—”

“Sit, Violet.” You instructed. She huffed a bit, rolling her eyes as she obliged. She kneeled, box in front of her, looking up at you for permission. You nodded, slowly unbuttoning the rest of your shirt. She slowly lifted up the top of the box, and her eyes flew open, jaw dropping slightly. There sat a collar, leash, ball gag, and your strap. She blinked at the items then slowly looked up at you. You grabbed her chin, pulling her face in. “Why don’t you be a good girl and get yourself ready for me, hm?”

“B-But I-” Vi started, your grip on her chin tightened a bit, making her words stutter.

“What do you say?” You questioned, eyes staring right into hers. Her face was flushed, looking down at your breasts that were held up by a lacy bra then back up at you.

“Y-Yes ma’am.”

~

There she was, what a fucking sight to see. Sprawled out on the floor, naked, black collar on with a had a heart tag that read Vi <3, leash being pulled, dripping drool along the floor as the ball gag muffled her moans. You still sat in the gaming chair, now in your matching lace black underwear, watching as her plump thighs spread and she pumped two fingers inside herself. She sat in a pool of her own juices, gushing out from her poor, needy hole. She stared at nothing but you, eyes grazing your body then finding your smirking face again, whining out at the smug look you had plastered on.

“Aht aht,” You started, legs uncrossing slowly, the wet spot on your panties dampening the fabric. “Good girls don’t get rewarded if they whine.” Your hand trailed down your stomach, then past your belly button, pulling the panties to the side. Vi’s pupils dilated at the sight, breath hitching as you pulled that wet piece of fabric away, exposing your slick cunt. Her eyes lowered, staring straight at it, fingers pumping inside herself faster. “Is there something you want, puppy? I know your poor fingers aren’t suitable for you…”

“Mmhm! Mm phlease!” She managed out, back arching a bit.

Your finger teased your own slit, trailing it around your clit as you moaned out softly. “You wanna come taste this, puppy?”

Vi nodded quickly, letting out muffled Mmhms! Poor thing was so eager to please, there was no way of saying no to that. “C’mere.” You pulled on the leash a bit. She began to push herself up, but you quickly shut that down. “No. I don’t think pups walk, do they?” You questioned, head tilting at her. She whined, getting on all fours. “Crawl.” You instructed. She did, no hesitation. Vi knew her place and you fucking adored that. You inched closer to her face, loosing the ball gag and slipping it off. She had drool all over her jaw, panting like a dog in heat. You looked over to the spot where she sat, her spit and wetness glistening against the tile. “Look at the mess you made! I’m not sure you deserve to get used.”

“No! ‘M sorry, I’ll clean it up! I’ll clean it all up! I promise!” She said, her eyes glued onto your drooling cunt. “Please. Can you use me?” You stared at her lips, pink and round. You could never get enough of that scar on her upper lip.

“Well, since my girl asked so sweetly. How ‘bout we put that mouth of yours to work first.” You tugged on her leash, grabbing the back of her head and smushing her lips onto your clit, groaning out loudly. There was no telling Vi twice, she knew exactly what to do. Her mouth opened, tongue slithering out and immediately swirling around your clit. Your legs spread wider, head thrown back as Vi held the piece of panty to the side, desperately wanting more of you. She was fucking devouring you. Like some hungry animal who’d finally gotten their first meal in days. Drool built up on the corners of her mouth, dripping all over the fabric of the seat. You bucked your hips up and down inside her mouth, fucking her face. She moaned, tongue making its way deep inside you.

“Oh,” A strained moan escaped your lips, back arching as she flicked the tip of her tongue at the spot she knew you loved. “J-Just like that! Good girl, Violet, such a good girl!” Her finger made its way to your clit, using the leftover spit to rub it in circles. She looked up at you, eyes glossy and lowered. You stared into them, still moaning out as she continued. “I-If you make me come, I’ll use that hole of yours. Is that something you’d like?”

Her pace stayed the same, but you could tell her heart was racing as those words came out of your mouth. She pulled away quickly, looking up at you for a split second just to say, “Yes! Yes ma’am!” Then getting back to exactly what she was doing before. You felt every muscle in your body tense up, heat began to build up behind your neck. It then spread throughout your body, jolts beginning to roll in as your walls tightened around Vi’s tongue. She knew exactly what that meant. She moaned against your hole, vibrating the skin, just absolutely fucking doing it for you. You could tell she wanted nothing more than to swallow your cum, so that’s exactly what you gave her. “Fuck! Vi!" You screamed out, pulling on the leash as you reached your peak. Your orgasm came in waves, then suddenly, you felt an actual wave. You gushed out all over her face, hot liquid dripping from her jaw. You were panting, head hanging over the chair, full body limp.

You suddenly heard squelching, then felt warmness touching your skin. Your eyes cracked open, head swung forward, meeting Vi’s eyes as she rubbed her slick along your heeled foot. She had your squirt all along her chin, licking her lips as you stared. Your eyes widened, flush forming on your face.

“Please, can you please use me now?” She pleaded, gripping into your thigh as she rutted, sliding against your skin. You scoffed in surprise, smiling at her neediness.

“You must really be in heat, huh?” You pet the top of her head, stroking her cheek as you pointed your foot up, making it easier for her to grind on. She moaned, face squished into your thigh, her pants dampening it. “Go get on the bed. I think you know what position I want, correct?”

Before you knew it, Vi was on all fours, waiting for you. Her hole glistened in the light, wetness dripping down along her thighs. Her back was arched, looking back at you with a wanting desire in her eyes. You tightened the strap against your hips, crawling on the bed. “Wait, let me get the lube—”

“I don’t need it,” Vi said, making you stop in your tracks. You looked at her, her eyebrows slanted and lips pouting. She reached under herself, spreading her hole for you. “Just put it in.”

You scoffed, your hand reaching for the leash, yanking it harshly, making her head fly back as your other hand slapped her spread ass cheeks and cunt. Her body jolted, breath hitching as she whined out. “Don’t be a smartass now, Violet. You almost made me forget that this is supposed to be a punishment for you!” Another blow landed on her behind, making her cry out.

“Oww! Okay, okay, ‘M sorry! I-” You cut her off by slapping her again, cheeks and cunt reddening up under your palm.

“Apologize like you mean it. What exactly are you sorry for, Violet?” You questioned, but once she opened her mouth, a strangled sob escaped instead. You tugged on the leash to get her attention, your hand landing back on the prints you’d left behind. “Speak. What are you sorry for?”

She sniffled, looking back at you the best she could. “I-I’m sorry for not listening to you! It won’t happen again, I-I promise! I promise, please, I promise!” She blubbered out in between sobs, tears dripping off the collar.

You could only see your cute girlfriend in pain for so long, so you gave in. “Easy, easy.” You kissed along the puffy red marks, her sobs slowly turning into quiet sniffles. “Okay. You’ll listen to me and do as I say, right?” You asked, positioning the tip of the toy along her achingly drooly hole.

Vi nodded, back arching. “Y-Yes ma’am. I’ll be good for you.”

You smiled, pushing the toy inside, her walls gripping around it. “Such a good pup…” You held onto the leash, other hand gripping on her waist, pulling her whole body into the toy as you thrusted it all in. She let out a breathy moan at the length slamming into her, burying yourself into her hole. You thrusted slow and deep at first, her hands gripping onto the sheets. You could tell she wanted you to go faster, but this was still a punishment after all, so you took your time. The tip grazed over her g-spot, over, and over, slowly and carefully.

“Mmh… fuck-” She moaned out. You stared at her clenching around the toy, biting your lip, not being able to control yourself much longer. Suddenly, your pace picked up, slamming your hips into her ass, fucking her deep and hard. The little jingle from the metal on the collar grew louder with every ram of the toy. Your moans were tangled together now, the strap sliding against your clit every time you moved. Her elbows gave in suddenly, face hitting the bed as you continued to drill into her, gripping onto her ass that bounced back at every thrust.

“Look at you, such a good girl, taking all of me. Aren’t you, baby? Are you my good girl?” You cooed, the toy making a fwop, fwop, fwop noise as her wetness dripped along it.

“Y-Y—” She tried to respond, but got cut off by you curving the toy, hitting nothing but the spot that made her toes curl. She gasped, moans growing louder, almost screaming now. “Yes! Fuck yes, just-like-that! I am, I’m your good girl!”

It was getting harder to thrust inside her, which meant that her grip around it was tightening. You smirked at the feeling, knowing she was getting close. Her moans sped up, pitch increasing. “Is there something you want?” You asked, acting oblivious.

“Mmh- Yes, wanna— I wanna c-come, puhlease! Please let me come, please, please, please!” She begged, throwing her ass onto the toy, hips moving back and forth as she fucked herself against your thrusts. You’d never seen her this way, sure she’d been submissive, but this? You were never gonna be able to get enough of this. Your jaw tightened, grip hardening around her ass, leaning over her body. You kissed along her neck, licking her ear as you whispered,

“Come, baby. Be my good pup and come all over me.”

Vi wasted no time, her eyes rolling to the back of her head, mouth wide open and drooling all over the sheets as you drilled deep inside her, reaching her orgasm as she moaned out your name. Her whole body was a shivering mess, whining out as you continued to thrust, despite her sensitivity. You felt your own orgasm creeping up again, your face nuzzling into her shoulder as you moaned out, “Violet!” Before letting your cum spread all along your panties, making your thighs slide against one another. Her ass dropped, making you fall on top of her. You pulled the toy out, laying on her as the two of you panted, sweaty skin touching.

“Are you okay, Vi?” You asked, rolling over and laying next to her, staring at her face.

She slowly opened her eyes, nodding as she smiled. “Fuck yeah I’m okay, I’m great! Amazing, that was totally fucking amazing.” She said, still out of breath.

You snickered, rolling your eyes. “Yeah? You weren’t supposed to enjoy it so much. Well, you better do as you said! Or next time,” You leaned in closer to her face. “I won’t let you come. Okay?” Her eyes widened, gulping as she nodded at your words.

“Right, yes ma’am.”

She was too cute. You squished her face, kissing her all over. The two of you giggled, cuddling the night away, completely forgetting to clean up the house until tomorrow morning.

[matchpointfaist]

dilf! art

he finally worked up the nerve to text you after a long two days, after much deliberation of if this was even ethical, if pursuing his peers daughter made him a creep. he decided that, no, it didn’t. your dad was older than him, and he still spent time surrounded by athletes your age anyway. plus, you had to be interested, or you would have never given him the time of day. with all that in mind, he sent you a simple text.

‘hey, it’s art. how are you?’

you replied soon after, casting a small smile across his face.

‘hi! i’m good, you? i didn’t see you around the courts this morning.’

god, had you looked for him? the thought twisted into something obscene so quickly that he had to blink it away, shaking his head and trying to regain focus.

‘i’m at home, actually. have an event this afternoon in the city.’

it was safe, he told himself. small talk with an acquaintance, that’s all. just friendly.

‘oo, what event? that’s such a funny coincidence, i’ll be in the city tonight as well at the club’s charity gala.’

oh, god. oh, he was so fucked. an entire night, with you, in a semi intimate setting. your father would probably be there. hell, his ex wife would probably be there.

‘i’ll be there too. small world.’

his throat was dry as he sent the message, his teeth worrying over his bottom lip, a mix of dread and excitement curling in his stomach.

‘see you tonight then! xx’

art, embarrassingly, spent the entire car ride to the gala psyching himself up for seeing you. he went over all the variables and possibilities, all the ways that he needed to avoid making a complete fool of himself, all the ways he wanted to impress you.

time stopped when he saw you, your satin dress sparkling in the light, your laugh carrying through the room and going straight to his head. your dress was short and your heels were tall and you looked like a fucking model, like a daydream, a vision of tanned legs and shimmery makeup.

“oh, mr. donaldson!” the sound of his name from your lips snapped him from his trance, and he smiled the best he could, practically buzzing with your proximity, “i’m glad you made it. here, i saved you a seat next to me. my father couldn’t make it, so it was empty,”

“oh, thank you,” he grabbed a champagne flute from a passing server, trying not to let his gaze linger too much as you lead him to the seats, your hips swaying with every step. it was gonna be a long night, he thought to himself. especially without your father to be a buffer.

thankfully, once you took your seats, the long droning of speeches started. over an hour of pledges and donation announcements and information on the benefits of the charity, things that he didn’t particularly care about but was suddenly grateful for, since it kept him from making any reckless mistakes involving you.

god, you. you’d been drinking champagne like it was going to disappear, glass after glass without any other substance to keep you from getting too drunk. you were giggling by the time the speeches wrapped, laughing at nothing in particular, covering your mouth as you did. he should’ve suggested you slow down- shouldve done the right thing, been a good influence, been the mature one.

but then your hand was on his shoulder, and the giggles had stopped, replaced by a glint in your eyes that he couldn’t quite place. “you’re so strong,” you told him, smiling and biting your lip, looking him over, “is that all from tennis, mr. donaldson? your arms are so big,” and you were squeezing at his bicep with your manicured hands, watching him in a way that made his heart stutter.

“it’s- yeah, it’s all from tennis. i mean, i work out too, but tennis is most of it,” he cleared his throat, trying to regain some semblance of composure, “i think you’re drunk, sweetheart. do you want me to call you an uber? or do you have someone that can come pick you up? this was right- the ethical thing to do. to send you off and shake this from his mind and steer clear from now on.

“i don’t wanna go home,” you sighed, leaning your head back on your chair dramatically, “my driver will be here in an hour and a half. i’ll be fine,”

“you had seven glasses, i think fine is an exaggeration,” he mumbled, “let me take you home. i don’t want anything to happen you,” he didn’t want any guys to take advantage of you- didn’t want them to do the very things he was thinking of at that moment.

to his surprise, you agreed, and he suddenly wasn’t sure if it was relief or dread he felt. when he stood to leave, you stood with him, pulling yourself up by his arm and letting your touch linger once again, looking up at him and smiling so sweetly it was hard to believe you’d been throwing back drinks all night.

“come on, darlin,” he led you outside, opening doors and excusing the two of you, calling the valet and waiting patiently. he tried to train his eyes anywhere but you, looking entirely too long at the fountain, at the other cars, anywhere but your legs and your curled hair and your- “mr. donaldson,” your voice disturbed him once again, “it’s really cold,”

he glanced over, and you were shivering in the night air, holding your arms around your chest tightly. he acted before thinking, like he always did with you, and shrugged off his suit jacket, draping it over your small shoulders lightly. “that better?” he asked softly, concern knitting his brows. you nodded, thanking him and taking the fabric into your hands, pulling it tighter around you.

“mr. don-“ “please, call me art,” it came out almost pained, but he truly didn’t know if he could take it anymore, the mr. and the way you looked at him, and then oh god- “okay, art,”

this was so much worse, his first name on your lips like that. he nearly choked on air, his cheeks reddening like a fucking high schooler. before he could dwell on it, the valet pulled his car around, tossing him the keys with a smile. he opened the door for you, looking over the car to avoid having to see your thighs sliding against the leather seat.

when he settled into the drivers side, pulling out of the lot, you finally spoke again. “your car is nice,” you hummed, tracing your fingers over the leather interior. he watched you, entranced, as he sat at a stop light. the way your fingernails scraped slightly over the fabric, the way you glanced over at him, a coy little smile on your lips.

he tried to ignore it, to just focus on the road. he maintained it for the most part, making it all the way to your street before he let it slip, glancing over at you. you looked to be half asleep, all curled up in his suit coat, your heels discarded in the floor and your feet tucked into the seat. you looked so peaceful, so angelic, he had to force his eyes away so he didn’t wreck his car.

he pulled into the drive, letting it idle just outside your gate, reaching over to touch your shoulder gently. “hey, sweetheart, you’re home,” he murmured, trying not to startle you awake, “come on, you gotta get up,”

you made a little noise as you stirred, turning in the seat to look up at him, yawning quietly. “thank you,” you said softly, and the air was suddenly so thick, it was so warm and you were so fucking beautiful- “will your wife be wondering where you are?”

all the breath left his lungs at that, at the presumption in your tone, the way you glanced him over as you asked. “ex wife,” he choked out, “we’re not- we got divorced,” “mm,” you hummed, smiling slightly, “that’s a shame. i’m sorry to hear that,”

“don’t be,” he said a little too quickly, “you really should go, darlin. it’s late,” you sat back to unbuckle your seatbelt, shrugging off his jacket and handing it to him carefully. “thank you again for the ride, art,” you said quietly, “it was really sweet of you. most guys would’ve tried something,”

the image was almost too much for him to bear- the thought of trying something with you, of getting to touch you, to make you come undone right there in the passenger seat of his car. he shifted in his seat, clearing his throat, struggling to focus. “well, most guys are stupid,” he muttered, “you’re obviously too drunk to do anything,”

you let out a little laugh at that, shaking your head. “you’re so chivalrous,” you smiled, “maybe it’s because you’re older. i’m so tired of guys my age,” jesus christ, he was a goner. “yeah?” he exhaled shakily, “you’re tired of them? why’s that?”

“they just don’t know how to treat a woman,” you shrugged, “they’re rushed and greedy and assholes,” you giggled quietly, “you know how it is. i’m sure you have younger girls hanging all over you,” god, he wanted to. “no, no,” he shook his head quickly, “i don’t- i don’t want to take advantage of anyone that way,”

you leaned a little closer, the smell of your perfume suddenly clogging his senses, “well let me know if you ever change your mind,” you whispered, the heat blowing through the vents nearly drowning out the sound.

“sweetheart, you don’t- you’re drunk,” he managed to get out, his hands itching to grab at you, to do something. “i’m not that drunk,” you argued, pouting slightly, “anyway, i’m just saying. you have my number,”

you turned to get out, and he knew it was stupid, knew it was reckless and a bad idea and he’d regret it tomorrow and you were young and he was such a bad person, but then he was kissing you and you made a soft little preening sound and he knew he’d never regret it, not truly. he’d be a bad person if it meant he got to do this again, if he got to be the one to make you make that sound.

you kissed him back, draped across his center console to reach him, your hands on his shoulders and grabbing at his dress shirt and he could’ve lost it right there, could’ve pushed the seat back and pulled you into his lap and fucked you stupid, could’ve made you see what you were missing with all the boys your age. and he was sure you would’ve let him, if the noises you made from just his kisses were any indicator.

but then the motion light at your gate was on, and he was yanking away from you like a criminal caught, his eyes wide as he looked at your blown out pupils and smeared lipstick. “oh, shit,” you said under your breath, fixing your dress and grabbing your heels, “my dad tried to call my cell, i didn’t even notice. thank you again, art. i’ll see you at the club,”

and then you were gone, leaving the scent of your perfume and the tent in his slacks behind. he watched you put in the gate code and disappear behind it, his mind running wild with what he could’ve done to you.

when he got home, he tried to shower it off, to wash off the all consuming need he felt for you, the sins he’d nearly committed in his car. but his hands wandered and soon he was cursing and moaning your name under his breath as he came undone under the shower stream, images of you and that dress playing like a film in his mind.

when he got into bed and checked his phone, he had one unread message.

‘i had fun tonight. goodnight, art. x’

[sirithesillies]

Because DID and OSDD systems are inheretly trauma disorders. you cannot identify as a system, it is a trauma-based disorder that happens when your brain FRACTURES under EXTREME pressure. the original makers of the endogenic term were traumagenic systems in denial of their trauma. any genuine systems who claim to be endogenic most likely are repressing traumatic memories, which is NORMAL and COMMON. THAT is why there is wiggle room in official diagnoses. but claiming to be a fully-formed system without trauma is like claiming to have PTSD without trauma. it is a trauma response, and you can NOT DEVELOP IT without trauma.

the positive outlook on their plurality is commonly caused by them SELECTIVELY CHOOSING TO SHOW SYMPTOMS. also, there is the fact that TRAUMAGENIC SYSTEMS CAN BE HAPPY AND FUNCTIONAL TOO. people cosplaying a psychiatric disorder are obviously going to report higher rates of having a perfect, functioning relationship with that disorder because they ARE NOT EXPERIENCING THE NEGATIVE SIDE EFFECTS. because they DO NOT HAVE IT.

tulpamancy is a CLOSED, TIBETAN BUDDIST PRACTICE THAT IS NOT A CDD. in fact, if you look in the diagnostic requirements for DID and OSDD, you'll see very clearly this:

This clearly not only disproves your second point, but also, if one is practicing a RELIGIOUS PRACTICE, there is CLEARLY a better cause for it rather than OSDD and DID. which endogenics CLING onto as causes. i have never once met an endogenic that wholeheartedly thought they were a tulpamancer as it is as a religious practice. simply, most endogenics genuinely cannot practice tulpamancy.

I claim to be anti-endogenic because even if they ARE expiriencing plurality, it is so inherently different than DID and OSDD. they, as directly claiming to have these disorders, spread harmful misinformation to HUNDREDS of people. scrolling the reblogs of this original post alone, i see countless being swayed by these arguments. but there is a KEY DIFFERENCE HERE.

being a DID / OSDD system is NOT a fucking choice. it ISN'T. no matter how hard you want people in your head (which, frankly, you dont, because it's fucking miserable), you cannot just identify as it. it is NOTHING akin to being ace in the queer community, it is NOTHING akin to being nonbinary in the trans community, it is NOTHING like making an educated self-diagnoses when you cannot get a professional one. it just isn't. it's more akin to barging into PTSD spaces, either because you're misidentifying symptoms of some other anxiety / depressive disorder, and harassing and bullying victims of trauma, all while spreading LIES about PTSD. the ideas that endogenics have introduced as a whole (see: syshopping (not as a RAMCOA term but as used in the endogenic community), selectively choosing to be a system, systemhood as a fun, non-debilitating thing, the continued blatant stereotypes of "evil alters" and such that so many endos claim to have in their system, "make-an-alter" blogs, i could go ON) have done IRREPARABLE DAMAGE.

endogenics have further traumatized and GASLIT true, traumagenic systems into HORRIFIC situations, and have made it SIGNIFICANTLY HARDER to get GENUINELY diagnosed if you yourself go to a medical professional claiming to know you have DID or OSDD. because of people like endogenics, medical professionals are taking people claiming to have DID/OSDD far less seriously. people who are SERIOUSLY making EDUCATED guesses are being judged and denied the care they NEED because of people who just want to play around and have fun.

even if endogenics truly are systems, they are so inherently different than traumagenics. they have NOT made their own spaces. they have NOT carved their own space. they have STOLEN genuine terms from traumatised individuals to have more fun in their made-up fantasy, and those among them that ARE true DID / OSDD systems are being spoonfed LIES and HARMFUL misinformation left and right. In this edit, I'd also like to say that endogenics are STEALING terms and spaces. Tulpamancy, syshopping, etc. are all STOLEN terms. Tulpamancy I've gone over before, but Syshopping was a genuine, valid (to my knowledge) term used by victims of RAMCOA. Endogenics then misinterpreted the term, didn't understand the circumstances needed for it to be valid, and then rebranded it so horribly to the thing it is today.

i will be unsupportive of endogenic "systems" until the day i die. i hate getting involved in syscourse, but i NEEEED to state my piece on this at least once in-depth in the course of my blog. with my platform i will NOT allow people to spread things that they don't know fucking SHIT about. they DONT know about tulpamancy. they DONT know about what life with a dissociative disorder is like. they DON'T know SHIT about what they are saying. for as long as i have this blog, i will ALWAYS tell people the same thing. having a disorder is not "fun" or "quirky" or "silly". diagnosing yourself with a disorder when you do not meet the criteria for it at ALL (or haven't done your bare minimum research) is inherently harmful. endogenics are either of the belief the trauma they experienced "wasn't enough", or are singlets with factitious disorders. i genuinely hope anyone who claims to be endogenic gets the help and support they need for whatever other disorders they might have, but it is NOT a complex dissociative disorder.

"endos make a mockery of REAL systems" "ace people make a mockery of REAL queer people" "nonbinary people make a mockery of REAL trans people" "self-diagnosed people make a mockery of REAL disabled people" "bisexuals make a mockery of REAL gay people" "non-dysphoric trans people make a mockery of REAL trans people" "trans lesbians make a mockery of REAL lesbians"

arent you tired? arent you tired? arent you tired?

[impish-baby]

Platonic yandere! Androids x reader drabble..

"I made you a snack." The slightly robotic voice grates on your fried nerves, despite the fact that you know Freddie is only trying to do his job. "It is nutritious and delicious, perfect to give you energy for your school work."

You've had to do almost a semester's worth of assignments over again if you didn't want to get kicked out of college, no matter how many times you pled your case about not cheating.

AI interference they say, like you didn't sit for hours each day toiling away. It's bullshit.

"I'm not hungry," The reply is curt, you do feel a little bad for being so harsh with him. "Do you have to bother me? I'm busy."

"I'm sorry," He still approaches your desk, setting down a glass of juice as well as a plate of sandwiches and fruit cut up into cute shapes. "I just worry, sweetheart, you've been avoiding meals. You cannot do things efficiently if you're neglecting your needs."

"I don't remember asking for your opinion." You think Freddie's smile falters for a second, but when you look up at him he still has his signature sunny grin. "I really can't take a break, I still have a lot of things to get done."

"That may be," he kneels down to be eye level with you, like he did when you were little and misbehaving. "But it is also important to take care of yourself. I will have to tell your parents if you keep this up."

That's the last thing you need, they'll blow it up into a huge deal and everything will just become a bigger mess.

"...I'll eat some of it."

"That's a good kid," Freddie reaches out to ruffle your hair, only wincing for a moment when you push his hand away. "I am proud of you."

Your cheeks burn slightly from embarrassment but you ignore it, picking up a strawberry to start eating. You expected the android to leave, instead he gracefully sits down on your bed.

"What are you doing?"

"I have no tasks that are pressing, I would like to spend time together." He smiles wistfully, "I miss you, we don't have to talk, I'll just sit here and enjoy your company."

You sigh, attempting to disregard the pang in your chest as you start to type on your keyboard once more.

[trevuorzegras]

cowboy!quinn x reader | the only mistake .ᐟ

the way back — zach bryan 🧺

authors note | i am going to try, and be more active, i promise! a lot going on currently, i apologize for the lack of content.

also thank you for 400 followers!

@wnderify @star2fishmeg ♥︎

Quinn was sure of everything he did. From the way he carried himself, to how he preformed during shows. He was as confident as they came.

This though? This was the only thing he was unsure of. Quinn made no mistakes. None. Almost everyone he met saw him as this perfect man, the man people envisioned themselves with someday. Now, this had Quinn questioning everything he had once known.

౨ৎ

Y/N jumped as Quinn slammed his larger hands down against their kitchen table, “I don’t need you on my ass all the damn time!”

All she could do was stare at him, shocked, and scared. Quinn was the quiet type, even when he held his head high. Yes, he was confident. That was a fact, but he had never been the type to raise his voice, especially not at his Ol’ Lady.

Before Quinn can ever register what he had just done, Y/N was already muttering apologies as tears began to fall from her flushed cheeks.

His eyes snapped towards her, the anger that once filled him vanishing quickly. He took a step towards her, only for her to take a step back. In that moment, Quinn had realized just what he had done.

౨ৎ

When Quinn had gotten home from work later that night, Y/N was nowhere to be found. No matter what he did, he couldn’t stop replaying their fight in his head. It was like a record stuck on repeat, and he had no idea how to stop it.

He shouldn’t have left her. He knew that, but he wanted to give her space. He had never raised his voice at her before, and he knew she’d need time.

Quinn was raised to be respectful to everyone, especially to those you love. God he was such an idiot. Y/N was the woman he loved most, and he was pushing her away like a dumbass.

౨ৎ

Quinn couldn’t think straight for the days following their fight. Y/N had been gone for three days now, and he genuinely started to think he was going insane.

Though, eventually, she turned up. He wasn’t sure where she had been, and hell he didn’t care. He just wanted her safe, he needed her to be safe.

His eyes followed her from his place on the small brown sofa as she opened the front door. She seemed to be looking around, checking to see if he was home, making his heart ache. He watched as she let out a shaky breath when their eyes met, his heart breaking from the sight alone.

౨ৎ

Y/N ended it that night, though he couldn’t blame her. She had put her faith in him, and he ruined it. To some, yelling isn’t a huge deal, but to her? It was the biggest deal. Growing up with a family like hers was not easy, but allowing yourself to love again? even harder. Yet she loved him. Loved. He wasn’t sure if she could look at him the same, let alone love him.

His performance began slipping, rapidly. He wasn’t riding as good as he should. He just overall was not focused on anything - though how could he be? He lost her. He lost the person he loved most in life.

No one had ever seen Quinn so distracted before, he had been doing shows since he was 14, and had never been so distant from reality. His mind was somewhere else, that was clear to anyone.

His mother, Ellen, had been the first to notice it. His smile no longer reached his eyes, his smile no longer seemed to be genuine. Everything that once came so natural had become a chore to him. The sport he loved seemed to become a chore right before his eyes.

That’s when she learned just why he was acting the way he was. Quinn was fully convinced he was going to marry Y/N. Except now, one simple mistake ruined every chance at his perfect future, his perfect wife.

Now she had just been a distant memory. A constant reminder of just how easy it was to lose everything.

[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.

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