#top fuel winners

[magma-iron]

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You Deserve the Best: By choosing us, you're declaring that you settle for nothing but the best. And that's what we strive to deliver, every single time.

[pucksandpower]

Charles Leclerc x CEO!Reader - Social Media AU

Formula 1 News: Everything We Know About Arnault Racing So Far

The team is owned by LVMH, the world’s leading luxury goods company, and is named after the prominent Arnault family, which includes LVMH’s chief operating officer Y/N Arnault, wife of Charles Leclerc. Y/N is the youngest daughter of Bernard Arnault, the world’s richest man, and is said to be his favored successor.

They are expected to benefit from the extensive resources and expertise of LVMH which boasts a diverse portfolio of luxury brands such as Louis Vuitton, Christian Dior, Moët & Chandon, TAG Heuer, and Tiffany & Co. These assets could potentially provide Arnault Racing with a competitive edge on and off the track in a sport heavily reliant on business dealings.

As with any new team, Arnault Racing will face numerous challenges including building a strong technical staff, securing talented drivers, and establishing partnerships with sponsors and suppliers. However, the backing of LVMH’s vast resources and the Arnault family’s commitment to success bode well for their prospects.

While no official announcement has been made regarding Charles Leclerc’s involvement with Arnault Racing, his familial connection to the team coupled with his recent decision to step away from Scuderia Ferrari has fueled rumors and heightened interest in whether he will be part of Arnault Racing’s driver lineup … (Read more)

Press Conference of Arnault Racing CEO, Y/N Arnault, and Team Principal, Sebastian Vettel

REPORT Arnault Racing snags Adrian Newey: CEO Y/N Arnault says “whatever arbitrary figure you have in your head, triple it and that’s how much we offered him” (Aug 2023)

NEWS Red Bull loses LVMH-owned sponsor TAG Heuer as entry of Arnault Racing brings new conflict of interest (Dec 2023)

UPDATE A weekend of team bonding on the beach after the car launch? Charles Leclerc and Mick Schumacher talk about flourishing environment at Arnault Racing (Feb 2024)

FEATURE What to expect from Arnault Racing — data from preseason testing explained (Feb 2024)

REPORT Podiums and points: a strong start to the season for newcomers Arnault Racing (Mar 2024)

FEATURE The Prince that was promised: Charles Leclerc triumphs in Monaco (May 2024)

UPDATE Who are the ‘losers’ and ‘winners’ halfway through the season? Arnault closes in on Red Bull as Ferrari falls behind (Jul 2024)

FEATURE What could have been — Arnault’s Charles Leclerc tops the podium in Monza as Tifosi look on (Sep 2024)

NEWS Red Bull’s reign continues as Arnault brings home historic P2 in both the Drivers’ and Contructors’ championship during debut season (Nov 2024)

REPORT Arnault promises more competitive 2025 season following already impressive first year on the grid (Jan 2025)

“We find ourselves at the edge of our seats here in Abu Dhabi. It all comes down to this final lap of the season and the battle for the World Championship has reached its peak! Charles Leclerc of Arnault and Max Verstappen of Red Bull are locked in a fierce duel for the ultimate prize.”

“This is the moment every racing fan has been waiting for. The atmosphere here is electric and the stakes couldn’t be higher. Leclerc and Verstappen have been pushing the absolute limits of their cars and their skills throughout this intense race.”

“They certainly have. Both drivers have showcased their exceptional talent and determination all season long. It’s a clash of titans, and now, as they approach the final corners, it’s do-or-die time.”

“Leclerc has been holding onto the lead for the majority of this race but Verstappen is focused in his pursuit. The Dutchman is determined to wrestle this championship away from Leclerc’s grasp.”

“The tension is palpable here as they enter the final sector. Leclerc seems to be holding his ground but Verstappen is right on his tail, looking for the slightest opportunity to strike!”

“This is nail-biting stuff. The championship hangs in the balance as they approach the final turn. Leclerc takes a defensive line but Verstappen moves to the inside. He’s desperately trying to overtake!”

“Verstappen is side-by-side with Leclerc! They’re wheel-to-wheel! What an incredible battle! They both accelerate out of the corner …”

“They’re neck and neck! It’s an all-out sprint to the checkered flag. Who will emerge victorious?”

“Leclerc finds another gear! He edges ahead of Verstappen!”

“It’s a photo finish! They cross the line. And ... it’s Charles Leclerc! Charles Leclerc has done it! Charles Leclerc is the World Champion!”

“What an incredible end to the season. Charles Leclerc and Arnault Racing have taken the championship title in a heart-stopping finale!”

“This is the stuff of legends. Leclerc has proven himself a champion through and through today. The emotion in the Arnault Racing garage is indescribable!”

“What an amazing moment for Leclerc and his team. This race will be remembered for years to come. Congratulations to Charles Leclerc! Congratulations to Arnault Racing!”

y/narnault

Liked by charles_leclerc, arnaultracing, and 938,572 others

y/narnault ✨ Abu Dhabi, 2017 ✨

A chance encounter in the paddock with a hotshot young driver sent us both sprawling to the ground and ignited a spark that changed our lives forever. Our love story began in Yas Marina as Charles celebrated the end of the season after winning the F2 championship. Little did we know that this would be the start of a remarkable journey, both on and off the track

Fast forward to ...

✨ Abu Dhabi, 2025 ✨

As the CEO of Arnault Racing, it fills my heart with immense pride to witness our immensely talented driver win a much deserved World Drivers' Championship. As the wife of Charles Leclerc, it makes me even prouder to see the most amazing person I know finally be granted the fruit of his labors. There has been no sweeter feeling than chasing our dreams hand-in-hand

Eight years later, in Yas Marina once again, our journey came full circle. Our love, like a well-oiled machine, has only grown stronger with each challenge we faced. Working together as a team, we transformed dreams into reality and surpassed every limit. The joy of victory, the adrenaline of the race — it all pales in comparison to the love and support we share

To our extraordinary team at Arnault Racing, thank you for your relentless commitment and tireless efforts. Each one of you has played a vital role in making history this season and we truly could not have done it without you

Charles, my champion, you continue to inspire me every day with your talent, dedication, and resilient spirit. The road here has not always been easy but I am thankful for every obstacle we faced because they made us grow as people and as partners in both love and racing. We have weathered the storms and celebrated the triumphs. The countless hours of hard work, sacrifice, and pouring over data for so long that we forgot the cookies burning in the oven brought us to this extraordinary moment of victory. But beyond the increasingly crowded trophy cases and roaring crowds, it is our love that always shines the brightest. No matter where we may have placed in the standings, I was always content in knowing that we are P1 on the podium of life — and now we stand on top of both together

This chapter is just beginning. There are still many races left to win, many trophies left to raise, and many championships left to clinch

View all 2,614 comments

charles_leclerc From the moment we met, you have seen me not just as a driver or public figure but as a person with hopes, dreams, and flaws. You have been there for me through the setbacks and the victories and your faith in me never has wavered. Your belief in me pushed me to be the best version of myself and I will spend the rest of our lives eternally grateful for being sent such an angel. Our victories are not only measured by the number of trophies or the applause of the crowds but in the quiet moments we get to bask in the life we built together. Our love has always been the beacon that guides me, even in the darkest of times. It is the constant reminder that no matter where we stand in the standings, we have each other to lean on. I have no doubt that it is because of you that I stand here today. You are my pillar of strength, my constant motivation, and my rock. Without your love and support, none of this would have been possible. Thank you, mon amour, for believing in me, for supporting me, and for always standing by my side. It is fate that brought us together and destiny that irreversibly wove our hearts into one

f1wagupdates you two are singlehandedly keeping my belief in true love alive

formulanone how are they still in the honeymoon phase after eight years together and i can’t even get a text back?

arnaultracing there are power couples and then there is THE power couple 🤩

GQ France: An Interview with 2025 Formula 1 World Champion Charles Leclerc

charles_leclerc and y/narnault

Liked by arnaultracing, pierregasly, and 1,854,632 others

charles_leclerc Baby Leclerc will make their F1 debut in August 🍼

View all 3,927 comments

pierregasly hmmm i wonder what happened a little over nine months before the due date?

mickschumacher no wonder we couldn’t find them during the championship party 😳

arnaultracing a championship baby for our champions 🏆

lovelyleclerc oh to be reincarnated as their baby

leclercbabe it’s really getting gifted godly genes, money, and talent 😭

princecharles is it bad that i’m jealous of a baby that hasn’t even been born yet?

[squibsformers]

Feral Fears, Ch. 1

Human x Transformers fic

MTMTE/Lost Light, First Contact AU

Rating: M

Word Count: 1,004

Desc: After needing to stop off for more supplies, the Lost Light gets a strange, displeased, new passenger.

AN: Hi hi hello I hope you like this! This was the poll winner, maybe I'll do another chapter soon. If you like it let me know! I enjoy reading tags and comments on my things a lot. This one's short to kinda get me back into the swing of writing.

[Next]

“How in the pit have we gone through this much energon so quickly…?” Yellow servos tapped rapidly against the owner's desk, glaring at the report from Ultra Magnus. 

“If you bothered to pay attention, you would have heard me when I said the breach in the ship had us LOSE much of our stock, as well as how quick we went through our repair supplies... We can refuel and pick up more once we hit the next stop off, but we may be stationed at the outpost longer than you'd like.”

The prime sighed. “Longer as in a few vorns or-”

“Cycles. We have to wait for them to get us what we want if they don't have it.”

“Slag. Well… Damn. Okay, I guess we don't really have a choice- Set a course for the nearest outpost, tell the crew they're getting a… surprise few days of tourism to go run around and do whatever it is they please.”

“...That's not-” Ultra Magnus sighed. “That's bound to lead to trouble.”

“You wanna explain to everyone they're grounded to their rooms while we're parked and picking up supplies?”

Ultra Magnus sighed. “No…”

“That's what I thought. Plot a course! Let's get moving, the ship isn't gonna fuel itself!”

–---

Legs carried them desperately, ducking and weaving along unshipped cargo and barrels of fuel.

They had to keep moving. Keep moving, keep quiet, keep running. Your lungs burned, feeling like hot embers were popping in your bronchial tubes, making them hiss and whine quietly as they flex, their feet thumping quietly, trying to run on the balls of their feet as they scurried through the shipping bay.

They had to keep moving. Keep moving, keep running, keep pushing and going, it can't stop, if they stop they're FUCKED so utterly fucked-

“♠︎£°▪︎¤#%¡¡¿ ~×&%ꕥ˚꒦꒷꒷﹆¡¡”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck-

They ducked down between two shipping containers that barely had enough space that they could squeeze between, cutting down the row and looking around.

Where to go. They had to hide, running wasn't going to work, they were so much bigger, so much stronger and faster and smarter- but they could be crafty. Ohoho and could be sneaky.

….I mean they couldn't see shit but. Well. That would just be an obstacle to work past.

The organic looked around, squinting while leaning back against a crate… and stumbled some, feeling the massive box's frame was warped. Frowning, it looked up, and noticed a small, dark spot waaay up at the lid.

….Hole. That had a hole.

Hopefully, a hole the human could wedge itself into.

To the right, they spotted some metal pallets…and started climbing, grunting and huffing with effort. The makeshift knapsack weighed them down some, but they kept moving, desperate for an escape, for freedom. The fleshy's hands slip at one point and they drop, letting out a pain-filled wheeze and hearing a nasty, wet crack.

Don't think about it. Don't think about it, don't do it. Barely even slowing down, the human heaves themself up, panting. Their free hand reaches over…and they whine as they clench the break, sliding the bone into…relative place. It looked…okay. Perfectly fine. Yes.

Absolutely. Couldn't even tell it had a staircase break.

….Time to climb again.

The human sighed and began scrabbling up, wincing and trying to ignore the obvious injury it had. They didn't have time to worry about that, and they needed to get to safety-

“^^□●₩◆°°°▪︎°%”

Fuck. Those fucking robots were close.

One pallet, two, three, four, six, eight-

When the organic reached the top of the pallets stack, they looked over to that crate, judged the little distance you could out…

And leapt across the gap, purposefully overshooting the edge so it wouldn't miss but stumbled and landed hard, cracking their already damaged arm, letting out a yelp of pain.

“!#$♤♤□♡°•°¡¡”

Time to hurry. That sounded very aggressive.

Feeling along the edge of the crate, they finally found the hole… and blindly smushed themselves inside, falling a small distance onto a pile of…something.

Cabling? It felt like cables, it had the outer layer of rubbery plastic…

Geez it was dark.

……Geez it was really dark.

They heard metallic footsteps storm closer, and the little organic being covered their mouth, taking slow breaths to try and stifle the sounds of being… well, alive.

They stayed that way for what felt like hours, the dark slowly pressing more and more in on you, stifling and terrifying but at the same time a sanctuary, a safety net. They listened as those pedes paced about, searching, scouring, seeking them out. They heard the strange “Vrr wrr chtcht chitter krr bzrtkr krrrzst” that was their strange natural language. Aggressive tones. Still mad. They heard…

….

They heard beeping. Something is getting closer, beeping is getting louder. Heard new footsteps, old ones fleeing once the shouting began. Heard the beep directly outside their cable sanctuary.

And then… felt movement. The crate jostled and shook, and you held your breath, waiting for the lid to be ripped off and you to be found….

But…that didn't happen. Instead…. the crate moved. And you were moving along with it, whether you wanted to or not.

There was chatter, again. Lots of chatter. Then there was an obnoxiously loud beep near one side of the crate, another more.. blippy-beep next to that spot…And the crate moved once more, rattling a bit, before there was a hiss, a soft thud and the sound of pedes leaving.

The little human stayed in that crate. Stayed in it for hours. 

And then there was a new noise. A louder noise. A deep, thrumming, hum, that evolved into a bone and brain rattling roar, of impossible machinery kicking in, engines revving, turbines whirling, and a feeling like, for a brief moment, their soul was pulled from their body.

When they felt relatively normal again, the human slowly peeked out from the hole in the crate, and squinted.

They had a feeling they were on another stupid ship.

[4nyangnyangz]

weverse DMs with yeonjun ♡

tags: fluff and PURE DELUSION. choi yeonjun x fem reader, txt as txt!mentions of the other txt members but this is just mostly yeonjun (i'm having a brainrot, i am so sorry.), conversations with the txt members are in Korean! (reader is studying the language), please take your anti-delulu pills after reading this (i had to).

a/n: this is just a oneshot I made that's highly inspired by Yeonjun being flirty with MOAs through Weverse DM. (no one stop him) and also just a random "what-if?" thought to fuel my delusions - made this during peak delulu hours. (i need to be sedated fr). this is my first post on Tumblr so pls be kind!! 🙏 also if u read this let's be moots, I love moas <3

wordcount: 2.6k!! this isn't proofread mb ;-;

-------------------------

The day of the video call fanmeet has finally come, and you were just as ready as ever to finally meet and talk to your favorite kpop group, TOMORROW X TOGETHER.

You were one of the lucky winners through a raffle draw for an online fansign event during the release of one of their new comebacks, and although it took almost an entire week's worth of pay to get multiple entries for a higher chance of winning, but you eventually got what you wanted and it was worth it. You have been waiting for this moment your entire life, and now you finally have the chance to talk to the people who you only saw from afar during concerts and on the screen of your devices.

You prepared everything you wanted to tell them, translated most of it in Korean hoping they would be able to understand you better and you made sure to write down every line on the notes of your MacBook. You prepared your setup in the corner of your room where you had a shelf that kept your collections of their albums and merchandise. You had also placed your phone that you will be using for the fanmeet on a stand placed on top of a small desk that you arranged just in front of your shelf, putting your MacBook just behind your phone so you could read what you had written on your notes while you do the call with them.

You were making finishing touches to your makeup while you looked at your reflection in the camera of your phone, freshening up and making sure you looked presentable in your outfit when you met your favorite idols. It was only a matter of time left till' the event started, and you were the most nervous you have ever been in your life.

After a few minutes of waiting, you felt your heart almost drop to the ground when you heard the notification sound from your phone, and you immediately check the message that was sent to you by the event organizer. You received a text message telling you that they will call you within 5 minutes, and they also reminded you of the guidelines of the event, along with the order of the members that you will be talking to.

You were given exactly 1 minute to talk with each member, and the order was set from the youngest to oldest,

Huening Kai - Taehyun - Beomgyu - Soobin - Yeonjun.

After a few minutes of waiting, your phone rang and you finally received the call. You took a few deep breaths before answering the call on the fourth ring. You saw a black screen for a few seconds and you heard a staff member in the background telling you to get ready before it officially started.

Once you confirmed with the staff that you were ready, you saw the camera flip over and you were immediately greeted by a smiling Huening Kai, the youngest of the group, waving at you and saying "Hello~" in a cheerful tone. You started off by asking him how his day was before you started with the script you wrote in your notes. Your nervousness started to fade during your interaction with Huening Kai since he was a good listener, and you started to calm down after you both exchanged compliments to each other.

Soon after, it was the second youngest, Taehyun's turn. He started off by complimenting you on how good you looked with your outfit, and you soon got to tell him how much you admired him as a performer, going off with what you prepared in your notes.

The call proceeded with Beomgyu this time, and you were surprised with how sweet and calm he was as he listened to you shower him with appreciation and compliments that you prepared for him, which was very much unlike his usual playful and mischievous image that he has their contents and during concert interactions.

After speaking with Beomgyu, you were greeted by the group's leader, Soobin. He initiated the conversation first by asking how your day was and soon after, he listened to you intently as you read what you had prepared for him. Just like the other members, you made sure to give him all the praise and words of encouragement that he deserves. You emphasized that he was doing amazing as the leader of the group and that he was receiving a lot of love from the fans, and he made sure to thank you for your kind words before he bid you farewell feeling a bit emotional as you noticed his eyes started getting watery before your interaction with him ended.

Everything was going great so far, until you were down to meet the last member Yeonjun, which was the oldest of the group and who you consider your bias/favorite member. After talking to 4/5 members of the group, you were no longer as nervous as you were when you first answered the call.

Everyone listened to you well, and they definitely helped you feel comfortable during your interactions with them. All of that came crashing down when Yeonjun appeared on the screen. He had the charisma that immediately sent your mind going places, and you knew he was the most attractive in your eyes since he was the first member to catch your attention when you were just getting to know the group. You liked everything about him from the visuals to how talented he is, how charismatic he is when he performs, his personality on and offstage, how he would interact and show his love towards the fans, and so many more.

Yeonjun started off the call by greeting you with a smile and complimenting your look, and that sent your heart racing immediately.

You just could not believe what was happening at that moment, the fact that he knows your existence and you had the chance to talk to him directly almost made your brain malfunction. You proceeded to read out what you prepared to tell him during his turn, and you were nervous during the whole interaction with Yeonjun, but he made sure to ease your worries with a smile, giving you nods every now and then to reassure you that he was listening to you.

Yeonjun thanked you for your kind words and told you to take care of yourself and stay healthy until your next meeting with him. He wrapped up the call by telling you that he was hoping to see you and talk to you again sometime given the chance, and you told him that you felt the same. He made a heart pose with his hands quickly before waving at you as said your goodbyes. The experience was short lived but it gave you memories that you will treasure in a lifetime.

------------

A month has passed after the online fanmeet event, and you posted a few clips of the recordings you had during your call with TXT in the social media platforms that you actively used. Some of them went viral, especially the clips of your interaction with your bias, Yeonjun. You received a lot of replies and reblogs, gathering various reactions from fans and non-fans.

(Yeonjun definitely knew he was your bias!)

(Wbk that Yeonjun is always flirting with MOAs, but why was he especially flirty with this one?)

(The smile he had while you were talking, OP had this man WHIPPED for her!)

(Girl, if my bias looked at me and talked to me like that i would ask him what are we)

(Are you sure Yeonjun isn't the fan here?)

(You're so pretty that I would break the rules if I was Yeonjun ngl)

These were just some of the memorable reactions to the clips you uploaded, but you were thankful and glad that they got a lot of attention, to the point where there were people that got into the fandom after seeing the members interact nicely with their fans.

It was also the day that you were getting the albums that you ordered, which you were excited to finally unbox after receiving them in the mail. You grabbed some scissors before picking up the package that you placed on your shelf and placed it on your bed for you to unbox. You slowly cut up the packaging of the albums and removed the plastic seal carefully, making sure you won't damage the album in any way.

You browsed the photos from the photobook that came with the album first, before checking the other inclusions and finally seeing which members you pulled for the photocard. Luck was on your side when you pulled every member, not having any dupes and getting a Yeonjun photocard on the album version that you liked the most. You then read what each member wrote on some pages of the albums during your fanmeet, you found it cute how you can tell their personalities apart just from those short messages. Yeonjun's message in particular, stood out to you the most.

"Let's meet again soon, cutie! <3"

You giggled at the little nickname he gave you and heart he drew at the end. It's just like Yeonjun to write something like that, you thought to yourself.

After the adrenaline from unboxing the albums has run out, you organized the albums on the shelf that contained the rest of your collection, and you stored the new photocards you had just pulled in the photocard binder where you place all of your other photocards. You went back to bed and scrolled through your phone mindlessly while lying down. It was your day off, and you decided to have a lazy day in today. You were scrolling through your favorite page of TXT updates to catch up on what you weren't able to while you were busy with work, and it was when you saw the most recent update, a message from Yeonjun through Weverse DM.

("hi, y/n!")

("have you eaten yet? don't skip your meals today and make sure to eat lots, okay?")

(image attachment)

(I had kimchi fried rice for breakfast, Taehyun cooked for us today!)

A wild thought suddenly came to mind. You immediately opened your Weverse app, and went on the page with the Weverse DM feature for TXT. When they first introduced this feature, you always told yourself that it was nonsense having to get a subscription like this especially when you can just get the updates online without having to spend anything, and with translations too.

That was what you told yourself, but it won't hurt to change your mind now, right? You will technically get what you're paying for, since you will receive their messages in real time and you will experience it firsthand, so it's worth a try, right? You were mostly working to afford paying for your hobbies anyway, so what's so bad about paying for a little subscription to chat with your bias? You thought to yourself as you let out a deep sigh before successfully purchasing the subscription for Yeonjun's Weverse DM.

You wrote your first name as your nickname and wrote a message before clearing them and typing another one. After multiple attempts of trying to figure out what message to send, you finally pressed the 'send' button after much consideration, there is a chance that he could read it, after all.

(Hi, Yeonjun! This is y/n. I hope your day is going well so far. It's my first time sending you a message so I'm not sure what to say but I hope we can talk lots here! I'm excited to read more messages from you.)

(I had toast and bacon for breakfast today. You should eat your meals too and try to have some snacks in between when you can! I hope you can get through your schedule well today. Please take care of yourself and don't push yourself too hard. I'm always rooting for you, Yeonjun! Fighting!)

You were reading through your messages nervously after you sent them, trying to see if that was okay.

There's only a small chance that he could read it, knowing there were probably thousands of people messaging him too at the same time you did, but it was still nice to know that there's a possibility of him reading it and that your messages could get through to him. Not too long after, you heard a short ring from your phone, and your eyes widened after seeing that you received messages from Yeonjun.

(Wow, that sounds good.... ㅜㅜ)

(I'll try to get that for breakfast tomorrow too! Thanks for the idea!! lol)

(I'm always grateful for your support, y/n. I'll work hard today too! Fighting~)

You smiled while reading his replies. In a way, it felt like he replied to the messages you sent, but that couldn't be, because anyone could have messaged him something similar to what you sent and he probably would've read that instead, right?

You tried to prove yourself otherwise by sending another message, testing to see if he was able to read your messages or not based on his next replies.

(I want to try kimchi fried rice made by Taehyun too... that sounds really good!)

(Send us a picture of your breakfast tomorrow, please!)

You waited a few minutes before you received another reply from him.

(I wasn't able to take a photo of the kimchi fried rice that Taehyun made us earlier..ㅠㅠ)

(But I'll make sure to send you a photo of what I'll have for breakfast tomorrow~)

You were starting to doubt your eyes. You replied to him once more, testing out your theory. There is no way, right? Anyone could have asked him the same thing too, you convinced yourself.

(I heard you were coming to our city for your next tour, I already saved up so I can buy tickets to see you guys again! I can't wait!)

(I think you look really good wearing glasses... can you wear glasses when you visit here next time?)

You fiddled with your phone for a bit after you hit 'send'. You sat on your bed nervously, waiting for a reply. You were sure you wouldn't get a response to your question, even though you were slightly hoping for it, you just thought it couldn't be possible. More than 15 minutes have passed, and there was still no reply from Yeonjun. Right, there was no way he could be responding to you directly when he can read thousands of messages from MOAs at once, so you figured you were just imagining things earlier.

You were just about to exit the Weverse app when you heard the notification sound from your phone come up, and you see a new text bubble appear on the screen.

(I didn't know you guys liked it whenever I wore glasses, maybe I'll wear them on our tour next time then lol)

(I'm only telling you about this in advance, y/n. So keep this between us, okay?)

(Let's meet again soon, cutie! <3)

Your eyes widened and your jaw dropped when you read the messages from Yeonjun pop up one after another on the screen of your phone. The last message he sent was the exact same message he wrote in the album you opened not too long ago. The nickname and the small heart afterwards were just too much of a coincidence for you, but you still didn't think it was possible for something like that to happen. You were just getting over yourself, and you felt that you probably might have read too many AO3 fanfics recently, and that you were starting to lose your sense of reality.

You shook your head and turned off your phone, grabbing a towel and some clothes from your closet before heading to the bathroom to take a shower. You decided to take time off of your phone and head outside to clear your head. That's right, you probably just weren't thinking straight.

"That's enough of being delusional for today." you muttered to yourself.

But little did you know that somewhere out there, Yeonjun was smiling to himself while he reads your conversation, thinking otherwise.

------------------------

[noiriarti]

The Winner Takes it All: Anakin Skywalker x Reader (Enemies-to-Lovers Modern AU) | Chapter 2

NSFW! Minors DNI!!! Summary: The moment the thesis competition was announced, you knew your biggest threat. Anakin Skywalker, golden boy of the engineering department. He's the only other person smart enough to beat you, and the only other person insane enough to stay in the lab until midnight every night. He's also an asshole, but you're starting to think maybe he's not as bad as you thought he was... Pairing: Anakin Skywalker x Fem!Reader CW: mentions of masturbation WC: 6.9k AN: hehehehehe this chapter was so much fun to write and i fear i have added a bit of a plot to this pwp fic. next chapter will get even wilder! as always, asks and requests open <3

Ch. 1, [Ch. 2], Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch. 6

Chapter 2: Testing

Anakin stumbled to his room on unsteady feet. When he entered, it was 1:43 am, but he had never felt more awake. He couldn't have slept even if he had wanted to, because you were haunting him. The wood of his door as he unlocked it felt like the lab bench under his fingers. His lips felt phantom kisses from you. Your angry voice echoed in the creak of the hinges. His pillows were soft like your clothes, like your skin.

The more he thought about it, the harder he got, which he wasn't sure was possible, really. His cock was pressing against his jeans so hard that he was relatively certain he could get off just by thrusting into the material a few times. Anakin rocked his hips experimentally against the rough material, and a shiver of pleasure ran down his spine. Jesus. He was definitely sensitive enough to cum like that. But he shouldn't. He really, really shouldn't. It would be weird and creepy, when you told him you didn't want to do more of this. He shouldn't. He resolved to sleep it off, but found sleep was still evading him about an hour later when he lay awake in bed. Fuck my life. Fine. If he was going to be up, he might as well get some work done. So, he spent the night typing at his desk, which he distinctly had to try not to imagine kissing you against.

Anakin didn't hate you. Far from it. Okay, maybe not that far from it. But if he hated you, he something-else-ed you with equal measure. He just wasn't sure what that something else was. Did he like you? This wasn't like any crush he had before. You were so rude sometimes, but he would snap right back, and then escalate. Anakin didn't love that personality trait in himself, but it came out in spades around you. In freshman year, your name on the posted top homework of the week was exhilarating. Finally, some competition. Someone who loved engineering as much as he did. Someone who understood the fire that got him out of his backwater town and into the world. Then he met you, and that exhilaration turned a thousand times stronger. You weren't just a peer, you were a challenge. Every jab you threw at him, every time your bot would beat his in the traditional end-of-year tournament, he'd feel like he was suddenly on fire, electricity shocking through his very being. It was the same feeling he chased in taekwondo, that edge where he wasn't sure if he'd win, but he was so, so close. It was easier to interpret it as anger, as hatred, as fuel.

Even though he thought you could be a know-it-all, he had to admit that he always had a sort of begrudging respect toward you. You worked on a group project together, three times, once per year on average, and he could consistently rely on the fact that you'd never be a slacker. Others on the team would sometimes ghost, which annoyed you both in equal measure. The two of you would butt heads over what to do in the projects, but you were always 100% dedicated. He respected it about you, even if you were critical of his admittedly shoddy handwriting or the logical jumps in his proofs.

By senior year, he was unknowingly nursing what could affectionately be called a crush, though it was masked under layers and layers of frustration and competition and anger. Anakin wasn't very self aware, but it was beginning to dawn on even him that, perhaps, he liked you. There were several signs. Late nights in the lab were torture for him. He'd sit there, trying to focus on something, anything, but he kept seeing that piece of hair that fell into your face when you bent over your bench and your deft hands wiring capacitors. Sometimes, when you passed him and he caught a whiff of your smell, his heart would speed up. When he heard your voice in class, he would start smiling. It was honestly kind of embarrassing.

In retrospect, it was surprising he hadn't broken and kissed you earlier. But, now that he had, all he could think about was kissing you again. As he sat at his desk thinking, the next steps for his thesis slipped through his hands like grains of sand. At practice the next afternoon, his technique was sloppy, which his teammates riffed on endlessly. In class, the professor could have said the secret to traveling faster than light, and it would have gone in one of Anakin's ears and out the other.

You had said it couldn't happen. Why? Did he do something wrong? At the time, he was clouded with arousal, joy, and exhilaration, so he didn't ask any questions, just agreed mindlessly, but your statement was haunting him. We shouldn't do this again. Why not? His body was screaming for it, at the very least, and so was his heart, but he chose to ignore that.

Anakin was pondering this issue over a piece of tech for the Jinn lab, where he worked part-time during the semester, when Obi-Wan walked in and headed straight for him. Though Obi-Wan was technically his supervisor, being a third-year graduate student advised by Professor Jinn, Anakin considered him a friend. Though he was usually pretty serious, Obi-Wan appeared thoroughly amused today and looked a bit like the cat who got the cream.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan said by way of greeting as he passed by his chair.

"What's up?" Anakin asked as he tried to get a particularly annoying screw tightened.

"Were you in the thesis lab last night?" Yes, he was, in fact. He was making out with you, but he didn't need to mention that.

"Yeah, working on some hardware for my next prototype, why?" Obi-Wan's smile spread further, if possible.

"Did you know there's cameras?" The blood froze in Anakin's veins. The suggestion in his voice was unmistakable.

"What?" His voice came out like a whisper.

"Good thing you were simply working on your prototype. You should warn other students to take… dalliances elsewhere," Obi-Wan said, winking.

"I-um-fuck--I." The words died on Anakin's tongue. Holy fucking shit. "I didn't see cameras."

"They're small. Qui-Gon had me install them this year. Nevertheless, things happen," Obi-Wan said, pausing, then quickly added, "Good luck." Obi-Wan patted Anakin on the shoulder and walked into his office in the back of the lab, leaving Anakin frozen in his chair.

Later that evening, once he'd worked (read: sat in shock) for four hours at the Jinn lab, finished two assignments for his gened, and led a practice for the TKD team, Anakin dragged his tired ass to the thesis lab. He was still restless since Obi-Wan's revelation. There was a video of the two of you, and he found himself wondering more than a few times if he could get it. For safekeeping, of course. No other reason.

He nodded at Barriss, who was on her way out, on complete autopilot. Seems she's getting in gear for the competition, he would have thought had he been mentally present in the slightest. He was the only one in the lab, a relief considering the fact that all his brain cells tended to leave the building as soon as you were near him, so he could get some work done. Get some tests in, make some actual progress. Maybe he could even pull a win on the competition, if not just an A on his thesis. He'd written some code during thermo lecture that he loaded onto an Arduino, turning over the device and its sharp pins in his fingers before disconnecting it from his laptop and shoving it into a breadboard. It looked ugly, clunky, and inelegant, but it was just a temporary setup for the test run before he attached the Arduino to the current motherboard. Sometime midway through the code running, the door to the lab clacked open.

It was you. Who else would arrive to the lab at 8pm? You looked gorgeous today, which hit Anakin like a punch to the gut. Cool, cool. This was normal. He could handle this. The cold had darkened your lips and cheeks a bit, so subtle he wouldn't have noticed if he wasn't staring. But he was, and he looked away quickly, back to his computer, and choked out a "hey." Anakin heard the tell-tale smack of your backpack on the floor, then each layer you shed (thump for coat, gentle taps for gloves, barely a thunk for hat). His eyes were fixed intently on the screen, even though there was nothing to look at there. When he looked up, you were right in front of him, close enough to touch.

"Hi," you said. Your eyes were gazing up at him earnestly and he could almost see his reflection in them. Fuck. You were standing incredibly near him, much closer than anyone else in his life would.

"Hi," he breathed. Was this it? Were you going to tell him that, actually, you wanted him? That maybe you could go on a date, or, at least go back to your place? Just going back to yours for sex wouldn't be exactly what he wanted, but then again beggars can't be choosers. And he was definitely a beggar right now.

"I need the small pliers." You reached out your hand expectantly. Oh. Okay.

"Yep." He handed them over, then watched as you walked back to your table.

Awesome. So Anakin was still horrendously awkward around you. He knew how to speak to you after the past several years, where he'd found himself getting little kernels of knowledge about your life and thoughts. It was more that he didn't know what he could say that wasn't a confession that he really really wanted to kiss you again.

The dark had already fallen outside hours ago when you began to put away your prototype. All of the world was asleep, the hallway outside the makerspace dark. The only light outside the lab were the streetlights glowing through the open windows, casting shadows over the sidewalk. Time was fictional in those moments, stretching and shortening and contorting until a minute passed in what felt like an hour, or the other way around. Nothing made sense in those moments. His calculations. The unease he felt. Least of all, why you didn't want to kiss him again. Why he didn't just tell you that he couldn't stop thinking about you. But you were already putting your coat on, slinging your backpack over your shoulder, and--

"Wait," he called out desperately, gesturing with his hand toward you. He fell silent. What was he going to say? He'd ask you to talk, to explain that he actually really enjoyed yesterday and that he'd really really like to do it again. He'd tell you that he didn't hate you, actually. That he'd actually enjoy going on a date, maybe to dinner or a movie, he wasn't picky. The words were on the tip of his tongue.

"Can you just stay for five more minutes while I use the drill press?" Close enough.

You looked at him and simply nodded. You kept an eye on him while he used the drill press, and his hand almost slipped three times under your scrutiny. But then he was done, and you both went through the paces of closing up the room. Vents off, machines off, check printers, check laser cutters, lights off, leave.

On the walk home, Anakin looked up and saw an empty sky, so different from the one on the farm at home. No matter where he turned there, he saw constellations and different worlds. Here, between the tall buildings and under all the light pollution, it was just black. You walked home wordlessly again.

The next day, he was determined to be more normal, and immediately asked you how your project was going. He could tell you were guarded based on the wariness in your eye, but you still answered. That you were dealing with a test not working. He offered to take a look at it, but you shot him down.

Later, you asked him if he knew how to deal with an issue with your CAD model, which he did, and he helped you extrude text on the curved surface. Anakin tried not to notice how close your body was.

The normalcy returned within three hours between the two of you. Sure, there was an elephant in the room (or, really, a herd of elephants), but you two were getting comfortable again, casually chatting about class and boasting about your projects. You revealed the thermo midterm hadn't gone so well, and he confessed that it hadn't for him, either. He was very worried about the class, actually, but the thesis was his priority. When he told you, Anakin couldn't figure out what your expression meant. Surprise? Anger? Sadness? Sympathy? He shrugged it off. Probably was a shock to realize he wasn't always perfect.

An hour later, he was thinking about going home, but then he saw you staring at your computer with your headphones in.

"Whatcha watching?" He hoped the question sounded casual. You paused the video and looked up at him.

"An old Criminal Minds episode," you responded with a hint of a smile. His heart leaped.

"Can I join? I'm waiting on a print, and I need a break anyway." Was that smooth? He couldn't tell. You nodded, and he pulled up a chair. He was endlessly thankful you were using wired earbuds today (you had explained you'd forgotten your usual wireless ones at home), so that he had an excuse to sit near you. It was just how far the cord reached, not how badly he wanted to press himself against you. That was all.

"Oh, it's totally the teacher," he remarked at one point, midway through the episode. Your legs had gotten closer, almost pressing the sides of his thigh to yours. That did not make his heart race. It was probably the tension in the episode.

"Obviously, dumbass," you chided, smacking your leg into his, but there wasn't any bite to it. It was affection, and he reveled in it the whole way home.

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Ahsoka Tano wasn't stupid. She had eyes and a capability for critical thought that she thought two particular people in her life lacked. When her roommate came home from the lab one day in mid-November, dead silent with hair mussed and lips still swollen from making out with someone, Ahsoka knew something had happened between you and the only other person who would be in the lab that late. Finally. But there was a clench in your jaw, a hard set in your eyes, that told her it wasn't all positive. But it was progress.

The first time she met met Anakin was when she was a freshman and joined the Coruscant U taekwondo team. She'd seen him around the competitive taekwondo circuit, of course; he was national champion two times running in the 16-18 division. Anakin was precise, vicious, and powerful. By the time he was a freshman, he was about to reach the fourth Dan, a feat which took most people years. He was just that good.

When Ahsoka met him, she was certain he'd be the kind of arrogant that could only come with prodigy status. And, though he was a bit full of himself, she was surprised to find him to be kind. Not nice, necessarily, all quips and snipes and sarcasm, but definitely kind to the younger students, and to her. When he asked her to be his vice-captain, she said yes immediately. There was no one better she could learn from.

The first time she noticed the tension between you was at the first competition she was in, when you came to watch her. At some point, Anakin's name had been announced, and you looked like you'd smelled curdled milk. When she asked you about it later, she hadn't expected the total word vomit that spilled out of you about how annoying and horrible and infuriating Anakin was in class. Your actual issues with him were fairly minor, she thought: 1. He gloated (definitely true), 2. He sabotaged other people's projects so he'd do better (probably not true), 3. He was always getting praise from the professors (probably true), and 4. He always assumed you didn't know what you were doing (probably true).

But Ahsoka saw a side of him you didn't. At a competition in her sophomore year, in the dead of night at the Airbnb the team had rented, she saw him frantically sewing his expensive competitive dobok, heavy with embroidery befitting his dan, when one of the seams tore mid-match the day before. It took some digging, but he confessed that he didn't have a backup. He couldn't afford a new one right now. Anakin didn't talk about home much, and, when he did, it was in clipped sentences saying that yes, he had a mom and a new stepdad. Yes, he was from a small town. As vice-captain, she had access to the list of students who the team was sponsoring at competitions because they needed the financial aid. Anakin was on the list every time. Ahsoka didn't mention it to him, ever.

Over the past three years, she had watched the spark between the two of you ignite into fights and frustration. She'd heard Anakin ask about you in a way he thought was subtle, but was actually glaringly obvious. She'd heard you complain that he was so annoying enough times. Now that something had actually happened between you, that was it. She was going to do something about it.

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"A taekwondo party?" You had asked.

"Yeah! At Rex's," Ahsoka had said. To be honest, you kind of needed a break. Or, at least a night to not think about circuits. You were beginning to see that Anakin was smart, even smarter than you had thought, and it was creeping up on you that, maybe, just maybe, you wouldn't win no matter what you did. Maybe he was just too brilliant. You wanted to forget that, and getting drunk seemed like a great way to do just that. "Anakin will be there," Ahsoka's voice echoed in your head. Why did she say that? The peace you had settled into with Anakin was tenuous, but there. Did she know about what happened between the two of you?

You still weren't sure when you arrived on the door of the brownstone. Tau Kappa Delta wasn't an actual frat, but it was a house full of the TKD team competitors who called each other "brothers," so the nickname stuck. It was a bit out of the way of campus, but it was the prime place to hold parties if you wanted to get raunchy in a safe place. You and Ahsoka had gotten dressed up, you in some kind of short black silk dress she shoved in your hands, and her in a strappy ensemble that looked a bit like battle armor. There were straps around the arms that extended into fingerless gloves and some kind of tactical belt was slung low over her hips. Her halter top showed off her strong arms, and, for an instant, you wished you played sports for the university. How she wasn't shivering in the cold air, you'd never know.

The door swung open and the warmth indoors hit you, thick with bodies and sweat and beer, and some guy ushered you in while Ahsoka gave him a hug. This must be one of the team members you had met, some sturdy guy with an accent. You couldn't quite place if his name was Cody or Vaughn, but it was one of them, you thought. The room you entered was full of coats and bags, as well as a few people standing and chatting with drinks in their hands. Through the doorway, music blared in what was probably the living room. You couldn't make out any furniture through the dancing crowd.

Ahsoka reappeared with a shot in each hand, offering one to you with a wink.

"To a good night where you can relax, because God knows you need it," she toasted, bumping her shot glass against yours and downing it in one go. The tequila burned as it went down your throat. You coughed for a bit, then asked her for another. Might as well get the party started right. Another shot went into you, and then Ahsoka dragged you to the dance floor. The lights in the room were flashing all kinds of colors--red, purple, blue--and the music was loud enough that you could feel it vibrating through your organs. Ahsoka pushed her way past some people, closer to the center of the room, and then found enough space for the two of you and started dancing. The rhythm flowed through you, and you were just drunk enough not to care if you looked stupid. It was perfect. The two of you danced for three, maybe four songs, before Ahsoka went to get you both another shot, and then another. Some of Ahsoka's friends had joined you, not that you knew them, but you were in your own world, having fun. People bumped into your shoulder, leg, elbow, whatever, but you were on cloud nine. The bass felt like one heartbeat connecting all of the strangers on the floor to you, like you were all one beast. Dancing with your friends like this, going to parties, that's all that you cared about. This would be one of those memories you treasured, you were sure of it.

And then you saw Anakin. Much to your annoyance, he looked particularly good that day, his hair still as touchable as it was every day in the lab. He was wearing light-wash jeans (like that night, a small part of your brain reminded you) and a black, comfortable t-shirt. Oh, and there was a woman with him. Like that wasn't the first thing you noticed. She was shorter than him by a good bit, standing in front of him so you couldn't see her face, just her annoyingly shiny chestnut hair and perfect neck. Cool. Fine. They were in the corner of the room, with him leaning against the wall and her standing in front of him, shouting conversation over the loud music. Anakin shot her a warm smile, the one he rarely turned toward you, and then she put her hand on his chest. It was the alcohol that flipped your stomach, you were sure of it. And anger at seeing him, nothing else. You tapped Ahsoka and got close to her ear.

"Who's that?" You asked. She turned closer to you, her eyebrows drawn.

"Huh?" She half-yelled back. You lent in closer, trying to get to her ear.

"The girl?" You could barely hear yourself over the noise.

"What?" Oh, fuck it. You full-on yelled, but it didn't even come close to the level of bass in the room.

"Who's the girl with Anakin?"

"Oh," Ahsoka yelled back. "That's his ex." Awesome. Whoop-de-fucking-do. There was, objectively, no reason why that should have annoyed you. But it did. The girl waved to Anakin, then left, leaving him looking incredibly hot up against that wall. Your eyes took in the width of his chest, the muscles and veins in his arms. And then he was looking at you.

He had caught you. Fuck. He gave you a little wave with a smirk, then left into the next room. Shitfuckmotherfucker. Ahsoka grabbed your shoulder, shouting something about how the two of you should get some air. You nodded and let her pull you out of the dance floor, then to a room down the hall, where you could hear voices talking, laughing.

You recognized a few of the people. Jesse, Echo, the one whose name you'd ascertained was actually Cody, Fives, and Fox were all there, and, of course, so was Anakin. They were sitting in an uneven, horrible circle that was really more of a convex shape around the couch. Some girls you'd seen before around campus but you hadn't really met and some other team members were strewn about the room, sipping beers from their red cups. Anakin greeted you both with a wave.

"Hey, come join us, we're playing truth or dare," he yelled across the room. Ahsoka grinned and almost pulled you down with her to the floor.

"C'mon, let's play," she said as she grinned up at you. Truth or dare and other party games had never really been your thing, and you kind of were feeling the number of shots you had taken, so you decided you were out.

"Oh, I'm not sure--" you started.

"What, gonna chicken out?" Anakin's voice called. That motherfucker.

"Never," you shot back, plopping your ass down. You weren't sure there was a way to win truth or dare, but you were going to find it, goddamn it.

"Okay, Rex. Truth or dare?" Jesse started. You'd only met him once, but he had a nice voice and a glint in his eye that made you like him immediately.

"Dare," he responded gruffly. Some oohs peppered the room as they watched their intrepid assistant captain about to get loose. Jesse thought for a moment.

"Take two shots!" The crowd chanted as Rex sighed, poured himself two shots of tequila, and downed them with only a small wince. After he was done, it was his turn.

"Ahsoka, truth or dare?"

"Truth?" Ahsoka crinkled her nose.

"Aw c'mon Snips. Bo-oring," Anakin teased. Ahsoka shot him a look that said if I weren't across this circle, I would smack you right now.

"Only 'cause y'all can't think of a better dare than drinking," she said. Chuckles bubbled through the room.

"Fine, then, have you ever kissed Lux Bonteri?" Rex's question apparently hit the nail on the head as all the color drained out of Ahsoka's face.

"I changed my mind. Dare." Ahsoka's eyes were wide, and you knew why. She and Lux had kind of had a thing going, but he was on another school's team. She'd come back home after matches with stories about what he said, asking if you thought it was romantic or platonic. But she'd never admit to doing anything with a member of their fiercest competition. Rex rolled his eyes as people booed, Anakin especially loudly.

"Fine, fine. I dare you to… call your ex," Rex conceded. That was easy enough for Ahsoka, given that her only ex was Barriss, who she was still good friends with. Barriss had broken it off to focus on work over a year ago, and it had been hard on Ahsoka at first, but they got over it and were back to just being a little bit awkward. With an eye roll and a scoff, Ahsoka pulled out Barriss's contact and pressed the call button. The phone rang out on speaker, just getting Barriss's voicemail. "There, ya happy?" Ahsoka asked, then turned to someone else.

The game went around and around, questions about the last time someone had sex and dares to kiss someone else flying across the room as the team members who obviously knew each other too well publicly tortured one another. Eventually, someone said your name.

"Truth or dare?" It was Echo, who Ahsoka had told you was finally competing again after tearing his ACL. He had kind eyes, and the room seemed electric, so you made your choice without much thought.

"Uh, dare?" Echo smiled in a way that seemed apologetic, and you realized that perhaps this was a terrible idea. Was the room holding its breath, or was it just you?

"Okay, I dare you to straddle Anakin for three minutes." The room erupted, cheers and hollers coming from every player in the nearby vicinity. "Get it, Cap" came from somewhere on your right, and a whistle came from your left. Anakin looked white as a sheet, and you noticed he was staring at Echo with murder in his eyes. They'd pay for that in practice, most likely. He was leant back on his arms, legs criss-crossed, but the position suddenly looked tense. A muscle in his jaw bulged. The chants weren't stopping, and you decided to get it over with.

Whether it was the alcohol coursing through you or some newfound bravery, you weren't sure, but you started moving over to Anakin, who was three seats to your right, near a wall. He made eye contact with you, his gaze softening, and you could practically hear him asking you if you were okay with this. You were, you realized. It was probably the alcohol talking. The wolf whistles of the other players faded away, and sitting on his lap suddenly became the only thing you wanted.

You hitched one leg across Anakin's body, then sank down so that you were sitting on him. The rough material of his jeans slid against your bare thighs, and you cursed your choice not to wear pants. Your stomach was pressed to his chest, and you noticed that, even though your cleavage was in his eyeline and you always thought he was easily swayed by tits and ass, his eyes were intently staring into yours. In your shadow and the dark light, they were blown wide, the black almost consuming his blue irises. A world away, someone yelled that they had started a timer.

Somewhere behind your back, Ahsoka slipped Echo five bucks. You wouldn't have noticed if she had done it in front of you, because you were too busy trying to slow the beating of your heart. Or was that his? You couldn't tell. Everything was a bit fuzzy. In this position, you were above him for the first time, looking down at those eyes that were casting you a look that churned something inside you. With that look, you were back in the lab, and he was telling you to jump up onto the table, and his hands were all over you. You'd lose yourself in that moment, if you could.

Anakin's eyes traveled down your figure with a hard gulp that bobbed his Adam's apple. His gaze lingered on your low-cut front, tracing over the seams, then reaching down to your thighs. In your drunken state, you hadn't noticed the amount of skin that was exposed when your dress rode up. He definitely did. You felt something slowly changing beneath you, and it took you a second to comprehend that he was getting hard. Because of you. You rationalized it as the reaction any person with a penis would have to being straddled like that. Right?

His heavy breathing seemed to confirm it, and Anakin mouthed 'sorry' when he felt himself press against you subtly. You distinctly did not mind. His eyes flicked down between your legs, where the skirt had ridden up so that one wrong--or right--move would let him see what was underneath it. Him seeing you didn't bother you one bit, actually. You kind of wanted him to put a hand to you, press his fingers inside you. Maybe he could take you upstairs to one of the rooms and fuck you furiously. Or maybe you could shove what you were feeling against your legs into your throat. Or maybe one, then the other.

His gaze met yours again before sliding down to your lips and staying there. The same energy that he had when he was one-upping you, confidently answering a question in class, or telling you to re-solder your work grew in his eyes. That intensity. That fierce desire for success. You found it incredibly attractive then, but now, it was irresistible.

The timer beeped, and you thought of the 3D printer that night in the lab. Cockblocks, the both of them. The others in the room cheered as you got off him instantly, then slinked back to your usual seat. Now that you were sitting on your own, it became obvious that the heat between your thighs was not entirely from his legs warming you up. You pulled the hem of your skirt down just a tad. The adrenaline of the moment hadn't stopped, even though you were reminded of the existence of the crowd that had just watched you. You didn't want it to end. You'd give anything for the room to be empty right now, like the lab at night. You pulled out your phone and sent a message to Anakin, your fingers wobbly on the keyboard.

Upstairs. Follow me in 3 mind, the text said. Fuck. Maybe you were a bit drunk. *Mins, you corrected. Anakin checked his phone almost instantly, his eyes still locked on you from before, and quickly typed something back. k. You waited two more rounds of questions before getting up.

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom," you said to Ahsoka, who was absorbed in some kind of debate with Fives and Cody. She nodded at you, and then you were off. You weaved through people, up to the floor with the bedrooms, which was much less populated than the downstairs. There were a few rooms that seemed either occupied or locked, but one at the end of the hall sat ajar. You entered, leaving the door cracked so Anakin would know where you were, then sat down on the bed. It was a twin, in a decently clean room that had a bunch of posters for bands along the walls. Whoever lived here really liked Pink Floyd, apparently. It was actually nice up there; the music was pumping through the building, but it was a nice backdrop this far from the speakers. The window was open, so the cool breeze was flowing.

A few moments later, the door opened. The second you saw Anakin, you pounced on him. He let out a slightly surprised mmph, but then feverishly kissed you back. Anakin tasted like alcohol and orange juice, but you didn't mind. As long as he was kissing you, he could taste however he wanted. One of his hands scrabbled behind him to find the door handle and shut it, while the other came up to your jaw. Whatever desires he had downstairs, he was clearly showing them now. His hand went down to grab your ass, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh. You pressed yourself against him, just like you were downstairs, your whole bodies melded together until you didn't know where he began and you ended. The way Anakin kissed you was intoxicating, more so than any of the shots you had taken that night. More than any drug you would ever take. That fire, that anger-desire-passion-whatever that burned in you intensified until the music downstairs and the unfamiliar surroundings faded away, and all you could feel was him.

You rocked your hips forward, just to test his response, and he growled into your mouth with a ferocity you didn't expect, but loved anyway. Fuck, you'd do anything to hear that again, to hear it all the time. He pulled your hips into his, grinding against you in the process.

Suddenly, he twisted around so he was pressing you against the door with his body enveloping you. Anakin trailed down from your lips to your jaw to your neck. The little nips and wet kisses were driving you wild, so you decided to return the favor and snaked your hand down his chest, which was shockingly hard and muscular, until you reached the hem of his shirt. Your fingers toyed with the edges where his skin met the soft cotton, and you could feel his ragged intake of breath when you trailed even further up. He pulled away, his breathing still heavy. You thought and hoped he would take his shirt off. To show you what you'd seen on the rare times his shirt had ridden up while he took off a hoodie or jacket. Instead, he just looked at you and stopped.

"Fuck me, please," you whispered into the room. For a moment, he looked like he was strongly considering it, and you found yourself praying he would say yes.

"How many drinks have you had?"

"I don't know, like four? Does it matter?" You shrugged. "It doesn't change that I want you," you whispered in a way you hoped was seductive. Anakin got off you so quickly that you were almost hurt, but he still remained close enough that it soothed the sting.

"I'm sorry. It's going to kill me to say this, but we shouldn't do this now. I've only had one drink and you're clearly not thinking straight," he said. His eyes were so full of concern that you almost didn't get mad at him. Almost.

"No, I'm thinking very straight. I'll say the alphabet backwards if you want," you offered, getting closer to him again. He took another step back.

"I'm talking about your decisions. I don't want to have sex, and then have you wake up in the morning and regret it. Just--let's go back to yours." He caught the look in your eye, which clearly meant that yes, you would indeed like to go back to your place, then hurried to add more.

"Not like that. You go to sleep. I'll stay in your living room. In the morning, if you still want to do this, I'll fuck you right then and there." Anakin rumbled the last words out so intently, so full of promise, that you finally conceded.

"Fine, let's go. But as soon as I wake up, I'll take you up on that. And then I'm going to the lab. I've gotta get back to work," you said, letting him past you to open the door for you. Anakin chuckled.

"Maybe you're more sober than I thought." The two of you went back down the hallway, past the other closed doors to the staircase, which was somehow even sweatier than you remembered, then past the living room to the entrance. Anakin's hand was clasped around yours the entire time, to make sure he didn't lose you, and you found that, actually, you didn't mind the contact. You wanted to do it a lot, even sometimes outside of sex. But that was the tequila talking. In fact, the tequila was doing a lot of talking right now, and the world was a little bit wobbly and fluid. Your head was heavy, and you found yourself stumbling a few times in your impractical heels.

Somehow, in all the chaos, Anakin found Rex by the entrance. You couldn't hear every word he said, but you caught "too drunk," "going home," and "make sure Ahsoka gets home safely." The 15 minute walk home passed by in a blur because you were a bit too distracted by the smell of Anakin's jacket around your shoulders. You really were stumbling around, and Anakin had to catch you a few times, but you made it back to your dorm in one piece.

This time, instead of going to the west elevator, Anakin followed you to the east, then up, up, all the way until you got to the tenth floor. Your key scraped against the lock, and you could hear Anakin's impatient sigh as you missed the hole again. You finally got it in, then got into your apartment and immediately flopped face-first onto your bed. Everything was a muddled mess after that. Anakin helped you take your shoes off, though not without making fun of you for being so drunk first, and then handed you a makeup wipe. You slapped it across your face a few times, then tossed it to the side. With a quick "good night," Anakin was about to leave your bedroom to crash on the living room couch.

"C'mere," you called, sitting up and stopping him in his tracks. He approached the bed, then sat down next to you until you put your head on his shoulder. This was bad, you knew, but it felt, for a moment, like that didn't matter. "Stay." Your voice was so small, so quiet. Vulnerable.

"I want to, but, no, I really should--" You interrupted him, still a little drunk and groggy but definitely annoyed. Could the bastard stop trying to be chivalrous for one second?

"If you don't stay, I am gonna dunk your Arduino in water. After you've soldered it." The threat was slightly diminished by the way you nuzzled his shoulder, but it worked anyway. Anakin was always a sucker. His deep sigh confirmed it.

"Fine. Just--oh God this is weird--let me take off my jeans if I'm going to sleep in a bed." You nodded and watched as he stood up, then unbuttoned them and pulled them down so he was in loose boxers and his t-shirt. His strong legs were on display, and you filed the image away for later as he crawled in behind you on the tiny twin bed. Your bed was shoved into the corner of the room, so he had to smush himself between you and the wall, but he managed it with only minimal complaining. He was so warm, so big and comforting. Maybe this was the relaxation you needed tonight, not a stupid party. Maybe you could do this more often. Anakin put his arm around your stomach, pulling you into him. Yup, you definitely had to do this more often. His breath tickled the back of your neck delightfully, and his bare legs felt incredible against yours.

"Is this okay?" You didn't have time to answer with anything more than a mhmm before you fell asleep. It was the most restful sleep you had in months, but that wasn't because of Anakin. Maybe it was. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn't so bad. Maybe you liked him a bit, when he wasn't being an ass. But that was probably the tequila talking. It was the tequila, really.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

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[austinbutlerslovers]

Eternal Ink 🪽

Label Mature 18+

Summary Austin is a renowned tattoo artist with his muscular physique covered in intricate ink. After careful contemplation and a little liquid courage, you decide tonight is the night you will finally get the tattoo you’ve been wanting at his shop. Upon entering, you’re immediately struck by his handsomeness and drawn in by his skill. As he works on your tattoo during a quiet, late night session, the intimacy between you two intensifies, fueling a passionate connection. At the end of the session, he satisfies you with something far more exhilarating than the tattoo.

❤️‍🔥Passionate Smut❤️‍🔥 Edging with unprofessional touch • seduction • dirty talk•nipple play•fingering•Austin covered in tattoos size kink •protection •sex on a tattoo table•multiple orgasms

Master List ••• Upcoming List

*Thank you for your votes! 🗳️ war camp will be released shortly *Please enjoy the winner tattoo 🏆

Eternal Ink 🪽

You stepped out of your car, feeling the cool night air against your skin as you made your way towards the tattoo shop. You were dressed nicely in fitted jeans a plunging halter top and mid calf leather boots. You’d been thinking about getting inked for a while now, and after a few drinks with friends for courage, tonight felt like the perfect opportunity.

Before you even set foot inside, you where well aware of this place’s unrivaled excellence, a testament to the exceptional skills of its artists. But it was the masterful artistry of the owner Austin that truly commanded attention. His reputation resounded through the city streets for his artistic brilliance.

The neon sign above the door glowed softly casting a warm light onto the pavement. ‘Eternal Ink’ it read in bold stylish letters. The sign was a striking blue its light flickering slightly creating an almost hypnotic effect. It was framed by a pair of tattooed wings that seemed to flutter with the movement of the light adding an artistic flair to the shop’s entrance.

The store front itself was equally impressive. Large glass windows allowed a glimpse into the shop’s interior, showcasing walls lined with framed tattoo designs and artwork. The door was a heavy dark wood with a polished brass handle, adding a touch of old world charm to the modern, edgy aesthetic of the shop.

Pushing the door open you were greeted by the scent of antiseptic mixed with a faint hint of bergamot. The lobby was both inviting and intimidating, a perfect blend of artistry and rugged masculinity.

Dark polished hardwood floors gleamed under the soft overhead lights, and the walls were covered in framed pieces of tattoo art each one more impressive than the last.

A plush black leather couch sat against one wall, next to a display case filled with tattoo designs and equipment. Next to the display case was a high table covered in tattoo design books. A large ornate mirror hung along the back wall reflecting the lobby making it feel even larger.

At this late hour it seemed the only occupant of the shop was the owner Austin working behind the counter organizing ink bottles.

He stood with his back to you his tall fit frame outlined against the soft lighting from the glass shelving he stood in front of.

His sandy brown hair was slightly tousled giving him a rugged yet polished look. The muscles on his back and shoulders were clearly defined, each contour accentuated by the soft lighting.

Tattooed angel wings adorned his shoulders, their intricate details peeking out from beneath the fabric of the black muscle tee clinging to his athletic form.

His chiseled arms were a canvas of intricate tattoos, each design seamlessly flowing into the next all the way up to his neck and down to his wrists. For a moment, you simply stood there, captivated by the sight of him.

The way he moved with such confidence and ease was mesmerizing. As he turned your eyes met and your breath instantly hitched in your throat as his piercing blue eyes locked onto yours. He was irresistibly attractive.

“Hey there,” he said eyeing you in return, his voice was smooth and deep with a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. He stepped around the counter and extended his hand.

“I’m Austin. How can I help you tonight?” you took his hand feeling the strength and warmth of his grip. Your eyes locked again and you felt a spark of something more pass between you.

His touch was firm yet gentle, his skin warm and roughened slightly from years of tattooing.

“Hi..yeah…” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady despite the fluttering in your chest. “I was hoping to get a tattoo tonight. Am I too late?”

His smile deepened, and he held your hand a moment longer than necessary before letting go.

“You’re just in time,” he said not even glancing at a clock. “What are you thinking about getting?” He asked as his gaze traveled subtly down your body, taking in your curves with a look of appreciation that sent a thrill through you.

When your eyes meet again Austin’s gaze lingered on yours and you couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitement mixed with nervousness.

Despite his commanding presence there was a warmth in his eyes that put you at ease.

You shifted slightly, suddenly unsure of what tattoo you wanted. “I’m not exactly sure what I want,” you admitted, feeling a bit sheepish.

Austin’s smile remained “No worries, Let’s take a look at some tattoo books. We’ll find something that speaks to you.” He said reassuringly and gestured you to follow him to the high table in the lobby which was adorned with a variety of tattoo design books.

As you flipped through the pages together his hand would occasionally brush against your sending sparks of electricity flying through you.

You slowly regained your composure and began to explain your idea to him, a small intricate design on your inner hip, something personal and meaningful. He listened intently, his eyes focused on you with understanding as you discussed the details.

Then with a fluid motion, he pulled open a drawer from the table, retrieving his sketch book and flipping open a fresh page. “How about this?” he suggested his hand moving slowly as he sketched a design on the piece of paper.

Once finished, he handed it over for your approval and as you examined the drawing in your hand, you realized it was exactly what you had envisioned, perfect in every detail.

“That’s it!” you said your voice filling with excitement. “I love it!”

As your eyes lifted from the drawing to his you could see a hint of pride in his expression as a warm smile spread across his lips.

“I’m glad you like it,” he replied, his voice low and genuine as his eyes lingered on you. “Let’s get you set up.”

He led you to a back room, his private tattoo space that exuded a dark masculine energy. The walls were painted a deep charcoal gray adorned with framed photos and artwork. Black leather furniture sleek and stylish filled the room. The scent of leather mixed with the faint aroma of ink and antiseptic created an edgy atmosphere.

There was a large framed picture of Austin on a powerful motorcycle above his desk, looking every bit the rugged artist that he was. Next to it were pieces of his favorite designs, detailed and vibrant tattoos that showcased his incredible talent.

In the center of the room was a black leather tattoo chair, its surface smooth and inviting. It looked like a throne, commanding attention in the dim lighting.

Austin gestured for you to sit and as you settled into the chair he pressed a button making you lay all the way flat, filling you with a mix of excitement and nerves.

"First time?" he asked, his eyes twinkling in amusement as he turned on his work light and directed its beam on your hip.

“Yeah,” you admitted, laughing nervously. “Go easy on me?”

He chuckled, a warm, reassuring sound. “I’ll take good care of you, don’t worry.”

As Austin prepared the equipment, his movements were precise and confident. The room was quiet the only sounds being the snap of his black gloves fitting onto his hands and the soft buzz of the machine as he tested it.

You took a breath and unbuttoned your jeans pulling them down low to reveal your right hip bone. His eyes remained steady on his task as he cleaned your skin.

His touch was gentle and professional, yet still he managed to send a shiver down your spine.

“Ready?” he asked, looking up at you with his intense blue eyes.

You took another deep breath and nodded. “Ready.”

Austin’s eyes lingered on yours for a moment longer before he turned his attention back to the task at hand.

He dipped the needle into the ink, and his fingers pressed lightly against your skin. As the needle touched your skin a sharp burning sensation shot through you. It was unlike anything you’d ever felt before, painful and sharp, but also exhilarating.

The intensity of the sensation was constant but there was a rhythm to it, a hypnotic quality that made it bearable. You winced a bit biting your lip as the discomfort quickly began to mix with a strange, almost pleasurable sensation.

Austin paused for a moment lifting his gaze to meet yours. “You doing alright?” he asked with his hand gently rested on your hip.

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah, I’m okay. It hurts, but it’s… different. Not as bad as I expected.”

He gave you a small, understanding smile. “Just let me know if it gets too much, alright? We can take a break if you need.”

His words were comforting and the way he looked at you with genuine care made you feel completely at ease despite the pain. You nodded and he returned to his work.

The needle continued its steady hum and his fingers occasionally brushed against your skin to wipe away any excess ink. The sensation of his touch, coupled with the steady rhythm of the needle ignited a wave of arousal within you, transforming the discomfort into a tantalizing pleasure.

You found yourself captivated by his face as he worked. His handsome features were well defined, his high cheekbones and strong jawline catching the light of the overhead lamp as he worked.

His intense focus made him even more attractive, the way his brows furrowed as he concentrated, his full lips pressing together in a thin line of determination.

Each time his eyes flicked up to meet yours it sent a thrill through you, unable to deny your desire for him. It became evident he felt the same way as the depth of his emotions mirrored your own, the undeniable attraction between you both conveyed through each intense gaze.

He leaned in closer to fill in the intricacies of the design and you felt his warm breath against your skin, each exhale sending a gentle shiver down your spine causing you to move slightly. His grip on your hip reactively tightened. His fingers pressing into your flesh in a way that felt both possessive and protective.

“You’re doing so well for me,” he encouraged, his voice low and soothing, keeping you calm as he worked on a vital area of the design. His eyes narrowed in concentration as he manipulated the needle in delicate lines of precision.

His face displayed such a focused intensity as he masterfully inked the tattoo needle into your skin that it made you feel a mixture of anticipation and exhilaration knowing his skilled hands were marking your body permanently.

You calmed your urges focusing on the steady rhythm of his breathing and the gentle caress of his hand, until it transformed into something more.

His fingers began to trail across your skin with a subtle intimacy that stirred the arousal in you once more and you couldn’t help but fixate on his hands. You began feeling increasingly turned on by the way his fingers moved with purpose, each touch deliberate and confident, sending waves of desire coursing through you.

The warmth of his touch and the firmness of his grip stirred a deep lust within you. As his fingers ventured closer to your pelvic line, your pulse quickened, and your breath hitched in your throat.

Austin looked up at you again, this time the intensity of his stare sent a thrill through you. There was a spark there that ignited within a wordless heat growing more intense between you two at every passing moment.

He paused, leaning back to wipe away any excess ink, his fingertips trailing along your hip in a tantalizing manner. The deliberate slowness of his touch sent waves of excitement through you, intensifying the already electric atmosphere.

Sensing your attraction for him he couldn’t help but feel a surge of his own desire rising. Firmly gripping your hip he began seductively tracing his thumb along the edge of your tattoo.

Each stroke elicited a soft gasp and a subtle shift in your breathing a silent acknowledgment of the pleasure he was bestowing upon you. As your eyes met he gazed at you with an allure that made it clear his touch fueling your arousal was intentional.

“You have very beautiful skin,” he said softly, his voice filled with a mix of admiration and desire. His gaze traveled down your body lingering on the curve of your hip where he was tattooing. “Perfect canvas.” He said passionately.

You felt a flush rise to your cheeks, your body reacting to the intensity of his gaze and the intimacy of his words.

“You’re doing incredibly well for your first tattoo,” he praised, his voice a blend of reassurance and seduction. “Almost done,” he confirmed.

His eyes locked onto yours with a smoldering intensity, and a playful smirk formed on his lips revealing his desire for you.

You nodded, unable to speak, your body trembling slightly with the intensity of the experience.

His touch returned even more intimate than before as if he was savoring the contact, making your breath hitch and your heart race on each touch. The warmth of his hand and his fingertips lingered after every stimulating touch, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake as you became wet for him.

His eyes lifted to meet yours with a mischievous glint dancing within them. He spread his large hand wider across your pelvis, keeping the needle centered, as his fingers sensually teased under your panty line. The intimate touch ignited a fire within you, and it was evident he relished the effect. His smile only adding to the allure, intensifying your desire for him.

The sculpted muscles of his bicep flexed subtly as he finalized the design, showcasing the intricate tattoos adorning his own skin. Every movement he made captivated you, from the ink on his forearms to the designs gracing his neck. With each glimpse, your arousal heightened, fueled by an intense curiosity about the hidden artistry concealed beneath his clothing.

When he finally lifted the needle for the last time you let out a shaky breath, feeling a rush of relief and exhilaration from the intimate experience.

“All done,” he said, sitting back and snapping off his black gloves admiring his work. “Take a look.”

As you sat up he offered his hand, helping you to stand. You walked to the full length mirror in the room, lifting your shirt and pulling your jeans lower to admire your new tattoo.

It was beautiful, exactly what you had envisioned. The lines were clean and precise, the design was delicate yet striking. You turned to him filled with gratitude and something deeper swelling in your chest.

Before you could second guess yourself, you closed the distance between you stepping into his space with purpose. “It’s perfect,” you praised, your voice tinged with a hint of arousal.

You reached for him with a flicker of uncertainty dancing within as you gently placed your hands on his broad chest. “Thank you, Austin,” you breathed, your voice barely audible as you gazed up into his striking blue eyes overcome with desire.

He looked utterly irresistible, his hair tousled in a way that only added to his allure, a few strands falling playfully over his forehead and framing his beautiful blue eyes. His features exuded a quiet confidence and undeniable charm, his eyes gleaming with a hint of mischief as they met yours.

His full lips curved into a smile and he pulled you in closer slowly wrapping his arms around your waist. "Stay a while?" he asked, his voice was a deep rich tone sending a surge of anticipation through you.

“I’d love to,” you breathed and he lowered his lips onto yours in a passionate kiss, the intensity of the moment flooded through you entirely. His kiss was tender yet hungry as his hands roamed your back holding you tightly against him.

You broke apart from him nearly breathless form the moment and he smiled down at you. His eyes locked onto yours showing the depth of his desire as he gently caressed the curve of your cheek.

“You know I own this place,” he said, his voice low and intimate. “So we have all the time in the world here.” He said with a smile that exuded confidence as he held your gaze.

“That’s good to know,” you replied, your voice laced with seduction. “I wouldn’t want to rush with someone as skillful as you,” you teased as you gazed up at him full of desire with a sensual smile spread across your lips.

Austin chuckled and tantalizingly traced his finger gently along your jawline “You’re something else, you know that?” He asked with his eyes narrowed.

You shrugged playfully as you responded “I get that a lot” with a hint of allure in your voice.

He grinned, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. “I bet you do.” He said moving closer. You felt a blush creeping up your cheeks as he leaned in, capturing your lips in another searing kiss. This time it was deeper, his mouth explored yours with an intense passion that made your heart race. His tongue teased and tasted yours each movement sending jolts of electricity through you as his hands roamed your body, exploring every curve and contour.

His grip was firm yet gentle on your waist as he broke the kiss pressing you against the leather edge of the tattoo table. His body was so close you could feel the heat radiating off of him in waves. His eyes darkened with desire locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart flutter.

He leaned in so close that his lips brushed against your ear as he whispered, “I’ve wanted you from the moment you walked in.” His words sent tingles of excitement throughout your body as he gently trailed his fingers down your arms. “I never imagined you felt the same,” he confessed, his voice thick with desire.

You felt a surge of anticipation fill you as he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes with a slow sensual smile curving on his lips. Then without another word kissed you hard and demanding, his hands exploring your body gliding down your shoulders and over your chest gently squeezing the curves of your breasts through the fabric of your shirt.

His fingers teased your nipples with featherlight strokes until they hardened. Then with a tantalizing pull he gently tugged at the buds, eliciting a soft gasp of pleasure from your lips. His touch ignited a fierce desire within you, and you melted into him, your own hands reaching up to thread your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer as your mouths came together in a heated clash.

The tattoo table was sturdy behind you supporting as Austin’s kisses increased with desire. His lips moved from yours trailing down your neck, their warmth igniting a deeper lust with every tender press.

“You taste incredible,” he murmured, his voice a low caress against your skin. His teeth grazed your neck eliciting a gasp of pleasure from your lips as his hands roamed possessively over your curves, lingering on the bare flesh where your halter top didn’t cover.

“You feel so soft,” he whispered, his voice filled with admiration and lust, as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

He brushed his hand against the skin of your neck. “I want to see every inch of you,” he said, his eyes smoldering with desire. “And I want to touch every part of you,” he said his hands traveling possessively down to grip your hips.

A shiver ran through you as you finally answered. “Then take me, Austin. I’m yours.”

Austin’s breath hitched as he heard your words fulfilling his desire. With a hungry gaze, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours as he whispered “I’ve been waiting for you to say that.”

His eyes darkened with lust as a smirk formed on his lips. Your consent giving him the final push to satisfy his overwhelming urge to indulge in the passion between you.

He kneeled down in front of you swiftly unzipping your boots, easing them off, one by one with a steady hand. He pulled down your jeans revealing your skin inch by inch to the cool air as he took them off. His eyes never left yours as he peered up at you hooking his thumbs into the waistband of your wet panties sliding them down until you stepped out of them.

As he stood his fingers grasped the hem of your shirt tugging it upwards. You lifted your arms, allowing him to pull it off and toss it aside. He paused for a moment, his eyes roaming over your naked form with a look of pure desire.

“You’re irresistible,” he whispered, bringing his hands to cup your breasts with adoration as his thumbs traced your nipples. His lips found their way to your neck trailing a line of soft kisses. “Do you know how beautiful you are?” he murmured against your skin as his lips continued their journey up your neck.

As you opened your mouth to answer he captured your lips in another searing kiss his tongue boldly delving into your mouth, exploring with an irresistible need.

“Austin..” you breathed, pulling back slightly, your hands sliding up his muscular arms, feeling the strength beneath his skin. “I need you,” you confessed, holding his gaze with your faces mere inches apart.

”I need you too” he whispered against your lips. His words were filled with longing and urgency and he readily lifted you onto the edge of the tattoo table positioning himself between your legs. With his body pressed firmly against yours, you felt tingles of anticipation surging through you.

He stared into your eyes as he placed his hand on your thighs, gently spreading your legs apart on the tattoo table. His passionate touch sent waves of anticipation through you.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asked, his voice was thick with desire.

You nodded, your breath coming in short gasps. “Yes, exactly.”

He smiled, his hands gripping your thighs tightly. “You have no idea how badly I want you.”

You shivered at his words, the anticipation building even more. “Then don’t hold back,” you urged, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Austin’s eyes darkened with lust as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. “I won’t.” he vowed.

His hand reach between your bodies and his fingers made contact with your wetness applying a gentle pressure, slowly gliding them along the slick surface of your folds. With each stroke he explored the contours of your most sensitive areas, looking into your eyes and paying attention to the subtle responses of your body.

The sensation intensified as he lingered on certain spots, teasing them with the delicate precision of his fingertips, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through you as you stared at him in shock.

“Are you ready?” he asked, his voice filled with desire as he looked into your eyes again seeking your confirmation. You nodded quickly as your heart raced in anticipation.

With a deliberate and tantalizing slowness he pushed his fingers deep inside, the sudden intrusion making you gasp in pleasure. The sensation was intoxicating as your walls clenched around his fingers, each movement of his expertly seeking and stimulating a sensitive spot within you.

He curled his fingers as he pushed them in and out of you sending surges of pleasure throughout your body, intensifying with every thrust as he skillfully explored your depths.

He wrapped his other hand around your throat, his lips returning to yours as he moved his fingers through you in a steady rhythm. Every touch, every kiss, and every thrust of his fingers sent waves of ecstasy coursing through your body.

The pain from the tattoo faded away, replaced by a pleasure so intense it left you breathless. You felt the familiar tightening in your core as Austin’s fingers worked, pulling along the ridge of your most sensitive spot with each skillful thrust.

With the deliberate strokes of his fingers, expertly penetrating your inner walls you felt yourself giving in to the intoxicating waves of pleasure crashing over you and began to tremble and pant into his mouth as he kissed you. His lips trailed down to your neck and he sucked on the soft skin causing your walls to flutter against his plunging fingers. “Let go for me” he whispered against your neck.

His seductive command was the final push to take you over the edge. A loud uninhibited moan escaped your lips, the sound echoing the room as he skillfully brought you a climax. Your core throbbed with the release of euphoria as sparks of ecstasy raced through every nerve ending in your body as you orgasmed.

You could barely form a coherent thought, let alone a response from the pleasure he had just allowed you to endure. “Austin!” you panted trying to form words as he stared into your eyes with a knowing grin. The desire to be consumed by him overwhelmed your mind entirely.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low and reverent as he removed his fingers from you. He brought them to his wanting mouth his eyes never leaving yours as he traced along each finger with his tongue savoring the taste of you before sucking them clean. His eyes roamed your body with a hunger that made your heart race.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he said, his voice low and intimate as he leaned in capturing your lips in another erotic kiss.

You pulled your lips back to meet his gaze. “Then show me,” you whispered, the intensity of desire evident in your voice.

His eyes bore into yours with a primal desire to conquer you before he deliberate took a step back, creating space to undress.

He knelt first and unlaced his boots, removing them with his socks before setting them aside and standing back up.

You watched in anticipation as Austin gripped the hem of his muscle tee, effortlessly lifting it over his head in one fluid motion and flinging it aside.

The sight that greeted you took your breath away. His torso was a masterpiece of art and strength. His skin was covered in intricate tattoos, each one telling a story, that highlighted the sculpted muscles beneath.

His chest was broad and firm adorned with a phoenix that rose majestically in the middle, its wings spreading across his pectorals in vibrant hues of red and gold.

On his rib cage, a dragon coiled, its scales meticulously detailed, the black ink contrasting sharply against his tan skin. His abs were a series of defined ridges, leading down to the waistband of his jeans.

Austin’s gaze met yours, a smoldering heat in his blue eyes as he reached for the button of his fly. With practiced ease, he unbuttoned and slid his jeans off, revealing his long, thick cock.

You couldn’t help but gasp at its size. He was impressively endowed, his cock throbbing with desire and anticipation, every vein pulsing beneath the smooth skin was a visual testament to his undeniable readiness to claim you.

His strong, muscular legs were also decorated with tattoos. A compass adorned one thigh, its points perfectly aligned, guided by the celestial bodies and a hyper realistic wave design graced his calf, as if the ocean itself had been captured in ink.

On his other thigh, an astral pattern began that extended down to his shin, depicting a cosmic journey in ink.

He stood there for a moment, letting you take in the full view of him, his body a striking combination of raw power and delicate artistry. The room seemed to pulse with the intensity of the moment with anticipation and desire.

“You like what you see?” he asked, his voice low and teasing, a hint of a smile playing at his lips.

You nodded, unable to find your voice.

Austin stepped closer, cock swaying as he leaned to reach his hand into the low drawer of his tattoo station. He retrieved the golden packet of a condom glinting in the low lighting as he tore it open.

You watched as he rolled the condom down his large cock with a practiced skill and a look of anticipation gleaming in his eyes.

“You ready for this?” he asked with his voice full of desire. You met his gaze, your eyes filled with a mix of excitement and longing.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice barely audible above the pounding of your heart.

He returned to you, positioning himself between your thighs as you sat on the tattoo table. Every inch of him felt larger and more commanding, the embodiment of strength against your softness.

He reached down and wrapped his hand around the base of his thick shaft. With a firm grip, he guided his throbbing cock to the entrance of your soaking wet pussy, teasing the head along your slick folds, feeling the heat radiating from your core staring into your eyes.

“Ready for me?” he asked as he positioned himself at your entrance, seeking confirmation before the inevitable plunge.

You nodded eagerly, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness coursing through you wrapping your arms around his muscular back reveling in his strength

He slowly pushed forward the tip of his cock parting your lips, the sensation of his hardness pressing against your softness eliciting a loud moan from your lips.

Each inch he pressed inside made you gasp, your walls stretching to accommodate his girth, as you gripped his back tightly, your nails dug into his skin as you moaned with pleasure.

He groaned in response, easing the rest of his remarkably large cock inside of you until he filled you to your core. His eyes locked on yours as he felt your walls throbbing around his cock, trying to adjust to his size.

He brought his hands to hold your hips, steadying himself, as his lips brushed against yours.

“You feel so good on me,” he whispered capturing your lips in a passionate kiss.

He withdrew his hips, slightly sliding his cock out before returning it back in smacking his hips flush with your body as his tip pressed against your core beginning his strong rhythm.

With each of his thrusts the intensity grew, driving him deeper into you sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

You felt his muscular chest pressing against yours, skin sliding together with each movement as he held you firmly against him, bracing you to take the impact of each powerful thrust. His breath mingled with yours as your bodies moved in perfect rhythm.

“You feel incredible,” he groaned, his voice filled with desire staring at you for confirmation. You only gasped in response, unable to form words as the pleasure washed over you in relentless waves.

He increased his movements and your back arched with the quick jolt force of his thrusts as your skin began making slapping sounds between your bodies.

You gasped, feeling the intense pressure of his hardness against you cervix as his hips clapped between your legs.

“Yes, Austin, yes just like that!” You finally cried out, unable to contain the overwhelming pleasure of being so completely filled by him.

Austin groaned in response to your plea “You’re making me so hard,” he rasped, his voice thick with arousal as he wrapped his hand around your throat in a possessive gesture continuing to thrust into you. Each clap of his hips between your legs igniting a new wave of pleasure.

You began gasping and panting for air between moans, locking eyes with him, knowing your orgasm was imminent. His eyes met yours with a primal hunger, his grip your throat tightening, adding to the overwhelming sensation of his control as he thrust into you with unyielding determination.

You could feel every inch of his powerful body dominating yours, his strength and authority driving you wild. In that moment, you were completely lost to him.

He panted against your lips, his grip firm on your throat as he thrust into you hard and fast

“I want to feel you cum for me,” he rasped over the hard claps of his hips between yours. Each word sent shivers down your spine, and you moaned in response, unable to form coherent words as the pleasure consumed you.

“Fuck!” he whispered sharply “You feel too good.” he admitted and shut his eyes tight enduring the pleasure as he rode into you ramming you full of him.

“Yes Austin take me” you relented arching your back, eagerly meeting his thrusts with your body trembling with ecstasy. “Im gonnna cum!” You gasped.

He growled eagerly, his primal instincts taking over as he locked eyes with yours. Without hesitation, he forcefully thrust into you, each movement becoming more intense with every snap of his hips, driving you both over the edge.

Your moans of pleasure mingled in the air as he delivered his a final, powerful push and gripped you tightly as his cock spasmed releasing rope after rope of his cum into your body.

You scratched your nails down his tattooed back and cried out feeling the throbbing sensation of his cock buried against your walls.

He hungrily captured your lips in a kiss, accepting the pain and pleasure, his tongue dominating yours, igniting a fierce passion that consumed you both.

He pulled his lips from yours and the room fell silent, only the soft sounds of your breaths mingling. He looked at you with his eyes softening. “Stay with me,” he whispered, his voice filled with emotion. “Don’t leave.”

You smiled, your heart swelling with affection. “I’m not going anywhere,” you promised, pulling him in for another kiss.

With Austin’s muscular tattooed arms wrapping tightly around you flexing against your skin, you felt the warmth of his body pressing into yours. The fresh tattoo on your hip still tingled, a reminder of the intense connection you had just forged.

You could feel the tension building as Austin withdrew sliding his thick cock out of you with a slow and deliberate pace. Each inch leaving you causing a yearning to feel full of him all over again. When the tip finally slipped out, he immediately pulled you close, craving the intimacy of your connection once more.

In that moment as you looked into each other’s eyes you both smiled feeling completely satisfied. The depth of your connection was undeniable, a powerful bond forged in the heat of passion and intimacy. You knew that you had experienced something truly unforgettable, a moment that would remain tattooed in your hearts forever.

❤️‍🔥END❤️‍🔥

🏷️ Always Tag Me List 💌

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[reystenius-01]

The Ugly Green Emotion

Part One

In which: Swedish!Reader has a killer season for club and country, getting herself nominated for the Ballon D’or. As Stina wasn’t nominated and since she and R are still keeping things on the hush, she doesn’t go as R’s plus one.

When she sees the way R’s ex looks at her, a certain ugly green emotion begins to form.

—-

Stina settled in bed with her laptop and a warm cup of tea. North London, despite its flaws, had been having some great weather recently. She was in one of your sweaters. Everything was perfect. 

The only thing missing was you.

But there was no reason for her to be down about it. Her eyes were glued to her screen as she loaded up the Ballon D’or stream, her laptop screen immediately displaying nominees arriving at the Théâtre Du Châtelet in Paris. She sought you out, trying to see if you and your Barca teammates had arrived yet.

Stina caught more glimpses of other players before she even caught one of you, her anticipation growing as to what your outfit would look like. You had teasingly refused to show her over Facetime, and even during the little international break that you had, you had always managed to sweet-talk your way into talking about something else. It was infuriating, but in the best way possible.

As the stream continued, Stina's heart skipped a beat when she finally caught a glimpse of you, her breath catching in her throat at the sight of your radiant smile. You looked stunning, as always, your hair styled elegantly and your dress fitting you like a glove. Stina couldn't tear her eyes away from the screen, her heart swelling with pride as she watched you step out of the car, surrounded by your Barcelona teammates.

“Fuck, she looks incredible,” Stina murmured to herself, a fond smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she admired you from afar. She couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy as she spotted Aitana by your side, the two of you sharing a brief exchange before making your way into the theatre. Her heart clenched at the sight of your ex-girlfriend, but she pushed aside her insecurities, reminding herself that you had ended things amicably.

Stina took a sip of her tea, her eyes never leaving the screen as she watched the ceremony unfold. She knew that the Ballon d'Or was a significant moment for you, and she was determined to support you from afar, even if it meant battling her own jealousy. She would’ve loved to come with you, keep her hand on the small of your back, looking at you admiringly whenever you were interviewed. You were both private people, and always valued your privacy, even when you were still playing for Arsenal.

At Arsenal, only one other teammate knew that the two of you were dating, Stina's Norwegian best friend, Frida Maanum. It had been completely unintentional, the way she found out. She and her girlfriend, Emma, had come over to surprise you two for dinner.

Only to find the two of you getting up to some… sinful stuff on Stina's couch.

As Aitana was announced as the winner of the Ballon d'Or, Stina's heart sank a little, despite literally being told by you beforehand that you were placing in the top 5, but she managed to keep a supportive smile on her face. She watched Aitana make her way up to the stage to accept the award. Her gaze shifted back and forth between Aitana and you, noticing the way Aitana's eyes kept drifting over to where you were sitting. She couldn't help but feel a pang of irritation as she watched Aitana give her thank-you speech, her eyes lingering on you for just a little too long.

And when the camera panned over to you, giving Aitana a thumbs up, Stina's jealousy flared up even more. She clenched her fists, trying to push aside the ugly green monster that threatened to consume her.

“Damn it,” Stina muttered under her breath, her frustration bubbling to the surface. She knew she had no reason to feel jealous, but seeing Aitana's lingering looks and your friendly gesture only served to fuel her insecurity.

But as she took another sip of her tea, Stina forced herself to take a deep breath, reminding herself that you had chosen her. She tried to push aside her negative emotions and focus on the bigger picture. She knew that you loved her, that you were hers as equally as she was yours, but that didn't stop the green-eyed monster from rearing its ugly head.

After the women’s section was over, Stina swapped over to a Netflix show, deciding to occupy herself for a while until you texted that you were back at the hotel in Paris. Unbeknownst to her, you would be back in her arms by tomorrow night.

When her phone began to buzz, she reached for it immediately. A smile immediately graced her lips as she saw your name pop up on her phone screen, the screensaver of her hand pinching your cheeks with your eyes scrunched closed adorably making her chuckle a little, as it always did whenever she saw it.

“Hey, love,” Stina greeted warmly as she answered the call, her voice soft and affectionate.

“Hey, babe,” you replied, your voice warm with affection. “Just wanted to let you know that I made it back to the hotel safe and sound.”

Stina's smile widened at the sound of your voice, her heart skipping a beat at the thought of you being so close. “I'm glad to hear that,” she said, her voice filled with genuine relief. “How was the ceremony? Did you have a good time?”

“Yeah, it was amazing,” you replied, excitement evident in your voice. “And guess what? I got to catch up with Amanda. It was really nice seeing her.” You sighed, leaning back into the very comfy pillows on your hotel bed. “Anyway, I just… really wanted to hear your voice before I went to bed.”

Stina's heart fluttered at the sound of your voice, her worries and insecurities momentarily forgotten. “I was just thinking about you,” she admitted, a hint of longing in her tone.

“Yeah?” you replied, the smile evident in your voice. “What were you thinking about, älskling?”

Stina hesitated for a moment, unsure if she should mention her feelings from earlier. But then she decided to be honest with you, knowing that you deserved nothing less. “I was thinking about the Ballon d'Or ceremony,” she confessed. “And… about Aitana.”

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, and Stina held her breath, waiting for your response.

“Yeah, I get it,” you said finally, your voice gentle and understanding. “I'm sorry if seeing her there made you feel a little uncomfortable.”

Stina let out a sigh of relief, grateful for your understanding. “It's okay,” she said softly. “I trust you, you know that.”

“I know,” you replied, your voice filled with warmth. “And I love you for it.”

Stina felt a rush of emotion at your words, her heart swelling with love for you. “I love you too,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

There was a moment of comfortable silence between them, before you spoke up again, your tone teasing. “So, what are you wearing right now?” you asked, a hint of mischief in your voice.

Stina's cheeks flushed pink at the question, but she couldn't help but giggle at your playful tone. “Just one of your sweaters,” she admitted, her voice tinged with amusement.

“Ah, my favourite,” you replied, your voice dropping to a husky whisper. “I can't wait to see you in it. Just as much as I can’t wait to see you out of it.”

Stina's heart raced at the suggestion, her mind immediately wandering to more intimate thoughts. “You know,” she said coyly, “you could always come to London a day early… “

A playful chuckle escaped your lips, followed by a soft sigh. “Oh, trust me, lovely, I wish I could,” you said, your voice laced with longing. “But unfortunately, I'm stuck here for one more night.”

Stina's heart sank at the thought of another night without you by her side, but she refused to let her disappointment show. “Well, I guess I'll just have to make do with your sweater for now,” she replied, her tone teasing. “But I expect you to make it up to me when you get back.”

A mischievous glint danced in your eyes as you replied, “Oh, I plan to, believe me. I'll make it up to you in ways you can't even imagine, min kärlek.”

Stina's breath hitched at your words, a shiver running down her spine as she imagined all the ways you could possibly make it up to her. “I can't wait,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “I miss you so much.”

“I miss you too, Stin.” You sighed. “God, I've been thinking about you all night. Your hands all over me.”

Stina's heart skipped a beat at the mention of your longing for her touch. “I wish I could feel you right now,” she confessed, her voice filled with yearning.

A soft chuckle escaped your lips, the sound sending a thrill down Stina's spine. “Soon, love,” you reassured her, your voice laced with anticipation. “I promise, we'll be together soon.”

Stina's cheeks flushed as she listened to your words, her heart racing at the thought of being in your arms again. “Please,” she whimpered softly, “don't tease me like this. I need you.”

A soft chuckle escaped your lips at Stina's plea, the sound sending a shiver of desire coursing through her veins. “Oh, but älskling,” you replied teasingly, “where's the fun in giving away all my secrets? You'll just have to wait and see.”

Stina let out a frustrated groan, her desire mounting with each passing second. She whined, her voice tinged with desperation, “I want to imagine you in that dress, all for me.” Her voice trailed off in a whisper. “Just for me.”

She imagined you before her, her mind conjuring up vivid images of you in the dress. “You'll look so beautiful,” she murmured, her voice thick with desire. “And I can't wait to make you mine.”

“I’m already yours, min kärlek.”

Stina's heart swelled at your words, a surge of warmth flooding through her, “I know,” she whispered softly, her voice filled with tenderness. “But there's something about seeing you in that dress, knowing it's just for me... It's enough to drive me crazy.”

“I want to make you feel so good,” she continued, her voice low and husky with desire. “To give you everything you've ever wanted.”

A soft sigh escaped her lips as she imagined the feel of your skin beneath her fingertips, the taste of your lips against hers. “I can't wait to have you in my arms again,” she admitted, her voice trembling with longing. “To show you just how much I love you.”

You chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver of anticipation down Stina's spine. “Well, lucky for you, you won't have to wait much longer,” you teased, your voice laced with desire. “I'll be home soon, and then you can have me all to yourself.”

A playful glint danced in Stina's eyes as she heard the promise in your words, “I'll hold you to that,” she replied, her voice filled with excitement. “And believe me, I have plenty of plans for when you get here.”

With a soft laugh, you leaned closer to the phone. It was like Stina could feel your breath warm against her skin as you whispered, “I can't wait to see what you have in store for me, älskling.” -------------- part two coming up soon! based off of an ask :) [yes smut incoming in the next part]

[itsvelyria]

"christmas w the f1 boys"

Charles Leclerc

charles is a mess: he realises this as he resorts to simply bunching up the plaid wrapping paper over the Puma box that is meant for his brother. there is something on his chin, he thinks, but he’s too busy twirling the roll of tape around the lopsided present. beside him, you’re having the time of your life, folding obedient coloured paper with the precision and accuracy only found at gift wrapping stations. your stack of neatly wrapped presents sits prettily in contrast to his less neat ones – your tree looking more like a joke by the second. the velvet crimson ribbon is tied into a little bow by your expert fingers, and you set it aside, another point for you. gazes meet and yours falls onto the mess in his hands and promptly burst into a fit of giggles, at which he shoots you a pout. still giggling, you lean over, peeling the double-sided tape from his jaw, mumbling that it’s a good thing there’s something he’s bad at.

Carlos Sainz

mutters of how it’s such a waste of electricity to power up so many lights just for a holiday can be heard under your breath and he fights the urge to laugh. you’ve been repeating that spiel for as long as he can remember and the refreshing bout that hits him every time hasn’t died. still, the fact that you’re in his hometown with him, having been successfully convinced by him to go out on a little adventure to admire the christmas decorations. he pulls you in closer by the shoulder, your rant having ended with a tiny huff, and relishes in the warmth of your slender arm resting against his back. the urge to call your name, have that scowl on your face turn towards him so he can kiss it right off is irresistible. and so, fuelled by the saccharine smell of vanilla in the air, he does exactly that.

Danny Ricciardo

your boyfriend didn't need much convincing when you mentioned the Christmas decorations should go up. and thus, he was tasked with setting up the tree, brandishing his biceps with a flourish. now though, you’re standing by the boxes of ornaments you had dug out of the storage room while he wrestles with the middle tier of the plastic tree – your help having been rejected. it is with great struggle on his part, and great pain on yours, that the three tiers are all successfully stacked onto each other. the inevitable bickering begins, as you tease him about his lack of artistic direction while he jokes about your inability to reach the higher branches. even with no consensus being reached, the tree is adequately covered in tinsel and glittery ornaments. finally, danny insists on lifting you by his shoulder to place the finishing touch: the star.

George Russell

the holidays in england are top-tier and the ultimate winner of all things that bring happiness to his life — do not even try to fight him on that. the prelude of snow in the air coupled with the smell of chocolatey malt fuels him when there is no post-race adrenaline rush to do so. the market is set up with various tiny stalls selling hot beverages and homemade trinkets, the bustle of the crowd melting together with joy in his chest. he takes in the cheer that seems to make spirits a smidge higher and polite grins a little more sincere, watching you dash from stall to stall, cooing over every cute thing your eyes land on. maybe he was wrong, perhaps the greatest joy is being able to tangle his fingers with your fingers, tucking them safely into his pocket while sipping a hot chocolate.

Lando Norris

when you were apartment shopping, you had accounted for your respective large families and ever-growing social circle. butthe current state of your living room begs to differ. loud voices competing to be heard over the others was the music of choice as your sister screams accusations at your boyfriend while he has his best friend in a headlock. there’s half-empty wine glasses and nacho crumbs strewn everywhere. you’re pretty sure the sodas were spiked but your current hand is way too trash, so you fold. cursing your dealer, your uncle, you peer around the room. there is a monopoly game in the corner that looks like a full-out war, and you can spy your aunts, far too drunk on the good wine to care, so you’re halfway out of your chair to intervene but lando beats you to it. he says something that has the kids giggling and the teenagers rolling their eyes, calming the frazzled nerves instantly. glancing around, he catches your eye and shoots you a grin, and for a second, you feel your heart skip a beat. he follows up with a wink, making his way over to you where he proceeds to drape his large frame over yours. his arms hang over your shoulders, chin propped up on yours as he peers at your cards.

Lewis Hamilton

the shiver down his spine shocks him. your feet are basically icicles, he has said time and time again. but lewis remains still even as you shove your feet under the shared blanket, pressing them up against his in a desperate attempt to gain some warmth. his eyes dart up from the words on his book, landing on your furrowed brows engrossed in your own pages. the carefully curated playlist of holiday music and comforting scent of cinnamon and pine burning from the scented candle someone had gifted the year previous soothes his mind. roscoe is peacefully snoring away in the corner. putting aside your literal cold feet, he finds his attention turned back to the book, humming along gently. your full-on belting scares him and the book in his hands falls to the ground with a thud. he can’t hide the fond twinkle in his eyes even as he shoots you a glance. your apologetic shrug is nonchalant, and he finds himself mirroring your grin, joining in the annihilation of the song. it dissolves into shared laughter as the combined voices wakes roscoe, who sends you two the most displeased look a dog can make.

Max Verstappen

in hindsight, he should have listened to you. but the fact remains that he did not, and so he can only watch on enviously as you sip your coffee. you did warn him of the bustling aisles in the packed mall and asked if he needed caffeine to get him through. but then again you did reprimand his excessive consumption of a particular energy drink last night so the thought that it was a trap crossed his mind and lead to his rejection. he wonders if you would let him take a tiny sip as you drag him into the next store, arms sore from carrying a few too many shopping bags. you hold up the race cars from the boys’ section of the toy store, eyes narrowed to evaluate the brightly coloured plastic, trying to determine if they were good enough for his nephews. his heart swells a little at the sight of you trying to pick out the perfect gift for his family, but his focus lied mainly on your coffee, which was left unattended. and with zero hesitation, he swipes the drink, taking a large gulp to make up for the stress he had undergone for the past two hours. your dirty look is met with a twinkle in his eyes as he drops a kiss on your cheek as an apology.

[sweetanidreams]

Oneshot: Vexed | Raihan x Reader

Rating: Mature | **NSFW**

It was supposed to be just another match with another challenger looking to scrap their way to the top. Raihan was well acquainted with the rigorous pace of the season and was rarely ever fazed in battle, win or lose. Though he did take pride in the prior far outweighing the latter on his battling record.

The dragon type gym leader was reclined against a wall in the locker room leading to the Hammerlocke arena, his long, tan legs sprawled carelessly across the wooden bench. He idly scrolled through Pokegram, 'liking' messages of encouragement under his most recent selfie and responding to every other DM in a friendly, but generic fashion — his publicist says it's always better to stay neutral. All of a sudden, he hears some kind of commotion coming from the front-facing parts of the gym. He recognizes the exclamations of his trainers - someone's gotten through them. "Heh," he thought, straightening out his hoodie as he hopped up onto his feet and started to roll out his shoulders in preparation.

****************************************************

Raihan had approached you as he did all challengers, casting a notably towering shadow over you as he took your hand and shook it, flashing a grin for the crowd and the Rotom cameras buzzing about. He exuded his usual confidence, sneaking a wink at you. Just before he turned to walk towards his side of the battlefield, his hand covered his lapel mic as he made a comment about taking you out for a drink after he won. You could've sworn you felt a vein violently bulging from your temple, but you held your tongue. Fuck this guy.

The battle ensued in classic Hammerlocke form, doubles throughout, sprinkled with some variations of weather manipulation, as was the trademark technique of the highest ranked Galar gym leader. Tensions quickly grew as it waged on, each of you calling out moves to your Pokémon with every ounce of strength you could muster, a visible sheen forming over your skin. You were fueled by not only your natural determination, but also how livid you were he had the balls to say those things to you. Your opponent had definitely noticed. He was amused at first by the scowl painted across your features, figuring it'd be all the more satisfying to take someone on at full force. There was something about the fire that blazed in those eyes of yours though. Even from across the expanse of the arena, he could feel the heat in their depths - and it tugged at something inside him.

Pokémon had been felled on both sides, and it had come down to a final blowout between your Altaria and his Flygon. Once the swirling waves of sand and debris had cleared from the playing field, the two dragon Pokémon came into view, both worn from the exertion of combat. Flygon's bright red orbs slowly shuttered, its sharp red-trimmed wings loosely flapping against its sides before it collapses onto the ground beneath it. Altaria's Ice Beam had landed. In that brief moment of silence, you could feel your blood rushing through your entire body, your heart racing so fast you could hardly process the roar of the crowd or the officiating Rotom's booming, robotic voice proclaiming you the winner.

Raihan recalled Flygon into its Pokéball, offering a soft thank you under his breath for a job well done. His expression was difficult to read as he made his way over to meet you in the middle. Adjusting his thick orange headband with one hand and extending the other to you, this time with... the slightest sense of humility. Your eyes locked and you gripped his hand firmly, your lips drawn into a peculiar smile as you pulled yourself closer, pushing up onto your toes to be within his personal earshot. "Enjoy that drink for me, dragon boy."

Not giving the gym leader a chance to properly react, you grabbed the Rotomphone at his waist and tossed it up for a selfie: you grinning at the camera with a cutesy peace sign up and Raihan with what must have been the absolute, most dumbstruck expression of his life. And at that, you walk off the field, giving a friendly wave at the crowd behind you.

****************************************************

That night, Raihan was plagued. By all of it. He kept replaying the events of the day in his head, over and over and over again. Why was he stressing this? He'd lost battles before. That's why he started taking the selfies in the first place - so he'd never forget the feeling of defeat, so he'd always be motivated to become better. But this, this one was driving him mad. He heaved a sigh, gulping down the last of his whisky before setting the empty glass down on the counter. He just needed to sleep and he'd be fine in the morning, that's it. Stripping down to his boxers, he slipped under his silk sheets, relishing in how smooth and cool they felt against his bare skin. Raihan let his eyes close and sank his weight into the mattress, doing his best to slow his breathing. Despite his efforts, his mind flashed with memories from the battle with you. He remembered how flushed your skin got from the heat of the fight, just the subtlest touches of pink brushing over your cheeks. How your brows furrowed in concentration, causing a small crinkle to form. How the shorts of your uniform began to cling to your frame from the sweat you worked up as you threw almost just as much of yourself into the battle as your Pokémon did. The dragon groaned in frustration, flipping over onto his stomach, his face burying into his pillow.

"Why the hell am I thinking of her right now?," he grumbled, his voice muffled by the bedding. "Who does she think she is, anyway? With that stupid... smug grin." Your voice echoed in his head, and regardless of the taunting manner it was intended to be delivered in, it sounded... he couldn't put his finger on it. But for whatever reason, he wanted to hear you say his name. He wanted to have you pinned up against the wall, his fingers digging into your hips as he held you there. He wanted to leave a trail of bruising kisses down your neck and shoulders, leaving you whimpering his name. Raihan rustled around, his body growing unbearably hot. He could feel himself struggling, pulsing, against the confines of his boxers, and finally reached down to slide the waistband off his hips. His fingers wrapped around his length and began to stroke, his voice rumbling deep in his throat, head strained against the pillow supporting it.

Your body writhed underneath him, needy for his touch. Fingers trailed up the broad muscles of his shoulders, the tips massaging small, tender circles along the way. Your gaze still burned like it did on the battlefield, it was intense and wanting. It begged for release.

Raihan turned onto his back, his hand quickening in pace as his mind went over every curve of your body, imagining your softness, your warmth pressed against him.

He held you flush with one arm at your waist, the other hand cupping the base of your neck. You were straddling his hips, your foreheads resting against each other, only the panted breaths between you. Your bodies moved in tandem, quicker and quicker with each thrust. The soft, yet wildly lewd sounds of him driving deeper inside you made him shiver. And Arceus, you were so fucking wet for him. So hot and tight — it was sinful how good you felt wrapped around his hard cock. "R-Raihan, fuck..." you gasped, losing yourself in the euphoria. You begin grinding harder down on him, barely able to choke your words out against his lips.

"Cum for me."

His body tensed and his breathing grew ragged, his strokes following suit until his orgasm shook through him, waves of pleasure washing over every inch as he rode out his high. After a moment's recovery, he glanced down at his hand and thigh, now covered in milky white cum.

".... Shit."

[superm4ks]

https://x.com/_allthatglitz/status/1865767505974960216 these charles fans need a wake up call. like are they not familiar with idk cota 2018? p18 to p2? no sc? one second away from the lead? max been delivering these kind of performances since he was a 20 year old like... he is not HIM..

Here's the twt for ref. Dont usually reply to asks about 'controversial' f1twt nonsense because like .. there's a reason p0sts like these are contained to Elons stanford experiment but I am familiar wid this person and wud like to discuss her twt further because I find it very puzzling and telling of something some sharl fans shud prolly work up the courage to confront and then like. Find peace or whtvr

Sara here a sharl fan like me. Theres a lot she believes about his qualities as a driver that I do as well. Shes fully convinced he cud be a multiple wdc winner, as am I, and that its a matter of car and personnel for it to happen. Nothing that he lacks has to do wid his lack of legacy so far. I agree wid all of that. So when I saw ur ask and read that twt my first reaction wasnt to be angry just . Puzzled. For somebody whos obvi such a strong believer in sharls' skill to think that a race like Abu Dhabi has anything to do wid Brazil.. How shud I put this, its kind of insulting. To Sharl. Like if u think these drives are in any way comparable that says more about u think Sharls limits are than what makes a drive 'the best'. Sharl hasnt had the machine, the pressure, the conditions or the narrative to complete a turn around like Brazil. But lets put Max's Brazil aside for now, and focus on Abu Dhabi, since thats whats being claimed as the performance that 'stole the race of the season'.

Ferrari arrived in Yas Marina ready to make a final stand, and , extraordinarily, still showing the pace to do so. Mclarens setup was akin to a sentient Dyson wid evil powers, but Ferrari had 2 drivers wid strong AD precedents and Mclaren , wid all due respect, pistachio my most beloved, did not. After dominating fp1, it became evident in fp2 something was wrong wid car 16, and it was announced he wud take a 10 place grid drop to fit a new battery in his horse for quali. The sole vaccinated cavallino on track, Carlos, managed a p4 in the final practice session. It was safe to assume Carlos wud make the front row in quali and sharl wud join him comfortably and begin his hunt from p10. They had a shot. Then sharl missed it. Mclaren completed the front row lockout, Sharls lap time got deleted for track limits in q2 after topping the charts and he never had the chance to disrupt papaya dominance in q3. Out of position, wid a new battery and a teammate in p2 who wud never catch the mcl38 in clean air, that was it. Sharl began the race wid imo the finest first lap of his career, sublime braking and steering into p8. From that point forward, the race was his to manage, and he did so brilliantly. Both horses took advantage of the 1st lap chaos in different ways, but while Carlos' delta to Lando meant he never did the 1 single overtake that actually mattered, Sharls delta to everyone else meant he overtook like 1 car per lap except the 1 that shud have been his to take but couldn't. As he reached George, he undercut the Mercedes, slot into fourth and waited for Lewis to pit. In the end, if Sara wants to bow to that I'll bow wid the bitch no problem. A perfectly executed race, well managed, 16 positions gained, a podium finish. Bend over, ass out, for sure. Again, I beg we remain focused on Abu Dhabi tho. So lets straighten our backs and really look at it. The 2nd fastest car qualified p19 thru driver error and made up 16 places. He finished 25 seconds behind his teammate, who in turn finished 6 seconds behind Lando. In its usual one stopper bore fest, once Lando's mcl38 bolted those hards on low fuel, as a distinguished 2024 ptsd riddled verstappie connoisseur, i knew Carlos hopes to win were dead and buried. Why they didnt just use the pit window to put Carlos on mediums and let him off into the sunset I'll never kno, but thats neither here nor there. Ferrari lost the wcc by the smallest margin since F1 started giving out points for race winners like candy ((25 instead of 10)). 14 points between both teams. Sharl definitely didnt lose Ferrari the wcc. This my analysis of his Abu Dhabi. Sara is very into having Opinions so I'm sure shes got her fair share on my take of those quali consequences, but they did matter. Just like lap 1 incidents matter. Like pace advantage matters. Like DRS matters. Abu Dhabi has 2 DRS zones along 2 straight lines, the point on any track where the sf-24 always finds lap time. One of Sara's arguments is that Abu Dhabi, unlike Interlagos, does not favor comeback drives and thats 1 of the reasons Sharls drive was more impressive than Brazil. .. 🫥 .. In 2021 Yas Marina went thru a series of changes including aforementioned DRS zones and faster corners. Chicanes 5 and 6 were turned into a single wider hairpin, specifically to promote more overtaking, where interestingly enough sharl went outside 4 cars before entering the DRS all the way to t9 in his quest to p4.

Comparing Sharl's Abu Dhabi to Max's Brazil is already extremely odd, but doing so to hype up this season's Abu Dhabi OVER Brazil's in a rage batey type of p0st that included the sentence 'no SC, no particular car advantage, no rain' was so fucking deranged even coming from f1twt I was kinda fascinated and HAD to investigate. I think the reason she felt the need to say all that was because 1) seasons over and they lost the wcc and I think we're all allowed 1 insane take for the Troubles 2) theres 0 to no chance Max's performance in Brazil will be replicated in our lifetime, because Interlagos was not Max's 'best race of the season', it was one of the best drives in Formula 1 history. If ur a sharl fan, and ur next teammate is Lewis Hamilton, I think perhaps a drive like Abu Dhabi's race where sharl was virtually flawless and displayed his potential to the fullest, is something u have to shove next to Brazil, because otherwise you've got nothing. Yet. YET. Thats what bothers me sm wid these fake ass marc herve fans, is that by saying shit like this, by comparing an exemplary comeback stint in Abu Dhabi to a drive that redefined the limits of whats possible to do on a wet track and flipped the odds on a championship title at the same time, they're saying sharl isnt capable of anything remotely close to that. Now I'm not sure what Sara's standards for sharl are, but they sure as fuck arent the same as mine. I think Sharls 2025, like 2024, 2023, 2022, 2021, 2020, will be an improvement. If its Max hes meant to dethrone, then as a verstappie theres nothing more I yearn than to c how it happens. If its Lewis, the feelings the same. When u trust ur dogs to bite, u dont need to put up signs. People will know because they growl. My sharl bares teeth.

Back to my og point. Verstappen's 2024 has nothing to do wid sharl's 2024. Sharl accomplished so many beautiful things in 2024. Conquered Monaco, Monza, delivered great wheel, worked thru a rough path and became one of the season's most consistent performers, went h2h for constructors till the very end in a car that only became competitive halfway into the season. Focus on that, relish in that p3, the potential of that development, Lewis' hiring and the power he brings, the challenge, the potential start of an undeniable legacy for both, or maybe just 1. Max's 2024 doesnt fit in any of this. Brazil had nothing to do wid any of this. Release yourself from the clutches of a mold that cant be replicated because the child it came out broke it at 17. Sharl is not Max, and thats fine, he'll be something else. Maybe better, maybe not. Arent u excited to find out. Wouldst u want to live deliciously instead of angering Max fans on twt because ur jealous they already do

[littlemissferret]

01 ,, BEDWARS

series : BASTARDS IN MÜNCHEN <parts: 01, 02, 03, 04, 05>

sypnosis: you find out who put the bastard(s) in bastard münchen

no prns used (reader). bm academy era. they're all 15/16-ish? cw: swearing. use of word "smegma". petty arguments. *note: "schnick, schnack, schnuck" is german's (childish) version of "rock, paper, scissors" & its not used in all regions !

You don’t know what you had expected. Years long of being involved in the sports industry, playing football with all kinds of players. You should’ve expected these bunch were no better than the average rowdy teens from back home.

“Hey, man. Why not we schnick, schnack, schnuck* for it? ‘Cuz I’m really not excited about being stuck in here with you stubborn smegmas for the whole day doing this.”

“Tone it down with the crude language, will you? And you’re just as stubborn!”

“Great! It’s settled then. You both will duke it out over there while I have my beauty sleep right on this bed.”

Kaiser walks over to the bed the two other men were pointing at, deeming himself to be the one worthy of the soft mattress. Flipping his stomach onto the duvet as he shoves his face into the fresh pillow.

“Hey! We haven’t decided who gets the bed yet!” The nerve of this guy, Ness thinks to himself. First day of the prestigious Bastard München Academy, and he’s already so restless talking to his roommates. Oh no.. how well are they going to fare on the field if this is how they act over a bed?

Well, whatever. There's nothing you can do about their behavior anyway. Footballers will be footballers, stubbornly fueled with their (still-subconscious) ego. If sleeping arrangements are what they're pettily fighting over right now, then so be it.

You, of course, as the bigger person- will help them settle this case. Just this once.

You decide that you were rightfully the one worthy of the said bed. So you walk over to the group, frowning as you start poking and pulling on Kaiser’s hair.

“Go find your own bed to sleep on, I need a rest having to witness you all kick the ball around like primary schoolers on the field today.” Relentlessly trying to display your fatigue, you fake a yawn after your short statement- as if you didn’t just spit an insult at their previous play on the field.

Irked by the constant tugging of his blond tresses, Kaiser turns his face sideways on the pillow to glare at you- as you’re still jerking his golden locks to your direction.

“Excuse me? I can clearly recall absolutely destroying you and your team today. The loser’s bed is thataway,” with an eyebrow raised, he catches your criminal hand and lifts a delicate finger to the direction of the two bunk beds near the door.

“I haven’t lost at all,” you retort, cocking an eyebrow to mimic him as a challenge. “Out of everyone on the field, I was the only one that has single handedly managed to read the moves of every single one of you out there- and reacted to them.” You boast cockily, discarding the fact that your team had lost to Kaiser and Ness in that practice match.

Ness frowns at the blatant shit-talking, “Then why didn’t you react to Kaiser’s shots?” Calling out your bullshit, he presses on. “Weren’t you just standing there most of the match watching everyone run around? How did coach not sub you out, honestly.”

You roll your eyes, sighing and all to be dramatic as you wave your hand dismissively at him. “I was simply wisely spending my first day scouting out my opponents. Besides, I didn’t need to react to your plays because even if I did, my teammates would be either too caught up with you or too far up from defence position to assist me anyway.”

Kaiser smirks as he waves his finger at you, “Excuses, excuses. Have your loser’s lament on the bunk beds, won’t you? This sturdy bed is for winners. Now shoo, I’ve got no time to spend on listening to you losers whine about your loss.”

“Huh? But I won too, I was on your team!” Ness furrows his brows at Kaiser’s unwillingness to budge, “...Fine, then I’ll take the top bunk of this one.” Given that it is getting pretty late, he scurries to climb up and claim one of the top bunks before anyone else does.

“Ugh, if I’m off to take a late night shower to cool off. All of your bickering pissed me off,” spoken like no one ever, Gesner huffs, slinging his towel over his shoulder and walks out of the room. “I’m not happy with this arrangement by the way, we’ll continue this tomorrow!” He voices out in the hallway.

By a miracle, Grim was already dead asleep in bed. (The bottom bunk, boy is too sad to give a rat’s ass about sleeping arrangements. If there’s a bed he’ll take it.)

“Whatever, I’ll just have to win the next match tomorrow and take back my bed then.” you scoff, giving Kaiser a stink-eye as you walk to the other top-bunk.

The messy blond displays a shit-eating grin, then yawns sarcastically at you.

“Try your best, you eristic loser.”

© littlemissferret 2024 ✦ do not repost, translate or modify .

personally i would NOT take that level of disrespect ...

- here's a short scenario! i wanted to write reader to be a lot more stubborn than this, but was afraid that i'll get carried away - hoping to make this a bm academy timeline series but we'll see 🙏 yes its my first time writing a fan-work how could u tell 😭

[kn-1013]

i had an idea but i don't feel like writing exploratory surgery on it right now, so here's this little headcannon post about travis seeing sal without his mask for the first time. yes i know i wrote a fic about travis seeing sal without his mask for the first time already ignore that

i don't think he's ever tried to take sal's mask off, and i think that in a weird way, due to the large number of extremely complex feelings travis has about sal, if someone were to ever take sal's mask off, or tried to do that to him, travis would try to defend sal from that person to the best of his ability. in his mind, as much as sal is a freak and he hates him, trying to take off sal's mask is going too far.

i like to think he saw sal's face the first time by accident in some form or another, whether it's like my fic 'death lingering' or some other scenario. in a completely autistic move fueled by his desire to stick to the rules he's familiar with, and his fear of change, and also his urge to (for lack of a better term) respect sal after sal showed him so much kindness, travis looks away from sal's face, because he knows he's not 'supposed' to look at it. he feels weird looking at it when he knows sal doesn't want anyone to see that, like how men generally aren't supposed to look at muslim women out of their hijab. it's disrespectful, and travis feels like he's violating sal in some way, so he covers his eyes.

obviously, sal does not get the memo on this and immediately assumes that travis isn't looking at him because he think sal is too horrible to look at, and wow does that make him feel really fucking bad after trying so hard to become travis's friend. and that's on top of already being on the verge of a panic attack because of whatever scenario had his mask coming off in front of someone who isn't larry.

sal starts freaking out even more, but travis assumes it's because he's scared that travis saw his face, so he says "i didn't see anything, i swear!" it's not necessarily true, but he's saying it to make sal feel better. after travis says it a couple of times, sal starts realizing that travis isn't looking, not because he thinks sal is ugly, but because he cares, he knows that sal doesn't want people to see his face, and that's why he's looking away. it completely changes sal's perspective on things.

after that, travis doesn't really know what to do. they're both somewhat frozen in this situation, with travis having his hands over his eyes. travis isn't very good at comforting people or anything like that, so he decides it's probably just better if he doesn't talk, and sal is a bit shocked and trying to compose himself, so he's not really talking either. it's very awkward.

after a bit, sal is somewhat more composed, and he thanks travis for not looking.

i like to think in some experimental act of attempting things he's seen on TV/read in books, travis blindly tries to reach out and put a hand on sal's shoulder, with his eyes closed, and no idea where sal actually is in relation to him. he ends up touching sal's face once or twice before landing his hand on sal's head, and sal kindly moves travis's hand down to his shoulder while travis gives a very comforting autism grimace. at the very least it makes sal laugh a little, which kind of makes travis want to die but like whatever it's fine. travis has constructed an intricate ritual to touch the skin of another guy so who's the real winner here.

[miserablebl00d]

𝗙𝗜𝗡𝗡𝗜𝗖𝗞 𝗢𝗗𝗔𝗜𝗥 𝗔𝗡𝗚𝗦𝗧-𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐃𝐄𝐁𝐓 — part 1 —

𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆- Finnicks had very few conversations with you but seems to find himself in your debt. So kind,always helping others but what has finnick done to deserve this kindness. He has to return the favour now that he has the chance.

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴- kind!perfectionist!career! reader x career victor!finnick odair

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀-death,loss,weapons, mentions of poverty, mentions of predators and prey,ect?

finnick odair masterlist

Finnick isn't exactly sure why he felt his heart strain and hands clench when he heard the escort — of whom he still can't bring himself to like, simply from the bitterness that out of thousands of names in the reaping bowl she picked his, on that sunny day on July 4th, two years ago — call out your name.

He had barely even spoken to you,you were nothing more than a girl in his class at the careers academy. If anything he should be glad you got picked. It's best it's someone like you. Rather then the class 5, 13 year old he got last year.

All the classes at the academy are strictly organised on talent,skill and potential. Since the games aren't separated by age or gender,to the citizens of 4 it made no sense to organise classes by these characteristics. No your class was determined by your likelihood of winning.

Finnick Odair as many could've guessed whether they knew no more of him then his games to if they were his family was put into the highest class — class 12, named after the highest score you can get in the private session with the game makers.

Class 12 was nicknamed the survivors. The vast majority of people in the class had won. Volunteers fueled by the praise endlessly handed to them.

You, were not only in class 12 but also top of that class,scoring high in any test. Whether survival, combat or weaponry there your name was next to the title that showed the highest scorer. A large screen, the first thing you see when you walk through the academy doors let every 4 citizen know who was the one to beat.

Finnick knew you could win.

Everyone knew you could win. The stares given to you by your fellow classmates weren't pity,it was pride. 'Another victor' it was written all over their faces,it was shown in their actions. No volunteers. Why would there be? You'll win. You had to: top of class 12. A guaranteed win,everyone loves a winner.

And why shouldn't they? A win means money and money holds value like no other in a land of poverty. More products 4 can produce will be sold in higher demand because of the popularity a new victor will bring to the district: more money.

A win benefits everyone.

So why,why do Finnick's eyes turn blurry,his lungs seemingly stop working and his jaw clenches at the hearing of your name? Finnick knows why — he doesn't want to admit it,but he knows why.

It was during his games when finnick found himself forever in your debt. He was so close to winning — only seven people left. Finnick was nearing the end,it was the question whether the end was his life or the games?

His,alongside his district partner Oceana's attempt to fight off the tightly knit alliance created by district 5,7 and 8 left the grassy green floor of the arena tainted forever red. A battle of bloodshed that surely had the capitol citizens at the edge of their seats.

He tried, finnick knew he tried his best but the cut was too deep,he had no supplies that would be any help left and even those watching could tell it was a lost cause to sponsor Oceana now.

Oceana your friend. The light blonde girl that was particularly kind,wearing a smile that blinded even the sun. Who volunteered in hopes of being able to support her large family as she confessed with tears in her eyes one late night in the tribute center.

It was the first loss he ever experienced. He thought of those who actually knew Oceana more than someone in passing at school. Her family, her friends — finnick thought of you,your blood shot eyes after you came back from speaking to Oceana before they had to board the train.

He thought of how you also came to him. You didn't beg him to place his life on the line for Oceana,you didn't beg him to protect her. But instead you wished him good luck, gave him a hug, asked him about anything he wasn't so sure about in training:shared any knowledge you could muster while being so overwhelmed.

It seemed small compared to the notebook you gave Oceana cramped to the max with the endless skills careers learnt at the academy. He recognised the handwriting of the teachers there, how you must've asked them to write even the skills you were yet to learn. He saw how your handwriting changed over the years, foolishly leaving him wondering when you started this book. When did you create this world of your endless determination to survive.

Oceana mentioned how it was supposed to be for you. If you got reaped,how you were planning to keep it until the end of the training week in the capitol. Either the sleepless nights you spent meticulouly writing every skill you knew would be worth it or not. But it was theirs now,you wanted them to have it. Them

You had asked Oceana to share it. You wouldn't blame her if she didn't,you wouldn't hate her and she shouldn't feel ashamed. But you'd like her too

This one thing meant so much to him. How he was even given the chance to notice the changes in your handwriting,the rims of tea cups staining the parchment. Change into blue ink on one particular day that finnick remembered was the same one he lent you a pen.

You had been so kind to him — he had just failed to save your friend. With Oceana's limp body in his hands he thought on whether you wished it was him who took their last breath. Did you regret helping him now that the price of your kindness was laying in his arms bleeding out even after death?

Finnick stayed there comforting a dead body. Injured, vulnerable, weaponless and all he could think about was did you hate him ? Because if you did then surely that meant he was truly a monster.

But as he found out after his win in the 65th hunger games the answer was no. You didn't hate him — it couldn't be possible you hated him after what you did for him in the interviews.

When the final eight are left Caesar Flickerman and his crew go to the districts of the ⅓ of tributes remaining to ask questions and interview the families and friends.

Finnick's friends all lay within the walls of the career academy training meticulously and studying past games. Which brought Caesar Flickerman with his flashy clothes, pink hair and notorious microphone to the District 4 Academy.

While most people in class 12 were excited for their few minutes of fame and took the time to show off their skills to Panem. It would serve them well if they ever got reaped. Some hunger games fanatic laying in the crevices of the Capitol who lived off the thrill of watching a battle to the death would dig up the interview — from however many years prior at that point — and sell it to the news.

It, like all hunger games related things would be watched everywhere. Taken in like oxygen, the capitol would adore it. Any relation to the now infamous Finnick Odair would do them good.

But you didn't spend your interview relishing in your minutes of national fame, letting the capitol take pity on you once they found out of your close relationship to Oceana with her fresh death or showing of your list of talents that would earn you sponsors on sponsors in the arena should you get reaped.

No you didn't do any of that, however you did charm the audience — granted very well — and that charm,that interview is what placed Finnick endlessly in your debt.

" Well good morning Panem as I'm sure you already know we have already visited district 1,2 and 3 for the interviews on the families and friends of our beloved 8 reminding tributes. "

" Now we're into the district I'm sure you've all been waiting for... District 4! to interview those close to our golden boy who stole all our hearts over in the capitol. Finnick odair ! "

" Right now we are in the district 4's Career academy and honestly ill sign myself up to this academy if that means I get to stay here. District 4...now don't tell anyone I said this but it has to be my favourite district. The water,the sun... the people,what's not to love?Honestly I bet if I told everyone here looked just as stunning as our finnick you'd all be dying to get over here and with the sun over here there no need to buy any more fake tan! "

" I mean everyone here is sporting the sun kissed look and it suits them like a lion does it's fur. And let me tell you now, some of the kids here are just as fierce as a lion and I'm just about to interview the fiercest of them all, ladies and gentlemen let me introduce you to a classmate of our very own Finnick. "

Most of the interview was mindless conversation, you charming and building the egos of those in the capitol,telling a few stories about Finnick — very few of them being true as there wasn't much to tell given your limited interactions — but the stories true or not you ensured they all painted him as the charming, heartthrob he made himself known as in his interview in the capitol.

He at this point was already grateful for you not destroying his carefully crafted image to get himself sponsors and given most of the other academy kids — other than his friends who seemed to speak about nothing other than their relation to finnick — spent their interview time speaking of themselves despite Caesar numerous failed attempts of diverting the conversation back to it's original purpose — getting to know more about him.

When the conversation moved onto the seemingly endless skills you possessed you didn't show off anytime extraordinary. You threw knives and launched spears across the room,still impressive of course given your so far accurate aim but it wasn't anything the camera hadn't seen by the classmates before you. You were holding back it seemed. Caesar ever so eager to make sure you revealed the extent of your talents.

"Well Caesar id love to show you all but I'm afraid my skills will be futile compared to what you could be watching "

"oh and what do you mean by that ?"

You pointed to a trident on the wall. No one ever touched that trident as it was merely for display, weighing too much for even the strongest fisherman to throw around accurately and its design of metal seaweed wrapped around it alongside sea glass,shells and rocks imbedded on it made it impractical,but those factors that Finnick was sure you knew of didn't stop you from saying what you did.

"You see that trident right there. "

The camera went to capture a shot of the decorative trident on the wall — that sentence alone got the audience on their toes,hoping to see you throw the weapon.

" Well as much as I'd love to give it a throw it'd just be a disrespect to even think myself worthy."

"You..not worthy?" Caesar gave a laugh like it was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. He turned to the camera as if it could contribute to his humourous confusion "Well you've got so much talent how could you not be worthy? "

"oh..of course I forgot you don't know. I've gotten so used to you being here it just seems right, that I forgot "

Caesar flickerman a child of nepotism, that drowned in riches and ate only the finest of foods seemed so flattered by the words of him being like a part of district 4. As if anyone in the capitol would truly want to be a part of the poverty and fear they came with being district bred — the districts were their zoo animals — but he took so much pride in your words.

"Oh well thank you. You're such a sweetheart I can feel myself blushing. " Finnick wanted to roll his eyes at the memory "Oh but what do you mean 'we don't know', is there something hidden from us?" Caesar was building up the suspense but it was clear he was also eager to know what the capitol wasn't aware of. A dark secret perhaps?

"You,at the capitol aren't aware of Finnicks talents with a trident. Oh his skill is so impressive, everyone at the academy even the teachers are just starstruck seeing him fight with it. It's such a shame it wasn't in the cornucopia. If only finnick could get his hands on a trident you'd see a real show ..."

Those three sentences. So carefully crafted to manipulate the capitol as if a puppet on a string led to finnick getting a trident in his games,the most expensive sponsor since the games began.

Granting him a weapon while he was defenceless without his spear,the sole reason he was able to take down the other careers and the other remaining tributes. The trident that gave him his victory.

You didn't have to sway and charm the capitol into sponsoring finnick with a trident. But you did, when he returned to the district all you did was give him a straight lined smile with tears in your eyes.

He knew you were crying over Oceana,the girl he failed to save — your friend. But that didn't stop you from helping him,saving him. You didn't ask finnick for anything in return,you didn't bring it up to other people when they said it was Finnick's charm in the interview that got him the trident. You didn't mention what you did for him at all,ever.

Finnick knew that was why he was in pain at the hearing of your name. It was more than just him being in your debt,it was that you are so forgiving.

Finnick can't bear to have anything bad happen to you. That was why he had to fight himself from begging the escort to draw again,pick another name. It was because Finnick would never forgive himself — even if you would forgive him — if something happened to you. He cant let anything bad happen to you.

He won't allow it.

A/n — I might rewrite this in a series form from the readers point of view (cause I really like the plot just not the execution) but for now here you go :))

A/n — I rewrote it (3/08/24)

Next part

[everliving-everblaze]

Quote Bracket Results

Statistics - Submitted Quotes

Submitted Quotes by Book

The book with the most quotes was Lodestar, with 22.5%, and the book with the least was Unlocked, with 0%.

Submitted Quotes by Chapter

Chapter doesn't seem to have had a large effect on which quotes were submitted.

Submitted Quotes by Character

The most popular characters were Fitz Vacker and Keefe Sencen, each with eight submitted quotes, followed by story narration with seven, and finally Sophie Foster and Fintan Pyren with five each.

Statistics - Top 16 Quotes

When it came to the top 25% of quotes, Neverseen and Fintan Pyren took the lead over Lodestar, Fitz Vacker, and Keefe Sencen.

Statistics - Matches

Biggest sweep: Match 1.31 (88% to 12%)

Closest vote: Match 1.3 (Tie)

Most voted-in match: Finale (374 votes)

Least voted-in match: Match 1.25 (30 votes)

And Finally... The Winners

Third Place: Fintan Pyren's quote from chapter 24 of Exile

“That’s the funny thing about rebellions. You can’t stop them until they’ve consumed everything that fuels them. And from where I sit I see plenty of kindling.”

Second Place: Sophie Foster's quote from chapter 73 of Neverseen

“He’s not all bad. No one is. That’s what makes villains so scary. They’re not as different from us as we want them to be.”

Drum Roll....

First Place: Fitz Vacker's quote from chapter 50 of Flashback

"What if I told you that I stopped pressing buttons?"

Thank you all for participating!

[theclementinediaries]

The Seven Deadly Sins of the NXX Team

➵ PRIDE best describes Artem, for he takes great pride in everything he does, especially when it comes to work. He would go above and beyond, and would go to great lengths, to ensure that he is always on top of his game. His work is his pride, and his pride is his work, his entire sense of self-worth relies heavily on how well he manages to do his job right.

➵ He has a reputation of having a 99% win rate, so you could imagine how much his pride suffered when he lost in that 1% case. He felt like a failure, like everything that he has worked up to until that point, all of his achievements and success, meant nothing. And for someone, who puts so much value in his career, his success, whose pride mainly stems from his achievements and winning, that really put a dent on not just his pride, but his self worth in general.

➵ Who is he, if not a winner? Who is he, if not the best of the best? Who is he, if he can’t succeed? Would there be any point for his existence if he can’t succeeded, if he can’t become the greatest?

➵ Ultimately, Artem’s pride is his biggest motivator to do better, to be better, but it’s also what eats him up inside, it’s what pushes him over the edge, to the point that it’s hurting him.

➵ Green is the color of ENVY, and that perfectly describes Vyn to a T. Don't get him wrong though, he is not envious of someone having more money, fame, status, or materialistic items than him, far from it actually. Vyn's envy is rooted in seeing people, who have a more full filing happier life than him, especially if they are less fortunate than him.

➵ Of course, as a psychologist expert, he bares no ill well towards people who have it better than him, and on the contrary, he should be happy for those people given his profession. But yet no matter how much he tries not to, he can't help but feel envious of those people, like he resented them for having a life that he fought so hard to obtain, yet it came so natural to them.

➵ His jealousy and envy is one of the reasons why he's so meticulous with his words, never letting anyone ever get too close, for fear that he might uncover something, that he might not like.

➵ For someone who is so happy go-lucky, WRATH really does have a strong hold on Luke. But don't get it twisted, Luke is not angry at anyone at particular, more specifically so, his wrath is directed at himself.

➵ He is so angry at himself, for not being strong enough, for not being good enough, for not being smart enough, but most of all, his angry at himself for not being there for you when you needed him the most.

➵ The anger and wrath that he feels is mostly fueled due to his own shortcomings and inadequacies, and how he expresses that anger is by acting so recklessly, throwing himself into danger, sacrificing himself, again and again. He hopes that his self-sacrifice would compensate for all his failures and shortcomings, he hopes that him throwing his life away would make up the fact that he failed to protect you, failed to give you more time, failed...you.

➵ And most of all, he hopes that his self-sacrifice would help lessen the wrath inside his heart, but it never does, in fact, it only seems to ignite it further.

➵ Now this might sound predictable from the infamous playboy himself, but Marius, is driven by LUST. He likes to indulge in the pleasures of life, whether that be sexual or not, it doesn't really matter to him.

➵ For so long, Marius wanted nothing more than to be free, to live the life that he so desperately wants, and to have the freedom to make the choices that he wants. Those are his deepest desires that he lust for the most.

➵ But sadly, no matter how much Marius lusts over a life of freedom, no matter how many times he wished to indulge in a pleasurable life that not even money can buy, the universe doesn't always give us what we want.

➵ So all Marius has left is to fulfill other people's hopes and dreams, fulfilling other people desires and lust, in hopes that, that would be enough to fill the empty whole inside his heart.

[itstobias149]

Charater Dynamics

☘️Aran Ryan☘️

Hello everyone today I bring you another set of dynamics! According to our vote Aran Ryan is our winner! Now he is a character where I can do a lot with him story. This has to be one of my favorite dynamics that I have ever come up with. If you do not like oc’s, that’s okay! Just keep scrolling, not everyone does and that’s okay.

This post will not just contain the dynamic between Aran Ryan and Marie, but an exploration of the character himself through my eyes. Keep in mind that we all perceive these characters r differently! Anyway I hope you all enjoy!

Tw/ Depression, substance abuse, etc.

☘️The Basics☘️

Marie and Aran Ryan share a dynamic that is equal parts chaotic and tense, with a distinct undertone of unease on Marie’s part. Aran’s unpredictable and often unhinged nature makes him a wildcard in every situation, and while Marie has a knack for handling eccentric personalities, Aran’s brand of chaos puts her on edge. His erratic energy, sharp tongue, and tendency to turn even mundane moments into spectacles leave her unsure of how to navigate him—making her low-key scared of what he might do next.

Aran, for his part, likely finds Marie’s nervous reactions endlessly amusing. He thrives on the discomfort he creates, pushing boundaries with teasing comments or overly dramatic stunts just to see her squirm. Whether he’s making outrageous bets, dropping unsolicited advice, or egging her on in the ring, his relentless antics keep Marie constantly on guard. Her attempts to deflect his attention or avoid confrontation often backfire, as Aran seems to enjoy toying with her like a cat playing with its prey—not maliciously, but for his own twisted sense of entertainment.

Despite her fear, Marie can’t completely avoid Aran, especially in the close-knit world of the WVBA. This forces her into situations where she has to interact with him, leading to a tense kind of comedic interplay. Marie’s nervous humor and exasperated reactions only fuel Aran’s over-the-top personality, creating moments that are as uncomfortable for her as they are hilarious to everyone else.

At times, Aran’s wild energy might unintentionally push Marie to step out of her comfort zone. While she’d never admit it, there might be rare moments where she learns to handle his chaos in small doses—though her nerves never fully settle. Their dynamic is a precarious balancing act of Aran’s overwhelming presence and Marie’s attempts to navigate him without completely losing her composure, adding a layer of tension and unpredictability to their interactions.

☘️Meeting the Green Beast☘️

Marie’s first encounter with Aran Ryan as his cutman was an experience she wouldn’t soon forget. She’d been told to expect a handful when assigned to work with him for an upcoming match, but nothing could have prepared her for the whirlwind of chaos that was Aran. From the moment she stepped into his locker room, she was greeted with a mix of sarcastic comments, exaggerated gestures, and a wide grin that seemed to challenge her to keep up.

“Ah, so you’re the one they sent to patch me up, eh?” he said, sizing her up with a gleam in his eye. “Hope you’ve got steady hands, love. I tend to give the poor souls in your line of work plenty to do.”

Marie wasn’t sure if she should laugh or walk right back out the door, but she held her ground. “I’ve worked with worse,” she replied, trying to match his energy, though the nerves in her voice betrayed her.

The match itself was nothing short of exhausting—for both of them. Aran fought like he lived: recklessly and with a flair for the dramatic. Every round was a spectacle, with Aran taunting his opponent, gesturing to the crowd, and barely dodging hits in a way that made Marie’s heart stop. By the time he stumbled back to the corner, bleeding from his lip and grinning like he’d just won the lottery, Marie could hardly believe he was still standing.

“You’re gonna get yourself killed if you keep fighting like that,” she muttered, wiping the blood from his face and working quickly to reduce the swelling around his eye.

“Ah, but where’s the fun in playin’ it safe?” he shot back, winking at her despite the growing bruise on his cheek. “Keeps things exciting, don’t it?”

Marie rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the flicker of unease that settled in her chest. There was something unsettling about how carefree he was, as though he didn’t care about the toll it was taking on his body—or worse, that he thought he deserved it.

By the end of the match, Aran had won in spectacular fashion, much to the crowd’s delight and Marie’s exasperation. As they walked back to the locker room, he glanced over at her with a lopsided grin. “Not bad, eh? Looks like we make a good team.”

Marie wasn’t so sure about that, but she couldn’t deny there was something compelling about him, even if he terrified her just a little. In the days that followed, she found herself replaying their first meeting in her mind, wondering if there was more to the loud, unpredictable boxer than met the eye.

☘️More then let on☘️

Outside the WVBA’s chaotic spotlight, Marie’s dynamic with Aran takes on a more thoughtful, albeit tentative, tone. Despite her nervousness around him, Marie occasionally sees through his bombastic behavior, catching glimpses of something deeper beneath his antics. She’s perceptive enough to recognize that Aran’s wild energy and constant need for attention might be masking something more vulnerable. In quieter moments, away from the crowd, she finds herself compelled to ask him if he’s really okay, her concern genuine despite her usual unease around him.

These rare interactions are a stark contrast to their usual chaotic exchanges. Aran, unused to being confronted so directly, might brush her off with a joke or deflect with his usual bravado. But Marie’s persistence—gentle yet firm—could chip away at his defenses, if only for a moment. Her sincerity might leave him surprised, perhaps even caught off guard, as he realizes that she genuinely cares about him, even if she doesn’t fully understand him.

For Marie, these moments of connection are both unsettling and important. She worries about Aran not just because of his erratic behavior, but because she sees the potential for him to spiral if left unchecked. Despite her own discomfort, she’s willing to step outside her comfort zone to offer him a listening ear, even if she’s unsure he’ll take it. These moments don’t resolve the tension between them, but they add depth to their dynamic, revealing a shared humanity beneath the chaos.

Aran Ryan’s mental health is a complex and fragile thing, hidden behind layers of bravado and mischief. On the surface, he thrives on chaos, reveling in his reputation as the unpredictable wild card of the WVBA. He’s loud, he’s reckless, and he seems utterly unbothered by the opinions of others. But beneath the surface, Aran’s constant need for attention and his over-the-top antics may stem from a deep sense of inadequacy and isolation. He’s the type to laugh the loudest in the room, but only because he’s terrified of what might surface in the silence.

Aran likely struggles with feelings of being misunderstood, or worse, entirely overlooked. His antics might be a way to demand acknowledgment, a plea to remind the world that he’s there, that he matters. At the same time, this relentless energy masks a fear of vulnerability—of being seen for who he really is. His life in the spotlight may amplify these insecurities, as he pushes himself harder and harder to maintain the persona of the charismatic troublemaker, even when it starts to take a toll on him.

Behind closed doors, Aran might feel the weight of his own loneliness. For all his charm and bravado, meaningful connections could elude him. He likely struggles with opening up, unsure of how to let people past the walls he’s built with humor and theatrics. When he’s alone, the cracks in his facade begin to show, and he’s left with a restlessness he doesn’t quite know how to handle. It’s easier to keep moving, keep joking, and keep distracting himself than to face whatever’s lurking in the stillness.

This internal battle likely leaves Aran in a constant state of emotional exhaustion, though he’s quick to hide it. His energy seems boundless, but it comes at a cost—a cycle of highs where he thrives in the chaos and lows where he’s left grappling with his own doubts. The rare moments when his guard slips reveal a man who’s far more complex and vulnerable than he lets on, someone who might desperately need help but doesn’t know how to ask for it.

Aran’s mental health struggles might not be visible to most, as he expertly deflects with wit and theatrics. But for those who look closely, the signs are there: the subtle cracks in his confidence, the way his energy falters when he thinks no one’s watching, and the quiet pain hidden behind his grin. Beneath all the noise, Aran is a man at odds with himself, unsure of how to reconcile the person he shows the world with the one he faces in the mirror.

☘️Smokes and booze☘️

Ryan’s vices of smoking and drinking are a quiet storm he carries everywhere he goes. On the surface, they seem like typical bad habits—easy to dismiss in a world where everyone has their struggles. But for Ryan, they are more than that; they are coping mechanisms born from years of unresolved battles within himself. The cigarettes are his escape, each drag a moment of clarity amidst the chaos in his mind, while the alcohol serves as his way of numbing emotions he’d rather not feel.

It started small—one drink after a fight to “take the edge off,” one cigarette on a rough day. But over time, these habits became part of his routine, a crutch he relied on to deal with the pressures of his life and the mistakes he’s made. The regrets? They pile up, each one heavier than the last. There was the time he lashed out at a teammate during training after one too many drinks, the words sharper and crueler than he ever intended. He still remembers the look of betrayal on their face, a wound he’s never been able to repair.

And then there are the nights he drank alone, the haze of the alcohol convincing him to send messages he should’ve never sent or to pick fights he wasn’t proud of. Those mornings, with a pounding headache and the weight of shame pressing down on him, are the ones that stick with him most. He regrets the bridges he burned, the friendships he strained, and the missed opportunities to be better because he let his vices win.

But the deepest regrets come from the times he sees the impact his habits have on the people who care about him—Marie, for example, catching him smoking outside the gym late one night. Her quiet disappointment hurt more than any punch he’d ever taken in the ring. She didn’t scold him or lecture him, just stood there, her presence alone enough to make him feel exposed.

Ryan knows his habits are a problem. He’s tried to quit before, promising himself that each drink would be the last, that he’d crush his last cigarette and move on. But the cycle is hard to break, and the regret is a constant companion. He’s not proud of what he’s done or the ways he’s hurt himself and others because of it. Still, in the quiet moments, when the smoke clears and the haze lifts, there’s a part of him that hopes—hopes that he can find the strength to be better, even if it’s one small step at a time.

Ryan’s vices didn’t come out of nowhere; they were born from a life that often left him feeling like he had no other way to cope. Growing up, he was taught to be tough, to push through pain and never let weakness show. But that kind of pressure came at a cost. He didn’t have an outlet for his emotions, and over time, they started to fester. The expectations, the failures, the loneliness—it all built up, and he had nowhere to put it.

Smoking came first, during his teenage years. It was small at first, something to do when the silence felt too loud or when the weight of his thoughts became unbearable. It wasn’t even about the nicotine at first; it was about the ritual, the way it gave him a moment to himself, something he could control. Each cigarette felt like a pause button on everything else in his life, even if it was just for a few minutes.

Drinking came later, after he joined the WVBA. The pressure to perform, to maintain his reputation, and to always be at his best wore him down. The sport brought him purpose, but it also magnified his insecurities. Every fight was a test, not just of his strength but of his worth. When he felt like he didn’t measure up—or even when he did but the satisfaction was fleeting—the bottle became an easy refuge. Drinking wasn’t just about dulling the pain; it was about silencing the doubts that crept in late at night.

Ryan also started drinking as a way to fit in. The culture around the sport often encouraged it—celebrating wins with rounds of drinks, drowning losses in a similar fashion. At first, it felt harmless, just another part of the life he’d chosen. But over time, it became more than that. Drinking turned into something he did when he was alone, too, when the applause had faded and the reality of his struggles set in.

There’s guilt tied to the reasons he started. He knows that, deep down, he turned to smoking and drinking because he didn’t know how to ask for help. The habits feel like a crutch he leaned on for too long, but in some ways, they’re also reminders of the battles he’s faced—ones he’s still trying to figure out how to win.

☘️Leave the Lady alone☘️

Aran Ryan’s loyalty to Marie, though often buried under layers of teasing and chaos, shows itself in unexpected ways—especially when she’s not around. In the loud, ego-driven world of the WVBA, it’s rare for anyone to defend someone without personal gain, but Aran does it for Marie instinctively, without hesitation.

One evening, after a match, the locker room was alive with the usual post-fight chatter, but the conversation turned sour when a few boxers started throwing casual, dismissive comments about Marie. They called her too soft to keep up with the fast-paced life of the WVBA, implying that her nerves and occasional awkwardness made her unfit for the job. Aran, leaning back against the lockers with his usual smirk, suddenly went quiet, his sharp green eyes narrowing.

“Say what you want about her,” he interrupted, his tone deceptively light but carrying an edge that cut through the noise, “but she’s better at her job than half of you are at yours.” The room fell silent, the playful chaos replaced by a sudden tension.

One of the boxers scoffed. “What’s it to you, Ryan? She your new best friend or somethin’?”

Aran stood up, his grin curling into something more dangerous. “Nah,” he said, his voice calm but laced with warning. “I just don’t like it when people run their mouths about someone who works harder than they’ll ever bother to.” He shrugged, stepping closer to the group. “Besides, she’s tougher than you lot give her credit for. You’d know that if you paid attention instead of flappin’ your gums.”

With that, he turned on his heel and left the room, leaving the group too stunned to respond. As he walked out into the night, the tension in his shoulders eased, and a familiar tune hummed itself into his mind—“She’s Always a Woman to Me” by Billy Joel. The song had wormed its way into his head ever since he’d first seen Marie working, her careful hands and nervous humor contrasting with the relentless chaos of their world. He wouldn’t admit it, but the song reminded him of her in ways he didn’t fully understand.

She didn’t need to be there to know he had her back, and Aran liked it that way. Defending her wasn’t about scoring points or looking good—it was just something he felt compelled to do. For all his bluster and unpredictability, there was a quiet, unspoken respect he held for her, one he wasn’t sure he’d ever fully put into words. Instead, he let his actions speak for him, even when she wasn’t there to see.

☘️Song Association ☘️

For Aran, “She’s Always a Woman to Me” became more than just a song—it became a secret code, a way of understanding Marie when he couldn’t quite put her into words. He didn’t know what it was about the song that stuck to him so deeply. Maybe it was the vulnerability beneath the lyrics, the raw truth that people like him—tough, loud, always putting on a show—rarely let anyone see. The way Billy Joel’s words described a woman who could be both tough and tender, a paradox of strength and softness, resonated with something deep inside Aran. It was as if the song could see Marie the way he saw her—complex, layered, and unknowable.

He wasn’t the type to open up about feelings—least of all to Marie. His bravado, the constant need to make everything a spectacle, was all part of the armor he built to protect himself. But that song—her song—had a way of breaking through his defenses. Every time it played, he’d find himself lost in the lyrics, trying to reconcile the image of Marie that he kept tucked away in the quietest parts of his mind.

“She can kill with a smile, she can wound with her eyes…”

At first, he dismissed the line as a silly romantic notion, something that didn’t apply to her at all. But as he thought about it, the more it made sense. Marie didn’t need to throw punches to be powerful. She had this quiet way of commanding respect, a kind of sharpness in her gaze that cut through the bullshit and revealed truths people weren’t ready to face. Aran knew that firsthand—he’d seen it in her, especially when she was around people who underestimated her. She didn’t let them see her fear, her hesitation. She just stood her ground and carried on, even when she felt like she was drowning.

But it wasn’t just the moments of strength that made Aran connect with the song. It was the contradictions. Marie had her moments of doubt, of second-guessing herself, of feeling completely out of place in the chaos she found herself surrounded by. She hid it well—always smiling, always acting like she was in control. But Aran saw through it. He knew that, sometimes, her smile was a mask, a shield to keep the world from seeing how deeply unsure she was of everything around her.

“She hides like a child, but she’s always a woman to me…”

The line hit him like a punch in the gut, its truth so stark and raw that he had to look away the first time he heard it. Marie, in her own way, was both tough and fragile—like a child trying to navigate a world too big for her, but with the quiet wisdom of someone who had already seen more than she should have. There was something about the way she approached the world, so tentative but so unrelenting at the same time, that reminded him of himself—how he hid his own insecurities behind laughter and showmanship, never letting anyone get close enough to see the cracks.

It was in the moments when he watched her work, when she carefully tended to his wounds with the utmost precision, that Aran began to understand what the song really meant. She wasn’t like the others. She wasn’t here for glory, or praise, or attention. She was here because, in her own quiet way, she cared. And that made her different from everyone else. The song wasn’t about idolizing her; it was about seeing her complexity. It was about understanding that beneath the chaos, the teasing, and the tension, there was someone who was constantly fighting to hold it all together, even when no one else noticed.

Aran never spoke about the song to anyone. It remained his silent truth, the melody that played in his mind when he saw her, when he thought about the way she navigated the chaos of his world without ever letting it consume her. He couldn’t tell her that he understood her, or that she was more important to him than he was willing to admit, but the song said everything he couldn’t. In a world that constantly demanded more from him, it was the one thing that grounded him and reminded him that, despite everything, Marie was something real—a constant in the ever-shifting madness of the WVBA.

The line “She can bring out the best and the worst you can be…” became one of the most hauntingly accurate descriptions of Marie in Aran’s mind. It wasn’t just about her presence or her actions, but the way she unknowingly altered the course of his behavior, both in the ring and outside of it.

Marie had this subtle power over Aran, not in a manipulative sense, but in the way her existence forced him to reckon with his own contradictions. When she was around, there was something about her that pushed him to be more than the cocky, reckless fighter everyone expected him to be. Her quiet strength, her refusal to back down from the chaos even when she seemed overwhelmed, made Aran want to do better—be better. He found himself stepping back, taking a breath, and thinking twice before making a brash decision. She brought out the best in him in those moments, pushing him toward self-reflection, if only for a fleeting second.

But at the same time, there were times when her quiet intensity made him act out in ways he wasn’t proud of. In a strange way, she seemed to unsettle him—her calm confidence and her refusal to bend made him feel exposed, like he wasn’t enough. The more he tried to show off, to be the larger-than-life personality that everyone expected, the more he realized he was trying to keep up with her without really understanding why. Her disinterest in his antics—the way she barely reacted to his theatrics—made him act out in ways that were childish and desperate. He’d taunt her, show off, and try to get under her skin, all because he didn’t know how to handle the fact that, in some ways, he saw her as untouchable, above the noise of his own insecurities.

Her presence—quiet, steady, and always so grounded—brought out both the best and worst in him. There were days when he caught himself thinking, Why am I doing this?—and it was usually when he realized that, in the face of her unshakable composure, he felt like he was crumbling just a little. She never demanded anything from him, yet there he was, putting on a show that felt more and more like a mask.

It wasn’t just about their interactions, either. In the larger picture, the line encapsulated the effect she had on his world. Whenever she was around, there was a shift—a challenge, really. Her presence forced him to confront the parts of himself he usually buried under noise, antics, and bravado. Sometimes that made him want to rise to the occasion, to be someone who could stand beside her without feeling so small. Other times, it made him act out, to lash out and try to regain control, even when he knew he wasn’t really in control at all.

The duality of it left Aran torn—drawn to her quiet power, yet equally frustrated by it. He never fully understood why she had this effect on him, why she could bring out sides of him he didn’t even recognize. But every time that line from the song played in his mind, he couldn’t deny it. Marie did bring out the best and the worst in him, and though he fought against it, deep down, he knew it was one of the most honest things about their connection.

The line “She’s always a woman to me” had become an anchor in Aran’s mind, a quiet truth that lingered, even when he tried to distance himself from it. It was a paradox, really—he knew that Marie wasn’t someone he could fully understand, someone whose presence both unsettled and grounded him in ways he couldn’t articulate. But regardless of the complexities or contradictions, she was always a woman to him, and that was something deeper than attraction, something that defied explanation.

It wasn’t just that she was a woman in the traditional sense—it was that she was a person in the truest form, a force that couldn’t be pigeonholed or reduced to any single label. Aran knew Marie was interesting, yes, but she was also so much more than that. She wasn’t defined by her role in the WVBA, by the chaos around her, or by the way people underestimated her. She was a person whose every action, no matter how small, felt imbued with a quiet depth that Aran couldn’t ignore. She didn’t need to impress anyone, and yet she always left an impression.

The beauty of the line was in its simplicity: she’s always a woman to me. It didn’t require further explanation. No matter how chaotic, how offbeat, or how out of place Aran sometimes felt in his own life, Marie remained a constant—a force, a presence, that shaped his world. She was always herself in a way that he couldn’t quite replicate, couldn’t mimic or understand fully. Yet, despite all of her layers, all the complexity and distance, Aran found himself irrevocably drawn to her. And in some strange, quiet part of him, he knew this draw was more than surface-level attraction—it was something that transcended the superficial, something that settled deep in his chest.

His love for her wasn’t something he could define with clear words. It wasn’t the kind of love that demanded reciprocation or even understanding. It was an unspoken truth, a deep-rooted connection that existed outside of the mess they found themselves in. Aran wasn’t sure how or why it happened. Maybe it was the way she carried herself, her quiet strength that made him want to protect her, or the way she never let the world break her down. Or perhaps it was the way she made him confront himself—the best and worst parts of him—that somehow brought him closer to her, even when he didn’t quite understand why.

But no matter how hard he tried to push it away, Aran knew that Marie was always a woman to him. She was a person he could never fully explain, a person who was both an enigma and a simple truth all at once. And while the full depths of his feelings for her might never be known—even to himself—he was certain of one thing: his connection to her was something that would always remain. In her quiet way, she was the most interesting, the most compelling, and the most real thing in his world. And in the end, that was enough.

☘️Moments between the two☘️

Aran and Marie’s interactions, though often unspoken, were punctuated by moments of quiet understanding, unacknowledged affection, and the occasional chaos they both found themselves caught up in. Their dynamic wasn’t one of overt declarations or grand gestures; rather, it was shaped by subtle exchanges, glances, and actions that spoke louder than words ever could.

1. The Unexpected Moment of Care

One late evening after a particularly brutal match, Aran found himself sitting in a quiet corner of the gym, wrapping his hands. The fight had been grueling, and the adrenaline was wearing off, leaving him with a dull ache in his muscles. Marie, who had been attending to another fighter, moved toward him, her presence almost serene in the chaos of the gym. Without a word, she handed him a bottle of water. Aran glanced up at her, his usual smirk not quite making it to his face. He noticed the way she kept her distance, her gaze not lingering too long, but enough to convey a silent understanding.

“You’re not looking too good,” she said softly, her voice carrying a hint of concern, though she tried to mask it with her usual quiet calm.

Aran chuckled, the sound rough from the fight. “When have I ever looked good?” He took the water, but instead of drinking immediately, he just held it in his hands for a moment, letting the gesture sink in. Marie didn’t ask for anything in return, didn’t demand attention or recognition. She just was. And in that simple moment, Aran couldn’t help but feel a sense of gratitude, though he’d never say it out loud.

2. The Song That Played

Later that night, the gym’s speakers hummed to life as the cleaning crew moved about. Aran, sitting in the bleachers, was zoning out when the familiar strains of “She’s Always a Woman to Me” began to play softly in the background. He paused, the familiar melody pulling his focus. He hadn’t thought about it in a while, but hearing it now, in the quiet of the gym after the chaos of the fight, it felt like something in his chest shifted.

Marie, walking by with a clipboard in hand, froze for a moment when she heard the song too. She glanced in his direction, her eyes meeting his briefly, before she continued on with her task. There was something about that brief exchange—those few seconds where their worlds seemed to align in the stillness of the moment—that spoke volumes. Aran didn’t know if she had any idea what that song meant to him, or if she even noticed the way he watched her. But in that instant, he couldn’t help but wonder if she somehow felt the weight of the connection between them.

3. The Silent Protectiveness

One evening, while Marie was busy tending to a fighter’s cuts in the ring, Aran overheard a group of boxers making some offhand comments about her—laughing at her “awkward” nature, questioning how she could possibly handle the intensity of the sport. Aran’s expression darkened, and without a word, he stormed over to them, silencing their taunts with a sharp, “Shut up.”

They looked at him, confused, as if to say, What’s it to you? Aran didn’t elaborate, but his voice had enough of an edge to make them back off. The moment was over as quickly as it had started, and Aran returned to his spot in the gym, but his eyes remained on Marie. She hadn’t heard the comments, or if she had, she didn’t show it. Still, there was something about her calm that made Aran feel a need to protect her, even if she never asked for it.

4. The Unspoken Understanding After Chaos

After a particularly messy event involving a press conference that ended with spilled drinks and heated arguments, Aran found Marie sitting alone on the bleachers in the corner of the gym. She was rubbing her temples, clearly exhausted by the frenzy of the evening. He didn’t ask her if she was okay—he knew better. Instead, he sat beside her, a comfortable distance between them.

For a while, they said nothing. He could hear her breathing slow, a sign that she was calming down, and though the silence between them was thick with unspoken words, it wasn’t uncomfortable. Aran’s gaze was distant, lost in the noise of his own thoughts. He didn’t know if he could offer her any comfort, but in that moment, he felt connected to her in a way that words could never fully capture. She didn’t ask for anything from him, but her presence had a way of making everything feel less overwhelming. He didn’t try to fix anything. He just sat there, letting the silence stretch between them until it wasn’t so heavy.

5. The Glance That Said It All

One evening, after a particularly brutal training session, Aran caught sight of Marie in the hallway, looking tired but determined as she walked past him. There was a certain fire in her eyes that always intrigued him—something that made her seem unstoppable, even when she didn’t feel that way. Their eyes met for just a fraction of a second, and in that brief moment, something unspoken passed between them.

It wasn’t love in the romantic sense, nor was it something he could define clearly. But in her gaze, there was an understanding—an acknowledgment of something deeper, something they both carried but never spoke about. Aran didn’t look away, and for a second, it felt like time had paused just for them. Then, as quickly as it had come, the moment passed, and Marie was gone, off to tend to another fighter or some other task that needed her attention. Aran, however, was left with that single glance—a reminder that, no matter what happened, she would always be her, and he would always be him, and that, somehow, was enough.

Each of these moments, though seemingly small, shaped the unspoken bond between Aran and Marie. There was no grand revelation, no dramatic confessions. Just quiet exchanges, where their connection was understood, not explained. And though Aran never fully understood the depth of his feelings for her, the truth was simple: he loved her in a way he could never define, but it was real, undeniable, and, in its own way, perfect.

☘️The moments the made it☘️

☘️Trying to Sober Him Up☘️

It was late night, after another grueling day of training, the gym nearly empty, almost a sanctuary for the two of them. Aran had been drinking heavily that evening—trying to drown out the frustration from an ongoing, unsolvable issue in his life. He had stumbled into the locker room, laughing loudly at some joke only he understood, but it was clear by the way his movements were uncoordinated that he was more than tipsy.

Marie, having finished her work for the night, had been about to leave when she caught the sound of his voice. She paused, her gaze shifting toward the locker room. It wasn’t unusual for Aran to act out, but the way he was stumbling, his laughter bordering on manic, made her pause.

She walked quietly toward him, watching as he attempted to steady himself on the bench, slurring words to no one in particular. Marie didn’t say anything immediately, but her eyes softened. She had seen him like this before—acting out, masking something beneath the bravado, but she never got to the core of it. She sighed and crossed her arms.

“You’re gonna regret this in the morning,” she said, her voice steady and calm, though there was an edge of concern.

Aran’s head snapped in her direction, and he smiled widely. “Marie! Come on, don’t be such a buzzkill,” he slurred, his words barely coherent.

Marie didn’t bite. She knelt down beside him, taking a deep breath. “You’ve had enough,” she said firmly, though there was no judgment in her voice, just a quiet concern.

Aran, in his haze, wasn’t able to read her tone properly, but he could hear the softness beneath the sternness. There was a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes as he swayed. “You’re no fun,” he muttered.

“Maybe,” she said, her hand gently guiding him to stand. “But I’m getting you sober. Now sit still.”

She helped him to the bathroom, finding a towel to drape over his face to cool him off, offering him water every few minutes, talking softly to him about anything but the reasons he was drinking. For a while, it felt like a role reversal. Normally, it was him guiding others, offering advice in his usual cocky way. But tonight, it was Marie who had the reins. She wasn’t trying to force him into a conversation he wasn’t ready for, but in her quiet way, she was making sure he was taken care of, even when he couldn’t take care of himself. They sat together dress in the shower, back against the wall facing each other. Absolute Silence.

It wasn’t a victory, but it was a moment of understanding—one that passed silently between them, with no words needed other than the occasional check-in. By the time Aran finally started to feel the effects of sobriety, he could see the care in Marie’s eyes, even if he couldn’t name it. And though he was too stubborn to say it, he appreciated the fact that, for once, someone had his back when he needed it the most.

☘️Crying and Smoking☘️

It was one of those nights when the weight of everything seemed to crush down on Marie. The pressure of the WVBA, the chaos of her life, and the never-ending responsibilities were beginning to overwhelm her. She needed a moment to herself, so she slipped outside the gym, unnoticed by most, to the back alley. There, she lit a cigarette, taking a long drag, her hand shaking slightly as she tried to steady her nerves. The cool night air did nothing to ease the fire building in her chest, but for the moment, she just needed to feel something—anything other than the stress that had been slowly suffocating her.

Marie didn’t expect anyone to find her. She had always been the quiet one, the one who carried her burdens without asking for help. But the night was unusually still, and the sound of footsteps echoed from the alleyway. She didn’t look up at first, thinking it was just a passerby. But when the figure stopped next to her, she recognized the deep voice.

“You know, you’re not supposed to smoke that stuff,” Aran said, his tone light but laced with something else she couldn’t quite place.

Marie stiffened, the cigarette halfway to her lips. She didn’t want to deal with anyone tonight—especially not Aran. But as much as she wanted to dismiss him, she didn’t.

“I’m not in the mood for company,” she said quietly, taking another drag of the cigarette, hoping he’d take the hint.

Aran ignored the tone. “Yeah, well, I didn’t ask if you were in the mood.”

There was a moment of silence. Marie glanced over at him, surprised. Aran wasn’t the type to just sit in silence, not usually anyway. But there he was, standing beside her without judgment, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. His gaze wasn’t pitying—just an odd kind of understanding that caught her off guard.

“Long day?” he asked casually, but there was an underlying softness in his voice.

Marie exhaled slowly, her gaze dropping to the ground. “You have no idea,” she murmured, the weight of the day pressing heavily on her chest.

Aran didn’t ask more questions. Instead, he leaned back against the wall next to her and, without saying a word, lit a cigarette of his own. They stood there together in silence for a while, the smoke curling up into the air, the sounds of the world outside fading into the background.

For once, Marie didn’t feel the need to hide. She didn’t need to pretend that she was fine, that she had everything under control. Aran, in his own quiet way, understood that. And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel like she had to carry the burden of everything on her own. She didn’t need him to fix anything; she just needed the silence, the presence of someone who wasn’t trying to change her, to make her talk. He would take his cigarette and Marie’s and toss them onto the snow before stomping them with a grunt. He then squeezed her shoulder before going back inside.

The two of them stood there in the cool night, neither of them speaking much, just sharing the moment. And while the conversation was light, almost nonchalant, there was something comforting in the shared silence—a reminder that, in this strange, difficult world, they weren’t alone.

☘️summary☘️

Aran and Marie’s dynamic is defined by quiet understanding and unspoken care. Aran, often distant and guarded, finds in Marie a steady presence, someone who doesn’t try to fix him but simply is—someone who offers quiet support when he needs it, whether he’s drunk or dealing with his inner struggles. Marie, on the other hand, carries her own burdens but is vulnerable in her rare moments of weakness, when Aran finds her, not needing to fix anything but just to stand beside her. Their bond is unspoken, a mixture of protection, silence, and unacknowledged affection.

A Final Peek into Their Dynamic

One evening, after a particularly tough match, Aran sat alone on a bench, nursing his bruises. Marie was still busy tending to other fighters, but when she noticed him sitting there in the corner, she made her way over. Without a word, she handed him a cold compress for his face.

“Not gonna thank me, are you?” she said, a soft smile on her lips.

Aran smirked but didn’t meet her eyes. “Not really in the mood.”

Marie didn’t push him. She just sat next to him, her presence as grounding as always. There were no grand gestures—no words of comfort. Just the quiet of the moment, with the shared understanding that they were both there for each other, in their own way. In that silence, Aran felt something he rarely allowed himself to: peace.

I hope you guys enjoyed this post! This is one of my favorite dynamics. The understanding they have and the mutual respect even when he’s giving her a hard time. Let me know what you guys think!

-Tobias