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mecachrome · 10 months ago

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pre-mclaren oscar piastri primer (ft. maxf, landoscar)

0. introduction

for a few months now i've been wanting to make both an oscar primer and a timeline of pre-mclaren landoscar moments, but i couldn't figure out which one to prioritize… then after some deliberation i finally realized i could just combine the two things together! so. here is an oscar-centric timeline that is mainly about his racing background, moving to the uk, and how he became acquainted with other members of the rfm pack—aka lando, maxf, and logan. i don't know whether any of this information is useful or even vaguely interesting, but i mostly just wrote it for myself and thought i'd share what i had in case anyone else wanted to check it out. please feel free to comment or shoot me an ask if anything here is egregiously incorrect; i've checked and linked as many sources as i could but it's of course possible that some errors remain :)

1. background, rc racing, early karting days (2007-2015)

oscar piastri was born on april 6, 2001 in brighton east, a suburb of melbourne not far from albert park circuit, as the son of chris and nicole and to-be oldest brother to 3 younger sisters. a love for all things automotive ran deep in the piastri family: both of his grandfathers were mechanics and his father had also co-founded his own vehicle diagnostics software company, hp tuners, aka oscar's sponsor throughout his racing career. thanks to his father's business, oscar's family was objectively well-off and managed to contribute a fairly substantial amount of support toward his junior career, but they also weren't swimming in cash by multi-millionaire motorsport standards either.

(L-R) edie, mae, hattie, and oscar, from nicole's twitter — each sibling is ~2 years apart (source)

while most drivers on the current grid were introduced to motorsport through go-karting, usually at or before the age of 7, oscar's path to single-seaters differed slightly. he first developed an interest in racing via remote-controlled cars at the age of 6, when his father brought him a monster truck as a souvenir back from a business trip in america. oscar began racing them that same year, eventually moving to safer electric track vehicles and even winning the second class of the national titles in 2010, at the age of 9. he was so small then that he often needed to stand on a milk crate to see the cars on track, and the next-youngest competitor at the time was twice his age. (source)

youtube

oscar on the podium at age 8 (nov 16, 2009)

oscar with his father chris, who often competed alongside him in a separate class (dec 21, 2010)

by 2011, oscar and his father were seriously considering his potential of pursuing rc racing as a viable career path, but things changed when he was introduced to karting via a friend's daughter in the rc community and his aspirations slowly shifted toward racing from inside a car. oscar was an unsurprisingly sporty and competitive child growing up; he'd played some cricket and aussie rules football and knew that all he wanted to do was race professionally, full-stop, at the time thinking along the lines of australian racing categories like v8 supercars. he was still competing in remote car racing as late as 2013, but he began karting seriously within australia in 2014, placing respectably in the junior categories of several regional karting series against relatively senior and more-experienced racers, and even going to france for a one-off event where he finished on the podium of the iame international junior x30 final. this outing affirmed his potential to his father and motivated the two of them to split time between australia and europe in 2015 as they juggled his karting future; plans for two more european events that year fell through, including the cik-fia world championship at the kfj level (which logan sargeant would go on to win), but at this point they were officially looking to take his career to the next level and commit fully to european karting in 2016.

this is when ricky flynn (and the hypothetical idea of lando norris!!!) comes in. before we get into rfm and karting professionally in europe, it's important to note that the defining aspect of landoscar's junior careers is that their pathways never once intersected. in fact, they don't even seem to have met properly before oscar entered the f1 grid as alpine reserve, although they'd spoken over social media and oscar was familiar with several people around lando's life—for example, maxf, logan, guanyu, and even lando's older brother oliver, who had also raced for rfm.

in short, you could say that landoscar's biggest hindrance was their parallel excellence. oscar was good enough to catch up and even surpass everyone else at lando's level, but lando remained untouchable throughout the years. oscar is only 1.5 years younger than him, but their f1 careers are offset by 4 years (2019 vs. 2023 debut) because of exactly two things: oscar's 2022 gap year in alpine and his two attempts at formula renault eurocup. on the other hand, lando sped through all of his junior categories in blistering fashion, falling short of the championship only once: the year he placed 2nd in f2 behind george russell. this is significant because many talk about the clinical nature of oscar's rapid single-seater ascension and three b2b2b victories (still very impressive, especially given his limited karting career!), but all of that speaks equally to the illustrious nature of lando's junior success and the sheer magnitude of faith placed in him as mclaren's "golden boy" coming up the ranks. to put things into further perspective, lando was teammates with maxf and jehan daruvala at rfm until 2014, jehan competing in the same class and max one below, yet by the time oscar was racing max and jehan—in f3 in 2020 and f2 in 2021, respectively—lando was already into his 2nd and 3rd years of f1. here's a chart that hopefully makes a bit more sense:

majorly simplified timeline showing lando, guanyu, maxf, logan, and oscar's junior careers + the karting classes they primarily competed in each calendar year. maxf did not complete his 2nd f3 season and many of them contested multiple/different formula renault series, but this is just a rough overview of their feeder series experience.

2. moving to europe, rfm, regional formulae (2016-2019)

back in australia, oscar was a member of the oakleigh go-kart racing club and being actively mentored by james sera, a multi-time australian karting champion and fa kart dealer who worked with young karting talents alongside his cousin david. in late-2015, he presumably helped oscar and his father reach out to ricky flynn, who ran ricky flynn motorsport (rfm) and whose team was at the time enjoying exorbitant success in the karting scene; lando had won the world championship at the kf level the year prior, and logan would soon clinch the kfj title in 2015, results which further drew oscar's interest toward the team. ricky flynn agreed to take oscar on and have him and his dad move out to europe, and by november 2015 oscar announced on social media that he would be joining rfm the next year. in january of 2016, he and his father moved to hertford, uk, so that oscar could begin a 100-day karting program and travel extensively around europe to attend races. this is where he met logan sargeant, who was in his final year on the team but competing a class above, now at the ok (previously kf) level. oscar himself was only competing in the okj class.

not oscar-related, but as you can see guanyu, logan, and maxf were already acquainted before oscar and logan met, since the three of them and lando had been in rfm together as of 2014 — (may 11, 2014) & (feb 6, 2015)

oscar and logan in 2016

in an interview published on june 7, 2023, oscar reflected on leaving australia and committing to his racing dream, saying:

"i think if there was a turning point, it was probably when i started finishing towards the front in australia, and i started winning a couple of races here and there and finishing in the top three of championships and stuff, and then went to europe and fully committed to going down that route. [...] there's obviously a very big commitment at that point when you move halfway across the world without family and stuff. so i knew at that point that i really wanted to become a professional because, firstly, that's what i want to do anyway, but, secondly, now i'm sacrificing seeing my family, and stuff like that to be able to do this — which was a sacrifice i was more than willing to make."

like the majority of oscar's karting career, his time with ricky flynn can primarily be summarized as decent. none of his performances were particularly stellar, and in november 2016 he placed 6th in the fia world championship final behind the likes of victor martins and théo pourchaire (he mainly competed against guys like them, dennis hauger, caio collet, etc… once again logan was a class above and lando/maxf had already graduated to single-seaters), but he showed promising racing foundations and a great capacity for improvement, especially given that he'd moved to europe the same year and was still adjusting to life and racing on the opposite hemisphere. about 6 months into his new karting venture, oscar had settled in reasonably well and his father decided he would return to australia to continue on with his life, so they made the joint decision that oscar was to begin boarding at haileybury's uk campus and continue racing in europe entirely on his own. uk and australian school years are misaligned, so my personal understanding is he moved to europe after finishing year 9 in australia, attempted online school/took a few months off (he says he did online coursework here, but mentioned here that he was out of school, so it sounds like it must have been a very half-hearted effort…), came back to australia over the uk summer to do some more karting, then began boarding in september 2016 as a year 10 student. he spent ~4 years there and eventually received his a-levels in 2020, except his final year was disrupted by covid and he never sat his exams. (blog post mentioning his a-levels + btg transcript excerpt about his exams; his website says he attended haileybury from 2016-19, but i think this mainly encapsulates his boarding period, as he was still doing remote work in april 2020.)

oscar in f4 with his gcse revision guide, 📸 sebastiaan rozendaal (may 20, 2018)

2016 is also when oscar began his well-documented super-liking of several of lando's social media profiles. i think understanding oscar's time in rfm and his extremely british single-seater origins helps better paint his history with lando and maxf; my personal understanding of pre-mclaren landoscar is that while oscar never formally met lando or maxf during his karting days, he knew of them quite well through rfm and thus followed them on instagram/twitter after moving to the uk. of course, oscar has a fairly active social media presence in general, so young oscar quietly liked instagram posts and tweets from many different people, but i do feel compelled to note that in the early days he liked lando, maxf, and logan's posts with seriously impressive frequency compared to anyone else on the grid (or anyone in general, really); after creating his twitter account in may 2016, some of the very first tweets oscar liked were from maxf, and he also liked a multitude of mundane lando tweets from 2016 until… today, while on the other hand he didn't start liking george's tweets—another similarly-aged young british talent—until late 2017. (he does have some fun george-admiring moments though, but that can wait for another time!) outside of rfm, other people oscar was familiar with during his early racing years were british f4 teammate ayrton simmons, to-be series champion jamie caroline, and old australian karting friend christian pancione, who appears to still be one of his best mates (if not his best) as of today. fun fact is that christian raced for the carrera cup as a support event to the australian gp in 2023; here's oscar allegedly checking the quali live timing at lunch during his own media day.

so, to conclude, oscar's early lando focus basically traces back to the motorsport path he took at the behest and guidance of his early rfm connections in the uk. the thing is that despite growing up in australia and vaguely admiring several aussie drivers in f1 as a child (read: mark webber and eventually daniel ricciardo), oscar has never had a specific driver he consistently mentions when pressed for his racing "idol," likely since his personality inherently resists idolatry and he instead views successful people more as actionable benchmarks or reference points for self-improvement rather than as unattainable paragons of accomplishment. as a kid forced to grow up almost entirely on his own, the majority of his racing aspirations were molded independently in the uk—he completed his karting career in the uk, boarded at haileybury for 4 years (fun fact: other drivers to attend include jehan, callum ilott, and clément novalak; callum was a few years above oscar and finished school in 2017, but the two would later become quite talkative over social media anyway), raced in british f4, became a brdc member, contested eurocup under a british license and therefore had the british flag raised and british national anthem played during his wins, stayed in the uk even at alpine since the factory is based in enstone, etc. oscar basically moved to the uk from australia without having really met anyone significant in the racing scene (other than jack doohan, or more importantly jack's father mick, but jack is younger and did an extra year of karting) and pretty much didn't have anyone specific to "look up to" at the time. oscar's first acknowledgement of lando's online existence was in december 2015, when he liked one of lando's instagram posts prior to moving to england, so it can be assumed that lando basically functioned as his most accessible reference point in the junior ladder as a 14 year old dipping his toes into the european racing scene for the first time. that is my highly subjective analysis of the situation!

select quotes re: oscar's inconsistent responses to his motorsport "hero" (or his favorite driver / a driver he looks up to in general):

(f1fs; mar 9, 2022) "i started watching f1 in… 2009 was the first season i properly watched. so when brawn came in, obviously mark was the only aussie on the grid at that point, so i was kind of naturally going for him. then joined by daniel, so obviously going to support the aussies, but i think watching lewis has been nothing short of spectacular, and a very good role model. [...] i think when i was first watching, i supported mark, but, you know, and i hope he takes no offense to this—vettel was winning everything at that point. so i was supporting mark, but vettel was doing most of the winning. i think now that i understand more about racing though, i would say [the driver i look up to the most is] lewis, mainly. the way he goes about things on and off the track is quite exceptional."

(mcl youtube; mar 29, 2023) sporting idols mentioned: ayrton senna, alain prost, michael jordan (see also ultimate athletes list)

(p1; aug 10, 2023) "i would say i never had like one specific idol. when i was growing up watching mark webber was at red bull, and obviously being australian, red bull being very quick at the time, i kind of naturally followed him. i mean—even like some of the guys in the junior ranks above me. like lando was always kind of two, three years above me, winning… most things on his way up. so i guess kind of him in some ways?"

(eff won; dec 4, 2023) "i don’t really have like one specific [idol]. i think what lewis has been able to do in terms of getting to seven world championships was incredibly impressive. i think what max is doing now is also very impressive…"

the first lando post oscar liked on instagram (dec 21, 2015)

the first maxf posts oscar liked; instagram (feb 26, 2016) & twitter (may 9, 2016)

anyway, back to british f4! despite his initially unconventional foray into motorsport, oscar's journey progressed in a much more orderly fashion once he stepped up to single-seaters. his actual debut was in f4 uae, which he ran 3 rounds of between 2016 and 2017 (another fun fact: this is where he briefly acquainted himself with mclaren indycar driver david malukas, who would later recall him being very intelligent and whom zak brown allegedly spoke to oscar about before appointing to their indy team). after cutting his teeth on actual car-racing for the first time, oscar decided against moving up to the ok class as he felt confident in his ability to be competitive in single-seaters. his first full season was therefore the 2017 british f4 championship, during which oscar signed with arden while logan went to reigning champions carlin (lando had won with them in 2015, then maxf in 2016). oscar made his way to the top step 6 times in the season and placed just barely above logan for 2nd in the championship, finishing behind the considerably more experienced jamie caroline. arden was also founded and is currently owned by red bull team principal christian horner, so it was during oscar's time there that christian took note of and interest in his talent; oscar reportedly did a few runs in the red bull simulator but was passed over for joining the academy, which christian later voiced regret on. (source)

maxf, logan (center), and oscar (to max's right) on a day maxf was visiting the 2017 british f4 grid (april 11, 2017)

linus lundqvist, oscar, and logan on the podium at snetterton (jul 30, 2017)

jamie and oscar, who were… er, mathematically in the main championship fight. for some reason they made them take these photos (sep 30, 2017)

after a successful f4 outing with arden, oscar returned to the team for his first season of formula renault eurocup in 2018, a renault series that ran in its specific configuration until 2020 before merging with the parallel regional series frec to become what is today known as freca. this season proved to be less competitive for oscar, as arden was relatively inexperienced in this series and oscar's three teammates were afflicted with what can colloquially be referred to as a "skill issue," making it difficult to collectively develop the car throughout the season. (blog interview) the series was thus returning driver maxf's to lose, who at the time was racing for reigning champs r-ace with teammates that included oscar's fellow rookies logan and victor martins.

despite the unideal environment, oscar managed to prove his worth by placing a respectable 8th in the series, scoring 110 points as a rookie driver and capping the season off with 3 podiums and a top-finish of 2nd place—a jarring contrast to his teammates' joint total of 12 points. this result attracted the attention of r-ace and granted him a seat with them for the 2019 season, at which point maxf and logan both graduated to f3. thankfully that wasn't too much of a concern for oscar since he'd always intended to do two seasons of eurocup, and now he finally had a chance to win the first serious championship of his racing career with an established racing outfit.

oscar, max, and yifei ye on the hockenheim r2 podium (sep 23, 2018) [full gifset]

oscar's second season of eurocup is when he truly started proving himself as a driver, or at least to the people whose names, money, and opinions mattered around the paddock. his main competition in 2019 was again victor, who was now racing for mp and had been made a member of the renault sport academy back in 2018 after a strong performance in french f4. despite a close title fight, oscar managed to hold him off for the championship in the final race of the season, kicking off what would soon become an impressive string of consecutive single-seater series titles. even sweeter was the fact that all eurocup champions were awarded a renault sport academy spot that could be left or taken as they pleased, and of course—while the finances weren't nearly as impressive as alpine would later proclaim in their baseless smear campaign—oscar's connections in the racing world were limited as an australian driver almost exclusively managed by his father, so he gladly accepted the offer for the many venues of support renault presented to him.

see also: bby oscar briefly mentioning lando after winning eurocup in 2019 (@ 1:10)

oscar being lifted by his team (r-ace) after placing 4th in the abu dhabi finale and winning the title by 7.5 points

3. renault sport academy, lockdown, f3 (2020)

many things happened in 2020. one: oscar became an official member of the renault sport academy, joining the likes of max (who'd been picked up on merit after winning british f4 in 2017), guanyu, christian lundgaard, caio collett, and fellow new recruit hadrien david (victor had been strategically demoted after oscar's win because renault is a notoriously unserious organization, but again this is not the post). two: by the time oscar was ready for f3, moving up the ladder proved to be exorbitantly expensive, and he realized he needed better funds and managerial support to sort his career out. he'd been offered a spot in prema's f3 team by team-owner rené rosin at the end of his eurocup season, who'd named him for the post-season test before the championship was over and stressed that the spot was his no matter where he finished. (source) prema is unquestionably one of the top—if not frequently the top—teams one can drive for in most junior series (though there is also somewhat of a self-selection bias; if you ask oscar he is not a significant beneficiary of prematax!), having absolutely demolished the f3 competition that same year and achieved a clean sweep of the drivers' standings with rob shwartzman, marcus armstrong, and jehan at 1-2-3 consecutively. oscar completed post-season testing with them in spain alongside to-be teammates logan and fred vesti in october (source), before confirming on jan 26, 2020 that he would be joining them for the f3 season as a renault junior.

so, where does mark webber come in here? apparently mark's trainer from red bull and wec had also been oscar's trainer since 2016 (i'm pretty sure this is australian physiologist simon sostaric), and it was through their joint connection that oscar was introduced to mark. according to mclaren's 2023 season preview, "the pair hit it off, and webber took his countryman under his wing," signing oscar to jam sports management, aka the management agency he runs with his wife ann. mark's support would become a major factor in helping oscar progress through the feeder ranks and establish himself in f1, mainly because he had actual connections and could help oscar network with sponsors and negotiate his way during future signings. of course, more on this later.

as an aside, here are a few things mark has said about oscar:

"he’s got that white line fever when he puts his helmet on and turns into a different character, which is sensational." (mar 1, 2020)

"one of oscar’s biggest strengths by a mile, compared to everyone he is competing against — and this will be a huge string to his bow when he makes it to f1 — is his composure. he has immense levels of composure. [...] if you are weak mentally you won’t make it. he was on his own from an early age. he did brilliantly with his studies. but the racing disease would not go away, he wants it very much." (sydney morning herald; dec 11, 2021)

"he’s a prost, mate. he’s such a thinker and so calm. at first i thought i needed to inject a bit of urgency in him, but actually no, he’s got his own frequency. that’s just where he is." (the race; oct 7, 2023)

estimates provided by chris piastri on the cost of oscar's junior career, stressing the million-dollar commitments of running a single season of f3 or f2 (source)

anyway, back to the chaotic events of 2020. i think something that's good to keep in mind when discussing oscar's time in the renault sport academy is that he was actually a relatively new recruit, as in he only participated in a single training camp with the other juniors in 2020 and most of them (max, christian, guanyu, the temporary ghost of victor) already knew each other before. oscar essentially met with renault's factory team in early 2020, filmed promotional material with other juniors in january before attending the season opener together in february and then heading to winter training camp later that month, after which he and max left early for f3 pre-season testing in bahrain on march 1—a blessing in disguise, seeing as caio, hadrien, and christian remained behind and would soon be stuck quaranting in a hotel in tenerife—then briefly spent a week at school before returning home for what was meant to be a quick pit stop at the australian gp, which at the time had yet to be canceled.

then, of course, lockdown happened.

simplified breakdown of renault junior stints, notably showcasing the academy's struggles to meaningfully promote any of its juniors

oscar at the 2020 renault season opener alongside then-academy director mia sharizman, then-tp cyril abiteboul, alain prost, f1 drivers esteban ocon and daniel ricciardo, and the other academy juniors: fewtrell, lundgaard, zhou, david (feb 12, 2020)

oscar and maxf behind the scenes of the same event (feb 12, 2020)

stuck in australia for three months, oscar would end up participating in two fia virtual races, one for f2 and another for f1 (jun 7, 2020). a fun landoscar tidbit is that he finished 5th in the virtual gp right behind lando, so they technically had raced each other before 2023, depending on... well, whether you count a 2020 sim race wherein george russell and alex albon lead the pack as a real race. nevertheless, this was a time when drivers were becoming much more active online, seeing as streaming was the best way to keep their images relevant and connect with fans, and despite oscar expressing little interest in streaming on twitch he would still experience a considerable uptick in his online activity and twitter reach that year.

racing resumed on july 4 at the red bull ring in austria; oscar had been granted an exemption to travel to the uk and complete a 2-week quarantine back on may 27, a reassuring indicator to the motorsport world that the f3 season would run after all. now that he no longer had to attend school, having received 2 b's and 1 c for his maths, physics, and computer science a-levels, oscar relocated from hertford to oxford in june to be near the renault facilities, which he visited nearly every day to train at, and began living independently (as in in a flat) for the first time since 2016, rooming with fellow renault junior caio collet.

as i said before, this season is when oscar's online presence and "memeability" began to really conceptualize, enabled primarily by the fact that he was a) finally living outside of a school dormitory, and b) now, of course, signed at prema, a team notorious for its social media visibility, literal family atmosphere, and frequent youtube pandering. according to this f3 article, his twitter followers jumped from 795 at the start of the season to 11.6k by the time he won the championship, an audience built significantly off the self-deprecating string of jokes he used to tweet regarding drs and general reliability issues faced throughout the season.

what i guess i want to touch on here is how oscar's online presence has always been concentrated around the bare fundamentals of his personality: dry humor, candid words, sparing emojis, a few humorous photos detailing the mundane reality of his everyday routines, and at most the occasional inopportune meme or reaction gif (#thepiastri 🤷‍♂️, f2 in baku, jetpack guy, so on). he's bantered frequently with callum on twitter and near-obsessively liked memes, videos, and other updates lando shares with his audience, but he also has seemingly little interest in building up his own "brand" the way lando so smartly has with ln4 and quadrant, and quite frankly seems viscerally incapable of wanting to engage one-to-one with fans or otherwise leveraging the popularity of his material image. basically what i like to say is that oscar enjoys being adjacent to "lad humor" and will happily enable it, but he really has no interest in being the one to initiate it himself!

"there's some things you want to share, some things you don’t. in today's age and sort of having the profile that us drivers do, we kind of just have everything shared,” piastri said. “but (social media) can be used for good, certainly within the profiles that we have. but in some ways, it can be negative, and there's always going to be people out there that don't like you for being you.” piastri tries to write as many of his posts as possible, and he checks those written by his team to be sure they sound authentically him. (the athletic; jun 29, 2023)

along these lines, oscar does enjoy the spotlight, only he seems to prefer it concentrated in a specific lens toward a specific productive end. he's endlessly capable of seeing the objective upside of a situation, joking after he was made a meme in baku following his f2 sr1 collision that he was all for it if it got him popularity. after his eurocup championship he also said: "i think everyone loves a bit of spotlight on them. i think that's just human nature, so a bit of attention's always nice." which is interesting to me!

but back to racing. this season would unexpectedly become two things: maxf's last competitive season in motorsport—especially disappointing considering that he'd gone into the championship expecting to put on a second-season title charge, instead failing to gel with the hitech team to the point that each increasingly poor weekend made him spiral mentally—as well as oscar and logan's last season racing against each other before f1, since logan would later encounter financial difficulties that left him stranded in f3 as oscar catapulted himself to f2 victory. 2020 was obviously a weird season in general because of covid and the gap from pre-season testing, so it also meant that oscar had gone into the season fairly rusty; he managed to win the first race of the season, but on top of his drs rollercoaster he did struggle with middling results in qualifying and was met step-by-step throughout the championship by logan.

maxf's last race in f3 was the barcelona sprint race on august 16, with three rounds left to the end of the season. he dnfed in an unfortunate first-lap incident mere moments after oscar charged his way up from 5th on the grid to the front of the pack, where he would eventually breeze his way to victory and pull himself near-level with logan for the championship lead. i recognize that this is an oscar post and not a maxf post, but i think their time in f3 during an extremely isolated and covid-affected period speaks to both an interesting dynamic between them (the little kid who always lagged a series behind you suddenly beating you on merit) and their respective temperaments toward racing. while at renault, max reportedly lived with jack aitken during the week but would return to his family home on weekends, so it makes sense that he struggled to adapt when covid hit and drivers were collectively forced into very regimented sporting bubbles. mark webber, who worked for channel 4 as a commentator and had access to the f1 paddock, basically couldn't see oscar in person and instead spoke to him over the phone every day on race weekends. maxf said of his decision to quit:

"normally [...] i’m able to stay calm under pressure and i don’t let many things get to me but when you have a bad qualifying result and you see guys up there that you know you’re capable of beating, it definitely takes a dig at you inside and it’s been a lot to process throughout the year." (source)

while then-academy director mia sharizman, who worked closely with the renault juniors, spoke of oscar's inherent propensity for independence and how he adapted well to the pressures of living on his own:

"if you look at oscar piastri, he has been living on his own, [away] from his family who are in melbourne for the past five to six years. because he has been living on his own in boarding school, he learns how to live on his own, and he thrives in that. we have to force him... 'have you spoken to your father?!' it's just things like that, but he thrives in that. that's why he thrived in those weekends racing. he loves being on his own without anybody. on the other hand, we had max fewtrell, for example, who can't – he couldn't survive the 11 weekends racing, because he always needed his family to be around him. so those are the things that suddenly you see and, i think that that we see now, after a few years a driver who is quick, a driver who has the talent, and then the driver who is stable." (source)

2020 is also when lando and oscar spoke to each other on twitter for the first time. yay! after lando went semi-viral for having a meltdown over a hornet on three separate social media platforms, oscar first joked with him about it on august 24 (this was incidentally also the day maxf announced his functional retirement, which oscar liked as well 😭), before referencing the incident again a few weeks later in september.

(aug 24, 2020) / (sep 10, 2020)

outside of drs tweets and trying desperately to banter with lando norris, oscar's popular tweets at the time included several food-related mishaps and home appliance tragedies. while this isn't actually a lando moment, he was also slandered by the LN4 twitter account a month later on october 17 for reasons that remain a mystery, resulting in this set of interactions:

(oct 17, 2020) / (oct 19, 2020)

bonus: maxf's tweets @ oscar (when you aren't close enough to just text him.......)

but back to f3. similarly to his second season of eurocup, oscar would go on to clinch the title in only the final race of the year, this time even more stressfully—he never got pole that season and won arguably off of consistency, benefiting from errors and unfortunate collisions involving his primary competitors. after a hectic qualifying and string of contentious grid penalties set for the before-last round in monza, he began the feature race 15th on the grid but put on an impressive performance to finish on the podium, buffing his points lead after logan was tapped by clément and put out of the points. he, logan, and fred all dnfed in race 2 (read: the novalak pendulum swung away from oscar's favor to maintain stringent cosmic equilibrium, while logan and fred threw away a points opportunity with a teammate4teammate love tap), and oscar went into mugello with only an 8-point lead over logan and a 24-point lead over pourchaire. this weekend proved equally hectic, as is frequently the case with f3 racing standards, but in short oscar and logan entered the final sprint race level on points, with théo approaching terrifyingly near in their rearview mirrors. logan was unceremoniously taken out of contention on the first lap after contact with zendeli, and oscar managed to squeak his way to 164 points in the championship by placing 7th in the race; théo finished 3rd, with 161 points, two positions away from claiming both the race and the championship title.

a succinct summary of an eventful season! (posted jun 30, 2021)

despite winning the f3 championship in far-from-dominant fashion, oscar's career was now steadily on an upward trend. on october 30 he was rewarded with a private test in the r.s.18 at bahrain alongside christian and guanyu, and a month later confirmed that he would be racing for prema again in f2 (december 1, 2020). as a rookie f3 champion there was a moderate amount of interest in him, but no one really expected him to carry home the f2 title on his first try and so one of the main favorites going into the next season was his second-year teammate and 2019 f3 champion rob shwartzman.

4. f2, alpine reserve duties, #piastrigate (2021-2022)

at the start of 2021, fernando officially took daniel's place at renault and the team rebranded itself as alpine, parting ways with team principal cyril abiteboul and functionally replacing him with new ceo laurent rossi—part of a no-tp management structure, frankly a self-evident infrastructural faux-pas from a million miles away. the renault sport academy was then also renamed to alpine academy; again i know that this is an oscar post so i won't get too into the details of Alpine Being Alpine, but understanding how the academy functioned does help better contextualize the inevitable unfurling of piastrigate.

the main issue, really, would always be laurent rossi, or at least the values laurent rossi had been hired to represent and which he willingly peddled during his controversial tenure at alpine. after rossi's appointment it was reported that "the renamed alpine academy was now being tugged in two directions between director mia sharizman's ideal as a creator of future f1 drivers and alpine's chief executive officer laurent rossi's commercially-led preferences." (source) mia directed the academy from january 2016 until may 2022, and had been the one to restructure its recruitment process by demanding better funding and robust testing programs to cyril:

"when we first restarted the team in 2016, it was, we didn't even have a two-year-old car program at that time. we had to use a 2012 program using the [lotus] e20. [...] then in 2018, i went through it, and i said to cyril abiteboul, "look, let's try and do this." we needed financial resources. i needed a head start with financial resources to kick start the program whereby you entice drivers, and you offer [a place] to the academy drivers. it was more to see how they are... it was more of an evaluation process... that was what the first idea was. then we developed the program to develop the drivers to suit their formual 2 program." (source)

(note: mia also believed that 2020 was a disappointing year for all of his juniors save for oscar's performance in f3, which is a whole other thing. but rossi's greatest shortcoming was that he had singular, insulated vision, and he resisted any external input to the detriment of reactionary business decisions, a fact that alienated alain prost and soon led to his exit from the outfit in 2022. not a good look!!! prost would later call rossi "the best example of the dunning-kruger effect, that of an incapable leader who thinks himself able to overcome his incompetence with his arrogance and lack of humanity toward his troops." 🤌)

so basically, the cracks of mind-boggling incompetence within the team's leadership structure were long evident. on a brighter note, oscar's 2021 f2 season would quickly become his strongest single-seater contest ever (f1 youtube has a good summarizing video of his season, if interested); because of covid, f2 was experimenting with a three-race format this year in which quali set the reverse grid for sr1 and sr1 results then set the reverse grid for sr2, which essentially meant high qualifiers were rewarded for simply maintaining composure in the first sprint and running cleanly in the top 10 in order to secure a favorable grid spot in sr2. oscar adapted well to this format, building off his reputation of smooth, consistent driving on top of slowly improving his qualifying results over the course of the season, finally breaking through with his first feature-race win in monza.

oscar with mia sharizman

this is also around the time when lando mentioned oscar in official f1 media for the first time, reading off a question about him to daniel in an interview posted in october:

"this one's not even about formula one. it's about oscar piastri. oscar pias-tree! [...] he's been on it this year." — (full video) (oct 1, 2021)

of his own f2 campaign, oscar said:

"i thought that i could challenge for race wins, but i probably wasn't expecting to be so consistently at the front. consistency is something that i’ve had as a trait throughout my career, and i was expecting to be consistent in my results this year — but maybe a bit lower down!" (source)

not only did he end up being consistently at the front, he became virtually unstoppable in the second half of the season. on december 11, oscar clinched the title in abu dhabi with two races to spare, ending the season with 5 consecutive poles and 4 consecutive feature wins, 60.5 points above his previously-favored teammate in the standings. #notbadforashitqualifier!

by now oscar was a hot commodity in the paddock; the only problem was that alpine didn't really care, mainly because rossi had enthusiastically re-signed ocon to a three-year deal in 2021 and held zero intention of actually promoting any of its juniors to one of the race seats, plus the one open spot at alfa romeo had instead gone to guanyu and his considerable financial package (though oscar has always been vocally defensive of guanyu's appointment to his detractors). instead of moving to another series, such as indycar or super formula, oscar recognized that he'd proven everything he needed to prove within the feeder system and opted to remain on the grid as alpine's reserve driver, mainly so that he could embed himself in an f1 team environment and—most crucially—avoid being left "out of sight, out of mind," because once you go to america you usually don't come back.

i'll keep the rest of this post brief since i feel like everyone already knows What Went Down, but a quick highlight for fellow landoscar enjoyers was the 2022 australian gp on april 10, during which oscar accompanied rosanna tennant for the post-race show and awkwardly participated in a chaotic lando & alex interview. as far as i know, this was landoscar's first time interacting on-camera!

o: "i haven't raced either of them, no." l: "not yet!" o: "not yet. hopefully soon." — (full video) (apr 10, 2022)

then silly season started, and everything was thrown into disarray when sebastian vettel announced his imminent retirement and fernando subsequently took his place at aston martin; alpine scrambled to recover from this blindsided move and prematurely promoted oscar to an f1 seat, to which oscar eventually posted The Tweet—claiming he'd never signed a contract with alpine and would not be racing for them in 2023, thus kicking off #piastrigate. or the piasco, or whatever you prefer to call it.

here's a good article that properly summarizes the crb ruling, but tl;dr: mclaren and alpine had come to an agreement back in march to loan oscar to mclaren's stable of reserve drivers after daniel contracted covid; mark webber, who was close to andreas seidl from their time at porsche in wec, quietly negotiated a contract with mclaren for 2023 that oscar would then sign on july 4, which was reportedly initially a reserve deal with an upgrade clause to a full-time drive given a dr buyout; alpine's legal team turned out to be essentially one overworked legal director who mishandled the situation thanks to a lack of organizational support, while a concrete williams deal never actually existed no matter what people continuously allege, and any proprietary right to oscar's services that alpine purported to have for the 2023 season would soon be voided by crb rule on september 2. in other words, they dun goofed.

because tumblr dies when i try to include it in this post, here's a link to a condensed chronological timeline version of this post.

that's it for now. i'm sure you know how the rest goes!!!

#oscar piastri #*m #quite possibly the dumbest thing i've ever written and most likely of no use to anyone at all. but i had fun so no flames pls 🥲☝️#there's so much more i could have said this is quite frankly the condensed version... scrapped a whole separate section on just his psyche #i need 2 be normal.........#op meta

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enhypencores · 6 months ago

Text

Bleed Me Dry Pt II

READ PART 1 HERE

Lee Heeseung X Y/N

Genre: Yandere Romance/ Thriller/ Stalker

Prompt: "If I carve you into my blood, will you believe my love?"

Word Count: 11K+

WARNING⚠️: Explicit content, profanity, sexual harassment, heated make outs, female stereotyping, use of a derogatory word, violence, lots of blood, aggression, toxic masculinity, yandere, manipulation, mentions of self exit, drugs, unhealthy relationships and mental health issues. Y/N described with long hair and brown eyes.

Cameos: Jake, Jay, Sunghoon, Sunoo, Yeji, Karina, Jaemin and Jisung

A/N: Please read the warnings carefully before proceeding. There's heavy discussions and complex character dynamics. None of it is healthy. This is a work of fiction, please read it as such. If I missed out any, lemme know.

PS: I’d love to hear your feedback <3

Heeseung had gathered some crucial knowledge from a heavily drunk Jake.

“Intelligent and tall. She’s got a thing for them… She had this crush on a dude in the first semester. Told her he was a jerk, didn’t listen, and you know… he broke her heart. His name? Think it was park jeong guk? jeong woo? I don’t know… It was just some guy. She’s stupid…”

He had wanted to punch that knowing look off Jake’s face as he insulted you, but Heeseung tried swallowing down the surging fury.

Because, indeed, you were so stupid. Why had you allowed some loser into your life? When Heeseung gets you, he will make sure to treasure every part of you. He wouldn’t need anyone else. He would use his every breath to cherish you, only you.

Despite the hostility he felt upon hearing of your previous crush, the good news was that Heeseung unintentionally matched the description. He had never been so grateful for his genes until this moment; traits he once considered useless suddenly becoming his most prized.

Heeseung bore a good height, and his mind was like a computer program. At just ten years old, his father had assumed he’d discover the cure for cancer—yet to come true, but everyone in college believed if anyone could do it, it was Lee Heeseung.

A special one, born to lead, a saviour, they claimed. But Heeseung never wanted to be his father’s golden child. He didn’t want to contribute to society or garner the world’s praise. He barely had friends—except for Kim Sunoo, Heeseung’s childhood partner in crime.

To the world, Heeseung was an overachiever, but he knew his excellence was merely a distraction from his twisted mind. His father was the first to notice the disconnect.

Heeseung chose medicine on a whim, a flick of a coin—heads or tails. The boredom in his life drove him to try everything: paragliding, boxing, swimming, drugs and unrestrained, animalistic sex. He had lived countless lives in two decades.

Early teenage years, his father took it upon himself to train his son, instilling social norms and enforcing strict rules as he tried moulding Heeseung into someone 'normal.' Like a dog on a leash, he made Heeseung more human while maintaining a safe distance to avoid getting scratched. Heeseung understood this from the moment he gained consciousness: his father was scared of him. Terrified.

He never discovered what exactly made his father lock his door every night, but whatever it was, it confirmed a small suspicion: Heeseung was unlovable.

It wasn’t anything detrimental really, because Heeseung never felt the need to seek love. Even in psychological terms, a human's absolute necessities were food, shelter, sex, and safety. When he could survive on the bare minimum, why should he look for something as wasteful as love? He'd rather spend time gaming and pretending to outshine the world’s brilliant minds.

Now, Heeseung was tired of the boredom. So tired that he thought to end it. How long could one treck through an aimless journey?

The realisation that he could cease to exist and no one would know his whereabouts made him feel somewhat better. The taste of death brought him immense curiosity. Would he turn to dust and ashes? Would he be forgotten in memories?

He didn’t think anyone would remember him. To his father, he was a trophy; to his friends, a competition; and to outsiders, a freak. His loss would merely be a statistic: a decline in Korea’s population digits, a decrease in the number of distinction holders in the country, and one less student in Seoul University’s register.

That’s what he thought.

Until he came across you.

You, with your brown eyes, small frame, your liveliness and your beauty.

It was a rainy day in Seoul when he was walking past the bus stand after wrecking his father’s beloved car in a deliberate crash. Unfortunately, he made it out unscathed, only injuring the vehicle. Maybe Heeseung had been born with a shit ton of luck, destined to waste it away.

Regardless, thanks to that golden tub of luck, he was able to land his gaze on you. Heeseung unintentionally remembered countless formulae and research, but the one thing he intended to remember—fucking forced himself to perfectly encode in his memory—was the way you looked that day.

Brown hair slightly wet, sticking to your jawline, knitted brows, and wide eyes staring up at the sky in vengeful retaliation. Heeseung stopped in his tracks.

He had never seen an angel angry.

You dialled a number on your mobile and spoke calmly into your phone.

“The bus is running late. Pick me up.” He remembered a sulking pout on your lips.

“It’s raining! I don’t even have an umbrella. You want me to walk?” He remembered incredulous horror written across your features, lips frowning at the caller’s words.

“Fine... Please! There, I said it, now come quick.” He remembered you rolling your eyes, biting your lip and clenching your bag’s strap tighter.

The phone call ended, and you folded your arms over your chest, letting the damp material cling to your bust, detailing the line of your bra as you tapped your foot on the drenched footpath, staring ahead in longing.

That day, an inactive section of his brain burst out with life, that’s all he could theorise. He wanted to devour you, grope your drenched body, kiss your red mouth, force his fingers into your most sensitive tissues and consume your cries.

He wanted to destroy the person on that call with you, bury them within the earth’s deepest pits so they’d never return to you. He wanted the earth to swallow you and him together, so he could hide you away and savour this moment. He wanted to be the only existence to remember you, here, standing at the bus stop, waiting for a ride home.

Why were you here alone anyway? Who was coming?

Heeseung wanted to shadow you from the rain. If he was a part of your life, he’d chase away all the buses—let alone make you wait for one to pick you up. He would stand drenched in the rain if it meant your ass would only meet the covers of his seat.

A booming motion of the car made your eyes light up. Heeseung’s chest knotted up, a foreign emotion bubbling in his throat as a blonde braked his car before you. You hurried to climb into the passenger’s seat, and then he drove away. Just like that.

He hadn’t hurt someone so far in this life, but the urge to drive a car into the blonde grew tenaciously strong. He had never felt such hatred and venom consume his being. The thought of you getting into that car, going away to share a life Heeseung wasn’t a part of left a gnawing anger in his chest.

His heart which hadn’t felt something in so long suddenly felt alive, riveting with twisted emotions. Heeseung didn’t want to live, but suddenly he didn’t want to die either. He didn’t wish to be remembered, but suddenly he wanted at least one person to remember.

That day he came to a staggering conclusion: Heeseung was unfit to be loved, but he wasn’t unfit to love.

—.—.—.—.—.—.—

Peak hours on a Monday afternoon started early. Waitresses ambled from one table to another, carrying orders as the room bustled with young college students, conversing and gossiping while awaiting their snacks. The rich essence of chocolate and coffee beans filled the air, stirring hunger among individuals working alone with their noses in laptops and textbooks.

Heeseung’s lips curved in a knowing smile: if you were here, you’d be one of those unaccompanied goody two shoes, sipping on a chocolate milkshake, jotting things down in your notebook. He pictured your brows scrunched as you wrapped your beautiful lips around the straw, gulping long sips and pulling away with a content smile.

“Baby, can’t we go somewhere more private?”

His jaw tightened, aggravated at the shrill interruption. He feigned a smile, his gaze falling back on the red-haired bimbo who stared at him like he was the answer to her every prayer.

Heeseung grabbed a fork, scooping up a bite of strawberry cheesecake before filling his mouth. His stomach fluttered as he revelled in the sweet texture. Ever since stealing those kisses, he couldn’t stop craving sweet treats. He even bought some candies on his way home that morning, already feeling the withdrawals kicking in.

“But how’ll we do this—in private?”

The girl stared in confusion before she was yanked into his embrace, his warm lips slamming into hers, kissing her aggressively, the sweet creaminess from the cake transferring into her mouth. She moaned, licking his lips incessantly, begging for entrance, but Heeseung dismissed her attempts, his brows furrowed in annoyance.

Nervously, the red-haired girl slid her chair closer, biting her lip as she observed the underwhelmed expression on his face.

“What’s wrong? Are you mad at me?” She sulked, sucking at her teeth, staring up with concern.

Heeseung shook his head and pulled her into his lap. “Did you do something to make me mad?” He mumbled, rubbing his nose down her neck, peppering small kisses to distract her from his response.

“Ah—n-no! I didn’t,” she gasped, her concern melting away already, her head tilting back as Heeseung planted kisses down her collarbone.

“Shouldn’t you be at uni right now?” He abruptly changed the topic, portraying the perfectly caring boyfriend who gave a shit about her life.

“Yeah, but I’ll ask a friend for the class notes,” she mustered up, her breath laborious as Heeseung ran his hand down her thigh, his kisses growing feistier against her exposed neck.

“Hm, are you that smart?” He pressed on, his patience running out. “Thought I’d fucked you dumb already,” he whispered repulsive words, his hand covering her thighs as the girl tightened in his hold, her lips pressed together to silence any sound, cautious of their surroundings.

Heeseung’s gaze changed, a menacing darkness flashing through. “Smart bitches,” he began, his words blunt and aggressive. “Fucking hate them. Running their big mouths all the damn time,” he declared, his bitter tone making her knees quiver in arousal.

“Tell me, baby, you’re not one of those, are you?” He urged.

One way to access a woman’s weaknesses was to put her up against another.

The girl whose name he had forgotten the second she uttered it, shook her head with desperation. Had he asked her to admit to murder, she would have agreed.

“No!” She yelped, alarmed at his lack of interest. “I’m so dumb. Barely passing this degree,” she confessed, her voice cracking as she spread her knees for his attention.

“Hm—really?” He mocked, and she nodded, her body pleading for his approval. “But your course is so tough. You must be so smart.” Heeseung’s tone dripped with sarcasm, his frown hinting at his displeasure.

The girl choked; her breaths alarmingly rapid as Heeseung’s fingers trailed closer to her clothed centre. “But not me—there’s some smart girls in my class. I—I’m not like them, Hee,” she rambled, her eyes screwing shut.

“Smart girls like—yourself?” He threw the bait, challenging her, and she immediately shook her head, her body jolting as Heeseung flicked his fingers against her centre.

“Not me—not me. This other girl—Ah!” She bit her tongue, her body trembling as Heeseung drew faint circles against her clit. “There’s—Y/N!”

Bingo.

“She’s like the smartest—oh!”

Heeseung halted his movement, his teeth gritting in frustration, anger bubbling up his throat as the girl kept moaning into her words, prolonging this ordeal. He hadn’t spent the last three days coercing a second-year pharmacology student from your college to serenade and romance. He wanted information.

The girl’s arched frame twisted at the sudden lack of touch, her wet gaze darting to Heeseung’s in urgency.

“Speak,” he commanded bluntly, his usual sugar-coated tone gone along with his smile.

The girl’s expression faltered, her blood turning cold. “Uh—there’s this girl—she’s really smart, always acing her exams,” she responded reluctantly, her insecure gaze attempting to read his intentions.

Heeseung’s hand slid back down to her leaking centre, his movement more vigorous as he wrapped his lips on her earlobe. “You’re so hot like this—like a dumb bitch for me,” he drawled, sucking her sensitive flesh.

His sudden shift in demeanour seemed like a hallucination, his voice now intentionally low and sultry. “You wouldn’t want to be like Y/N, hm? You’re my good girl.”

The girl was a goner. Her head dropped back onto his shoulder, her eyes shut, and her body trembling from his touch, his previous indifference a distant memory.

“Yeah—I am—so—so dumb for you,” she babbled nonsensically. Heeseung’s flicks quickened.

“That bitch—she’s so smart and talks too much, probably why no one likes her. Such a loser— I don’t know why Park Jongseong’s crazy for her.”

Heeseung’s arm faltered, his body freezing.

The girl, lost in the throes of her arousal, ignored it, urgently pressing her hand down to maintain the pressure. “She’s so full of herself. Bet she’s as virgin as a nun—but maybe—she finally let poor Jongseong have a go, who kno—Ah!”

Heeseung yanked her hair back, his clenched fist tightening and ripping a few strands. His gaze was predatory, chest heaving as he stared down at the horrified girl.

“I’ll rip that tongue out, sweetheart,” he hissed, his venomous tone cutting through and gripping her heart with horror.

The sickening words replayed like a broken record. A searing sting flared inside his chest, his jaw tightening as he thought of that name: Park Jongseong.

Of course, it was the guy from the photos—it fit him perfectly. His arrogant, self-righteous demeanour, that overly exaggerated smile on his face as he held you. It had to be him.

The imagery the stupid girl on his lap painted, her words dripping with malice for his Y/N; everything began to suffocate his lungs.

Heeseung stared down, his hand still gripping her locks as she looked at him with disbelief.

As he released his grip, she winced, her eyes wet with tears.

Heeseung wrapped an arm around her waist like a shackle, holding her captive as he leaned forward and picked up the steaming hot coffee she had ordered. She flinched as he pushed the cup to her lips.

“Drink.”

The girl stared at him like he had grown two heads.

“It’s too hot—”

“Leave one sip behind, and you’ll wish you had listened.”

Her heart raced, body turning cold. Heeseung’s chilling gaze and crooked smile were laced with demonic intent, making her stomach churn. She had never felt her organs shrivel with just the sight of a man’s empty gaze.

She realised at that very moment. She had to obey or else… she didn’t even want to consider what could happen.

She took the heated cup, gulping down her spit to ease the pressure in her throat.

Then she clung to the cup and downed the entire thing. The first rush of liquid scalded the roof of her mouth. Burns trailed down her tongue, to her throat, buzzing all the way into her stomach. Bloody broils flared up, her muscles jolting in agony as pain overwhelmed her cognition. With an excruciating sob, she dropped the empty cup, shattering it on the ground as she tried screaming for help.

The busy café didn’t seem to notice anything but the shatter, rolling their eyes at the couple’s antics before continuing with their own endeavours.

Heeseung patted her head, smiling in satisfaction. “That’s my good girl.”

The sobbing girl tore herself from his lap. Standing on quivering limbs, she scrambled to grab her purse and dashed towards the exit.

To Heeseung’s delight, the red-haired bimbo wasn’t so useless after all. He now had a name: Park Jongseong.

Grabbing his phone, Heeseung dialled a number.

“Sim, for your birthday, let’s plan something crazy.”

—.—.—.—.—.—.—

The homeroom buzzed with chatter as students scattered to join their friends at the end of the lecture. While most were preparing to head home, you had to stay back for the weekly council meeting. With your head slack on the table, you shut your eyes and let out an irked groan, wishing you could abandon all your duties and just scramble home.

“Y/N, just resign already. You’re too exhausted,” Yeji, your best friend, called out, rolling her eyes as she zipped up her tote bag.

You groaned again, slamming your head against the table. “You have no idea how badly I want to take your stupid advice,” you whined, rubbing your temples in pain.

Yeji, her pink hair perfectly styled, retouched her lip gloss and eyed your sulking frame. “You take on too much for no reason,” she sighed, finishing her touch-up and patting your head.

“Can’t you loosen up? Look at me, we have finals coming up, and I’m off clubbing with Jaemin,” she gloated, her smile widening at the thought of her boyfriend.

Getting into the world’s best university on an eighty per cent scholarship was tough, but no one prepared you for the strenuous part: upholding those perks. Paired with a demanding course load, extracurriculars and volunteer work felt like a constant nuisance.

“I wish…” you muttered.

Knowing her best friend’s upright nature, Yeji shook her head in defeat.

“Besides that, I’ll be having fun soon,” you iterated, and Yeji instantly grew alert, her eyes wide with anticipation.

“You’re getting a boyfriend?” She gasped, grabbing your shoulders to turn you towards her in excitement.

“No!” You dismissed, and Yeji’s excitement died as soon as it began, releasing your shoulders in frustration.

“At this point, I strongly believe you wish to die a virgin,” she remarked, running her fingers through her dark strands, her gaze cold. “You even rejected Jongseong,” Yeji huffed.

You winced.

It had been three months since you had been hit by a truck of feelings from the raven-haired boy. Three months of discomfort and pain.

You were introduced to your senior, Park Jongseong, as a good friend of Na Jaemin. The two friend groups had merged, and soon the initial trio—Yeji, Ji-min, and you—grew an acquaintanceship with their group: Jay, Jaemin, and Jisung.

Since you had been to an all-girls school, the first few months of interactions were painstakingly awkward. You felt like an outsider even in a room full of familiar people.

You envied your best friends Yeji and Ji-min for their effortless socialisation skills. Whilst they enjoyed trips and study sessions with the guys, you drew a line, only speaking when spoken to.

In the first year, you were constantly running away from this new world of discomfort. Jay, however, refused to draw a barrier. Like the definition of a headstrong man, he never gave up. Gestures like stopping you in the hallways to talk about his hobbies and inviting you to all his parties showed you that Jay was making a real effort at friendship.

All of it came tumbling down when he confessed to you. The friendship you treasured faded, and you both became strangers again.

“Don’t bring him up,” you gritted, your heart plummeting as you remembered all the distant memories.

You recalled that nightmarish day. You might take this to your grave but Park Jongseong was your first crush. You secretly liked him throughout the farce of friendship.

He held your bag after class, joined extracurriculars like the music society and learned amazing guitar skills. He took you shopping to destress after you failed your lab assessment and played silly nursery rhymes on his guitar to make you laugh. Everything was special until the last day of the second semester.

Jay had asked you to a movie, and as always, you assumed he meant everyone in the friend group, so you called Yeji and Ji-min along.

The moment he saw you walk in with the girls, his expression fell with dismay. Instead of speaking to you about it, he handed the popcorn to your friends and left.

You followed him instantly, but maybe you shouldn’t have.

“Jay!” You chased after him, your heels thudding against the pavement, confusion painted on your features.

He paused in his tracks and turned, his eyes darkening.

“What’s wrong?”

Instead of responding, Jay’s gaze narrowed, a strained chuckle leaving his mouth. “Don’t act dumb now,” he rasped, his voice bitter.

You opened your mouth to question him, but he suddenly stepped close, his towering frame making your insides queasy.

“It’s always the same with you. How long will you pretend?” Jay’s voice trembled with accusation.

“Do you not see me? Chasing after you like a fucking loser. I’ve spent months trying to figure you out. Stop this game of hide and seek!” He roared, tightening his hold on your shoulders as he stared down at you like a wounded wolf.

You felt so wronged and hurt, your throat clogging up with emotions.

Because Jay was right. You were playing dumb, looking past his feelings, ignoring your own to hide away. Your insecurities and fear of disappointment were louder than his words, ringing in your head like tinnitus.

Because you had always assumed someone as rich and well-put-together as Park Jongseong didn’t need to like a mediocre girl on a scholarship.

You felt that breaking his heart might save his friendship, might save you from the pain of losing his love. So you wanted to sever all chances before you even tasted his love.

“What’re you talking about?”

“Tell me, Y/N. Have you ever once liked me?” He questioned, his gaze softening as he held your face in his hands, his pupils trembling with need.

Yes.

Yes!

“No.”

His arms dropped, his gaze dull and empty as he stared into your tearful eyes.

“We’re good friends, Jay. Look, we don’t have to rush into anything—”

You felt chills run down your spine as he cut off your words, his tone sharp and damaging.

“Delete my number. Don’t ever come see me.”

“And if I ever accidentally find my way back to you, slap me awake like this again.”

He tore his arm from your grip and you two never spoke again.

And then a week later, he started dating your friend Ji-min.

“Y/N!” You snapped out of your thoughts, head swirling with flashbacks as Yeji shouted for your attention. “What fun were you referring to?” She shifted closer, curiosity written across her features.

You smiled, flicking her forehead away.

“Jake suddenly wants a big birthday bash for his twenty-second,” you told her, thinking back to this morning when he was talking over the phone with his friends, inviting them to his party.

Seeing you pass by, he called you back, his face glowing with excitement as he ended the call.

“Invite all your friends and their mamas— it’s my 22nd!” He roared, and you imagined he’d burst into a Taylor Swift, ‘22’, any minute now.

“Jake? He usually calls them juvenile,” Yeji giggled, thinking back to the time she had a fat crush on your brother and how she stuck to him like a leech until he shooed her off.

You nodded, rolling your eyes at your brother’s weird mood swings. “He wants to hold a grand party. You’re invited, I guess,” you waved her off, and Yeji laughed, her eyes twinkling in joy.

“Of course, I’ll be coming with my boo,” she winked. “Is it at the house?” Yeji asked, twirling her strands excitedly.

You shook your head, tidying your desk and packing up. “He’s planning it with his friend, Heeseung.”

Yeji gasped at the name as if it had evoked a cocktail party effect, her eyes wide as she held onto your shoulders. “That friend you had a wet dream of?”

Your jaw dropped, eyes wide in fear, darting across the hall to make sure no one heard her. “Shut up!” You yelled, your cheeks flushed red, the memory of your filthy mind fuelling your embarrassment.

Yeji laughed, a playful glint flashing in her hazel eyes. “What, did I lie?” She crudely announced, and you felt helpless, unable to feign innocence.

The night had left you shaken up. The truth was, you had never felt this affected by a hallucination— imagination, whatever it was, it blurred the lines between reality and fiction. You imagined Heeseung fondling your breasts, kissing your lips. All of it was a newfound hunger.

You scrambled to call Yeji soon after to regain some composure. After a long discussion, her diagnosis was a ‘severe case of ovulation’, and she prescribed, ‘getting dicked down asap’.

After that night, you kept wishing for more hallucinations, but your brain refused to cooperate. You had to rely on a picture you had stolen from Jake’s phone of Heeseung in a black button-down with his legs spread apart on the couch, his lap seeming so inviting that your abdomen clenched with need.

Maybe, you were ovulating. But why was it so intense?

“You know, maybe you should shoot your shot with him,” Yeji suggested, patting your shoulder as she stood alert, waving at the man standing in the doorway.

“My ride’s here, bye girly!” Yeji waved, setting her already perfect hair for the nth time before skipping to the smiling blonde, his gaze practically shooting hearts at your friend. Jaemin grabbed her hand, and they scattered off.

You sighed.

Lee Heeseung, what are you doing to me?

—.—.—.—.—.—.—

Booming music drowned out any chance of conversation. Guests sprawled in like ants to a sugar cube. Faces glowed with joy, arms carried gifts, and gazes sparkled with anticipation as they searched for the man of honour.

But it wasn't the birthday boy they sought. It was Lee Heeseung, the man who had invited the entire university to his farmhouse. It was a privilege, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

During his four years at the university, he hadn’t spared anyone a glance—let alone befriended anyone. When news circulated of Sim Jaeyun’s birthday invite at Heeseung’s, everyone jumped at the chance.

Girls skipped lessons to find the perfect dress, while guys ransacked their wardrobes for branded watches. Curiosity grew almost sleep-depriving. Who was this friend that Heeseung, the man who never let anyone into his circle, deemed worthy of a lavish party? For weeks, the university buzzed with gossip and excitement leading up to this day.

Heeseung’s gaze was fixed on the main entrance, his lips pressed into a thin line. He remained unmoving as over-enthusiastic people rushed to greet him.

He knew the world like the back of his hand. They hated him and despised his arrogance, yet they flocked to him like moths to a flame. All he had to do was give them a chance, let down his guard and the world would surrender in his palms. But it didn’t matter.

As long as he had your attention, the world could be his.

Jake appeared out of nowhere, his arm settling on Heeseung’s shoulder, smiling as his soccer mates walked in.

“You’re ignoring the entire hall,” Jake muttered, his grip tightening on Heeseung’s shoulder to warn him.

Heeseung glanced at the clock for the nth time, his fingers tapping impatiently against his glass. He barely acknowledged the birthday boy's attempt at conversation, his irritation mounting as the clock ticked on without your presence.

“Where is she?” He questioned.

“She had a presentation to finish up,” Jake said, rolling his eyes. “She’ll be here with Yeji and Jaemin soon.”

Jake wasn’t stupid. He had once believed he was special to Heeseung. The notorious case of Heeseung’s egocentrism was a popular topic in the university’s hallways. Even his soccer buddies claimed Heeseung was a nutcase with extreme intelligence.

When Heeseung approached the basketball team and defeated Jake, the established ace of Seoul University, Jake developed a sense of respect and admiration for him. Despite everyone’s claims, Jake realized Heeseung’s issue wasn’t indifference or social deficiencies.

Everyone was infatuated, enthralled, and unequivocally aware of Heeseung’s gift; he commanded attention because he was extraordinary. The problem was that Heeseung didn’t care about them, and when people realized this, their fantasy shattered, leaving them scraping for bits of attention and bitter envy.

Jake knew Heeseung kept him around for a reason, but despite his awareness, Jake was willing to be a pawn if it meant catching Heeseung’s attention.

“Jakey Jakey— it’s your birthday!” Jake looked away, finding his best friend, Park Sunghoon, on the other end of the hall with a gift bag. Jake’s smile grew, and he signalled to Heeseung that he was heading over. Heeseung nodded, and Jake scurried off.

Heeseung averted his gaze, staring back at the main entrance. The delay grew unbearable, and he considered heading out to the parking lot when suddenly he spotted Jaemin and Yeji walking inside.

He stood alert, his gaze tensely fixed on the door.

He held his breath as you walked into his line of sight. His body felt the shift, breath quickening. His fists tightened, and his gaze traced your body with unfiltered haste.

Fuck, that black body-con dress, outlining your curves, hugging your body like a second skin. His grip on the glass tightened. The dress revealed your defined collarbones, and the slit from the knee paired with black-heeled boots showcased your smooth, honeyed legs. Your hair was curled slightly, silky strands falling in waves against your cheeks, reaching your elbows.

Heeseung’s head throbbed as he tried to decipher his feelings. Seeing you walk inside with that dress made something rise in his throat, and it wasn’t from the alcohol. It was worse, mentally and physically damaging.

How fucking demeaning. He was a man who never felt the burn of envy, but a fucking dress had him feeling so weak—so horribly jealous.

He wished he could tear it off and burn it to ashes like the scorching flames in his own blood. He had planned this moment all morning, intending to walk up to you with a smile, but now he found it difficult to breathe, let alone move.

However, the world doesn’t stop. Even if he couldn’t move, you very much could.

Your stray gaze finally landed on the familiar figure, and you walked up to him. You still weren’t mentally prepared to face the man you had been dreaming of for the past few weeks, but you found it unkind to ignore him when he had planned this lavish party.

You smiled, holding out a small gift bag.

“As far as I recall, it’s not my birthday,” Heeseung finally found his voice, his cheeky comment making you narrow your eyes.

“It’s basic etiquette to bring something when you visit someone,” you replied a hint of playfulness in your tone. You caught sight of the gift display in the backdrop where innumerable presents were mounted on the table. “I’ll take it there,” you politely acknowledged.

You were ready to walk off, but Heeseung pulled you back, instantly grabbing the present. Taken aback, you opened your mouth to question him, but he ignored your curious gaze.

Everyone stealing reserved glances at the duo paused, their eyes wide, jaws dropped in amusement. Like a boy opening his Christmas gifts, Heeseung rushed to untie the ribbon and tear through the wrapping paper.

“Heeseung, it’s not that great…” your panicked voice cut through, cautious of everyone’s expectant gaze on your gift. The plea went right through him, and he finally discovered a small clear bottle.

You brought him cologne.

You had racked your brain for days on what to bring him, and you had decided upon a blackberry cologne. The succulent scent carried a sinful aura, an intimidating and enigmatic aroma that perfectly captured Lee Heeseung.

Heeseung ran his thumb over the label. Then he unscrewed the top and sprayed it on his wrist. As he brought it to his nose, his heart felt fuller than before.

He imagined you walking into a Jo Malone store, attentively trying numerous scents until the abundant smells overstimulated your senses as you thought of him. How long did you spend deciding on the perfect one? How long did he manage to fill up your head?

“It’s just a small gift,” you mumbled, analysing his features.

“It’s perfect.” He said it with so much sincerity, you had no choice but to believe him.

“Where’s my gift?” Jake appeared with some of his rowdy friends from the sports club, his arm linked with the ice skater, Park Sunghoon. He pouted dramatically, his bottom lip sticking out. You rolled your eyes at his antics.

“Last I checked, you asked me to buy you a Nintendo Switch as an early birthday present,” you replied. Jake gave you a mock glare. “That was ages ago,” he huffed.

Before you could retort, you caught Yeji's eyes from across the room. She stood by the bar, urgently motioning for you to come over. The alarmed look on her face made you excuse yourself from the guys as you hurried to her.

Yeji grabbed your arm with an intense grip, struggling to catch her breath as a crazed laugh bubbled up her throat.

“You’re kidding,” she gasped. “You were talking about Lee Heeseung!” She roared with laughter, her expression priceless as she turned to you.

You stared at her, confused. “What?”

“Y/N!” She shook you slightly, her wide eyes trembling with excitement. “You don’t know him? He’s popular across the entire district!”

Seeing your blank expression, Yeji took it upon herself to fill you in. She pulled out her phone and showed you Seoul University's popular forum dedicated to Heeseung. As she clicked through the links, you realised the man was practically the definition of perfection.

His father owned a large-scale pharmaceutical corporation, and Heeseung was the sole heir. Despite this parental security, he was at the top of his classes, captain of the basketball team, head of the arts and music society, and president of student affairs. By his second semester, he had already secured an internship at HYBE, a massive healthcare conglomerate—separate from his father’s influence. He was so incredibly intelligent that the college even commemorated his achievements with dedicated newsletter columns and interview sessions.

As you absorbed this overwhelming information, Yeji’s tone flattened, her lips pressing into a thin line. “But, Y/N, he’s known as a player,” she reluctantly added. “Apparently, there hasn’t been a girl he hasn’t had.”

You stared silently at the soles of your boots.

Of course, he was a player. Anyone would drop to their knees for a chance to be with him. You had read somewhere that gravitational pull was the strongest in a black hole, but science hadn’t investigated the world’s pull towards Heeseung. You had only met him a couple of days ago, yet he had already made you feel so unbearably enraptured.

Ruminating over Yeji’s words, you were speechless at your own disappointment. How could he affect you so terribly?

“But—he’s never had anything serious,” Yeji tried to console you, squeezing your shoulder.

Throat tightening, you attempted a smile.

“Who invited them?” Yeji's gasp broke through your thoughts, her mouth hanging open, eyes bulging in shock as she stared behind you.

You shifted, turning to see what had her so stunned.

Your jaw dropped.

In walked a couple, hand in hand, wearing complimentary outfits. A couple you hadn’t spoken to in ages, a couple that haunted your sleepless nights: Park Jongseong and Yu Ji-min.

Your frantic gaze searched for Jake, conflicting emotions swirling across your face as you tried to make sense of your surroundings. Your older brother stood inattentive, engrossed in a conversation with Sunghoon as Jay approached him, wearing a broad smile. You watched them exchange a quick handshake, Jake accepting a large gift box.

“Why would Jake invite him?” Yeji huffed.

You didn’t know—but a gut feeling told you this was meant to happen.

The familiar gaze met yours. He was now heading to the leather couch beside his girlfriend, his eyes trained on you. You offered him a tight smile, your insides trembling in growing anxiety.

Jay was stern, his gaze cold and disdainful. Whilst maintaining eye contact, he pulled his girlfriend to sit on his lap, his grip tight on Ji-min’s waist as she whispered something into his ear.

Your smile dropped at his immaturity.

You had lost both your friends, Jay and Ji-min, because of your mistakes. You had avoided them like the plague, and something deep within you suggested that the mysterious rumours circulating around the university weren’t just random gossip; they were spread by someone you had once considered as close as Yeji.

Something more sinister gnawed at your insides.

Heeseung.

Amidst the chaos, you felt someone’s piercing gaze on you. Like a magnet, you found him. Under the blue strobe light, Heeseung stood leaning against the bar’s counter, flanked by a few girls, with his eyes fixed on you, watching like a hawk.

Though he was a stranger—a complete nobody in your world—you still felt he was reading you like an open book. Anxiety washed over you, your throat drying up under his intense scrutiny. If your life was split into meaningful chapters, Heeseung knew it by heart, his gaze uncomfortably invasive, expectant as if judging your next move.

A waiter zooming by caught your attention, and you pounced on the opportunity. Fingers trembling, you grabbed a glass of champagne and downed it in one go, the liquor leaving a bitter burn in your throat.

“Y/N, you don’t hold your liquor well,” Yeji frowned. One drink never hurt anyone, and besides, this was a party—everyone was soon going to lose their marbles.

You turned away, grabbing another drink from a passing waiter.

“Y/N, stop!” Yeji warned. You smiled tightly, ready to throw more alcohol into your system.

In a flash, Heeseung, who had been a good fifty people away, stood towering over you. He snatched the glass from your grasp and chugged it down. You watched in disbelief as he slammed the empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray, his gaze darkening as he stared at you. Yeji took it as her cue to scram, rushing to accompany her boyfriend on the dance floor.

Your stomach clenched with want. Even simply dressed in a black t-shirt and leather jeans, his expression sour, his appeal was uncanny. He made you forget the elephant in the room.

“So— he bothers you that much?” Heeseung spat, his voice low and venomous.

He had planned to watch from the sidelines. Jongseong’s name was enough for Heeseung to find sources and sniff out your past link. He was told you had rejected the boy, but that didn’t match Jake’s description of your first crush.

It didn’t take long for Heeseung to realise that you really did like Jongseong, your affection reflected in that picture you still chose to keep. The reason you had declined his proposal wasn’t a mystery either. You feared ruining a chance at friendship, and that conclusion made Heeseung sleepless.

Heeseung had orchestrated this party and invited Jongseong, just to watch your heartbreak. He wanted to dwell in the forlorn misery in your gaze, relish in the fury and hatred fuelling your agonised expression. He wanted you to shatter so that you were left with no choice but to find him. So that he could collect those shards and piece you together. For himself.

Yet here you stood, bothered and apologetic. There wasn’t one bad bone inside you, your heart pure like the sunshine that streaks through his curtains every morning.

“How do you know about Jay?” You curiously pointed out, folding your arms and gazing up at the man.

Heeseung flinched at the nickname. Tightening his fists, he responded with gritted teeth. He didn’t need to lie for this.

“Jake.”

One word and your face crumbled, your finger pointing at the blonde who laughed beside his friends. “Why can’t that idiot keep his mouth shut?” You complained, glaring daggers. You couldn’t believe your brother blurted out your business to Heeseung.

“Do you still want him?”

Say it.

Say it, and he’ll burn this place down, along with Park Jongseong, leaving you with nothing—not even a corpse to mourn—just a speck of remains and dirt.

“I don’t.”

His eyes shifted back to their brown.

“I just wish I hadn’t lost my friends.” You glanced down at your shoes, face shrouded in despair as you reminisced the past.

Heeseung watched the sorrow flicker in your deprived eyes.

This was simpler than he had imagined.

“Let’s get the party started!” Jake yelled at the top of his lungs, carrying a huge celebratory bottle of champagne as everyone huddled around him.

Yeji appeared by your side, dragging you towards the crowd where Jake prepared to unseal the wine, like a cake-cutting ceremony. From your peripheral vision, you noticed Heeseung walk up beside you—until everyone, including Jake, roared for him to come forward.

You watched Heeseung shake his head dismissively, but Jake’s adamant smile made him falter. For the first time, you saw a crack in Heeseung’s stern façade, a genuine sense of joy flashing through his expression.

You watched with intrigue as he stepped up, and Jake finally celebrated his twenty second. Everyone cheered as Jake popped the cork and showered Heeseung and Sunghoon with the essence.

Yeji over-excitedly gasped. During her overjoyed dance, she accidentally slipped forward, toppling her glass of wine onto your dress’s front. You quickly wiped at it, but the liquid soaked into the flimsy fabric with ease.

“Shit— sorry boo,” she cried over the music. You shook your head, dismissing her concern.

“I’m heading to the washroom,” you muttered. She nodded, unsure of your words, as the loud roaring and music drowned everything.

You slipped away from the chaos, excusing your way through until you managed to escape to the other end of the hall. You followed the dim hallway, the raucousness dissolving, as you searched for the nearest bathroom. You found a door at the far end with a staircase to your right and sped towards it.

“Long time.”

You turned, instantly freezing up.

Jay stood at the other end, speaking with his familiar calculated baritone. He stepped forward, watching your shocked expression morph into disappointment.

“Oh, seems like you’re not too happy to see me here,” he claimed, now standing a mere step away, his tone dripping with malice. “Is the princess running away again?” The darkness returned, his jaw clenched.

You gulped, standing upright. “I don’t have anything to say to you,” you told him, turning away.

A bitter chuckle escaped his chest. “Of course, you don’t,” he spat. “Now that you’ve found a man, you don’t have much to say,” he claimed, running his fingers through his dark strands, his gaze menacing.

Your throat burned with hostility. “You’re ridiculous,” you huffed. “Following a girl when you’ve already got a girlfriend—seems like I dodged a bullet.” You uttered the words, disturbed by his arrogant nonchalance, and instantly the atmosphere grew with heightening tension.

Your cruel words seemed to inflict some damage as Jay’s body trembled, his fists tightening in aggravation.

Because you were right. He knew it.

As you stepped away, all common sense evaded him. He grabbed your wrist and slammed you to the wall, a gasp wrenching out of your chest as he hovered above, his hands gripping your waist with an iron grip.

“I never needed you,” he whispered, his eyes wide and pained as you attempted to free yourself, but Jay’s grip on your waist only tightened. “I’ve just liked the chase. You were so full of yourself—so pathetic. Nothing about you ever made me feel something—anything—”

A bloodcurdling scream wrenched out of your throat as a shattering sound reverberated within your frame. Your eyes bulged out, heart trashing and body quivering in horror. One second Jay was standing, staring at you like a madman, and the next, he was knocked to the ground, blood splattering against your cheeks, staining your dress and skin scarlet.

Breathe. Take a deep breath. Breathe.

You plummeted to the floor, your knees giving out as Jay’s forehead and neck covered in red pooled on the ground. You internally prepared yourself as you looked up, staring at the perpetrator.

A dull void of a gaze, Heeseung’s hand was wrapped around a half-shattered bottle with its sharpened edges dripping Jay’s blood. Your insides clenched in horror.

Heeseung stepped closer as Jay’s limp frame scrambled to sit up, his gaze chasing the danger, his grip on his head loosening as he spotted the man.

“You—you fucking lunatic—what the fuck is wrong with—”

Jay’s yelps fell on deaf ears as Heeseung discarded the bottle and plummeted to the floor before you, his pupils drained of colour and hands trembling as he caressed your cheeks. His thumb rubbed at the splashes of blood, eyes wide with terror—a terror you had never seen. More than his own actions, his line of concern was the beads of red staining your complexion.

“Hee…” you tried to speak, your throat dry and lips quivering.

“It’s okay—you’re okay,” his voice trembled as he consoled himself, more than anyone, his gaze frantically running over your body.

What you didn’t realise was Jay reaching out to grab the loitering bottle. Heeseung’s warm gaze and words were so captivating, pulling you away from the unfolding catastrophe. Suddenly, the fantasy shattered. Jay smashed the bottle against the back of Heeseung’s head.

You screamed, your body jerking alert as you pulled Heeseung into your arms, sobbing aloud. Jay stood on trembling legs, glaring at Heeseung with a poisonous look before limping away. You tightened your hold on Heeseung, your body shaking despite his grievous injury. The attack was strong enough to lash out blood but not wilful enough to break the bottle like Heeseung had done.

You tried to pull away to check his wound, but Heeseung pulled you back into his chest, his arms wrapping around you protectively.

Fuck. He could die right now and he’d be happy. Over the fucking moon. He almost wanted to thank that low-life for brusing him because it worked in his favour.

You gazed upon him with sympathetic attention, like you were gazing upon a wounded puppy. You were finally in his arms, letting him envelop you. He inhaled the scent of vanilla and fresh peaches, his hold on your frame tightening with desperation.

He wanted to consume you.

“Heeseung, let me see your wound,” you softly cried into his shoulder, unable to breathe at the intensity of his clutch.

“It’s not deep—nothing compared to what that moron will take home,” Heeseung arrogantly claimed. His prideful tone made your insides hurl; it reminded you of the initiation. Heeseung had started it all; he had slammed a glass bottle into Jay’s head.

You pushed him back, your gaze stern as you met his aggravated one. “Why?” You cried hysterically, recalling the insanity of the previous moment. “How could you—”

Heeseung’s expression grew colder than ice. “I’ll break every bone he used to touch you,” he declared, the honesty in his tone sending chills down your spine.

“You literally almost murdered him!” You screeched.

Heeseung cracked a deluded smile. “He’ll wish I had.”

You felt speechless. Utterly stunned into silence. What did that mean? You wanted to assume that his fury made him speak nonsense, that he didn’t mean a word. However, when you stared into Heeseung’s gaze, your stomach turned at the resolute darkness, his words horrifyingly blunt and absurd.

You were about to call him out when you noticed trail of blood slither down the side of his face. You gasped. "You need to get to a hospital,” you urged.

“And explain what?” He scoffed with a playful smile.

You felt bewildered. Of course, you didn't care at the moment! As long as he got treated, you didn't care what lie he spat out.

You glared at him. “You need to get it checked out, Heeseung,” you muttered with concern, noticing the blood kept gushing in thicker streams.

Wordlessly, Heeseung grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers, and nodded as he pulled you to stand. You sighed in relief, grateful that he was finally listening. His grip never faltering on your hand, you both turned towards the venue.

Heeseung suddenly pulled you back, ignoring your confusion, instead climbing up the staircase. “What’re you doing?” You groaned, attempting to retract, but Heeseung just kept walking.

Upstairs, the living room was carpeted with posh couches and chairs. You passed by expensive paintings hung up on the wall as Heeseung took you inside a dark room, stalking through blindly until he pushed at another door.

Lights flickering on, you surveyed the unfamiliar surroundings. Heeseung had brought you to a bathroom. You glanced at him in confusion as he shut the door and turned towards you.

“Heeseung, what’re you doing?”

“You said I need to get my injury checked out,” he responded, leaning down and grabbing a first aid kit from the cubby hole. “I’m doing it,” he flashed you a clever smile, his eyes shining with amusement.

Even if you were about to throw a tantrum, you couldn’t anymore. Heeseung’s words, his eyes, his smile, everything was enough for you to sit still and obey. You watched as he stepped towards the large mirror. He casually tilted his head to inspect the wound.

Expressionless, he opened up the first aid kit, grabbing a transparent bottle and cotton pads like a professional, as if he had already addressed such wounds in the past. With practised nonchalance, he soaked the cotton pad with the liquid and pressed it into the wound.

You winced, instinctively jumping forward to grab the bottle from his hand.

“Who deals with a wound like that!” You screeched hysterically.

Heeseung turned, his brows raised, lips pressed in confusion. You put forward your palm, glaring at him. He surveyed your stern expression and, to your surprise, gave in easily, handing you the stained cotton ball without putting up a fight. You had imagined he would claim he knew more—but Heeseung just stared at you passively. You gulped, edging forward.

You knew the wound was deeply ingrained on the right side of his head, but reaching it was an issue. You were a good half a person shorter than him, his towering frame allowing you to reach only his chest. Standing on your tiptoes, you could only make it to his collarbone. You tried pushing up to reach the mark, but it remained physically impossible.

You noticed the amusement sparking in his expression, his lips curving into a gentle smile. “What’s so funny?” You gruffly questioned, and his smile only grew more.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and lifted you up, setting you on the cold basin. He turned, towering between your parted legs.

“There.”

You quickly recovered, ignoring the butterflies fluttering in your chest or the heat stirring from where he had just touched you. You reached up. The angle allowed you to address the wound better.

Thankfully, there was a single cut, slashing down to the nape. You held the cotton against the cut, letting it absorb the blood, and then gently swirled it across.

Heeseung’s breathing suddenly grew heavy, and you flinched, quickly scanning his face for hints of pain. “Is it too bad?” You muttered, your eyes wide and voice reluctantly soft.

He nodded. It was painful, so unbearably agonising like he was thrown into a fuming furnace, burning and dying, then reincarnating and burning every breath he spent in your vicinity.

His fists tightened, his gaze tracing your attentive expression, your lips puckered in deep concentration, hands so gentle, like a mother’s touch—or what Heeseung assumed must’ve been had he ever felt one. The past month he only dreamed of this moment—to have you before him, launched between his legs, attending only to him.

You cleaned up his wound with precision. He had practice, but your touch was magical—a healing balm of its own.

“Have you done this for anyone else?” His question came out gruffer than expected, his stomach twisting as he imagined you perched on a sink like this for someone else.

You finished cleaning up, moving to grab the bandage. “Of course not,” you huffed, peeling the bandaid from the wrapper.

“I just know I’m not supposed to stab wounds like that,” you sarcastically claimed, reminded of him jabbing his head. “You’re the future doctor… you should know this,” you leaned to the side, pressing the band-aid into his scalp.

“They teach us how to treat,” he stated. “Whatever gets the job done,” he shrugged.

You couldn’t help but grimace at his words.

“If you don’t treat with the element of pain in mind, you’ll hurt yourself more.”

Heeseung's throat was suddenly tighter than normal.

You wiped your hands with a tissue. Shifting closer, you inspected Heeseung’s injury one more time. You were about to get off the sink when you noticed glimmering bits of glass nestled in his hair. Impulsively, you reached out, flicking the strands.

“Oh—!” You jerked away, your finger cut by an unseen sharp edge that pierced the flesh.

Before the blood even oozed out, Heeseung sprang forward, grabbing your wrist, his gaze wide with horror as he impulsively pulled your finger into his mouth.

An astonished gasp escaped your chest.

Wide-eyed, you watched Heeseung suck around your finger.

At the first drop of your blood against his tongue, Heeseung’s eyes screwed shut, his body heating up, the metallic taste mixed with your skin’s sweetness creating a delicious buzz within his taste buds. Maybe if he drank enough, you'd really become a part of his being; if he fused your blood with his, you'd somehow become his.

He lapped at the drop incessantly, his hand reaching to lock your wrist in place as he covered your finger with saliva.

There was a shift in the air. You felt it in your bones.

As he looked up, meeting your eyes while simultaneously drenching your finger inside his mouth, your body began to heat up. A burn ignited at the centre of your legs, your imagination running wild, your limbs quivering.

Time became meaningless as he revelled in the euphoric bliss. When he noticed you weren’t pulling away or flinching, his muscles clenched with want. Instead, your cheeks were redd, eyes fluttering in bashfulness. Warmth in his blood shot lower, pooling within his sensitive region.

A thrum vibrated his own being as Heeseung popped another finger into his mouth, his sucking growing intense, lascivious, and hungrier. Your body jolted as his slick enveloped your digits, his tongue tirelessly flicking and tasting.

You wanted to intervene and stop this madness, but suddenly you couldn’t find your voice. Your throat refused to cooperate, and your lips denied any help.

His gaze was trained on your expressions, every blink, every gasp. He wanted to memorise the way your cheeks blushed scarlet and mouth opened in silent gasps. You were so beautiful, so perfect, so his.

“Hee—” you managed to choke out.

Heeseung’s hardness jerked in his pants, his body shaking with want. You had just attempted to say his name.

Suddenly, he pulled his mouth away and yanked you to the floor. You fell against his chest, your feet staggering on the marble floor, a stunned gasp escaping your mouth. He didn’t let you process it, his moves sharp and abrupt.

Your jaw dropped as you felt the tent of arousal straining against your abdomen. Your underwear was drenched, muscles taut as the reality dawned upon you. Lee Heeseung wanted you.

“Feel that—fuck—do you feel it?” He rasped against your ear, his hardened tone and body making you forget any coherent response, your body tensing up in his embrace. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful—stunning—so breathtaking. You make me—” His voice cracked as he felt nestled his nose against your neck, sniffing like a dog.

“Make you…” you pleaded for him to continue, craving his validation.

“Make me pathetic—so damn pathetic,” he blurted, his mind elsewhere as he sucked onto your earlobe.

His kisses ran down your neck, and he urgently flicked the hair away to feast. He pressed his lips gently, wanting to savour every moment and worship every inch, but within the first contact, his patience was out the window. He pushed his throbbing body into yours, knocking you against the sink as his mouth opened wide, biting into your flesh.

His mind fell numb as your taste and scent drove him to the brink of euphoria. He found it strange how you turned him into a quivering virgin mess with just this.

Your gasps reverberated in the bathroom walls, your frame quivering.

His touch was desperate, persistent like he was holding onto you for dear life. Fingers interlocked in your strands, body shaking with restrain as his mouth devoured your neck, you felt lost in a sea of pure bliss. You hadn’t had many sexual experiences in your life, but whatever make out sessions you had shared with boys in first year didn’t live up to this feeling, this hunger— from him.

“Ah!”

Every hair on his body stood alert. Your sounds were so pretty just like your body. He knew he couldn’t live without absolutely breaking your resilience. He had to tear through your exterior and drag out the vulnerable girl who moves to his rhythm, sings to his beat and responds to his call.

“Heeseung—Ah!” Your body tensed, his name falling from your mouth as his kisses grew frantic, prolonged. You were so flustered that you felt the world knock off its axis. You urgently held onto his tense shoulders, hoping you wouldn't fall over with the intensity of his want.

Had it been any other girl in his arms, anyone, he’d have thrown her on the floor and fulfilled his depraved desires. He’d have coerced her lust, used and abused her body like a mere object for his release. He wanted to do the same to you like he’d envisioned every night.

But you weren’t any girl. You weren't a momentary escape. For the first time in his life, he wanted it both: lust and love. He wanted to ruin you for everyone— not just physically but emotionally. He wanted your body and your soul.

And you were the sole reason he unwillingly held back, restrained his desire to rip you apart.

Breathless and flustered, you struggled to gather your thoughts. Your body was begging for him, but you couldn’t look past the reality.

This was Lee Heeseung, the hottest playboy, the genius, the most eligible bachelor in Korea—and most importantly, your brother’s best friend. You were calling his name so embarrassingly, and you were certain going all the way, he’d have nothing to do with you after tonight. He was like a forbidden fruit, so effortlessly desirable but never yours.

He will never be yours.

Your eyes burned with tears. You had managed to like him so much, and tonight it would crumble apart. Just the way you had ended up running from Jay, you should run from Heeseung before he takes your heart with him.

Determined, you pushed against him. The sudden move knocked him away, his reddened face twisting in confusion and frustration at the distance.

You quickly stumbled to the sink, splashing cold water on your face. Your complexion as red as a cherry, eyes shining, indicating hints of your previous bliss; Heeseung had littered red and purple marks all over your neck, his saliva still warming your flesh.

Behind you, Heeseung appeared, wrapping his arms around your waist. His eyes locked onto your reflection, his gaze darkening as it traced the curve of your neck. The heat between you intensified, his desire becoming evident as he pressed his aching body into yours. His eyes fluttered shut, savouring the sensation of your soft curves against him.

Embarrassingly, your abdomen clenched again.

“T—this is wrong. Stop,” you babbled, pushing him away, your dejected tone falling on deaf ears as he pressed into you again. “Heeseung—” You turned, using all your force to push him away. He looked up, his eyes clearly unfocused.

The bathroom was getting stuffy now. His unnerving gaze made it hard to breathe. You stepped away, yanking the bathroom door open and rushing out into the bleak room, your breathing unnecessarily heavy. Your body was aching with arousal, wanting to go back into his arms and give yourself up.

Heeseung shot out, grabbing your waist and jerking you into his hold, his heavy breaths lingering against your earlobe. You tried pulling away when suddenly he whipped you around.

With darkness blinding your vision, you couldn’t evade him as he yanked you into his chest and slammed his lips into yours.

The taste of cherries overwhelmed your senses, your body liquifying as he immediately plunged his tongue into your mouth, tasting you.

Every instant in his life had brought him to this moment. He knew it when he kissed your mouth, licked your tongue, traced your gums—he knew you were meant for him. Your beauty was his to ruin. Your taste was his to devour. Your love was his to take.

A strange sensation flared up in his chest, spreading to his heart. For the first time, all his medical knowledge felt useless—he didn’t even feel human because even they could identify sensations.

Heeseung cupped your jaw, his lips trembling as he took in all your taste had to offer. His teeth clashed with yours, and his saliva dripped down your chin, his tongue rolling against yours as he poured an overwhelming flood of unnamed emotions into you.

His erection pressed against your lower stomach as he kissed you breathlessly. Suddenly, he was tearing at his buttons, desperate to feel your skin against his.

His kiss felt urgent, charged with arousal. You felt like you would blow into tattered pieces with the intensity of his touch, his deprivation and lust. Your fingers ran through his tousled strands, clenching for semblance of control as he sucked the soul out of you.

Your lungs flared up in discomfort due to the limited oxygen supply. You gasped, pushing at his shoulders with all your strength. Heeseung’s grip didn’t falter. Your gasps grew more strained and alarming. Only when you felt tears blurring your vision did Heeseung relent.

Both of you panted like dogs, heaving breaths echoing through the room.

“Stop it!” You screamed, pushing him away as you blindly searched for the exit.

Yellow lights flickered on, the sudden burst blinding you momentarily. Heeseung stood like a barrier blocking the door, his advantage clear as he seemed to have the room mapped out in his head.

Pupils blown out, he panted, his gaze clouded with the need to ravage and devour you whole. His undone button-down hung the shoulders, revealing honey toned chest and tense abs, descending lower into his pants. Your mouth dried up, but you forced yourself to remain unfeeling.

You voiced out, “Let me go—”

“Why?” He asked gruffly. His eyes locked onto your trembling orbs, his brows arching in frustration.

“I can’t have you?” He whispered.

His words were laced with provocation. He hadn’t felt such an urgency to ruin someone, ever. He ached to feel your skin against his. He was hurting to fill you. If you wanted, he would plummet to his knees, stick out his tongue and shamelessly beg, plead.

You looked at him with indifference. “You’re my brother’s—”

“So what?” He barked, his abrupt interruption making your breath stutter.

He stepped closer until he had you pressed against the wall, his arms on either side, locking you in place. You hadn’t expected him to be this eager. Why did he care? A man like Heeseung could get any woman on earth. One look and they’d drop their panties to the floor. Your glare grew more acrimonious at the realisation.

You pushed at his chest, your fingers grazing his warm skin, lighting up fireworks in your system. “I refuse to be your one-night fantasy, Heeseung,” you stuttered, unshed tears slipping out.

The fury in his gaze collapsed, his lips parting in stunned horror.

This was your chance…to run free, to protect whatever’s left of your heart. Hastily, you dashed to the door, your grip pulling at the handle when suddenly Heeseung was behind you, enveloping your waist.

You screamed and struggled, your feet kicking the air as he carried you away and tossed you onto the bed. You fought against his manhandling, punching and pushing against him, but he just stared at you like you were a weak feline lashing out.

He let you burst out until your energy had depleted and you fell limp.

“You’re fucking joking,” he laughed, disbelief coursing through his frame. “One night fantasy?” He spat, his fists tightening at the audacity of your words.

You stared back, matching his intensity. “Isn’t it famously known?" You huffed. “You don’t touch a woman you’ve had once,” you snarled, your tone dripping with hostility.

That sent him spiralling. “I don’t,” he declared. He watched the spark in your eyes die down, tears running down your cheeks. You attempted to get up, but Heeseung dropped to his knees, his hands scrambling to cup your face.

His heart pounded so hard, that he felt its drumming within his entire being. “You’re not any woman,” his voice cracked, his throat tightening as he kissed your tears one by one. “You’re mine."

He hadn’t said anything more honest in his entire life.

Yet, you looked at him the same—awfully sceptical, disbelieving. He had attempted to pour out his heart, claim you as his, but you gazed at him like he was a liar, a deceiver. Heeseung dropped his arms, anger surging within his blood.

“You don’t believe me,” he declared, his tone laced with bitter sarcasm.

You wanted to so badly—but you had no reason to. Why would he fall for you?

You watched as Heeseung’s gaze frantically scoured the room.

Something ominous was happening. You felt your stomach twist. You called his name, but he turned away, dashing towards the study table. You stared in confusion as he grabbed his car key.

Without any warning, Heeseung struck the sharp edge into his chest, stabbing himself in his sternum. A scream lurched out your throat, your breath stuttering as you attempted to get to him. He forced the key inside, tearing through the flesh in a line. Blood gushed through the wound, but Heeseung’s concentration remained firm.

“What the fuck— stop-stop!” You screeched, finally getting a hold of his arm.

He didn’t stop, still working on creating the art piece he wanted you to see. You felt lightheaded as you fought against his determined actions. Unable to knock him back into reality, you decided to fling at the key, letting it slip from his grasp.

Horror ceased your chest. The scarred flesh formed a letter— your initial. You gazed up at him, your throat constricting as a soul-stirring chill escalated down your spine.

“If I carve you in my blood, will you believe me?” A pained gaze, a torn heart, a horrifying smile.

Your limbs trembled.

You glanced at the wound, lips parting in silent horror.

This was absurd— absolute madness. You couldn’t wrap your head around it, but you knew it was awfully dangerous like playing with fire or chasing a lion into its den. You should be scared— fearing for your life. You should escape right now when you have the chance. You should run and never look back.

There are many shoulds' you encounter in life, but none of them hold any value when something as desirable holds you by the throat. Someone as irresistibly horrifying as Lee Heeseung. Whatever you did next, you knew your fate was sealed. Even if you ran, you couldn't outrun him-- and somewhere in the pool of longing in your depraved heart, you didn't want to. You didn't want to find a way out.

You leaned down and wrapped your lips around his honey peck, swirling your tongue and licking the scarlet oozing from his self-inflicted wound, surprising yourself as you swallowed it down.

Life and death stood at a standstill. Had you pushed him away, he’d still have ruined you, broken your soul to pieces and killed himself over hurting you. But you chose to acknowledge, indulge in his pained longing, accepting it like a lover's call, making him want to live more— chase more— love more.

Vision glazed, heart thundering against his chest, he wrapped you in a breathless embrace.

Amid the chaos, a strained voice invaded the room. “Hee— fuck, we’ve got a problem.”

Your head shot towards the door, eyes wide with fear.

Fuck.

Your brother was at the door.

A rampant knock. “Hee— you in there?” Jake's voice spilt into the heated room, your body freezing. Heeseung didn't even spare the door a glance as he pressed himself within your body.

“They’ve come looking for drugs— I don’t know who’s called but the police are searching the place.”

Your eyes bulged out of their sockets, jaw-dropping in horror.

Drugs? Police?

Instead of concern or a slight hint of fear, Heeseung’s grip tightened on your wrists, and he attacked your lips, invading your mouth. You gasped, caught off guard, your jaw opening in a silent gasp. He swallowed your protests, his hands releasing your wrists to grope your butt-cheeks as he hoisted you up in his arms while sucking on your bottom lip.

“Bro— are you seriously fucking someone right now?” Jake’s incredulous tone made you want to dig a hole and bury yourself inside.

Heeseung’s grip on your buttocks tightened, his groans purposefully filling the room like a silent message for Jake. His knees gave out, knocking you down, your body crashing into the bed as he vigorously unbuckled his jeans. His warm tongue feasted through your mouth, swallowing your complaints, his head lolling into your shoulders as he pressed wet, hasty bites down your neck.

Another knock.

“Fuck— Heeseung get out here! They’ve arrested Jongseong.”

You gasped.

What the fuck?

Heeseung paused.

Through glazed vision, he stared down at you. His lips slowly formed a smile that made every hair on your body rise.

Kim Sunoo had really come through, orchestrating a flawless drug raid, planting the evidence in Jongseong's bags and vanishing without a trace. Jay would waste away five years in prison for drug possession— barely enough to atone for the pain he gave you, hopefully enough to erase the longing that fucker held for you. Heeseung knew he owed his partner in crime a bottle of Soju next time Sunoo visited their shared farmhouse.

“Heeseung, we should—”

Heeseung licked your mouth, holding your trembling body in place, his fingers desperately tugging at your straps. Despite your persistence, he didn’t care for anything at the moment. Someone could tell him that the entire house was on fire or that the universe had collided into a meteor, crumbling to bits and pieces, and he’d still ignore it all.

For now, he will spend every second making you his—until his love is conveyed through his hunger, until his touch leaves scars and burns on your soul, until you love him enough to bleed him dry.

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space-station-nursery · 1 month ago

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◜ ❗𓂃 Space Station Reports ‧ ❕ ◞

⁺　　◍ 　 . 　 ⁺　　☆　　⁺ 　 . 　 ◍　　⁺

DO NOT INTERACT WITH @KODASWRLD

now that that's out of the way, we will be discussing NSFW briefly in this post, please make sure you are reading when in a safe mindset. All moots will be tagged at the end for further reach, i apologize to anyone i ping who does not like to be pinged[/g] however this is a serious topic to me and i want this to reach as far as possible

⁺　　◍ 　 . 　 ⁺　　☆　　⁺ 　 . 　 ◍　　⁺

Beforehand:

Hello kiddos, this is a more in-depth report from the one we made [here] about the up and growing agere creator Kodaswrld. I found their[i cant remember their pronouns rn] blog a few months ago, and absolutely fell in love. I loved their dividers, their text posts, and all the freestyling on their blog!

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September:

On september 10th, 2024, we created a post called "Agere Backpack ideas"! The next day [Sep 11th, 24], while scrolling through a creator i also thoroughly enjoy, i saw a post they had reblogged.... It was our backpack ideas, but it wasnt written by me... in fact, it was re-uploaded by someone who i thought created interesting content. I commented under the original post to take it down as we did not consent to our work getting re-uploaded. They deleted our comment. A few days later after fd calmed me from my panic attack, we sent an ask to take down our post as we did not consent to our content being reposted. At the start of our blog, i did have "do not rewrite" on our blog, however because nothing ever happened, i took it away when we changed into the space station nursery. They deleted our ask. a week or more later [unfortunately i dont remember at this point anymore] They closed asks under the guise of "getting hate"

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Current:

After everything happened, fd scoured around to create a blacklist. At this time, i had finally calmed down, and was ready to blacklist. Before we got to it tho, i saw a post created by another agere creator in which Koda had stolen from. This creator asks that all followers or people interacting report if their content was being reposted, as koda had taken one of their posts, and it got SIGNIFICANTLY more notes, as well as Koda copying their DNI banner, just changing the font and small images on the side:

Original post that Koda stole, at the time, post had at max 200 notes, minimum 150. OP name and pfp covered for privacy

Copied post made by Koda. Notice the amount of notes it has [if you check] 740 notes

---

This is not the only instance of this happening with Koda, and no "but they add credits" is not a viable defense here. We did not tell them they could do this, and they did not ask, by the looks of all posts, they didnt ask ANYONE to use their posts. The little credits at the bottom is also hard to see, especially by those who are visually impaired. I had an almost blind friend check out their post, and that friend couldnt even see the credits without us zooming in and circling it for the friend to see. Thats a problem. And people who see it but dont think much of it [like me] will not click the credits. I didnt. and i apologize to those whom i contributed to as apart of the problem

⁺　　◍ 　 . 　 ⁺　　☆　　⁺ 　 . 　 ◍　　⁺

So what else needs to be discussed?

Well, before we get to the NSFW they interact with, lets go with the tracing and stealing. Thank you to the person that sent us this [will not name for the safey of the individual but they are free to comment and let you guys know! They sent a non anonymous ask but still, yknow?]

So-.... Proof?

This is a screenshot sent to us that shows a user by the name of @/b4bybear_ , crediting their BF and CG @/SEABUNE for creating an image we all know and love, and have MOST LIKELY SEEN amongst agere intros [all blue markings have been made by me]

As you can see in the second image, the user is written on the bottom, exactly how its written on the twitter post. This image is widely available, and many many individuals use it..... However, Koda didnt seem to care

As you can see, Koda NOT ONLY traced, changed a singular item, and erased the original creators credits, they then wrote their own name on the bottom and claimed this post as their own. And no, changing one thing on an art post while still tracing everything else is not "creating your own content" or "taking inspo" This is blatant copying. This is further than just stealing text posts, they are stealing

ART from other sources [nsfw below]

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And now, the NSFW....

Kodaswrld does have their following open, meaning that littles, middles, and anyone visiting their blog can see who they interact with. These are some of the blogs they currently follow, and content they post/reblog:

@/slvttyfied

@/firstladyofjuicycouture12

Whilst being 18+, there is nothing wrong with interacting and following NSFW content and blogs. However if you are running a blog with a minor following [not small amount of people, minors. people 17 and under] you should not have your follows seen if you are interacting with this kind of content. Minors are curious, and you are exposing them to things they do not yet need to see or know about. Especially when kinks/hard kinds are involved. I am 21 and fd is 22. We will NEVER, allow nsfw blogs or rebloggers to interact with our content

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Final thoughts:

Through our mini blacklist, we have found out that koda knows what they are doing, and are actively avoiding discussing it. We also learned that they ship real people [called rps or "real people shipping"], and for having almost 800 followers, do not deserve it. Please, spread this far and wide, show your friends, you moots, reblog it even if it doesnt fit your aesthetic. This person NEEDS to be stopped.

⁺　　◍ 　 . 　 ⁺　　☆　　⁺ 　 . 　 ◍　　⁺

Our moots: @oftlunarialmoon @nostalgic-woodwind , @zimswife , @deesblanketfort , @angel-bunnie @aprilsmabelmaple , @diaryofalittlestar , @h3ll0everybby1 , @xx-raines-space-kindergarten-xx [hi raaaaine]

#t✩⸜⸜agere reports 📢#dni with #kodaswrld #anti endo #agere report #age regression sfw #agere community #sfw age regression #age regression #art theft #autistic agere #agere blog #age regression caregiver #age regression community #noncom agere

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pucksandpower · 1 year ago

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Grid Kids: Escapades

Sebastian Vettel x wife!Reader x platonic!drivers

Summary: everyone’s favorite grid family takes on their biggest challenge yet … an escape room

Series Masterlist

“Alright, who thought it would be a good idea to lock a bunch of F1 drivers in a room and expect them to work together to get out?” Charles grumbles, eyeing the cryptic clues scattered around the dimly lit space.

George smirks, picking up a coded message. “Well you’ve had plenty of practice trying to decipher Ferrari’s strategy lately, so maybe you’ve got an advantage here?”

The room erupts in laughter as Charles feigns a wounded expression. “Low blow, George! Do I not suffer enough already?”

Lando, fidgeting with what looks like an ancient artifact, suddenly blurts out, “Do you think this is like a button or something?” Before anyone can respond, there’s an audible snap and the artifact falls apart in his hands.

“Seriously, Lando?” Max exclaims, shaking his head in amusement. “First my trophy, now this? Hands off everything, please!”

You chuckle, patting Lando’s back consolingly. “It’s alright. Maybe breaking things is part of the puzzle?”

Lance, busy trying to fit a square peg into a round hole, adds, “At this rate, we’re never getting out of here.”

Mick, focusing on a puzzle piece, comments, “We’ve only got an hour, guys. Let’s get serious.”

Sebastian begins delegating. “Alright, George and Max, you handle the codes. Mick, Charles, focus on the physical puzzles. Lance, Lando — just ... try not to break anything else.”

As the room buzzes with activity, you can’t help but think that this is one of the best ideas you’ve had in a while. It’s hilarious watching these fiercely competitive drivers work together in a situation that doesn’t involve cars and tracks.

After a series of (mostly) successful problem-solving attempts, a loud buzzer sounds, indicating you’re out of time. The doors swing open, revealing a grinning staff member.

“You were only one clue away!” she exclaims, clapping. “Not bad for a first attempt!”

Max looks around the room, a smirk forming. “Well, if Lando didn’t break that artifact, maybe we would’ve made it.”

Lando throws his hands up defensively. “Hey! I added character to the room.”

Everyone bursts into laughter, making their way out. Another day, another adventure — this one off the track.

***

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Sebastian mutters, amusement evident in his eyes, as he steps into the living room. There are strings hanging from the ceiling, makeshift locks on the furniture, and “cryptic” clues pinned everywhere, like Look UNDER the couch, accompanied by a not-so-subtle arrow pointing downwards.

You, equally surprised and amused, chuckle. “What in the world happened here?”

Charles steps forward, barely containing his laughter. “Welcome to the Grand Prix Escape Room! Guaranteed to be at least 90% more escape-able than the one we failed at.”

George adds, pointing to a padlocked fridge, “I did the food clues. Trust me, they’re the most challenging.”

Max chimes in, “And Lando ... well, we didn’t let him touch anything breakable this time.”

Lando mock-pouts, “One little accident and suddenly I’m the family menace.”

Lance hands you a paper that reads The KEY to success is WHERE you eat BREAKFAST. He grins, “That’s my contribution. Top tier clue, right?”

Mick has a mischievous twinkle in his eye, “I suggest you look in very obvious places. We wouldn’t want this to be too hard.”

As you and Sebastian navigate through the hilariously straightforward challenges — like the “hidden” key taped directly next to the padlocked fridge or the note on the oven saying THIS IS NOT A CLUE, just wanted to remind you we have pie — it becomes clear that this isn’t about the challenge at all.

It’s about laughter, family, and the simple joy of being together.

After an entertaining fifteen minutes, which involves Sebastian dramatically pretending to struggle with a code that's simply “1234,” you successfully escape.

Mick raises a toast with room temperature champagne (they forgot to place it in the fridge before it was padlocked), “To the greatest escape artists in the world!”

You laugh, “And to the best, most creative grid kids in the universe!”

***

You wake up to the soft chimes of your alarm, stretching lazily before noticing an envelope on your bedside table. Scrawled on it in mismatched rainbow crayons is Mission: Breakfast Heist.

Opening the note, you read:

Dear Y/N and Seb,

Your breakfast has been stolen! To get it back, follow the clues and embark on a thrilling adventure. Also, no cheating by ordering takeout!

The Breakfast Bandits (aka your grid kids)

Amused, you head downstairs, following a trail of strategically placed toast crumbs. In the kitchen, you find another note taped to the coffee machine: To get your morning brew, tell us a joke that’s new!

Sebastian, rubbing sleep from his eyes, joins you and declares, “Why did the coffee file a police report? It got mugged!” Mick appears from behind you, making both of you jump, and hands you two cups of coffee before backing away silently.

Chuckling, you move on to find that on the fridge, instead of a padlock, there’s a touchpad with a question on its digital display: What’s hot yet cool at the same time?

You ponder it for a moment, thinking of all the possible answers. Sebastian, catching on to the playful challenge set by the grid kids, smirks and says, “It’s the Iceman, isn’t it?”

You both laugh, with you playfully nudging Sebastian, “I always knew you thought Kimi was hot.”

Entering K-I-M-I on the touchpad, the fridge beeps in agreement and swings open, revealing a lavish breakfast spread and a note that reads: Breakfast is served! We might have kept it under lock and key but only to make it special. Enjoy!

From the doorway, the “Breakfast Bandits” applaud, their faces beaming with mischief.

Lance grins, “Took you long enough! And Seb, never knew you had a thing for Kimi.”

Charles joins in the teasing, “Seems like there are still some secrets in the paddock!”

Sebastian playfully rolls his eyes, “At least my secret doesn’t involve singing into a hairbrush every night before bed.”

Charles blushes as the room bursts into laughter. “Who told you about that?” he exclaims, pointing an accusing finger at Lando, who’s trying hard (and failing miserably) to stifle his giggles.

Lando attempts to defend himself through his laughter, “It wasn’t me! But if we’re confessing, who knew that Seb’s haircare routine involved more products than all of ours combined?”

Sebastian raises an eyebrow, pretending to be offended. “Gotta keep the locks looking good, don’t I?”

Max interjects, “Well, if we’re on the topic of secrets, who wants to bet on how many stuffed animals Lando has on his bed?”

Lando gasps dramatically, “Betrayed by my own brothers! Next time, I’m hiding them all in George’s room!”

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recoord · 2 months ago

Text

Why Good Omens season 1 has already fulfilled Sir Terry Pratchett's wish

Neil Gaiman said he wouldn't make a sequel to Good Omens

Neil Gaiman at SXSW in Austin, Texas in 2019:

[Gaiman also confirmed the series will only be six episodes, with no intention of trying to go for another season if successful. "The lovely thing about Good Omens is it has a beginning, it has a middle, and it has an end," he said to appreciative applause. "Season 1 of Good Omens is Good Omens. It's brilliant. It finishes. You have six episodes and we're done. We won't try to build in all these things to try to let it continue indefinitely."]

Source: Entertainment Weekly (2019)

2018 - Neil Gaiman on X- Twitter

Tweet link here

Also Neil Gaiman in 2023:

["It won't be confirmed unless enough people watch Season 2 to make Amazon happy...

...But obviously Season 3 is all planned and plotted and, if I get to make it, will take the story and the people in it we care about to a satisfying end."]

What happened?

Were the profits and ratings high enough to create two more seasons out of thin air? At this point, seasons 2 and 3 seem more like a greedy stretching of a beloved story already told in its entirety in the first season.

Has the first season already fulfilled Sir Terry Pratchett's wish?

As read above, Neil Gaiman himself said: "Season 1 of Good Omens is Good Omens."

Gaiman was very opened about how pleased he was with Season 1 and how he made it having Sir Terry Pratchett's wish in mind.

Interview for The Verge (May 30, 2019)

Link : Neil Gaiman had one rule for the Good Omens adaptation: making Terry Pratchett happy

Interviewer: Do you feel pressure from knowing this has to be the definitive best adaptation it could be?

Gaiman: No. All I wanted to do was to make something Terry would have liked. It wasn’t like, “Make the best thing.”...

...Gaiman: The lovely thing about Good Omens [the miniseries] is that it’s still Good Omens. If you loved the book, this is that thing that you loved. And I will make you fall in love even more with Sergeant Shadwell. I will make you fall even more in love with Newt than you thought you could, I hope. It does demonstrate that I do kind of know what I’m talking about, which is a nice thing to know.

...Gaiman: So with Good Omens, I feel like what I got to do was put the thing I made with Terry on the screen and then buttress it. What I added isn’t completely different from the original. It’s not out of left field.

Neil Gaiman on an interview for The Guardian in 2019.

Link: Neil Gaiman: ‘Good Omens feels more apt now than it did 30 years ago’

There are times, he insists, when “you make something you like so much that you don’t really care what anyone else thinks of it.” There’s a clue to this, perhaps, in the show’s final frame, which reads “For Terry”. “He didn’t believe in heaven or hell or anything like that,” Gaiman says, “so there wasn’t even a hope that there was a ghostly Terry around to watch it. He would have been grumpy if there was. But I made it for him.”

Why was Good Omens season 1 so good and you could really feel Sir Terry Pratchett's contributions?

Gaiman himself has already told us the answer:

Neil Gaiman for The Verge (2019).

There was original material to work with (Good Omens, published in 1990), on which we certainly know that Sir Terry Pratchett himself actively worked from start to finish.

Is there a proper sequel to Good Omens the book on which to base 2 more seasons of the series?

Neil Gaiman says the following on an interview for GQ in 2019.

Link: Neil Gaiman Says No to Adapting His Own Books—Except This Time

...But with this, it was like: Okay. Terry is gone. He wanted me to do this. He wanted me to do it for him. And that gave me a kind of weird impetus. And it meant that I felt very much at liberty to take every conversation that Terry and I had ever had about Good Omens. Not just the book, as written, but everything beyond it. We planned a sequel, never written, so I got to steal the angels from the sequel. I got to steal from every conversation Terry and I had about how we would do this. It felt very personal, and I guess kind of… holy. If that doesn’t sound too ridiculous. But it was a mission.

Two conclusions can be drawn:

1) Informal conversations about the plot of a sequel do not equate to an officially written sequel.

2) Neil Gaiman has already used many of the ideas he and Terry Pratchett had planned for a never-written sequel to Good Omens and those ideas were largely added to and executed in the TV adaptation of Good Omens (2019).

Why keep stretching those ideas if the co-writer is no longer able to actively contribute and help to create a proper sequel?

If Gaiman were the sole creator of Good Omens we'd have a different conversation, but that's not the case. The first season of Good Omens was already a beautiful homage to Good Omens and Sir Terry Pratchett's work on the book.

Did Terry Pratchett write around 75% of Good Omens?

Link for the post here.

Link for the post talking about the video and sharing the video here.

Edit: I wanted to bring this point up to point out Terry Pratchett's important contribution to the making of the book, not to highlight it as an excuse to distance Gaiman from the novel. We will have to accept that he also contributed to the creation of the book.

Sir Terry Pratchett's last wish

2017 - Rob Wilkins on Twitter (X)

Terry Pratchett’s Unpublished Work Crushed by Steamroller

By Sophie Haigney - The New York Times

Terry Pratchett, the well-known British fantasy author, had a wish fulfilled two years after his death: A hard drive containing his unpublished work was destroyed by steamroller.

Mr. Pratchett, a wildly popular fantasy novelist who wrote more than 70 books, including the “Discworld” series, died at 66 in 2015. That year his friend, the writer Neil Gaiman, told The Times of London that Mr. Pratchett had wanted “whatever he was working on at the time of his death to be taken out along with his computers, to be put in the middle of a road and for a steamroller to steamroll over them all.” Mr. Gaiman added at the time that he was glad this hadn’t happened.

Now, though, it has. Mr. Pratchett’s estate manager and close friend, Rob Wilkins, posted a picture of a hard drive and a steamroller on Aug. 25 on an official Twitter account they shared.

Shortly thereafter, Mr. Wilkins wrote that the deed was done.

I have not been able to find the exact reasons why Sir Terry Pratchet wanted his unfinished and unpublished works destroyed, but we can respect his last wish as a way for him to have control over what he felt he was ready to share with the world and what he was not.

Is Good Omens the exception?

With all that has been presented so far, I can only conjecture, but not be sure. I can believe that there was Terry Pratchett's permission and desire to make an adaptation of Good Omens, the original book published in 1990, but to my mind, creating two more seasons of a never-written sequel doesn't fit as part of Terry Pratchett's desire.

He is not among us to actively participate in a sequel and if his last wish was to destroy his unfinished works, I can't believe that he would have wanted to give his approval to something new published under his name and without his supervision.

Sir Terry Pratchett talking about a never-written sequel to Good Omens

“Neil and I thought about a sequel an awful lot initially. We talked about it on tour. And I think it was a big relief to both of us, when one day we looked one another in the eye and said, 'I thought you wanted to do a sequel.'..

Interview for the Magazine Locus. Locusmag archive page

This is me speculating, but I don't think there was real enthusiasm for creating a sequel until Gaiman alone saw profitable potential in the TV adaptation....

Good Omens also belongs to the those who love the story

I think it's okay to still love the story of Good Omens. Personally, I will always be grateful with the story and the characters for giving me confort in troubling times, but I find seasons 2 and 3 as some kind of excuse from Gaiman to keep profiting and benefiting from the story (more now than ever due to the SA allegations*).

Aziraphale and Crowley will always live happily in a lovely cottage as long as we want to. Even before season 2 was announced, many of us had already accepted that. Many artists have imagined lovely endings for our innefable husbands and in my eyes their works won't be any less valuable than whatever Gaiman had planned.

Note:

I don't like talking about Season 3 of GO without mentioning the current 5 SA allegations against Neil Gaiman (Main writer of seasons 2 and 3 and showrunner), so in case you want to know more about the allegations against Neil Gaiman. Here there's a great Round Up link (Podcasts links, transcripts, etc.)

Credits for the Round Up link to Muccamukk. Thanks a lot!

*more thoughts on supporting season 3

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unabashegirl · 23 days ago

Text

Different 12 — college hs

Harry's quiet, routine-driven life changes one weekend when he meets Y/N through a mutual friend at her party. She comes from a superficial, materialistic world with absent parents who believe money solves everything. Despite their differences, something clicks that night, and Y/N can't stop thinking about him.

Author's note: Hey everyone! I wanted to take a moment to thank you all for your incredible support. I’m currently 164 subscribers away from being able to cover my medical school tuition, which is a huge milestone for me. I’m not sharing this because I’m asking anyone to contribute more, but rather to see if you could help spread the word by reposting.

warnings: talk abt abuse and violence

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She was petrified down to her core. Y/N suddenly couldn’t feel her extremities. The grip on her mechanical pencil tightened as she thought of ways to defend herself if necessary. She couldn’t understand how going to the library had turned into a nightmare.

Brian pulled out the chair beside her and sat down, incredibly close to her. He could smell her lavender shampoo and her vanilla lotion.

“Brian,” she started, but was quickly cut off by his rough, demanding voice.

“Shut up, Y/N.” He ran his fingers through his brown hair as he leaned closer to her ear. Brian knew there were plenty of people in the library who could interrupt them or, worse, overhear their conversation. Therefore, if he needed to whisper so the rest couldn’t find out his business, he would. “I am so fucking done with your silent treatment. Who the fuck do you think you are?” His tone was stern, harsh, and cold enough to make her skin crawl.

She didn’t say anything but just turned to stare back at him.

“You treat me like shit, and then I find out that you have a boyfriend? Who is it?” Brian never considered himself a bad boyfriend. He knew he had his flaws, like everyone else, but Y/N hadn’t given him a chance to redeem himself. “I heard it’s that kid you were speaking to at that fucking party you had, and I really hope it’s not him. He’s a fucking nobody.” He was jealous but would never admit it.

“Don’t talk about him that way!” She hadn’t planned to respond to him, but bringing Harry into it had made her blood boil like never before. She had never been the type to hold grudges. Her grandmother had taught her from a young age the virtue of forgiveness, but what Brian had done that night was unforgivable.

“I can say whatever I please. Are you seriously telling me that you prefer him over me? Firstly, why did you leave me?” The veins popped from his neck as his cheeks turned red. His hands ached to touch her and force an answer out of her, but he couldn’t with so many people around. So, he gripped her jaw and forced her closer to him.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she hissed, pulling her face from his grip even though it hurt her skin. “The party? Where not only did you hit me, but you tried to force me into having sex with you?” she whispered, glancing at the other people in the library.

“Force you to have sex with me? You’re mistaken. I don’t remember ever having difficulty getting you into bed. You were always so willing to open your legs to everyone.” Y/N rolled her eyes, knowing he would continue to deny it.

“Fuck you,” she cursed, reaching out to start packing her things back into her tote bag.

“He’s a nobody. Your parents will never approve,” he laughed, recalling the day she introduced him to her parents. He had shown off that night. Brian also came from an affluent family, though nowhere near Y/N’s. “You’re a fucking princess, and he will never fulfill the role I left.”

“You think I’m a princess?” she retorted. “Then why would you hit me? You busted my lip, my eyebrow, and broke my nose that night.”

She still remembered the darkness of the room where he held her for almost three hours while the party continued downstairs. If it hadn’t been for her friends, who had grown worried about her whereabouts that night, he would have raped her. Y/N owed everything to James and Sebastian. They moved in with her for the rest of winter break until her nightmares finally stopped tormenting her. She eventually healed physically, but she would never forget the darkness of that room.

Brian looked away and stared off into the distance. He couldn’t look her in the eyes because, deep down, he felt guilty.

He remembered waking up in only boxers in his friend’s master bedroom. His entire body hurt and ached. His knuckles were bruised, and at first, he assumed he’d gotten into another silly fight with some random person. So, he called and texted Y/N, but she never answered. It wasn’t until he looked in the mirror that he saw his bruised face. James had almost killed him that night.

“He might not be popular or as rich as you, but I know that Harry would never lay a finger on me without my permission,” she said proudly. “I am not entertaining this conversation. For a minute, I thought you were going to apologize to me. Silly me, huh? Always trying to justify your actions, but I am done. You crossed a line that night. I suggest you find another girl to torment. You wouldn’t like the entire university to find out what happened, would you?” she retorted as she rose to her feet, but before she could walk away, he gripped her forearm.

“Are you threatening me?” Brian growled as he stood up from his seat. She yanked her arm away and took a step back.

“Don’t touch me again,” she hissed, then quickly walked out of the library.

Y/N felt drained as she walked out of the building and across campus to find a quiet place to settle down. She found a small, secluded area with a sofa and cushions, like a cozy living room, so she settled onto the couch and pulled out her iPad to watch something before her next class and her meeting with Harry.

“Doll,” a voice whispered as someone caressed the top of her head. Y/N had fallen asleep watching another episode of her favorite show. James looked down at his best friend with a big smile, amused at her ability to fall asleep anywhere. “Did you sleep well?” he chuckled, pushing some hair away from her face as she fluttered her eyes and tried to come back to reality.

“What time is it?”

“Class is already over.” James sat beside her on the couch. He had just finished his Torts class when he found her. Sebastian had actually sent him a photo after he passed her on his way to statistics.

“I have to get to Mansueto,” she groaned, checking her phone and noticing the multiple texts Harry had sent her.

“I’m actually headed that way too. I’ll drop you off on the way to the gym.” Y/N quickly texted Harry back as she scrambled to pick up her things.

On my way. Fell asleep. Sorry

“How was your day? Besides falling asleep and missing your class?” James asked as they walked toward the parking lot. She giggled but was quickly reminded of her encounter with Brian.

“It was fine.” She couldn’t tell him. She knew he would go looking for Brian and pick a fight with him on campus, which could get him expelled.

“Are you sure?” James knew her too well not to notice her strange behavior and sudden change in tone. They had grown up together. Their mothers had been friends since high school and had married within the same social circle, keeping their friendship alive for many years. Naturally, Y/N and James had gone to the same pre-K, primary school, middle school, and high school.

“Yes,” she smiled as she jumped into his Range Rover. They drove for only a few minutes before he pulled up to the dome library on 57th Street. “Thanks, bubs! See you tomorrow.” She smiled, getting out and waving.

“Let me know if you need a ride back!” James called after her as she entered the building.

“Hi!” Y/N smiled as she approached Harry, Sarah, and Mitch. “I’m so sorry I’m late,” she apologized, waving to his friends before giving Harry a quick kiss. “I fell asleep on a couch and missed my last class.” Harry chuckled, pulling her chair closer to his.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” he confessed. He had actually worried something had happened to her on the way.

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” she whispered, noticing his friends had already dived into their work. “I was just tired and forgot to text, but I wasn’t going to stand you up. Plus, I’ve got lots of work to do, too.”

Harry smiled and gave her a soft kiss, letting her know he wasn’t upset and understood.

--> Different 13

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amethystarachnid · 1 month ago

Text

FEAR

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony "Tony" Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, angst, fluff, a little spicy

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ᯓ★ Word count: 5k

ᯓ★ TW(s): spicy kisses, reader is insecure

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ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language, feel free to correct me kindly please

You’re sitting in the lab at Stark Tower, watching Tony work, and that’s when it hits you. It’s not like some dramatic, slow-motion moment where everything clicks into place with fireworks in the background. No, it’s quieter than that. Subtle. Almost sneaky. It’s just Tony, as he always is: focused, slightly manic, throwing out sarcastic comments that make you roll your eyes, but secretly smile.

“Y/N,” Tony calls out, not even looking up from the holographic display in front of him. “Are you going to just stare at me all day, or are you going to actually help me with this? You know, contribute something to society?”

You blink, startled out of your thoughts, and immediately feel your cheeks heat up. God, were you really just staring? What is wrong with you? You’ve never been this… distracted by him before. Not like this.

“Sorry, I was...uh...thinking,” you lie, trying to shake off whatever weird realization is buzzing in your brain.

Tony doesn’t even glance your way. “Thinking? That’s dangerous. Especially in here. I’m trying to build a reactor, not accidentally blow us up because your mind is somewhere else. Come on, get your head in the game, Y/L/N.”

You force a laugh, hoping it sounds casual, but it feels strained. “Right. Reactor. I’m on it.”

As you move to join him, you do your best to shove down the sudden burst of awareness that’s decided to rear its head today. You and Tony? No. That’s ridiculous. He’s your best friend, your boss, and, let’s be real, way out of your league. He’s Tony freaking Stark, billionaire genius, walking chaos, with charm and charisma that have landed him just about any person he’s ever wanted. He doesn’t do serious relationships, and he definitely wouldn’t look at you like that.

Would he?

No. Don’t even go there. You can’t afford to let your mind wander down that path. It’s dangerous. It’s… stupid.

Still, as you work side by side with him, your eyes can’t help but flicker to the way his hands move, quick and precise, always in control, always tinkering. You think about the way he makes you laugh, even on your worst days, or how he checks in on you when he thinks no one’s looking, dropping off coffee at your desk without saying a word. There are the little things too, the inside jokes, the quiet moments after long days of saving the world, when it’s just the two of you, sitting in companionable silence.

It’s all those things that have started to pile up, one after the other, until suddenly you’re drowning in this feeling you can’t quite name...Or rather, one you don’t want to name. Because if you name it, if you admit it, it becomes real. And once it’s real, it’s going to wreck everything.

“Y/N,” Tony’s voice cuts through the thick fog of your thoughts, and this time, he’s looking right at you, his sharp brown eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What’s up with you today? You’ve been weird for the past hour.”

You freeze, panic rising in your chest. He’s too perceptive for his own good. Damn it. “I’m not being weird.”

“Yeah, you are.” He crosses his arms over his chest, tilting his head. “You’re quiet. You’re never this quiet. Spill it. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

You flinch, knowing if anyone could see through your defenses, it’s him. He always has. That’s part of the problem, isn’t it? He knows you too well. He’ll see right through any lie you come up with, any excuse you make. And once he does… what then? He’ll realize how you feel, and you’ll become just another awkward footnote in the complicated history of Tony Stark’s relationships. Except this time, you’ll lose the best friend you’ve ever had.

You clear your throat, scrambling for something to say. “It’s just… work stuff. I’m fine, Tony.”

He stares at you for a long moment, his gaze heavy, as if he doesn’t believe you. And why would he? He knows you better than anyone. But finally, he relents, letting out a sigh and turning back to the reactor prototype in front of him. “Whatever you say, Y/N. But just so you know, your poker face? It sucks.”

You swallow hard, laughing a little too loudly. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Anytime.” His voice is dripping with sarcasm, but there’s an undercurrent of concern there too, one that makes your heart tighten in your chest.

It’s not fair, how easily he can make you feel like this. How just being near him makes your pulse race and your stomach twist. You’ve always known Tony had a way of getting under your skin, but this? This is different. This is worse. Because now, you’ve fallen for him, and there’s no coming back from that.

But you can’t let him know. You won’t.

For the rest of the day, you force yourself to be as normal as possible. You joke with him, laugh at his ridiculous quips, and do your best to avoid those moments when his gaze lingers on you for just a second too long. It’s torture, but you manage to keep your cool...Barely. By the time you leave the lab, you’re exhausted, both mentally and emotionally.

As you step into the elevator, your mind is still spinning, replaying every little interaction with Tony, overanalyzing every look, every word. Did he notice? Does he know? God, if he figures it out…

Just as the doors begin to close, Tony’s voice calls out from the hallway. “Y/N, hold up.”

Your heart jumps into your throat as he slips into the elevator with you, his expression unreadable. He doesn’t say anything at first, just presses the button for your floor and leans back against the wall, arms crossed, watching you out of the corner of his eye.

The silence between you feels thick, heavy with unspoken things. You want to say something, anything, to break it, but your mind is blank. For once, you can’t find the words, and it terrifies you.

Finally, Tony speaks, his voice quieter than usual, a hint of something serious lurking beneath the sarcasm. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

He shifts his weight, turning to face you fully. “Whatever’s going on with you...It’s not just work. I know when you’re stressed about work, and this… this isn’t that. So, what’s really going on?”

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest ache. He’s giving you an opening, a chance to tell him the truth. But you can’t. You can’t risk it. Not when there’s so much at stake.

“I’m fine, Tony,” you say, your voice a little too firm. “I promise.”

He watches you for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in his eyes, and for a second, you think he’s going to push further. But then he just sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Alright. Fine. Be mysterious. But if you ever decide to stop being a stubborn ass, you know where to find me.”

The elevator dings, and the doors slide open to your floor. You step out, feeling like you’ve just dodged a bullet, but as the doors close behind you, you realize something else: this isn’t over. Whatever you’re feeling, it’s only going to get worse.

Because no matter how hard you try to hide it, you’re already falling for Tony Stark. And it’s only a matter of time before everything falls apart.

Tony Stark isn’t exactly known for being emotionally in tune. Sure, he’s brilliant — genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist and all that — but when it comes to feelings, he’s about as clueless as they come. That’s probably why it takes him a while to notice that something’s been off between you two lately. Not off in a bad way, just… different.

For weeks now, he’s felt a strange tension hanging in the air whenever you’re around. You’ll be sitting side by side in the lab, working together like always, and suddenly, there’ll be this silence that feels loaded with something neither of you are acknowledging. He’ll make some sarcastic comment, and instead of your usual sharp comeback, you’ll just give him this soft, lingering look that makes his chest tighten.

At first, he brushes it off. Maybe you’re just distracted. Maybe it’s stress. Hell, maybe you’re sick of his company. But then, one night, it hits him.

It’s after midnight, and the two of you are still in the lab, burning the midnight oil as usual. You’re both tired, but you don’t want to leave until the project you’re working on is at least somewhat functional. Tony’s sitting on one of the stools, scribbling down notes on a piece of paper, while you’re across the room tinkering with one of the prototypes. He glances up to ask you something, but the words freeze in his throat.

You’re standing there, bathed in the soft glow of the workshop lights, your hair slightly tousled from hours of working, your brow furrowed in concentration as you carefully adjust the wires on the circuit board in front of you. There’s a faint smudge of grease on your cheek, and the sleeves of your shirt are rolled up to your elbows. It’s nothing new, he’s seen you like this a thousand times before, but something about the moment feels different.

His breath catches in his throat, and for the first time, he really sees you. Not just his best friend, not just his partner in crime, but you, funny, brilliant, stubborn, always ready to challenge him, always pushing him to be better. His mind races back over the past few months, and suddenly, everything clicks into place.

The long nights spent together, the easy banter, the way his heart seems to race when you’re close to him, how he finds excuses to hang out with you even when he doesn’t need to… and the way he misses you when you’re not around.

Oh, no.

He’s in love with you.

Tony almost laughs at the absurdity of it all. The great Tony Stark, falling for his best friend? The same man who’s spent years avoiding anything remotely close to a serious relationship, and here he is, head over heels for the one person he can’t afford to screw things up with.

He doesn’t say anything, just watches you for a moment longer, his heart pounding in his chest. You look up, catching him staring, and for a brief second, something flickers in your eyes, something soft, almost vulnerable. But then you look away, brushing your hair behind your ear, and the moment passes.

“Hey, genius,” you call out, breaking the silence. “You gonna help me with this or just sit there staring at me like a weirdo?”

Tony snaps out of it, shaking his head as he tries to clear his thoughts. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” he says, hopping off the stool and walking over to you, determined to bury this newfound revelation under layers of sarcasm and work.

He can’t deal with this right now. He’s Tony Stark, for god’s sake. He doesn’t do feelings.

But deep down, he knows there’s no escaping it.

For the next few weeks, everything changes. Well, sort of. You and Tony still hang out all the time, you still work together, you still exchange your usual discussions, but there’s this tension between you now, this unspoken something that neither of you are acknowledging.

You feel it every time his arm brushes against yours when you’re working side by side, or when he makes some smartass remark and you laugh a little too hard, only to catch him looking at you with that same intensity that sends a flutter through your chest.

But you’re scared. Terrified, actually. You know how Tony is with relationships, he doesn’t do them, and even if he did, you’re not sure you could ever be what he needs. He’s Tony Stark, larger than life, always moving a mile a minute. And you? You’re just… you. How could you ever compare to the women who’ve come in and out of his life, the ones who are glamorous, confident, and, let’s face it, completely different from you.

So, you try to push your feelings down, bury them deep where they can’t mess things up. You can’t lose Tony. Not like this. You’d rather be his friend forever than risk ruining what you have by admitting you’ve fallen for him.

What you don’t know is that Tony’s going through the exact same thing.

He can’t stop thinking about you, no matter how hard he tries. He spends hours lying awake at night, replaying every interaction between you, wondering if you feel the same way, and cursing himself for not having the guts to find out. But he’s scared too. For all his bravado and confidence, when it comes to you, Tony’s terrified. He’s never had someone in his life like you before, someone who really knows him, sees him for who he is, flaws and all.

The thought of losing you? Of screwing things up and ruining the best thing in his life? That’s enough to make him keep his mouth shut, no matter how much it kills him.

One evening, after a particularly long day, the two of you end up in Tony’s penthouse, sprawled out on the couch, a bottle of whiskey sitting between you. It’s a familiar scene: just you and Tony, unwinding after a long day, laughing and talking about everything and nothing. But tonight, something feels different. There’s a charge in the air, something unsaid that’s been hanging between you for weeks.

You take a sip of your drink, your eyes wandering over to Tony. He’s sitting next to you, his arm draped over the back of the couch, his head tilted back as he stares up at the ceiling. There’s a quietness about him tonight, a kind of vulnerability that you don’t see often.

“You ever wonder what it would be like if things were… different?” he asks suddenly, his voice low, almost hesitant.

Your heart skips a beat, but you keep your tone casual, not wanting to give anything away. “Different how?”

Tony shrugs, his eyes still fixed on the ceiling. “You know, if we weren’t… us. If we were different people, with different lives. Maybe things wouldn’t be so complicated.”

You swallow hard, your pulse quickening. “What’s complicated about it?”

He glances over at you, and for a moment, you see something in his eyes that makes your breath catch. Something raw, something real. But just as quickly as it appears, it’s gone, replaced by the familiar smirk you know so well.

“Nothing,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. “Just thinking out loud. Ignore me. I’ve had too much to drink.”

You bite your lip, your chest tightening as you try to push down the disappointment that’s rising in your throat. He was so close to saying something—so close to opening up, to finally talking about what’s been hanging between you. But, as always, he retreats behind his armor of sarcasm and bravado, and the moment slips away.

You lean back against the couch, forcing yourself to relax. You can’t let yourself get caught up in this. Tony’s never going to say anything, and neither are you. It’s just the way things are.

But that doesn’t stop your heart from aching.

The tension between you two builds over the next few weeks, until it’s practically unbearable. Every touch, every glance feels charged with unspoken words, and you’re both teetering on the edge of something you’re too scared to face.

It all comes to a head one night after a particularly rough mission. You’re exhausted, bruised, and still a little shaken from the close call you had out in the field. Tony’s even more on edge than usual, his temper flaring as he snaps at everyone around him, barking orders and refusing to listen to reason.

You follow him back to the Tower, watching as he storms into the lab, his face a mask of frustration and anger. You know him well enough to see what’s really going on—he’s scared. Tony hides his fear behind anger, always has, but you’re not about to let him shut you out.

“Tony,” you say softly, stepping into the lab after him. “Talk to me.”

He doesn’t look at you, just starts pulling pieces of equipment off the shelves, muttering under his breath. “Not now, Y/N.”

“Tony, stop,” you say, your voice firm as you walk up to him, placing a hand on his arm. “Whatever’s going on, you can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep shutting me out.”

He freezes at your touch, his jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and something else—something deeper. For a

moment, you think he’s going to brush you off again, but then, suddenly, he turns to face you, his eyes blazing.

“You want to know what’s going on?” he snaps, his voice harsh. “Fine. I’ll tell you. I’m scared, okay? I’m scared that one of these days, I’m going to lose you. I’m scared that I’m going to screw things up, like I always do, and you’ll be the one who pays for it. And I can’t...” His voice breaks, and he runs a hand through his hair, his shoulders slumping. “I can’t lose you, Y/N. I just… I can’t.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you stare at him, your heart pounding. He’s never been this open with you before, never let you see this side of him. And suddenly, all the walls you’ve built around your heart come crashing down.

“I’m not going anywhere, Tony,” you say softly, stepping closer to him. “I’m right here. I’ve always been here.”

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and for the first time, there’s no smirk, no sarcastic remark to deflect what he’s feeling. There’s just Tony, raw and vulnerable, standing in front of you, his heart laid bare.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, before the doubt creeps back in, you surge forward, closing the gap between you in an instant. This time, the kiss isn’t soft or tentative like the first, it’s hungry, desperate, and filled with all the emotions you've been trying to hide.

Tony doesn’t hesitate. The second your lips crash into his, his hands are on you, gripping your waist firmly as he pulls you flush against him. His kiss is rougher, more demanding, his lips parting yours with a quiet groan that sends heat pooling in your stomach. You gasp into his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair as he deepens the kiss, his tongue brushing against yours in a way that leaves you breathless.

Your back hits the lab table behind you, the cool metal contrasting sharply with the heat of Tony’s body pressed against yours. One of his hands slips down to your thigh, lifting it to hook around his hip, anchoring you closer as his lips move against yours with an intensity that has your head spinning.

His grip tightens on you, the kiss turning frantic as if both of you are trying to make up for all the moments you’ve avoided this, for all the tension that’s been building for months, maybe years. The way he’s kissing you, like he’s been waiting for this just as long as you have, makes your heart race even faster.

But then the weight of it hits you, everything this could mean, everything this could ruin.

You pull back sharply, breaking the kiss as your breath comes out in shaky gasps. Tony stares at you, wide-eyed, his expression a mix of surprise and something else—something you’re not ready to face.

“I—” you stammer, taking a step back, your mind racing. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

Tony takes a step toward you, his hand reaching for you, but you’re already moving, already pulling away from him and the mess of emotions swirling between you.

Without thinking, you turn and run.

“Y/N, wait!” Tony calls after you, his voice panicked, but you don’t stop. You can’t stop. Your heart is pounding, your mind racing with a thousand different thoughts, all of them crashing into each other like waves in a storm.

What did you just do?

You practically sprint out of the lab, heading for the nearest exit as your heart thunders in your chest. You don’t know where you’re going. You just need space. You need to think. You need to breathe.

You run out of the building, the cool night air hitting your skin like a shock to the system. It’s a relief, in a way, the cold helping to snap you back to reality. But your mind is still racing, replaying that kiss over and over again. The way his lips felt on yours. The way his hands held you, like he was afraid to let go.

This was a mistake.

You tell yourself that over and over again as you walk aimlessly down the dark streets, your breath coming in ragged gasps. You and Tony, best friends for years, always dancing around something deeper but never daring to cross that line. And now? You’ve crossed it. And there’s no going back.

You shake your head, wiping at the tears that you hadn’t realized had started to fall. How could you have been so stupid? You’ve seen the way Tony treats relationships: brief, fleeting, never letting anyone too close. You were different. You were safe. And now, you’ve gone and ruined it.

The worst part? You know you love him. You’ve known it for a while, even if you’ve been too scared to admit it to yourself. And now that you’ve kissed him, now that you’ve felt what it’s like to have him hold you, you know there’s no turning back. But the fear, the doubt, it claws at you, telling you that you’ll never be what he needs. You’ll never be enough.

He’ll leave, just like he always does. And you can’t bear to lose him like that.

Tony stands frozen in the lab, staring at the spot where you just were, his heart still racing from the kiss. He can’t believe it, one minute, you were kissing him, and the next? You were gone.

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath, running a hand through his hair in frustration. His mind is spinning, replaying the way you’d pulled away, the panic in your eyes before you bolted.

He doesn’t know what to do. He’s never been good at this, at feelings, at relationships, at anything that requires him to actually open up. But you? You’re different. You’ve always been different. And now that he knows that you feel the same way, he’s terrified that he’s just blown it.

He should’ve stopped you. He should’ve said something, anything, to let you know that he’s feeling just as scared, just as confused, but instead, he let you run.

Tony paces the room, his mind racing. He’s not used to feeling helpless. In most situations, he’s the guy with all the answers, the one who can fix anything with the right tech, the right plan. But this? This is uncharted territory. He doesn’t know how to fix this. He doesn’t even know where to start.

She’s gone because she thinks it was a mistake.

The thought sends a jolt of panic through him, and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s grabbing his jacket and heading for the door. He can’t let you walk away thinking this was a mistake. He can’t let you walk away at all.

Because for the first time in his life, Tony Stark realizes he’s scared of losing someone. Not just anyone: you.

The next few days are a blur of avoidance, both on your part and Tony’s. You throw yourself into work, keeping busy with any project you can find. Anything to keep your mind off that kiss, off the way Tony looked at you like he might actually feel the same way.

Tony’s doing the same thing. You see him around, of course, you still live at the Stark Tower after all, and avoiding him completely is next to impossible. But there’s a distance between you now, a tension that wasn’t there before. It’s awkward, but neither of you say anything. Neither of you dare to acknowledge the giant, kiss-shaped elephant in the room.

Instead, you both retreat into your old habits. Tony leans on his sarcasm, cracking jokes that fall flat, while you throw yourself into your work, avoiding his gaze whenever you’re in the same room together. It’s like you’re both walking on eggshells, terrified of what might happen if one of you breaks the silence.

You hate it. You hate the awkwardness, the tension, the way things have changed between you. You miss the ease you used to have with Tony, the way you could just be you around him without worrying about anything else. But now? Everything’s different, and you don’t know how to get back to what you had.

Worse, you don’t even know if you want to.

Because the truth is, you don’t think you can go back. Not after that kiss. Not after feeling what it was like to have him hold you, to kiss you like he actually meant it. And that scares the hell out of you.

You’ve been in love with Tony for longer than you care to admit, but you’ve always pushed it down, telling yourself it was better to stay friends, better to keep things simple. But now, after that kiss, you can’t ignore it anymore. You can’t pretend that you don’t want more.

The problem is, you’re pretty sure Tony doesn’t want the same thing. He’s Tony Stark, he doesn’t do relationships, not serious ones, anyway. And even if he did… why would he want you?

That thought lingers in your mind, eating away at you. You’re not enough for him. You’ll never be enough. And that’s why, even though the kiss was everything you’ve ever wanted, you know it was a mistake.

It has to be.

It’s another late night in the lab, just like any other night. Or at least, that’s what you’re trying to tell yourself. But you can feel Tony’s eyes on you as you work, and it’s driving you insane.

You haven’t talked about what happened. You haven’t even mentioned it. And it’s starting to suffocate you.

Finally, you can’t take it anymore. You slam your tools down on the table, turning to face Tony, who’s sitting across the room, fiddling with a circuit board.

“We need to talk,” you say, your voice sharper than you intended.

Tony looks up, his eyes wide with surprise. “Talk about what?”

You give him a look, crossing your arms over your chest. “You know what.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Tony sighs, running a hand through his hair as he stands up and walks over to you.

“Look,” he says, his voice softer now, more serious. “I get it. You think the kiss was a mistake.”

You open your mouth to protest, but Tony holds up a hand, cutting you off. “But here’s the thing, Y/N. It wasn’t. At least, not for me.”

Your heart skips a beat, but you force yourself to stay calm, to not get your hopes up. “Tony, don’t—”

“No, listen,” he interrupts, stepping closer. “I’ve been thinking about this, about us, and I know I’ve screwed up a lot in my life. Hell, I’ve probably screwed this up too. But I don’t want to keep pretending that kiss didn’t mean anything.”

You stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest. This is the moment you’ve been dreading, the moment you’ve been avoiding. And yet, you can’t help but feel a flicker of hope.

Tony takes another step closer, his eyes searching yours. “I don’t know what this is, Y/N. I don’t have all the answers. But I do know one thing: I don’t want to lose you. Not as a friend, not as anything. So if you’re willing to take a chance on me… on us… then I’m all in.”

For a moment, you just stand there, staring at him, your mind racing. This is it. The moment you’ve been waiting for, the moment you’ve been terrified of. And yet, as you look into Tony’s eyes, you realize that maybe, just maybe, this is worth the risk.

“I’m scared,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Me too,” Tony says, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But we’ll figure it out. Together.”

And in that moment, you know you can’t run anymore. You take a deep breath, stepping forward, closing the distance between you.

“I’m in,” you whisper.

Tony grins, his arms wrapping around you as he pulls you into a kiss. And this time, you don’t run. You don’t push him away.

Because this time, you know it’s real.

“God, Y/N,” he breathes against your lips between kisses, his voice rough with need. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

The confession stokes the fire burning between you, and you kiss him harder, your fingers trailing down his chest, feeling the hard lines of muscle beneath his shirt. He groans into your mouth, his hand sliding up your back, pulling you even closer as his teeth graze your bottom lip, sending a shiver of pleasure straight through you.

It’s overwhelming, intoxicating, and you can feel yourself teetering on the edge of losing control. Every kiss, every touch from Tony makes your whole body ache for more, and suddenly, you’re not sure you can stop this. You’re not sure you want to stop this.

But just as quickly as it began, a flicker of fear pulls you back. You break the kiss, gasping for air as you pull away slightly, your forehead resting against his, both of you breathless. Tony’s hands stay on you, his grip firm but not demanding, as if he’s giving you the space to decide where this goes next.

And in that brief moment, reality crashes back in, the weight of everything you’re risking between you. Your heart is racing, your lips swollen from the kiss, and every nerve in your body is screaming at you to give in, to let this happen. But the fear, of losing him, of ruining what you have, still lingers at the edges of your mind.

“I can’t lose you,” you whisper, your voice shaky, torn between desire and doubt. “Tony, I...”

His hand cups your cheek gently, his thumb brushing over your lips, still damp from the kiss. “You won’t,” he says softly, his voice steady despite the heat still burning in his eyes. “I promise you, Y/N. You won’t lose me.”

The sincerity in his voice, the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing that matters, is enough to make you believe him. For the first time, you let yourself believe that maybe this, you and him, could work.

You let out a shaky breath, leaning into his touch, and with one last look into his eyes, you crash your lips back into his, giving yourself over completely this time. And this kiss? This one isn’t frantic. It’s deep, slow, and filled with the promise of everything that’s been building between you for so long.

Tony moans into your mouth, his hands roaming your body with newfound confidence, and you can feel the heat between you growing, spiraling out of control. His lips trail down your jaw, then lower, tracing a hot path along your neck that has you gasping his name.

This time, you don’t pull away. You don’t run.

You stay, letting yourself fall.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ♡ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

I don't know if I like this or not but well...here we are. If you liked it like, reblog and leave a comment if you want! <3

#amethyst arachnid #comics #gaming #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel x reader #movies #tony stark x reader #tony stark x y/n #tony stark x you #tony stank #tony stark #tony stark imagine #tony stark fanfiction #iron man x reader #iron man #avengers #fem reader #x reader

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liekadae · 3 months ago

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(Disclaimer: I understand that all the permit office stuff is a BIT and its Not Serious At All.

The Purpose of this post is to use this as a jumping point to explain real world Art and how Fascism Uses Art because I think its incredibly important for people to understand it.)

I can not be the only one who squinted their eyes at this Permit Office notice and thought it sounded a bit fascist

Anyway Pearl, it's very punk of you to deny the status quo I beg you please keep doing it that's the whole point of the punk in solarpunk

deny the government's standards of beauty

deny the aesthetics of the a soulless entity

I am being 100% real here in that I see Pearl's portal as a piece of Modernist art and I will be devastated if it gets changed because it doesn't 'fit the aesthetic'

I kept thinking "why do you think your art is bad?" when pearl was describing it. I don't know, I like it a lot! It's weird, yes, its out of place, yes, but thats why its so beautiful to me

I am being dead serious that fascists use the argument of aesthetics to control the art output of their people, and that Modern art Looks Like That because its in response to the idea that art should strive for a universal standard of 'quality'.

Fascist art was heavily inspired by the classical era which focused on the ideal standards of man/woman/architecture/anything and they used that aesthetic to build up the mythos of their own regimes; anything that did not conform to that standard of beauty, did not contribute to the mythos and therefore was a criticism.

Art that was deemed the standard was traditionally beautiful, ideal, and representational. Basically, art where a group of people could look at it and come to the same conclusions as everyone else. Where as modern art was often abstract, personal, and focused on the expression; anyone could think anything about these types of art.

The art did not conform, therefore it was dangerous.

If you seriously hate modernism, I need you to take a good long look in the mirror and ask yourself why

Article about Modern Art and Fascism

Article about Nazi Germany and Art

I think I loved Pearl's episode so much because she is exuding the malicious compliance lots of artists wish they could embody. She is responding to it in a modernist way. The permit office didn't like her art so they told her to comply and she does the opposite! I need her to keep doing it, because that's what the 'punk' in solarpunk is about

It's about denying the status quo. It's about anarchy. It's about socialist post-modernism. It's about feeling your feelings, making the art that you wanna make. Being the person you want to be.

(This is a very brief explanation of these concepts. If you have any more info or want to discuss this further, feel free to add your own ideas/comments/reblogs/etc but PLEASE keep it civil)

#pearlescentmoon #hermitcraft #hermitcraft season 10 #permit office #hermitblr

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betterinvienna · 29 days ago

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" unprofessional " ; nanami kento

synopsis — nanami's patience grows thin in the office, but it's not because of the project you keep putting off | (nanami x gn!reader)

song inspo — i've never been in love before by laufey

tags — fluffish(?), office romance, flipping perspectives

content warnings — mention of stalking, gender neutral but reader does use a female marketed perfume and wears lipstick

word count — 2k

authors note — i miss u nanami come back home ill take u to malaysia. anyway this was more agonizing to write than i expected it would be i hope someone out there likes it

You make rational, well-thought-out, calm decisions, and always put your career first. If not, what else did you work so hard for?

If that stood true, you wouldn’t have been borderline teenage-esque awkward beside your coworker, Nanami Kento, as your boss went on and on about a new team project. In fact, maybe your mind would’ve been clear enough to hear an adequate chunk of the project so that you wouldn’t later be stuck in the sparsely decorated office of the aforementioned coworker as he criticized your contribution (or lack thereof) to said project, talking about – what again? – Right. See what I mean? Pay attention.

“Are you listening?” Nanami rumbles, causing your stomach to flip as you place a hand on your temple, nodding.

A pause. “Yeah – I mean – yes. I’m sorry. I didn’t get a lot of sleep and my car –”

However, he cuts you off with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’m not interested in personal matters.” Here – I’ll give you a quick spoiler. He’s lying. “Please complete this part,” – a gesture to his computer screen – “of the project by next month, or I’ll have no choice but to report to HR about this sudden lack of awareness in the office. Do you understand?” It’s clearly rhetorical because he gets up immediately after – you’re not that dumb — so you don’t attempt to respond. Nanami pops the manila folders into a wired organizer on his desk and exits his creaky seat to escort his guest out.

A nod and an uncomfortable, brief smile. “I will. Thank you, Mr. Kento.”

. . .

Eros Pour Femme. Versace.

Top notes: Sicilian lemon, pomegranate, and Calabrian bergamot.

Shocker. Looks like he is interested in personal matters. It’s unmistakable. This is not regular knowledge; however, Nanami gets mind-numbingly high off your perfume. Obviously, he searched it up on Fragrantica last night, drunk off a “pinch” of whiskey and missing you. Don’t look at him like that – he’s normal.

If you’re still unconvinced, he’s at least as normal as a guy can get watching the epitome of his standard waltz around the break room, oblivious of her deafening effect on him. Nanami spots you filling up a lipstick-stained mug at the new Keurig coffee maker – the previous one had to be replaced after Haibara somehow flipped it on its side while it was running and left it like that – mindlessly scrolling on your phone.

He only realizes he’s staring once you’re staring back.

You give a formal “good afternoon” smile and return to what you were doing, but he spots the faint red tainting your ears and the nails digging into your palm. He’d love to massage the crescent indents they left, yet he looks the other way to avoid acting on it. He looks down into his coffee and stirs it, checking his watch. It’s good to know he has that effect on you, but he soon regrets the fleeting thought after he turns his head and watches you spill at least a third of your coffee all over your chest.

If getting caught staring wasn’t enough embarrassment for the day, Nanami adds another regret to mull over tonight by getting up and offering a paper towel to you.

“It seems hot,” he muttered a faulty excuse to you (though more to convince himself) pale hand outstretched.

“Thank you,” you laugh awkwardly. “This is embarrassing. Please excuse me.” You start in the other direction, clearly humiliated. Luckily for you (and him – he doesn’t want anyone eyeing you) Nanami is gentlemanly enough to not let a lady walk cold.

“Take my jacket.” Without much thought, Nanami shrugs his pinstripe suit jacket off his broad shoulders and drapes it over yours. “It’s fine. I have a lot more at home.” He offers a tightlipped smile, keeping the professional piece together. Unfortunately, you look up and smile at him, saying something about a button-up shirt that flies past his ears and has him staring at your lips.

Again, he only realizes he’s staring once you’re silent. How’d he make it this far this absentminded?

“Is there a problem?” You prompt, and he clears his throat.

“No.” Tightlipped, formal smile again. Ugh, he’s so good at this. He needs a raise. And you. But he’d like that raise too.

. . .

This week at the office has been as discomfiting as ever. Not because you have the matter of the team project at hand – though you want to keep your job, so you’ll make good progress on it later, perhaps – but because Nanami Kento keeps looking at you. Not in a “Get the project done or I’m gonna bash your head in with my signature mug” kind of way, but possibly a different way you can’t quite seem to put your finger on. For a man who so evidently boasts a simple, straightforward life, he’s harder to read than an elementary picture book. Like, The Very Hungry Caterpillar sort.

Sorry, that level of specificity seems uncalled for. Let’s resume.

Incident Number One: The Office.

If you told your friends this story, they wouldn’t believe you. It happened on Monday, a week after the Coffee Incident. Wait – maybe that one should’ve been marked as Incident Number One. Regardless, Nanami’s demeanor seems to have changed around you. This isn’t the surprising part, however. The atmosphere around anyone will change once they see you completely dehumanized by some espresso.

Yet this atmosphere was less… tangible at first. Sitting in your fishbowl of an office, you’re conjuring up a monster of an email to the local manufacturing company for getting the fundraiser t-shirts all mixed up when you look up and notice Nanami Kento – 6 feet, one-seventy-something pounds, by the way – hiding behind the water cooler like an elephant behind a thin Saharan tree with a file in one hand and a mug in the other, taking two side glances into your office before walking off with the same, bored expression once he realized you witnessed the ordeal. Had you not seen him aggressively rub his jaw like he was bothered as he walked off, you would’ve thought you’d done something wrong.

Okay. Let’s put two and two together. Is it crazy to say Nanami Kento is irked by your presence? Are you full of yourself or just observant?

Say we go the observant route. That would explain Incidents Number Two to a Million: The Parking Lot.

Nanami is infamous in the office for leaving exactly when dismissed – no need to stay around when you’re as efficient as he is. However, you’re notorious for the contrary. You stay late often times, as you handle financial disputes – and there’s a million of them.

The sky darkened as you shut your laptop and checked your watch – nearly midnight – and popped your head outside your office. To your surprise, Nanami’s office light was on, and even if you strained, you couldn’t hear keys clacking. Okay. Weird. Packing up your stuff, you put on your shoulder bag and breeze past his office.

The instant you’re in his line of sight, Mr. Kento begins to pack up his essentials as well, shuffling behind you until you both reach the elevator, where the two of you stand in silence until you reach the ground floor, where you go to your car and unlock it, driving off as Nanami does the same. But rewind. The moment you step out into the chilly night, he lingers behind and there’s a burning set of eyes on you until you reach your car. Had this been a coincidence, you would’ve shrugged it off and counted it as a gentlemanly gesture he’d done in the heat of the moment.

But it wasn’t.

Because it happened on the next day, Tuesday.

Then Wednesday.

Then Thursday.

Now, it’s happened on Friday.

Now we’re putting four and four together. It is not crazy to say Nanami Kento is looking out for you. Obviously, you’re not complaining about 6 feet of gorgeousness stalking behind you each day, but those two incidents combined? You have a bold assumption to make, but it’s going to take a bit more evidence to assert it.

. . .

Nanami Kento is a patient man, but you prove to be pushing his limits.

For the first time in a long time, Nanami Kento felt giddy over someone. Like, he’s excited to see you. He thinks himself to be a genius of sorts, surreptitiously escorting you to your car when you stay late and sneaking glances at you when you aren’t paying attention.

He even feels nervous. Clearly, he doesn’t show it – age has refined his Herculean ability to suppress showing emotion in great quantity – but he feels nervous around you.

. . .

Remember the evidence you needed? Thankfully, Nanami Kento gave you exactly that – and more – after the obligatory employee meeting. Your boss swears up and down it was originally for team bonding, but when he begins to complain about the progress everyone has made on the team project, you realize it’s going differently this time, again.

“If we don’t get this done, we’re going to lose a couple thousand. I don’t know how much longer I have to drive the point home,” a snarky glance to you, “but no other assignment is more important than the task at hand right now.” Is he serious? A loss of a couple thousand for a million dollar company is peak stinginess. And a call out in front of the whole staff?

It only gets worse after the conference when Nanami pulls you aside and informs you, once again, about your work on the project.

“Excuse me for this, but as the subunit leader, I do have to inform you that you still haven’t made much progress on the proj–”

You cut him off, worn out. “I don’t need you on my back, Mr. Kento.” An annoying smile from you, so that you can drive the point home that the workload has been too heavy this month – and entirely too important – to be focusing on something you can get done in 2 days. “I can get it done. Please have faith in my skills.” An eloquent way of saying “Shut up and leave me alone.”

“I understand, however, external assignments cannot be tolerated right now. Please trust me, you’re not the only person in this subunit who hasn’t completed their fair share. The last thing I want is for you to feel like you’re excluded.”

Now the air feels hot and you aren’t sure if it’s because of your proximity, anger, or both, but you mumble something you regret, channeling your previous teenage energy. “Yeah, well you seem like you sure are excluding me. I told you to get off my back.” Nanami’s face hardens, seemingly mildly irritated as your mouth, unfortunately, decides to keep running, louder this time. “You and Mr. Whats-His-Face can’t leave me alone. I apologize for my insane informality, but I will get it done. You cannot expect one person to juggle so many tasks at once. I’m already multitasking, and that –” you make a dismissive waving gesture with your hands, “mediocre – again, I apologize – project is the least of my worries. I can get it done. Just – please. It’s like you all want to be this needy, overbearing boyfriend at this point.” At the end of your rant, you sigh heavily and look up at him, and his expression is once again, unreadable, yet stunning. There’s not a single beat of silence before he responds.

“I do, though.” What?

“What?”

“I do.”

You throw your hands up in the air and huff, still confused. “You what?”

“I want to take you on a date. Not be needy and overbearing, though. Don’t mistake me.” He does not apologize for the bluntness, but instead for how sudden it was.” I wanted to do this in a more romantic and ceremonious setting, but it appears that you have me blurting.” He rechecks his watch like the sudden confession isn’t anything big. “And I apologize for the constant probing – on both ends.” Your heart thumps in your ears. He gives you a lopsided smirk, expectant and unnaturally awkward for Nanami Kento.

"Nanami…”

“May I take you out on a date?”

#nanami kento #kento nanami #jjk #jjk fanfic #jjk fic #nanami kento fic #nanami x you #nanami kento fanfic #nanami fluff

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slitheringghost · 5 months ago

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Lily Evans Fic Rec List

Part One: Blood Magic

These fics incorporate a Lily who did intentional magic to defeat Voldemort rather than the "it was Love" explanation. If anyone has more recs along this line, please please leave it replies/reblogs, I'm always looking for more!

the stranger in the shell of a lover by @slashmarks (Snape/Lily, 11.3k, T)

Rec: Slashmarks writes my favorite Lily of all time, and this is the literal best concept - Lily as DADA teacher who breaks Voldemort's Defense curse, with a hilarious and compelling Snape/Lily teacher romance.

This was very like Sev. He was good and he was bad; she loved him and hated him and it was simply a coin toss which would come out on top at any given occasion. He was her first best friend and the closest she had ever had, the boy she had snuck out at night to meet and whisper about her fights with Tuney and who had in turn muttered recalcitrant confessions about his parents' fights. They had made up spells together, learned about illegal magic and acquired the first gasps of the skills they would use in the war: Sev to kill and Lily to save. He was the only person she had ever let read pieces of her diary. He had spent years helping torment her muggleborn friends until finally she had refused to let him make her an exception, and then she had been included, too.

The Art Of Dying by The_wig_is_a_metaphor (James/Lily, 11.4k, M)

Rec: I love the magical worldbuilding details in here, Lily’s dynamic with Dorcas, and conflict with James over Dark magic.

“Lily—it's not a waste of time—the power of names—” “Is a superstition, like everything else—like your fear of me, and of what I'm doing—oh yes, you think I haven't noticed?” Lily sneers, and it's a strange, ugly expression that makes her face look wrong and unfamiliar. “You think I haven't noticed how you avoid me? How you can't stand to touch me, or my son? How you hate me for what I made you watch—what I made you do? So reluctant to contribute even a moment of pain for the safety of my son—” 'My son', again. Not 'our son'.

where dust was once a man by slashmarks (Lily/Narcissa, 3.3k, T)

Rec: A Lily Comes Back Wrong/is semi-resurrected fic - the writing is stunning and it utilizes the parallels between Lily and Narcissa, and Lily and Voldemort, so well. Plus there's a great Narcissa and Bellatrix dynamic.

"Poor Narcissa Black," said Lily Evans, mocking, from her bedroom inside Malfoy Manor. She spoke to Narcissa by the name Narcissa still called herself in her head, the unmarried youngest Black sister forever in her mind. "You have what you wanted, don't you? Your pureblood husband, your ancestral manor, your pureblood son. You have your sister back, the only sister you deign to acknowledge, and you have your service to a Dark Lord, but it isn't what you thought it would be, is it? He's going to take your son, the same way he tried to take mine... But you won't do what I did. You can't do what I did, but I don't think you'd want to anyway."

we’re already in the aftermath by slashmarks (Sirius/Lily/Remus, 15.8k, T)

Rec: Master of Death Lily grappling with her and Harry surviving post 1981 and magical Britain's reaction to her post defeating Voldemort, with a dark and fascinating spin on James/Lily.

Lily had been dead for months in a very literal sense. She had planned for this, of course; planned and calculated and bargained for Death to take her place and leave her waiting, asleep more than gone. She hadn't known what it would feel like: the waking, the return to life, the horrifying, nauseating fear and the relief and the guilt. Harry was alive. Harry was fine. James was not, and it was her fault. She had planned for James's death and accepted it as a part of the price of her bargain with Death. If James had been willing to go along with what she was doing, to hear about it and help and participate, she might have saved him. She might have tried to persuade him anyway, but of course she had seen his horrified objection to even so much as she had to do for Dumbledore to break Voldemort's curses and had known better.

defector of a kind by slashmarks (Sirius/Lily, Lily & Marlene, Orion & Sirius, 7.8k, T)

Rec: A fic about Lily getting involved in the political situation during the First War, with really fascinating Orion characterization.

Voldemort was supposed to have mastered death, and bragged about it constantly. Lily was going to beat him at his own game – but first she had to understand it. - Sirius sighed. "Did you really write to my cousin and tell her she and the – and Voldemort screwed up a curse analysis?" "Yeah, I really did. Fifth year." "Jeezus," Sirius said, imitating Mary – not Lily. She had known she needed to blend by the time she started first year, from Sev. It was a strange kind of caution that had governed her cursing and her clothes, even the length she let her mother cut her hair as a child, but hadn't told her not to write letters correcting the leaders of a fascist revolution in their intellectual endeavors.

Lily Potter & the Lightning Bolt Scar by rosestone (Sirius & Lily, Harry & Lily, 15.5k, T)

Rec: Lily is resurrected by the Golden Trio; absolutely fantastic Lily characterization. Rosestone also wrote the fic Cure centered on an OC which incorporates Lily deflecting the Killing Curse intentionally.

"You're probably thinking about that time I booby-trapped that old Order safehouse before the Death Eaters got there." Sirius scoffed as he shoved a pile of blankets away. "You booby-trapped it while they were blasting the wards down! You almost killed yourself doing whatever that ritual was you made up on the bloody fly - and wasn't that a nice thing to discover while I was trying to drag you out, that you were playing with magic the Ministry outlawed for a damn good reason like it was Baby's First Potion-Making Kit -" - Magic surged around Lily, dangerous and wild and full of possibility, and she laughed. Maybe this would go wrong. Maybe she'd drag her own soul out alongside the horcrux. But right now - right now, with magic curled around her like a lover's caress, she wasn't sure she believed anything could go wrong ever again. Voldemort wouldn't know what hit him.

The Recruitment by silenceinwinter2019 (James/Lily, 8.4k, T)

Rec: This explores Voldemort recruiting Lily to the Death Eaters. I adore the interactions between Voldemort and Lily, and Bellatrix and Lily, in this.

She barked out a laugh. “Am I supposed to kiss your feet with teary thanks now? Singing thank you, my lord for letting me live over my son’s corpse? Geez, what kind of fucked up family did you have?” Those red eyes were unreadable, but his magic closed in on her, and it smoldered, turning oppressive. “If your mind is made to die with your spawn, I will not waste my time convincing you otherwise,” he said. “Let your foolish Gryffindor honor serve you right then.”

Part Two

Groundhog day by @artemisia-black (James/Lily, Harry & Lily, Harry & James, 900 words, G)

Rec: A beautiful snapshot of the Potter family with such vivid descriptions.

And as a squeal of Harry's laughter washed over her, her heart beat a rhythm of contradiction—each beat a testament to the love that overflowed for the small, fragile life they had created. Yet, each beat pulsed with an undercurrent of fear so palpable it threatened to consume her. The love she held for Harry was a fierce, enveloping entity; it cocooned him in an embrace so tight that the thought of anything piercing that cocoon sent tremors through her.

but tonight your hand is steady by @broomsticks/leftsidedown (James/Lily, 1.8k, T)

Rec: "Five times Lily walked away and one time she stayed" - a wonderful character study.

That first night she thought she’d be able to appreciate forever how this new world sparkled—its floating candles and starry-sky ceilings and the talking paintings and walking suits of armour—but a week was all she got. She’d been so focused on getting to her next class—left around the marble bust of Warwick the Whatever, up two flights of stairs—or was it just one? What day of the week was this again?—that she registered the hard shove against her shoulder only when she hit the ground, quills snapping and inkpots shattering.

Stay Close by @turanga4 (Lily & Harry, 389 words, T)

Rec: A evocative and heartbreaking mini fic about The Forest Again.

Her beautiful boy, resting in her arms in the place where she belonged. Her brave, gentle son, laying murdered on this ground. It wouldn’t hurt. It wouldn’t hurt. But the idea of it pierced her more keenly than even her own death had, more even than meeting his starved eyes through the Mirror. Time must have meant something. Pain must have been possible. She remembered that she had wept as she beamed at him, and he’d seemed to do the same. Seeing, now, her child grown up and standing in the Forest, she found herself longing for a thing that she recoiled from, and felt herself caught between the sadness and the joy.

three knocks upon the door by @lunapwrites (Lily/Tonks, Sirius & Lily & Remus, 6.9k, E)

Rec: A Lily/Tonks casefic that sold me on the ship, and I especially love Lily's dynamic with Sirius and Remus in this. These characters are all feral and wild and in love with each other.

No, it was rather more the fact that Lily Potter had emerged from thin air behind her with the unconscious body of the real Ministry official Tonks was impersonating and dropped him at Lupin’s feet like a fresh kill. It was the fact that at a nod from her, Black and Lupin both fell upon him like a pair of starving dogs.

wrest up by the root by leftsidedown (Lily/Astoria, 200 words, M)

Rec: The rarepair I never knew I needed, and such an effective fic in so few words. These lines absolutely haunted me:

Shouts in the distance, but she heard only a whisper: “The only perfect mother is a dead one.”

flowers kiss and miss by leftsidedown (Lily/Narcissa, 1.4k, T)

Rec: Stunning writing and characterization through several mini fics weaved together.

That redhead Gryffindor who hangs with that Snape boy — Evans — has some awfully odd ideas. She thinks mermaids are red-haired. She thinks they sing. She thinks they’re beautiful.

some such trouble cling like vines by slashmarks (Snape & Lily, Lily & Harry, Lily & Mary, 3.4k, T)

Rec: An HBP canon divergent fic where Harry finds a box of Lily's letter in Snape's office right after Snape kills Dumbledore. The Lily voice in her letters is so wonderful and accurate to canon.

I've had about a million ideas for that potion we were working on. They're attached but promise me you won't try them until I'm back at school! First of all I'd never forgive you if I didn't get to see how they work out, but second you know it's not safe to experiment alone. Especially with a potion you'll be trying on yourself. Really, promise me - I enchanted the letter so once you get this far you have to promise me out loud or it'll all go blank, including my notes...

Defying Divination by shaggydogstail (Lily/Alice, Lily/Narcissa, Lily/Rosmerta, Lily & Sirius, Lily & Severus, T, 32k)

Rec: A lovely weaving in of tarot in this, and includes some of my favorite Lily femslash and Lily and Sirius friendship. Shaggydogstail writes an excellent Lily in general, reccing all their fics with her!

Professor Dammerall was a nice enough man, made bearable by the fact that he didn’t seem to take his own lessons too seriously, but Lily still found it difficult to concentrate on the meanings of shapes in tea dregs or crystal balls. There seemed to be an extraordinary number of rules, all of them fuzzy and indefinite, and she never could quite absorb them all. Underneath it all, Lily resisted the idea of Divination, of a future mapped out and governed by the fates. She never had much liked being told what to do.

a meeting of the minds by slashmarks (Sirius/Lily, 3.6k, E)

Rec: I've recced this a billion times but it remains a fave.

"Merlin, you're gorgeous," Sirius said, once he had her bra off (with minimal fumbling, but then he had dated the muggleborn Valerie Webster last year before her whole family was killed, so this was no large surprise). "Sweet of you," Lily said cynically but she also took his hands and put them, lightly, on her chest, so it had worked well for him. "You can touch, you know," she said, and was unable to keep it from coming out shyly. "Thank you," Sirius said, sincerely - she could really see why half of the school was in love with him, damn it -

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kairiscorner · 1 year ago

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(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

man... he's so annoying. and yet, so fucking dreamy.

summary: you were lauded as the only serious junior in the entire spider society. you did your work and loved doing it, you made no exceptions for any rules, not even for yourself. you loved order and civility, you fought hard in your universe to earn it, and you believed you deserved it here in the spider society and tried your hardest to uphold it. but when he showed up... you were gonna have a problem.

word count: 1,222 (crazy)

a/n: might be part 1 of something, or a oneshot, who knows !

you loved being a spider person, though of course, you'd never show it. you were looked up to by anyone who was anyone, everyone wanted to be like you. you upholded the law and ideals of society as a spider person, who'd've thought for your city to be civilized, all they needed was a spider-themed hero and they'd all bow down and listen?

it was because of your amazing abilities, tireless determination to serve and protect the people of your hometown that you were sought out by the spider society and became one of theirs. and you were the damn best at it. you found a new pleasure and hobby in beating up bad guys, being spotted over roofs of abandoned buildings, being pointed and gasped at by onlooker civilians, and saving the day as a friendly neighborhood spider person.

life was great like this, it followed one, linear path that everyone else did. it was the perfect pastime, the perfect job for you. you made a few friends and got along real well with jess and peter b, you had dibs on being jess' kid's mentor when it'd be born, and mayday absolutely loved you. you were peter b's go-to for a babysitter if he had to leave for a mission or go on a date night with mj. you were a trusted kid at the spider society, the adults had never met a kid as serious, responsible, and hard-working as you.

it was pure bliss, being part of the spider society.

until he showed up.

the moment he came in, you swore you heard a loud electric guitar strum reverberate throughout the halls. you felt the vibrations of it in every bone and muscle of your body, this guy couldn't have bothered you any worse. you groaned at the noise, asking others around you who that was. they shrugged, must've been some newbie, not that you cared, you just hoped they'd keep it down.

you cared for order and civility, and you found that in the spider society. despite there being some rogue ones and rebellious folks, you found yourself getting along with most of them. but you had a feeling that this newbie who made himself known through his flashy one note show might get on your nerves a little if he keeps that behavior consistent, but you digressed.

as you went over to the lobby to see what all the fuss was about, you soon heard another ear-piercing noise. it wasn't just one note that was playing now, it was a whole metal song. to make matters worse, some drummer girl joined him in, contributing to the noise.

"who the hell?" you asked yourself as you spotted a spiked spider man masked person with a black leather vest, buttons and pins adorning the lapels of it, with dark spider-doodled pants and long black boots with mismatched laces, yellow on the right and blue on the left. his mask had what appeared to be a runny look to it, the lenses of their mask ran down a little by the ends. their entire apparel screamed anarchy and chaos. and you loathed it.

"who's ready to overthrow an oppressive regime with me? an oppresive regime of boredom in this whole building!" the newbie's voice exclaimed. it was deep, yet smooth; it had a fluidity to it, almost as if he could say anything, and one would immediately listen, no questions asked. soon, everyone around you who was watching was buzzing as the guy played a loud metal song for all to hear. many were cheering for him and encouraging him to keep playing, but you soon noticed many of these people were on patrol duty. and many of them looked like they were more invested in this nutcase's impromptu performance over work, work that saves the multiverse, you thought as you reminded yourself.

"okay, people, this is cool and all, but we have work to do." you said as you tried to get the onlookers near you to listen to you, but it was for naught. none of them heard you over the incessant cheering, howling, and music in the air. you huffed as you shook your head, put your mask on, and swung over to the makeshift stage they had that was made of wooden crates and cardboard boxes laying around.

as the guy was strumming away on his electric guitar, showing no signs of giving out, you took the mic away. "okay, this was a good show and all, but we have work to do." you announced yet again, which earned the groaning and disappointment of a lot of people.

"yeah, yeah, groan as much as you want, that won't stop mr. o'hara from freaking out at us the minute he comes back and sees this whole... gathering." you say, trying to quell the audience's thirst for more excitement.

"well, aren't you a prissy one?" asked the newbie with a hint of sarcasm in his tone. you rolled your eyes. "what you did just hindered a whole lot of people from their responsibilities here, newbie." you told him in a stern voice as you frowned at him, expecting him to be mature about this if he was recruited as a spider man.

he laughed as he thanked the drummer girl for her performance as she was packing up to leave, and turned to look back at you with a smirk from underneath his mask. "you're real cute for that, upholding orders from higher-ups you so badly want to please. that's not being a spider person, though. more like being... an obedient little dog." he teased as he bent over a little to look you in the eye.

up close, he was much, much taller than you, much bigger in nearly ever aspect. you gulped a little, but your frown and angry expression remained. "say what you want, my judgement stands. i'm also more experienced than you here, so if you want to survive, you listen to me." you whispered as he leaned in closer to you, smirk widening.

he took off the mask, and you were surprised to see just how many piercings he had, you didn't even have any piercings for earrings at the bottom of your ears, yet he had... so many. he grinned at you as he ran a hand through his thick hair in wicks. "i think i can manage on my own, little doggy." he teased as he ruffled your hair and chuckled a low chuckle.

"i mean it though, it's cute. if you wanna be more than just a little dog for the higher-ups, though... you'll know where to find me." he said with a wink as he put the mask back on and swung away.

you were left alone now, thinking about who you just met. he was, of course, rebellious and disorderly, everything you weren't aspired never to become. you knew nothing good came out of a discordant lifestyle like his, no matter how little you knew of him, you knew one thing.

"man, he's so annoying..." you complained aloud as you took the mic and hopped off the makeshift stage, ready to clean it up before the adults got back. 'and yet, so... dreamy.'

oh dear, looks like he's gonna be quite the pain in the ass for you.

lmk if i should keep this going babes, i loved this idea sm, thank you to my friend on the dc server for the idea :DD

tags !! @thecoolerdor @miguelswifey04 @pixqlsin @k4tsu3 @nokkihy @fictarian @bivivivii

#hobie brown #hobie brown x you #hobie x y/n #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown my beloved #atsv hobie #atsv x reader #atsv x y/n #atsv x you #hobie my beloved #hobie x you #hobie x reader #hobie spiderverse

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flowerandblood · 1 year ago

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The Impossible Choice (13)

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, smut, angst, physical violence ]

[description: Aemond comes to Storm’s End to choose his future consort. However, Lord Borros Baratheon presents him with only four of his five daughters. Being attached to his youngest child, he does not want to marry her. The prince, however, thwarts his and her plans with his decision. This is slow burn, with a lot of dark angst and sexual tension. (Anon Request)]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

______

He felt as if the events of years ago were flying before his eyes. The closer the date of the arrival of his bastard nephew and his whore mother approached, the more clearly he saw each incident, analyzing it, remembering exactly every detail of every humiliation that he had suffered as a child.

He hated returning to it, but he couldn't bring himself to stop.

He went through the same process almost every night.

He always began for some reason with the most humiliating event, to which his brother had put his hand – the moment when he truly believed that Aegon and his nephews wanted to do something for him.

That they had found a way for him to have a dragon too.

That they would support him.

And then Luke disappeared into the darkness, only for her to emerge.

The Pig.

The Pink Dread.

That's when he felt it, the cold sweat and his heart standing in his throat, his hands trembling, the almost girlish tears of humiliation in his eyes.

His face went from full of curiosity and hope to stony and expressionless and it stayed that way forever.

He had never forgiven Aegon for humiliating him along with them, that he had contributed to what he had become and what he had lost. He did not stand up for him, as his older brother would have done.

Jace would never let anyone else mock Luke.

Even if they fought amongst themselves, Luke was his younger brother and Jace protected him from the others.

As usual, he could only go to his mother with his unhappiness; his father would only trivialise his words, saying that they were just ordinary, boyish taunts, that as a man he couldn't care less about such things.

Fortunately, to his relief, his mother, as usual, showed him understanding; she embraced him and comforted him, assuring him that one day he would have his dragon too. He did not believe her; he understood that she was only talking about it to comfort him.

Then Helaena, sitting next to them, looking ahead, said:

"He will have to close one eye."

Helaena often said things that he didn't understand, nevertheless, he liked her. He didn't spend much time with her because she was a girl, complicated women's issues and problems were beyond him, nor did he recognise that it was his concern as a man, as he thought of himself at the time, to delve into it.

If his mother had decided that they should marry, he would have done his duty.

He would be proud that, as a Targaryen, he would extend their pure blood with her.

He would treat her better than Aegon.

He would care for her.

She would be safe with him.

However, his parents had decided otherwise, and she had been handed over to his brother to be damned.

He had sympathised with her from the moment of their betrothal, but there was nothing he could do.

He thought that her destiny, like his, was to be miserable.

Then Lord Strong, father of the bastard children of his half-sister, died in the flames in Harrenhal, and although he repeated to himself that he felt satisfaction, saying that it was good that he died, when he saw Jace at Laena Velaryon's funeral, he approached him wanting to offer his condolences.

He thought that even if they were bastards, he was still their father.

He was unable to get the words out.

They just looked at each other, but he had the feeling that Jace understood what he wanted to say.

And then he heard Vhagar's roar from the distance, saw her large silhouette in the sky.

He thought that she was summoning him.

That it was the gods giving him a sign that his time had come.

The world's largest untamed dragon was waiting for a new rider.

In Rhaena's place he would not have waited a second, given the opportunity.

He concluded that if she didn't want it, he would take it.

He fled the fortress at night, watching carefully beforehand what place the dragoness had chosen for her lair, running a large distance between grasses and sands.

Finally he saw her, lying and sleeping a stony sleep, as big as a mountain, feeling his fingers tingle with excitement, fear, terror and joy.

He thought that even if he died, it was worth a try.

And he succeeded.

He returned on Vhagar to the fortress, feeling like a triumphant man for the first time in his life.

He considered it a huge achievement to tame a dragon that had not been attached to him since childhood.

He thought that his mother would surely cry with emotion and embrace him, that perhaps even his father would do so, at last proud of his great success.

And then he came across them.

A whole bunch of angry children, four against one.

He said, as he actually thought, that Rhaena had her chance and wasted it.

Then Beala hit him and the scuffle began.

He thought that they would never humiliate him again.

No bastard could stand in his way.

When he felt a burning sensation on his face and hot liquid on his cheek, when he suddenly lost sight in one eye, he collapsed, terrified, unable to hold back a scream. This drew the attention of the guards, who, seeing him, begged the heavens for mercy and took him to the maester.

He already knew what awaited him.

Not even a cup full of poppy milk could dull him enough to endure the pain of his eye being cut out of his skull. His mother and Aegon could not bear to watch; the maester put a piece of wood in his mouth to keep him from biting his town tongue and tied him to a chair.

He wriggled like an animal in the snare, involuntarily trying to escape the blade, and realised that he would remain a man without an eye for the rest of his life.

A cripple.

By the time the maester had finished sewing the wound he was no longer crying or screaming; he sat in the chair, staring calmly ahead, dulled by the poppy milk, listening with a faint smirk to Jace's complaints about him calling them bastards.

He was surprised when Aegon took his side for the first time in his life, mustering the courage to say to their father that there was no lie in that accusation.

His father had failed him then for the umpteenth time in his life, focusing more on the accusation itself than on his suffering.

It didn't matter to him that he had lost an eye, only that the children of his whore-daughter were considered bastards.

Everyone knew that they were Lord Strong's bastards, and he played the fool anyway.

He lost any residual love for his father that day – or so he told himself, in order to accept his rejection more easily – and never again sought his father's attention.

His mother instead, like a lioness, threw herself at his half-sister, showing him once again that she was the only person that he could trust with his secrets and his heart.

He didn't, however.

He loved his mother, but he did not share his thoughts with her.

He locked them away in the chest of his mind and threw them into the abyss, sinking for years under the weight of these events into himself, feeling as if he were a huge black hole with no bottom or end.

However, the evening before Luke arrived in King's Landing he felt that he needed to speak to someone or he would completely loose his mind.

For him these events were like a stinging, unhealed wound that kept opening up as if someone had sprinkled salt on it.

Sitting by the fire in his chamber, musing, he could smell in his nostrils the scent of his wife who was sitting on his bed, reading a book in silence.

He thought that perhaps speaking to her would calm him down.

It did, but gods, nothing calmed him more than her body.

When she was riding him, brushing his face sweet, warm kisses, looking at him so tenderly, with such understanding, when he dug his fingers into her soft hips, imposing a fast, brutal pace on her, panting along with her, he felt fulfilled, desired.

He had never thought that with such a defect his future wife would truly want him as a man and a lover.

His wife, however, seemed not to notice the absence of his eye.

He never took off his eye patch in front of her, and she did not force him to do so.

At first he had feared that it would slip off his face in front of her, and he had had to drink a full cup of wine at their wedding feast before their wedding night in order not to think about it.

It didn't matter to him now.

He wanted to believe that it wouldn't change anything.

It was only when he came deep inside her with loud gasp of relief and she embraced him tenderly that he managed to fall asleep for a while. As soon as he woke up, however, everything started all over again.

He saw the cave again, with Luke coming out of it, holding his pig dragon on a string.

The Pink Dread.

The next day he left before dawn without waking her, like every morning wanting to practice with Ser Criston hand-to-hand combat. He knew that they were likely to arrive any moment, feeling rage, curiosity and satisfaction at the same time.

He was not wrong.

After a few hours, picking out a new shield, he noticed out of the corner of his eye the silhouettes of two young men, a large, maniac grin appeared on his lips when he recognised those lush, curly, black-headed boys.

Fucking bastards.

They stood up to watch him fight, clearly not recognising him at first. He pushed against Criston with such ferocity that he barely dodged his strikes and when his blade was finally at his neck, there was a round of applause of recognition all around them. Criston smiled at him, clearly pleased with his progress, nodding.

"You will soon be winning tournaments, my prince." He said with a paternal pride that he didn't like.

"I don't give a shit about tourneys." He said dispassionately, turning the hilt of his sword in his hand with a light movement, pushing it away from his neck. "Nephews −"

He began, the dangerous smile on his face that didn't reach his eye, his gaze directed towards the horrified faces of his nephews, who looked at him in disbelief.

Never before in his life had he felt such wild, maddening satisfaction.

They were terrified.

The gods were just.

"− have you come to train?" He asked with undisguised hope that he was about to humiliate one of them in front of the crowd.

He could feel the wonderful adrenaline flowing fast through his veins, his heart pounding like mad.

His whole being was ready to crush them.

Suddenly, the sound of trumpets rang out.

The great gate opened and Vaemond Velaryon and his entourage entered the courtyard; he grinned with satisfaction at the sight of him, glad that he would be able to watch from the sidelines this theatre being played out between him and his bastard nephew.

After training he waited for his wife outside her chamber, circling impatiently with his arms folded.

Though his face was impassive, he could not hide his excitement.

For some reason the thought of her being beside him, of her promising to be his ally aroused him even more.

When he saw her he regretted that they didn't have more time, so that he could spill his seed inside her once more before they went to the throne room.

She wore her richest gown and most beautiful jewellery, her hair entwined in a multiple, intricate braid, framing her head wonderfully. She approached him and bowed before him humbly, a gentle, comforting smile on her face.

But there was no time for that.

He wished he could fuck her.

They moved towards the Throne Room to join his family; his grandfather stood proudly next to the throne, ready to sit on it in a moment.

He thought with amusement that the whole thing was some kind of farce and there was not a single person among them who could be considered impartial and fair.

Pathetic.

He listened to Vaemond's statement with dangerous smirk on his lips, watching Luke's reaction out of the corner of his eye.

He thought that he was a terrified, shaking child, hiding under his mother's skirt.

And then his father walked into the throne room.

He thought with disappointment, grinning widely, that his father had never loved any of his children the way he loved his first daughter.

He looked like a wraith in his golden mask and emaciated, ravaged face, stooped, hunched over, barely moving with his staff.

He felt a squeeze in his throat at the sight and realised with pain, that he had not stood up for him when he needed him but had been able to rise from his deathbed for his whore half-sister.

They didn't count.

They were the children of the wrong mother.

He knew from the moment his father arrived that the matter would be decided in Rhaenyra's favour, and he was not at all surprised by the amused chuckle of his brother, who was surely thinking exactly the same thing as he was.

When Vaemond shouted that the whore's children were bastards and finally someone called things by their name, he felt hot wave of contentment and fulfilment flow through his body.

He knew Velaryon was a fool and could have bid his tongue farewell, but it was still wonderful to hear it spoken aloud.

Husband of his whore-sister or not, Daemon Targaryen, unlike his father, was a true dragon.

He drew in a breath, shocked, and intuitively shielded his wife with his body, hearing her squeal, feeling her hand tighten on his arm, as his uncle swung and cut Vaemond's head in half with one, sure cut.

He never seen someone dismember someone with such a sure cut before.

His sword, his Black Sister matched his personality.

He defended his wife's honor without thinking, instinctively, just as he had shielded his own wife.

His madness.

It was at that moment that he realised that he should see how his wife felt about this sight, surely terrified; he glanced at her of the corner of his eye and saw that she was looking at him in worry, her lips pressed into a thin line.

He swallowed heavily, feeling a clench in his stomach at the thought that she had seen something on his face that he very much did not want her to discover.

Despite these events, the feast ordered by his father-king had not been cancelled; he felt sick at the thought of sitting with these traitors at the same table, however, his mother had asked him and his brother to make an effort.

When his father was brought inside on a lectern and seated in a large wooden chair, they all took their seats; he noticed with amusement and a twinkle in his eye that Luke and Rhaena were sitting across from them.

He thought, placing his hands in front of him to pray as requested by his mother, that this was an exceptionally satisfying coincidence.

During his prayer he imagined forcing Luke to pull out his eye.

He felt the heat spill throughout his body at the thought, a pleasant tickling in his fingertips that made him shiver. He opened his eye; Luke stared at him from a distance, but seeing his gaze he immediately turned his head away.

He felt like laughing at the sight.

Then his father began to speak; he was throwing around platitudes about one strong crown, about the family coming together for the sake of the kingdom.

He thought in the back of his mind that his father was a dying, naïve old man, living in his illusion from which, however, no one was going to awaken him out of sheer pity.

Everyone knew that this supper was to let him pass away in peace of mind, but then would come the fire and blood.

The first toasts began to be given and the atmosphere relaxed a little, he, however, had the feeling of a rumble in his head.

He felt like a predator who had already spotted the weakest prey and who was monstrously hungry.

He wanted to rip this boy to shreds, to make his whore sister cry over him the way that his mother had cried over him when he lost his eye.

He rose slowly from his seat and silence fell around them. He looked at his nephew expectantly, measuring him with a challenging gaze, while Aegon returned to his seat and grunted as if nothing had happened. Jace hesitated and licked his lips, a forced, polite smile on his face.

His eye glanced anxiously towards Jace when he saw Aegon rise from his seat, he cursed in his mind at the sight of his face leaning over Baela's shoulder, clearly displeased at his proximity.

He said for sure, as usual anyway, something inappropriate and Jace suddenly slammed his fist on the table, rising, his chest rising and falling anxiously.

He lifted his cup and raised a toast to their health, saying something about their wonderful shared childhood. He pressed his lips together at his words, impatient, looking away with fury.

Fucking craven.

He glanced at her of the corner of his eye, seeing that she was looking at Jace and Helaena, warm smile of satisfaction on her face.

As he sat back in his seat, music echoed around then; he and Aegon cast communicative glances at each other as Jace rose to ask Helaena to dance. She accepted his hand happily, immediately rising, moving with him to the back of the chamber.

He then realising that he had completely neglected his wife in favour of wallowing in his own, dark thoughts.

He felt his whole body tense up, every hair on his body rising in rage.

She was pleased that Jace had humiliated his brother in front of everyone.

In any other situation, with anyone else, he would have grinned with contentment himself, he would have appreciated her concern for his sister's happiness.

Not with them.

But not today.

She had promised him that she would be on his side.

He placed his hand on her thigh and firmly dug his fingers into her skin hidden under her gown, as if to remind her of his presence. She shuddered, startled by his sudden, intense touch and looked at him questioningly, clearly frightened.

"What made you so happy, sweet wife?" He hissed low, the menace in the click of his tongue, his eye black, his grasp strong and sure. He saw her swallow hard, she knew him well enough by now to know that he was furious.

She did not meekly lower her gaze as usual, looking at him confidently, her partially exposed breasts rising and falling in uneven breaths.

"The fact that a man has finally treated our princess the way that she deserves to be treated." She whispered with emphasis, furrowing her brows.

He felt a shudder run through her, her lips parted in disbelief as his hand lifted with a sharp movement her skirt and slipped between her thighs, closing on her hot, throbbing womanhood. She gasped and grabbed his arm, shocked, trying to stop him. He chuckled lowly at the sight.

He thought that if they had been alone in his chamber he would have explained to her what he expected of her.

He shuddered, snapped out of his reverie, quickly tooking his hand away, seeing surprised that someone had approached them. He pressed his lips together, barely swallowing his saliva, noticing who it was, shocked.

His fingers brushed against her bud, sliding down between her soft, slick folds.

He knew she felt it, her cheeks scarlet, drop of sweat running down her beautiful, slong neck. He his manhood reacted at the sight with aggressive throbbing pulsate hard, ready to possess her from the morning.

Daemon held out his hand to his wife, looking at her with a smile, something in his eyes that concerned him. He felt his heart start pounding hard.

"My lady." He said with emphasis, not even saying what he desired . He saw his wife quickly turn a questioning gaze towards him, but he was unable to get anything out, his lips tightened into a thin line.

He had told her not to speak to his nephews, but he had said nothing about his uncle, and to object loudly now, at the table, would have shown him to be weak and jealous.

Therefore he could only watch helplessly, furious, as his wife placed her trembling hand on his and moved with him towards Jace and Helaena dancing in the distance.

He glanced quickly at his half-sister, wanting to see if her reaction was likened to his, but she was discussing something with her father with a smile, making it seem as if her husband dancing with another woman didn't bother her at all.

He swallowed loudly at the thought that when he was a child he had overheard the ladies of the court chatting with each other about how Laena, Daemon and Rhaenyra sometimes slept in the same bed.

He quickly looked away, trying not to pay attention to the smirk on Luke's face that flashed before his eye and looked at his wife dancing with his uncle.

He felt a squeeze in his stomach seeing that they were conversing with each other, his uncle's gestures respectful, gentle, almost affectionate.

It made him sick to think that he might have desired her.

That his half-sister wouldn't mind if he took her to their bed.

He clenched his hand into fist, trying to calm his breathing.

It felt to him that this short dance had taken an eternity; relief surged through his body as they both bowed to each other and his wife sat down next to him again.

He didn't look at her, reaching for his cup, taking a greedy sip of wine from it.

She wanted to touch his hand lying on his thigh under the table, but he took it away from her with a quick, impatient gesture.

"Don't touch me." He hissed, unable to control his jealousy, uncertainty and fear, his gaze fixed on his uncle, chatting contentedly with his wife, putting food on her plate.

He stood up, furious at the thought, glancing at his surprised mother.

He thought that he had to take her immediately.

To feel that she was his, to fuck her, to fill her with his seed.

To remind her and himself that he was the only one she desired, and not his handsome uncle with both eyes, the greatest warrior in all Westeros.

He walked out into the corridor, hearing her quiet footsteps behind him and looked around. When he saw that they were completely alone, he grabbed her violently by the arm and dragged her into a side alley, slamming her against the wall in one sharp motion, turning her back to himself.

"My wife felt unwell. I will escort her to her chamber." He said dryly. His wife threw him a surprised look but seeing his murderous gaze she stood up docilely, bowing her head.

His mother asked him if she should summon the maester, but he just moved towards the entrance, expecting her wife to follow him.

All he could hear was her loud, accelerated breathing as he pulled her skirts up, forcing her to bend over and buck her hips towards him, her trembling hands clenched on the stone wall.

"Now I'm going to show you what I think of you dancing with my uncle and how much I appreciate the concern that you expressed for my sister this evening." He hissed, untying his breeches in a quick, sure movement, lowering them just enough to free his sore, swollen erection. He heard her breath quicken at his words, her whole body quivering in anticipation.

"It runs in our blood." He snarled mischievously, lifting her gown higher, so he could see her thighs and what was between them.

"She deserves a moment of happiness. Your brother is a monster." She said coldly. He pressed his lips together at her words, feeling his insides twist in rage.

He knew that there was truth in her words, but it didn't matter now.

A grin of satisfaction appeared on his face as he saw her pink, throbbing entrance, glistening from her moisture in the firelight. He slapped his hand over this sensitive place and she squealed softly, surprised by the sensation that was at once painful and pleasurable.

She sobbed loudly and tilted her head back as opened her folds with his thumbs and forced his way inside her with one, sure thrust of his hips, filling her completly. She mewled when he began to root into her with impatient, greedy pounds, struggling to keep her balance, clasping her hands on the wall, her cheek pressed against it in an expression of utter helplessness and surrender.

"Fucking knew it. Who made you this wet?" He growled, feeling his manhood throb hard at this perverted sight. His fingers began to tease her, brushing against her pearl in a light motion, spreading her wetness all over her slit.

"My handsome uncle or your monstrous husband?" He hissed and slapped her there again, getting the same, almost innocent reaction from her, the quiet, girlish moan that she tried to stifle in fear of someone catching them.

He could see her misty gaze, her sweet, puffy lips parted in desire, he knew that expression.

She fucking wanted it.

His cock slid in and out of her with a loud click of their juices, their bare skin slapped against each other again. He watched this sight as if enthralled, panting loudly, spreading her slick folds wide on his length, her fleshy, hot walls clenching wonderfully against him, sucking him inside.

He leaned his hand against the wall, his other hand clenching on the soft skin on her hip, speeding up his pace, only broken, sweet cires came from her mouth echoing through the dark corridor, lit only by a single torch.

"− come on, say it − say it − ah − say that you hate me − what a monster your husband is just like his brother, taking you when and how he wants to −" He growled out, slamming into her brutally, the loud, sticky, lewd click of their moisture making his aching cock throb hard inside her.

This position and place, his frustration, his fear, her scent, her sweet moans made him feel that he wouldn't last long.

She had to hate him, because it was impossible to love him.

"− say it and I'll give you what you want − fuck − come on, you can do it −" He exhaled encouragingly, realising that it was as he said.

It had to be.

She had to love him, because she had no right not to love the prince.

She said nothing.

Instead she began to whine his name in such a way that a low, quivering gasp escaped his throat, his fingers twirling around her pearl, all sticky from their shared juices, her hips responding fervently to his every violent thrust that rubbed against her upper wall, driving her mad. He squeezed his eye shut, an expression of desperation on his face as he felt his fulfilment approaching.

"– I don't hate you – you're not a monster – you're not like your brother –"

"− say it − say it, say it, say it! −" He growled, but she just came, her body bent like a string, a loud, surprised moan ripped from her throat.

Her walls began to squeeze him so greedily that he simply reached his peak inside her, panting hard, his lips parted in relief, his hips rooting into her for a moment longer, prolonging his pleasure, spilling his hot seed inside her. She swallowed loudly, her whole body trembling in front of him as he heard her soft, raspy voice.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

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Others: @dreamymoomin @thedamewithabook @dc-marvel-girl96 @zillahvathek @helaenaluvr @tssf-imagines @heavenly1927 @hiatuswhore @it-is-getting-better @linkpk88 @luna-salem @toodlesxcuddles @happinessinthebeing @siriusblackrunmeover17 @alaaaaaaa @ladybug0095 @barbiegirlaemond @random-ocity @whoknows333

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