#UNPARALLELED I TELL U

[mozki]

bro FIVEEEE years later and im still freakishly obsessed w megan thee stallions npr

[mothersvperior]

Every time I pick up a comic centering on Jason Todd something in me whithers away and dies

[ikyw-t]

y'know I think about this tweet often. I don't think truer words have ever been spoken....

[harrylights]

.

[a-problematic-writer]

[Image Description: a digital drawing of Lukas from Minecraft Story Mode. It is a bust drawing. His hair is in the standard greaser pompadour and he has a golden earring. He is wearing his usual purple and white striped shirt and leather jacket. He has freckles and is flushing slightly. There is a drawn pink heart with sparkles next to him. The image is signed Ky and has the date 08/14/23 on it. End ID]

redrew a Lukas doodle because good LORD was he skrunkly 😭 (old version under the cut but be warned he's the skrunkliest of skrungly)

[Image Description: A digital drawing similar to the one above except drawn a little more simply. Lukas has multiple ear piercings instead of a single gold earring. There are two drawn sparkly pink hearts next to him. The image is signed Ky and has the date 08/06/23 on it. End ID]

Also, yes, that IS an eight-day difference. As all my friends say, "You're SPEEDRUNNING the art game" Really tho, I just used to draw (if "following art tutorials" is drawing lmao) as a kid and gave up on it, can't even remember why tbh. Think all those old tricks are really coming through now that I'm drawing every day. Also, I am surrounded by some of THE most talented artists 💚💚💚

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

ee congrats. What about a blurb or headcanons, whichever u want i suppose, of fake dating with Frank Castle having to infiltrate something or another? ^_^

Faking It.

frank castle x female reader

warnings - cursing. allusions to sex.

written for my 5k celebration - post here, masterlist here, inbox here.

He’s got his hand on your ass.

Sure, the two of you are playing a couple, undercover in a Mr & Mrs Smith style mission. But surely there’s a thousand other places he could put his hand.

You look at him with a scowl on your face and he winks, all cheeky and boyish. Heat crawls its way up your skin, and you beg yourself to calm down. It’s fake. It’s all pretend.

When you enter the ballroom of the gala, it’s packed with people. Frank winds a hand around the back of your neck, steering you in the right direction. It shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

You’re laughing and playing fake niceties to an old couple at the bar. They’re telling you how beautifully in love you look, and all you can do is rest your head on Frank’s shoulder and sigh wistfully as they coo. He pulls you into him with a hand on your ass, and you resist the urge to elbow him in the ribs. He knows he’s riling you up. That’s why he’s doing it.

It’s becoming a game, now. Who can wind the other person up more.

Frank is sat on a fancy leather couch, sweet talking a middle aged woman in a long purple dress. You approach, and take the spot right on his lap, wiggling your hips to get comfortable. He hisses in your ear, fake smile still on his face, and the satisfaction you feel is unparalleled.

You’re out in the hallway coming up with a plan when two men walk past, eyeing you suspiciously. You do what any logical woman would do - smash your lips to Franks and hope he doesn’t question it. He kisses you back with much more passion than necessary, one hand around your neck and the other one on your stomach, pushing you backwards into the wall. You bite his lip as hard as you can and he groans, all deep and pretty, and you’re starting to think this plan has backfired massively.

“Damn, girl.”

“Had to think on my feet.”

“Don’t think your feet were the body part you were thinkin’ with.”

You punch his arm as hard as you can, laughing when he grabs it in pain.

“Let’s get that fucking info and get out of here. I’m sick of everyone telling me how handsome my husband is.”

“He is though, isn’t he?” he teases as he grabs your hand, walking back into the crowds of people unaware of your scheme.

Your fingers stay intertwined for the rest of the evening. He squeezes every now and again, once or twice, and you figure out the code pretty quickly. It’s a silent communication, and it works. In no time, you’ve got what you needed, slipping out of the front door and down the huge winding driveway.

You snatch your hand away, and smack his ass as hard as you physically can.

“What the fuck was that for?”

“Revenge. You grabbed my ass way more than necessary tonight.”

He laughs, and you hate the way it makes you smile.

“Good kiss, by the way.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re a good kisser. Even if you did draw blood.”

“I’m about to draw a lot fuckin’ more if you don’t shut up, Frank.”

He chuckles, throwing an arm around your shoulders.

“Might suggest we play a couple every time we go undercover. This is kinda fun.”

[mickyschumacher]

hi!! could u an oscar smut wherein he's fooling with reader, making her supress her moans bcs the walls are thin, but in reality, they were soundproof (like his drivers room post-rough race for ex.) thank uuu

𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝.

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: silverstone 2024 was a tough one for oscar. he needs a bit of relieving... some reassurance if you will.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+ (minors dni), mentions of silverstone 2024 if you couldn't tell, kissing, blowjob, technically unprotected even though it's not oral sex, pussy rubbing (?), fluff, insecure oscar :(

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: oscar piastri x girlfriend!fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 2k

𝐀/𝐍: ugh loved doing this request! kinda took a bit of creative liberty but i hope you enjoyed it either way♡︎ // as usual, poorly proofread

𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Oscar hated Silverstone with a fucking passion.

He must say, it was a newfound passion but the enthusiasm he had for it was unparalleled.

He could've won.

His first Grand Prix. His team's home race. It would've been perfect.

But in the end, his pure loyalty and reliance on McLaren let him down. He should've boxed. Fuck, he knew that. Why didn't he just say it?

Oscar couldn't help but give tight smiles to his staff as he ventured towards his room, completely over the briefing they just had. He wasn't in the mood to play nice. Kim Needle, his trainer, was hot on his trail.

Abruptly, he stopped in between the papaya and black corridor, turning to meet the surprised face of his trainer. "Kim, listen, I just need some time alone... if that's alright," Oscar asked timidly, not wanting to be an asshole entirely.

Kim pursed his lips and nodded. "Whatever you need, mate. Just come out when you're done, okay? We'll get through this one."

Oscar nodded in response, giving him a thankful smile before continuing on. Upon opening the door, he couldn't be more relieved at the sight of you worriedly sitting on the small black couch.

"Osc," you said softly, standing up from the couch with a pained smile.

The driver simply returned the gesture, closing the door behind him. He eyed your open arms, laughing internally before welcoming the warm hug.

Oscar bit his lip, trying to prevent the string of sighs coming out but the soothing rubs of your hand on his back made it difficult. He could hear your muffled sorry, apologising for the rough day.

His hands around your waist tightened. "I... fuck, I should've done better," he admitted.

Your eyes widened, immediately pulling away from the comforting embrace, letting his hands still rest on your waist. You held his warm, tired face in your hands, sternly meeting his brown eyes. You could feel Oscar relax in your grasp. "Hey, no, no. Don't do that. You did so well, baby. Just give it some time, hmm? I know it was a shitty move but it's the first time in a while McLaren's had such a fast car–a winning car. No one's going to get this right immediately."

Oscar searched your eyes, feeling your fingers trace the etched in lines of his racing gear across his face. He never knew how you did it. And by 'it,' he meant the way you consoled people. He was secretly jealous of it. How did you always know the right thing to say? God, it was almost as infuriating as it was admirable.

You were worried Oscar had gone down a horrible spiral of some sorts with his unresponsive expression. But much to your surprise, your lips had found an answer before you could even think of one.

Your arms fell to his shoulders, hands hanging around his neck. Oscar's lips, often familiar, were lost in a more passionate haze, pulling you in closer towards him.

You think you were struggling to breathe. You weren't quite sure. You could hear strained breathing. Whether it was you or Oscar was a mystery. There was one thing you were certain of, however. The burning sensation travelling up your spine as his fingers grazed your bare hot skin under your shirt.

You gasped at the coldness of his touch, allowing Oscar to kiss you deeper, accessing your mouth fully with his tongue. A small moan travelled to your ears as your hands reached those brown locks.

You rasped Oscar's name, trying to pull away for some air but it was as if some ravenous monster had captured your boyfriend. Your neck tingled with feel of his lips pressing sloppy kisses down the base, hot breath sending goosebumps up your skin.

"Oscar," you said again, this time covering his lips with your hand. You watched as his lust-ridden eyes flickered to yours, both of your chests heaving desperately for air. You could tell he was wondering why you were stopping him, especially when you were enjoying it so much. "We'll get caught."

Oscar wanted laugh internally. While it may have been your first time trying something out in his driver's room, Oscar had spent one time too many with his hands on his cock, cumming to your name. He knew they were soundproof. God forbid, someone heard private matters or him screaming out of frustration on a bad race.

But you didn't need to know that.

"Guess you'll have to be quiet then. Can you do that for me, baby?"

You blinked blankly, throat dry all of sudden. Without a word, you nodded. Your knees almost buckled at the sinister grin on Oscar's face as he took you by the hand and sat you onto his lap.

Oscar looked up at you, smiling softly while tucking your hair behind your ears. "You look so pretty," he murmured, hands brushing your body ever so slightly. "All for me?"

"All for you," you whispered, pressing your lips onto his neck.

Oscar's head fell back and his eyes closed as you took your sweet time attacking his neck. Your kisses were soft, resisting the urge to mark his neck. All the words Oscar had learned in all his years of living were coiled at his throat. He could never think straight when you glided your lips across his Adam's apple. Nor when he could feel you nestled into his laps, creating bigger problems than he imagined.

You could feel his muscles tense as your hand slid down his shirt, stopping right at his v-line. Oscar opened his eyes, looking at the spot where your hand paused and thighs straddled him. He sucked in a sharp breath, looking at you with a pleading gaze.

You smiled. Under different circumstances, you would tease him. But you couldn't afford to tease. You didn't have the time to. Your hands crept to the waistband of his jeans, pulling down the material along with his boxers.

Oscar let out a low exhale at the feel of cold air brushing his semi-hard cock. He swallowed the saliva that had built up in his mouth as you sunk to your knees, hand gently grazing the tip of his cock. "Oh fuck," he hissed, eagerly watching you open your mouth to let strings of warm saliva drop onto his cock, hand wrapping around to rub the lube up and down his shaft.

Your tongue swiped the bottom of your lip before pressing a small kiss to his tongue, feeling Oscar's cock twitch in anticipation. Your mouth opened, lips stretching as you hollowed your throat, taking in his cock.

A quiet groan slipped out of Oscar's mouth upon the feel of your warmth spreading around his cock, almost disappearing into your mouth. He couldn't tell what was worse. The way your mouth felt or the way you looked up at him with those eyes.

Oscar's hand travelled to the back of your neck, gathering all your hair in one hand before twirling it around to tighten his grip. He sighed as you opened your throat up further, allowing him to guide his cock. "Such a good girl," he praised.

Your thighs clenched at the praise, holding back your moan. You could feel your head begin to move as he pushed his cock down your throat. You relaxed your cheeks and mouth, taking as much of him as you could.

Oscar averted his eyes from your mouth to your face. God you were just so pretty. Your big glassy eyes, skin flushed with traces of sweat, lips red, soft, and puffy while your fragrance lulled him.

A jolt was elicited out of Oscar's body upon the feel of your hands travelling towards his balls, taking the time to rub them gently as the pace of your mouth began to speed up.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, muscles tensing while the tingling feeling at the pit of his stomach began to bubble. Reluctantly, no matter how insane you were driving him, Oscar pulled you away, heavily breathing. "I need you," he immediately said.

Without too much thinking, you were standing and undoing your own pants, letting Oscar partially pass away as the sight of your wet panties.

Instinctively, Oscar's hands reached for your waist, thumb moving to graze your covered wet folds, satisfied at the jerk of your body as he brushed your clit. He reached to grab his cock before he felt your hand on his wrist.

"Oscar," you called urgently.

"What?" He almost said painfully, knowing very well that you knew he had put off his own climax.

You winced, almost apologetic to what you were about to say. "We don't have a condom."

Oscar blinked at your words, head slumping down. Fuck. Of course... of course you didn't. As much as he loved children and especially if they were with you, he didn't have any idea of them any time soon.

But he did have a better idea.

Oscar snapped his head back up, standing up to lie you down on the couch.

"Osc, what are you–"

"Trust me, this is going to sound stupid and I'm going to feel thirteen all over again, but just trust me."

Before you could respond, you could see Oscar hovering over you with the greediest desperation. You took a sharp breath as he pulled your underwear to the side and hooked his cock underneath, flushed against your folds.

Slowly, rather than pushing into you, he rubbed his cock between your folds, letting the tip of his cock skim your clit.

"Oh fu–" you quickly covered your mouth, moaning into your forearm, teeth biting down on your lip as you remembered those thin walls.

Oscar knew exactly how you felt. It was stupid and almost childish to do but the feeling of his cock against your folds, bordering going in, receiving the vibrations of your convulsing body as he circled your clit drove him to depths of insanity he never knew he had.

He moved to remove your arm, hearing your refusal as he thrust his hips against you. "Let me hear you, baby. It doesn't matter."

You didn't understand what he meant but you couldn't do anything but fall apart, almost weeping at the way his cock felt against your pussy.

"Fuck," you sobbed out, own hips bucking faster as you chased your climax. It was hard, coming in waves while Oscar drove you higher with his thumb on your clit, moving ever so slowly.

"That's it, come on," Oscar cajoled, letting you ride out your high as he restrained himself from cumming right there and then. As much was he wanted to, he really couldn't.

He called your name, bringing you back to reality with his own desperation. You smiled sweetly, opening your mouth as Oscar's hand wrapped around his cock, moving up and down his shaft with an urgent speed.

You could hear the loud rasp of Oscar's while his hips stuttered, spilling his warm cum into your mouth. Without wasting a second, his hands travelled to your face and brought your lips to his, tasting himself on his tongue.

"Well done," Oscar said, "I'm proud of you." He pressed a soft kiss to the side of your lips as he brought you into a hug.

"Hey! That was my line," you complained, narrowing your eyes playfully making him laugh quietly to himself.

"Thank you though. For making me feel better. Before and well, this," he whispered with a wide smile.

You pursed your lips. "Anything for you, Osc. Just don't think about it too much, okay? I always worry what goes on in that sweet little head of yours."

Oscar laughed again, reaching over to grab your pants. He watched you put a leg into them before you paused, making him raise a brow.

"I thought you said the walls were–"

"Uh, uh," Oscar cut off, gesturing for the second leg of your pants. "Just don't think about it too much," he repeated with a cheeky grin.

You gaped, suddenly clicking two and two together. "Oscar! You little shit!"

© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑

[f14fun]

big mouth, big brain (!youtuber x op81) ~ part 2

synopsis: in which case y/n, a video essayist pops up on oscar's youtube feed, and he falls in love with the way she speaks and tells stories

smau + prose (5.3K words) ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist | prev | next ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

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a little over a week later, on march 24...

yourusername:

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris and 211,009 others

yourusername: thx babe 🧡

view comments

oscarpiastri: np honey 🧡

user1: aight what is this sudden new development 😀

user1: i mean i'm NOT complaining but YOU SIR better take care of our pookie dookie wookie y/n 🧐🫵🏽

oscarpiastri: got it, got it 😁😁🫣

user2: girl you got him blushing and shiii-

user3: omg i saw her today at the melborne gp and she was so nice to me! like i'm not familiar with who she is really (i'm new to the wonderful world of mawmaw y/n!), but i just know she will be the perfect wag <3

user3: like she saw me struggling with my lanyard, wine, and duffle bag, and offered to literally hold all three, i love her so much

user3: and her outfits are literally so cute, oscar, you chose the right one!

liked by oscarpiastri

user4: omg SHE'S REPPING THE ORANGE HEART #teampapaya

user5: y/nscar, my mawmaw and pawpaw 😘😽💋

user6: like i know they are not official official, but these soft launches gotta stoppp, just hard launch already

user7: girl is he good in bed

user7: please please please give deets, ily!

user8: fam you mad weird for that one

user9: please for the love of god respect their privacy

liked by oscarpiastri and yourusername

oscarpiastri: ready for date night 2 night?

yourusername: always ready for u 💗

user10: the BLATANT FLIRTING NAHHH

user11: imagine if this is all one big fat skit i'm actually going to scream cry throwup kms

landonorris: so nice to meet you today, love a girl who finally makes oscar stfu

yourusername: LMAOO 😭😭 it was a please lando

oscarpiastri: 🙄🙄

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I was in fact, not alright.

It had been little over a year since I had been on an actual date (not counting the instances where I went over to a guy's house for some ramen, and all of a sudden that was the date) Used to all these low effort, casual efforts at being romantic, I was suddenly hit with the prospect of an actual man who wanted to treat me with respect.

Oscar Piastri.

The man who I idolized as I grew up, always admiring his grit and courage from afar.

And this hardworking man wanted to take me out on a date. For real.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror, trying to calm the flurry of nerves that churned within me. I smoothed my champagne white colored dress and straightened my Cult Gaia necklace. Oscar had only asked of one thing of me tonight, which was to either wear white or beige.

My heart pounded relentlessly, a drumbeat of anticipation and anxiety. It wasn't just any date; it was a date with Oscar Piastri. The very thought sent my mind spiraling. How did I, of all people, end up here? (answer: being chronically online did)

Every interaction with Oscar had been a mixture of awe and admiration. I remembered the first time I saw him race, the way he navigated the track with unparalleled skill and determination. He wasn't just a driver; he was a force of nature, a symbol of relentless ambition and hard work. And now, here I was, about to go on a date with him.

Even though he got fourth at his home race today, I was extremely proud of him. Both as a fan, and quite possibly, his girlfriend by the end of the night (the delusional girl in me said the last part, clearly).

When he had dm'd me privately after tweeting publicly he would like to take me out, I remember completely blanking. I nearly blacked out when he insisted on calling to go over the nitty gritty details of everything with me.

From flying me out, to booking my hotel and making sure my stay in Melbourne was as comfortable as possible, I was feeling a swirl of new emotions. Sure, life was going fast, but I liked this pace. Especially if Oscar could be beside me whilst life passed us by.

Balancing my studies at the prestigious university I attended and my growing presence as a vlogger had never been easy. My days were a blur of lectures, assignments, and shooting content for YouTube and various brand sponsorships. I had started with simple vlogs, but over time, my content had evolved into elaborate video essays on various topics, from Formula 1 analysis to a break down on the world's current events, both in pop culture and politics.

My followers had grown steadily, and so had the demands on my time.

Yet, despite the chaos, I had always found solace in my passion for vlogging. It was my creative outlet, a way to connect with people who shared my interests. My video essays, in particular, had garnered a lot of attention. They were meticulously researched, edited with care, and infused with my personal touch. The positive feedback I received made all the sleepless nights worth it.

But tonight, I wasn't thinking about the next video essay or the pile of coursework waiting for me. Tonight, I was focused on one thing: Oscar.

I had documented my journey to Melbourne in a vlog, capturing every moment from the airport, to the breathtaking view from my hotel room, to the race in Melbourne as well.

My followers were eagerly anticipating the next installment, but for now, they would have to wait. This was my time, a rare moment to step out from behind the camera and live in the present.

As I made my way to the lobby to meet Oscar, my phone buzzed with notifications. Messages of encouragement from friends and comments from my followers flooded in, but I silenced them. Tonight was about more than just content; it was about experiencing something real.

Exhaling as the elevator door slowly opened, the incessant ringing of jazz music seemed to warp and slow as I made eye contact with Oscar from across the lobby. He seemed nervous, fidgeting with his cufflinks.

Earlier in the day, we couldn't see each other, as media duties for the both of us consumed our time. So here we were, for the first time, meeting each other in person.

He was much taller in person than I had actually expected.

It was one thing to see him plastered across a big screen and splattered across billboards in New York City, but it was another to see this man in all his glory, in the flesh.

His shoulders seemed to broaden as I approach him, and a million thoughts were swirling in my mind. I just hoped the same million thoughts were swirling in his mind as well.

His fluffy brown hair looked newly tousled with, but not to the point where it looked terribly unruly. He looked human, with that crooked smile, and his eyes folded into little half moons—like parenthesis—he was happy to see me. As I was too.

All eloquence, sense of being, and peace of mind disappeared in an instant. Mouth slightly gapping widely, I was at a loss of words for once in my life.

Oscar Piastri is beautiful.

We simultaneously reached out for a hug, our laughter breaking the awkward silence that had settled upon us as we sized each other up for the first time. The hug was amazing, enveloping me in a warmth that felt almost surreal.

His arms wrapped around me with a gentle firmness, and I felt a sense of comfort and safety that I hadn't experienced in a long time. It was as if I had come home, even though we were standing in the middle of a bustling hotel lobby.

The hug lasted a little longer than usual, neither of us wanting to let go. I could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against my own, and the scent of his cologne, fresh and slightly woody, filled my senses.

When I finally, reluctantly let go, his hand lingered on my waist for a moment longer, sending a shiver down my spine. The touch was intimate and unhurried, a silent acknowledgment of the connection we both felt.

As his hand finally released its gentle hold, I felt butterflies fluttering wildly in my stomach. My cheeks warmed, a blush creeping up as I tried to steady my breathing. I glanced up at him and saw that he was blushing a little bit too, his cheeks tinged with a soft pink.

His bashful smile mirrored my own feelings, and in that shared moment of vulnerability, we both knew this was the start of something special.

Oscar cleared his throat, breaking the spell. "I, uh, got something for you," he said, his voice tinged with nerves.

He flipped the bag he was holding around, and I could see the words Valentino sprawled across it. I gasped, my eyes widening in surprise.

"Oscar, you didn't," I whispered, my heart racing even faster.

He chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "I wasn't sure which one you wanted, so I got both," he admitted, looking sheepish yet proud. "One in red and one in blue."

I was completely floored. "Oscar, this is… wow," I stammered, at a loss for words. I had never expected such a grand gesture, especially not on our first date. It was one thing to admire him from afar, but to have him go to such lengths for me was overwhelming.

He shifted slightly, his nervousness palpable. "I just wanted to do something special for you," he said softly, his eyes meeting mine. "You deserve it."

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness. "Thank you, Oscar," I said, my voice thick with emotion. "This means so much to me."

He smiled, a genuine, warm smile that made my heart swell. "I'm glad you like it," he said, stepping closer. "I wanted tonight to be perfect."

I looked down at the beautifully crafted bags, my fingers tracing the elegant lettering of Valentino. Each bag represented more than just a luxury item; it was a symbol of his consideration and effort. It was clear that he had put thought into this, wanting to make a good impression and show that he cared.

"I can't believe you did all this," I murmured, still in awe. "It's… beyond anything I could have imagined."

He took a deep breath, his confidence growing slightly as he saw my reaction. "You deserve to be treated well," he said, his voice firm. "And I wanted to make sure you knew that."

The sincerity in his eyes was undeniable, and I felt a wave of gratitude wash over me. "Thank you," I repeated, my heart swelling with affection. "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," he replied, his hand gently brushing against mine. "Just enjoy the evening."

As we stood there, the world around us seemed to fade away. In that moment, it was just the two of us, sharing something special and unforgettable. And for the first time in a long while, I felt truly cherished.

"I feel like I'm dreaming," I confessed, a soft laugh escaping my lips. "This is all so surreal."

Oscar's eyes softened as he took my hand in his. "It's real, Y/N. And it's just the beginning."

His words sent a shiver down my spine, and I felt my cheeks flush. The thought that this was just the start of something more was both thrilling and terrifying. But as I looked into his eyes, I felt a sense of reassurance.

"Let's make tonight memorable," he said, his thumb gently caressing the back of my hand.

I nodded, my heart pounding with anticipation. "Absolutely."

With a gentle squeeze of my hand, he led me out of the hotel lobby. The evening air was cool and refreshing, and as we walked towards his black McLaren that was waiting for us, I couldn't help but feel like the luckiest girl in the world. Oscar had gone above and beyond to make this night special, and I was determined to cherish every moment.

As we approached the car, Oscar immediately took the initiative to ensure everything was perfect for me. He opened the passenger door and motioned for me to sit down, but not before adjusting the seat settings. He carefully moved the seat forward and tilted it slightly to match my height, ensuring I would be comfortable during the ride.

"Is the seat okay?" he asked, looking at me with genuine concern.

I nodded, already feeling the comfort of the perfectly adjusted seat. But he wasn't done yet. He leaned in and adjusted the air conditioning, making sure it wasn't too chilly. "I know it can get a bit cold sometimes," he said with a small smile, "so I set it to a warmer temperature."

I smiled back, appreciating his thoughtfulness. Once he was satisfied that I was comfortable, he turned his attention to my belongings. Gently taking the old bag I had brought with me, he began transferring my items into the new red Valentino bag he had gifted me. He was meticulous, making sure that nothing was left behind and that everything was placed neatly in the new bag.

"Here, let me help you with this," he said softly, his hands moving deftly as he organized my things.

Watching him, I felt a warmth spread through me. He wasn't just being thoughtful; he was showing me that he cared about every little detail, making sure that I felt special and valued.

Once he had finished, he handed me the new bag, his eyes shining with pride. "There you go," he said, his voice gentle. "Everything's all set."

I took the bag from him, my fingers brushing against his for a moment. "Thank you, Oscar," I said, my voice filled with gratitude. "You didn't have to do all this."

He shrugged modestly, a bashful smile playing on his lips. "I wanted to," he replied simply. "I wanted tonight to be perfect for you."

And as he closed the passenger door and walked around to the driver's side, I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by his kindness and attention to detail. Oscar Piastri was proving to be more than just a racing legend; he was a gentleman, someone who cared deeply and went out of his way to make me feel cherished.

Oscar didn't act like an immature, twenty-three year old boy, like some people made him out to be. Unlike the bummy guys I had known and casually dated before, this was a step up.

He maneuvered the car with ease, backing up with one hand on the steering wheel while his other arm rested casually on the back of my seat. I couldn't help but admire the way his muscles shifted and tensed underneath his white collared shirt, the fabric stretching slightly over his broad shoulders. It was impossible not to find it incredibly attractive. My cheeks heated up, a blush spreading across my face. Oscar noticed and turned to look at me, his eyebrows raising slightly. "Are you blushing?" he asked, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

Caught off guard, I stammered, "Um, no...I mean, maybe a little." I laughed nervously, trying to brush it off, but the warmth in my cheeks only intensified.

He chuckled, a soft, bashful sound, and I noticed a faint blush creeping up his own neck. "I guess we're both a bit flustered tonight," he admitted, glancing back at the road. The air between us felt charged with a mix of excitement and nervous energy.

As we settled into the drive, the initial awkwardness began to dissipate, replaced by a comfortable silence. I watched the city lights blur past us, the rhythm of the car soothing my nerves. Sensing a shift in the atmosphere, Oscar took a deep breath and broke the silence. "You know, there's a lot of pressure in Formula 1," he said, his voice thoughtful. "It's not just about the races. There's so much that goes on behind the scenes—training, media obligations, sponsorships. It can be overwhelming sometimes. But having someone like you here tonight, it makes it all feel worth it."

I smiled, touched by his openness. "I can only imagine how tough it must be," I replied. "Balancing my studies and vlogging is already a handful. There are days when it feels like I'm barely keeping up with everything. But tonight...I'm really grateful to be here with you."

He glanced over at me, his eyes soft and understanding. "Sounds like we both have a lot on our plates," he said. "But maybe tonight, we can just focus on ourselves and leave all those distractions behind."

"Agreed," I said, feeling a sense of relief wash over me. "Tonight is just about us."

We exchanged smiles, a silent agreement to make the most of this evening and cherish the time we had together. The city lights blurred past us as we drove on, the world outside fading into the background as we found solace in each other's company. The pressures of our respective worlds felt miles away, replaced by a shared sense of tranquility and excitement for what the night had in store.

The McLaren navigated smoothly through the city streets, and with each passing moment, I found myself more captivated by Oscar's presence. His occasional sideways glances and the genuine interest he showed in our conversation made me feel seen and appreciated in a way I hadn't experienced before. It was refreshing to connect with someone on such a deep level, especially amidst our busy lives.

"I've always admired your dedication to racing," I said, breaking the silence that had settled comfortably between us. "It must take an incredible amount of discipline."

Oscar smiled warmly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Thank you," he replied sincerely. "It's my passion, but it's also a demanding profession. Every race, every decision matters. It's a constant balancing act, trying to perform at your best while managing everything else."

"I can relate," I admitted with a small laugh. "Trying to balance university assignments, vlogging, and now, this unexpected but wonderful evening—it's a lot to juggle."

He nodded thoughtfully. "You're doing an amazing job," he reassured me. "Not many people can handle all of that with such grace."

The compliment warmed my heart, and I felt a surge of gratitude towards him. "Thank you, Oscar. And for what it's worth, I think you handle the pressures of Formula 1 admirably."

His gaze softened, and for a moment, it felt like we were the only two people in the world. The city lights cast a soft glow on his features, accentuating the earnestness in his expression. "I appreciate that," he said softly. "Having you here tonight, it's a reminder of why I do what I do."

A comfortable silence settled between us once more, filled with unspoken understanding and a growing connection. The air inside the car was charged with an undeniable chemistry, a magnetic pull that drew us closer with each passing minute. It was a rare and precious moment, where time seemed to slow down, allowing us to savor each other's company without the weight of responsibilities and expectations.

Oscar glanced at me, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "You know," he said, a playful grin spreading across his face, "if you keep blushing like that, I'm going to think you're a better driver than me."

I laughed, my cheeks still warm. "Oh please, you know I'm terrible with directions. I'd probably get us lost before we even reach the restaurant."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, don't worry, I'll be your GPS for the night. Just don't expect me to be as reliable as my car on the track."

At a stoplight, he turned to look at me, and to my surprise, he brushed a loose strand of my hair away from my face to the back of my head. Holding my chin, he smiled, and a small smirk blossomed across his face.

Imagine my shock horror when I started blushing again. It felt like that one Grey's Anatomy episode where a girl wouldn't stop blushing, and got surgery to treat her incessant blushing.

Yes, I really felt like Kelly Roesch every time I was around Oscar.

"Y/N, do I really make you blush that much?" Oscar smirked and looked forward, as the light had changed back to green. Pressing the gas pedal, he sped off, and I let out a gasp from how fast the car was going.

Caught off guard, I stammered, "Um, maybe I am blushing, what about it?" I dared to challenge playfully, immediately regretting my boldness and the sudden surge of moxie.

Oscar turned to look at me, his smile widening. "You're adorable when you blush," he remarked, his tone warm and affectionate.

Embarrassment tinged with delight colored my cheeks even more. "Well, you have that effect on me," I confessed, feeling a rush of courage.

He chuckled softly. "Good to know," he teased gently, his gaze lingering on me for a moment longer than necessary before returning to the road.

The playful banter eased the tension between us, infusing the car with a light, flirtatious energy. As we continued driving through the city streets, our conversation flowed effortlessly, alternating between laughter and more serious topics.

Oscar shared anecdotes from his racing career, injecting humor into tales of close calls and victories, while I recounted memorable vlogging experiences and the challenges of managing a demanding schedule.

Each exchange deepened our connection, fostering a sense of mutual understanding and admiration. There was an unspoken chemistry between us, a magnetic pull that grew stronger with every shared laugh and meaningful glance. I

t was as if we had known each other for much longer than just this evening, our bond forged in the shared pursuit of passion and ambition.

By the time we arrived at the restaurant, the initial nervousness had transformed into a comfortable familiarity. Oscar held the car door open for me with a gallant smile, his gestures both chivalrous and endearing.

As we walked into the restaurant together, hand in hand, I couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the unexpected turn of events that brought us here.

When we arrived at the front entrance of the restaurant, I was once again struck by the thoughtfulness of his choices. The place was elegant yet intimate, with a cozy ambiance that made me feel instantly at ease.

Oscar had clearly put a lot of thought into every detail, and it was impossible not to be touched by his efforts.

As we sat down, I couldn't help but smile at him. "You really went all out, didn't you?" I teased gently.

He shrugged, a playful glint in his eyes. "Only the best for you."

I blushed, feeling the warmth of his words wash over me. "Thank you, Oscar. For everything."

"You're worth it," he said simply, his gaze unwavering.

In that moment, I knew that this was more than just a date. It was the beginning of something beautiful, something that had the potential to grow into a deep and meaningful connection.

And as the night unfolded, filled with laughter, conversation, and a shared sense of excitement, I realized that I was ready to embrace it wholeheartedly.

As we settled into our seats at the cozy restaurant, the atmosphere around us seemed to hum with a quiet energy. Oscar and I exchanged glances, a knowing smile playing on both our lips, as if silently acknowledging the unspoken tension between us.

"So, Y/N," Oscar began, his voice low and playful, "tell me more about your vlogging. Any juicy behind-the-scenes stories?"

I chuckled, stirring my drink slightly. "Oh, you know, the usual. Endless editing sessions, occasional tech disasters. But it's all worth it when I get to share something meaningful with my followers."

"Sounds like a lot of work," he mused, his gaze lingering on mine. "But I bet you enjoy every minute of it."

"Most of the time," I admitted, feeling a rush of warmth at his attentiveness.

As I settled into recounting the tea ceremony mishap, I couldn't help but chuckle at the memory, though at the time, it had been far from funny. "So, there I was, kneeling beside this beautifully arranged tea set," I began, gesturing animatedly with my hands. "The camera was perfectly positioned to capture this serene moment. I was about to take a sip of the freshly brewed tea when suddenly, the tripod leg gave way."

Oscar leaned forward, his eyes fixed on me with rapt attention. "No way," he interjected, clearly intrigued.

"Yes way," I confirmed with a laugh. "And in that split second, everything descended into chaos. The camera toppled over, knocking into the low table where the tea set was displayed. Cups shattered, tea leaves scattered everywhere, and I, in a desperate attempt to catch the camera, managed to knock over a delicate vase of flowers."

Oscar's laughter filled the air, a genuine and infectious sound that made me smile even wider. "You must have been in shock," he remarked, shaking his head in amusement.

"I was," I admitted, recalling the moment vividly. "But somehow, amidst the chaos, I kept rolling. I think I was in such disbelief that I just kept filming, capturing the aftermath of the disaster. Tea leaves floating in the air, water dripping from the overturned vase—it was a scene straight out of a comedy."

"And your viewers got to witness it all?" Oscar asked, still chuckling.

"Oh, they did," I confirmed, a grin spreading across my face. "And surprisingly, they loved it. I received so many comments about how refreshing it was to see the behind-the-scenes reality, even if it meant watching me fumble through a tea ceremony."

Oscar nodded thoughtfully, his gaze softening as he leaned back in his chair. "It just goes to show," he mused, "sometimes the unplanned moments make the best stories."

"Absolutely," I agreed, feeling a rush of gratitude for his genuine interest. "And speaking of stories, I'm sure you have your fair share of dramatic moments on the track. Care to share?"

His eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned forward, ready to share tales from the fast-paced world of Formula 1. "Well, there was this one time in Australia," he began, a playful grin tugging at his lips. "During one of my rookie years, I had a near-miss with a kangaroo. It came out of nowhere, right in the middle of the track. I had to swerve so hard I thought I'd end up in the barriers."

I gasped, eyes wide. "A kangaroo? Seriously? Only you would have an experience like that!"

He chuckled, clearly enjoying my reaction. "Yep, only in Australia, right? But that wasn't the end of it. The kangaroo didn't just stay on the track. It jumped over the barriers and ended up in the audience. People were screaming and trying to get out of its way. It was pure chaos."

"Oh my God," I laughed, shaking my head in disbelief. "Did anyone get hurt?"

"No, thankfully," Oscar replied, his eyes twinkling. "Security managed to corral the kangaroo and get it to safety. But it was definitely one of the most chaotic moments I've ever experienced on the track. The race had to be stopped for a few minutes until everything was under control.

The whole time, I was just sitting in my car, watching this kangaroo cause mayhem and thinking, 'Is this really happening?'"

I couldn't stop laughing at the mental image. "I can't believe it. That's insane. Did they ever find out how the kangaroo got there in the first place?"

Oscar shook his head, a smile still playing on his lips. "No idea. It was one of those freak occurrences. But it definitely made for an unforgettable race. Every time I go back to that track, I half expect to see another kangaroo waiting to jump out."

I giggled, feeling a warm connection building between us. "Well, I hope not. One near-miss with a kangaroo is more than enough for a lifetime."

He nodded in agreement, his smile broadening. "Yeah, definitely. But hey, it makes for a great story to tell on a first date, right?"

I blushed at his words, realizing just how special this evening was becoming. "Absolutely," I agreed, feeling a rush of gratitude for his genuine interest. "And speaking of stories, I'm sure you have your fair share of other dramatic moments on the track. Care to share?"

His eyes sparkled with excitement as he leaned forward, ready to share more tales from the fast-paced world of Formula 1. "Oh, I have plenty," he said, his voice filled with enthusiasm. "There was this one time when..."

As he launched into another story, I couldn't help but marvel at how effortlessly we were connecting, each story weaving us closer together in this unexpected evening of laughter and shared experiences. The initial awkwardness had completely dissipated, replaced by a sense of comfort and camaraderie that felt both exciting and natural.

"You have some pretty wild stories," I said, still marveling at the idea of a kangaroo on the track. "I can't imagine how you keep your cool in situations like that."

He shrugged, a modest smile playing on his lips. "You get used to it, I guess. Racing teaches you to expect the unexpected. But it's not always as dramatic as dodging wildlife. Sometimes it's the little things that make a big difference, like dealing with sudden changes in weather or handling a tricky pit stop."

I leaned in, fascinated. "Tell me more about the pit stops. They always seem so intense on TV."

Oscar's eyes lit up as he delved into the intricacies of pit stops, explaining how every second counts and how the coordination between the driver and the crew is crucial. "It's a lot of pressure," he admitted, "but when it goes smoothly, it's one of the most satisfying parts of the race."

I nodded, absorbing every word. "It sounds like such a team effort. I never realized how much went into it."

"Exactly," he said, clearly pleased by my interest. "It's one of the things I love most about racing—the teamwork and the camaraderie. Everyone has to be at their best for the team to succeed."

We continued to share stories, the conversation flowing easily. I told him about my vlogging adventures, from the hilarious mishaps to the rewarding moments when a video resonated with my audience. Oscar listened intently, asking thoughtful questions and laughing at my anecdotes.

As the night grew later, the atmosphere around us became more intimate. We moved closer, our shoulders almost touching. The moonlight glimmered off the water, casting a soft glow on Oscar’s face.

"That sounds amazing," he said, his voice low and warm, his Australian accent adding a melodic lilt that sent shivers down my spine. Every word he spoke seemed to resonate deep within me, his low vibrato giving me butterflies.

I smiled, feeling a rush of warmth at his words. "Thanks. It's not always easy, but it's definitely worth it."

He reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. His touch was light, almost tentative. "I can tell," he said softly, his accent making each syllable feel like a caress. "Your eyes light up when you talk about it."

My heart skipped a beat as his hand lingered on my cheek. He leaned in, and before I could fully process what was happening, his lips brushed against my cheek in a soft, lingering kiss.

"You’re really something, you know that?" he murmured, his lips close to my ear. His breath sent shivers down my spine, his accent making the words even more intoxicating.

I felt my cheeks flush, a smile spreading across my face. "You’re not so bad yourself," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. The way his accent rolled off his tongue was doing things to me I hadn't anticipated.

Oscar’s eyes sparkled with mischief. "You know," he said, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper, "I've been wanting to kiss you all evening." His accent made the confession sound even more alluring.

"Is that so?" I asked, my voice playful yet breathless. The butterflies in my stomach were fluttering wildly.

He nodded, his gaze never leaving mine. "Absolutely. You’ve been driving me crazy with that smile of yours," he said, his accent making the words feel even more intimate and personal.

I laughed softly, feeling a mixture of flattery and nervous excitement. "Well, I guess I'm guilty as charged."

He leaned in closer, his lips now brushing against my ear. "Maybe we should make a habit of this. I like seeing you happy," he whispered, his accent sending delicious shivers down my spine.

My heart raced as he pulled back slightly, his eyes searching mine. "You’re pretty good at making that happen," I admitted, feeling a surge of boldness. The way his voice, with its rich accent, played over my senses made me feel something stirring inside.

Oscar’s grin widened, and he reached for my hand. "Follow me," he said, his voice filled with playful promise. His touch was electric, sending a thrill through me as I placed my hand in his.

"Where are we headed to next?" I asked, my curiosity piqued. I was clearly blushing and super happy, unable to hide my excitement.

Oscar’s smile widened. "A yacht," he said simply, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

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yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, francisca.cgomes and 220,018 others

yourusername: finally, date night!

view comments

user1: i'm going to totally pretend that your now "chill" caption truly encapsulates how you are feeling (you were freaking out on priv earlier)

oscarpiastri: priv??! let me follow the account @/yourusername

yourusername: priv... what are you talking about i don't have a priv

oscarpiastri: 🧐🫵🏻

francisca.cgomes: what a beautiful girl 💋💋

yourusername: you're talking! babe you ae so beautiful as well 💋

oscarpiastri: are you flirting with my girl @/francisca.gcomes???

user2: MY GIRL SJIJSJORJDSS

user3: that's so alpha male of you oscar

yourusername: so what if she is 🙄

oscarpiastri: i've had her for less than a day let gooo 😥

francisca.cgomes: idc 🙄🙄

charles_leclerc: children please stop fighting

pierregasly: @/francisca.cgomes ... babe what about me

user4: LMAO KIKA NOT ANSWERING BAHAHA

user5: mawmaw yi pawpaw

liked by yourusername and oscarpiastri

user6: guys i just happened to be at the same resturaunt as them tonight bc of a family dinner and let me tell YOUUU, they were so flirty with each other omg. like i sat at the table adjacent to their left so i got a birds eye view of all of the blushing. like he kept intentionaly touching her hand and stuff it was so cute 😵‍💫🫠🥰

user7: landonorizz you got some competition @/landonorris

user8: yeah lando, i fear oscar may have more rizz than you

landonorris: 🙄👊🏼

user9: call him, oscarizz...?

user10: 💀💀 nahh that didn't hit LMAO

oscarpiastri

liked by yourusername, landonorris and 628,100 others

oscarpiastri: i took her to my penthouse and i freaked it

view comments:

yourusername: NO OSCAR THE CAPTION 😥😥😥

yourusername: HE DOESN'T MEAN IT LIKE THAT

yourusername: OSCAR AND I DIDN'T FUCK

oscarpiastri: exactly, a gentleman never does such thing on a first date

yourusername: WHY IS THAT YOUR CAPTION NOOOO

oscarpiastri: people are not misunderstanding 🫷🏻🫸🏻

yourusername: OSCAR THEY ARE MISUNDERSTANDING IN THE COMMENTS

yourusername: I DID NOT DO SUCH DEED

user1: i love how y/n is literally freaking tf out and oscar is chill

user2: LMAO i can just see the cartoon silly steam leaking from her ears everytime oscar does anything

user3: god i don't even know if i want to be her or oscar

user4: i choose both.

user5: THEY FUCKED??? 😡😡🤬🤯🤯🤯😰😰😰😰🫨🫨🫨🤐

user6: oscar MY MAN the caption feels a little... sus

user7: had to clean my glasses to reread the caption

user7: because y/n's beauty was genuinely blinding me

user8: aight oscar who wrote that caption 😵😵

user9: ignoring the weird??! caption, they look SOOO CUTE UGH

yourusername: TYSMMMM <3 (pls ignore the weirdass caption yes, yes pls do that)

user10: LMAO

charles_leclerc: ...

oscarpiastri: father, please look away

yourusername: oh!- so NOW your embarassed

charles_leclerc: sending a screenshot of the caption to your mother brb

oscarpiastri: i hope you are reffering to alex

charles_leclerc: no, i definitely mean nicole

oscarpiastri: DELETE DELETE DELETE

logansargeant: bro your cooked

charles_leclerc: "OSCAR JACK PIASTRI" - what your mom said, she said it, not me

charles_leclerc: "HAVE SOME MORE DECORUM YOUNG MAN" - nicole

charles_leclerc: "TREAT A LADY WITH RESPECT"

oscarpiastri: ma'am yes ma'am 🫡🫡🫡

yourusername: god i love your mom @/oscarpiastri

yourusername: ty for doing me a service 🙏🏼🙌🏼 @/charles_leclerc

charles_leclerc: no problem, a future leclerc-piastri deserves the best 🫡

charles_leclerc: (you better wife her up)

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oscarpiastri posted on his story

caption: i finally got my dream girl her dream bags 🫶🏻❤️🧡💙

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author's note: ty guys for reading this fic! 😍🫶🏾 (part THREE yay or nay?!)

[killerlookz]

hiii!!<3 if you’re thinking abt writing for joost, can u pls write some thing abt an established relationship fic based off the song birds of a feather by billie eilish if u can! love ur writing!

Hi anon! thank you sm for the request <33 this song is so sweeeet omg!!! also... technically an established relationship, but i do recap how reader and joost met :-)

Birds of a Feather | Joost Klein

description: gn!reader reflects on all the special moments in your and Joost's relationship following an unexpected proposal.

content: so insanely cheesey! sorry! pure fluff! + lots of crying (mostly happy tears) literally the most tiny smallest sexual reference this fic contains rpf, do not continue if that makes you uncomfortable

word count: 2426 (this was supposed to be under 1k words but i got soooo carried away)

/I don't know what I'm crying for / I don't think I could love you more/

Shaky fingers fiddle with the cold metal looped around your ring finger. Your hand flexes outward, watching as the light from your window reflects onto the small stone. Something warm rolls down your cheek- a solitary teardrop, caressing the skin of your face. Your hand reaches up to wipe away the tear, but it's too late, you can feel more welling up near your waterline, any sudden movement now would send tears streaming down your face. You look up, your eyelids brink rapidly in an attempt to prevent the inevitable waterworks.

You hadn't seen an engagement coming- in all the years you'd been together, it still seemed like a milestone that had felt so far away. Until Yesterday.

You and Joost had been nearly inseparable since just about the moment you had met- A nervous 20-year-old studying abroad in the Netherlands for your second to last semester of university. You sat on the stairs outside of the apartment building that stood as your temporary housing for the semester, on the brink of tears, your randomly assigned roommate had been a real piece of work. You were on your third argument that week alone, and, saying you were fed up was an understatement. You contemplated at that moment packing your things and just going back home.

"Gaat het?" (Are you ok?) A voice calls out, a goofy-looking blonde standing at the bottom of the stairs. He looks vaguely familiar, you think you may have seen him in the elevator of your apartment once or twice.

You furrow your eyebrows at him, "Ik spreek niet veel Nederlands," Using one of the few Dutch phrases you knew to tell him you don't speak Dutch. You shake your head, kind of hoping he would get lost, not wanting to be bothered.

"Ah," He nods, "Do you speak English?"

You stare at him for a moment, unsure if you should lie, after all he was a stranger but something is telling you to tell him the truth.

"Yeah," You sniffle, attempting to remove any emotion from your face.

"Are you okay?" He asks again, this time you understand.

"I'm fine," You weren't exactly searching for a deep conversation about your current struggles in someone you didn't know.

"People who are fine don't usually sit outside their apartment building crying."

You bite your lip, contemplating engaging the kind stranger in what was ailing you at the moment. You sigh, having a feeling he would probably keep pestering you if you continued to insist you were feeling in a way you actually weren't.

"It's just my roommate-"

Two months after your first encounter with the blonde man at the bottom of the stairs, you were standing in front of a mirror, doing a final check of your outfit before going on your first date. You had learned his name was Joost, he was 21, and lived in an apartment two floors above you.

He was unimaginably kind, with a wit unparalleled by anyone you'd ever met before, and truthfully, he was very cute- so when he had initially asked you out, you couldn't get a "yes" out fast enough.

It seemed a little inconvenient, given that you only had one more month left in the Netherlands- but he knew this, and didn't necessarily seem like he had been looking for anything too serious. Besides, it would be nice for you to have a good connection with someone outside of the people you saw in your classes.

There's a knock at the door, and your feet are quick to start shuffling under you, you're practically running to go open it.

You stop for a moment as you get to the door, letting a deep breath fill your lungs to capacity, before letting it out, whipping the door open as you do so.

Joost is standing behind it, a smile plastered on his face, hands behind his back. He's dressed up, now that you thought about it, you never really saw him in anything other than a sweatshirt or t-shirt and some jeans. It was a pleasant change- a white button-up shirt and some dress pants even if both articles of clothing had been obviously wrinkled.

"Hey," He greets, removing his hands from where they rest behind him, revealing a bouquet of flowers in an outstretched arm, "These are for you- I didn't know what kind of flowers you liked so I sort of just guessed." He's unsure of himself, in an entirely endearing way. He was trying.

"For me?" You grin, "Aww, Joost!" You take the flowers from his hands, "Let me go find something to put these in."

A month later you're sitting on Joost's couch after what you assumed would be your last date together. Your study abroad program was ending in three days, and you'd be returning back home.

There is an air of sadness that surrounds you, one that you hadn't expected to feel- you'd only known the man for three months, yet somehow it felt like you were leaving someone you had known your whole life.

Gentle fingers grab onto your jaw, Joost is turning your head to force you to look at him.

"You know," He starts, "I've really been enjoying our time together."

"Me too," You agree, a small smile peaking onto your face, you try not to give way to the sadness you were feeling.

"And," He says, "Y/n, I really like you, and I think if I don't ask you now, I'm never going to get the chance to ever again."

"What?" You perk up, your heart suddenly beating much faster, your breathing quickens, unsure of what he's going to say next.

"Well- I- what I'm trying to say is, do you want to go out with me? Like- officially- like dating." His voice is trembling, you'd never seen him so anxious before.

"Joost I-" You sigh, the reality of your situation crashing into you harder than it had before, "I'm leaving soon- we'll be hours away, when am I going to see y-"

You're cut off by Joost's lips crashing into yours, your thoughts suddenly disappearing the second your lips connect. You're entirely overwhelmed with emotion, every wire in your brain is fried, this move was an utter surprise, up until this point your relationship had been entirely chaste; the furthest you'd gone was sharing a hug at the end of your dates. Still, you kiss him back, your hand finding its way to his shoulder, tugging at it, begging him to come closer to you.

It had been seven and a half months since you had last seen Joost, but the two of you had talked at length each and every day during that time. By now, you had finished your degree in University and were ready to really start your life.

You could remember the cheer of excitement on the other end of the phone when you told Joost after a month of job hunting you had secured a job in the Netherlands.

"Does that mean you're coming back here?"

"Yeah, the job starts at the end of next month ."

A month and a half didn't necessarily give you much time to plan things out to the extent you would have liked, but Joost was more than ready and willing to help you out.

He had posited moving into his apartment- but the suggestion while sweet- was quickly thrown out. It wouldn't have been an ideal commute to your new job.

So the two of you got on to looking elsewhere, he had been kind enough to take the time out of his days to go to apartment showings for you near where you'd be taking your job, keeping you on Facetime as he viewed the places.

Eventually, you had found one you absolutely fell in love with, in perfect distance from the job. The problem had been- it was quite a ways out of your budget. You were heartbroken, it had basically been your dream apartment.

Joost, always swift with solving problems, suggested that the two of you move into the apartment together, that way he could cover the rest of the rent that you couldn't afford. And while you were over the moon about his offer- you worried about what living together would do to your relationship, the two of you had known each other for less than a year- would living together be such a great idea?

But as you're standing in the doorway of your bedroom on the first night being in your new apartment, staring up at Joost, who's leaning against the door frame- you just know you made the right decision.

A careful hand glides across your cheek, resting at the back of your neck,

"Thank you for coming back," Joost muses, gently massaging the spot where his hand resides. You lean into his touch,

"There was no other option" There's an undeniable twinkle in your eyes, admiring the man who stood above you, tired and messy from a long day of moving.

"I've been waiting to tell you this in person," His grip on your neck suddenly becomes still, rigid, "And- even if you don't feel the same yet, I just wanted to say that I love you." He's talking fast, simpering after he finishes his short words before resuming the gentle massaging motion of his thumb against your neck.

The breath is almost entirely knocked out of you- he loves you.

The words just about run out of your mouth, "I love you too,"

"You do?" His pupils are blown wide, "You love me too?"

You nod fervently, never having meant a statement so immensely in your life.

Joost is leaning down now, his head tilted so his lips can perfectly interlock with yours. It is possibly the hungriest kiss the two of you had ever shared, with the obvious implication of love now behind it. If Joost hadn't snaked his free arm around your back, you probably would have fallen straight to the ground, your legs tingling with excitement.

He pulls away, looking into your mostly empty bedroom, a smirk appearing on his face,

"What do you say we christen that bed I spent all day putting together?"

Five years later you're still living in that same apartment, the once-empty space now fully decorated with beautiful memories.

And now, the most crystal-clear memory sparkled in your brain, almost as bright as the ring itself. You'd been crying in intervals since then- since it happened since - You replayed it in your head.

"Do you remember when we first met?" Joost's fingers interlock with yours as the two of you walk down a familiar street- You were unsure of why Joost had insisted on taking you here, to the town where you both had lived when you met.

"How could I ever forget?" You grin, "Feels like just yesterday I was crying to some strange Dutch boy about my roommate issues."

"And how you told me, you never wanted to see the Netherlands again?" His words are slow as he looks deeply into your eyes, glimmers of adoration shining from every feature on his face.

"God, I was so dramatic- wasn't I?" You look away from him, scoffing as you look down at the pavement, thinking about your old self, looking back on it- it was a stupid decision to let one person ruin almost two months of your life, but back then it seemed like the biggest deal in the world. "Funny" You shrug, "The decision I made to talk to you on the day I was most certain I was just going to pack up and leave forever led me to making the Netherlands my home." You shake your head, "I don't know what would have happened if I hadn't met you on that day, but I don't think there's a reality that exists where we aren't together."

"Don't make me cry," He chuckles.

"I mean- I don't mean to be all sappy, but it's true- if soulmates are real, I can guarantee you're mine."

He's grinning now, you'd been so lost in your thoughts you barely noticed where the two of you had ended up, back at your old apartment, right in front of those very steps the two of you had met on.

He's pulling you up the stairs, and needless to say you're confused about this trip down memory lane.

"I think it's only appropriate that I do this here," His voice is low, and he's blinking more rapidly than usual. His hand slips from yours, and falls into his pocket- you watch anxiously for his next move. There's something in his hand now, and he's slowly bending down onto one knee.

The tears start nearly immediately, before he says a single word, you're cupping your mouth with your hand

"Y/n," He looks up at you, through the lenses of his glasses you can see there are tears in his eyes too, "Wil je met me trouwen?" (will you marry me)

"Joost," You choke out a sob- "Yes, Yes!" Your whole body is full of a tingling sensation, and your heart feels like it occupies more space in your chest than it did before, swelling with an overwhelming amount of love.

Joost grabs your trembling hand, caressing it tenderly with his thumb before slipping on the ring. You let him hold your hand for a moment more before you're pulling it away, desperate to see. You outstretch your hand in front of you, looking at the glimmering stone that sits on your finger. A visual confirmation of what had just happened.

He's barely stood all the way up before you're reaching for him, knocking into him with an embrace so energetically that it nearly knocks him over. As he catches his balance he wraps his arms right back around you, pulling you into him.

If you were to have gotten any closer, the atoms that make up each of your bodies may have actually fused together. Though you wish you could, despite how you fully braced Joost's body it doesn't feel like enough you want him closer to you.

Still, you're so warm in his tight embrace, letting out choked tears of joy against his chest.

A gentle kiss falls on the top of your head, followed by your favorite words to hear out of Joost's mouth, "Ik hou van jou." (I love you)

You shut your eyes, basking in the moment, you could absolutely get used to hearing those words every day for the rest of your life.

/I'll love you 'til the day that I die / 'Til the light leaves my eyes/

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

professor sharp x star student reader with a praise kink.

reader takes sharp up on some after class advanced potions lessons && sexual tension/ teasing ensues when he figures out how she feels.

Office Hours | Aesop Sharp x Reader

WHOAAA ANON. NEVER WRITTEN SOMETHING LIKE THIS BEFORE. BUT I DID MY BEST. I HOPE THIS IS WHAT U WERE LOOKING FOR <3

Words: ~4,300

Tags: Smut-Adjacent, Praise Kink, Age Gap, Teacher/Student, Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House, Pining, Angst

You linger as the rest of the class files out, quills and parchment rustling, chairs scraping against the stone floor as your classmates shuffle toward the door. Their voices fade into the corridor, leaving only the steady sound of footsteps as Sharp moves about the room, putting things away.

This has become a routine. Your routine.

At the start of the year, you were the only one who ever stayed behind for office hours, a habit born out of ambition—a desire to hone your craft under the guidance of someone who truly understood it. Not just a professor, but a Master: Professor Aesop Sharp.

In the beginning, your motives were purely academic. His knowledge was unparalleled, his methods rigorous, and his feedback unforgivingly honest. You wanted to learn. You wanted to impress him.

You don’t know when it happened—when the careful admiration turned into something dangerous. Perhaps it was the way he’d lean over your cauldron, sleeves rolled to his forearms, his voice low as he corrected your technique. Or maybe it was the rare instances when he praised you, voice edged with the kind of approval that left your pulse hammering in your throat.

Not that you ever let him see. It’s inappropriate. Unthinkable. You tell yourself this every single time you sit here, waiting for him like a fool.

Tonight, though, you have an actual excuse to be here beyond your fascination with him and need to impress—your essay.

Sharp had handed them back during class today, and you hadn’t gotten the grade you expected. Not bad, but lower than what you knew was your best. It had bothered you enough that you planned to bring it up tonight, to discuss it with him, as was expected of a student striving for excellence.

Sharp moves through the room with practiced ease, methodical, silent but aware, and you remain quiet, waiting—just the way he likes.

A few minutes pass before he flicks his wand toward the door, and with a deep thud, it swings shut, the lock clicking into place. The sound is enough to send a faint, ridiculous shiver down your spine.

He turns to you, finally acknowledging your presence, and something in his sharp gaze says he’s already decided what tonight’s lesson will be.

“Tonight,” he says, voice smooth and commanding, “you’re brewing the Draught of Living Death.” His eyes linger on you for a moment longer than necessary. “Think you can handle that?”

Your breath catches, but you force yourself to nod. "Of course, Professor."

His lips twitch—just the faintest ghost of approval, gone as quickly as it came. "Good."

That single word should not send heat curling through your stomach the way it does. But you push it down, focusing instead on the way he moves toward the supply cabinet, pulling down ingredients with his usual efficient precision.

"But first, you had something on your mind," he remarks, not even looking at you. "Tell me."

Of course, he noticed. Sharp notices everything.

"My essay," you say carefully, rising from your seat and stepping toward him. "I was hoping to discuss my grade."

He turns then, eyeing the parchment in your hands before meeting your gaze. His dark eyes hold no sympathy—they never do. But they hold something else tonight. Interest, maybe. Curiosity.

"Did you think I was unfair in my assessment?" he asks, stepping aside to give you room as he sets a small vial onto the worktable.

"No," you answer quickly. Too quickly. You take a breath. "I just—I want to understand what I could improve."

His head tilts, watching you for a beat too long. Then, he gestures for you to set the parchment down on his desk.

"Let's have a look, then."

You place the parchment down beside the vial, smoothing out the edges as though the act alone might steady the rapid beat of your pulse.

Sharp steps in beside you, his presence a weight you feel more than see, and he leans over your essay, scanning the lines with a critical gaze. The sleeves of his robes are pushed back just enough to reveal the corded strength in his forearms. His hands, scarred but steady, move over the parchment with the same precision he uses when handling delicate potions.

The subtle scent of clove and worn leather lingers in the air between you, mixing with the faint traces of crushed valerian and asphodel still clinging to his robes. You shouldn’t find it intoxicating, but you do. It is entirely unfair for a man like him to be this distracting.

"You argue your points well," he murmurs, causing your heart to stutter. "But you lost clarity here—" he taps against a line of your writing, and your stomach tightens at the briefest brush of his knuckle against your wrist, unintentional but devastating. "There was a lack of specificity in your discussion of infusion times."

You swallow. "I—right. I see that now."

His eyes flick to yours, sharp and assessing. He leans back then, finally stepping away, and the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding leaves you in a slow exhale.

"You’ve proven yourself capable of better," he says simply, his voice low, even. "I marked you down because I expect more from you. And you expect more from yourself, don’t you?"

You nod, feeling strangely like you’re being examined in a way that has nothing to do with academics.

His mouth curves into the ghost of a smirk. It’s barely there, but you see it. "Then prove it," he says. "Brew the Draught of Living Death. If it’s flawless, I’ll reconsider your grade."

A challenge. A trap.

The Draught of Living Death is advanced, a potion that requires an unshakable hand, patience, and mastery of technique. One wrong move, one miscalculation in the number of stirs, the precision of slicing the sopophorous bean, and the entire brew will be ruined.

But hesitation is not an option. Not when he’s looking at you like that. Not when the air between you is thick with something dangerous, something that curls beneath your skin and settles low in your stomach.

“I’ll do it,” you say, and your voice does not waver.

Sharp holds your gaze for a beat longer—like he’s searching for something. Then, with the faintest nod, he steps back toward the supply cabinet.

"Good."

It should be nothing. A simple word of acknowledgment, an approval of your determination. But the way he says it—low, slow, deliberate—makes heat lick up your spine.

You take a slow breath, steadying yourself before setting into motion. You need to focus—really focus—because if you let your mind wander, if you let yourself think too much about the way he's watching you, you’ll slip. And you can’t afford to slip.

So you fall into routine.

You move to the side table first, methodical, tying your hair back to keep it from falling into your face. You push your sleeves up next, rolling them neatly to your elbows. Every movement is practical, part of a process you’ve done countless times before. But still—you feel him watching.

You don’t look up. You don’t dare. But you know.

He hasn’t moved far, standing just a few paces behind you, arms crossed, silent, patient, present.

You want to impress him. You want to please him.

You flip open your textbook with, letting your fingers brush across the instructions. You don’t need them—not really. You know this potion. You know what to do. But having them open gives you something to ground yourself, something to look at instead of the weight of his gaze.

Still, you pretend to read, taking a moment to steady yourself before moving toward the cauldron, lighting the burner beneath it with a flick of your wand. The soft whoosh of the flame should settle you. It doesn’t. Not when you can feel the weight of Sharp’s gaze, steady, assessing.

You ignore it. Or, at least, you try.

Instead, you move. Measure. Pour. Stir.

The first ingredient is Infusion of Wormwood, followed by Powdered Root of Asphodel. Your fingers are steady as you measure it, dusting it in with careful precision, watching as the mixture thickens slightly, deepening in color.

Good. Perfect.

You force yourself to ignore the fact that Sharp's eyes are still on you. Your movement is measured as you reach for your spoon and stir twice clockwise. The liquid shimmers, turning a beautiful lilac, exactly as it should. You should feel satisfied, but it’s not enough.

Not yet.

You move to the sloth brain next. The texture is viscous, slightly gelatinous, and you add it swiftly before stepping back.

Then, the Sopophorous Bean.

You reach for your knife, ready to cut—

You hesitate. A memory flickers in the back of your mind—crushing the bean releases more juice. It’s not in the textbook, not something he taught in class, but you remember reading it somewhere, a theory proposed in an old alchemical manuscript.

Sharp notices.

“You paused,” he remarks. “Why?”

His voice is smooth, laced with something unreadable. A test.

You lick your lips, shifting your grip on the bean. “Crushing releases more juice than cutting,” you say evenly, flipping your silver knife on its side.

There’s a beat of silence. Then—

“Hm.”

It’s not praise. Not exactly. But it’s not dismissal, either.

You press down firmly, and the bean gives under the pressure, splitting and releasing its juice. Carefully, you let it drip into the cauldron, watching as the potion’s color begins to shift.

Then, the final step.

You reach for the spoon, feeling the weight of it in your hand, and stir—seven times anti-clockwise.

Each movement is deliberate, controlled, and with every pass of the spoon, the potion begins to transform, taking on that deep, endless black hue—the unmistakable, perfected shade of the Draught of Living Death.

And yet, you hesitate. Your hands remain steady, but inside, everything is tight, coiled—waiting. Because you aren’t just waiting for his assessment.

You’re waiting for his approval.

Sharp moves then, slow and measured as he steps toward the cauldron. He looks first at the potion itself, then at you, expression unreadable, his presence a force in the quiet tension of the room.

You should step back. But you don’t.

He reaches for a clean glass vial and dips the edge into the potion, watching as it glides into the container with the exact viscosity expected of a successful brew. His gaze flicks briefly to you before he lifts it to eye level, tilting it against the dim torchlight, assessing.

You know it’s perfect, but his silence is unbearable.

Finally, he sets the vial down with a soft clink and steps back, arms crossing over his chest.

“Near perfect,” he muses.

Near. Not entirely.

You don’t allow the disappointment to show, but you feel it, sharp and hot. A quiet frustration that tightens in your ribs, not at him, but at yourself. You should have been flawless.

His smirk is subtle, almost imperceptible—but it’s there. Amused. Calculating. “You hesitated before crushing the bean,” he says.

It isn’t a question, but you answer anyway. “I was considering my options.”

A pause. Then, he tilts his head slightly, watching you. Too closely.

“And do you often hesitate when making decisions?”

Your fingers flex slightly at your sides. “Not often.”

Another moment of silence.

“Then why did you?”

Your pulse stumbles. It’s not an academic question. Not really. There is something else in his voice, something threading just beneath the words. You feel it, but you step forward anyway.

“I wanted to make the right choice,” you say carefully.

Sharp doesn’t move, doesn’t break his gaze from yours, but something shifts in the air between you.

“You like proving yourself,” he murmurs.

It’s not a question.

Your breath catches in your throat, the heat crawling up the back of your neck before you can stop it. Your heartbeat is suddenly too loud, your skin too warm.

“I like to be accurate,” you answer, voice even.

His gaze lifts, slow and knowing.

“Hm.”

Sharp is still watching you. You can feel it in the weight of his silence, in the slow tap of his fingers against his forearm where his arms remain crossed.

Then, he turns slightly—just enough to angle his head toward the small potted plant resting on the windowsill.

"Fetch a leaf," he says. "We’ll test the potion."

It is an easy request. Simple. A task so unimportant that your stomach shouldn’t be tightening the way it does.

And yet your stomach does tighten.

Because he is standing right beside the plant. His hands are right there—steady, capable, within reach of the leaves. He could pluck one himself, could test the potion himself.

But he doesn’t. Because he wants you to do it. Because he wants to see you obey.

You swallow hard, heart rattling in your ribs as you step forward, keeping your movements measured, controlled—deliberate. You do not hesitate, because hesitation would reveal too much. You do not rush, because that would betray your nerves.

The moment you come close, you reach out. Your fingers brush against the edge of the plant, the surface of the leaves soft under your touch. You pluck one with careful precision, just as he instructed, your pulse knocking violently in your throat as you straighten and turn—

Only to find yourself impossibly near him.

Sharp hasn’t moved back. Hasn’t stepped away. His presence presses into you without ever touching, the nearness enough to send a pulse of electric tension licking down your spine.

Your throat tightens, breath shallow as you force yourself to meet his gaze. “The leaf,” you murmur, holding it out for him.

Sharp does not take it.

Instead, his gaze flickers—just briefly—to your hand, to the careful way you offer it to him. There is something unreadable in his expression, something quiet, something entirely too knowing.

And then, finally, he moves. Not to take the leaf from your hand, but to take your wrist. It is nothing, barely a touch. Just his fingers closing over your skin with the lightest amount of pressure, steady and warm.

A slow inhale catches in your chest, unsteady.

Sharp turns your hand slightly, adjusting the angle, his fingertips grazing along the inside of your wrist before he guides your hand over the potion vial.

The moment stretches too long, something slow and sharp unfurling in the air between you. The quiet tension that has been building all year, all those lessons, all those moments of careful restraint, now concentrated down to this single point of contact.

Then, just when the air grows too thick to breathe, just when your pulse thrums too loudly in your ears, he releases you.

“Drop it in,” Sharp says smoothly, his voice entirely too composed.

You blink, still feeling the ghost of his grip on your wrist. Then, as though forcing yourself out of some terrible, exquisite haze, you drop the leaf into the vial.

The potion reacts immediately, the liquid swirling and darkening before settling back into stillness.

Sharp studies it for a moment, then exhales, satisfied.

"Flawless."

It's just an assessment. A passing remark. A professor's acknowledgment of his student's skill. But the moment it leaves his lips, heat licks up your spine, curling at the base of your stomach.

Because it's not just the words. It’s the way he says them. Slow. Deliberate. Measured. And you—fool that you are—want to hear him say it again.

"So," you say over the lump in your throat. "My essay?"

A beat of silence.

Sharp’s gaze lingers on the potion for a fraction of a second longer, then, with his usual methodical grace, he steps back nd gestures toward the parchment still resting on his desk.

"Right." His voice is smooth, even. Almost mocking in its composure. "Your essay."

Sharp leans against the desk, arms folded as he studies your parchment with an air of measured ease—too relaxed, too composed. Too aware.

"I’ll admit," he says, dragging the words out just enough that something coils low in your stomach, "you did very well."

There’s an infuriating, calculated slowness to the way he drags a fingertip along the margin of the parchment, tracing one of his own red ink marks, as though considering something deeply.

"You constructed a strong argument," he muses, tilting his head just slightly. "Your thesis was compelling."

A flicker of something too warm coils low in your stomach.

"Your phrasing—" he pauses, exhaling through his nose, as though considering, as though drawing this out intentionally. "—was refined. Articulate."

You swallow hard. "Thank you, Professor."

His mouth curves, the barest hint of something smug. "But what I found most compelling," he continues, "was your attention to detail."

The air pulls tight. Because the way he says it does not feel like an academic critique. It does not feel like anything that belongs in a student-teacher discussion.

"That’s something I’ve noticed about you," he goes on, and his voice is quieter now, softer in a way that steals the breath from your lungs. "You don’t just do the work. You perfect it."

The words should make you proud. Instead, they make you burn.

You force yourself to breathe, to steady your voice. "I—I appreciate that, Professor."

Sharp hums, low and considering. "You're thorough," he murmurs, tilting his head slightly. "Diligent."

Your pulse stumbles.

"Precise."

Your breath catches.

"And," he exhales, his voice dropping to something dangerous, something just this side of indulgent, "you take feedback well."

The words knock the breath out of you. Your heart is a frantic, stuttering thing in your ribs. You hate how warm you feel, how obvious it must be, how your body betrays you.

And then, Sharp moves, the space between you disappearing, inch by inch, until the heat of his presence is nearly brushing against you.

Until he is looming over you.

The breath leaves your lungs too sharply, and you force yourself not to step back. You won’t. Because that would be a retreat. That would be acknowledging whatever this is. And you can’t do that. Not when he’s watching you like this.

"That’s why I expect so much from you," he murmurs, his voice smooth as honey. "Because I know you’ll meet my expectations."

He leans down, just slightly, enough that his breath is almost brushing the side of your temple.

"Won’t you?"

You can’t breathe. Can’t think.

You fight the way your body betrays you—the way heat licks at the back of your neck, the way your pulse pounds in your ears, but Merlin, the space between you is almost nonexistent. His presence is a force pressing against you, the warmth of him just shy of touching, and it’s unbearable.

Your fingers flex against the hem of your sleeves. You swallow, but your throat is dry. “Of course, Professor,” you manage, but it’s too soft. Too breathless.

Sharp hums. Approving. Amused. Knowing.

He leans back just slightly—just enough to allow air to exist between you again, but the absence of his nearness is almost worse than the proximity.

"In fact," he says smoothly, the deep timbre of his voice sinking into your skin. "You very often exceed my expectations."

Your throat closes. Your fingers twitch against the hem of your sleeve, gripping the fabric too tightly, willing yourself to breathe—to recover—to not completely fall apart at the single, devastating utterance of those words in his voice.

“I do my best,” you say, feigning composure, feigning detachment.

Sharp watches you for a beat too long. Then his mouth curves, just slightly. A smirk. Small. Subtle. Infuriating.

“I know. You're such a good girl."

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Heat licks up your spine, sinking deep, pooling low in your stomach—too much, too hot, too consuming. Your breath stutters, your lips part. You need to say something, anything—

"Th—Thank you, Professor."

Sharp smirks. Smirks like he’s just uncovered something dangerous. Something vital. Something he has every intention of using against you.

And you?

You’re drowning.

Your pulse is a frantic, stuttering thing, hammering against your ribs, surging so loudly in your ears that you almost miss the way his gaze lingers, the way he watches you like he’s just confirmed a theory.

Your fingers tremble at your sides, and you force them still, desperate to regain some shred of composure, to steady your breath, to not completely fall apart beneath the weight of his attention.

Because he knows. He knows about your desperate need for his praise and you are completely fucked.

You need to say something. To do something. Anything to break the tension, to reclaim some semblance of control, to pretend that his words didn’t just shatter you.

But you can’t.

Your mouth is dry. Your brain isn’t working.

Because he said it. Because he called you a good girl and you loved it.

Sharp exhales slowly, as if savoring your reaction. "You're welcome," he muses, deliberately slow, watching you the way one watches an experiment unfold.

Then he steps closer.

Not much. Just enough. Enough that his presence is all-consuming, pressing in from all sides, boxing you in—until the edge of the desk digs into the small of your back, an unyielding barrier that he has deliberately backed you into.

Fuck.

Sharp tilts his head slightly, considering. Calculating. His gaze drinks you in, moving from your flushed face to the subtle tremor in your breath, down to the hands you are desperately trying to keep still.

"Something wrong?" he asks, voice smooth as velvet. Mocking.

You swallow hard. “No, Professor.”

Sharp hums. His gaze flickers over your features, sharp and assessing, before settling back on your eyes. “I find that hard to believe.”

Your fingers tighten at your sides. “I assure you, I’m fine.”

Sharp smirks again, tilting his head slightly, as if to study you from a different angle. "Hmm. If that were true, then you wouldn't be holding your breath right now."

Your lips part—sharply exhaling, realizing too late that he’s right.

Shit.

Sharp watches your breath stutter out of you, and the slight twitch of his smirk tells you everything. He shifts again, placing his palm on the desk beside your hip. The shift is subtle but absolutely calculated, because now, he has you caged in.

"You know," he muses, voice low and smooth, "you really are a remarkable student. Dedicated, hardworking..."

Your breath is too shallow.

"And so obedient."

The word is like a spell cast directly into your bloodstream, molten and devastating.

Sharp leans in, his breath a ghost against your temple, the space between you nonexistent. "Tell me," he murmurs, voice like silk, smooth and slow. Dangerous. "Is that how you are in all things? Or does this particular brand of obedience—" his gaze flickers down, then back up, dark and knowing—"only extend to Potions?"

Your brain short-circuits. Every thought, every coherent response, every ounce of reason, completely evaporates. Your lips part, a sound barely escaping—not quite a breath, not quite a whimper—and Sharp catches it.

Of course he does.

He sees it all. Sees the way your pulse pounds visibly at your throat, the way your chest rises and falls too sharply, the way your fingers twitch at your sides as though resisting the urge to reach for him, to cling to him.

His fingers tap once against the desk, measured. Patient. Waiting for you to say something. To answer.

But you can’t.

Because your mind is mush. Because you want him to keep talking. Because you need more. Because every praising syllable out of his mouth does something to you, something ruinous, something you can’t name but don’t even care to fight anymore.

The moment your breath shudders out of you, the moment your lashes flutter just slightly, the moment your knees almost buckle, his smirk deepens.

“You’re not answering,” he observes, voice low, velvet-smooth.

Your lips part. “I—I…”

Sharp exhales—mocking, amused. “Hmm.” His gaze lazily drags down your body, assessing, lingering on the subtle tremor in your fingers, the sharp, uneven rise and fall of your breath.

“I think,” he murmurs, “that means I already have my answer.”

A sharp, impossible sound gets caught in your throat. Your fingers grip the desk now, white-knuckled as Sharp leans in even further, just slightly, just enough for his breath to ghost across your cheek, for his presence to press down on you, for his voice to sink into your skin .

“You really do like being told how good you are, don’t you?”

Your breath hitches—

That’s it.

That’s the breaking point.

Because he’s right. You do. You do. You would do anything—anything—just to hear him tell you again how good you are.

Sharp sees it. He feels it. And he knows you would. Because the moment your lashes flutter, the moment your breath stutters, the moment your grip on the desk tightens, he grins. A slow, devastating, entirely too pleased.

“I thought so.”

Your whole body burns. You can’t breathe. You can’t do anything except stand there, trembling, helpless under his gaze.

Sharp watches you for a beat too long, drinking in the wreckage he’s made of you. Then—

Mercilessly, cruelly—

He steps back.

The loss is staggering.

Your knees almost buckle from the sudden absence of his warmth, of his presence demanding every part of you. But Sharp? He exhales, slow and composed, as if none of this ever happened. As if he didn’t just ruin you. As if he didn’t just unravel you to your very core.

Then, with infuriating calm, he turns toward his desk and picks up a piece of parchment, flicking his gaze back to you as though this is just another day.

“You’ll have your next assignment by Friday,” he says, voice smooth, mockingly casual.

And you? You can’t speak. You can’t do anything but stand there, barely holding yourself together, every inch of your body burning from the inside out.

Because he knows. Because he saw. Because he made you fall apart.

And worst of all?

You want him to do it again.

[rebornofstars]

MY FAVOURITE PARTS OF THE UPDATE

BECAUSE THIS HAS BEEN MY FAVOURITE UPDATE EVER

all comic panels from crescent flame by @linkeduniverse. readmore bc its LONG

can we start with the gorgeous lighting please . like this has to be one of the absolute prettiest palettes i dont know how the colour wheel works but PLEASE im dying over this peach coloured light. and the camera angles??? absolute fire

and we already knew he had it but as far as i can remember this is the first time we've actually seen legend using his lantern????

somoene will have to help me (SOS 😭🙏) because ive lost the spreadsheet matching each item in the december art with its name & game of origin so FORGIVE ME IF IM WRONG BUT ISNT THIS THE SAME LAMP FROM LINK'S HOUSE AT THE BEGINNING OF ALTTP??? legend you sentimental freak (deeply affectionate). hes everything.

and!!!! rulie with the candle. i dont know why im going crazy about a candle but i AM. the fact that rulie uses a light method less modern than legend's old lamp is speaking to me and the inevitable conversation about legend's legacy and the gulf between their eras. this is canon and we've been talking about it for years but seeing them together in direct comparison like this is really hammering it into my skull. and of course jojo's attention to detail is once again UNPARALLELED

also the architecture in this dungeon is just gorgeous. jojo can u design my house pls??? 🥺🥺 i'm in love with all these zoomed out shots as well like holy shit. so effective in creating an atmosphere

PLEASE the fact that hyrule holds his candle right over it to look but then backs off a bit when legend comes over so he can light it with the lamp?????? WORDLESSLY??? i dont know if its just because he knew the lamp would do a better job but the TEAMWORK??? THE COOPERATION??? I LOVE THEM???? i used to think that downfall duo was mostly a fanon invention cause legend and hyrule didnt spend much one-on-one time in the comic but FUCK THAT I BELIEVE!!!! I SEE THE LGIHT!!!!! legend's little grin is telling me everything i need to know

his face im wheezing 😂😂😂😂 rule please how did u survive this long 😭😭😭

and then it doesnt even attack them it just runs away!!!!! accurate!!!! dfd (downfall duo? is this an acceptable acronym?) are TOO OP

im actually fucking dying over this panel u dont understand. strong contender for one of the panels of all time. four has STRUCK UP A POSE. nobody walks down stairs with their hands behind their head that boy is RECLINING DRAMATICALLY.

and WIND DOING HIS LITTLE LEAP. ITS TOTALLY UNECCESSARY. IM SO GLAD IT EXISTS. and time descending in the middle of the stairs staring straight ahead 😭😭😭 equally theatric in his own stupid way im wheezing this is too much. the drama kids. old man & the Youngsters

THE ARGUING ABOUT WHO GETS A TURN AT WHAT. SOOOO SIBLINGS CODED. IM DEAD ON THE FLOOR

wiat wait wait fuck. wait fuck HOW OLD IS FOUR. theyre thinking so furiously theyre gonna hurt their brains. recontextualising every single conversation theyve ever had with the smithy!! im actually sooo sooo happy abt this panel because cheekily mysterious four (especially about completely unecessary things like his AGE) is my kryptonite & i feel like this couldve come straight out of a crackfic. the chaos is unmatched. jojo is on our WAVELENGTH ‼️‼️‼️

they are soooo sooo comfortable with each other. hyrule sasses everyone its true BUT LEGEND IS TAKING HIS SASS AND RESPONDING TO IT. theyre having a debate. legend is expressing all his grumpy opinions and hyrule is like lmao ok i see ur point. ahgsjdbgsj

the way the games are baked into every panel and plot point of this comic.. im actually deceased. also legend's stance is cracking me up

ADORE the way this is framed. love love love

the MISCHIEF AND GLEE ‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️ WHAT IS A LINK IF NOT A DESTROYER OF POTS‼️‼️‼️ this whole page im obsessed with i read it like 3 times cause i couldnt believe my eyes. they ARE besties they ARE. theyre both being so playful & theyre both in their element & pairing them up was a gorgeous fantastic idea and i am SO here for it

in conclusion every update is getting better and better i am LIVING for this dungeon arc and i adore this comic to pieces. thank u for coming to my ted talk

[sexiestpodcastcharacter]

Sexiest Podcast Character 2024 — Unscripted Redemption Bracket — Round 4.5−1

Propaganda

Kian Stone (Just Roll With It: Blood in the Bayou) (Boba Count: 2 and 2 shared):

WHOEVER SUBMITTED KIAN DID HIM ABSOLUTELY DIRTY WITHOUT PUTTING PROPAGANDA IN. KIAN STONE, BEAUTIFUL TALL BLOND MAN. PINK TIPS IN HIS HAIR. BEAUTIFUL KIND BLUE EYES. WEARS MAKEUP ON THE DAILY. CARRIES A GUITAR AND SIMULTANEOUSLY USES IT AS A WEAPON/CRASH PROTECTION. IS NAKED FOR MOST OF THE SHOW. HAS BEAUTIFUL TATTOOS ON HIS HANDS AND CHEST AND SEVERAL PIERCINGS

Usidore the Blue, Wizard of the 12th Realm of Ephysiyies, Master of Light and Shadow, Manipulator of Magical Delights, Devourer of Chaos, Champion of the Great Halls of Terr'akkas, the elves know him as Fi’ang Yalok, the dwarfs know him as Zoenen Hoogstandjes, and he is known in the Northeast as Gaismunēnas Meistar, and there may be other secret names you do not know yet (Hello from the Magic Tavern) (Boba Count: 1 and 2 shared):

I just think wizards are sexy

Phrygian (Friends at the Table: PARTIZAN and PALISADE) (Boba Count: 1):

monsterfuckers vote phrygian. it's mandatory to keep your card.

Phrygian instead of having a mech to fight other mechs turns into a huge, distressing 'war form', with, for example, toxic breath and a 'buccal outpocket'. When u use your capacity to change and embody things to to change into something extremely fucked up,, much to think about. + I hear you guys like Interesting Suffering as a dimension of sexiness- what's more 'interesting suffering' than the pressures of contingencies of a world at war by needing to weaponise your self-expressive outlet into an instrument of violence

impossibly far from home & fighting a proxy war about it

I think y'all may be sleeping on how potentially-sexy Being A Room could be. Like, see this fic-- nonstandard and strange intimacy, you guyss

Psst. Come listen to a dramatic reading of how sexy being a haunted deck is. And then vote for Phrygian.

Art of Phrygian courtesy of @queenoftheantz.

Additional propaganda below the cut:

Kian Stone (Just Roll With It: Blood in the Bayou)

"well that doesnt sound appealing thats just a guy" Hold On ☝️ this part contains spoilers BUT:

EPISODE 3 HE GETS TURNED INTO A GIANT SPINDLY BUG MONSTER WITH WIRES AND FLESH ON HIS CHWST HE PLAYS LIKE A GUITAR. SHOUTOUT MONSTERFUCKERS. also he talks in 80s slang and pretends to be a rockstar when hes actually a stockbroker so theres that. hes also canonically awful at driving 🩷. he could also be transgender if you want him to be. have you seen him. anyway KIAN STONE MY LOVER 🗣️🗣️🗣️‼️‼️

VOTE KIAN STONE !!!

Phrygian (Friends at the Table: PARTIZAN and PALISADE)

Phrygian is a shapeshifting alien scientist who's true form is like… a rythm. But will appear as vaguley human shaped cables! Or a room! Or a haunted deck of a boat! Physical form is only whatever they think encapsules their vibe! Can you think of something hotter? I'd tap (to) that rythm!

Vote for Phrygian, they're a scientist who got dragged into a war and their body is made of a tangle of wires but they can also be an entire apartment and a haunted deck on a ship

whats sexier than that

#PHRYGIAN #okay well you know we are going off about phrygian. you know we are. #can we tell you about the time they one-shotted an evil god in one of the most impossibly tense moments in podcasting history #which time? great question. they make a habit of it #they're sad they're funny they have space autism #they're a peaceful bunch of cables they're a living weapon they're dangerous and smart as hell #they're a powerhouse they're a soldier except no they're not. they're a researcher who should be studying right now #but they have to fight a war. they always have to fight a war. their whole civilization always has to fight this stupid war forever. #they're so courageous and so amazing in their flat refusal to back down. they're so unparalleled as a keith character in such a good way. #and they make us so SAD#we wrote an entire longfic and everything else for a whole year because of how sad phrygian makes us. and how happy. and how everything. #so i guess the long version of this propaganda is (checks notes) 72k words posted and we don't even know how long for real #go read wire guy. or better yet go listen to partizan and palisade #and best of all vote for phrygian #this is where we simply must say with all of our will and force and hearts #phrygian SWEEP #remember when they told a kid “maybe your dad just doesn't like you” #phryglikers it's time. it's our time. let's go

mutuals I know you have no idea who either of these people are but please. Please vote for phrygian please please please I will give you my blood

listen. idk either of these characterz, but i’m cheering 4 phrygian all the way >:)

Damn that's real close. Would be a shame if I were to send this to a community that finds wires sexy.

[elliecuteckothes]

Let's discuss kayden x kartein.

SPOILERS

Imo this ship makes totally sense

1. Both don't have any love interest

2. They are always together.

3. Cmon dont tell me that u guys believe that he is staying only for Jiwoo??? The man literally picked up the phone and even came there for Kayden. He literally rejected every offer but accepted Kaydens. He literally said " lets go home" HDKSJ. Also Kayden was totally certain that Kartein could heal Jiwoo.

Also when Kayden was fighting the evil guy, Kartein was protecting the students. Kayden gave Jiwoo to him in princess style.

Also let's talk ab this, Kartein, the guy known for rejecting everyone, is there everytime when Kayden goes in a fight.

Let's also talk ab how he wanted to sacrifice himself. And Kayden knew smth was wrong.

4. Their designs are literally the ying and the yang. Kartein=light, kayden= darkness.

5. The way Kayden looks at him.

6. The dynamic w Jiwoo. It literally looks like a family. Kartein with his soft colors and his "feminine" beauty and healing magic is seen as the mom. Kayden is seen as the Dad who trains the kid.

7. Also, trust me, Ive read a lot of korean/chinese novels of all types. What was similar in the bl types is that they are both beautiful amd have a beauty that cant be compared to the other guys. Look at them!!! They are the only guys w unparalleled beauty. Also, generally instructors in korean typically make comments ab girls and stuff, but all Kayden cares ab is fighting lmao.

Also when Kayden went to save Kartein, he got really angry when the evil guy said that Kartein had to stay there. And let's talk ab Kartein, he literally used his last bit of energy to heal Kayden and trusted him w his life. AND THEN WHEN KAYDEN CARRIED HIM.

Tbh we have been getting a lot of kayden x kartein material recently.

"Lead the way Kayden"

*smirk: "I WILL LEAD THE WAY AS MANY TIMES AS U WANT" LIKEEEEE

This is so out of a bl novel like wtffff

[writingstoraes]

Hey are you still accepting request idk but if you are, can you please write a charles x famous actress like FAMOUS famous if you get what i mean 😭😭 and people doesn't believe them being together even tho he listed her as his fav actresses because they are like "there's no way he bagged this goddess" and rest is up to you honestly i tried to be very vague because at the end of the day it's still your story!!

unbelievable 🎬

pairing: charles leclerc/fem!actress!reader

type: instagram imagine, social media au

notes: hello lovely! yes i am accepting requests but as of now i'm only doing ones w charles (those who requested for other drivers pls be patient hehe) thank you so much for requesting and i hope you like this 🤍 hope you don't mind i tweaked some details!

about: as much as fans adore charles, they deem it "impossible" that rumors circulating social media are true!

YouTube, now playing: 2023 Grid, 5-Second Challenge

1023 comments

livelaughleclerc: totally relatable i would also risk my life for y/n

ynloves: oh who is he he's so adorable 😣

f1fans22: charles is a big fan of y/n and he will never live it down i fear

filmlines: KING HES SO RELATABLE

yourusername

liked by lanadelslay, charles_leclerc, zendaya, and 2,395,921 others

yourusername Word on the street? 💐

filmluver mam what do you mean word on the street the word is literally you and a formula 1 driver dating

lecssainzzzz this is so sick literally right when the dating rumors are setting twt on fire 😭

hamilecsz you're telling me there's a possibility her and charles are actually dating...

ynpopper who????? f1thusiast charles leclerc, he's an f1 driver, there's a rumor they're apparently dating

moviegeekz A soft launch??? Well this is new 🤭

lecsstappen CHARLES LIKED???

f1bees girl ofc he's her biggest fan its not surprising 😭

charles_leclerc

liked by landonorris, pierregasly, alexalbon23, and 1,204,295 others

charles_leclerc Some pop of color for today.

landonorizz THE FLOWERS???? SIR???

hamilt0n oh my god what if the rumor is actually true i am going to break down

sainzmilton ever since that rumor came out i haven't known peace 😣

maxyrbr19 i still dont believe he can pull her....

scuderiasz calm down guys he's just being a fanboy 🙏

charles_leclerc

liked by pierregasly, yourusername, lorenzotl, and 1,928,249 others

charles_leclerc Would still be your biggest fan even if I wasn't your boyfriend, but who says I can't do both?

Joyeux anniversaire, mon amour ❤️ Happy anniversary, my love.

tagged: yourusername

yourusername Glad to know I remain unparalleled as your favorite actress, baby 😘

charles_leclerc You're my favorite person, too 🤷 pierregasly Now that's just sick, Charles

daylightlando OH I LOVE THIS SO MUCH

f1paddockz power and it couple of the year i said what i said

carlossainz55 Now we said she was our favorite actress too but why weren't we acknowledged?

landonorris YEAH??? yourusername I'm sorry...

yourusername

liked by zendaya, arianagrande, selenagomez, and 8,294,392 others

yourusername My biggest fan 🤍 Sometimes it's unbelievable I get to be with you everyday.

yncults we love u queen we're so happy for you 🙏

lovingyn SO ADORABLE

filmpopz the hardest a hard launch has ever launched im afraid

charles_leclerc Some say it's the other way around 🤣

lecsluv he saw the comments omg 😭 ferrarirbr we're sorry we ever doubted you, king 😣

----------

tagging: @slytherheign, @honethatty12, @siovhanroy, @fdl305, @iloveyou3000morgan, @cxcewg, @sassyheroneckgiant, @ang3licho3, @pitlanebabe, @riverdalexvixens, @msliz, @boherahpsody (if anyone else wants to be a part of my taglist, pls lmk by replying or sending me a message hehe)

notes: thank you so much for reading <3

[matchadobo]

Can I request Kid x reader (established relationship) where he and the crew find out the reader is a run away princess beacuse she was arranged to get married to a prince who was awful? You can expand on this concept as much as u want!!

KIDD; runaway princess

wc: 2003

warning/s: none, very fluff, kidd's being violent tho

"snap at me when you've taken down more than half of what i had done, cutie." he taunted, pinning down enemies one after the other that almost got to you. "so i don't gotta watch your back all the time."

"i'll point the gun at you instead, numbskull."

once the lot of you had reached a quiet alley, you all settled down. some had got a hold of their knees, sat on the ground with their backs on the cold, bricked walls, or face flat on the asphalt trying to catch their breaths.

but you were too occupied with thinking if you should out yourself because you are overflowing with guilt. some of your men have been injured but thankfully enough no one died. while some of your mates tended to their wounds, you couldn't take all the guilt so you stepped up.

"why are you standin' like that?" kidd looked at you funny. he stood tall with his back against the wall, his arms crossed, a puzzled expression on his face.

"i... have something to confess to you guys." you said with your head hung low, fists balled up. the others figured that it was serious, so everyone stopped lousing around and had their eyes on you. you took your time gathering your thoughts and words and they anticipated patiently.

"out with it, love." kidd nudged you, placing his human arm on your shoulder. he donned a gentle smile which cheered you on. a smile only known to you and for you.

"the real reason why we're being chased by the royal guards of my village is not just because we're pirates. it's mostly because i-i'm the lost princess who ran away on her wedding day." you spat bitterly, bile rising across your throat.

you pulled out a bounty poster of you that you snatched from the pub you lot were drinking at earlier. "i colored and grew out my hair so i wouldn't be recognized." you placed the poster side by side. the utter astonishment in their eyes as even the littlest resemblance was not evident. you got too careless that your hair later grew out and your roots were showing. even with the make up, the people from your village were able to recognize you.

you took a look at them and they all had the same expression, jaws dropped on the floor. but you especially took a long glance at kidd, his face was unparalleled and you couldn't read him. was he angry? shocked? sad? amused?

he sucked in his teeth and tsked, "sounds like my little rockstar." he looked at you, eye-to-eye as he watched how tears pooled by your eyes. "kinda figured you're somewhat of a princess though, you're too damn pretty to be in my world."

"yeah?" you placed your hand above his which was clutching your cheeks. "i-i'm sorry i lied... i was... scared."

in a millisecond, kidd pulled you to his grasp by the back of your neck. he stroked at the back of your head, combing his fingers through your locks. "that ain't a problem, alright? i'm more than happy to take you away whatever reason you got going on." he pledged by your ear, his embrace tightening. "you better tell me all about it though, aye?"

"i'm really sorry, this is all my fault you guys got hurt." you sobbed silently yet you don't even think deserve to cry. "i-i'll just surrender so you guys can get off the hook-"

"name, no! what?!"

"now that's going too far, name!"

"don't even think about it, name! as if we'd let you!"

"what the hell do you think you're talking about?!" kidd fumed, eyes furious alternating between your glassy ones. "you do realize that when you became part of the crew, you're stuck with us, aye? whatever bullshit you're planning, get it the fuck outta your mind." he kicked a lone rock by the asphalt before turning his back to you. "don't go dropping shit like that like it's some normal fuckin' thing. think about what you really want, and maybe consider my goddamn feelings along the way, why don'tcha." kidd strutted deeper into the alley, with each click of his heel you felt guilt boring through your soul. you couldn't see it but his eyeliner was starting to fuck up because of the forming tears.

you fell to your knees, frustrated. some of the crew members gave you a hug as you started crying your heart out, remembering all the excruciating days of royalty. it was tormenting. but you wanted your crew to go free. if it means to save them, you'd do anything. so you made your way to consult your lover by the corner.

"if you want to surrender. you're just being selfish at this point, name." kidd said through gritted teeth, bitter words making your heart break. "you don't even think about what we want? what i fuckin' want? i know for goddamn sure that you don't want that, why else would you run away then? so let me ask you, what do you really want?" he looked you in the eye, both hands on your shoulders.

"i-i want to be with you. i feel the most free when i'm with you. i want you to be the one i marry. i don't want to be shackled by these posh shit, i want to sail the seas with you. i want to celebrate every birthday with the crew. i want to see everyone reach their dreams, especially you. i want to be with you every step along the way. i-i want to have that, b-but if this princess thing-"

"no buts, i heard you loud and clear, baby." he interrupted with a kiss on the forehead. "you wanna settle this the kidd pirate's way or what?" he suggested with the most manic grin against your ear. "i'm tempted to hunt down that moron prince who had the nerve to marry you. gotta teach 'em to not meddle with someone else's treasure."

"don't tell me you're burning the whole village down..." you looked up at him, though there was no shred of empathy in your eyes. seems like he and the crew had rubbed off on you.

"you bet i will."

hiii thanks for the request! very sporadic updates bc i'll have exams in a week 😞

[sukunatoes]

Sanguine

Chapter 2: An Unbreakable Vow

18+, MDNI

True Form Sukuna x Fem Reader

Content Warning: Canon typical violence, blood, broken bones, small amounts of fighting, tobacco usage

A/N: thank u to everyone who read chapter one and liked it <3 Hope u guys like chapter two okay :)

Ryomen Sukuna.

What the hell was he doing here?

No, that didn’t matter now. Not only were you standing face-to-face with him, but he was staring you down like you were prey. You needed to think quickly before your time ran out.

His sadistic grin somehow grew even wider as he took a step towards you.

Sukuna was massive. The stories and even seeing footage of him did not do his true form justice. He towered over you, and if you had to guess, he was somewhere between seven and eight feet tall. Four Herculean arms protruded from his torso. Each one was graced by thick, black tattoos. The same obsidian ink slithered from behind his shoulders and down his exposed chest. An immense maw stretched across the middle of his abdomen and looked like it could swallow you whole should he desire so.

If his physical appearance wasn’t intimidating enough, his presence alone was unlike anything you had ever experienced before. His cursed energy consumed everything around him, and it felt as if he was the only thing left in this world. It was intoxicating the way it flooded through you.

“What do we have here?” He purred. His crimson eyes were wild with hunger, but you couldn’t tell whether it was for your physical flesh or the prospect of having a toy to play with.

You stumbled backward, trying to quickly gain your composure for what you knew was inevitable. Fighting him one-on-one was not an option. You had known that from the moment you acquired this mission. You couldn’t use your technique and attack something like his heart or lungs. Sukuna was incarnated, which meant he could technically survive without his vital organs. It would tremendously weaken him as long as they were out of commission, but he would just heal them. His reverse curse technique was unparalleled, and his regeneration abilities were far too great.

The only real path to defeating Ryomen Sukuna would either be to damage his soul directly or to take him out in one fell swoop. Your technique cannot interfere with souls, which is exactly why you were seeking the divine weapons in the first place. You needed a powerful tool to take him out all at once.

The best option in front of you right now was to injure him just enough to buy time to get away. After successfully escaping, you would continue your search and seek him out only after the weapons were acquired. You did not want to face him unless you knew your victory was certain.

“I asked you a question, and I won’t give you another chance to answer.” His warning was immediately followed by another step towards you.

You knew you should answer and try to buy even the smallest amount of time to prepare yourself to use your technique. Everything felt like there was a haze surrounding it, and you struggled to think. Your lips parted in hopes that something, anything at all, would spew out, but instead the words died before they could escape your throat.

“How boring,” he sighed, his face twisting into what almost looked like a pout. He did want to toy with you after all.

Sick bastard.

Suddenly, Sukuna lunged forward. He was fast, but thankfully he didn’t deem you as much of a threat, so he wasn’t moving at his full speed. You stepped to the side, barely dodging the arms that reached for you. Before he even realized what he witnessed, you were standing behind him. Your hand, flat and fingers splayed, collided with his back and landed against the black haori draped across him.

“Ryomen Sukuna.” Your voice betrayed your nervousness as it trembled, but you still tried to stand strong. “You will not attempt to use your cursed technique on me, and if you do, your arms will shatter.”

The rule was set.

He spun his head around, eyes wide and nostrils flaring. His previous demeanor was instantly replaced with a blinding fury. The mere thought of someone like you giving him an order undoubtedly sent him into a rage. With a sneer, he began raising his top right arm, two fingers extending back towards you.

“Disman-“ His command was suddenly cut short as a gasp escaped him. In that split second, he felt it. The atmosphere both around him and inside him, swelling with your cursed energy. Bending to your will.

A fierce cursed technique that had the capabilities to warp reality itself should you will it.

Sukuna’s top right arm began contorting into various directions, your cursed energy guiding it from both inside and out. The sound of bones cracking filled the air as he watched his arm shatter before his eyes.

Now was your only chance.

You rushed towards the open door, your body barely crossing the threshold before a frigid feeling spread across your lower body, trapping you in place.

Shit. You knew this technique.

You quickly pressed your hands to the ice that had entrapped your legs.

“Ice, melt!” Within an instant, the ice was nothing more than a puddle on the floor, and you were gone.

Wind pelted against your body in full force as you made your way back down the mountainside. Your legs carried you as fast as possible, not allowing a single second to go to waste. The relentless downpour continued, drenching every inch of your body. Mud splattered up your calves with every step you took, and you struggled to keep yourself from sliding in it, which was unusual with your enhanced abilities.

Sukuna would chase after you. That much was certain. He already wanted to tear into you before you broke his bones; now there was no telling what he was plotting to do if he caught up with you. Despite the slight edge you have on him with your head start, you still needed to throw him off your trail somehow.

You brought your hand up to your face and said your own name out loud.

“As long as you’re running from Ryomen Sukuna, your cursed energy will be undetectable.”

The rule was set.

There was no more you could do besides continue your race back down the mountain. You ran for what felt like forever before you slid to a halt. Throwing your head back, you leaned against a tree for support. Just a moment to catch your breath is all you needed.

Your breathing was ragged and your heartbeat elevated after your escape. Thankfully, there was no sign of Sukuna or Uraume. You hoped that between your concealed cursed energy and the rain washing away your footprints, it would stay that way.

A strange ache began to spread from the nape of your neck and up through the crown of your head, but you chalked it up to nothing more than exhaustion.

After a minute of rest, you took off again at full speed. Whether they could track you or not, you needed to get out of this place as fast as possible. The bottom of the mountain would be within reach soon, your car probably parked another thirty minutes or so away. Hopefully, you won’t have another encounter with Ryomen Sukuna until after you find what you’re seeking.

Lightning electrified the sky, its vivid branches stretching all the way to the horizon. The crackling of thunder immediately followed. Its harsh noise ricocheted off your surroundings and stole your attention away for a split second.

The sudden distraction proved detrimental as a force unlike anything you had ever felt collided just underneath the right side of your ribcage and sent you flying. Your body slammed into a nearby tree before falling to the ground. Pain rippled throughout your abdomen as you struggled to pull in a breath. It’d be a miracle if nothing was broken after the hit you just took.

That familiar sense of dread filled your body as he made his presence known once again.

He had found you.

Fuck.

Refusing to give you a single second, he reached out and grabbed the collar of your jacket, yanking you from the muddy forest floor. One of his other hands pulled both your wrists together behind your back before forcing you against the tree. A third hand wrapped itself around your jaw, forcing your eyes up to meet his. Water ran down your face as his calloused fingers squeezed into your cheeks.

“I’ll admit, that’s an interesting technique you have, but did you really think you could escape me?”

You struggled to move your wrists in an attempt to break free, but it was in vain. He tightened his grip on your wrists, pulling a yelp from your throat. If he squeezed any harder, they’d snap in two. Although you assumed he considered that a fitting outcome after what you had just done to his arm.

“Your cursed technique requires you to touch the subject first,” he pushed his body against yours, the weight of it knocking the air from your lungs. The corners of his mouth turned up in a smile. “We can’t have that now, can we?”

He was taunting you.

“I already know what fate I’ll meet at your hands, so go ahead and get it over with,” you spat at him. “I have no interest in playing any games with you, Sukuna.”

This time, he tightened the grip on your jaw before slamming a third hand right above your head. The arm you had previously broken. It was healed completely, as if you had never even touched it. His nails curled into the bark as he sneered at you.

“You misunderstand me, little sorcerer. I have no intention of killing you, at least not yet. Unfortunately for you, you have piqued my interest.”

“I said I’m not interested in play-“

He completely released the grip on your jaw before slamming his palm against your mouth. Pain radiated across your face at the sharp impact.

“You can either accompany me back to the shrine with your hands behind your back and tell me all about your little cursed technique.” Sukuna pulled back, releasing you completely, and looked you up and down in disgust. “Or, I’ll drag your fucking body through the mud the entire way. It’s your choice.”

You peeled yourself from the harsh bark digging into your back and stood upright, keeping your hands behind you. Preparing to move once again, you shifted your weight from your heels to your toes, but before you had the chance to lunge, he had already caught on.

Sukuna’s fist barreled into your abdomen, red energy pulsating around the point of impact. This hit was reinforced with cursed energy and far stronger than the first. Your body was flying through the air once again, traveling a greater distance this time. With an audible thump, your face slammed into the ground with a cracking sound. The warm, wet sensation of blood trickling from your nose could be felt as you tried to force yourself up, just barely pulling your upper body from the forest floor. Your nose was most likely fractured from the impact.

“Pathetic,” he hissed. His voice was growing closer once again. You’ll never survive at this rate.

Before you could fully rise to your knees, a crushing weight pressed against your upper spine, sending your face back into the ground. You squirmed, prompting a chuckle from him as he pressed his foot down even harder.

Tears pricked your eyes as your lungs cried out for oxygen, a burning sensation ripping throughout your upper body as you struggled against his weight. The pressure grew heavier as his laugh got louder. If he didn’t snap your spine first, you’d suffocate in this state in no time.

“Okay—“ was all you could choke out.

Thankfully, that one word was sufficient for him. Within an instant, he pulled back and put space between the two of you. You brought yourself up to your knees, gasping for air on all fours while Sukuna looked upon you with amusement.

“Good, let’s go,” he said, turning his back to you and heading back towards the shrine. He stopped suddenly, offering you one more glance. “If I so much as sense you moving those disgusting hands of yours, I’ll kill you where you stand, and I’ll make sure it’s not a peaceful end.”

——————

Not a single word was spoken between you and Sukuna as you made your trek back to the shrine. You walked side by side, his lower left eye never once leaving you. About halfway through, the storm had thankfully met its end. Every inch of you was soaked through to your skin, and mud clung to your face and body alike. The January breeze whipped against your exposed skin, sending a shiver down your spine. Regardless of being chilled, you fought as hard as possible not to show it, fearing that the slightest annoyance would set him off.

You trudged your way up the steps of the shrine, regretting every decision that led you to this moment. If only you had left earlier whenever you had gotten unnerved at the shrine’s door, you would not currently be held against your will by the King of Curses.

Ryomen Sukuna only lived by his own pleasure. When he did something, it was because it benefited him, and for that reason, you were unsure why he would want you to come back here with him. You had nothing to offer him.

Sukuna reached out and slid the door open, nodding for you to enter first. Uraume was sitting against the wall opposite the doorway, their lavender eyes scrutinizing you. Sukuna slipped in immediately following you and made his way towards them before lowering himself to the ground.

“I see you found her,” Uraume noted. Their voice was flat and devoid of any emotion. “Not that there was ever a doubt you would, master.”

Sukuna just huffed in response, never once tearing his eyes off of you.

You glanced down at your body as a single drop of water fell from your jacket and hit the ground below you. Setting your backpack down, you peeled off your jacket before using the interior of it to wipe the mud off your face and neck. Flinging your jacket off to the side, you placed your hand on the drenched fabric across your abdomen.

“Shirt, dry.”

The rule set, and within an instant, your cursed energy siphoned every bit of water from the fibers. You slid your hand down, it landing on your upper thigh. Sukuna’s eyes still bored into you, observing your technique in action.

“Pants, dry.”

The same thing happened to your pants. Liquid evaporated within an instant and left behind perfectly dry clothing. Your undergarments and hair were still soaked, but this would be enough for now to keep you warm.

“Your technique,” Sukuna started as he rested his head against one of his now propped-up hands. “Works easier on inanimate objects than it does on others.”

You had already guessed that he figured out most of your technique from observing it a handful of times.

“My technique gives me the ability to impose a set of rules on a target of my choosing. In order to set those rules, I must touch the target and say its name out loud. This goes for both inanimate objects and people alike. When vocalizing the rule, I must give humans an option as they have free will and are able to act on their own accord. Objects, however, I can impose a direct order on as they are not living.”

You squatted down and reached into the front pocket of your bag, grabbing that familiar cardboard pack you’ve grown over-reliant on. Bringing a much-needed cigarette to your lips, you set it ablaze before taking a painstakingly slow drag.

“This is not without its limits, though,” you said, dragging your eyes back up to Sukuna. “I can only impose up to three rules at one time, and I have one that’s permanently in place with a binding vow. It enhances both my physical strength and speed, which leaves only two rules at my disposal at any given time.”

In an attempt to test this, Sukuna raised two fingers and mumbled a quick dismantle. The wooden wall to his right splintered as the slash hit it. His arm remained intact this time.

“The rule I imposed on you expired as soon as I used my technique two more times.”

“Is your technique hereditary?” he inquired.

After some adjusting to get as comfortable as you could on the wooden floor, you now sat against the wall next to the shrine’s door. You pulled the cigarette out from between your lips. “No, I’m the only person in my family to have a technique at all.”

The silence that followed was nearly deafening. Neither you nor Sukuna spoke for a few minutes. The only sound to be heard was the rustling wind and the sound of your exhales as you finished your cigarette. He stared at you the entire time, but his expression was no longer one of malice and hunger. It was analytical.

“What’s your relation to Jujutsu High?” his voice finally breaking through the quiet atmosphere.

“I attended school there but stopped working alongside them years ago.”

You purposely kept your answer curt, not wanting to divulge anything more to him.

“Why were you in this shrine?”

“I was on a hike, and the storm broke. I took off seeking shelter, hoping maybe I’d find a cave somewhere. Luckily, I found this shrine instead.” The lies easily rolled off your tongue, smooth enough not even he would see through them.

“You’re a terrible liar.”

Fuck.

Sukuna pushed himself to his feet. All it took was two strides before he was in front of you. He grabbed your shirt with one of his hands, the fabric balling up in his fist, and yanked you to your feet.

“Even if you weren’t,” he quipped as he slid another one of his hands into your back pocket. “You forgot about something.”

He pulled out the talisman from earlier that you had kept and shoved it in your face. The seal you took when you first arrived had completely slipped your mind.

“Your cursed energy was completely undetectable once you escaped me earlier. You likely imposed one of your rules on yourself to do so.”

Sukuna was reading you like a book.

“However, this right here.” He began waving the worn paper around. “Was emitting a faint trail the entire time, and it matches traces of energy found in the next room over.”

Sukuna released his grip on your shirt, shoving you away from him. With a thud, you slammed into the wall behind you. He raised his hand, extending two of his fingers. You flinched, preparing for his dismantle, but the slash never came. Instead, you heard his sonorous voice once again.

“You have one more opportunity to tell me what you were doing here.“

The only two opportunities before you now were to tell the truth and hopefully survive or refuse to answer and meet your end. Having the weapons fall into his grasp should be avoided at all costs. However, no one has ever been able to find them, and he likely wouldn’t even know where to look. Hell, he might not even believe they exist. It would be a massive gamble, but it could buy you even another minute to try and get out of this situation.

“Make no mistake, I still intend to keep you alive.” That same vile smile you had been met with during your first encounter returned. “But those hands of yours are going to be the first to go.”

He planned to take away the means of using your cursed technique. You forced your hands behind your body, attempting to shield them from his slashes.

“You really are fucking stupid.” Sukuna reached around you and latched onto your wrists, pulling them out from behind you and into his view.

He was right. You had been acting irrationally since the second your paths crossed. Forgetting the talisman, allowing him to track you, hiding your hands like a guilty child, freezing in place instead of acting. It wasn’t just uncharacteristic of you; it went against every fiber of your being. Years of rigorous training that had been instilled upon you were being forgotten within an instant.

Every step you had made since encountering Ryomen Sukuna had been wrong. It was like you couldn’t think straight. Looking back, it felt like every choice you made had been on instinct alone and not logic. Sure, you were terrified, but you were supposed to be able to withstand that fear and push forward.

It felt like he was doing something to you. Surely, he didn’t have a secondary technique. No. You had felt uneasy when you first arrived at the shrine. Maybe the shrine was responsible for your hazy mind.

None of this matters now.

Saving your technique was currently your only priority. You thrashed your hand around desperately trying to make contact with his skin so you could activate your technique, but it was no use.

“Time’s up.” He lifted a third hand, extending his fingers once again. “Dis—“

“Wait! I was looking for something!”

“Oh?” He released your wrists and took a step back, crossing his upper pair of arms.

“A cursed weapon,” you breathed, pulling your hands back and clasping them behind your back. “I was here in this shrine because I was searching for a cursed weapon.”

“And, what of this cursed weapon?” Sukuna’s voice betrayed his intrigue in the subject.

“An ancient weapon. An unstoppable force.” Your gaze wandered around, unable to make direct eye contact with him. “Stories of the four divine weapons have been passed down throughout the three major clans for generations. They said whoever wielded them would become a god.”

Throwing his head back, a thunderous laugh escaped him.

“Ancient, unstoppable weapons that make you a god. You want to be a god, do you?” Ridicule dripped from his lips like honey.

He looked at you in revulsion at the thought. Such a lowly being desperately seeking out power. For a split second, he almost looked like he pitied you, but you doubt someone like Sukuna could even feel pity. No, he just thought you were pathetic.

“No.”

“Then what purpose do you have in pursuing these weapons?”

You brought your eyes back to his. “I was tasked with tracking and eliminating you.”

His sharp canines flashed as he sneered at you. That same wild look returned to his eyes. He was furious.

“You were entrusted with killing me.” He stepped towards you again, this time caging you against the wall with his body. “So you sought out a godlike weapon to do so.”

Sukuna leaned down, his breath hot on your face. You instinctively flinched, turning your face to the side, but he pushed closer, his nose all but brushing your cheek. “But instead of finding this weapon, you found me. How unfortunate for you.”

His cursed energy swelled in his anger, and that overwhelming sense of raw power surged through the air around you. The strange ache from earlier returned to the nape of your neck, radiating upward.

Was it him that was affecting you after all?

“You will take me to find these cursed weapons,” he said, placing a pair of hands on the wall next to you, one on each side of your face. He wouldn’t allow you a moment to breathe this time.

Absolutely not.

“Why don’t you go search for them yourself? Surely it’d be more effective than relying on someone as stupid as me.”

“You could be right, but I think you have a good idea of where to look.” Sukuna’s cursed energy was leveling out. His look of malice was now long gone and was replaced by something more contemplative.

“And why would I ever allow something so powerful to fall into your grasp?”

He finally pulled away, allowing you space. “Once we find these weapons, I’ll allow you one opportunity to use them on me. That’s what you wanted after all, right?”

Sukuna was either vastly underestimating the strength of the divine weapons or already had a plan in motion to deceive you. It was even probable it could be a mixture of both. Regardless, his possible deception was irrelevant. Not much is known about the weapons, but you knew that not even he could survive.

“I’ll agree that you can accompany me in my search for the weapons, but in return you must not only allow me an opportunity to use them on you but guarantee you will not harm or kill me.”

A dramatic sigh fell from his lips, accompanied by an eye-roll from the more human-looking side of his face. “I will not harm you during our search, but if you fail to end me, it’s fair game.”

“It’s a deal then.”

“However, the jujutsu sorcerers are not to attack me while I’m with you. If something happens to me by their hand, you’ll pay tremendously.”

He wanted assurance that you wouldn’t lead him into an ambush. Reasonable, but uncharacteristically cautious for the King of Curses. His most recent brush with death was wearing him down more than he’d likely ever admit. You needed to be wary of this. Sukuna’s greatest, and probably only, downfall was his arrogance. Him becoming more meticulous than he already was could spell trouble for you.

“Fine.”

He reached out and grabbed your right hand in one of his. His fingers alone swallowed it entirely before he gave it a firm squeeze. “An unbreakable vow then, yes?”

Your eyes met his face as you offered nothing more than a small nod. The second you agreed, you could feel your stomach drop. You knew it was set, and there was no going back now. A binding vow that neither of you could break, or the consequences would be devastating.

What have you done?

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