#Can't even throw himself into battle to forget! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

the-boundless-sea · 3 months ago

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a list of stark family moments and details i treasure 🫶

jon telling gilly she has a pretty name when they meet because sansa told him once that he should always tell a lady they have a pretty name upon being introduced (jon iii, acok)

robb sitting up with bran after he goes to bed, trying to cheer his little brother up after his fall by telling him how their mother will be home soon and after they'll do a surprise visit to jon in castle black

and bran realizing robb has started crying as he says this, and so taking on the role of comforter and reaching out to hold his big brother's hand as they sit in the dark (bran iv, agot)

robb being unable to resist correcting catelyn for leaving jon out when she says there were 'five wolves for five stark children' despite trying not to argue with her (catelyn ii, asos)

this acting as an echo of when they found the wolves and it initially appeared there were only five, and jon, arguing they should keep the pups to make bran happy, told ned it was a sign that there were five direwolves for five stark kids. even at 7-years-old, bran understands jon is leaving himself out of the count to make it match and loves his brother "with all his heart at that moment." (bran i, agot)

"he was no true stark, had never been one... but he could die like one. let them say that eddard stark fathered four sons, not three." - jon, as he attempts to leave the night's watch to join robb (jon ix, agot)

"mother. you forget my father had four sons. jon's more a stark than some lordlings from the vale who've never set eyes on winterfell." robb, as he legitimizes jon as a stark, names him his heir, and goes to release him from the night's watch (catelyn v, asos)

jon being so overjoyed when bran wakes up from his coma that he cries, hugs tyrion and runs around castle black telling random guards his brother is going to live (jon iii, agot)

arya and bran teaming up to ambush sansa with a dozen snowballs each and sansa retaliating by chasing arya throughout the castle until she tripped. arya stopping to make sure she wasn't hurt and throwing another snowball at her face when she isn't. sansa pulling arya to to the ground and covering her in snow while they both laugh the whole time.

sansa making a snow model of winterfell after reliving this memory because there's no point in snowballs without someone to throw them at. (sansa vii, asos)

everything about the story of jon and robb's ghost prank in the crypts. robb making sure they have one (1) candle about to flicker out. jon being covered in flour makes him a ghost. bran holding arya's hand and hiding behind robb. sansa just fucking taking off. arya's strategy being to punch a ghost into submission. jon and robb laughing so hard bran and arya can't even stay mad and start laughing too. the fact the entire reason it comes up is it's a memory that makes arya smile and feel brave. (arya iv, agot)

rickon being too young to understand why jon isn't sitting with them like he normally does when the king is visiting and holding up the procession when he sees jon sitting somewhere else. (jon i, agot) he keeps asking why jon isn't sitting with them throughout the feast. (bran iii, acok)

jon telling catelyn he doesn't care if she calls the guards on him, she can't stop him saying goodbye to bran.

robb being able to tell something is off with jon after this takes place, and gently asking if his mother said something and jon lying in response to smooth the situation out. (jon ii, agot)

bran wondering if direwolves miss their brothers and sisters too. (bran i, acok)

jon and robb climbing the towers at winterfell to practice shouting at one another after ned told them it's doesn't matter how brilliant a man is if his men can't hear his commands during a battle. (jon vii, asos)

arya thinking if she could see sansa again she'd kiss her and beg her pardons like a proper lady to make her happy. (arya vii, acok)

sansa, believing her younger brothers to be dead, thinks of how she'll name her sons eddard, bran, and rickon. she pictures them all looking like her "late" brothers and sometimes dreams they'll have a girl who looks like arya too. (sansa ii, asos)

when jon imagines leaving the night's watch, he thinks wistfully of having a son named robb. he also fantasizes gilly's son and mance's son would grow up as pseudo-twin brothers like him and robb (jon xii, asos)

the boys would all share a bed to stay warm whenever it got cold. i love to picture this after they got the direwolves so the humans and wolves are all in one big puppy pile. (jon vi, acok) jon also says he would lay up at night while his brothers slept next to him and make his plans to join the night's watch (jon i, agot), so in this mental picture i have all the other boys are dead asleep, while jon super seriously explains his plans to ghost at 3am.

whenever she's on the verge of reuniting with other family members, arya worries they won't want her anymore because of what she's had to do to survive. but when she thinks of reuniting with jon, she thinks "jon will want me. even if no one else does." (arya xii, asos)

bran, sansa, and arya all saying they have to be as brave or as strong as robb when they're hyping themselves up. (bran iv, asos; sansa iv, asos; arya ii, agot) jon dreaming of being "as good and true a son as robb." (jon x, asos) he's literally the golden standard for all his siblings.

robb's ghost showing up in both jon and arya's dreams, with neither one recognizing him (jon viii, asos; cat of the canals, affc)

bran being jealous of jon for thinking of the name ghost first for his direwolf because it sounds so cool while being so disdainful of rickon deciding to call his shaggydog. (bran ii, agot)

jon continuing to hope bran and rickon's consciousnesses live on in their direwolves when he believes them dead. (jon i, adwd; jon viii, asos)

bran wanting to be a wolf so he could find arya and sansa and protect robb in battle so they could all return to winterfell. (bran i, acok)

jon remembering how bran would always follow him and robb everywhere and try join in on whatever they were doing. (jon iii, agot)

rickon following robb everywhere and physically clinging to robb after their other siblings and parents are gone. robb arguing with catelyn over how scared and abandoned rickon feels with her gone. (catelyn iii, agot)

after bran wakes, rickon cries if robb's away more than half a day and asks bran when robb is coming back (bran iv, agot). when robb goes south, rickon melts down so much that he won't eat - he just screams and cries all day and attacks adults who try to comfort him. (bran vi, agot)

jon imagining both his sisters' reactions to seeing the beautiful morning frost at craster's. he pictures sansa crying from how magical it looks and arya running to touch everything he can. (jon iii, acok)

robb and jon's bickering devolving into a race where robb is laughing and hooting and jon is super serious and intent on winning, in a way that implies this is the norm for them. (bran i, agot)

not just summer, but shaggy and grey wind also howl in mourning when bran's in his coma. robb opens the window in bran's room so bran can "hear them sing." (catelyn iii, agot)

when bran hears the wolves howling again he worries it means somethings happened to one of his siblings. (bran i, acok)

jon and arya are so in tune they'd regularly speak in unison. (jon ii, agot; arya i, asos; arya i, acok; jon iii, agot)

jon and robb building a "great mountain" of snow to dump on whoever walks under the gate, even getting mance fucking rayder to be their accomplice, and then getting chased around the yard by their poor victim fat tom until their faces are "red as autumn apples." (jon i, asos)

rickon immediately asking if robb's coming home upon seeing a letter from him and upon being told no tells maester luwin to write robb back and tell him to come home and bring grey wolf and their parents back too. (bran v, acok)

the fact rickon specifically mentions he should bring grey wind back too, because we saw him playing with grey wind, summer, and shaggydog when his siblings were all gone or busy. they were basically his only friends for a time. (bran iv, agot)

when tyrion leaves to head back to winterfell, jon tells him that rickon will ask when he's coming back and to try explain it to him, and also adds to tell him he can have all his stuff while he's gone, which is just such cute little sibling thing, but also shows how even then jon thinks of the night's watch as being away; winterfell is still his home that he'll come back to one day.

he also tells tyrion to tell robb that he can melt down his sword and take up needlework because jon's going to command the night's watch and keep him safe. and of course, his pleas for tyrion to find a way to help bran are what lead tyrion to give bran his new saddle. (jon iii, agot)

despite his mistrust of tyrion and the lannisters, robb offers to let tyrion stay at winterfell after he sees how much his gift means to bran. (bran iv, agot)

robb no longer believing the direwolves were sent by the old gods after bran and rickon were believed dead, because what was the point of a gift from the gods if it didn't keep his brothers safe? (catelyn ii, asos)

bran going to the godswood to pray that robb doesn't have to leave and then adding if he does to have to leave to make it so he comes home with their sisters and parents and that rickon will understand what's happening. (bran vi, agot)

when jon and sansa remember robb after his death they both picture him with snowflakes melting in his hair, the way he was when they left winterfell. (jon xiii, adwd; sansa viii, asos)

when seeing sam off, the last thing jon says is for sam to put his hood up because the snow's melting in his hair, and sam notes the strange smile on his face when he says it. (samwell i, affc)

bran arguing lord hornwood's son out of wedlock should be named his heir, thinking of jon. (bran ii, acok)

robb being so upset when catelyn compares jon to theon that grey wind hops onto the crypt and bares his teeth at her. (catelyn v, asos)

jon wondering if ever really had any right to call arya his sister, saying he was as out of place as theon at winterfell. (jon iii, asos)

just... the contrast of jon thinking about sansa, and how since she became old enough to understand what a bastard is she's only ever referred to him as her "half-brother", but he misses her anyways... and sansa missing jon while living as alayne, calling him the only brother that remains to her and thinking "i'm a bastard too now, just like him." (jon iii, agot; alayne ii, affc)

robb also calling jon the only brother who remains to him. arya calling jon the only brother she has left. (catelyn v, asos; arya xii, asos)

rickon crying and refusing to leave bran until he's physically forced off. (bran vii, acok)

every word of this sentence shatters me: "every morning they had trained together, since they were big enough to walk; snow and stark, spinning and slashing about the wards of winterfell, shouting and laughing, sometimes crying when there was no one else to see." (jon xii, asos)

ok now the angsty part

like! jon is having this flashback because he feels guilty and conflicted over stannis's offer to legitimize him and name him heir to winterfell, never knowing that's exactly what robb wanted.

(jon xii, asos)

(catelyn v, asos)

he keeps remembering robb calling him a bastard as a mental chastisement for daring to put himself on their level, but one of robb's very last acts on earth was to name him jon stark!! bran wanted lord hornwood's illegitimate son to be allowed to succeed him because of jon!! jon doesn't think he counts as arya's brother. but he's the one she misses the most, the only one whose unconditional love she never doubts!! jon!!!

(jon xi, asos)

and yet! despite all the shame and guilt, the thing that ultimately stops him from accepting stannis's offer is his belief that the old gods sent the stark siblings their direwolves, and he can't betray his family's gods! that's what makes his decision, above all else!

(jon xii, asos)

#apologies to ned cat and benjen etc. but if i included parents and uncles this would have gotten absurdly long #anyways! the stark siblings are very dear to me and i love them so #🩶🤍🩶🤍#kaitlin.txt #asoiaf #starklings

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citysuk · 5 months ago

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echoes of us | anakin skywalker

pairing: anakin skywalker x fem!reader

summary: anakin has spent the last four years away from you, consumed by his duties as a jedi, trying to move past the pain of your departure. although seeing you again wasn't something that he was expecting, the reunion leads to a tense confrontation, where anakin's deep-seated feelings clash with his lover's sense of duty, highlighting the tragic consequences of their forbidden relationship.

words: 7,1k words (oops)

warnings: please, you already know me so ANGST. kinda manipulative anakin¿ only a little bit. stubborn reader for the sake of the plot, i'm sorry (i'm not). a little bit of spicy hehehhe. no smut tho. no use of y/n but no oc neither. no proofread. i won't say a word about the finale so read to know what happens at the end 😤

notes: i just- (SATURATED SCREAMS). i'm on a star wars binge and i just couldn't help myself, i needed to write this. all i want in life is someone to love me like anakin loves her.

It's been four long years since you left, and Anakin Skywalker has tried to move on with his life. He throws himself into his duties as a Jedi, taking on more missions and responsibilities. He pushes himself to his limits and beyond, trying to forget about the pain of losing you. But no matter how hard he tries, he can't seem to shake the memories. You're always there, lurking in the back of his mind, a constant reminder of what he lost. His heart still aches for you, and he still feels a sense of emptiness inside him.

As the years have passed, he has become more stoic, more reserved. He barely smiles anymore, and his laugh is rare. His fellow Jedi see these changes in him and wonder what has happened to make him so serious and cold. But Anakin keeps his emotions buried deep inside, never letting them surface, never letting anyone see the pain he's feeling. He's become a shadow of his former self, the bright-eyed and carefree Padawan replaced by a hardened and withdrawn Jedi Knight.

As the Clone Wars rage on, Anakin throws himself into battle, fighting with a ferocity and intensity that borders on feral. He's become a skilled and feared warrior, known for his bravery and skill, but also for his ruthless efficiency and lack of mercy towards his enemies. Even his fellow Jedi, the ones who are closest to him, cannot penetrate the shell he’s built around himself. He hides his emotions so well that it’s as if they don’t exist anymore, and no one suspects the depth of the pain he’s carrying inside him. He still feels your loss like a physical wound, and he fears that it will never heal. But he cannot let himself think of it, cannot allow himself to dwell on the past. He has a duty to the Jedi Order and the Republic, and longing can distract him from that.

So he goes through the motions of being a Jedi, fighting in the war, protecting the innocent, and doing his best to serve the greater good. But deep down, he knows that he'll never be truly happy again, that he'll carry his pain to the grave.

There are times, when he’s alone in the darkness of night, that he lets his guard down, that is when he allows his emotions to surface. And in those moments, he allows himself to think of you, to remember the happy times you had together, to ache for what might have been. But then, as the night ends and the morning comes, he pushes those thoughts away, locking them back up inside him, and he goes back to being the stoic and reserved Jedi Knight that everyone expects him to be.

And the cycle of pain and loneliness continues day after day, year after year. He keeps on living, fighting, and serving, but deep down, he knows that a part of him will always be empty, the part that you took when you left.

He wonders sometimes if you ever think of him and if you ever reflect on your time together with the same sense of melancholy and regret that he does. But he doesn’t allow himself to hope for that. It’s better to just keep pushing forward, to keep fighting the war and doing his duty.

That's until he hears the news that your father is coming to visit the Order. His heart skips a beat it's the first thing that he feels. He knows that since you went back to your planet your father never travels without you by his side, and this won't be the exception. His mind reels at the possibility of seeing you again. It’s been four years since you left to help your father in his political arrangements. Four long and lonely years. The thought of being in your presence again, even for a brief moment, fills him with a mix of emotions. Anticipation and dread, hope and fear.

He tries to keep his emotions in check, not wanting to get his hopes up too high. The idea of seeing you again after all this time is too good to be true. Besides, he knows that there is a small chance that you will not come to the temple, but he decides to embrace the possibility of at least seeing you.

When the masters of the Order confirmed that you would arrive with your father, he couldn't help but feel a rush of adrenaline running through his whole body. There's gotta be some sort of catch in this whole situation. But the more he thinks about it, the more he wants it and needs it.

As the day of your arrival approaches, he can't help but feel anxious. He doesn't know what to expect, how he'll react when he sees you. Will he be able to keep his emotions in check? Or will they surface in a wave of longing and regret? He tries to prepare himself, to steel himself for the moment. He tells himself it's just a visit, that it doesn't mean anything. But deep down, he knows that's not true. He's been waiting for this moment for years, and he can't deny the excitement and anticipation that's building inside him.

When the day finally arrives, he waits anxiously in the Temple, trying to remain calm. But his heart is racing, his palms are sweaty, and he can barely keep still. He's acutely aware of every passing moment, every second that brings him closer to seeing you again. His fellow Jedi notice his change in demeanor. He's usually so stoic and collected, but now he's jittery and restless, out of character for him. They wonder what could be causing this change, and they eye him with curious and sometimes amused glances. But Anakin ignores them, his thoughts solely focused on the moment ahead. He rehearses different scenarios in his head, trying to figure out how he’ll act when he sees you. But no matter how he imagines it, he can’t quite predict what will happen. The thought of facing you again after so long both thrills and terrifies him.

And then, finally, the moment arrives. He sees you walking through the Temple, in the company of your father and a few other dignitaries. The sight of you takes his breath away. You’ve grown, your features more mature and defined. But the sight of you holding the hand of another young politician he heard being called Kenth Cardas it's what makes him feel sick to the stomach. His heart clenches as he watches you, a sudden realization hitting him like a knife to the heart. You’re with someone else. Another man. And the pain that washes over him is sharper and more intense than any pain he’s ever felt before.

It takes all his willpower to keep his composure, to keep the expression of his face neutral. But inside, he’s seething with jealousy and hurt. He had been hoping, even expecting, for you to be single.

The thought of another man’s hands on you, another man’s eyes taking in your beauty, it’s almost too much for him to bear. He watches as you, your father, and your companion make your way through the Temple, greeting the Jedi and discussing diplomatic matters. Every step you take, every word you utter, it feels like the knife is being twisted in his heart. He wants to walk up to you, to pull you away from the other man and take you for himself. But he knows that’s not an option. You’re not his. You never were.

The scene is too abhorrent for him, he cannot bear another second of seeing you with another man that isn't him. With a lump in his throat and tears of frustration pricking at his eyes, Anakin turns and strides away from the scene, the sound of your laugh following him as he goes. He can’t stay there, can’t watch you pretending to be happy with someone else. It’s too painful, too agonizing. He needs to get away, to be alone, and try to process the torrent of emotions that threatens to overwhelm him. He heads to one of the quieter parts of the Temple, a place where he can be alone and try to get his emotions under control. He leans against the cold stone wall, his hands clenching into fists. He tries to push the image of you with another man out of his mind, but it’s burned into his memory, seared into his eyeballs. He’s never felt this level of jealousy and hurt before, and he doesn’t know how to deal with it. He feels like he’s unraveling like everything he’s worked to keep under control is suddenly slipping through his fingers. He punches the wall in impotent rage, the pain in his knuckles a welcome distraction from the pain in his heart. He wants to scream, to shout, to let out all the emotions that are boiling inside him. He stays still there for a few minutes which seems like hours, until he feels a presence behind him.

He turns, his heart racing as he senses who it is. And sure enough, there you are, standing a few feet away from him, looking at him with a mixture of concern and uncertainty. An uncomfortable silence settles between them as they stare at each other. The air is thick with emotion and tension, and Anakin feels his heart thudding in his chest. He doesn’t know what to say, or how to react.

He studies you as you stand there, his eyes roving over your face, taking in every detail. You’re even more beautiful than he remembers, but there’s a sense of sadness and resignation in your eyes that he doesn’t quite understand. He wants to say something, to break the silence that hangs between you like a thick fog. But the words stick in his throat, and he can’t force them out. Instead, he just stands there, staring at you like an idiot.

Taking a deep breath, you break the silence, your voice soft and hesitant. “Ani... Can I talk to you? For a moment.”

Anakin nods, barely able to speak. His heart is racing, his mind spinning. He can’t believe you’re really standing here in front of him, that he’s actually talking to you again after all this time. “Of course,” he manages to say, his voice rough and raspy.

You take another step closer, the distance between you feeling like an eternity. You look up at him, your eyes searching his face as if you’re looking for something. “It’s been a long time, you've grown,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nods again, feeling a lump in his throat. He wants to tell you how much he’s missed you, how many nights he’s spent thinking of you, yearning for you. But the words won’t come. He’s scared, scared to show you the depth of his feelings, scared that you’ll reject him. “Yeah, it has,” he manages to reply, his voice flat and emotionless.

You notice his tone, the way he’s putting up his walls, trying to keep his emotions in check. You know him too well, you can sense how he was feeling, the storm of emotions raging inside him. But you also know how stubborn he can be, how he’s willing to suffer in silence rather than admit his true feelings. You take another step closer, closing the distance between you even further. You reach out to touch his arm, your hand tentative and gentle, like you’re handling a wild animal. He freezes at your touch, his breath catching in his throat. He can feel the heat of your hand through the fabric of his sleeve, the warmth of your touch seeping into his skin. He wants to reach out and pull you to him, bury his face in your hair, and breathe in your scent. But he stands still, frozen in the moment, unable to move. You can feel his tension, the way his body is coiled tight like a spring. But you can also see the flicker of emotions in his eyes, the way his walls are crumbling as he stares at you. You know that underneath the hard exterior, there’s a part of him that’s aching to be let out, yearning for affection and connection.

You move closer still, your hand still gently resting on his arm. You’re so close now that he can feel your breath on his skin, the warmth of your body almost touching his. He shivers involuntarily, overwhelmed by your proximity. He wants to pull you to him, to hold you tight, and never let you go. He looks down at you, his eyes roving over your face, taking in every detail. He notices the flecks of gold in your eyes, the slight blush on your cheeks, the curve of your lips. It’s all he can do to keep his composure, to keep his emotions in check. But seeing you this close to him, feeling your touch on his skin, it’s like a dam breaking inside him. He takes a shuddering breath, trying to steady himself. He wants to tell you how much he’s missed you, how much he’s still in love with you, and how much he’s been hurting since you left. But the words won’t come, stuck in his throat like they’re glued there.

He’s torn between the conflicting desires to push you away and to pull you closer. Part of him wants to protect himself from further hurt, but a greater part of him is desperate to have you close, to feel your touch, and to hear your voice. He stands there, caught in an agony of indecision, his heart and his mind warring with each other. He wants to do the right thing, the sensible thing. But when it comes to you, he’s never been able to do what’s smart or pragmatic. He’s always been guided by his emotions, and right now, his emotions are screaming at him to take what he wants, consequences be damned. He can feel his resolve weakening, the walls he’s built around his heart crumbling. He’s always been a man of action, but right now, he doesn't know what to do.

You look up at him, your heart racing in your chest. You can sense the turmoil inside him, the storm of emotions raging in his eyes. You know that he’s struggling to keep his composure, but you also know how much he’s hurting. You take a deep breath, summoning up the courage to say what you need to say. “Ani, I didn’t forget the time we spent together, the promises we made.”

His eyes widen at your words, his heart skipping a beat. He hadn’t expected you to say that, to admit that you’ve been thinking of him all this time. He feels a surge of hope and longing rise in his chest, his breath catching in his throat. You pressed on, your voice was soft but firm. “The friendship we maintained for so many years will always be marked in my mind, no matter where I am.”

He feels his heart skip a beat at your words. It’s what he’s wanted to hear for so long, the confirmation that you still think of him, that there’s still a chance for them.

He stands there, frozen in the moment, caught between the desire to pull you to him and the fear that if he does, it will only end in heartbreak. He doesn’t know what to say, or how to react. He feels like he’s in a dream like this isn’t happening.

He looks down at you, his eyes roving over your face. He sees the honesty and vulnerability you’re showing him. He wants to believe you, he wants to let himself hope. But he can’t shake the feeling that this is just a cruel trick, the vision of you holding that man's hand it's something that he can't shake off his head. He feels that he’s going to wake up any minute and find himself alone again.

He starts to pull away, his walls going up again. “I don’t believe you,” he says, his voice cold and distant.

Your eyes widen at his words, your heart sinking at the tone of his voice. You had expected some resistance, but you didn’t expect him to deny your feelings outright. "What I'm saying it's truthful, I never stopped thinking about you"

He shakes his head, his eyes hard and cold. He wants to push you away, to protect himself from the pain. “I don’t want to hear it,” he says gruffly. “It’s too late, it’s been four years. You made your choice when I asked you to stay but you left.”

You blink back tears at his words, the hurt and anger in his voice like a knife to your gut. You had hoped that he would understand, that he would see how much you still cared for him. “You know that what we were feeling exceeded friendliness and was wrong, the attachments are prohibited. This was for something bigger than you and me both,” you say, looking at him almost guilty.

He scoffs at your words, his anger rising. “Don’t talk to me about attachments. I know the Code, I know about the stupid rules. But don’t tell me that what we had meant anything to you since you come here now holding another man's hand.” Anakin is seething with jealousy now, his hands clenching into fists. The thought of you with another man, another man touching you and holding you, it’s more than he can bear. He wants to grab you and shake you, to make you understand how much the sight of you with someone else hurts him.

He takes a step closer, looming over you. He’s taller and stronger than you, and he towers above you, his presence intimidating. “Tell me the truth,” he growls. “Did you ever really love me, or was it all just a lie?”

Your heart is racing in your chest as he looms over you, his eyes flashing with anger and hurt. You can feel the tension in the air, the danger and volatility of the situation. “Of course I loved you,” you say, your voice shaking just a little. “I loved you with all my heart, and I still do.”

He sneers at your words, his face twisting into a cruel smile. He doesn’t believe you, doesn’t want to believe you. It’s easier to think that you’re lying, that you never really loved him at all. “Prove it,” he snaps. “Prove that you love me.”

You’re taken aback by his challenge, his demand. You didn’t expect him to ask you to prove your feelings, to put them to the test. “What… what do you mean, prove it?” you ask, your voice small and uncertain.

He takes another step closer, his body almost touching yours. He’s so close that you can feel the heat of his skin, the tension radiating off him in waves. “Kiss me,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. “Kiss me like you mean it. Show me that you’re not just playing with me.”

Your heart skips a beat at his words, the intensity of his gaze, and the heat of his body. You’re nervous and hesitant, but you also feel a pang of longing and desire. You want to prove to him that your feelings are real, that you’re not just toying with him. You can feel his breath on your lips, the heat of his mouth just inches away from yours. "I'm engaged." You blurt out.

His face darkens at your words, the mention of your engagement like a slap in the face. He feels a surge of irrational jealousy and anger, the idea of you marrying someone else infuriating him. “So what?” he snaps. “You’re engaged to someone else, but you’re still here, standing here in front of me, telling me that you love me. Kiss me. You said you still love me. Prove it.”

You're taken aback by his insistence, his refusal to listen to reason. "It's not that simple, Ani," you say, trying to maintain your composure. "I'm with another person now, and it wouldn't be right to-"

He cuts you off, grabbing you by the wrists and pulling you to him so that your bodies are pressed together. He’s breathing heavily, his chest heaving with emotion. He’s on the edge, barely holding it together. He can feel the warmth of your body pressed against his, the scent of your skin, the beat of your heart. “Damn the rules, damn the Code,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. “I want to feel your lips on mine. I want to taste you, I want to hold you. I don’t care about anything else.”

You can see the desperation in his eyes, the hunger and need. You’re torn, part of you wants to give in to his demand, to give yourself over to the passion and desire that always existed between you. But another part of you is wary, knowing that this is dangerous, that indulging in this could lead to nothing but pain and heartache. "Ani, stop," you say, your voice gentle but firm. "We can't do this. We can't let ourselves go down this path."

He scoffs at your words, his grip on your wrists tightening. He can’t believe you’re still resisting him, still holding back when you’ve already admitted that you still love him. “Why not?” he asks, his voice a low growl. “What’s stopping us? You said you love me. You can’t deny that you want this. I can see it in your eyes.”

You feel your resolve weakening, the heat of his body and the intensity of his gaze making it hard to think straight. "I can't do this to Kenth," you say, trying to hold onto your reasoning. "I can't just throw away what I have with him. I can't hurt him like that. He's a good man."

He scoffs again, his jealousy flaring at the mention of your fiancé. To him, he's nothing more than a rival, a hindrance to what he wants. "A good man," he sneers. "What does he have that I don’t? What can he give you that I can’t?"

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of his question. You know that your fiancé is a good person, kind and respectful, but you also know that he’s not the same as Ani. There’s something about your history with Anakin, something about the passion and intensity of your connection, that’s unique and special. “It’s not about what he has or what he can give me,” you say, your voice quiet but firm. "It's about the future and following the rules for the sake of everyone."

He feels a pang of jealousy and bitterness at your words, the idea of you building a life with someone else it's like his biggest nightmare turning into reality.

“You’re mine,” he says through clenched teeth. “You will always be mine. I don’t care about your fiancé, your future, or anything else. I only care about you. So stop thinking about what you should do, and what you shouldn’t do, and just feel. For once in your life, just let yourself feel what you know you want.”

His words strike a chord within you, the intensity and possessiveness of his declaration igniting a spark of desire deep inside you. You can feel yourself weakening, your resolve cracking under the weight of his words. “Ani, please,” you say, your voice little more than a whisper. “This isn’t fair.”His words send a shiver down your spine, the heat of his body and the strength of his grip making it impossible to resist him. You’re caught between reason and emotion, torn between your loyalty to your fiancé and the deep-seated love you still feel for him. “Please…” you whisper, your voice breaking. “You’re not thinking straight. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

He looks down at you, his eyes burning with intensity. “I know exactly what I’m doing,” he says, his voice fierce and determined. “I’m claiming what should have always been mine. I’m taking what I want. You.” He leans down, his mouth hovering mere inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin. The tension between you is electric, the air thick with desire and need. Your breath catches in your throat, your heart racing in your chest. You can feel the heat and power radiating off of him, the primal force of his need and desire nearly overpowering your senses. You know that you should resist, that you should push him away and run before it’s too late. But you can’t bring yourself to do it. Your body is drawn to his, your mind consumed with the need to feel his lips on yours.

He can see the conflict in your eyes, the battle between your loyalty and your desires. He can tell that you’re close to breaking, close to giving in to what you both want. He leans in even closer, his lips practically touching yours. “Stop fighting it,” he whispers, his voice low and sultry. “Stop trying to be strong, and just let go. I know you want this. You’ve always wanted this.“ His words send a jolt of electricity through your body, the truth of them hitting you like a ton of bricks. You know that he’s right, that deep down you’ve always wanted this, always wanted him. You know that no matter how hard you try to deny it, there will be a part of you that will always belong to him. You can feel your resistance crumbling, your body and mind completely under his control.

He senses your surrender, the last of your resistance crumbling beneath the weight of his words and his touch. He can feel the heat and desire radiating off you, the air between you electric and charged. Without another word, he closes the tiny gap between you and captures your lips with his own. The moment his lips meet yours, it’s like a circuit is completed. The floodgates of long-suppressed desire burst open, and you kiss him back with a passion that takes your breath away. It’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced before, the intensity and heat of it like a storm, crashing over you and consuming you whole. You respond to the kiss with equal hunger and fervor, his hands moving to cup your face, to pull you closer to him. He wants to devour you, to possess you completely. He can feel the tension building between you, the passion and need threatening to overwhelm you both.

You wrap your arms around him, pulling him towards you and molding your body against his. You can feel his strength, his power, the taut muscles of his back, and the heat of his skin beneath his robes. The kiss deepens, your mouths moving together in a dance of desire and need. Your hearts are racing, your bodies electrified by the heat of the kiss.

You feel the possessive urgency in his touch, the hunger and need in his every movement. You can feel the jealousy and the anger, the primal need to possess you completely. And despite yourself, you feel your body responding to his touch, igniting a fire deep within you that you thought was long extinguished.

He breaks the kiss, his eyes burning into yours, his body still pressing you against the wall. He’s panting, his breathing ragged and uneven, his body vibrating with need. “You’re mine,” he growls, his voice raw and hoarse. “No one else is ever going to touch you, no one else is going to have you. I want you to leave him.“

Your mind is hazy, your thoughts clouded by the heat and desire coursing through your body. You know that you should resist him, however, you want to tell him that he owns your body and soul completely. But your mind betrays you, your words coming out in little more than a breath. "I... I can't," you whisper, your voice trembling.

The words are like a cold bucket of water to his face, his eyes flashing with a mixture of hurt and anger. He pulls back from you slightly, his hands still on your hips, anchoring you to the wall. “Why not?” he bites out, his voice rough and sharp. “What’s stopping you?“

You try to find the words to explain, to tell him that it’s too much, that you’re still engaged to someone else. But before you can form the words, he’s leaning back in, his body pressing against yours once again. “Tell me,” he says, his voice a low growl in your ear. “Tell me why you can’t be mine. I want to hear you say it.“ The heat and desire that was coursing through you moments ago has faded, replaced by a sense of guilt and confusion. You know that you should put your foot down, that you should remind him of your engagement. But you’re finding it increasingly hard to think straight as he presses his body against yours, his voice a seductive whisper in your ear. “It's a political arrangement.” You manage to say, the words coming out in a shaky breath.

A low, possessive growl escapes his throat as he hears your words. "What do you mean, a 'political arrangement'?" he snaps, his hands tightening on your hips. "Explain."

You take a shaky breath, your body still pressed against the cool surface of the wall. The primal possessiveness of his touch sends a shiver down your spine. “My marriage. It’s an arrangement made by our families,” you explain, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s meant to strengthen our families’ political relationships.”

His jaw clenches at your words. The thought of you entering into a political arrangement with someone else, someone who didn’t deserve you, is enough to make his blood boil. He moves his body impossibly closer, his hands shifting to cup your face, his voice a low growl. “So your family basically sold you to someone else for political gain?”

Your heart sinks at the harsh truth of his words. In the back of your mind, you’ve always known that the engagement was more about politics than love. But the truth hurts, especially hearing it said out loud. You can feel the tension and possessive anger in his body, the way his body is pressed against yours like a cage. You know he’s not going to let this go easily. You nod, your voice barely above a whisper. “Essentially, yes.“

His mind reels at your admission, his anger and jealousy growing even stronger. He can’t believe that your family would treat you like a bargaining chip like a possession to be traded away for political gain. “And you agreed to this?” he practically spits out, his voice thick with anger. “You agreed to marry someone you don’t even love?“

Your heart twists at the anger and hurt in his voice, but you can’t deny the truth of his words. You did agree to marry someone you don’t love, all because of your family’s political aspirations. You nod again, your eyes downcast. You’re ashamed and embarrassed, and guilt washes over you like a wave. You know you’ve hurt him by agreeing to marry someone else, but you don’t know how to fix it.

He pulls back slightly, his hands falling from your face. He feels a mix of anger, hurt, and jealousy coursing through him, the primal possessiveness warring with the need to protect you. “So you’re going to marry him?” he asks, his voice low and hoarse. “You’re going to spend the rest of your life with someone you don’t even love? Are you gonna be happy with that?“

You find yourself unable to meet his gaze. You’ve never thought about it that way before, but there isn't much that you can do. You shake your head slowly, your voice barely above a whisper. “It's the best outcome for everyone. For my family, the Order, the Force... and for you.“

His jaw clamps shut at your words, a surge of anger and frustration coursing through him. The thought of you marrying someone else, settling for a life that is anything less than what you deserve, is unbearable to him. “Best outcome for everyone?” he grits out, his voice raw with emotion. “Except for you. What about what you want? What about your happiness?“ His words sting bitterly, the shame and guilt you feel growing stronger. You know that your happiness is not a priority in this arrangement, that it never has been. But the truth hurts, especially when it’s said out loud. You shake your head again, your voice trembling. “It doesn’t matter. I have a duty, the responsibility to see this through.“

His heart aches at your words, the fact that you’re willing to sacrifice your own happiness for the sake of duty is something he can’t understand. It goes against everything he believes in, against everything he fights for. “Duty and responsibility be damned,” he snaps, his voice edged with anger and frustration. “You deserve to be happy. You deserve to be with someone who loves you, who worships the ground you walk on. Not some political arrangement.“

Your heart clenches at his words, the mix of anger and desperation in his voice bringing tears to your eyes. You know he’s right, deep down you’ve always known that you deserve more than you’re settling for. But duty and responsibility have always been pounded into you, and the thought of going against them is terrifying. “It’s not that simple,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “It’s not just about me. It’s about the Republic, the Jedi Order…”

He scoffs at your words, the anger and frustration growing stronger. The fact that you’re still focusing on what's expected of you, even after everything you’ve just shared, is frustrating for him. “None of that matters if you’re not happy. You’re not some pawn to be used in someone else’s game.“

Your heart aches more with every word he says, the truth of them echoing in your head. You know he’s right, you know that your happiness should come first, but the years of conditioning and expectations are hard to break. “I can’t just... abandon everything...” you say, your voice weak. “I can’t disappoint them.“

His eyes flash with anger and disbelief, his patience wearing thin. “You’re more worried about disappointing them than about your happiness? That’s a load of Bantha poodoo and you know it. They don’t deserve your loyalty.”

He's right, you know he is. You've been putting everyone else's needs above your own for so long that it's become second nature. You look up at him, tears streaming down your face. "But what about you?" you whisper, your voice trembling.

“What about me?” he echoes, his voice hoarse with emotion. “You’re choosing someone else over me. You’re choosing a life of political duty over our happiness, over what we could have together.“ He steps closer to you again, his body once again pinning you against the wall. His hands reach out to cup your face, his touch gentle despite the storm of emotion raging within him. “We could have a life together. We could be happy.“

Your heart clenches at his words, the weight of the decision you’re facing hitting you like a ton of durasteel. You know what you want, deep down you know that you’d give anything to be with him. But responsibility, a lifetime of conditioning, is still weighing heavily on you. You lean into his touch, your eyes falling closed. Your voice is a whisper, choked with emotion. “Is that possible?” He feels a pang of pain at your question, the doubt in your voice makes him want to just keep you in his arms until you understand what you mean to him. He’s never been more sure of anything in his life. “Yes,�� he says, his voice steady and firm, despite the emotions churning inside him. “It’s possible. It’s more than possible. It’s what I want, what I’ve wanted since I met you.“ His hands tighten on your face, his touch gentle yet possessive. “Please, don’t marry him. Choose me.“

His words and touch cut through the fog of doubt and confusion surrounding you. The thought of choosing him, of having a life with him, fills you with a sense of longing and hope that you’ve never known before. For the first time, the thought of your future isn’t shrouded in obligations, it’s filled with love and happiness. You let out a ragged breath, your body tense. “I don’t want to marry Kenth.” You whisper.

His heart nearly leaps out of his chest at your words, a surge of triumph and relief coursing through him. He pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you like a vise, pulling you flush against him. His body is taut with need and desire, the primal possessiveness in him raging stronger than ever. “Then don’t.” he whispers into your ear, his voice a low growl. “Be with me.“

Your body melds against him, your trembling hands coming up to rest on his shoulders. You feel a mix of relief and desire and fear coursing through you as you look into his eyes, your voice a whisper. “What if they find out? What if they try to... stop us? Or worse, haunt us?“

He pulls back slightly to look at you, his eyes burning with a mix of passion and determination. The thought of anyone trying to stop or hurt you fills him with a fierce, protective rage. “They’ll try,” he says, his voice hard. “But I’ll never let anything happen to you. I’ll protect you, no matter what. And if anyone tries to stop us, they’ll have to go through me first.“

His words, full of certainty and strength, send a shiver down your spine. You’ve never felt so wanted, so desired, so protected. The thought of being with him, of having his love and loyalty, is both exhilarating and terrifying. You look into his eyes, searching for reassurance. “And what if it doesn’t work?” you ask hesitantly. “What if we can’t make it?“

He sees the doubt and fear in your eyes, and his heart clenches at the thought of losing you. He pulls you even closer, his body pressed against yours, his arms wrapped around you fiercely. “It will work,” he says, his voice firm and unwavering. “I’ll make sure it does. I won’t let anything come between us.“ He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a low growl. “I love you. And I won’t let anyone or anything take you away from me.“

His words, spoken with such unwavering conviction, send a jolt of hope and love through you. You’ve never felt so safe, so cherished, so loved. You can feel the heat and strength of his body against yours, the possessiveness and determination radiating off him in waves. You close your eyes, leaning into him, his lips at your ear. “I love you too,“ you whisper, your voice cracking with emotion. “I’ve always loved you.“

Anakin for the first time in his life, feels complete, whole. He embraces you tightly, his hands roaming over your body, possessive and protective. “You’re mine,” he whispers, his voice rough with emotion. “And I’m yours. No one can keep us apart again. Not the Order, not the Republic, not the universe.“

You can feel the possessiveness in his touch, the way his hands roam over your body as though he owns it. And a part of you, a primal, feminine part of you, longs to be owned by him, to belong to him completely. You nod, your body molding against his, your voice a whisper. “I’m yours. Completely yours.“

His heart nearly bursts at your words, your surrender and acceptance igniting a primal, possessive need in him that nearly takes his breath away. He leans in, his lips against your neck, his voice a low, ragged growl. “Say it again. Say you’re mine.“

You tilt your head slightly, giving him better access to your neck, your body melting against his. You feel a shiver of desire run down your spine at his words, his possessive tone sending a wave of heat through you. You let out a shaky breath, your voice a ragged whisper. “I’m yours. I belong to you, completely and utterly.“

Anakin’s eyes lock onto yours, the intensity and determination in his gaze making your breath hitch. His hands coming up to cup your face, his touch achingly gentle. “There are so many words I want to say to you,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “Words that will never do justice to how I feel about you. You’re the air that I breathe, the thought that consumes me, the obsession that drives me to the brink of madness.“ He leans in closer, his forehead pressing against yours. "You’re the reason I feel alive, the reason I’ll do anything, give anything, to be with you.“ His hands move to your back, his body pressed against yours, the raw need and desire in him almost feral. “I’ve tried to fight it for years, to deny it, but I can't. I can't pretend anymore that I don't want you, that I don't need you. Because I do. I need you more than anything. I’m obsessed with you, completely and utterly obsessed. Living without you it's like not having a soul inside of my body.“

He pulls back slightly, his eyes burning into yours, the force of his emotions like a tidal wave washing over you. “I will do whatever it takes, I will risk everything, I will defy the universe itself, to keep you by my side. You’re mine, and I will never let you go. You’re my love, my every thought, my every dream, my entire existence.“

Your heart is pounding in your chest, the intensity and passion in his words, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. Your hands reach up, touching his face, your fingers tracing over his features gently. “Ani…“ You whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “I… I don’t know what to say. You… you make me feel things I’ve never felt before. You make me feel loved, wanted, desired… worshipped.“

He leans into your touch, his eyes closing as he savors the feeling of your fingers on his skin. A small, vulnerable smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he looks at you. “Say you’ll be mine,” he whispers, his voice gruff with emotion. “Say you’ll stay with me, that you’ll be my everything. I need to hear it, I need to know that you want this as much as I do.“

His vulnerability in that moment, so different from the fierce and possessive man he usually is, makes your heart pound even harder. You look into his eyes, seeing the love, the fear, the need in them. You never knew he was capable of such emotion, such passion. “I’ll stay with you,” you murmur, your voice soft yet filled with conviction. “I’ll be yours, yours completely. For as long as you’ll have me.“

He lets out a ragged breath, his body visibly relaxing as your words sink in. The fear, the doubt, that had been lurking in his eyes vanishes, replaced by something wild and primal, something that nearly takes your breath away. “Forever,” he whispers, his voice hoarse and fierce. “I want you forever. I need you forever. You’re mine now, and I’m never letting you go. Together, we will defy the odds, we will fight fate, we will prove that love, true love, can conquer all."

His lips brush against yours, soft and gentle at first, but quickly turning hungry and demanding. His body presses against yours, the heat of his desire like a fever burning through you. The world around you falls away, leaving only you and him, lost in a moment of complete and utter obsession and love. You’re his and he's yours, and nothing else matters.

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mirohlayo · 1 year ago

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F1 DRIVERS AND THEIR FIRST KISS

WITH YOU

including boys from mclaren, ferrari, mercedes + verstappen, ricciardo & gasly

warning : none, some fluff

note : looks like i don't like max danny and pierre bc i didn't put any color for them but there's just no matching color on tumblr 😔

!! english not my first language !!

ᦈ OSCAR PIASTRI 81

on a date. he's a simple, romantic kind of guy but still he puts a lot of efforts to make everything perfect and special. he would brings you to the restaurant, offering you an luxurious meal just for you. or maybe an amusement park. whatever you like, as long as you enjoy the date. and then he'll takes you home, making sure he sees you walk inside your apartment and close the door behind you so that he knows you're all safe. but just before that, he would smiles with loving eyes and cups your face gently. maybe a bit hesitant at first, but then he leans in and captures your warm lips, kissing you as if it was the last time he could do it. but fortunately, it is the first and for sure not the last time that he will do it. and then when you disappear behind the wooden door he giggles so hard and can't stop smiling, still feeling the pleasant sensation.

ᦈ LANDO NORRIS 4

after a podium during a race. he jumps out of his car after winning a podium well deserved. he runs towards the engineers and the race team who are congratulating him for his fantastic job. everyone hugs him and pats his shoulder, head. he smiles brightly as he hugs back every single one person. and then your turn. next was you. he literally stop himself right in front of you. of course you congratulate him, saying that you are proud of him and everything. his smile widens , his gaze softens, and the second later his lips are on yours. he would kiss you roughly because of how much he craved to kiss you but still softly, he wants to savor every second of it. then he pulls out, stroking your rosy cheeks as the cameras takes loads of photos of you two, smiling at each other.

ᦈ CHARLES LECLERC 16

playing piano together and quick kiss. you guys would just randomly touch some keys of the piano, sharing the seat and so seating next to each other, shoulders pressed together. charles already loves your touch and closeness as he can also smells your sweet and fruity perfume which tickles his nose. then he starts playing a beautiful, romantic song that was actually meant for you. you just listen carefully to the melody, closing your eyes and feeling the emotion that seizes you. but the music stops suddenly, and you open your eyes confused. he places his thumb and forefinger on your chin to make you look at him, and when your eyes meet, he gets lost in them before suddenly placing a quick kiss on your lips. you blink, trying to process what just happened, and charles would just starts pecking all of your face, but mostly your lips.

ᦈ CARLOS SAINZ 55

like oscar, on a date. but a cooking or baking date. you invite him to your apartment and suggest cooking together and then after watch something on the tv. first, you guys would follow the recipe because of course you wanted to eat a delicious dinner. but gradually it become a mess and a food battle takes place. carlos would just throws you flour, or even draws some lines and patterns on your skin such as your arms, shoulders and of course your face. he also traces hearts on your cheeks with some ketchup on his finger. literally, just painting you with cute stuff. but the moment is just too funny and sweet, that now he's focused on your lips which forms a smile. i think he would go with something like "you have a stain here" and right after leans in and kiss you tenderly. but soon the cooking date would become a kissing and pecking session, almost forgetting about the recipe and dinner.

ᦈ LEWIS HAMILTON 44

waking up next to each other. you are already dating for some months now, but never you really kissed each other. in any case, never on the lips. you guys just going with pecks and kisses on the cheek, neck, forehead or hands. actually, every part of your faces except your lips. because maybe you were too shy but also it is something very important and special for both of you, especially hamilton. but now, you are both sleeping in your shared bed, you in lewis' arms. his grip is tight on your waist because he always wants to keep you close to him during the night. and the morning, he wakes up first. he looks down at you, eyes fluttering slowly as he admires your pretty sleepy face, a lazy smile glues on his lips. and then you wake up, crossing his lovely gaze. he would smiles wider and says "good morning love" before pressing for the first time his lips on yours. and his heart feels lighter, experiencing this new pleasant sensation.

ᦈ GEORGE RUSSEL 63

dancing in the rain. george takes you on a walk, because he just wanted to spend some time with you. just the two of you together. and you both like walking, maybe for some people it is boring but it's an another way to appreciate each other's presence and that was enough for you. he grabs your hand and intertwines your fingers, gently stroking the top of your hand with his thumb. you walk for a while, sometimes stopping in front of store fronts until little water drops starts to fall from the sky. and then more and more water drops falls. now it is raining. a lot. so you decides to secure and stays underneath a bus stop. you waited and hoped the rain would calms down. but no, still raining a lot. and so george has this idea. he would grabs your hand and takes you with him under the rain. first you would be a bit angry, but when he starts dancing with you and laughing at te situation, you follow him and start to enjoy the moment. and the moment is so perfect, he has to kiss you. so he does it. your hot lips warms his person as he delights into the feeling. and no need to say it would be by now his favorite activity.

ᦈ MAX VERSTAPPEN 33

truth or dare game, but it is just true. a sleepover between max and your common friends was organized. and now it's time to go. you greet your friends as you walk inside the house, and smile brightly to max who is waving to you. you go to the bathroom to change into your pajama and then the sleepover starts. you're sitting next to max, mostly talking with him because of course he is your secret crush. one of your friend then suggests to play a truth or dare game, because it is something you all had the habit to do during nights like that. so the game starts, your friends mostly answering truth questions. then the bottle turns, and obviously it stopped right in front of max. he chooses dare. and fuck. the dare is to kiss someone present here. you feel weird, a bit awkward because you didn't want to see him kiss another girl. but max takes your chin between his fingers to make you look at him. and without realizing it, he's already kissing you. you kiss him back, and you can feel he struggles to pull back. and after he would whisper in your ear "the kiss was not a game. just my true feelings"

ᦈ DANIEL RICCIARDO 3

photoshoot kiss. daniel loves taking photos. especially of you, because he always says your his muse and you're super photogenic. so you two were on a trip right now. and of course daniel had to take his camera. to take lot of photos and make good memories. the landscape is just amazing. it is winter and christmas decorations and lights are everywhere in the streets. you stop walking to sit on a bench, taking a little break before going to a random restaurant you would find on your way. as you sit down, daniel takes his camera in his hands. and of course he had to take plenty photos of both of you, together, in this amazing place. he clicks on the button, and just can't stop taking photos. from smiling faces to funny faces, easily a hundred pictures have been taken. but one photo is missing. and daniel don't like when he don't have the perfect photo. so without thinking more, he places the camera in front of you to take a selfie and says "look at me". he clicks on the button and then as the flash lights you his lips captures yours. now you are all shy and he's just giggling, looking by now at his favorite photo for the rest of forever.

ᦈ PIERRE GASLY 10

during your birthday party. it is your birthday day, and a party have been organized by pierre, your best friend and your family. so when you come to the place, all eyes are on you. everyone is saying happy birthday and wishing you the best, but pierre can't take take off his eyes of you. you are just too beautiful. and then the party starts. people are dancing and singing, just enjoying the moment. you're sitting to a table with your closest friends, including pierre. you didn't remark it but he was just stealing glances at you. soon it is the the end of the party and all are playfully asking you to do a speech. you laugh shyly, not really wanting to do it but pierre's smile reassure you, so you just start speaking. you thank everybody of course, and after your speech pierre joins you, standing next to you. he would go with something like "this is my gift for you" and then after quickly kiss you. and kiss you once again but this time more deeply and tenderly, showing all of his love for his favorite birthday person.

#f1 x you #f1 fluff #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #lando norris x reader #charles leclerc x reader #carlos sainz x reader #oscar piastri x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #george russel x reader #max verstappen x reader #daniel riccardo x reader #pierre gasly x reader

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afurtivecake · 3 months ago

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You know what my actual favourite Andrew Minyard line in the whole series is? It's not his sentimental lines like, "...from now until May you are still Neil Josten...". It's not even the best love confession in all of literature line, "Doesn't mean I wouldn't blow you." It's when he says "I'm not as smart as I thought I was."

That one line tells you so much about Andrew's character. That's the line that spells out for the reader that Andrew is smarter than he chooses to let on. That's the line that shows you just highly Andrew thinks of his own intelligence and how much he's been relying on it to survive and to keep his promises.

Consider that up until that point Andrew has presented himself with nothing less than the domineering kind of toughness you'd expect to see in a prison scene in a movie. He openly talks about breaking Neil, threatens multiple people with knives and makes everyone work around him. His "tough guy around town" persona and his ability to inflict violence is clearly something he prizes. AND YET. The first time he admits to any kind of dissatisfaction with himself, it's about his intelligence.

That is the point where the reader realizes that Andrew, in his own mind, is an intellectual. He doesn't actually pride himself on being the toughest guy in the room. He's aware that he's all of 5-feet-nothing and he knows at any given moment there's likely to be someone bigger and stronger than he is. What he's counting on in any given situation is being the smartest guy in the room. Fix any issues before they worsen, anticipate and eliminate any threats before they surface, think his way out of any problem that comes up. His intelligence is what he relies on to keep his promises.

That's the moment Andrew realizes that he's been letting his feelings get the better of his logic. He clocks Neil as dangerous from day one. But he's been telling himself that he's letting Neil stay for Kevin's sake or at least just until he can definitively prove Neil is dangerous. But the real reason he let Neil stay and get away with all his sketchy behaviour is because he let the fact that he likes Neil as a person, overcome his logic.

It makes you think, OH, THAT'S WHY Andrew was so interested in Neil in the first place. For someone who prides himself on his intelligence and KNOWS that no one else can match his smarts, Neil figuring out his twin switcheroo trick is the same as Neil throwing down the gauntlet and challenging him to a battle of wits. Andrew keeps trying to trip Neil up and Neil keeps batting his attempts aside and Andrew ends up helplessly charmed by Neil. Because Andrew LIKES that Neil is able to outsmart him sometimes, that Neil is his intellectual equal. And somewhere along the way, he's let himself forget that he "knows better" than to get emotionally attached, than to let someone else best him at his best quality- than to act like every other idiot in love that he's ever met.

You then realize that Andrew hasn't once thought of himself as brawny jock. That off-putting delinquent/school-shooter vibe and "psycho" reputation is a carefully calculated form of self-defense. It's self-defense in the literal sense of scaring off people who might want to fuck with him, but perhaps also in the sense of protecting himself from being seen. It makes sense, right? If people were to actually try to get to know him with an open mind, they'd soon discover that he IS difficult to get along with in ways they thought they could handle, but can't. Better to act the volatile asshole than suffer the disappointment of people changing how they treat him. And in the unlikely case that people find out that he isn't as tough as he presents himself, they might pity him. And that would be even worse. Much better to be as un-fuck-with-able as possible.

First time reading the book, I was taken in by Andrew's jock-ish façade. But the moment he admitted maybe he ought to be disappointed in himself for not being as smart as he thought he was, I had to set the book down and rethink every assumption I had made about Andrew as a character. The timing of that revelation is so perfect, because it happens just before the Thanksgiving mess. And so as the reader, you're suddenly coming to terms with the fact that Andrew is so much more vulnerable than he's ever portrayed himself to be at the same time that Andrew is being hit with probably one of the worst moments in his life. Like, that absolutely TOOK ME OUT. Which is why, that's one of the best lines in the whole series to me.

#this line is a HUGE part of the reason this series had such a big impact on me #andrew's character is just so well-written and the reveals about his character are so impeccably well-timed #andrew minyard #aftg

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amywritesthings · 6 months ago

Text

seven days. | part one.

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: armin arlert x gn!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin) Word Count: 3.9k Summary: Armin gets bamboozled into joining the annual Yeager family beach vacation — and accidentally meets you.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI - alternate universe (modern), beach house, summer vacation, eventual romance, alcohol, partying, Armin deserves a romcom, Eren & Zeke have zero braincells Credits: dividers by @saradika-graphics

part two. | masterlist

“Zeke, you Point Break bitch, did you steal my boogie board?!”

Ah, yes.

If he was looking for a week of tranquility and peace, then Armin Arlert should have declined the invitation to join the Yeager family for their annual summer vacation.

Time and time again, Eren has begged his best friend to tag along.

As far as he's aware, this has been a family tradition ever since his best friend was a toddler.

One week, the same week, every single year.

Not to mention it's the same beach house merely two blocks away from the boardwalk and sandy shores.

Home away from home.

It’ll be amazing!

(Eren likes to claim.)

There is so much sick shit we can do!

(His words, not Armin’s.)

You’re gonna sit on your ass and read anyway, so why not do it by a beach?

(...okay, maybe that sold him.)

Then again, nothing is more humbling than standing with your duffle bag in one hand, filled to the brim with ‘maybe’ shirts and ‘just in case’ medicines, and your pillow in another while the Yeager family chaotically dissolves into a panicked army of four battling to even get to said beach in one piece.

Chaos.

It’s their collective middle name.

“Armin, sweetie, do you want any snacks for the road?”

Carla Yeager — doting mother figure and matriarch of the family.

She’s the reason they’re taking two cars this year, too afraid she may forget something important at home.

From fresh tangerines to a plethora of board games, she’s thought of it all.

Shuffling his bag to give his hands some equal soreness — ouch, that's freaking heavy — Armin offers an apologetic smile.

“No, Mrs. Yeager, I’m fine. Thank you.”

“How many times do I need to tell you to call me Carla?”

Every time, actually.

Although Zeke very easily calls his stepmother by her first name, Armin can't bring himself to do it.

Blah, blah, raised a certain way by his ever-traditional grandfather, blah.

The awkward blonde merely nods once and watches as Carla shuffles by to throw another box of napkins into the trunk.

“Here,” she gestures, waving her arms while she’s in front of the hatchback, “that looks bulky.”

It is, but he’s a kindred spirit in the name of overpacking.

“I can find a spot for it,” he promises, but relents when the woman gives him that mom look that straightens out her son and stepson. “I— Thank you, Mrs. — Carla.”

Close enough.

He hands her his duffle bag, careful to spot the bottom of it in a sneaky attempt to help her ease his luggage into the first car.

Boom.

The front door bursts open to reveal Zeke and Eren, shoulder to shoulder, frantically fighting to see who can walk out first.

Grunting, Zeke tries to push ahead with his neon-green boogie board against his torso, but Eren manages to dip at the hip and rush down the steps.

The momentum nearly knocks Zeke’s oval glasses off the bridge of his nose.

“Could you be normal for two seconds?” the blonde groans.

Eren merely answers by sticking his tongue out and holds up a hand, wiggling his thumb and pinkie back and forth. “Fucking loser.”

Carla immediately glares. “Eren, language.”

“Forking, sorry, forking,” Eren corrects with little remorse.

“Seriously?” Zeke laments as he walks by, squinting at his brother. “What are you, ten?”

“Zeke,” a voice chastises softly from the garage. "Be nice to your brother."

Grisha Yeager, father of the year, rolls out a large cooler to bring it towards the second yet-to-be-filled car.

He’s wearing a Margaritavilla button-down, his long hair tied similar to Eren’s. On his forehead is a tie-dye headband.

“We'll be within close quarters of one another for seven whole days," Grisha reminds in that airy tone of his. "We should hold off on the in-fighting until day four at the very least.”

"I'll give it until day three," Zeke mumbles under his breath as he passes by, shoving his boogie board into the first car and smushing Armin's duffle bag down to half its size.

Yeah.

This is what it’s like to vacation with the Yeagers.

Except when your grandfather gets a new girlfriend, and they go to Key West for the summer, you’re stuck without being able to say no to your best friend’s family.

Seven days.

He can handle the Yeagers for seven days.

— —

It took less than three hours for Armin's pale skin to burn like an overcooked egg.

“It’s really not that bad,” chimes in Eren, mouth occupied by the hair tie between his teeth.

Invading his pessimistic mirror space, the taller brunette dips to look at himself while fixing his staple half-up bun hairdo.

The shorter blonde frowns even further as he checks out his tomato-red shoulders, standing shirtless and shoeless in front of him.

“It looks pretty bad, Eren.”

“Nah. Just slap some aloe on it, alright?”

Ruffling sounds behind him.

Glancing over his shoulder in the reflection of the mirror, a bag of potato chips flies into view as Eren carelessly rips it from the cardboard variety pack — courtesy of the emergency snack stash in the corner of the room.

(The emergency snacks are, quote: So that bitch-ass Zeke doesn't steal the goods.)

The sun-kissed boy walks barefoot to the edge of the twin bed and flops down.

Right.

He forgot to mention he’s sharing a room with Eren, which only makes matters forty times worse.

Two twin beds with doily-esque blankets and flat pillows.

Thank god Armin had the sense to pack his own.

“Besides, the alcohol will make it feel better," Eren adds, chewing on a potato chip.

With a noise of defiance, Armin turns from the mirror to stare at his best friend.

“You do realize alcohol dehydrates a person, right?”

“So?”

“So—” Armin protests tightly, “—it’ll make it worse.”

Eren pops another chip in his mouth, shaking his head.

“Nah.”

Eloquent as always.

Groaning, he slowly — agonizingly — pulls his pastel blue polo over his aching shoulders and breathes out through his nose.

That SPF 50 was supposed to work, but he must have lost track of time binge-reading his first book of the trip.

A spy thriller, actually, that fell flat right around chapter three and nosedived bad just at the cusp of act three.

The wildly out-of-left-field twist made him so mad that he missed his alarm to reapply another coat of sunscreen, and—

Well.

As a result, human lobster is now on the menu tonight.

Regardless, he promised to go out.

It isn't ideal, but a promise is a promise.

About ten or so blocks away from the beach house is the coveted spot known as The Point.

From what he could gather from Google, The Point is a tiki bar boasting high-top bar tables nestled in sand, recreational volleyball courts, and live music all week long.

It’s about the only lively place in this rather family-friendly beach town.

While not technically a dry town, bars are few and far between and there are approximately a whopping zero nighttime entertainment venues, so The Point was about as wild as any college kid stuck on vacation was going to get.

Earlier, Eren spent most of the car ride to the house hyping it up.

Zeke, in surprising fashion, seemed to hold the same sentiment.

(It’s probably the only thing the brothers could agree upon.)

Plus, Zeke apparently had some surfer friends he’d met online that were going on the first night of vacation, so that solidified the night’s plans.

After showering, dressing, and having family dinner with the parents, it's go time.

A little past nine at night, the three boys walk on the sidewalk in a triangle unit, with Armin trailing behind.

Ever a wallflower he keeps quiet, observing carefully as the two brothers figure out their game plan.

Zeke is anti-shots.

Eren wants shots or nothing at all.

“We’re on vacation, why the fuck wouldn’t you do shots?”

“Because,” Zeke explains, “if you start with shots, then you’re setting yourself up for failure.”

“Yeah, if you can’t hold your liquor.”

“Eren, you just turned twenty-one.”

Eren’s nostrils flare. “So?! I had plenty of practice at university!”

“Is he a lightweight, Arlert?”

Wait.

What?

Oh, shit, they’re including him.

“Be honest,” Zeke adds over his shoulder.

Like a deer in headlights, Armin blinks between the brothers. “Uh… sometimes?”

“What?!”

The yell out of his best friend is piercing.

“You goddamn turncoat!”

“You’re not exactly somebody with an iron stomach, Eren,” the blonde reminds softly as if calming a petulant child, only to wince when he's met with a look of pure anger. “But that isn't to say you can't hold a shot down.”

“Or five,” Eren challenges.

“Three at best,” Armin relents.

“Three and a half.”

Armin squints as they turn the corner leading towards the entrance of the bar.

“In what world does half a shot cou—”

“Wait!”

Eren yelps, holding out an arm to stop Zeke in his tracks.

Armin subsequently also stops — as does his wearing patience.

“I have a solution.”

Zeke pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “And what’s that?”

“Look at me, dude.”

The boy with the man bun demands attention, using his pointer and middle finger to gesture between him and his half-brother.

“You know what I’m thinking. Give it nine seconds.”

Right.

Not ten, because Eren’s favorite number is arbitrarily nine.

Zeke squints with about as much confusion as Armin’s feeling, but Armin knows by now how this is going to go.

Although they’re born with two different mothers, they’re eerily in sync with one another when they want to be extra annoying.

Some kind of Yeager sixth sense tying them together; they fall silent, staring—

Then the thought strikes.

Like two brain cells clicking together, they simultaneously grin at one another.

“Jagerbombs.”

Great.

So even worse than a shot or a beer.

That’s all it takes for the two to become best buds as they stroll into the tiki bar like they own the place.

The blonde and brunette zero in on an open spot at one of the several pop-up bar locations at this venue—

—leaving Armin in the dust to fumble out his I.D. to the bouncer.

It's nothing new.

Cover charge? Paid.

Hand stamp? Accomplished.

Careful not to get any sand in his sneakers, Armin treads carefully across the uneven landscape towards the same lively bar as his best friend.

Music thumps right into his ribcage.

Flashing lights threaten to blind him if he so much as looks over his shoulder to the west.

It’s more than he’s used to.

More than he wants, really.

(What happened to the leisure part of vacation again?)

“We got you one!”

Eren.

Blinking back into his body, Armin glances at the shot glass filled to the brim of Jagermeister waggled in his face. Immediately responding with a grimace, he steps back.

“No, I’ll just grab myself a drink, alright? You two enjoy — that.”

“What?” Eren’s frown is immediate. “Seriously? How else are you gonna get wasted with us?”

I’m not, is what he’d like to argue, but he knows Eren by now.

“What do you mean us?” Arnin shouts over the music. “I don’t see Zeke!”

“He got a text from one of his dumbass surfer bros and ditched,” Eren answers, “but to be perfectly honest, I’m thinking of playing the field tonight.”

“The what?”

“The field!”

“Eren, it’s really hard to hear you when they won’t stop mixing Pitbull with ABBA!”

“What?!”

Oh, this is impossible.

He raises his hands to gently push the shot glass towards his best friend’s chest.

“You take it and show Zeke you can handle it!” Armin calls back at the top of his lungs, his shaggy blonde hair waving in the wind as he nods with encouragement.

That: giving Eren a challenge.

(Works like a charm.)

Determination spreads across his face. Eren nods, hyping himself up for a double-fisted success story.

Armin simply nods, too, using the chameleon effect to build up Eren’s trust.

(Maybe he shouldn’t be using his psychology notes against his best friend, but desperate times call for desperate measures.)

“Yeah!”

Eren shouts while dropping the shot into the energy drink left perspiring on the bar top.

“I’m gonna!”

“Okay!”

“And then I’m gonna talk to a girl! Or a guy! Or someone!”

Armin’s eyes shoot wide with surprise, but he chooses not to rain on his best friend’s parade because Eren is already chugging the drink, spilling a little of the Jagerbomb down his oversized black tee.

(Good call, wearing dark colors, unlike Armin’s poorly planned pastel.)

Slamming it down on the bar top with a howl of victory, he pats Armin on the arm and trudges forward to the dance floor to do…

Well, that’s between the power of Charli xcx and God.

“Oh, Eren,” Armin mumbles, watching the little man bun bounce in time with the beat of the music until it’s consumed by dancing bodies.

Turning back to the bartenders, the blonde debates.

Agonizes, really.

He doesn’t drink very often.

It’s not really his thing.

But… when on vacation, right?

(Alone, apparently, since Zeke isn’t coming back anytime soon and he’s going to need to deal with dragging Eren’s drunk ass home in the next two hours.)

“Vodka soda, please,” he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck.

The bartender behind the counter nods his way before pulling out a plastic cup.

Within a few seconds the simple alcoholic beverage is concocted, and he leaves a reluctant ten-dollar bill on the sliver of the bar that isn’t covered in condensation or sloshed liquor.

He reaches—

Oh.

That’s not a cup.

Freezing in his place, his blue eyes zero in on a pair of fingers entwined with his, nestled on the very same cup.

He can feel them tense under his own slender digits.

Dread. Pure, existential dread.

Apologize, apologize—

“Shit—”

“I’m so—”

“Sorry!”

A stranger’s voice yelps with his in unison.

Before he can move, their hand rips away from his, leaving his fingers to meet with the cold plastic.

His neck cranes to his left and—

Oh.

Oh, no.

You.

Blinking several times to get his wits about him, he can feel his mouth growing dry.

The way the blinking lights illuminate off of your face completely force his train of thought off the damn tracks.

Flickers of blues, greens, pinks — they compliment your face so nicely as each shade seems to highlight another feature that he hadn’t noticed a second before.

He shouldn’t stare, but he can’t help it: you’re drop dead gorgeous.

“It’s okay,” Armin breathes out after holding his breath for some time. “That was my bad. I didn’t see you.”

Your eyes are just as wide as his. “No! No, it was my fault. I thought that was my drink.”

“What did you order?”

“Uh, a hard seltzer? I think?” you answer, scrunching your nose as you respond.

Mayday.

That’s a type of adorable he is not equipped to handle in his sunburnt state.

“You think?” he repeats with a small chuckle.

You move your head side to side, tilting with an uncommitted air about it.

“It’s bubbling, right? Means I’m on the right carbonated track.”

“Yeah, but don’t hard seltzers usually come in cans?”

“Not always at this place,” you correct, before pushing the cup towards him. “I also kind of panicked when I ordered, so sorry for almost being a drink stealer.”

“Trust me, I know a thing or two about panic ordering,” Armin admits with a huff, taking the cup into his hands.

“Yeah?”

You give a carefree laugh that causes his stomach to give an Olympian-grade somersault.

“Is that why you got a vodka soda?”

“Guilty as charged.”

“We’ve all been there,” you empathize, briefly pouting your lower lip. “I won’t judge.”

He’s not nearly drunk enough to deal with this (see: at all) but that doesn’t mean Armin is going to waste his opportunity.

He may be a wallflower, but he’s equal parts an opportunist.

“So you’ve been here before?” he tries instead, hoping you don’t suddenly snatch your seltzer can and walk away.

You do get your seltzer from the same bartender — a slender aluminum can, nothing fancy — but you don’t walk away.

The opposite: you angle towards him.

Shit, okay.

He can do this.

“My friends love this place,” you tell him over the music. He finds himself leaning closer, angling his chin down, so he can hear you better. “So I just tagged along to make sure no one got black-out drunk or made out with anyone weird.”

“A noble effort,” Armin teases, and your eyes sparkle with amusement. “My friends dragged me here, too.”

“Dragged?” you catch with a growing smirk as you take a sip. “I said I tagged, not dragged.”

“Oh.”

Idiot.

Recover.

“I mean, it wasn't — yeah, no, I was definitely dragged here,” Armin confesses, sipping his vodka soda for some liquid courage.

No use in lying to seem cool.

That facade would crumble like a house of cards.

“Partying at The Point not your scene?” you ask without judgment laced in your tone.

Armin nods. “I could be sitting on the balcony reading right now.”

Your brows slide high with intrigue. "Reading?"

Yeah, he should have expected a reaction like that.

The blonde shuffles, shrugging his shoulders.

"I know, lame."

"I don't think it's lame at all," you answer instantly.

His eyes widen. "I— no?"

"Uh, no," you snort. "If I had a choice, I'd probably be doing the same thing."

Oh, shit.

Oh... shit.

So he's not lame, and he found a possible fellow bookworm.

Armin sips his drink so fast that a little dribbles out the corner of his mouth.

Liquid courage; he needs it, badly.

"If you could be home right now instead of here, what would you be reading?" he decides to ask, knowing it's the most unsexy question he could offer.

You scrunch your nose again, seriously contemplating the question while bobbing your head to the music.

"I brought maybe two books? I should have brought more."

He nods eagerly, his blue eyes round with interest.

"I have a romance that takes place in the summer — I know. Very on the nose," you relent with a small huff. "And, uh, this thriller? But I'm not crazy about it, so I'm mostly reading the romance book on the beach."

"I brought a thriller, too," he admits. "Bounty Run."

"Shut up, you too?"

"Huh?"

You laugh, and it's a melody that makes the music at this venue pale in comparison.

"I literally bought Bounty Run last month and never got around to it until now! It's so bad!"

To whatever deity is smiling upon him today, Armin has to thank them.

Not only has he met someone who likes reading, but they think Bounty Run sucks.

Maybe he's hallucinating from the burn screaming through his polo right now.

"It's really bad," he agrees breathlessly with a chuckle.

"Like dogshit terrible!"

"I know. What the hell was Tracy thinking in chapter six?"

"Oh my god, when she decided to call the hostage guy?"

"Yes!"

"Like, I'm pretty sure that's not how those situations work."

"Not even close."

You both laugh, and all Armin Arlert wants is to know every miniscule thought of yours.

What other books you may have read.

If you have any recommendations.

If you're single.

Nope.

No.

He's not Eren Yeager.

He is not his best friend—

"Are you from here?" you ask over the music, breaking his panicked train of thought.

Armin swallows more alcohol, shaking his head. "No, we're not locals. We're just vacationing."

"So are we!"

"With your friends?"

"My friend's family," you correct, leaning closer to stop shouting so loudly.

He can feel his blood pressure spike exponentially.

"I'm with my friend's family, too," Armin tells you. "Our shore house for the week is something like ten blocks from here."

“For the week? Which way’s your house?” you ask, before holding up your free hand. “Not in, like, a mega-stalker way.”

“Oh, I didn’t take it that way,” he promises, earnest intent pouring from his mouth. “It’s, uh… wait where are we — oh! That way.”

He swivels and points, like somehow that’ll triangulate where the beach starts.

Your chin turns, noting the direction. “So near the… beach? No fucking way, our house is that way, too, but more like a seven-block walk from here.”

Oh.

No fucking way, indeed.

"Seriously?" Armin asks, voice cracking just a tad.

"Yeah! Do you guys camp out on the beach by third street, too?"

He nods almost too eagerly. "We were just there this afternoon."

"So were we," you confess with a light laugh. "Small world! We were both being subjected to that god-awful book and could've warned each other to pick a less shitty book."

"Well, I brought about a dozen books if you want one to borrow."

Way to go, mouth.

Armin tenses instantly as the words pour from his mouth.

"I... you know, just in case the romance book doesn't work out! Or if you're a fast reader! Or if you—"

"Promise?"

Your question cuts through like a knife.

He is in awe.

Enamored.

He'll give you all of his goddamn books if it means you'll talk to him after tonight.

Suddenly your chin drops, and your free hand fishes for your phone in the back pocket of your jean shorts.

A frown tugs at the corners of your lips, causing the blonde to simply wait.

Stare.

Don't go.

Don't go, don't go, don't—

"Shit, mayday with my friend."

You sigh as if you were expecting a disaster.

Hell, he's expecting one, too, but he's selfishly forgotten about saving Eren or finding Zeke.

"Are they alright?"

"Yeah, just..." You trail off, typing back a response. "They pre-gamed before we came here to save money. I told them not to, but... best laid plans, right?"

"I could give you my number?" he blurts, and your attention leaves your phone.

Your eyes round with surprise, and he feels immense shame in even offering.

Yet—

"For the books," he adds hastily. Shakily. "To borrow. O-Or if you ever want to just... talk about them."

"For the books," you agree, biting your lip between your teeth. "Yeah, sure, give me your phone."

His cup is empty, but he almost drops it trying to yank his phone out of his pocket.

Armin holds it out to you, unlocking the screen. He watches as you pocket your own phone and take his, typing your number into a new text chat window.

This is happening.

This is seriously, actually happening.

"Here," you offer, handing his phone back. "I put my name in."

He glances down, memorizing your name with newfound vigor.

"Okay, perfect. Oh — my name. My name is Armin."

"Armin?" You repeat. He nods. "I like that name."

Suddenly, he likes it, too.

"See you around?" he asks hopefully.

With a parting smile, you take a slow step backwards.

"...yeah, Armin. See you around."

You look just as sheepish as he feels when you turn on a heel, disappearing into the crowd.

For a moment he stands there, dumbfounded — phone in hand, slack jawed —

Hopeful.

Maybe...

Maybe Armin Arlert won't hate spending seven days at the Yeager shore house after all.

author's note:

Thank you SO much for reading part one of my little summer story! I've been dying to write a proper Armin fic for a while now, and a casual, warm vacation setting felt perfect for him. This is meant to be a cozy read, so I hope you enjoy my love letter to my favorite boy. xo

How are we feeling after part one? Let me know in the replies! (And thank you for any reblogs, likes, engagement, etc. Every comment gives this writer wings.)

#armin arlert x reader #armin arlert x you #attack on titan fanfiction #snk fanfiction #snk fanfic #aot fanfic #aot fic #snk fic #shingeki no kyojin fanfiction #armin arlert fanfiction #armin arlert fanfic #armin arlert fic #aot x reader #aot x you #gender neutral reader

231 notes · View notes

xxsycamore · 3 months ago

Text

FEATHER TOUCH

╰┈➤ You had a rough day, and Victor is here to make it all better... even if his techniques of making you laugh are quick to lead to other things.

Victor/f!Reader • rating: E (MDNI) • tags: Feather Play; Tickling; Pillow Fights; Neck Kissing; Teasing; Light Sadism; Slight knifeplay; Begging; Multiple Orgasms; Vaginal Sex; Creampie; Aftercare; Post-sex Cuddles • wordcount: 2,464 • masterlist

a/n: Credits for the idea go to @candied-boys !! Thank you!!

Visions of Temptation 2024/KINKTOBER DAY 6: Feather Play

"So, my darling Robin…Now that I've got you where I want you, all cute and vulnerable underneath me... I think it's about time we indulge in the naughty things I promised you earlier today, don't you think?"

You smile nervously at Victor, nodding in the middle of a shiver as he crawls closer to you on the queen-sized bed. You're already backed against the headboard with no room to escape - not that you're trying to, oh no. It's just that you can't help this quickening heartbeat that makes you feel like a cornered prey about to be devoured. Victor is not unlike a beast. His facade might fool you into forgetting his hunger, but this only heightens the adrenaline of being seconds away from getting under his claws.

With knees pressed to your chest, you feel the cold headboard against your naked back; the luxurious negligee Victor bought for you not caring to cover much of your skin to begin with. Victor had discarded his coat, vest, and shoes by the time he climbed at the end of the bed and started approaching you, with his three uppermost buttons undone and leaving his cleavage exposed to your gaze in his crawling position.

And now his shadow falls on your form, and you close your eyes in anticipation, ready for him to pounce on you, have his way with you, anything he wishes - but instead of his torso, what is being pushed against your chest is-

"A p-pillow?"

"We're having a pillow fight! Yaaay!"

Yay?!

The weapon entrusted to you - now that you recognize the pillow as such - has to act as a shield first, as you barely react fast enough to block an upcoming attack from your eccentric boyfriend.

Now, you might be confused, but that doesn’t mean that you'll just let him beat you at this!

You grab into the pillow you've just successfully prevented from hitting you and throw it right back at Victor. He's moving backward and rising to his feet now, as if that would make him any easier to miss, with that huge build of his. You only get more motivated, taking the risk of standing up to your full height ontop of the bed, carefully grounding yourself in the softness of the mattress while aiming for your opponent. It's nice to be higher than him for once!

"Prepare yourself, Victor!"

Dashing towards the sofa at the other end of the room, Victor sweeps all of the cushions for himself at a fast speed before hiding behind the piece of furniture. You're prepared for his upcoming attack but it still nearly knocks you off balance, so you're quick to crouch down - and grab the rest of what ammunition is left near the headboard.

Victor has a lot of pillows on his bed. It's a bed fit for a king, almost, silky and luxurious all over. Sleeping by his side here greatly improves the quality of your sleep… But that has more to do with the man himself rather than this bed.

And now that you've discovered another way of having fun in said bed, you can't help but enjoy it to the fullest. You don't even know how it got to this, with the rapid change in the mood brought by Victor's deceiving actions, but you don't mind it. It's something to be expected while with him, it's part of why you love him so much.

You get so into it, that once Victor leaves his guard wide open, you throw the pillow so hard at him it ends up bouncing off the sofa it hit instead. You're laughing, and so is Victor.

Suddenly he's ontop of you in a curious change of battle tactics, and you're squealing between laughs, and Victor repeats how he's caught you, in his usual loud tone.

And there are…feathers all around.

Since when did this game turn so rough?! You feel bad for the torn pillow but Victor hates it when you pay attention to such trivial things... so instead you just chuckle with noticeable guilt in your tone that he hurries to address.

"I told you we'd get a little naughty tonight. We made a mess!"

You can't help it, rising up one more time and doing a little spin with the torn pillow still in your embrace. Victor watches you with a joyful smile, opening his arms to welcome you when you come back down to him. The slight bounce-off when you fall down knee-first makes another squeal fall from your mouth, but it's soon muffled by Victor's kiss.

He lays you down and leans over you, blocking the chandelier light with his wide frame. Feathers dance in the air around the bed, and you're hazy with your north and south trading places again, the whole thing looking almost dream-like.

Victor taps your lips with his index finger.

"There's this smile I love to see!"

Warmth fills your chest as you realize how much you've been smiling all this time. After the stressful day you told him all about, with another gruesome mission you shared with Crown's members, Victor must have been dying to put you in a better mood.

Your chest aside, it's your cheeks that are getting hot now. Because you totally assumed he wanted to put you in a better mood by pushing you into his bed and-

"No, no, don't stop smiling now! Or I'll have to use even naughtier methods!"

What is that even supposed to-

Before you can fully identify the unfamiliar sensation at your neck, the reaction of your body is to immediately jump because of...being tickled.

"Ahahahah! Victor, what are you—"

"Cootchie-cootchie-coo! Sing for me more, my Robin!"

You look down to see him manipulating a feather between his long fingers, flickering it across your exposed skin. He moves down to your belly where the gossamer parts in two and leaves you open and vulnerable all the way down to your panties.

The tickling sensation is especially powerful there, and you try to play-protest against the merciless acts, trying to disarm him while tears gather in the corners of your eyes. As if there aren't hundreds of other feathers he can make use of, scattered all around the two of you...

"Ahaha— It's like— It's like you did one of your magic tricks and released a b-bunch of birds in here! Ahahaha!"

Victor chuckles at your joke, but it doesn't break his concentration on finding new targets for his teasing. Up your arms and grazing by your armpits, he ends up at your chest again, and more especially, at your neck.

"Nghh-!"

The feather is lifted off you for a second, and your eyes snap open, realizing that the last noise that Victor plucked out of you wasn't exactly a laugh. He doesn't remain ignorant of it either, judging by the pause in his actions.

A pause that proves to be brief, because in the very next second, he's renewing his attack.

"Ahh— Victor—that's—"

I'm sensitive here, is what you're probably trying to tell him. But of what use is that piece of information when he already seems to know?

"My dear Robin… You'll have to forgive me. Here I had my pure intentions about making that beautiful smile bloom back on your face, but now all I want is to ruin it."

The shiver that runs down your spine suddenly has little to do with the touch of the feather. You search for Victor's jelwel-like eyes, and see them darkened by something dangerous. Something you know way too well.

"To… ruin it?"

You pretend to be clueless, but the way your glistening lips part is not exactly a provocation, not yet. You're genuinely curious to know where this leads.

Victor's large hand moves up your torso - his touch much firmer than the feather's - until he finds and squeezes one of your breasts.

A small gasp leaves your lips, as he takes his time ghosting over your chest before nudging the thin strips of your negligee off your shoulders.

You get the hint and try your best to assist him in your lying position, but then you shudder at the sudden feeling of cold metal on your skin. Does he keep a dagger on his person...?

Before you have a chance to vocalize your reaction, the strips of your negligee are cut by the dagger's sharp edge; followed by the ribbon holding it together in front of your chest.

"I'll buy you another!"

The sing-song tone of his voice is unfit for the obscene act of undressing you by cutting your clothing to shreds. Still, it's those antics that remind you of what he's capable of, never to be underestimated.

Now that your breasts are bared for him, he returns to the feather, much to your dismay.

By the time he brings it in contact with your skin, you're already squirming. He lifts it off, and you still do, and he chuckles at you.

And when he brings it down on your nipple, only then do you understand about the ruining of your cheerful expression. Contrary to before, the feather's touch can't bring laugher to your lips anymore.

They only open to moan and whine. The barely-there touch of the feather still manages to stimulate your nipples into hardened peeks, but it gives little to no pleasure in its wake. Your feet kick at the sheets, at each side of Victor, as he'd settled himself right in between your legs, your panties already discarded with another slash of the dagger.

"Vic—…tor…!

The man above you simply circles and follows the forms of your breasts using the feather, alternatively stroking your pebbled nubs until you throw your head back from frustration.

"Is something the matter, my darling?"

"I want more! Please!!"

"Oh?" Victor exclaims, propping himself up on one arm as the other keeps maneuvering the feather over your heated skin. "You want more of this?"

Your brain screams no, knowing that Victor perfectly well understood what is it that you want more of, with it certainly not being the feather, but nothing comes out of you besides another needy whimper.

"Look down at what I'm doing to you. It's reaaaaly erotic."

Biting onto your bottom lip, you raise your head a tad, focusing your eyes on the same thing Victor is looking at; the tip of the feather slowly makes it down across your stomach again, and then further down, until reaching your pubic mound.

Bracing yourself is futile, as the unfamiliar sensation hits your bundle of nerves at once and makes your whole body squirm again. Victor seems to be enjoying himself. He flicks the tip of the feather on your overly sensitive clit, all swollen and beginning for a firmer touch, and coos at your reactions.

"Aww, my poor Robin! Is that too much already? How am I supposed to play with you when you're begging me to give you everything I've got?"

Arching your chest for Victor's eyes, you can do little more than beg, hearing that the sweet reward for letting yourself be played with is in sight. You need him now.

"Victor, please- Please make love to me— touch me, fuck me, do something! I can't take it anymore!"

The borderline sadistic Queen's Aide smiles sweetly at you. No, you don't want to call him sadistic, not when he's fully capable of sending you straight to the heavens with his touch, to spoil you for hours on. Images of him nestled between your legs serve as tantalizing reminders of his thorough ministrations to pleasure you. But even in those moments, there's a pinprick of relentless teasing that has no other name but pure, addictive sadism…

In a flash, the feather is discarded and completely away from your sight. Victor's hands replace it; a generous payback as they map out and cover every inch of skin it touched. But they're oh-so-much broader, firmer, hotter, everything that the feather failed to provide. So much that your breath quickly grows erratic, and your body stirs again.

Victor domineers over your senses, touching you fully now, just as you wanted.

The shuffle of clothes coming undone is barely audible through the suckling noises of Victor's mouth at your neck, but they give you a rush of excitement that has you tugging at his shirt to get it off of him even faster.

In the next moment, the blunt head of his sizeable hardness nestles between your folds, pressing and rubbing against your clit, and you feel yourself teetering at the edge.

Victor notices this, chuckling and giving you a quick kiss before he resumes the action, this time with purpose. He rubs he head of his cock into your clit, never quite sliding lower, never close to slipping in, until you're left coming undone at the stimulation.

"Ahhh—!! Nghhh- No— I need you inside-!"

Despite your protests, you ride out a very satisfying orgasm that finishes with Victor's tongue prodding at your lips again. You let him in and share a long-drawn kiss with him.

"Who said you won't have me?"

You barely have time to gaze back into those shimmering eyes as Victor thrusts into your seeping wetness, slowly but steadily bottoming out inside you.

"Nghhh!!"

With the preceding teasing, everything that led to this, it makes the feeling downright euphoric. You find it hard to care about the volume of your moans anymore - and Victor has done a meticulous job making you give up on that habit of yours, a long time ago.

It's not long before you sense the pace of his hips getting out of rhythm, and you only sink your nails harder onto his glorious back muscles, daring him to fill you up right now.

And he does; in a single deep thrust that makes you feel him in your guts, warmth explodes deep into your pelvis, wave after wave, as he fulls you up with his virile seed.

Minutes past by as you lazily answer his kisses, getting lost in the chaste touches of your still intertwined limbs. Soon he changes position to spoon you instead, pressing his long limbs against the back of yours cozily.

"Post-sex cuddles time!! Yaay! Oh…I guess all the pillows are on the floor…"

You chuckle at Victor. Then you full-on laugh at him, no feathers being at fault.

"Here. I have an idea."

A simple solution comes to mind, and you maneuver his arm until his bicep is right under your head, allowing you to nestle onto his arm.

"I'll let you use my own body as a pillow later… If I don't fall asleep by then, that's it."

"Ahaha! I tired you off a lot, dear Robin, so that would only be fair!"

Taglist: @arsnovacadenza @kimi00twin @g-kleran @thesirenwashere @devonares @galaxyprison @starshards26 @thewitchofbooks @acethephoenix256 @ikevamp-shrine-2 @nad-zeta @crystal13unny @lordsister @ikemen-banshou @themysticalbeing @otome-scribbles @rhodolitesrose @kpop-and-otome @queen-dahlia @kisara-16 @chaosangel767 @ikemenlibrary @queengiuliettafirstlady @aurora-morning @ikemenlover24 @mcofthemansion @joy-the-reader @katriniac @ikemen-writer @tele86 @lovely-bubb1es @aria-chikage @babyblue0t7 @rhodoliteschaos @shrimpy-kitsune @nightghoul381 @xbalayage @lucyw260 @kittygrimm88 @lokis-laugh @natimiles @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf @groovylita Let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged!

#ikemen villains #ikevil #ikemen villains victor #ikevil victor #ikemen victor #ikemen series #ikeseries #ikemen villains fanfic #ikevil fanfic #otome #otome games #kinktober 2024 #kinktober #visions of temptation 2024 #visions of temptation

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keyotos · 1 year ago

Text

i'm unglued, thanks to you

summary ⎯ reader is sick as a dog. unexpectedly, wriothesley comes to the rescue.

tana talks ⎯ originally this wasn't going to be very long. but SICK FIC SICK FIC SICK FIC

"on the count of three, you're gonna blow," wriothesley holds the tissue up to your nose, gently holding the back of your head upright, "one. two. three."

you use all the muscles in your face to blow into the tissue, even going so far as to lean upwards due to the force. wriothesley takes the tissue and throws it into the trash, then quickly goes to grab another one.

as you watch wriothesley rummage through the cabinets for a tissue box (you've gone through an entire one in the span of 1 hour) you mentally scold yourself. you never get sick⎯it's a personal record at this point⎯yet this week has broken that record by turning you into a sick dog.

really what happened was that you were tending to your duties in the prison: delivering supplies, shipping items, and packaging items to be sent as mail. is it a mundane job? oh absolutely⎯but it pays the bills and keeps you steady, so you don't have much to complain about.

what you expected from this job was going back and forth, packaging items, and basic delivery. what you did not expect was catching the worse cold of the century. your bones ached, your head wasn't focused, and you nearly dropped everything you held. so much so that the duke of meropide even had to check up on you.

which begs the question, how did you end up in the duke's office rather than the infirmary? well, he took you here himself. you, being in a scatter-brained state of mind, thought he would be taking you to sigewinne. and now, you are in the duke's personal care.

"good job," wriothesley with a cup and a tissue box. as he hands you the full box, you hoarse out your thanks as you sink lower into the couch.

you blow once again, trying not to get your snot onto the duke's personal couch. that would be embarrassing, and you were sure that he would never let you live the moment down. alas, you weren't sure he'd let you forget the time he personally pampered you either.

"you really didn't need to do all of this," you threw the tissues in the other empty box, "i was fine."

"you looked like you were about to pass out," he brings the warm cup towards your face. his fingers, rough and calloused, delicately tilt your head up.

"drink," he commands. though, there were no tints of dominance in his voice, only concern. just between the two of you, wriothesley's voice softened. his usual authoritative and magisterial tone dissipated, now replaced with conscientiousness and tact.

you shook your head, "i hate tea."

wriothesley sighed; not out of annoyance, but out of habit. the familiar ring of breath was commonly heard: you were very vocal about your dislike for his favorite drink.

"is now really the time to be stubborn?"

"always. especially when it's with you," you snickered. embarrassingly, your snicker quickly turned into a coughing spasm, and you had to turn your head away from wriothesley's as you coughed into your elbow. if you stopped listening to the sound of your sickness, you'd be able to hear the grand duke of meropide chuckle.

"if anything," the duke set your cup down on the coffee table, "that should've been enough to convince you to stop being stubborn. will coffee really give you the same results as tea?" wriothesley skeptically asked you.

you let out one last cough, a smaller one than the last few you had. your hand grabs the tea cup on the counter and you blow over the hot liquid. you can feel wriothesley's eyes lingering on you; you can especially feel the smirk growing on his face as he watches you take your first sip. normally, you don't give in to wriothesley's ideas: however, you are sick and you have no other choice. soldiers can't win all their battles anyway, right?

the warm liquid soothes your rough throat as you gulp it all down in one go. surprisingly, it's less hot than you thought it would be. the tea seems to be made at the exact same temperature you make your coffee. only, you don't tell anyone how to make your coffee.

you finish the drink and look up at wriothesley, about to question him on how he managed to heat your drink at the perfect temperature. but he moves first, his thumb wiping remnants of tea around the corner of your mouth.

"good job," he keeps his voice low. his expression is fond, eyebrows slightly crinkled and relaxed eyes.

you open your mouth to say something back, to ask him how he learned to make your tea, to ask him how he learned you; alas, your sickness got the better of you, and you lunged for the tissue box as a huge sneeze erupted out of you.

oh dear. how embarrassing.

wriothesley stays as you blow out all the nerves in your nose into a few sheets of tissue paper. it's an unattractive sight, to say the least. he's a better person than you: you would have walked away.

once wriothesley realizes you're almost done with your blaring, he grabs your empty cup and starts to walk towards the stairs leading to the rest of his office. but you have other plans. other questions that desperately need answers, like why you're here instead of the infirmary; why he's taking such good care of you; why he's doing this.

"wait!" you throw your tissue onto the coffee table and wrap your hand around his empty one. was it unsanitary? definitely; yet, wriothesley grabbed back immediately.

"what's wrong?" he asked urgently, his eyes traveling your body as he searched for any signs of problems.

for a moment, you didn't respond. you blamed it on the hoarseness of your voice: yeah, that was it. but it wasn't.

you were about to cough (you weren't).

you were about to sneeze (you weren't).

"uh," you swallow, your hold getting loose as you turn your body away from him, "can you stay?"

when your hand was about to slip out of his, wriothesley pulled it back in. his thumb⎯the same thumb that wiped the tea off your face⎯ran over the top of your hand, a silent pledge that he would stay. he sets your cup down and you move to make room for him. though, with the massive amount of room you gave for wriothesley, he still finds a way to be close to you, regardless of your sickness.

with how close you two are sitting, wriothesley's leg is almost intertwined with yours. he turns his body so he can fully face you; he doesn't even shy away from the fact that he may become ill as well.

"did you need anything?" he asks. his voice⎯which should echo due to the both of you being in the quiet office⎯is quiet. and you notice that he's leaning closer, only for you to be able to hear him. funny, being that the two of you are the only ones in his office at the moment. regardless, he's close.

you freeze. try to focus on anything but him. put your mind back on track. you feel foolish: pulling wriothesley towards you only to be rendered speechless when he actually comes beside you. your fingers drum from beside you, working their way to help you figure out what to say next.

"my body isn't functioning properly," you sniffle, following with a light hearted smile. you want to wince right after the words leave your mouth. "i need a caretaker." i need you.

wriothesley, who is always full of sarcastic and cheeky retorts, nods. he is aware of what you meant. he knows what it meant. that's why instead of brushing you off with a small chuckle, he shifts towards you even more and grabs a blanket from one of the couch cushions he was sitting on.

you try not to squirm when his cold hands graze your back as he puts a pillow underneath you. wriothesley slowly ushers you until you are flat on your back. he pulls your legs into his lap, and you have to hold your breath so you don't begin coughing again. it was so easy. so casual. it was as if you two were more than just consumer and supplier.

now is a good time to probably ask him questions, you thought to yourself. but once you look back up at him, you find that you've lost your tongue. because when he looks down at you, it's like all you can see are stars. and to think this was the same man who was attempting to pour tea into your mouth just a few seconds ago.

"how are you feeling?" he is the first one to break the silence. the first one to initiate anything.

you tuck yourself further into the blanket, "better, i think." you look at wriothesley, who was looking at your legs on his lap. you part your mouth to say something, but you close your lips and turn your body the other way.

you gnaw on your lip, wrapping the blanket more tightly around yourself. wriothesley's hands lie softly on your calves. you feel your breathes getting sharper and shorter at the proximity, and you squeeze your eyes shut as a way to tell your body to stop.

after a few minutes, you feel a stare crawling up your body. it trickles from your legs, to your back, to your head. you know who the culprit is, there is no need to turn back. but it still surprises you. wriothesley is still there. he's there even in the silence. he's there even when he doesn't need to be. he's here.

if you turn around right now, what will he look like? will wriothesley look dazed? annoyed? lost? will he have that gaze in his eyes⎯the one where his eyes lower just slightly that you can tell he's at ease? or will he accessorize his pinched look with crossed arms?

you take a deep breath (as deep as you can get without being blocked by congestion), trying to make your respirations as quiet as possible. then, you shuffle your body so you lie on your back instead of your side.

when you look up at him, he is shamelessly staring at you. you meet his stare with a strong gaze, and wriothesley tries to smile, but you can tell that it's faltering. he swallows as your eyes dance around his face, studying it like a textbook.

"you should probably get some rest," wriothesley pulls a pillow from his side of the couch and lends it to you. your hand reaches out to grab the pillow and your fingertips brush. and for a moment, you find that wriothesley nearly takes your hand into his. however, he pulls away promptly, like you burned him.

with a few groans and coughs, you prop yourself up on the pillows he gave you. now, you two are on the same level. it should be the perfect time to ask him the questions from earlier, right? you've mauled over your feelings, had a few moments of silence to yourself, and you felt fine interacting with him.

so why is it that you can't bear to ask the question: why are you doing this for me?

you must be delirious. the cold is making you delirious. maybe the doctor mixed up your sickness and diagnosed you with a cold rather than a high fever, because there is no reason why you should be avoiding such a simple question.

you reach for the back of your neck, and you're burning up. strange, because you were feeling cold just a few moments ago. you look back to wriothesley, who was currently tapping the couch arm across from you.

"can i ask you something?" you say, breaking the long silence between the both of you.

his head instantly turns back around, "sure," he says a little too quickly.

"why..." you pause, picking at the couch fabric, "why did you choose to personally take care of me?"

wriothesley's hand drops from the couch arm. he looks off over to his desk and you can see him adjust his tie. your eyes follow wherever his are, attempting to decipher whatever he was doing.

finally, he turns back to you, "what if i just liked to take care of my favorite supplier?"

damn him; he answered your question with a question. you know that you probably shouldn't press on, especially if he is avoiding the question. but you have to know. why not bring you to sigewinne? why not send you back to the overworld? why sit here with you, doing nothing?

"first of all," you were cut off with a cough, "i'm your only supplier. second, would you do this for monsieur neuvillette?"

wriothesley's eyes bulged at the mention of neuvillette, "um, what?"

"i bet he's your favorite chief justice."

"he's the only chief justice."

"and would you take care of him the same way you took care of me?" you raise an eyebrow.

you imagine wriothesley will say something on the lines of, "that correlation made no sense," but he is quiet. the tips of his ears are slightly red, and he shoved his hands into his pant pockets.

"i'm guessing the answer is no?" you remove your legs off of wriothesley's lap and curl them into you. wriothesley's eyebrows slightly raise up due to the lost of contact. you pretend not to notice.

"i care about you," he looks down at the floor, and then turns back up, "i care a lot. so when i saw you on the verge of fainting⎯i just... i didn't want to leave you alone. it's not about tea either. i care for you.

plus, this is a way to reimburse you after you gave me all those free samples."

you understand. it clicks. wriothesley, who has never had a stable life. wriothesley, who did not have a good support system. wriothesley, who grew up in a careless household.

i care about you, i care for you. the back of your neck gets hotter, and this time you're unsure if it's a fever or something else.

"you don't have to pay me back for the samples. that's why they're free," you look down, your teeth biting the bottom of your lip to keep you from smiling.

"for the record, i give you those because i care about you too," you smile. it's not faltering. it's not fake. it's real, and it shows that you care.

your hand slides over to the side of wriothesley's thigh, urging his hand to intertwine with yours. you look at him again, lightly poking his thigh to send him the message.

wriothesley grabbed your hand like it was the last thing he ever needed before death. his thumb brushed over your hand again, and you feel yourself gulping.

"do you want to share the couch?" you lean back down on your back, removing one of the pillows and still holding onto wriothesley's hand.

"there's not gonna be enough room," wriothesley chuckles and scoots closer to you.

"i'll make enough room," you begin shuffling onto your side, creating a huge gap between the back of the couch and you.

"what if i get sick?" wriothesley jokes.

you playfully scoff back at him, "please. you've made it this far anyway," you turn onto your other side to see wriothesley, "come on. it'll be fine. we won't fall. you'd probably catch me in your sleep or something before i fall."

wriothesley pulls at his tie again, "fine. just this once," he says, even though he knows that this will be one of many.

your smile is enough to bring a year's worth of sunlight into the fortress of meropide. wriothesley doesn't see the sun often, but when he does, he is surprised it doesn't look like you.

wriothesley takes his spot behind you on the couch. you move to lay on the edge of the couch, but he pulls you closer just in case. you're a few centimeters away from his shirt; it seems like wriothesley is eager, yet still wants to maintain some distance.

his arms flop over your body as he buries his face into one of your (his) pillows. his head is right next to yours. for someone so cold (physically), his body temperature became warmer. you turn your head to the side so you can get a good look at him, but he's out like a light.

throughout the night, wriothesley's head shifts closer and closer to you. to others, like sigewinne, it seems like his body has a mind on his own: she found the two of you sleeping together in his office; she saw wriothesley's head buried in the crook of your neck; she saw his arms wrapped around your waist; and most of all, she saw that his face lit up, just like yours.

#tana writes (∗´ ᨔ `∗)#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x y/n #genshin x you #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x y/n #wriothesley x you #wriothesley #writing this while i'm sick with laryngitis #and a bad cough #bashful wriothesley? bashful wriothesley.#ending was mid whats new

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celaenaeiln · 1 year ago

Note

Am I interested in Dick Grayson's innovativeness and how that makes him a terrifying opponent?

Nah, not really, no, it's no- EXCEPT THAT I AM!

I love your analysis and honestly, I always surf through the dick Grayson tag once a day to see if u have posted. Pls drop the innovatiness wala analysis. I would absolutely eat it up

ADSAJHFGAJLHADJLHA YOU CAN'T SEDUCE ME LIKE THAT-MY HEART CAN'T TAKE IT!

But I am here to deliver *bows*

Let's start this off with a bang

Dick is completely naked except for a towel and with one (well defined) leg he hooks the handle of the beer bucket and sends it smashing into Midnighter to stop him from using the knife on another person.

Pure. Fucking. Platinum.

That move was so delicious, there's an ease-fluidity-grace-to that split second movement. Also notice how accurate his aim is despite swinging it with the arc of his toes. The bucket slammed right into the medulla oblongata, or more specifically the pyramidal tracts which are crucial for controlling voluntary muscular movements. Nerves from the brain cross over at that area as they go down and then synapse onto other nerves that are responsible for controlling muscles when they leave the spinal cord. The precision at which he aimed the bucket is glorious. And with what? His feet.

The only reason Midnighter wasn't injured is because he is a meta which is the point. Otherwise Dick wouldn't have aimed there unless he was fighting an enemy.

Oh that brings me to my next point.

Dick has extraordinary control of his actions

He's so right though. Nightwing doesn't need to kill because fighting is too easy for him. I swear he has some kind of messed up idea (aside from his need to be absolutely good) that killing someone with a gun would take the joy out of fighting. He loves to live life on the hardest mode only.

The rapid fire throw of the gun, calculating the distance, time, velocity of return, and angle? I mean I studied physics and calculating even half of that on paper is a headache. The fact that he did it in one second? It's extraordinary. Things that are pure, dumb luck to literally everyone else is carefully calculated at a speed faster than light, making it look like luck. Damn.

Yeah.

Forget Slade. Midnighter is my new favorite nemesister.

DO YOU SEE WHAT HE FOUGHT WITH?! WHILE DEATHSTROKE AND BLACK ADAM WERE FIGHTING WITH META POWERS AND A CURSED SWORD, HE FUCKING WRAPPED CHAINS AROUND HIMSELF LIKE A BOSS AND WHIPPED THE SHIT OUT OF THAT MAN.

Please take a moment of silence to relish in this sight.

Dick's innovativeness is a formidable skill when fighting allies.

Dick and Ras are evenly matched in sword fighting.

Wait, wait. I don't need any doubts about Dick's strength in sword fighting so I'm going to include a couple panels here:

Dick fights Azrael to a standstill which is absolutely incredible because Azrael solos. He's gone through many upgrades and skills and is one of the best fighters ever. He's even defeated Bruce.

He also defeated Jason and Tim together in Batman and Robin Eternal.

This is just another point towards the fact that Dick actually won in his fight against Bruce before going into Spyral. They weren't holding back.

Oh yeah. Ra's vs Dick panel, Dick and Ra's aren't going anywhere because Dick is a swordsman equivalent to one of the best in the world. So how do you win a draw? By one upping the opponent. He swings his foot up in midair and completely defeats him. "But that isn't a defeat...Ra's just stopped fighting!" It was complete defeat because Ra's is intelligent and knows when he can't win. Also they have been fighting for a while until they reached the breaking point in the battle. This move is a show of how Dick has that just one inch more that will lead him to be a victor.

Ra's honors Dick so much he tried to give the sword he used to fight with Batman because he thinks Dick is worthy of it. Can anyone receive a higher honor than this from that man?

He'll also use the broken glass of a car window to take down his opponent. If that's not innovation, then what is?

But one last thing since a car door cannot be considered innovative these days.

sticks. He literally took two twigs off the ground to use as weapons against his highly skilled, one of the best assassins, great-grandfather who is fighting with daggers in his hands and all over his body.

But you know the best part?

He draws his opponent to a tie. A tie? Not a win? No it was win after, considering he used his relative's falling body as a launching pad in the middle of the air when they were falling off the bridge to grab onto the bridge with the help of his friend. So it was his win but it's insane how incredible Dick's skills are.

It's really innovative because who thinks of using twigs and winning? Let me also clarify another point. Dick could've used the knives he'd gotten from his talon suit and thoroughly won because when he was brain washed he almost killed Red Condor from how skilled he was but he conscientiously chose to use twigs. In a sword fight. This man.

His improvisation is an asset that many have come to know him for and classify him as dangerous because he can fight with anything, anywhere, and win.

Something I want to end with. Dick only fights people who are stronger than him. I know he's fought mob characters and stuff but his enemies? They are all metas, assassins, skilled fighters, Russian Black Ops, and more. Essentially, people who are the top of the class in their categories and him defeating them equally and fairly is the reason why he has the respect of his enemies. He's just that good.

#I'm laughing because I actually got this exact request from you and from when-no-wings-do-broomsticks one after another #I'll be writing a part two of this post #dick grayson #nightwing #midnighter #ra's al ghul #talon #william cobb #KG Beast #azrael #red condor #cl stargazer3700 asks

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tnight877 · 2 months ago

Text

Friends Throw Wrenches for Each Other

"I wish you were here."

Optimus sat at the edge of his berth, his servos trembling in his lap as he stared blankly at the floor.

He couldn't figure out exactly where everything had gone so wrong. Was it breaking protocol and saving Jazz in the mines? D-16 hadn't seemed outraged, even when they returned to the barracks after each receiving a fist to the face. In fact, that only seemed to solidify their bond.

It must have been the Iacon 5000. D hadn't wanted to race yet Orion had forced him to. That outraged Darkwing, led to them being dropped down to sub-level 50 where they found the map, which led to the truth about Sentinel, the gift (or curse) of a T-cog, and everything spiraling from there.

It's all my fault.

Why had the Primes chosen him after he'd made so many mistakes? He was the reason their planet was slowly being dragged into war. If Orion Pax hadn't been so reckless, none of this would have happened. Sure, Sentinel would still be in control and Orion and D-16 would still have been miners, but they would have been together.

He could never forget the look in D's optics as the High Guard cheered for him after he'd nearly killed Starscream. He could never forget the fear he'd felt in that very moment, feeling his dearest friend slipping from his grasp.

Knowledge was a curse, Optimus decided, pushing to his pedes. He needed to do something. Anything. He needed to fix this.

"You do know it's not your fault, right?" Ratchet didn't look up at Optimus as he patched a hole in Ironhide's armor, the glow of the welder glancing off his white plating. "None of this is."

"I wasn't--"

"You were thinking that. That's why you're in here. For the record, you can't help Starscream's violent impulses. He probably would have launched a missile at Ironhide whether or not Megatron was his overlord."

"He's right, Prime," Ironhide agreed. Ratchet made a gesture towards the red bot as if to say I told you so. Optimus' finials perked slightly.

"Now, did you need something?" Ratchet asked, side eyeing the Prime. "Hate to point it out, but you're not the smallest bot around and this lab isn't the biggest."

Color flushed into Optimus' cheeks and he moved to duck out of the room. "Apologies," he said hastily. "Er...Ratchet, might I have a word with you later?"

"Sure. I'll meet you at MacCadam's when I get off."

MacCadam's is going to have to take a raincheck.

Perhaps he should have been concerned that that was his first thought as Starscream, who was apparently puppy guarding the entrance to the surface, let off a round of shots, several pinging off Optimus' armor.

"Are you stupid?" B-127 shouted from Optimus' side, the scout's battle mask deploying and his blades unsheathing. Starscream transformed and landed, forming the blasters on his arms and pointing them at the pair.

"Who's got the high ground here, bug?" the seeker sneered. His voice still sounded glitchy, grating on Optimus' audio processors. In an instant, he was back in the cave, D-16's servos choking the former king of the High Guard, Starscream egging him on.

"Bear witness! This is the last time I show mercy!"

Optimus was brought back to reality when his backstruts hit the ground, B charging towards Starscream and taking a flying leap towards the seeker. The Prime pushed himself up, shaking his helm and engaging his battle mask.

Starscream grabbed B by the throat, swinging him around and slamming him against the wall, pounding his fist repeatedly into the scout's mask. Optimus unsheathed his axe as he ran forward, though Starscream turned at the last second, taking B with him. Optimus faltered, his axe swinging upwards and dragging him backwards to avoid hitting B, the scout kicking furiously at the seeker.

"You're so clumsy. The Primes must be ashamed," Starscream laughed. B raised his fist, his blade elongating just before he drove it into Starscream's shoulder, the seeker shrieking and hurling the scout to the side. B rolled backwards to his pedes, digging his blades into the ground to slow his skidding stop.

Optimus stood, shoving his axe against Starscream's throat as the seeker struggled to recover. He squeaked, pawing at Optimus' wrist.

"Please!" Starscream rasped, pressing himself against the wall in an attempt to give himself room to breathe. Optimus' optics widened slightly at the plea. "I beg of you!"

"This is the last time I show mercy!"

Optimus jerked his axe away from Starscream, the weapon retracting as he moved to grip his helm. Stop it. Stop it!

He grunted when Starscream kicked him from behind, hitting the ground on all fours. He turned just as Starscream kicked him again, pointing his blaster at B as the scout moved towards him. The seeker pressed his pede against Optimus' backstruts, leaning down.

"How satisfying would it be for me to kill the last Prime?" he sneered.

Would he be wrong? The Matrix can only be held by someone worthy. Starscream couldn't take it. Maybe it would be better if Optimus wasn't there to keep making mistakes, keeping driving their planet further into conflict.

Starscream reared backwards as something collided with his helm with a solid clang. The seeker stumbled back, gripping his helm with one servo, waving his blaster aimlessly with the other.

"What in the Pits of Kaon--"

"Beat it, Starscream," Ratchet snapped, beating a wrench against his palm. He pulled the tool back over his shoulder. "We're done here. You're trespassing on Autobot territory, and you're here without backup. Get. Out."

"Don't make us tell you again," B snarled, his blades flaring.

"Alright, alright!" Starscream relented, taking a step back before flipping backwards and transforming, taking off and creating a cloud of dust in his wake.

Ratchet waved the dust off half-heartedly as he approached Optimus, offering his servo. The Prime took it, allowing the medic to pull him to his pedes.

"You can take Megatron but not his second in command? The whiny seeker?" Ratchet asked, arching one optic ridge. Optimus sighed, rubbing behind his neck.

"I...there are some things I need to...work through."

"Well, I'm officially off duty. Let's head over to MacCadam's. You can tell me about it there." Ratchet offered him a small, genuine smile. "Doctor's orders?"

Optimus stared at the medic, then found himself returning the smile and lifting his shoulders in a shrug. "If you say so," he replied. He turned to B. "Would you care to join us?"

"I was going to meet up with Elita and run some recon," B said, waving off the offer. "But maybe we'll catch up with you guys later tonight. Have fun talking about old people things!"

Ratchet glared at the scout, lifting his wrench. B squeaked and transformed, taking off across the smooth terrain. The medic huffed, tucking the wrench back into his subspace and moving back towards the road leading into Iacon, Optimus following closely.

"I'm lucky you were there today," Optimus admitted as he sat down with Ratchet, a waiter bringing them each a cube. The Prime nodded gratefully, Ratchet shaking his helm.

"I'm sure you would have managed. But it's been a long day and I was ready for a break. Besides. You look like you've got something on your mind. Perhaps I'm not a therapist, but I can prescribe sleep and less work."

Optimus huffed a soft laugh, circling his digits around the cube. "It's nothing important," he said quietly. "I've made a bigger deal about it than I should have."

"It's D-16, isn't it?"

Optimus' gaze snapped up to Ratchet, his optic ridges furrowing. "How did you--"

"You blame yourself for everything that's happened because of him. You do realize he's an autonomous being, right? He makes his own decisions."

"I know that," Optimus muttered, glancing away. "But it's not only that. I...he was my best friend. I wanted to change the world for him. I..." He groaned softly, resting his helm in his servos.

"I'm sorry."

He glanced up as Ratchet lifted his cube to his intake, closing his optics briefly as he drank. He set the cube down, folding his servos atop the table. Optimus blinked. Ratchet glanced down at his servos, his intake twisting slightly.

"I know it hurts," the medic said plainly. "And it leaves a gaping hole in your spark. I know. You wake up expecting someone to be there but they're not. But holding onto that pain is only ever going to hurt you. We have our reality now. It's time to accept that." His optics softened even as Optimus prepared himself for the verbal blow. "It's time to let D-16 go."

"I know," the Prime whispered, his voice breaking, his digits curling around his finials. "I know. But I don't know how."

He startled at the tap on his helm, Ratchet setting his servo back on the table as the Prime looked up. "How about starting with that?" The medic nodded to the untouched cube. "I know it doesn't work on you, but maybe we can use the placebo effect."

"I don't think--"

"Sh." Ratchet downed the rest of his cube in one go, tossing the empty cube aside. "Your turn. Five seconds."

"What?"

"Drink it in five seconds."

Optimus stared at him, but Ratchet didn't blink. The Prime glanced down at his cube, his digits curling around the sharp edges.

"I don't have all night."

Oh, what the heck. Optimus lifted the cube to his intake and downed it in one swallow. Ratchet let out a sharp cackle, slapping his servo on the table.

"Oh, boy," the medic said with a vicious grin. "We're going to need refills."

Optimus' gaze softened as Ratchet turned to flag the nearest waiter down, and for the first time in a long time, he found he didn't miss D-16 so much anymore.

#optimus prime #transformers #transformers optimus #prime #optimus #ratchet #orion pax #d 16 #tf one #transformers one #b 127 #elita one #starscream #megatron

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