#what happens in Shanghai stays in Shanghai | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mrspiastri · 26 days ago

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✩ please, stay 💬

pairing: oscar piastri x reader

cw: angst, like a lot more than normal, cyber bullying, eventual fluff

wc: 8.6k words

an: clubbed 2 reqs together, thank u anons 😘😘 also this hasn’t been proofread sorry okay it’s 1:33 am

The Shanghai paddock buzzed with energy on Thursday, the air slightly heavy with the morning mist and the promise of a competitive weekend. Oscar, despite running on fumes and four hours of sleep, had his game face on as he stepped out of the McLaren hospitality alongside Lando and Y/N.

His grip on the McLaren media backpack bag was tight, jaw clenched as they approached the long line of journalists eagerly waiting behind the barrier ropes.

He hated media day. Especially after a bad weekend. But he knew the drill: keep it professional, answer the tough questions, and spin it positively. His thoughts were partly with Y/N, who was chatting with one of the engineers. She always grounded him, even in the chaos of a race weekend.

Her hand in his was the only part of the morning that felt even remotely tolerable. The cameras clicked around them, media whispering and murmuring as they passed. Y/N didn’t particularly dislike the attention, but she certainly didn’t enjoy being under the spotlight all the time.

She and Oscar had always kept their relationship mostly private. A few photos on social media here and there. A quick kiss after a good race. A hug when emotions were high. That was it.

She had insisted on coming to China with him. Not just because she missed him, but because she had seen the way he carried the weight of Melbourne.

Back home, after finishing ninth, Oscar had come back to the garage a shadow of himself. She remembered how he had sat on the edge of the couch, still in his racing suit, staring at nothing. She had knelt in front of him, placing her hands gently on his knees, and waited until his eyes finally met hers.

“I messed it up,” he had said in a voice so quiet it barely counted as speech.

“You didn’t,” she had replied softly. “You did everything you could. It was just one of those races.”

He had shaken his head, shoulders tight with frustration. “It was my home race. I wanted to do better. For the fans. For the team. For me.”

“For me too?” She asked with a small, teasing smile, hoping to soften him.

That finally cracked something in him. A tired, crooked smile appeared as he leaned forward and pressed his forehead against her shoulder. “Especially for you.”

She had held him then, arms wrapped tight around his neck, and whispered over and over again that one race did not define him. That no matter what happened on the track, she was proud. Always proud.

It was that moment that convinced her. He wasn’t going to carry that weight to China alone. She booked the flights the same night, packed her bags, and told him she’d be by his side the entire weekend.

Now, in Shanghai, she kept to the background as he peeled away to join Lando for media day. She stayed behind in hospitality, chatting with a few friends on the team, hoping to keep things light. But as always, the world outside was not so kind.

🪻🪻🪻

The first few interviews were easy enough, with questions about Shanghai’s new surface, expectations for the weekend, and how the car would be during FP1 tomorrow. He was hitting autopilot responses now. But then came a smug, grinning reporter from a lesser-known tabloid outlet, known more for drama than actual journalism.

“Piastri,” the man said, microphone up. “Tough result in Melbourne. 9th place at home. That must’ve stung.”

Oscar nodded politely. “Yeah, not the result we were aiming for. We had the pace but just couldn’t get back after I went onto the grass. But that’s racing.”

The reporter raised an eyebrow and then added, “You think… maybe distractions had something to do with it?”

Oscar’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t respond right away.

“I mean, your girlfriend flew in, right?” The man continued, voice oily with insinuation. “She’s been showing up more and more lately. Some fans are starting to think it’s not helping. Maybe taking your focus off the job.”

Oscar’s jaw flexed. “What exactly are you trying to say?”

The reporter chuckled. “I’m just saying, she’s a pretty thing to look at. Sure. But is she worth all the bad results?”

For a second, everything froze.

Oscar’s mouth tightened. His eyes darkened like storm clouds, and the calm, media-trained exterior shattered.

“Excuse me?” He snapped, stepping slightly forward.

The reporter held up his mic again, clearly fishing for a reaction. “I mean, pretty girls at the track are never great for drivers trying to keep their head in the game—”

“Say that again,” Oscar interrupted, voice low and sharp. Lando instinctively stepped to the side, sensing where this was going. A few other drivers nearby turned their heads.

“You’re implying that because my girlfriend came to support me at my home race, I underperformed?” Oscar’s tone was controlled, but there was fire under it now.

The reporter started to speak, but Oscar cut him off. “Let me tell you something—Y/N has been nothing but supportive since the day I met her. She knows this sport. She respects it. And she respects me. She’s not a distraction; she’s a damn anchor when I need one.

He was properly heated now, stepping forward again, voice raised enough that a couple of PR people from the team began edging closer, unsure if they needed to intervene.

“She came halfway across the world to be there for me, and you’ve got the audacity to sit there and suggest that her presence is a problem?” Oscar shook his head, scoffing bitterly. “Maybe if you spent more time reporting on racing and less time gossiping like a tabloid, you'd know what you're talking about.”

The reporter, clearly not expecting that level of pushback, looked momentarily stunned. Oscar gave him a last disgusted look before backing off.

“We’re done here,” he said curtly and handed the microphone back to the media coordinator. “Get someone with actual respect for the sport next time.”

As he stalked off toward the garage, Lando caught up beside him, raising an eyebrow. “Well, remind me never to insult Y/N.”

Oscar didn’t reply immediately, but his jaw was still tight.

“That guy was out of line,” Lando added more seriously. “Good on you for saying something.”

Oscar sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m just tired of it. She doesn’t deserve that kind of crap. Not from fans, not from the media.”

Back in hospitality, word of the confrontation was already making the rounds. When Y/N heard about it from a comms intern, her stomach sank a little. But she wasn’t surprised. She knew Oscar; he didn’t explode often, but when he did, it was always for a reason.

🪻🪻🪻

Y/N could hear Oscar’s voice rising, defending her, angry now, but her mind had already spiralled. The rest of the world faded. The murmuring voices blurred. She couldn’t even process what Oscar was saying back. All she could think was, Oh my god… what if he’s right? What if I’m hurting his career just by being here?

By the time Oscar ended the interview, storming off in a fury, she had already turned around and started walking. Fast. Her vision blurred as she walked blindly past the garages, past staff and crew and mechanics, not even registering when someone from McLaren called her name. Her steps quickened, heart hammering in her ears.

She needed to get away. Now.

The hotel room was dim and quiet when she finally stumbled in. She barely managed to close the door behind her before her knees gave out and she collapsed onto the edge of the bed. Her hands were shaking. Her thoughts came in waves, harsh and cruel and unforgiving.

What if they were right?

She had seen the tweets. Read the comments. “She’s just a distraction.” “Why does she need to travel with him all the time?” “He was better off before she started showing up every weekend.” She had brushed them off, of course. Told herself the internet didn’t matter.

But hearing it out loud, from an actual reporter, in front of other journalists, other drivers, it was different.

She curled in on herself, tugging her knees to her chest, burying her face in her arms. Her mind raced with memories of Melbourne, how she had been there in the paddock, how she had hugged him after the race, and how she’d posted a photo of them with a soft caption trying to cheer him up. Had that made it worse? Had she taken the spotlight off him, even for a second?

Her heart cracked.

You’re just a pretty thing to look at. But are you worth all the bad results?

The words echoed like poison in her skull.

Tears spilt down her cheeks before she could stop them. She sat there in silence, sobbing into her sleeves, her breaths turning uneven and shaky. Guilt and shame wrapped around her like a storm.

What if she really was a liability? What if her presence made the team doubt Oscar’s focus? What if sponsors noticed? What if it snowballed into something bigger?

She didn’t want to be the reason he struggled.

She had come to China to support him, not to become a talking point or to become blame.

Biting down on her trembling lip, she reached for her phone with unsteady fingers and unlocked it. The screen was full of unread notifications, mentions, news alerts, and a few messages from McLaren people probably wondering where she went. She ignored them all.

Her fingers hovered over Oscar’s name in her contacts. She wanted to call him. She wanted him to tell her the reporter was wrong, that none of this was her fault.

But some cruel voice inside her whispered, And what if he doesn’t? What if part of him thinks the same thing and just won’t say it?

She dropped the phone onto the bed and curled into herself again, face buried in the pillow now, muffling her cries.

She felt like she was drowning in doubt.

Was she really right for someone like Oscar?

Or was she just the pretty girl in the background, taking up space in a place she didn’t belong?

The tears didn’t stop for a long time.

🪻🪻🪻

Media day wrapped later than expected.

The sun had started to dip over the Shanghai skyline, casting long shadows across the paddock. Oscar’s jaw still ached from how tightly he had been clenching it. Every step away from that interview felt heavier than the last. He’d done his duties. Answered the rest of the questions. Forced a few half-hearted smiles. But all he could think about was Y/N.

She hadn’t been in the crowd when he walked off. Not in hospitality either. He scanned the usual corners she liked to hang around, by the coffee machine and near the engineers' table, curled up in a chair scrolling through strategy sheets for fun. But she was nowhere.

“Hey,” he asked one of the McLaren comms managers. “Have you seen Y/N?”

The woman blinked. “She was near the media pen for a while. But… I think she left.”

“Left?” His stomach twisted.

“Yeah. I think she went back to the hotel. She looked pretty upset.”

Oscar didn’t wait for anything else.

He was already moving, phone in his hand, unanswered texts lined up on the screen, the car waiting at the paddock exit. His chest was burning, not from exhaustion anymore, but from fear.

The hotel room door was unlocked. That was the first sign something was wrong.

Oscar stepped in quietly, scanning the space. The lights were dimmed, curtains pulled tight, the air still and heavy. His heart sank the moment he saw her by the closet.

Y/N stood barefoot in one of his shirts and a pair of shorts, her hair pulled back messily, suitcase open on the bed. Her hands moved quickly, folding clothes with frantic precision, like the act of packing fast enough might drown out everything else.

“Y/N?” he said softly.

She flinched like she hadn’t heard him come in. Then she straightened slowly, her back still turned.

“What are you doing?” he asked, stepping closer.

“I’m going home,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.

Oscar’s blood ran cold. “What? Why?”

She didn’t answer at first. Her fingers fumbled with the zipper on her bag. “Because I need to. This… us… It’s not working.”

Oscar's heart dropped into his stomach. “What are you talking about?” he repeated, louder this time. “Y/N, where the hell is this coming from? You’ve been fine all week—this morning, we were—don’t do this.”

“I can’t stay,” she whispered, eyes on her hands.

“No. No, you don’t get to just decide that. Not like this. Not without an explanation.”

She paused. Swallowed hard.

And then, her eyes lifted to meet his.

“I cheated on you.”

Oscar’s body went still.

For a moment, there was no air in the room. No noise. Just the hum of electricity and the thunderous sound of his heart slamming into his ribs.

“What?” His voice came out like a rasp.

“I cheated,” she said again, more firmly this time. “A few weeks ago. When you were in the factory and I was—”

“Stop.” His voice cracked. “Don’t say it again.”

She dropped her gaze, lips pressed tightly together.

Oscar stepped back like he’d been shoved. His throat burnt. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” she said quietly.

“You are,” he snapped. “You’re lying to my face. I know you. And I know that’s not true.”

Her eyes flickered, pain breaking through her careful mask for a second.

“You’re trying to push me away,” he said, voice rising. “You think if you hurt me enough, I’ll let you go without a fight.”

Her silence told him everything.

He exhaled sharply, wiping at his face with the back of his hand. “Jesus, Y/N. Why would you do that? Why would you say something like that?”

“Because it’s easier this way!” she yelled suddenly, her voice strained and desperate. “It’s easier if you hate me! If you think I’m the villain, maybe you won’t come after me. Maybe you’ll move on and forget I ever—”

“Ever what?” Oscar shot back, his voice cracking.

She couldn’t finish the sentence.

She turned around then, and the sight of her face knocked the wind out of him. Her eyes were red, lashes damp, cheeks splotchy. Her hands trembled slightly at her sides.

“You shouldn’t have to clean up after me,” she said quietly.

“Y/N—”

She took a shaky breath, trying to steady herself. “I shouldn’t have come. I thought I was helping, but I’m not. And today proved that.”

“No, it didn’t.”

“Yes, it did!” she cried suddenly, her voice cracking under the weight of everything she’d bottled up. “I heard what that reporter said. I heard it all, Oscar. I was standing right there. And you—God, you shouldn’t have had to defend me like that. You shouldn’t have to fight people on my behalf when you have enough pressure on your shoulders.”

Oscar’s chest tightened. “I don’t have to. I want to.”

“But that’s the problem,” she whispered, turning away again. “You’re too good to me. Too loyal. And one day it’s going to cost you.”

“No,” he said, his voice sharper now, cracking at the edges. “No, you don’t get to decide that. You don’t get to stand here and tell me that being with you is some kind of liability. I don’t care what people say.”

“You should!” she shouted, shoving clothes harder into her bag. “You should care! Because they’re right! You’ve worked your whole life for this career, and I am just— I am just some girl who showed up and started taking up space in your world.”

Oscar’s eyes flashed. “You are not just some girl, Y/N.”

She exhaled harshly, dragging her hands through her hair in frustration. “I am the thing people point to when things go wrong for no reason. I am the excuse they reach for when you don’t get the result you deserve. I didn’t come here to make your life harder. I came here because I love you and I wanted to support you. But maybe that was a mistake.”

“Are you kidding me right now?” Oscar’s voice was low, angry, barely under control. “You think this is about results? You think I’d trade you for a few extra points on a race weekend?”

“You should!” she snapped. “Because this is your dream, Oscar. This is what you’ve fought for your whole life. I will not be the reason you lose it.”

His voice broke as he stepped closer. “You’re not. Y/N, please. You’re not any of those things.”

She shook her head, blinking hard as her tears began to fall again. “You’ve worked your whole life for this. You’ve sacrificed so much. I can’t be the reason you lose any of it.”

Oscar stood in front of her now, chest rising and falling fast. His hands shook as he cupped her face, forcing her eyes to meet his.

“You are the only person in my life worth fighting for,” he said, voice raw with emotion. “Do you understand that? You—you—are the reason I get through the shit days. The reason I don’t spiral. The reason I feel something when everything else gets too heavy. You ground me. You make me better. Not worse.”

She closed her eyes, tears slipping down her cheeks, her hands fisting into the fabric of his shirt.

“Goddamn it, Y/N,” he whispered, tears now burning in his eyes too. “You’re not the thing pulling me down. You’re the only thing keeping me standing.”

“I don’t want to be the reason you fall apart,” she whispered.

“You never have been,” he said. “Not once.”

She was crying openly now, fists clenched around the handle of the suitcase, shoulders shaking. “I love you, Oscar. But I have to do this.”

“No,” he said, voice cracking. “You don’t. Please don’t.”

“It’s the truth.”

“God,” he muttered, tears forming fast now, stinging his eyes. “I would’ve done anything for you. I have done everything for you. And now you’re standing here, lying to my face just so you can walk away and feel better about it?”

“I’m sorry,” she choked out. “I’m so sorry, Oscar. But I can’t be the reason your career goes down. I can’t be the weight that drags you under.”

“You were never the weight,” he snapped, tears slipping free. “You were the only fucking thing keeping me afloat.”

She stood there, trembling, her face crumpling.

“I love you,” she whispered, voice wrecked. “That’s why I have to go.”

“Bullshit,” he spat, breath catching in his chest. “If you really loved me, you wouldn’t leave.”

“I have to,” she said, backing toward the door, eyes spilling over. “Goodbye, Oscar.”

“Don’t,” he pleaded, barely able to breathe now. “Don’t do this. Please.”

But she was already pulling the door open.

And as it shut behind her, Oscar stood there in the middle of the room, gasping for air, eyes burning, heart breaking, feeling like the one thing that made everything else worth it had just been ripped away and taken the light with her.

The click of the latch was the loudest sound Oscar had ever heard.

🪻🪻🪻

The room was silent, but Oscar's thoughts were anything but. He hadn’t moved since the door shut.

Y/N’s scent still lingered in the air. Her hair tie was still on the bed. The mug she drank tea from that morning was still sitting on the nightstand. And the echo of her words—“I cheated on you”—still rang in his head like a cruel joke.

Because she hadn’t.

He knew she hadn’t. He saw right through it, and still, she left anyway. She meant to leave. And what hurt most wasn’t that she’d lied to his face. It was that she’d been hurting and never said a word.

He dropped down heavily onto the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the floor. He tried to retrace it. The last few weeks. The looks she gave him. The way she clutched his hand after Melbourne, like she didn’t want to let go. The way she smiled for the cameras but looked tired when they were alone.

Why hadn’t he seen it?

Why hadn’t he asked?

Guilt crawled up his spine, sharp and bitter.

He reached for his phone, absently opening Instagram. Her profile was still there, untouched. He tapped on her most recent photo—one of them together in the paddock a few weeks ago, laughing under the sun.

The comments were brutal.

“She’s so fake.”

“Oscar needs to focus on racing and not on his little girlfriend.”

“No wonder he’s underperforming.”

“She’s just using him for the clout & fame.”

“What an attention whore.”

He sat there, reading them all, his stomach twisting. He scrolled further, then switched apps. Searched for her name on Twitter.

And that’s when the true weight of it hit him.

Edits. Threads. Memes. Tweets with tens of thousands of likes tearing her apart for being “a distraction”. People joking that every time she was in the paddock, Oscar qualified worse. People dissecting her outfits and her facial expressions, accusing her of being cold, calculating, and selfish.

One tweet read, “Y/N is singlehandedly ruining his career and smiling through it. What a bitch.”

Oscar felt sick.

He checked TikTok. Searched her name again.

More videos. More hate. People filming her in the paddock, zooming in on her while overlaying sad or ominous music. One video had the caption: “Oscar’s downfall has a name, and it starts with Y.”

And she had never shown him any of it.

Not one word. Not one complaint.

She’d stood next to him, smiled beside him, held his hand and told him he’d be okay, and all the while, the internet was ripping her apart, and she kept her pain buried deep so he wouldn’t have to carry it.

His vision blurred with tears.

She hadn’t left him because she didn’t love him. She’d left because she loved him too much. Because she thought she was protecting him.

Oscar tossed the phone on the bed and ran a hand through his hair, his breath shallow and sharp.

God, he should’ve seen this coming. Should’ve noticed the way she flinched when cameras lingered too long. The way she shrank whenever a reporter turned to her. The way she smiled less and less as the weeks passed.

She had been drowning in hate, and instead of reaching for him, she dove under and let herself sink just so he wouldn’t have to tread water with her.

He rubbed at his face furiously.

He would’ve fought every single one of them. Every nameless troll. Every cruel headline. Every ignorant fan who dared call the person he loved a burden.

But she never let him.

She left instead.

Because in her mind, that was love. Sacrifice.

He stood up abruptly, pacing the room, fists clenched. His heart was screaming. He didn’t know where she’d gone or what she was doing. But he knew she was out there, alone, scared, and convinced she had to carry this pain by herself.

And he hated that. Hated that he’d let her walk out thinking she was a problem he had to escape instead of the person he wanted to build everything around.

He pulled out his phone again, opened his contacts, thumb hovering over her name.

His chest ached.

And then, he texted her:

"I saw everything. I'm so sorry. Please talk to me. Please don’t go through this alone."

No response.

But he knew her. And he would wait.

Oscar sat in the corner of his hotel room, laptop open, his hands trembling over the keyboard.

He couldn’t sleep. He hadn’t even tried. Not after seeing the mess online. Not after watching the love of his life walk away believing she was the villain in a story she didn’t even write.

So he typed.

Over and over again, deleting and rewriting a single statement that had started to form in his head the moment he saw the hate Y/N had been hiding from him:

“To the people who claim to support me and still think it’s okay to attack someone I love, know this: your words have consequences. I’ve seen the comments, the videos, and the baseless accusations. And I’ve seen the damage they’ve caused. Y/N has done nothing but love and support me, quietly, without asking for anything in return. If my performance is affected, it’s not because of her. It’s because I’m human, and watching someone you care about get torn apart by strangers is enough to break anyone. If you really support me, then respect the people I care about. If you can’t do that, then you’re not my fan. Full stop.”

He stared at the blinking cursor, breathing hard, teeth clenched. It still didn’t feel like enough. Nothing he wrote could undo the hurt, but silence was worse.

He was done staying silent.

Just as he was about to send the draft to his PR manager, there was a knock on the door.

It was Kate from McLaren PR, flanked by two members of the communications team, phones and folders in hand.

“Oscar”, Kate began, her tone cautious, “we got your email. About the statement.”

He stood up. “Yeah. And?”

She glanced at the others and took a breath. “We appreciate how you feel. But we think it’s best not to make it public right now. There’s a risk of blowing things up even more.”

Oscar blinked. “You think protecting her is going to blow things up?”

Kate raised her hands gently. “I’m not saying that. But the best course is usually to keep things private. Address it internally, quietly. Focus on your racing. Let the noise die down on its own.”

Oscar laughed, but there was no humour in it, just disbelief. “Right. So I let them keep ripping her apart until she disappears from their radar. Is that the plan?”

“We just don’t think you should feed the trolls—”

“No. No. You don’t get to tell me to stay quiet while the girl I love gets blamed for things she had nothing to do with,” Oscar snapped. “She’s not even here anymore. She left because of all of this.”

Kate tried to keep her voice level. “Oscar, we understand this is emotional for you—”

“I’m not doing interviews,” he interrupted. “Not a single media session. No press conferences, no post-qualifying chats, nothing. And if that gets me a grid penalty or a fine, so be it.”

There was a stunned silence in the room.

Kate’s brows shot up. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m dead serious,” Oscar said, his voice tight with fury and heartbreak. “Until I see actual action taken against the online abuse she’s been getting, until I see the team speak up, or the FIA, or someone with power do something, I’m not giving them any more of me. They don’t get my words while she’s out there hurting alone.”

But Oscar didn’t care. He was done playing the quiet good guy if it meant watching the person he loved be torn apart just to keep the peace.

After they left, murmuring worriedly amongst themselves, Oscar slumped back into the chair and picked up his phone.

Still no response.

He tried texting again.

“Please, just tell me where you are. I’ll come to you. I’ll explain everything. You don’t have to hide from me.”

Nothing.

He called.

It rang once, twice, then went to voicemail.

He didn’t even know if she was reading his messages anymore.

So he tried again.

“I don’t care what the internet says. I don’t care what anyone says. I love you. And I will spend every second proving that, even if you never answer me. Just please know that I see it now. I see what you went through. I see you. I’m so, so sorry.”

Still nothing.

He set the phone down and let his head fall into his hands. Tears pooled in his eyes again. But this time, they didn’t fall. They just sat there, heavy and burning.

🪻🪻🪻

Friday passed in a blur.

Saturday felt like sleepwalking through a storm.

Oscar arrived at the paddock with his usual focus, but there was a visible shift in him in a way that unsettled everyone around him. He was dressed, prepared, and laser-focused during practice, but the moment the sessions ended, he walked straight past the line of waiting reporters, sunglasses shielding his red-rimmed eyes, lips pressed into a thin, unreadable line.

“Post-practice interview?” his comms officer asked, gently tapping his arm.

“No.”

“Just a quick—”

“I said no.”

There was no room for discussion.

The PR team exchanged looks but said nothing. He hadn’t smiled once since Thursday. Hadn’t done any of the casual social media content. No behind-the-scenes videos, no paddock walk interviews, no pre-FP2 banter with Lando, nothing. The usual lightness was gone, and in its place was a man quietly raging.

The media noticed. And fast.

Tweets began popping up.

“Oscar Piastri walks past all media today. First driver to skip all PR appearances post-practice. Something’s definitely up.”

“McLaren’s PR team looks stressed. Oscar isn’t playing ball this weekend.”

“Confirmed: Oscar Piastri has refused all media obligations until online abuse is addressed.”

Clips surfaced of Oscar walking past reporters without a glance, ignoring shouts of his name, even brushing past a camera lens with a muttered, “Not until someone says something that matters.” The story caught fire.

And Y/N saw it all.

She hadn’t meant to. She’d deleted Twitter, muted her name on Instagram, and logged out of TikTok. But social media was a machine, and she was still part of the algorithm.

She opened YouTube to watch a movie and instead saw her name in the recommended videos.

“Oscar Piastri Breaks Silence—Defends Girlfriend Amid Hate.”

“Piastri REFUSES PR Until Y/N Is Protected.”

“McLaren’s Own Aussie Declines Interviews Till Girlfriend Receives Due Support.”

At first, her chest tightened. She thought he’d moved on. That maybe he was angry, resentful. That maybe he hated her.

But he wasn’t running away from her.

He was fighting for her.

Despite everything she had said, despite the hurt she had tried to cause, despite the lie she forced herself to tell just to get him to let her go, he wasn’t letting go.

Not even a little.

She sat on the edge of her bed in the dim hotel room, the screen lighting up her face as she watched the clip again: Oscar pushing a reporter’s mic aside after FP2 with the words, “There are more important things than lap times right now.”

Y/N’s chest cracked open.

Tears welled up as she pulled her knees to her chest. She had tried so hard to protect him by leaving, but he was out there choosing her anyway, day after day, even when she wasn’t there to see it.

She couldn’t give up on him. Not now. Not ever.

Even if the whole world was against her, even if every comment section roared with hate, even if the paddock stared at her like she didn’t belong, she would walk back in.

Because he was the love of her life.

And he was still standing in the fire for her.

She opened her phone. Hands trembling.

Pulled up his messages.

She had read every one.

“I saw everything. I’m so sorry. Please talk to me. Please don’t go through this alone.” “I don’t care what the internet says. I don’t care what anyone says. I love you.” “I’ll spend every second proving that, even if you never answer me.”

She inhaled shakily and booked her second ticket to Shanghai in a week.

🪻🪻🪻

Saturday afternoon in Shanghai was a blur of roaring engines and tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

The paddock was alive with energy. Mechanics scrambled. Engineers barked numbers into radios. Fans screamed from the stands. Cameras panned from car to car, trying to capture the pulse of a qualifying session that felt like it carried more emotional weight than any race before.

And yet, for Y/N, none of that registered.

She was sprinting.

From the second the wheels of her flight hit the tarmac, she hadn’t stopped moving. The car that picked her up from the airport barely had time to stop before she jumped out in front of the Hilton. Her heart pounded as she took the elevator up to his floor, rehearsing her apology a hundred times.

But when she knocked, no one answered.

She knocked again. Nothing.

Her voice cracked when she asked the concierge if Oscar was still in the building. “No, ma’am,” the man replied. “He left for the circuit an hour ago. Qualifying’s today, right?”

Of course. She had lost track of the weekend entirely. Her hands shook as she thanked him, bolted back outside, and rushed into a car headed straight for the track.

Security tried to stop her at the paddock gate until one of the McLaren hospitality staff recognised her and waved her through. The look on their face said everything. Everyone had seen what was going on. Everyone had watched Oscar shut the world out since the moment she left.

Her chest squeezed.

She asked where he was, and someone told her qualifying had just started.

She wasn’t allowed in the garage. So she waited.

Hospitality was quiet. Muted voices in the corner. No one approached her. She sat at the edge of the room, fingers tangled in the sleeves of her jumper, eyes glued to the monitor showing live timing.

Q1. Q2. Q3.

And then— P1. Oscar Piastri. Shanghai Grand Prix. On pole. His first pole.

The hospitality tent let out a quiet cheer. A few mechanics clapped in the distance. But Oscar wasn’t on camera celebrating. He didn’t even do the typical radio whoop. Just a quiet “Copy”. That was it.

Then came the announcement.

Oscar Piastri had refused to attend the post-qualifying press conference. Again.

Y/N stood up slowly, heart hammering. She asked where he’d gone.

Someone told her they’d seen him heading toward the driver’s rooms.

And she didn’t wait.

She walked through the narrow halls of the paddock, past the bustle and the noise, until she reached the McLaren motorhome and found the familiar door.

She hesitated for a moment, then gently pushed it open.

What she saw made her heart crack clean in two.

Oscar was sitting on the floor, still in his race suit, his back pressed to the wall and his knees drawn up. His helmet was lying nearby, forgotten. His phone was in his hand, screen dim, her contact still open. He looked so small, so tired, so heartbreakingly alone. His head was bowed low and his shoulders sagged, like he had been holding in a world of weight with no one to help carry it.

Y/N stepped inside without saying a word.

The moment he sensed someone there, Oscar lifted his head. His eyes met hers.

For a beat, neither of them moved.

Then Oscar dropped the phone like it burnt him, pushed up off the floor with shaking arms, and crossed the room in three long strides before pulling her into him like his life depended on it.

Y/N collided with his chest, her arms wrapping around him so tightly it hurt.

He buried his face in her shoulder, and the dam inside him finally broke. His body trembled with the weight of everything he’d been holding back. She felt his tears hot against her skin, his fingers digging into the back of her shirt like he was terrified she’d disappear again.

Her arms flew around his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair as her face pressed into his shoulder. He was shaking. She could feel it in his grip, in the way his breath hitched against her ear, and in the warmth of the tears that began to fall against her skin.

“You’re here,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Oh my god, you’re really here.”

“I’m here,” she said back, her voice barely a whisper. “I’m so sorry, Oscar. I never should have left. I thought I was doing the right thing; I thought if I left, the noise would stop and you could focus. But all I did was hurt you.”

He pulled back just enough to see her face, his hands cradling her cheeks with the softest touch, like he was scared she might vanish again if he let go.

“I don’t care about any of that,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t care what people say or what they think. I don’t care about pole or points or interviews. None of it means anything without you.”

A sob escaped her lips, and she nodded, pressing her forehead against his. “I saw the way you were fighting for me. Even when I wasn’t there. You didn’t give up on me.”

“I never will,” he said, wiping a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “You’re not a distraction. You’re my peace. You’re the reason I can even do this.”

“I love you,” she said, the words slipping out like a breath of truth she had been holding in for far too long.

His eyes shone. “I love you too. So much.”

And there, in the quiet of the driver’s room, with the rest of the world still reeling from the news of his pole position, Oscar’s gaze dropped to her lips, flicked back to her eyes, and his breath hitched. A soft, broken sound escaped his throat, part relief, part desperation, and before she could say another word, he kissed her.

He surged forward, crashing his mouth onto hers with a force that startled them both. It wasn’t neat or perfect. It was messy and aching and full of pain and love and the unbearable weight of the days they had spent apart. His hands slid from her cheeks to the back of her neck, holding her like he didn’t trust the universe not to rip her away again.

Y/N gasped into the kiss, tears mixing with the intensity of it as she clutched him tighter. She felt his entire body pressing against hers, like he needed every part of him to touch every part of her just to believe this wasn’t another dream or memory.

Her back hit the wall behind her, and he didn’t let up. His mouth moved against hers with bruising desperation, like he was trying to say everything he hadn’t had the chance to. His hands were in her hair now, tangled and shaking, his body practically folding over hers.

She kissed him back just as hard, just as desperately, her hands roaming from his chest to his shoulders to his face, not knowing where to hold him because she wanted to hold him everywhere at once. Her tears slipped down her cheeks and into their kiss, and she tasted his too.

He broke away only for a second, breathing heavily, their foreheads touching again.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered, voice hoarse and wrecked. “I thought I’d never get to touch you like this again.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, wiping a tear from under his eye. “I was so scared… But I’m here now. I’m not leaving you again, Oscar. I promise.”

He kissed her again, slower this time but no less intense, his hands cradling her like she was fragile and precious and the most important thing in the world.

“You’re it for me,” he murmured against her lips. “You’re everything. Don’t you ever, ever try to protect me by walking away again. I don’t need protection. I need you.”

She nodded through the tears, wrapping her arms around him so tightly it nearly hurt. “I love you”, she said between kisses, “so much.”

And with that, he kissed her again, sealing the words with every ounce of love he had left in him.

When they finally pulled apart, they stayed close, foreheads pressed together, eyes closed.

“I’m not going anywhere again,” she whispered.

“Good,” he said with a tiny smile. “Because I think I’ve cried enough for one lifetime.”

She laughed through her tears, brushing a strand of hair off his forehead. “Same.”

🪻🪻🪻

The morning light poured into the room gently, golden and warm against the chilled air of the hotel suite. But inside the bed, tangled in a sea of white sheets and each other, the world felt like it had narrowed down to just the two of them.

Oscar lay on his back, eyes still heavy with sleep, his hair an adorable mess from the way Y/N had run her fingers through it all night. She was draped across him, head resting against his chest, her bare legs tangled with his under the covers. Her fingers were moving lazily across his skin, mapping out the contours of his face like she needed to memorise every inch all over again.

“Your nose is kind of weird,” she murmured, brushing her thumb over it.

Oscar cracked one eye open. “Wow. And here I was thinking this was a tender moment.”

She giggled, trailing her fingertip down to his lips, then his jaw, then his chin. “Tender and honest.”

“Alright, critic,” he mumbled sleepily, tugging her hand away and kissing her knuckles softly. “I’ll remember that next time you ask if your eyeliner's even.”

She laughed again and nestled into his chest, only to shiver slightly. “Ugh. Why is it so cold in here?”

Oscar’s lips curled into a lazy grin as he pulled her flush against him. “Maybe next time you’ll agree to sleep in something. You know, like actual clothes.”

She scoffed. “Please. You’re the one who looked at me like a deer in headlights when I wore a shirt.”

He chuckled, voice still heavy with sleep. “Yeah, because you were wearing my shirt and nothing else and then climbed on top of me like you had a mission.”

“I did have a mission,” she said smugly, pressing a kiss just below his jaw. “And I succeeded.”

Oscar groaned, dragging a hand down his face as she giggled against his neck. “You’re killing me.”

“And you’re very lucky I’m cold,” she whispered, wrapping herself tighter around him, “because otherwise I’d be all the way over there and not pressed up against your very warm, very touchable body.”

“Touchable, huh?” He murmured, sliding a hand down her back. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

She smirked against his skin. “Don’t act like you’re not obsessed.”

“Guilty,” he muttered, eyes fluttering shut again as she trailed a finger lazily down his chest.

Then, without warning, she reached up and gave his nipple a playful pinch.

Oscar yelped, his whole body jerking. “Oi! What the hell?!”

Y/N burst out laughing, completely unbothered as she tucked her face back into the crook of his neck. “Sorry, sorry! You were being too smug. I had to bring you back down.”

He rolled them over without warning, pinning her underneath him as she squealed, her laughter still echoing through the room. “You wanna play that game, huh?” he asked, smirking down at her. “Because I can be very annoying when provoked.”

“Is that what you call it?” she shot back, grinning. “Because I call it foreplay.”

Oscar groaned, flopping on top of her dramatically as she shrieked, still giggling. “You’re the worst,” he mumbled into her shoulder.

“But I’m your worst,” she whispered, turning her head to kiss him softly.

He melted into the kiss instantly, one hand curling around the back of her neck, the other resting on her waist. When they pulled apart, he just looked at her, like he couldn’t believe she was real, that she had come back, and that she was still his.

“I could stay like this all day,” he said quietly.

“You would,” she teased. “But you’ve got a race to win, Mr Pole Sitter.”

He groaned, burying his face in her neck again. “Can’t I just skip it and warm the bed with you all morning?”

“As tempting as that sounds, the world needs to see that stupidly fast car of yours. And your stupidly good hair.”

Oscar lifted his head just enough to give her a crooked grin. “So you admit the hair’s good?”

“I admit nothing,” she said, smirking.

He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, then her nose, then the corner of her mouth, pulling her closer as if needing to confirm all over again that she was really there.

“I thought I dreamed you came back,” he mumbled against her hair. “I kept waking up last night just to make sure you were still here.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she promised, brushing her thumb along his cheek. “You’re stuck with me now.”

Oscar let out a quiet, relieved chuckle, nuzzling into her palm before reluctantly rolling onto his back. He stretched one arm out and grabbed his phone off the nightstand, squinting at the screen as it lit up.

There were dozens of notifications.

But one in particular made him freeze.

He blinked, then sat up straighter. “Y/N”, he said, nudging her slightly and turning the screen to her. “Look.”

It was a post from McLaren’s official account, timestamped just thirty minutes ago. The bolded headline read: Statement Regarding Online Abuse Directed Toward Oscar Piastri and Y/N.

He opened it, and they both read in silence.

McLaren Racing stands firmly against any form of online harassment or abuse directed at our drivers, their families, and their partners. Y/N has always been a respected and loved member of our extended team, both professionally and personally. We condemn the recent wave of harmful messages and baseless accusations circulating online. The wellbeing of our people is our top priority. We appreciate the support of fans who continue to champion respect, empathy, and kindness in motorsport and beyond. Let’s remember: behind every helmet, and behind every headline, there are human beings. Let’s treat them that way.

— McLaren Racing

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she read it again, her fingers tightening around Oscar’s.

“They… they didn’t have to do that,” she said softly, her eyes glassy with emotion.

Oscar looked at her, his voice tender but firm. “Yes, they did. And they should’ve sooner.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder, and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

There were thousands of replies, and for once, most of them were kind. Fans thanking the team. Others apologising for turning a blind eye. Even some of the more critical accounts had gone quiet.

“Finally”, Oscar said, locking his phone. “Finally someone said it.”

He turned to her again, cradling her jaw with one hand. “I fought because I had to. Because you didn’t deserve any of what they said. And I’ll keep fighting, okay? But now, I think we can breathe a little.”

Y/N nodded, resting her forehead against his. “I don’t want to hide anymore. I want to be beside you. Through all of it.”

Oscar smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Then you’d better get dressed. Because I think I owe the media a few words.”

She pulled back in surprise. “You’re actually going to talk to them?”

He smirked, flopping dramatically back onto the pillows. “Yeah. I figured pole position deserves a few minutes of glory, right?”

She laughed, tackling him gently and peppering his face with kisses. “That, and maybe you just want to show them that I’m still here.”

He grinned, once again flipping her onto the mattress and hovering over her. “Damn right.”

Y/N walked beside him, the pair of them a striking duo as they made their way through the paddock. Heads turned, some in admiration, some in curiosity, but neither of them paid any attention. They didn’t need to. For once, it was easy to tune everything else out.

Oscar glanced sideways, eyes flicking to her face like he couldn’t help it. “Are you sure you’re ready for the chaos again?”

She smiled, fingers tightening around his. “I can take the heat. Especially if I’m standing next to you.”

He grinned that soft, boyish smile she loved so much. “You’re the best.”

“I’m aware,” she teased, nudging him with her shoulder.

They reached the McLaren garage, and the pre-race buzz was well underway. Mechanics in orange overalls darted around, tyres were being rolled out, and engineers fine-tuned last-minute settings. But in the middle of all the madness, Oscar turned to her, now in his race suit, helmet under his arm.

“Come here,” he murmured, tugging her gently into him. “For good luck.”

Y/N didn’t hesitate. She reached up on her toes and kissed his cheek, then his forehead, then tapped a kiss on the side of his helmet as he slid it on. “You’ve got this, Piastri. Show them what you’re made of.”

He was smiling under the visor now, even as his engineer motioned for him to head to the car. “Catch you on the other side, pretty girl.”

She laughed. “Only if you win.”

Oscar slid into the car with a renewed sense of focus, but it wasn’t just adrenaline. It was her. She was back. She believed in him. And that meant everything.

The race was chaos for everyone behind Oscar. Somehow everything that went down managed to embolden him in an unexplainable way, holding onto P1 like his life depended on it. And when he crossed the finish line, taking the win in Shanghai, his radio exploded with cheers.

“OSCAR PIASTRI. YOU ARE A THREE-TIME RACE WINNER!”

He didn’t even respond to the engineers shouting in his ear. He was already unstrapping the belts, already climbing out of the car in Parc Fermé. The second his feet hit the ground, he tore off the helmet and balaclava, his eyes scanning past the cameras and team crew.

And there she was.

Y/N stood just behind the barrier, wide-eyed, the hugest smile on her face, barely believing it. He didn’t hesitate. Sprinting like nothing else mattered, he reached the barrier, his arms already outstretched.

The marshal barely got a word in before he leaned over, wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her effortlessly over the metal railing. She gasped, clinging to him as he spun her around in pure joy, the orange of his race suit standing out like fire in the crowd.

“You did it!” She squealed, breathless with laughter and tears.

“No, we did,” Oscar said into her hair, burying his face in her shoulder. “You came back. And everything finally fell into place.”

She pulled back just enough to look at him, brushing sweaty hair off his forehead. “I’m so proud of you,” she whispered.

And then he kissed her, full of every ounce of adrenaline, relief, and love that had built up for weeks. The paddock erupted. The cameras went wild. But Oscar didn’t care. He kissed her like the world was watching, and he wanted them to.

“You’re not going anywhere again,” he said against her lips, voice still shaky from emotion. “I mean it. You’re mine.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she promised, her fingers curling into the back of his suit. “I’m yours.”

Soon after, they had to separate so he could get weighed before the podium sitters' interview. But he made sure to sign his bottle of champagne before that with his autograph. And right above that; scrawled in big, bold, golden letters: To my pretty girl.

my girl y/n can’t catch a break, hope ya’ll liked this!

#f1 fluff #f1 x reader #f1 driver x reader #op81 #f1 fanfic #f1 requests #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri x y/n #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri f1 #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #f1 fic #f1 imagine #op81 fluff #op81 x reader #op81 imagine

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peekofhistory · 8 days ago

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Hi! Love your Tumblr! I'm fascinated by the fact that you are in China making and playing the Guqin, I was wondering if you can share a bit more about yourself and your background and why you decided to move to China? Like a self intro (that you're comfortable sharing). Thanks and have a nice day!!

Hello :D

How I ended up in Yangzhou learning to make/play the Guqin is a rollercoaster of a story xDD

As for my background, I was born in China (Beijing) and moved to the US when I was around 6 yrs old (my mom had moved several years earlier and I went to live with her). From the start my mom emphasized I can't forget I'm Chinese, because that's where I'm from and where my family's from, so she put in a lot of effort teaching me Chinese. She even had a colleague send over elementary school textbooks from China so she could teach me Chinese at home. She also got recordings of some Chinese TV shows and she'd watch them with me, explaining each episode and giving me information on that period of history.

Back then there weren't that many TV shows in China, and the ones we could access in the US were even less, so it was mostly classics shows like Journey to the West (1986), Dream of the Red Chamber (1987) and Romance of the Three Kingdoms (1994):

That really planted the root for my interest in Chinese history and culture. Especially in the case of Romance of the Three Kinggoms that was based on the actual Three Kingdoms period in Chinese history, it made me aware of how long China's history was and how rich and colourful it was, all the incredible historical figures, the battles of the past, the stories, etc.

Later on I also became interested in Chinese Opera (mainly Peking Opera, Huangmei Opera, and Shanghai Yue Opera):

We moved to Canada after a few years and stayed there until I graduated uni. I then went to Japan to work for a few yrs.

When I returned to Canada, it was 2018 and I found myself having to start all over career-wise. My experience in Japan really didn't help me at all when job hunting in Canada, and I ended up doing a few entry-level jobs in healthcare (office admin work). Then Covid and I lost my job, found another job about a year later, but still entry-level.

It was actually during the Covid break that I found out I could buy Hanfu fairly easily now. Throughout my time at uni and in Japan I didn't really check Chinese websites so I didn't know much about what was happening in China. During the Covid break, with nothing else to do at home, I found Taobao and realized the pretty clothes I adored in TV shows as a child I can now buy :D I went a bit crazy at first and ordered a whole bunch, but at the time I honestly didn't know too much about Hanfu aside from long robes, large sleeves, criss-crossed collars. But it was fun to wear them out (once lockdown ended) and actually feel like the characters I once saw on TV:

The job I had just before I came to China I actually really enjoyed, the work itself was fulfilling, the pay wasn't great but OK, and my co-workers for the most part were pretty good (my direct supervisor was great, I really, really enjoyed working with her). Unfortunately there was some changes to staffing in the office and the workload became really bad. I found myself literally having nightmares about work, and crying driving to and from work everyday. I decided I needed to quit. It was taking over my life 24/7, I was constantly tense and dreaded having to go to the office every morning.

At this point I'm in my late 30s and I took a few months to think about what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. Either look for another regular office job that may or may not be better than the last, or try something completely different.

At the same time, I decided to take the chance to visit my family in China. Without a job, I could visit for a longer period of time (otherwise I could only get 2 wks paid vacation). I remember my mom mentioned during one of her visits to China she had met a master of woodblock printing (雕版印刷/diaoban yinshua). It was the first form of printing invented, they would carve out pages of text (or images), put ink over top, then print it onto paper:

This was even earlier than movable type printing (活字印刷/huozi yinshua) where each character was printed on a separate block so you could arrange them as needed:

This master's workshop took in apprentices and would offer free housing and food. After a certain amount of time, once the apprentices' work reached a certain level, they were even given a salary for their work.

I thought that sounded like a great plan. I didn't explicitly come to China with the goal of finding a place to do an apprenticeship, but I was aware this sort of opportunity was available, and it aligned with my interest in Chinese history and culture.

When I arrived in China last year I spent a few months visiting my dad and other family, before I ended up in Yangzhou.

There were some emotional ups and downs in between, I did find a woodblock printing master, I started to learn a bit with him, it didn't work out, etc., etc. But essentially I found myself in Yangzhou with nothing to do.

Yangzhou is quite famous for Guqin (there's an entire street here dedicated to selling Guqin...although it's a bit of a tourist trap ^^;;) , and I thought I could find a teacher to learn how to play the instrument at least. I had bought a Guqin years ago in Canada, but was always too busy/lazy to actually learn/practice it, but now being free everyday I decided I could do some sort of intense course. While scrolling through the Red Note app looking for Guqin teachers I came across a post of a teacher looking for students to learn how to make+play Guqin, with the option to live at the workshop and have housing and food covered:

And my eyes lit up.

That was how it all started :D

The biggest obstacle is honestly some family members. Growing up abroad, I've never really had a close relationship with any of my relatives in China. I've also never had to navigate the complicated family relations that Chinese families can sometimes have. If I were to go to any other country in the world to learn something, none of them would say anything, I don't think they'd even think about it, but because I'm in China a lot of them suddenly feel they need to express an opinion about my decisions, lol. Some don't like my interest in wearing Hanfu, some think I'm crazy learning something that "no one else these days is interested in", some think I'm immature/irresponsible not finding a 'regular' job and 'wasting' my time. Luckily, none of them live in Yangzhou so aside from a passive-aggressive text message/phone call once in awhile I can do my own thing 😁💖

#asks #guqin #古琴 #斫琴 #making guqin #personal

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bzhitstruth · 26 days ago

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May Coincidences

Nobody knows exactly when DD left for US to film the second part of Discovery. According to persistent rumors on Weibo, it happened around May 11-12, and DD is still supposedly there filming. After he left, there happened some coincidences that I noticed.

All CPN, fake and my personal interpretations

1. For almost half a year before DD left for US, GG and DD were often in the same city. This has happened very rarely in recent years, and it is a great luck. Of course, during this period they sometimes left for various reasons to other cities and abroad, but these were short trips, their main point of stay and their nest was Beijing. And when it was time to join long-term projects, they managed to do it almost simultaneously: DD left for US on May 11 (if the rumors are true), and according to official information, filming will last 1.5-2 months, GG left for Shanghai on May 19, his filming will last until about autumn. It was just a coincidence.

2. On May 19th, GG did the caption to his post: “各位别来无恙啊！ (How are you, everyone?)”. These words end the last line of the song 不忘 (Bu Wang) from CQL, which DD sung: 与君在身旁别来无恙 (approximate translation: I hope you are well with me by my side). In the interview at the fan meeting on November 2, 2019, DD said that he really likes this phrase. This phrase appeared in the GG's post just when DD is travelling somewhere in the wilds of America, and GG himself has flown away from the “nest” to film.

3. On May 20th (Chinese Valentine's Day), GG posted the 3-minute video on his account where he watches an episode of "Legend of Zanghai" and comments. One of his comments: "Forgot to put on knee pads!" Of course, this is the famous episode of the "quarrel in the boat", every turtle knows the story with the knee pads. Does GG remember this old meme well? Nevertheless, it got into this short video.

4. May 21st (also Chinese Valentine's Day). DD and Jimmy Chin (rock climbing instructor who works with DD in US) followed each other on Instagram. I wonder if it was a coincidence that DD's 105th Instagram subscription appeared on Valentine's Day?

5. During the broadcast of "Legend of Zanghai", GG was active on Weibo, writing playful comments to his fellow actors and illustrating them with emoji pictures of funny dogs.

On May 24 at 17:01 YBO posted the video in which DD pulls on a glass door, wanting to enter a room where a fat black and white cat is lying on the floor and spinning from side to side (by the way, the cat's coloring is very similar to Nut's). On the same day, about an hour after YBO's post, GG posted another picture in the comments, and it was a cat. Since then, GG has posted only cats several times in a row.

6. A strange thing happened with the BGM that was in the YBO's video. It's the Korean song, "Fiction" by BEAST. On the same day, May 24, the Legend of Zanghai account made the post on Douyin with GG, with the same music (I suspect this video is provided by XZS for drama's account, and BGM was most likely chosen by XZS as well). And GG posted the same song on May 31 on his personal Douyin account. It's touching that the clip used in the videos includes the phrase: 사랑해 사랑해 사랑해 사랑해 사랑해 (I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you).

7. On May 28, the short interview of Sina was released with GG, in the form of quick answers to questions, something like a “test of erudition”. GG was asked questions about animals, including: What color is a polar bear's skin? GG answered “black”, and explained how he knew this: "I watched the Discovery Channel." It turns out that the Discovery account actually once had a story about the color of polar bears, it was released on November 12, 2022. From the information about the documentary, DD was preparing for filming since the end of 2022. And at the same time, coincidentally, was GG watching Discovery? And for some reason he mentioned Discovery right now, when DD is filming the second part.

8. On May 28 (CST), Jimmy Chin posted the video on Instagram of his hand with a watch and the caption: "The places we go." This post was noticed because it is the rock climbing instructor who is supposedly currently working with DD, and there has been no news from DD himself for a long time. There is nothing about DD in the post, and may be DD has nothing to do with it. It seems like the instructor is advertising the watch brand. The interesting thing is that the watch shows 10:05. Some people have suggested that the lighting in the video is not correspond to this time, it's probably either dawn or evening. But the watch shows 10:05 and Jimmy was the 105th account DD followed on Instagram. A coincidence.

💚❤️.

#yizhan #bjyx #bjyxszd #cpn #just imagination #yizhan my love #ggdd secrets #i think too much

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marinettesaltprompts · 2 months ago

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So it's not confusing among the submissions this is part 2

It had been a couple of years since Adrien had moved to Gotham, and it was the best choice he had ever made. He married his childhood friend who he always loved, he was surrounded by his kids, and the kwami's were happy to roam around the manor freely. Unlike the mansion he grew up in in Paris, Wayne manor truly felt like a home. It was warm, loud, and full of life. When they first reconnected, it took him a while to recognize the signs of Bruce being a vigilante. When he told Bruce that he knew, they sat down and talked about him training to be batman and Adrien's experience being chat noir fighting hawkmoth.

Not long after their talk they started dating. It was a surprise when Bruce adopted Dick but he was more than happy to be there for him, and by the time Jason came into the picture they were married. Even though his husband and kids were vigilantes, Adrien wasn't. He had his fill of heroism back in Paris, so, he was perfectly happy to stay with Alfred and help from the cave. If they ever needed him he had no problem transforming and going out. It's also not uncommon for someone to bring back a miraculous they found, sometimes they got lucky and found entire miracle boxes. When they heard the story of what happened in new york and shanghai they decided to collect any they came across.

Marinette however had never moved on from Adrien. She was livid when chat noir had tricked her and took her miraculous, even more when he told the public that Gabriel Agreste had been killed during the fight. To her it was too harsh for Adrien to handle, this feeling only deepened when he left without telling anyone. At least she thought he didn't tell anyone but it turned out he told Luka and Kagami. No matter how much she begged and pleaded they wouldn't tell her where he went or how he was doing, telling her she needed to respect his privacy. She focused on trying to grow her brand but it was hard when the industry was so cut throat and new people were getting recognized everyday.

Marinette was in Gotham for an anniversary gala to try and get her work out there, though she couldn't remember what couple the gala was supposed to be celebrating. Then like her eyes were drawn there, she spotted a familiar figure with blonde hair. Marinette was excited as she made her way towards him, even with his back turned she'd recognize him anywhere. Adrien momentarily froze hearing a familiar voice. He hadn't seen Marinette in a long time and after Paris he planed to keep it that way. Through out the conversation he made sure to keep a distance while still being polite. Then she asked the unexpected, "Do you want to go out for dinner later". Thankfully Dick came to his rescue saying it was time for the announcement.

Marinette watched as Adrien and the mysterious man walked away for some sort of announcement. She was disappointed that she didn't get an answer but figured she could ask again once the announcement was over. She was surprised that the gala was for the Bruce Wayne and found her world shattered when he announced his anniversary with his husband Adrien. She couldn't believe it, after all those years hoping he would come home, he was here married with kids. Adrien had moved on from Paris while Marinette was stuck in the past, hoping that he would come back and they would get married, have three kids, and a hamster. Everything was supposed to be perfect and yet Adrien had left and built a life and a family for himself while she was just there.

#adribat

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bloop24 · 2 months ago

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Adribat part 2

#adrien sugar #adribat #marinette salt

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dragonflycap · 8 months ago

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What to expect from the stock market this week

Last week, the review of the macro market indicators saw with October in the books and heading into the election and FOMC meeting, equity markets experienced a Halloween spooking. Elsewhere looked for Gold ($GLD) to continue its uptrend while Crude Oil ($USO) consolidated at the bottom of a broad range. The US Dollar Index ($DXY) looked to consolidate in its uptrend while US Treasuries ($TLT) pulled back in their consolidation. The Shanghai Composite ($ASHR) looked to continue the short term move higher while Emerging Markets ($EEM) pulled back in their uptrend.

The Volatility Index ($VXX) looked to remain at a neutral level, above the base established this year, and was likely to stay there at least until after the election. This might make for choppy light trading for equity markets to start next week. Their charts looked strong on the longer timeframe though. On the shorter timeframe both the $QQQ and $SPY had reset momentum measures lower and could reverse or turn bearish, likely a couple of days’ time would tell. The $IWM did not seem concerned about an election or Fed policy, churning sideways.

The week saw major movements happen following the election. It played out with Gold pulling back from its high Wednesday before a partial recovery while Crude Oil found some strength and moved higher in a choppy range. The US Dollar jumped to a 4 month high while Treasuries fell back to a 5½ month low Wednesday before a recovery. The Shanghai Composite continued the move to the upside while Emerging Markets chopped in a wide range.

Volatility crashed down to the low end of the range since August. This put a stiff breeze at the backs of equities and they started to move up Tuesday and then accelerated Wednesday through the end of the week. This resulted in the SPY and QQQ printing a new all-time highs Wednesday, Thursday and Friday and the IWM gapping up to a 1 year high. What does this mean for the coming week? Let’s look at some charts.

The SPY came into the week at the 50 day SMA on the daily chart in a pullback from the top. It had a gap left open from the end of the week. It held there on Monday and then started higher Tuesday, into the gap. It gapped up Wednesday to finish at a new all-time high and leaving an island below. It followed that up with new all-time highs Thursday and Friday. The Bollinger Bands® are open to the upside. The RSI is rising deep in the bullish zone with the MACD positive and rising.

The weekly chart shows a strong, long bullish candle rising from the 161.8% extension of the retracement of the 2022 drop. The 200% extension is now within view at 614 above. The RSI is rising near overbought territory in the bullish zone with the MACD drifting up and positive. There is no resistance above 599.60. Support lower sits at 585 and 580 then 574.50 and 571.50 before 565.50 and 556.50. Uptrend.

With the Presidential Election and November FOMC meeting in the rearview mirror, equity markets showed jubilation as they vaulted higher. Elsewhere look for Gold to in its uptrend while Crude Oil consolidates in a broad range. The US Dollar Index continues to move to the upside while US Treasuries consolidate in their pullback. The Shanghai Composite looks to continue the move higher while Emerging Markets chop in their short term uptrend.

The Volatility Index looks to remain low and drifting lower following the election making it easier for equity markets to continue higher. Their charts look strong on both timeframes, especially the SPY and QQQ. The IWM has now joined the party, a stone’s throw away from making its first new all-time high in 2 years. Use this information as you prepare for the coming week and trad’em well.

Join the Premium Users and you can view the Full Version with 20 detailed charts and analysis:��Macro Week in Review/Preview November 8, 2024

#$gld #$uso #$uup #$fxi #$qqq #$spy #$tlt #$iwm #$eem #$ashr #$dxy

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accio-victuuri · 1 year ago

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June CPNs round-up ❤️💛💚

• Children’s Day candies

• similar we11done pants - i personally love seeing them in same style clothing, especially if it’s as unique as this.

• LOZ preview candies: having the same braincell playing w/ an abacus & the ok gesture reappears

• i can’t link it here because the posts are locked over at weibo, but someone on douyin commented they saw wyb on set of LOZ. but then later on said that they were mistaken. hmmm. you can take it as it is, that this person said something he shouldn’t have. or that he retracted his statement to prevent any problems or rumors. as with these things anyway, we will know as time goes by and as we see clues here and there. i’m just archiving this incident here for future use.

• Beijing same city 6/5 to 6/7 before wyb flew abroad for the french open.

• 6/6 XZ chongqing photos candies 📷

• WYB and the innocence of the little prince

• Look at them and their hats and long hair!

• french embassy paying attention to THEM!

• GG spotted wearing green tod’s shoes! and it looks like they purposely matched their airport fits 😭😭

• XZ’s dragonboat festival photos

• 6/11 xz and wyb together on the hot search

• The similarity in their ELLE magazine previews. you can say that it’s the editing from the same magazine publication that’s why this happened but it’s so uncanny!!!!

• weibo opening screen of their movies winning at weibo movie night!!!!

• August issue of MOVIE STAR magazine featuring them for CQL 5th anniversary!!!!

• venchi chocolate

• new apple watch after spending time in beijing

• rolex daytona paul newman 6263

• XZS chongqing vlog: stone island wardrobe, suitcase, ipad and same city (shanghai) - what i didn’t include here about the suitcase is that, i like the cpn of wyb bringing home stuff that xz’s parents ( in chongqing where he came from before shanghai ) has asked him to give yibo. it may be food items and other things and it makes sense that yibo is the one to take it back.

• 6/16 xiao zhan weibo posts a 🐽 and them posting so close to each other & some more clowning about a sus necklace, 18:23 and venus - i swear! this made me lose my mind! xz is so loud 🗣️🗣️🗣️on yibo’s end we got him imitating the family picture

and i forgot to add the betty boop that looked like she’s wearing luffy’s outfit!

• 6/17 zsww fake rumor

• a cpn compilation about the pig 🐽

• Loewe candies + them being in europe at the same time for 622

• going back to Beijing the same day 6/23!

• rufeng posts new audio snippet where wyb implies he is not jealous of wwx and wq

• them being number 1 for the respective weeks their new endorsements were announced. king behavior!

• tod’s x loewe business photo shoot looks! it’s matching!

• another example of ybo and xzs similarity ( yibo moment )

• the bonus content this month is a tarot card reading done for the boys. if you’ve been following me for some time you’ll know that this is my guilty pleasure when it comes to them. i understand it’s out there so feel free to skip. here is the original video. i will just share here the interesting part that made cpfs 👀.

reading was made 6/19 and people were asking about if whether they will go to europe together. the person said that it’s within the month and not a two person trip cause they will have people with them. and that they have been preparing for this. a section also explained how their state is, that it’s treating one like a husband and they will stay sweet forever. also how the two will remain “hot” or popular. and— that they will sign a contract to put themselves in equal footing which is not limited to a marriage certificate etc.

a part of it too which was asked is how wyb’s relationship is with his dad + i guess how he is taking the romance between him and xz plus other things ( probably ) idk how cpfs thought of asking this. i’m not implying anything okay? the question was “Has the father’s attitude softened?” OP said that wyb has not returned home during this period and him & his father is always separated by by geographical distance. there is no time to sit down and talk with his father so the final result is still a deadlock.But they have to talk and wyb needs to take the initiative to speak to his father.

• adding this here cause it’s blowing my mind how much they look alike recently. like this airport video of xz. i mean. he even move kinda like wyb. LIKE…WHAT…..

-END. See you next month!

<<< previous post

#yizhan #bjyx #there is no science here i’m just clowning like i always do #I CANT BELIEVE WE ARE HALFWAY THROUGH THIS YEAR AND HAVE BEEN EATING REALLY WELL 😌😌😌#this month was unhinged in it’s own little way

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scoonsalicious · 1 year ago

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Unsatisfied, Pt. 2

Pairing: Bucky x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: After game night, Bucky promised to ruin you come morning. Unfortunately, it wasn't meant to be.

Warnings: Language, adult themes, Explicit Sexual Content: Minors: GTFO; I don’t serve your kind here (FaceTime sex, hand stuff), Pocket still not being over her trauma, mentions of past injury.

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: Hi, besties!

It's me, ya gurl, with Part 2 of the post-Unwanted one-shot that's become a three-shot, lol! I fucking missed the absolute hell out of these two, and I'm so happy to be back with them for a little bit. Writing for Pocket and her Bucky is just like... I don't know. It's like I'm not even making stuff up, just channeling it, because it comes so easily, unlike literally everything else I try to write. I can't say when I'm going to resume WFLT. To be perfectly candid, I might put it on extended hiatus while I work on other things that seem to come easier right now. I don't know yet. I just want to be up front with everyone.

Here's where my attentions are currently focused: Finishing Unsatisfied, an untitled collab with @mrsbuckybarnes1917, writing Hunted, and plotting Unbroken. For some reason, there is just a giant Gandalf standing between me and WFLT, waving his staff and shouting "YOU SHALL NOT PASS!" I'll let you know when I whip him into the abyss. And yes, that does make me the Balrog in this scenario, and I, too, fall to my death in the depths of Moria. It's an imperfect analogy, okay? At least I'm not Sean Bean, dying all over the place.

Anyway, enjoy more Pocket and Bucky! I know I do! xoxo

“I miss you,” you moaned into the screen of your phone. Your voice sounded pitiful, even to your own ears, but you were lonely and you didn’t have the shame to hide it. Especially not from the man you were talking to.

“I miss you, too, sweets,” Bucky said with a dejected sigh that let you know your feelings of misery were mutual. “It shouldn’t be longer than a few more days, then I’ll come back home to ya, and we can pick up where we left off, yeah?”

You smiled and nodded eagerly, his promise setting your skin awash in goosebumps. ‘Where you’d left off’ had been finally, finally, coming back together after nearly twelve months of self-imposed celibacy, spending the first night together, in your new apartment, wrapped in each other’s arms, with his co—

“At least we got our bubble bath before things went fully to shit,” Bucky added, a smile playing on his lips from across the distance, as though he knew exactly where your thoughts had taken you.

“Yeah,” you sighed, remembering the feel of him, so warm and solid, against your back in the tub. After he’d kicked out your friends from the impromptu game night they’d decided to throw at your new place, and you’d gotten over your freakout when Sam had inadvertently joked about Bucky ‘cheating’ at a card game, the two of you had spent a much needed evening just in each other’s company. Intimacy, but not sex, the way your therapist had recommended, with Bucky promising to ruin you come daybreak.

Instead, though, a call had come from Fury in the middle of the night. A group of terrorists, counting some several enhanced among them, had stolen a biological weapon and were threatening to decimate the population of Shanghai unless the Chinese government gave into their demands, and so, The Avengers, Bucky included, had been called away.

You’d offered to go, just so you could stay close to him. You’d never even leave the Quinjet, you’d promised, out of the action, but neither Bucky nor Tony was eager to see you back on the field, not after what had happened the last time. Even though you’d had your last reconstructive surgery months ago, and your doctors had given you the all clear, between your boyfriend and your pseudo-brother, you weren’t leaving New York anytime soon.

That had been over a week ago. Negotiations with the terrorists had not gone according to plan, and they were probably going to have to fight it out. And as for you? You were ready to climb the fucking walls.

“How’s wedding stuff going?” Bucky asked, referring to your role as Maid of Honor in Pepper and Tony’s upcoming nuptials. “Keeping you busy?”

“Don’t you dare try to change the subject, Barnes,” you practically growled at him. “I am so fucking desperate for your cock, I swear to god–”

From somewhere off camera, you could hear a cacophony of sound– a combination of Sam and Clint’s uproarious laughter and Tony shouting “JESUS CHRIST BARNES, USE YOUR FUCKING HEADPHONES!”

Bucky’s face had turned crimson in the video call, and you couldn’t suppress the laugh that came bubbling from you as he abruptly stood up and removed himself into a darker, quieter area.

“Shit,” he exhaled as he got himself re-situated in the new, hopefully more private, space. He ran a hand down his face in embarrassment. “Didn’t mean for them to hear all that, doll.”

You laughed as you twisted a strand of hair around your finger in the way you knew he liked. “What happened to your earbuds, baby?” you teased.

Bucky reached up and pulled an airpod from his ear, looking at the small device as though it had personally offended him. “I thought they were on!” he exclaimed. “If I’d known I’d been broadcasting you for the whole fucking team to hear, I woulda gone somewhere a lot more private to begin with.”

“The whole team?” you asked, cautiously. You didn’t want to say any names, but you needed to know if he was there, too. If he’d heard you.

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed, catching your meaning and lowering his voice. “Rogers is here.”

You swallowed and nodded solemnly. You hadn’t spoken to Steve Rogers since he’d made his horrible confession to you in the hospital, of the ways he’d manipulated your life to keep you and Bucky apart. All culminating in Bucky’s betrayal, your temporary death, the loss of your unborn baby.

“Are you alright?” you asked, thinking only of Bucky in the moment. It was easy for you to stay away from Steve, to ignore him– your anger toward him had far surpassed any level of fondness you’d once had for Captain America, but you knew how much harder it was for Bucky to break a bond of nearly a century. Not that you would have ever forbidden him from reconnecting with Steve, if that was what he had wanted. No, Bucky had decided on his own that some things couldn’t be forgiven. No matter how many decades of friendship might lie behind them.

“Yeah,” he sighed, though you could tell from the look in his eyes that it was harder for him than he was letting on. “It’s awkward, but if we keep it strictly to business, it’s manageable. It’s just…” He rubbed the back of his neck, and you wished so badly that you could be there to smooth the lines from his distraught face. “It’s just… sometimes he makes it hard to remember what he did.”

You nodded, feeling guilty that you were the reason the two were no longer friends. That Steve had betrayed Bucky because of his desire for you.

“Don’t go blaming yourself, sweets,” Bucky chastised you knowingly. It was like he could read your mind. You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off with a look. “I know how that pretty head works, doll, and I know you’re blaming yourself. Stop it. He made his own bed, now he gets to lie in it.”

“I know,” you lamented. “I just hate that you have to pay the emotional cost of his bad decisions, that’s all.”

Bucky frowned at you. “Just like I hate how you had to pay the costs for mine, doll,” he said softly. “Our actions have consequences. We have to live with them, so we don’t make the same fuck ups again.”

You subconsciously let your hand drift to your abdomen, your fingers delicately tracing over the scar that was the only external reminder that you’d been shot. Had technically been killed. Had lost a lot more than your life. You were grateful Bucky could only see you from the chest up.

“Well, this conversation took a turn,” you said, trying to get off of subjects you’d rather not dwell on. “Can we go back to talking about how fucking horny I am for you?”

Bucky barked out a laugh and god, how it warmed your heart that you could still get that reaction out of him after everything you’d both gone through. His blue eyes seemed to darken as he adjusted himself in whatever seat he was in. “If it helps, I’m horny as hell for you, too, sweetheart.”

“Oh yeah?” you asked, tugging on your bottom lip with your teeth as he nodded his head. “Yeah, hearing that does help. Show me.”

Bucky’s eyes widened through the screen. “Show you?” he breathed, clearly not having anticipated where you were about to take the conversation. “What do you mean, ‘show you’, doll?”

“I mean,” you said, leaning back against the headboard to make yourself more comfortable, “show me that pretty cock of yours, Sergeant. Take it out. Stroke it for me. I wanna see what I’ve been missing.”

You watched as Bucky’s eyes went back and forth between the phone screen and the door that separated him from the rest of the team. You could tell from the way he was gnawing at his bottom lip that he was seriously debating it, but that he had some real reservations. “Doll,” he whispered, sounding scandalized, but excited, “they’re right outside. They’ll hear me.”

You smirked at the way he’d suddenly become shy. “I wanna hear you, Sarge,” you pleaded in a breathy whisper, and from the way he closed his eyes and moaned at your words, you knew he was so close to giving you what you wanted. “Come on, baby,” you cooed. “Can’t you show Pocket that pretty pink cock she’s been wanting so badly? Can’t I watch you choke it with your big hands while I imagine my mouth wrapped around it? Pozhaluysta, Soldat?”

“Fuck,” he muttered, and you knew you’d won when he hopped up from where he’d been sitting. Though you couldn’t see it from the way he was letting the phone dangle, you could hear him lock the door. “You know I can’t resist it when you speak Russian, doll,” he said as he sat back down, propping the phone and its camera up against something so that you could see his entire body stretched out before you.

“YA rasschityval na eto, detka,” you said with a grin. I was counting on it, baby. You could see now that he was in a bedroom of what looked like a standard SHIELD safehouse. It was small– only one twin-sized bed, so you weren’t worried about anyone else barging in to need the space.

“So, how do we do this?” he asked, and you could hear the nervousness mixed with excitement in his voice. It struck you that, throughout your relationship, and all the time you’d spent apart while one or the other was away on missions, the two of you had actually never done this before. Phone sex, yeah, but never on video, together. It was going to be new territory, and it thrilled you.

“We?” you asked playfully, pretending you had no idea what he was talking about.

Bucky looked at you sternly though the screen of your phone and you involuntarily shivered under his gaze. “Don’t think for a second I’m not going to see that sweet, dripping cunt of yours tonight, doll. I’ve been fantasizing about it for ages. Got just a taste of it the other day, and it wasn’t nearly enough.”

Fuck, you could feel yourself dampen and your nipples harden just from his words alone, not to mention the memory of the brief moment on your terrace, before the movers had arrived, when he’d had his deliciously thick fingers pressed inside of you.

“Baby,” you moaned, not even realizing you were trailing your fingertips over the pebbled flesh of your breasts under your shirt, imagining his rough, calloused hands on you.

“Take off your clothes, Pocket,” Bucky growled. He didn’t ask; it wasn’t a request. It was a command, and you were ready to obey.

“Sir, yes sir, Sergeant,” you said, and you were sure you looked anything but graceful as you sped to pull your top over your head and shimmy out of the pair of cheeky panties you wore. The cool breeze of the air conditioning danced along your flushed skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“Fuck,” Bucky groaned, his eyes following the path your fingers traced along the contours of your body. You watched hungrily as he absentmindedly palmed himself through the Tac pants he still frustratingly donned. “God, you look even better‘n I remember, sweets,” he grunted. “Better than I’ve been imaginin’ all week. How the fuck’s that even possible?”

“Buck,” you warned, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment at his obviously false praise as you turned to hide your face from his gaze. “Stop. I know you don’t mean that.”

Frowning, Bucky leaned forward, picking up the phone so he could bring his face close to the camera, scrutinizing you. “Pocket,” he said, but you refused to look at him. “Pocket!” he tried again, his voice a little firmer, but still gentle. “Why the fuck would I not mean that, sweetheart? You’re gorgeous.”

Scoffing, you rolled your eyes. It was kind of him to lie to spare your feelings, really, but you didn’t think you could take it. Not from him. Not after everything. Without thought, your hand moved to cover your bullet wound from his gaze. “Come on, Buck,” you said, your tone implying that you weren’t buying his bullshit, no matter how sweetly he was selling it, “we both know you weren’t imagining me with all these new scars.”

“Baby.” Bucky made a noise somewhere between a choked laugh and an incredulous groan. “You can’t seriously think I, of all fucking people, give a shit about a couple of tiny scars?” He put the phone down, and your view of him was obstructed for a moment while you heard the rustle of cloth. When he lifted it up again, you saw he had taken off his vest and Tac shirt. He pointed to the ruined skin of his left shoulder.

“Look at these and tell me you think I’m gonna be turned off by a coupla’ scars, Pocket,” he said, and you could detect the hard edge to his voice.

“It’s different, Buck,” you told him, your voice cracking. “You already had those scars when we met; they were a part of the man I fell in love with. You…” you hastily wiped at the tear that was suddenly threatening to fall from your eye. “Mine… mine weren’t. You didn’t get a choice in them.”

You watched as the look on Bucky’s face morphed into one of pure confusion. Of course he didn’t fully understand– you weren’t just talking about scars, after all. He… just didn’t realize that yet.

“You didn’t have a choice in them, either, sweetheart,” he said softly, eying the way your hand protectively rested over your abdomen. “And if you’re talking about the scar from when you got shot… well, fuck, if that scar’s not my favorite thing.”

You looked at him in wide-eyed disbelief. “How could this… disgusting reminder…” you choked out, “of everything that happened last year… how could that be your favorite thing, Bucky?”

“That scar means you’re alive, doll,” he told her. “That you’re still breathing, still with me, in spite of all of it. So forgive me if I think that makes it the fucking sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

You closed your eyes and exhaled, his words momentarily taking away the sting of the inadequacy you’d felt ever since the doctors had told you about the extent of your condition. It wasn’t something you were purposefully keeping from Bucky… You had just been too terrified to say it out loud. You were going to tell him. Just not yet.

"Look at me Doll,” he said, getting your attention back onto his face, “I don't like that I have to tell you this at all, but I'm gonna do it, as many times as you need, as many times as it takes for you to believe me. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen."

You felt your face soften, the tension of insecurity drop from your shoulders as he looked at you through the phone screen, eyes blue pools of adoration. You wanted so badly to just get lost in him, to let him consume you until you were capable of thinking of nothing but him.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

“It’s something more than just the scar, isn’t it, sweets? You’ve never been ashamed of showing me your body before.” You weren’t vain as a rule, and Bucky knew this about you. You had other scars, worse ones. Uglier ones, but none had ever bothered you the way this one had. None had ever carried the same degree of psychological and emotional baggage.

You just nodded, afraid that if you spoke, you’d reveal what you’d been keeping from him, blurt it out before you could stop yourself, and it was not the kind of thing you wanted to do over video with thousands of miles of distance between you.

“You don’t have to tell me, doll,” he said, the understanding in his voice so pure that it made you ache. “I know so many of my actions have hurt you; I get that there’s still some trust–”

“Baby, no,” you interrupted. “I trust you, I do. I want to tell you. I’m just… not ready yet.”

“Tell me what I can do for you right now, then, sweetheart,” he offered. He’d brought the phone close to his face, his gaze on you intense and burning through the screen. “What do you need?”

You exhaled, the sight of him so focused and sincere making your knees feel weak. “Just you, Buck,” you whispered, the words coming out in a breathy sigh. “I just want you.”

“I’m right here, doll.” His voice turned low, darker. A soft purr that vibrated your insides. “And I’ll be home with you real soon, but you gotta tell me what I can do for you right. now.”

You sucked in a shuddering gasp of air, indulging in the way his words swept over your body like a languid kiss. Without even thinking, you felt your hand drift down your abdomen, your fingertips dancing along the top of your thigh.

“Buck,” you found yourself whining as you squirmed your ass across the mattress, searching for any inch of friction you could find.

“Yeah, baby,” he grunted, readjusting the camera so it was once again propped up and you could see the length of him pressing against the material of his tac-pants. “Tell Sergeant Barnes what you want so he can give it to you.”

A beat of silence passed between you before you both started laughing, your hand coming to cover your face as you suppressed a snort. “Oh my god, Barnes!” you wheezed.

“Yeah, that was awful,” he laughed, palming his face in embarrassment. “Did I kill it?”

You wiped away a stray tear that had leaked from your eye in your laughter. “You’re lucky I find your bad jokes to be such a fucking turn on,” you told him with a grin.

Bucky frowned. “Wasn’t supposed to be a joke, doll,” he grumbled, a pout forming on his beautiful pink lips. “‘S supposed to be sexy.”

“Oh, I found it very sexy,” you assured him. “You make me laugh, Barnes. That’s the hottest fucking thing I can imagine. Now take off your pants.”

The look in Bucky’s eyes turned from playfully annoyed to seductively heated in the space of a nanosecond. He reached for the zipper of his tac-pants and you licked your lips at the sound of it coming undone. “Get the camera all set up, doll,” he said as he shimmied the pants down his legs. “I want to see every inch of you.”

With a grin, you propped your camera up between your legs, giving Bucky a front row seat to your dripping core. “This work for you, Sarge?” you asked.

“Fuck, sweets,” he began, palming at himself through his boxer-briefs. “Yeah, that works for me.”

“Show me,” you commanded him, bringing your fingers down to lightly trace the outer edges of your lower lips. “Show me how well this view works for you, baby.”

Bucky scrambled to pull his boxer briefs down to his thick thighs, and you watched with bated breath as his cock sprung free, its beautiful, pink tip already glistening with precum. Your entire body erupted in tingles at the sight of him. He was so fucking gorgeous, and he was yours.

“Jesus,” you hissed, bringing a hand to your breast and gently squeezing the flesh. You could feel your mouth thicken with saliva at just the idea of having him down your throat.

“Just Bucky’s fine, baby,” he teased as he grabbed a hold of himself, and you rolled your eyes. “No need to bring God into it.” Slowly, he began stroking his length. You watched in awe as he seemed to grow harder with every downward pull, the veins in his thighs bulging as he thrust his hips up against his hand. If anyone was going to be compared to God during sex, it would and should be Bucky Barnes.

“Touch that pretty clit for me, doll,” he grunted. “Pretend it’s my fingers on you, getting you all warmed up to take my cock.”

“Fuck, Buck,” you whimpered, your fingers moving frantically over your bundle of nerves. You were already soaked; just the sight of him had sent another wave of arousal gushing through you. “Want your dick in my pussy so bad, baby. So fucking bad, it hurts.”

“Soon, sweetheart,” he grunted, watching your fingers strum your clit with wild eyes. “I’ll be home soon, and I’ll fill you up so good, you won’t be able to walk normal for weeks.”

You arched your back and moaned, the memory of the way he stretched you as he entered you, opening you wider than any other man you’d ever had, flooded your mind. “Nothing fills me like you do, baby,” you panted. “Nothing hits me so deep.”

“Yeah?” he grunted, and you could hear the delicious slick, slick sound of his hand moving through the precum that soaked his shaft. “Not even those fancy toys you bought?”

Bucky chuckled when he noticed your eyes pop open and stare at him in surprise. “Oh, I know all about those, doll.” Slick, slick, slick. “Found ‘em when I was helping you pack for the move. All of them.”

You felt a blush rising to your cheeks, and if you didn’t already have your hand on your pussy right in front of him, you might have been embarrassed. “All those toys, and none of them gets me off as good as you do, Buck,” you breathed. “None of them reach that spot the way you do.” It was true– it was the one thing you had desperately searched for during your time of Bad Decisions– someone to hit that place deep inside of you that set your every nerve ending on fire, that made you shiver and convulse with pleasure with each thrust. No one had ever brought on that full body climax that left you shaking and weak like Bucky had.

“Fuck, doll,” he grunted. “No one touches your A-spot but me.”

“No,” you gasped. You loved how he knew your body so well, knew what he did to you, how you longed for his touch. “No one touches me like you, baby.”

“Put your fingers in, sweets,” he commanded. “I wanna watch you fuck yourself on that pretty little hand while I pretend it’s my cock.”

You did as he asked, bringing two fingers to your weeping entrance and plunging them inside you. They would never feel as thick or go as deep as any part of Bucky, but for now, they were all you had, so you made the most of them, driving them in and out of your cunt with abandon.

“Fuck…” you grunted as you felt the coil in your belly begin to tighten, sweat glistening off your brow. “Baby!”

“I know, pretty girl,” Bucky said between grunts of his own. “Tell me how good you feel.”

“So good, Buck,” you moaned. “So fucking good. Want you so bad, Bucky! So fucking bad!”

“I’m right there with you, doll,” he panted. “I’m so close. Gonna blow all over and imagine it’s inside that pretty pussy of yours. Gonna come home and bury myself in your cunt, sweets! Not gonna come out for days!”

“Oh shit, Bucky,” you cried, your release a hare's breath away. “Wanna cum with you, baby.” You curled your fingers inside of you, stroking your G-spot again, and again, trying to imagine it was his thick, calloused fingers inside of you.

“Just a little longer, sweetheart.” Bucky was yanking at his member now, his pace quick and frantic.

You felt yourself rising, clawing to the very edge of the precipice, but before you could hurl yourself over the edge, you accidentally hit your phone with your foot, sending it falling to the floor.

You scrambled for the phone. It had landed face-down in the dark, making it harder for you to find, but you followed the sounds of Bucky’s grunts and moans until you made contact. Turning the phone back over, you watched as Bucky, eyes screwed closed, reached his peak, ropes of cum erupting from the tip of his cock and landing across his stomach and hand.

And, as surely as if someone had doused you with a bucket of water, the spell was broken. You were painfully reminded that he wasn’t there with you. He was half a world away, still out of your reach.

You sniffled, and Bucky opened his eyes at the sound. “Sweetheart,” he began, his voice laced with concern, “what’s wrong? Did you cum?”

You hitched a breath, holding back a sob, and shook your head. “You’re not here, Buck,” you cried. “It’s not… I thought… I just want to be with you. I miss you so fucking much!” You knew you sounded petulant, like a child, but you were at your limit, truly. You wanted nothing more than to be back to normal with him. A better normal, even, now without the shadow of Carthage looming over you both.

“Oh, doll.” Bucky picked up his phone and brought it close to his face, his now flaccid cock out of frame. “Baby, I’m so sorry. Do you wanna try again? We can focus just on you. Make sure you get off nice and good.”

You shook your head, feeling the tears of frustration and longing slide down your cheeks. “No,” you

whimpered. “I think… I think I just wanna go to sleep.”

Bucky frowned at you, the look in his eyes sorrowful. “I fucking hate that I’m too far away to help you, Pocket,” he said. “I can’t stand seeing you like this, knowing you’re hurting.”

“It’s just been so long, Buck,” you whispered to him as you buried yourself under the blankets of your bed. “I feel like every time we even try, something keeps getting in our way. What if it’s the universe, trying to tell us we shouldn’t be getting back together?”

Bucky sighed, thick and heavy. “I know you don’t believe that, sweetheart,” he said. “It’s just been some bad timing; we got out of our groove, is all. I promise, things will go back to the way they were. The way they’re supposed to be.”

Not long ago, you told him that his promises didn’t mean shit to you, but now… now, you wanted to believe him more than anything.

“It’s just a little longer,” he clarified. You nodded, swallowing down any remaining tears that threatened to fall. You wanted to believe him. You needed to believe him, but the part of you that had been irrevocably broken when he’d hurt you couldn’t help but whisper that, maybe, in some way, he’d always leave you unsatisfied.

<- Part 1 / Part 3 ->

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #mcu bucky barnes #james barnes #bucky barnes smut

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kathaynesart · 1 year ago

Note

...what must we do for you to learn what happened in Shanghai?

I have received SO many questions about this 0_o

Hm, I’ll tell you what, I’m considering creating a Patreon in which I’ll include extra Replica content (mostly art pieces with written excerpts/summaries). CHECK FOR POLL BELOW. It would just be fun/dramatic flavor scenes that are not important to the plot of Replica. Things like:

what actually happened in Shanghai

drama after Leo discovers they had been keeping the truth of the key from him

more Central Park Colony tom-foolery

raising baby Junior

creation of Omega and Donnie's interaction with him

Mind you, these are all things that would normally be too much for me to do for on top of Replica, as a lot of my free time is already dedicated to this comic (and I am very slow). But this could help me a lot with extra expenses and would be a nice way to cover a few things I don't feel I'd have the time to do in the actual comic. It would also be an opportunity to see comic updates in advance and possibly tutorials.

We shall see though. I don’t want to proceed with it further until done with the holiday special and some other Zine work. Once I'm back on the usual updates I'll have to figure out a possible schedule and if it's truly doable. But let me know if you would actually be interested in this, because it would really help with my decision!

#resisting the knee jerk reaction to doubt anyone would want to pay for my content #poll #rottmnt replica #replica #rottmnt #what happens in Shanghai stays in Shanghai #patreon #tmnt #kendra #donnie

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mysteriouslyjovialcolor · 3 months ago

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China 2025

-Not them saying “Carlos Sainz- his lowest start in Shanghai” as if he isn’t in a Williams

-Ewww I just noticed the Not-Rolex watch

-This season really is testing me on all accounts

-See normally race starts make me anxious, however, it is 3 in the morning, and as such I can’t process anything

-Max just lost places at the start, this is my nightmare

-MV: “Charles has a broken front wing”

-Oh?? He hit Lewis??

-This is not the Charles-Max fight I wantedddd

-Oh did Lewis hit Charles?

-What happened to the Saubers?? Wasn’t Nico p12 at he start

-To CL: “We have 20-30 point loss on the front. If we can survive, we can wait till the first stop”

CL: “We can survive.”

-This is good news and bad news, I’m too sleepy for both

-FA: “I can not brake. No brakes, no brakes” :(

-LH: “I’ve been hit by someone”

Well that was a late radio

-AA: “I am good. I am good. I am better than everyone.Let’s relax. I am comfortable.” Damn Albon, he woke up confident

-CL: “If it stays like this, I want Plan A”

-Which plan gets me stop looking at Max in p6?

-“There will be too much traffic, so we stick to Plan B”

-Was Plan A a two-stopper?

-Yuki pitting! I swear this better be a good call!

-“The undercut working for Racing Bulls” Let’s go 🎶

-Oh Lewis pitting?

-Max too!

-Okay not bad of a stop

-GR: “I think it’s going to one stop. Keep it sending. Left side clearing up”

-To GR: “Box, box”

-Not a one stop then?

-Alex p3 🎶 (Let him stay there pleaseee)

-Alex leading 😭😭

-George!! He’s always making up unexpected places

-Although this was probably just better strategy on Mercedes part

-So confused as to how Lewis is p7 and Max is still stuck in p10

-I’m about to curse Red Bull’s whole lineage

-Woah, was that a dive bomb from Lando! How cool!

-Lance being on the hards and going long and causing trouble for everyone else is such a familiar story

-Okay it’s not fun anymore now that Max is stuck behind him

-Ferrari about to pull team orders?

-“Leclerc driving like a man possessed” And that’s with a broken front wing!

-“We are swapping cars” Eeh that’s going to leave so many people unhappy

-“First Williams driver to lead a Grand Prix in like ten years” !!!

-How is Charles faster with a broken end plate??

-The universe is just against a Max-Charles fight cause why did Ferrari swap cars just as Max was getting close?

-I don’t get the point of showing the fastest lap anymore if no one’s getting rewarded for it

-✨Manifesting Charles podium✨

-Oooh I didn’t see George’s helmet for this GP before today. It’s pretty!

-The cars are so bunched up, how has Ollie pitting from p8 led him to end up in p17?

-To LN: “We’ve asked for the car ahead to help you” The car that’s almost 4s ahead?

-OB: “Ciao”

To OB: “Nice one Ollie!”

-Ohmygod there was no reason to bring up Hungary!!

-Ollie Bearman!!

-McLaren: “Weather update. Small risk of rain. Last 3 laps. Class 1”

-That has potential for drama

-Ollie on fire today!!

-To MV: “Good pace now Max. Better late than never. 20 laps remaining” Don’t give me hope GP

-Okay Lance! I was worried he’d pit and lose too many places

-Lewis pitting? Nice, there was a good gap for him there

-Oscar going to the end then. That’s him about to win his second home race!

-Haas Double Points!!! Let’s go!!

-Hate that both Racing Bulls are out of the points. How does that always happen? We always start off so strong!

-Need Lance back in the points actually

-To CL: “We’re losing lap time in Turn 2, maybe try one lap without using the kerb”

CL: “Nope”

-Is he competing for funniest radio of the season or something ??

-Weather update: Doubt there will be that much rain

-WHY IS YUKI PITTING??

-Ohmygod when did that happen?

-Why does the world hate himmmm???

-What’s going on with Lando? Whatever’s going on, I’m not processing any of it

-Screamingggggg!!! Let’s gooo!!! Thissss is the Max-Charles battle I wanteddd!!!

-Yessssss yes yesssss

-I have finally felt the first inkling of joy in the past two hours

-You just knowww Max can do damage limitations

-God it would’ve been so nice if George wasn’t so ahead. I know Max would’ve made podium.

-What is going on with Lando’s brake? He’s making it to the end right?

-Oscar winnnnn!!!!!

Crochet

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moonstarsunearth · 1 year ago

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One thing also about Lily being Patrick's child theory(not just about Tashi's personality or how it must change the movie if is an interesting writing choice), that I havent see discussed is that Art is a tennis player,that means he literally lived travelling from city to city around the world during all year. When tennis players have wives/husbands and children,that imply decisions of the wife/husband staying at home with the children or all the family travelling together,what also imply a lot of schedules and decisions in how those children would be raised. It isn't even like football/basketball/baseball players that stay most of the time in the same country and have a local team and city to stay most of the time,no, a tennis player is in Shanghai in October and two weeks later in Paris, in August one day in Toronto ,next day in Cincinnati.And in Tashi's case,she is Art's coach,part of his team,she must travel with him all the time. Dont you think that birth control was something they didn't take seriously or even if it's an accident the decision to have a child must have been a big discussion and decision between Tashi and Art? because it would affect their careers and lives completely and would change totally how they manage it.

Just Tashi being pregnant implies she had to stop for some time travelling and working with Art,so Art must travel and play without a head coach or his team being incomplete or he must stop playing some tournaments,risking his ranking, if he decided to stay some time with Tashi.

And if Lily is an Atlanta's child. you imagine, Art became a grand slam favourite in 2011,he was so close in his career to win a grand slam,was on the point of consolidating and materializing what Tashi and he had been working. You imagine Tashi in January 2012, deciding risking Art being without his coach ,his team incomplete in Australian open,being alone trying to beat Djokovic ,Nadal,Federer or Murray to win his first grand slam after he couldn't win his first big opportunity with the Us open,all that because she decided to be pregnant at home with a child that is product of cheating on him,lying to him about his paternity and praying that Patrick never notice and try to say or do something and ruin their lives?

Sorry but it doesn't make sense to me,the only way that child is an accident is a birth control failure that wasn't because human failure or may be the euphoria of Art winning his first grand slam or Wimbledon or Roland Garros and even if that happened,having Lily had to be a big decision Art and Tashi took and discussed a lot.

#art donaldson #challengers #tashi duncan #tashi donaldson #patrick zweig #tashi #tennis #zendaya #josh o'connor #mike faist #challengers (2024)

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petit-naldo · 1 year ago

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After the race.

SHANGHAI - Post Sprint

Carlos returns from the paddock, racing so closely with Charles got him all worked up. I mean, they almost touched. Maybe they did? He's still shaking a little from the adrenaline. But it's okay; he knows the internet is going to either praise him or get mad at him for it. He knows everyone is going to comment, but it's okay. He loves it. He loves racing that way, showing the Latino mode. It's not their first time with Charles; they tacitly agreed that whatever happened on the track would stay on the track and not impact their relationship.

And Charles gave him a thumbs up after the race, so everything is okay. And it's probably just a coincidence if he doesn't run into Charles the whole hour after the race. He focuses on debriefs and interviews.

But when he finally sees him at the end of the garage, back turned towards him, he can't help but run and lightly grab his arm.

"Hey..." he holds his hand out for him to clap.

"Hey," answers Charles rather flatly, not meeting his gaze. Something feels off, but he still asks.

"Are we good?"

"..." Charles finally looks up and grimaces. He feels his stomach churning. Did he really go too far, really? He always makes sure to be very careful with his teammates, especially with Charles, who has always been very respectful towards him. With Charles, whom he particularly appreciates. So he slightly panics and stammers, "but you gave me a thumbs up so I thought that..."

"It wasn't in that way."

"Oh..." Oh, so it was an angry thumbs up. And he responded like an idiot.

"you fucking pushed me off track, Carlos, it could have caused a puncture!"

"You passed me anyway, so why are you mad?" He sees a glint of fiery arrogance in Charles' eyes.

"Because you could have let me! Instead of fighting so hard."

"Oh, let you? In what honor?"

That's new, Charles asking him for favors like that. He lets out a little laugh, and Charles blushes and says, "Not let me... just not fight me so much."

"But I'm a fighter, we are fighters... on track and chess," he tries to lighten the mood by lowering his voice a little bit, gives Charles a little bump on the shoulder, smiles... "you said it yourself in the interview... I heard you."

He tries to pinch his side, but Charles squirms away still annoyed, brows furrowed, but he knows him so well, he sees his eyes are about to laugh already because no matter how much he wants it, Charles can never stay mad at him for too long. Spanish charm.

But he is mature, and if Charles is annoyed, even a little bit, the air needs to be cleared. So he stops teasing, comes back to being serious, and presents his hand in front of him as a peace offering.

Charles meets his eyes defiantly, wondering, but slowly slowly reaches to hold it. He feels Carlos' fingers wrapping around his own, warm and strong, steady. It's strangely comforting. He'd like to hold onto them for a while, ground himself back after this madness.

"I'm sorry, if I went a bit too far. I'm sorry, didn't mean for you to think it was aggressive." His voice is low and warm, and Charles receives it like a hug. He loses himself in the big brown pupils for a while, then swallows, mouth suddenly dry, and nods a little bit, acknowledging the apology.

"We good?" asks Carlos, back to being smirky with a blink and a wide smile.

"Yes,"

And Carlos smiles even wider and pulls his hand toward his lips to give it a kiss.

"My lord..."

"STOP IT, Carhlos!" and Charles feels his face burn, pretends to be offended, and pulls back his hand, pushing him lightly on the shoulder in retaliation. His heart races like crazy.

They head towards the common room, bickering.

"Now we'll have to explain this to Fred," sighs Carlos, anticipating the scolding.

Charles nods, unfocused.

He can't help but wonder how Carlos' lips would have felt like.

#my take on the aftermath of the sprint #charlos #f1 rpf #charles leclerc #carlos sainz #fanfiction

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kasienda · 3 months ago

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Echoes of a Nonexistent Memory

Inspired by and continuation of this fic by Fleurjaune with her encouragement!

Written for @sadrien-week- Day 4: Memories

Read on Ao3

...

The bell above the bakery door jingles, and Adrien’s head shoots up once again, hoping, praying, that it will be Marinette that walks out the door.

It isn’t. It usually wasn’t.

But there was that rare occurrence when he was rewarded for his patience - or maybe obsession - and it would be her flying over the threshold on a mad dash to who knew where.

His gaze drops back to the bench - the same iron wrought bench that he’s been sitting on every day for the last week. It has a great view of the bakery’s corner, but it’s far enough back that he can at least maintain plausible deniability if anyone accuses him of being a creepy stalker.

He droops. He shouldn’t be here. He should have stayed in London, moved to Shanghai, or gone anywhere except the one place the rings on his finger can be recognized. He should be starting over instead of haunting the remnants of a life that has never existed as far as anyone he loves is concerned.

Because Nino doesn’t remember adopting the pathetic lonely kid who only ever had one not so great friend his whole life.

Marinette doesn’t remember falling from the sky into a boy in a catsuit, or taking an umbrella from a shy boy hoping for forgiveness in the pouring down rain.

He can’t recreate any of what he had before.

It’s gone, by his own impulsive hand. It’s been gone for more than a year now.

“Can you please stop torturing yourself?” Felix had begged.

Adrien didn’t bother to respond.

Felix sighed.

“Or if you must, do it somewhere I don’t have to feel it?”

Adrien caught a plane the next day. He could have gone anywhere, and here he is sitting outside the Dupain-Cheng bakery like a moth to a flame.

Because he can’t just start over. He doesn’t know how. He’s not any good at making friends or letting go, and he absolutely doesn’t want to spend his whole life living — or stealing — half of Felix’s life.

The bell rings out again, its happy little chime almost feels like it’s mocking him with the way his shoulders go completely rigid at the sound.

It isn’t Marinette that steps out of the door’s shadow.

But she is there, and his ability to breathe abandons him. She’s right there, on the other side of a window, wiping down a little table that had just been vacated. If she looks up she’ll be looking right at him.

But she doesn’t. She turns the other way completely as someone asks her a question.

Every part of him wants to go to her. Some part of him even thinks he should. Meeting her for the second time certainly can’t go any worse than the first time, can it?

But he doesn’t move from his spot on the bench. She moves away from the window a minute later, and he loses sight of her.

He’s not sure how long he sits there. The bell has rung so many times he’s lost count, but it’s never lost its effect.

And just when the sun starts to kiss the horizon, the bell rings again, and he looks up and it’s her.

She looks right at him, and their gazes meet.

He braces himself for her eyes to roll over and past his form like he’s any other random stranger on the street. He’s experienced it so many times, he should be used to it by now.

But this is Marinette. This is Ladybug.

He has always hung on her every word, every twitch of her eyebrows, every smile she has ever bestowed upon him in either form.

He doesn’t know if he can survive the blankness - the lack of recognition - on her face.

But it doesn’t matter because it doesn’t happen. Instead, her eyes blow open and she freezes on the spot.

She looks like she’s been barreled over by an akuma.

And he’s not sure how it’s possible, but she most definitely knows who he is.

…

Nino’s headphones sat around his neck, but not a single tune is blasting from the ear-sized speakers.

Alya learned pretty early on that the lack of music is a red flag.

Nino’s always listening to something - and usually air jamming or tapping along like the music can’t just stay in his head. He needs to interact and engage with the music like Alya needs to sniff out the truth.

When he was in a funk he might just listen.

But now, there’s silence.

And worse, he’s staring blankly at a dark computer screen, scattered thumb drives and notebooks lay haphazardly on the table like a discarded hand of cards.

She leans against the desk and drops her head to his shoulder.

“What’s up?” she asks softly.

He shrugs.

“If you want to talk, I’m here,” she promises, but she’s not willing to push if he doesn’t want to. Instead, she traces what she hopes are soothing patterns onto the back of his neck.

He looks up at her then, his forehead crinkling in thought. “I’m fine,” he eventually says, his arm circling around her waist.

She arches an eyebrow.

He sighs, glancing away. “I just–” his free arm gestures vaguely in the air in front of him. “I don’t know! School is going well for once, Noel’s actually getting to be a bit fun to hang out with, Nettie is helping with the special effects in my movie.” He grins into her face. “And things are good between us, yeah?”

She nips at his ear in playful agreement. “I definitely think so.”

“See! Literally everything is awesome, but I have the weirdest feeling. Something’s just not right.”

“What’s not right?”

He grips both sides of his head. “I don’t know! I’m not sleeping much–”

“Maybe that’s the problem?”

“It’s not– I don’t know how to explain it. I keep pulling up my phone wanting to share some stupid meme, or my new song, but there’s no one to send it to.”

She frowns. “No one? Don’t you know I’m always excited to get anything from you?”

His lips quirk up in a half smile. “I know that. It’s just… some of these memes aren’t for you.”

It’s hard not to feel stung.

“No!” He grabs her hands and squeezes, his golden eyes searching hers in concern. “That’s not what I meant.”

She nods, her concern for him overriding any momentary hurt on her part.

“Are you feeling lonely?” she asks. She has so many of her own friends. And he’s friendly with everyone, but he’s not really close to anyone besides her. “We can branch out the friend group - start inviting–”

He shakes his head hard in disagreement. “No! It’s like, I already have someone in mind and when I can’t think of who, I just feel… I don’t know. Almost sad? It feels like something is missing?” He slumps backwards again. “That sounds crazy, doesn’t it?”

Alya shakes her head. “Feelings don’t always make sense. Or sometimes they’re delayed.

“I guess,” he agreed sullenly. “I guess this could be about Sami.”

His older brother had passed away a year before Alya had met Nino. She was the first person Nino had let in since that loss.

She frowns. Why does that that thought seem wrong?

“The sadness does kinda feel the same. Do you think the grief will ever stop flaring up?”

She hates how defeated and dejected he is. She wishes she knew how to make it better.

“I don’t know,” she whispers before kissing the side of his face. “But I do know that I love you.”

The ghost of a smile flickers across his face.

“I love you, too,” his hands snake around her again, but she’s unprepared, and immediately loses her balance.

She flails, trying to catch herself on the desk, but the pile of notebooks grant her no purchase.

But she needn’t have worried. Nino’s arms tighten securely around her and hold her against him.

The notebooks are not so lucky.

“My hero,” she says with a smile, kissing him again.

Then she bends backwards, trusting him to keep her grounded as he always does, to pick up the fallen debris.

The page is filled with Nino’s familiar scrawl, but the words don’t make sense. He’s planning a kidnapping?

“Who’s Adrien?” she asks him.

“Never heard of him. Why do you ask?”

She flips the page towards him. ”You have plans to kidnap an Adrien for a surprise half birthday party?”

He bolts upright, yanking the notebook into his line of vision.

“I sorta remember making these plans,” he tells her confused. “But who was I making them for?”

“Maybe you’re right that someone is missing from your life?”

Even though the idea sounds impossible, it feels right to her. She stands up, holding a hand out for him.

“C’mon! Where there’s one clue, there’s gotta be more.”

…

Marinette has so much free time these days she doesn’t know what to do with it. It’s positively baffling as to how she struggled so much in the last few years because suddenly, out of nowhere, everything feels so easy.

Well, except that she’s waking up most morning in tears from nightmares that she can’t quite remember. Her room feels far too quiet, and despite her best efforts to fill the oppressive silence with music and binge watching one series after another, it’s not enough. Like the noise is… empty.

Her whole life feels too empty.

She ties off the end of her last strand of green yarn, and turns the crocheted beanie around for inspection. The stitches are even and it feels so soft. Orange is obviously Alya’s color - always has been for as long as Marinette has known her, but she’s not sure why she picked green for Nino. She almost feels like she should have picked blue to match his favorite shirt, or red to maintain his usual color palette. But when she was staring down baskets and baskets of every color of super soft yarn in existence, green had been the only color that seemed right.

And Marinette had long ago learned to trust her instincts when it came to creations because her random ideas always had a knack for just coming together.

But looking at the finished product now, she can’t figure out why green had seemed so important at the time.

She shrugs off the feeling, and quickly wraps the two completed beanies. It’s their anniversary next week and she’s excited to see them wearing the matching styles side by side. After attaching labels on each she opens her trunk to store the gifts inside until the appropriate day.

The trunk is already filled to the brim. She might need to get a second one. She has so many gifts on hand. Her mother teases her for continuing to make more, but her maman doesn’t understand Marinette’s constant need to have something to keep her hands busy. It was the only way to calm the constant buzzing in her head.

And plus, it was nice to have extra gifts on hand for most any occasion when Marinette forgot.

Because Marinette forgot a lot.

But as she places the two new wrapped parcels onto the pile she can’t help but notice every gift already has a label.

Her eyebrows furrow. She picks the closest one up.

Adrien’s 21st birthday.

Who’s Adrien?

She pulls out more.

Adrien’s fifth name day.

For when Adrien’s father is being a jerk.

Adrien’s 42nd birthday.

There’s dozens of presents! All for this Adrien. It doesn’t make any sense.

She rips through the decorative paper. A pair of gloves - made from sky blue yarn. They match a scarf she knit, she remembers. But she doesn’t remember what she did with that scarf. She opens present after present. She remembers making all of them, but they weren’t supposed to be for anyone in particular. She just likes making things, doesn’t she?

She has always liked making things. She’s sure of it.

She tugs at her bangs, feeling more than a little insane because she can’t have forgotten a whole person, could she? What could even cause something like that?

She starts tearing through the rest of her room. Her next clue comes from her sketchbook.

There are so many sketches of the same blond boy. But he’s just an invention of her head, isn’t he? A character she created to serve her design needs - someone who was classically beautiful with just that touch of androgyny so she could use the figure with a huge variety of designs.

She even drew him once in a catsuit!

She flips to another page and there he is again standing beside a self portrait on her wedding day. She remembers drawing it. She doesn’t remember labeling it mine and Adrien’s wedding.

A tear falls onto the page. He’s not just a character or stand in for her fantasies.

He’s real.

She presses a finger to his ink drawn face.

His name is Adrien.

Why can’t she remember him?

Her whole body quakes violently and her tears come faster like a river swelling in the middle of a storm.

She clutches at her head. She can’t have forgotten a whole person.

She’s forgetful. She’s not that forgetful.

She reaches for her diary, and flips it open to a random page.

And it’s not just Adrien. So many unfamiliar names written in her sparkling pink ink confront her.

Hawkmoth.

Tikki.

Ladybug.

Chat Noir.

Adrien.

The boy she apparently had fallen in love with.

She flips back to the beginning and drinks in every single word.

…

After three days of tearing apart both his and Alya’s rooms they’ve uncovered over a dozen references to Adrien.

There was an actual detailed plan to kidnap this person from an actual bodyguard named, Placid, that apparently could be bribed with rare hero action figures. Nino also had made this Adrien a few playlists and at least one remix, a rare honor in Nino’s world that told him quite clearly how important this person had been to him.

The most concerning and upsetting find was all the research Nino had done on signs of child abuse. Nino remembers doing the research. He doesn’t remember why he had felt it was so vital, and he absolutely does not remember annotating it with observations and notes about Adrien and his asshole father, Gabriel.

The clues in Alya’s room are way less specific, but somehow also more helpful.

“Does that say Agreste?” Alya asks, tapping on a list of people she had invited to a party that took place three months prior.

Nino takes the notepad from her. “Yeah, I think so. Why is that important?”

“You said his father’s name was Gabriel.”

“Still not following.”

“Gabriel Agreste?” Alya said the name like it was supposed to mean something.

Nino just stares at her blankly.

“Really? One of the richest men in the world, French billionaire who owns a fashion empire amongst other things?”

He shrugs.

“You clearly have never heard Marinette babble endlessly on fashion, have you?”

He laughs. “I learned a long time ago I can’t keep up with Marinette. If he was a music guy I bet I’d know who he was.”

She shakes her head in amusement.

“So this means we have a last name? Adrien Agreste?”

She nods. “I think so. I didn’t write Adrien. I wrote Agreste. But if you had to break past a bodyguard, it would make sense that he was wealthy, right?”

He nods.

“We now also have a time frame.”

His gaze shoots to her. “We do? How?”

She grins. “This party was three months ago, and while I can’t know if he was at that party, I know I wrote this list like a month before it? So—“

“So that means we forgot him sometimes in the last four months.”

She nods. “When did you start feeling like things were off?”

His gut sinks. “Two weeks?”

He lost someone close to him in just the last few weeks! How could he—

Alya’s hand squeezed his arm. “Nino, this can’t be your fault.”

“I just! How can you just lose someone and not notice?!”

She smiles softly, and cups either side of his face in her soft hands. “But you did notice.”

He let himself melt into her hold for a minute, clinging to her.

“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you,” he whispers.

“You haven’t lost me,” she assures.

“But have there been others? How often has a person disappeared and just no one could remember so no one really noticed? How would we even know how often that happens?!”

His neck and shoulders were tight again.

She groans. “Please don’t go all conspiracy theorist on me.”

“Al— An entire person was erased! And you don’t expect me to start thinking—“

She shakes her head hard. “Can we talk to Marinette first?”

His eyebrows pinch together. “Why Marinette?”

“I found a brainstorm of ways to help Marinette get her man, but I can’t remember her crushing that hard on anyone—“

“What about Luka? Or Zoé?”

“She never needed my help with Luka, and I don’t think she ever realized she was attracted to Zoé, so I figure it was Adrien. And that girl, well, she’s a bit obsessive. She’ll probably have more clues than either of us. If you’re okay with it?”

He nods. He’s okay with anything that gets them more information, more evidence that he’s not completely mental.

She dials immediately. Marinette answers before the second ring.

“Alya! I think I might—“

“You’re on speaker!” Alya warns.

Marinette cuts off immediately.

“Nino is here with me, and this is going to sound crazy—“

Marinette snorts. “Try me.”

“Does the name Adrien Agreste mean anything to you?”

There’s a long pause, so long that Nino’s heart rises into his throat, and his palms start sweating.

“Do you remember him?” Alya asks.

Nino bites his lip.

“No—“

And all the hope flies out of him like air out of a balloon.

“—but I keep a diary.”

And he’s floating above the clouds once again.

“Can we come over? Like, now?” he croaks out.

“Yes! Right now! Please! There’s so much more to this than Adrien.”

…

“We were what?” Nino asks.

“That’s awesome!” Alya says in the same beat. “It’s not fair that we don’t get to remember!”

Marinette glares at her.

“Sorry! You know that superheroes have always been my thing!”

“I thought journalism was your thing,” Nino counters.

“It doesn’t matter! Our friend is missing!” Marinette interrupts. “He might need our help! We have to find him!”

But even as they are able to piece together more of the holes in their memories, that there was a boy in their class that they all knew, a boy who was his best friend, they never catch any clue on where to look for him now.

“Maybe we need to figure out what happened to the miraculous,” Nino suggests.

“They should be here,” Marinette says dully, but there’s no force behind it. Not anymore. She’s said it so many times.

Alya shrugs. “Maybe they went back to that Guardian guy?”

But they don’t know how to track him either.

Months go by, and Nino finds it’s somehow harder to grieve someone you can’t remember. Because the feelings are all there, but there’s nothing to hold onto for comfort, no shared moments to reminisce over, nothing tangible to process.

“Do you think he died?” Marinette asks one day.

“I don’t know what else could have happened,” he admits.

…

She’s there, just across the street staring at him with eyes wider than the Milky Way.

Marinette is there, and she’s not looking past him or through him.

It doesn’t feel real, but he can’t bring himself to question it. After everything, the universe owes him at least this much.

The signal to cross turns on, and she’s running across the street.

And ten seconds later, she stands in front of him, her face scrunched up in confusion.

But she doesn’t say anything, and his heart drops. Maybe she doesn’t know him at all - maybe she’s just noticed the same guy sitting across from her childhood home for the last four days - stalking her for who knows what reasons.

He can’t stand it.

So he does what he always does and throws himself in front of the bullet.

And if she kills him, at least he’ll have died by her hand.

“You shouldn’t be able to recognize me,” he says.

Her eyes narrow, and her arms cross, and he recognizes the expression.

Ladybug is pissed at him.

A laugh bubbles from his chest.

“Why’re you laughing?!” she demands.

He shrugs, having no idea what she remembers or not.

“The face you made reminded me of someone I used to know,” he said, smiling.

“Me. I remind you of me.”

She flings the words at him like an accusation.

His smile only stretches, and he nods his head in an admission of guilt.

“Why can’t I remember you?”

He cringes. “Would you believe me if I said it was sort’ve an accident?”

Her eyes narrow again, but then she takes another step forward. She’s so close and he can’t bring himself to move as she reaches out and brushes a lock from his eyes, searching his face for what he doesn’t know.

“You’re really him, aren’t you?”

He feels suddenly shy, but he’s also beaming in a way he can’t remember doing since he and Ladybug defeated his father.

“Who do you think I am?” he asks, holding his breath.

“You’re Adrien Agreste and…” her eyebrows scrunch up in absolute confusion. “And maybe Chat Noir?”

She knows his name. Both of them. It’s so unexpected. He bursts into tears.

He yanks her into a hug and cries into her shoulder.

Her arms lock around him with zero hesitation. And it feels like he’s come home.

“You’re going to explain everything to me.”

He squeezes her harder. More than a year had passed, and he had believed he’d never hold her in his arms again.

And if he did, it would be weird because she wouldn’t know who he was.

But wrapped up in the reality of holding her in his arms, of her holding him just as tightly, he wonders how he ever could have doubted.

This is always where he was supposed to be.

At her side, her partner in every way that she will let him.

…

Marinette:

COME HOME!

Nino’s half a district away and it’s rush hour during tourist season. It will take forever to get back to the apartment he and Alya share with Marinette.

Nino:

My shift starts in ten.

Marinette:

NINO! COME HOME RIGHT NOW! Don’t have time to answer wuestions! Just come home!!!!!

He sighs and turns around. If he loses his job over this, he will seriously make Marinette pay his portion of the rent.

The whole bathroom had better be flooded or the kitchen on fire.

…

Marinette drops her phone on the table, knowing Nino will listen. He hates his job and he can totally get a better one if it comes to that. Maybe she could have shared that it was good news, but she can’t tell him this over the phone.

“Nino’s on his way,” she says. She pushes her nonexistent flyaways behind her ears for what has to be the eighth time in the last five minutes. She risks a glance at her new guest. His eyes have never left her form, and she has to glance away as the burn in her cheeks flares up anew.

She has no idea who he is in some ways, and yet, she trusts him more than she trusts herself, which is not a huge threshold to clear because she barely trusts herself at all. No, she trusts him the way she trusts Alya, except instead of feeling grounded, she feels like she’s floating off the ground, and her skin is electrified in a pleasant buzzing, and she can’t stop smiling.

Because he’s actually there.

And yet, she doesn’t know how to talk to him.

“This is weird for you, isn’t it?” he asks, a hand rubbing the back of his own neck.

“What?!” she denies, her voice is pitched way too high. “Not at all! Sure, at one point I did think all those sketches were just some character I had invented!” She needs to stop talking. “And apparently, you were like this huge part of my life for at least a few years from what we’ve been able to piece together, I can’t remember you at all, and now you’re here!” Her hands waved dramatically at his very obvious presence in her living room. “What could possibly be weird about any of that?”

She falls to the sofa and buries her face in a pillow. She wants to scream into it, but she refuses to give into the impulse while he’s there to serve as witness.

He sits beside her a few seconds later with a comfortable space between if the lack of indentation in her seat cushion is anything to go by.

What’s wrong with her? She had imagined a reunion so many times, what she would say, what she would do.

“You must have so many questions,” he says.

Probably not nearly as many as he thinks.

“Just one,” she says, risking a peek from her pillow.

God, his eyes are so green, and his face is so open, waiting for whatever she’s going to say like it’s important and worth waiting for.

Which it probably isn’t because her fantasized plan is so ridiculous he will most definitely laugh in her face, but she doesn’t have anything else to say either.

“What is it?” he asks when the silence stretches on.

“C-can I miss you? I mean! Kiss you!” She had been planning that line since she read about his first confession to Ladybug. And now, she really can’t look at him, her face is hotter than the tea steaming from their cups.

He does burst into laughter, but it’s the most gorgeous sound Marinette has ever heard in her life - like water babbling over pebbles. And it doesn’t feel like he’s laughing at her somehow - not with that smile so bright she probably needs sunscreen.

He pulls the pillow from her lap, and then takes her hand, their fingers tangling together naturally as he closes the annoying gap between them on the sofa. His other hand caresses the side of her face, tilting her chin up before he’s pulling her in.

He stops a centimeter short, and she whimpers.

“You’re sure this isn’t too fast?” His words are so soft she can feel them more than hear them.

She scoffs and closes the distance herself. Nothing can be too fast after she’s had so much time to wonder about both all the things she can’t remember and all the things that might have been. She’s not going to let those what ifs go on for a second longer.

When his lips touch hers, she’s half hoping memories will come flooding back.

She’s apparently used a kiss to bring him back to her before. According to her diary anyway. Why can’t he bring her back the same way?

It doesn’t happen. And yet, all her nervous bubbling energy seems to settle at his feather light touch. She wants to go in for more, but he’s already pulling away. But at least, he doesn’t go far. His forehead rests gently on hers.

“Why does it always take you losing your memory for you to want to kiss me?” She can hear the laughter in his voice, but the blood drains from her face.

She pulls back far enough so she can see his face. “What do you mean? Weren’t we together?”

Something in his smile turns sad and he glances away. “Only in my dreams.”

“But… I loved you.”

His eyes shoot towards her again, and immediately flood with threatened tears. His hands tighten around hers.

“You loved me?” There’s a tremor, a hitch in his voice.

“Since the day you gave me your umbrella,” she whispers.

His face crumples completely in that instant. And he’s the one burying his face in his lap, his shoulders quaking.

She doesn’t have any idea of what to do. “I-Is that a bad thing?” she asks.

He looks up, and shakes his head. “No! Never a bad thing! I-I love you so much, Buginette. You have no idea.”

“Buginette?” she echoes, tasting the nickname on her lips. She likes it. “Ladybug and Marinette?”

He laughs and shakes his head. “No! I didn’t know that Ladybug and Marinette were the same person until the very end. H-how do you know about Ladybug and Chat Noir?”

“Did I never tell you I kept a pretty detailed diary?”

“A diary?! I never thought to look–”

He doesn’t finish the sentence before the door swings open.

…

Nino approaches the door, feeling beyond dead on his feet, and the apartment is suspiciously quiet without any water rushing under the door, or smoke streaming from the edges. Not even Alya had known what Marinette was panicking about, but told him she would be home soon too.

Nino tiredly unlocks the door, wishing his girlfriend was already there. He and Marinette sometimes fed each other’s anxiety.

“Nettie! This had better be huge–” his cuts off.

Marinette is not alone. She’s sitting next to someone he’s never met, their fingers loosely entangled. They both stand when he steps further into the room.

And the way they’re looking at each other…

His heart rises to his throat and tears spring to his eyes.

He’s trying not to hope. Marinette might just be introducing him to a new boyfriend or a possible roommate.

But it’s too late.

The guy is blond, and he’s beaming up at Nino like they are old friends.

Nino turns questioning eyes to Marinette.

She nods enthusiastically to his unasked question.

And then he tackles the stranger who had apparently been his best friend.

“Nino!” the man– Adrien grunts. “Easy, easy.”

“No! You fucking disappeared, mec! And you stayed disappeared for years! We figured you must’ve gotten smoked. And if you really were my best friend, you know why that in particular would mess me the fuck up!”

Adrien hugs him harder.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disappear. I would’ve come back sooner, but–” he trailed off, pulling away. Nino is tempted to glomp right back on. “And I didn’t think it mattered how long I was gone because none of you should have remembered me! I didn’t think to look for diaries when I scrubbed your rooms.”

“You scrubbed our rooms?!” Marinette demands. She’s livid.

“I had to get rid of all the pictures!” Adrien defends.

Her face turns white. “Please tell me you still have them!”

He winces. “I was a famous model. My face was on magazines and billboards. I had to find a way to erase all of that to disappear!”

Adrien might as well have stabbed her.

But Nino didn’t care. They were both missing the point.

“None of this explains why you had to disappear!” he interjects hotly. “Or why you never came back!”

…

Adrien is well familiar with Ladybug in a rage, and Marinette on a righteous mission to correct an injustice, but he’s not sure if he’s ever seen Nino angry at all.

Not like this.

“I’m sorry,” Adrien says. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Any of you. I just– I wanted to do what was best for everyone.”

“How is forgetting my best friend what’s best for me?”

“I didn’t know that was going to happen! That was never the plan!”

“Then what was the plan?”

All three of them whirl around to see Alya having just come home herself.

And in spite of the tension in the room, or maybe even because of it, he’s so relieved to see her. “Alya,” he greets, opening his arms for a hug.

“Adrien,” she says back so smoothly, accepting the hug.

“How did you know?”

She rolls her eyes. “If panicked Marinette was texting Nino and not me, it could only be about you.”

Adrien laughs, but he wants to cry. His eyes are already burning. How is it that even when they don’t remember him, they love him still?

Nathalie hadn’t. He’s not sure his father ever had even when he did remember he had a son.

And then the dam breaks all over again, and he falls back to the sofa. But this time when the tears overtake him, three sets of arms wrap around him soothingly, which only makes him cry harder.

“I’m so sorry,” he sobs. “I wanted to come back sooner. Maybe I should have, but it wasn’t safe. I wasn’t in control of myself.”

“Did you lose control of destruction,” Marinette asks.

He shakes his head. “No, I figured out how to make destruction work to heal everything. To heal all of us. To heal the city. I didn’t make you forget me. I made you forget the miraculous. Forgetting me was an unexpected side effect.”

“Why just you?” Nino asks.

Adrien hesitates for a second. If he told them this, there was no going back. He’s just got them back. He doesn’t want to lose them again.

And a second later, he wants to laugh at himself. They’re not going to leave him. Not over this.

They loved him even when they couldn’t remember him.

“I’m not… exactly human?” he admits. “I was apparently conceived with a miraculous. But I didn’t know that. And I erased everyone’s memory of the miraculous thinking it would be better for everyone to not remember—“

“But because you were conceived with a miraculous we can’t remember you either?” Alya interjects.

“—the way my father terrorized Paris for literal years!”

“Your father?!” Marinette gasps.

Adrien sighs, his shoulders slump. “Yeah, my father. But he doesn’t remember either.”

The group hug tightens around him, and for the first time in a long time, Adrien thinks it’s possible for things to be okay.

Maybe even to become amazing.

“You’re going to tell us everything we don’t remember, do you hear me?!” Marinette shouts. Nino nods rapidly in agreement. “Everything!”

Adrien’s laughing even as he is crying. Apparently, family isn’t always the people your born into, sometimes your family is the people you choose for yourself. Adrien’s found his family and he’s never looking back.

...

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