#They're so soft and sappy

[rainboq]

"do you want to try it?" With Pricemarsh?

Here you go!

Shotgun Me Sweetly

There’s a lot of surprising things about Chloe Price. The silly softie lurking under the hard exterior, her tendency to sappy sentimentality, and just how tender she can be when someone is being vulnerable with her.

But the biggest surprise of them all is that Kate gets to come to home to her and wake up wrapped up in those long, lanky arms. And she gets to do that every single day. Her thumb rubs over the twin rings nestled on the ring finger, her heart swelling. From this day, until the last of them.

Yes, they’re an odd pair, or at least they were when they started. Classic prim and proper church girl falling for the ruffian from the wrong side of the train tracks. She’s hardly that girl anymore. Sure, her Sunday best still hangs in the closet, but it’s not sitting next to plain black cardigans and white blouses anymore. No, along with her own mess of blue hair Chloe brought an explosion of colour to her world and her wardrobe. Bright pastels, riotous rainbow tie dyes, patched up rough denim and canvas jackets, and a smattering of flannels are there in their stead. It’s a look she’s embraced with all her heart, just like she has her love.

Her key slots into the lock of their apartment door with a satisfying click and she turns it, pressing down on the handle and stepping into the comfortable chaos that is their little life together.

The familiar smells of Chloe linger in the air. Despite her best efforts to keep it away from Kate, the scent of cigarettes is a persistent one, and alcohol is still a frequent if not constant companion. The judgements she had about them are long gone. She’s tried her best to quit the former on a yearly basis, and she’s lasting longer every time while the later isn’t quite the crutch it used to be. The therapy is helping, as is Kate’s tender love and care, so it’s becoming more recreational now. Besides, Kate does enjoy indulging in it from time to time when the mood strikes her.

But there’s a third smell, the dank, pungent scent of the devil’s plant, if she were to borrow her mother’s phrasing. The thing that helps Chloe the most on her worst days, the little miracle marijuana. That most persistent plant, flourishing in the cracks in society, much like the woman herself. Her judgment for that has been the hardest to let go of. She heard so many horrible things about it, and about people like Chloe. And sure, she’s come to be embraced by the very people she was once warned against, but her heart has struggled to accept weed itself, no matter it’s ubiquity.

She knows it’s mostly harmless, even beneficial in a lot of cases, and it’s a damn sight better than alcohol. But knowing isn’t the same as feeling. The mind and the heart can have trouble talking to each other at times.

It doesn’t help that she’s never tried it herself.

It’s silly, they’ve been together for almost a decade now, married for almost five, and she’s never gotten high. Chloe hasn’t exactly offered, but she can be forgiven for that, Kate’s always been the kind to ask whenever she’s ready.

Maybe it’s time?

She’s seen what it does to Chloe on her good days, her goofy ball of sunshine comes out in full force, her eyes are so bright and full of life, her smiles toothy and wholehearted. What’ll it do for her?

She unhooks her mask and hangs it from the hooks hanging in the entryway they repainted to be a rich forest green, alongside her keys. “Chloe, I’m home!”

“Katie Cat!” Chloe comes bounding around the corner from the kitchen. Her sapphire eyes sparkle in the light, her crooked smile dominating her sharp yet cute features as she crashes into Kate with one of her all encompassing hugs.

Kate hugs her back with every ounce of her love as her head comes to rest on Chloe’s tender breast. Her eyes close for a moment as she savours the sense of safety and security. There’s nowhere in the world she’d rather be than in these lanky arms, listening to the badump-badump of her hammering heart.

“How was work?” Chloe asks, her voice just slightly too loud and excited for a whisper.

Giggles cascade out of Kate’s lips as she presses them against Chloe’s collar bone in a small kiss. “Nothing too difficult. Enjoying your day off?”

“You know it!” They pull back just enough to let their lips find each other before their foreheads press together. Chloe’s long arms looping around her shoulders as Kate’s hands rest on her love’s hips. “Got some pretty good stuff today.”

“I can smell it,” Kate looks up into the gleaming blue iris and pinprick pupils gazing back at her, “Seems like a fun time.”

Concern flickers over Chloe’s features, “Oh shit, I turned the fan on and opened the window, is it really that strong?”

“I don’t mind,” Kate presses another kiss against her lips, tasting the staleness, “In fact I might be feeling a little adventurous today.”

Those gorgeous eyes go wide, Chloe’s beautiful face slackening with shock. “What? Do you want to try it?”

“I think it’s a little past time that I did,” Kate says with a simple nod, beaming up at Chloe despite the lingering trepidation in her heart. She knows there’s risks, she’s helped more than one of their friends through bad highs, “And it’s just the two of us tonight, so why not?”

“Holy fuck…” Chloe’s mouth hangs open, a veritable slideshow of emotions playing over her face, “You’re not kidding.”

Kate nods again with a gentle giggle as she gets up on her tip toes to plant a peck on Chloe’s nose. “I’m not, I trust you.”

“Shit, okay, uh, yeah, come here.” Chloe’s arms move from Kate’s shoulders, taking her hand. and leading her into their cozy little living room. Their great green comfy couch sits adorned with it’s usual scattering of gifted and thrifted throw pillows. None of it matches, naturally, why would it? The clashing is just part of the fun. In front of it lays their coffee table of rich red wood, a wedding gift from Joyce. An old red Arcadia Bay ash tray laws on it, with a half smoked joint smouldering away.

Chloe leads her to the couch, sitting down on it with a loud whump and dragging Kate down with her. She follows with great aplomb, landing a tangle of limbs and laughter. Chloe’s so adorably excited as she picks up the joint and relights it. The fan at the end of the couch rattles away, blowing the smoke out the open window.

Off at the end of the couch, their handsome tuxedo cat Jack opens his eye to give them a reproachful glare for daring to disturb his nap. He resettles in moments as Chloe holds the joint up in the air like it’s a holy relic. “Okay. Katie Pie, how did you want to do this?”

“Whichever's the most fun,” Kate’s face is starting to hurt from smiling at just how enthusiastic Chloe is about this, “You’re the expert.”

“Okay, hold still.”

Kate does as instructed as Chloe straddles her lap, and for a moment she forgets herself, her heart fluttering as her hands find their familiar places on Chloe’s thighs. It doesn’t seem to bother Chloe in the slightest as she takes a long drag from the joint, her free hand reaching behind Kate’s head, lightly cupping the back of it and tilting her face upward. Kate watches, her chest thrumming with anticipation as Chloe leans in, smoke drifting out of her nostrils as she pulls Kate’s head up with her hand. Their lips meet and Kate opens them.

Acrid smoke fills her mouth, and she breathes in as deeply as she can, filling her lungs with the stuff before the coughing starts. She even manages to resist the first few spasms of her diaphragm as Chloe pulls back, a giant grin on her face as she watches Kate descend into a coughing fit.

***

She’s not sure how long it’s been since it’s that first inhale, but the world is woolly sweaters and cotton clouds in the amber glow of the evening. Everything is so soft and wonderful. Chloe’s presence is her center of gravity as she lounges atop her. At some point their clothes wandered off, but she’s not objecting. Instead her fingers are roaming over Chloe’s chest as she savours the heightened sensations. The soft, supple skin changes to the more textured areola, each delighting her in new ways as she rediscovers a body she knows nearly as well as her own.

Sure, she’s had sex with her while Chloe was high, but this? This is a revelation.

Like all of her mother’s asinine warnings, all it lead to was denying herself a whole new world of sensations and delights.

“Someone’s happy,” Chloe purrs, her fingers brushing through Kate’s long, wavy hair.

“Very. Like I am every day with you, only more,” Kate dots Chloe’s chest with a long hanging necklace of kisses, “I should have done this years ago.”

“Oh man, can you imagine if you’d asked when we started dating?” A light, breathy giggle fit erupts from Chloe, and Kate joins her in a heartbeat, “I would’ve felt so fucking guilty!”

“Oh yes, Chloe Price, the great corrupter of pure-hearted, chaste women everywhere! Who could resist such roguish charm and feminine wiles?” Kate cackles, her fingers moving to trace along Chloe’s sharp chin. How is her wife so beautiful? How is possible that the old plain Jane Kate managed to catch her eye back in those days? She had no business consorting with such a splendidly sculpted woman, yet here she is, married to her.

“Too bad for them I only wanted one innocent little virgin for my satanic pleasure rituals of getting stoned and cuddling!”

The pair of them descend further into conniptions, all sanity fleeing for the hills as the giggles begin their reign of delightful tyranny. Beautiful, charming, and hilarious. How had she lucked out so much? So many amazing people could have had Chloe, had they but been there for her when she needed them.

When the faculties of speech return to Kate, the sun has long since given up on hanging up in the sky, sinking below the horizon. The glow of the city casting it’s lights through their curtains. Jack gave up on the couch long ago, and presumably having claimed the bed by right of their absence. Let him, everything Kate needs is resting beneath her, watching her rest on her chest with a lazy, contented smile, her fingers still brushing their way through Kate’s thick locks. Kate returns the smile, her fingers running over the little tummy that Chloe’s gained over the years of making sure she eats properly. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Bun Bun.”

Kate Beverly Price closes her eyes, content in the arms of the greatest prize she could have ever won.

Ao3 link

[archangeldyke-all]

Reader just straight up not comprehending that Sevika is scary? Like when people talk about how intimidating Sevika is and Reader is just like “Uhm, what do you mean?? That’s my Sevi-bear?? She’s precious.” Pffft

-🥨

I LOVE THIS

men and minors dni

out of all the people in silco's little gang, you never understood why people thought sevika was scariest.

silco is scary. the man never raises his voice, doesn't bat an eye when he orders someone's death, and seemingly feels no remorse about anything... ever. he could blow over in a strong wind, but somehow, through sliminess alone, he's come to rule the entire undercity. that's scary.

lock is scary. just the pure physical size of him is intimidating enough, but add onto that the scars, prison tattoos, and the added strength of shimmer-- the man looks more like a killing machine than a human sometimes.

ran freaks you the fuck out-- they're quiet as fuck on their feet, and they've never missed a target-- sometimes, you think you see them in the shadows of your apartment at night.

but sevika?! sevika's not scary.

sevika's a fucking grandpa.

sevika's happiest when she's gambling with her boys, a cigarette in her mouth, you in her lap.

sevika loves to read but always falls asleep a chapter or two in, snoring as her book falls closed in her hands.

sevika can't be left alone around a freshly baked sweet treat-- or she'll eat the entire thing in one sitting.

sevika's not scary.

"you're married to sevika!?" a goon asks one evening while you wait for her to wrap up her work.

you blink at the man in front of you, trying to place him. he must be a new hire. "why is that surprising to you?" you ask.

"you seem so normal, and sevika's scary!" he squawks. you huff and roll your eyes.

"have you ever tried to get to know her? or do you just let the eyeliner and mech arm scare you off?" you ask. the man ties to speak, but a flash of anger sparks up in you. "you know, i bet you wouldn't be saying this if sevika was a man. why is sevika scary? 'cause she's a woman with power-- that's why." you're ranting now, defensive of your wife and getting worked up.

"no, that's not--"

"baby!" sevika's sweet voice calls. your little argument is completely forgotten as you turn around to greet your wife with a dreamy sigh.

"sevi-bear." you coo, pulling sevika in for a hug. she nuzzles against your throat, humming happily as you comb your fingers through her hair. "let's get outta here baby. made some brownies for you-- they're cooling off at home."

"fuck. i love you so much."

the pair of you leave the bar, tangled in each other's arms, none the wiser to the flabbergasted goon you left behind.

(sevika had threatened to tie a noose around his balls and let him dangle from the rafters earlier today when he'd joked about cheating at a game of cards.)

(now he's questioning his sanity, because the same woman who made him shit his pants in fear at lunchtime is giggling and covering her very defensive, slightly delusional wife in smooches as you two leave the bar hand in hand.)

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @claude999 @nhaaauyen

[vampiresfromxenon]

I Wanted To

Astarion x gn! Reader/Tav

Almost 3.5k words 

Tags: Fluff, kisses, cuddling, angst, biting mention, no use of y/n, words of affection (so much sappiness), soft! Astarion, they’re in love your honor!! 

CW: Slight mentions of SA and trauma (extremely minor, incredibly light piece)

Summary: You and Astarion decide to start your relationship over once you both confess your feelings. It's a mutual decision to take things extremely slow, celebrating little victories of intimacy here and there. Tonight, you can't hide your words of affection as he becomes more comfortable and vulnerable around you.

~

It’s been a few months traveling with this rowdy crew, and you can’t help but smile thinking about how much you love them all. Granted, they all piss you off on the daily, what from Shadowheart and Lae’zel attempting to kill each other, to Gale eating your favorite pair of enchanted gloves, but you can’t help yourself from smiling every time you think about how close you’ve all grown. One particular member in the party you have become very close with stands out a bit more than the rest, and thoughts about him are enough to make you unsettlingly giddy. 

For the longest time, you and the pale elf fought your feelings, too cold to warm up to each other. You both had a wicked past, something that tainted your current perceptions of love and romance. His may have been far more extreme than yours, but regardless of that fact, your feelings and emotions were still valid. For a short few weeks, you found yourselves being extra intimate, dismissing it all as stress relief and nothing more. Those little excursions were merely there as a form of self protection: He gained your trust and protection, and you felt less alone and vulnerable at night. Or, so you thought, until you noticed how distant he was, his eyes never meeting yours every time he sought to pleasure you. 

It wasn’t until recently that these barriers slowly began to be chipped away for the both of you, your infatuation not only becoming more real, but unfortunately, more terrifying. One night, you approached him, being brave and understanding if he had other thoughts about what you two could be. It was late, most of the camp either asleep or preparing for bed. You approached him, a soft hand on his shoulder, even though he was well aware you were there. What you were there for though, remained a mystery to him. He turned, smiling at you, taking your hand and kissing it affectionately. As your heart raced, you began a discussion with him, asking his thoughts and feelings about your ‘connection’ rather than just bombarding him with an overwhelming confession of love. 

He seemed stunned to say the least, unsure of what to say or how to feel. It was strange for him, his cold heart beating a little faster, feeling a little warmer at the sight of you in front of him, actually seeing him for him and not just another plaything. All these feelings were bubbling up inside him because, for the first time in a long time, someone not only asked him what he wanted in a romantic relationship, but they respected anything he said on that subject matter. In all his nervousness, he felt that he could be honest in his reciprocation to see how far you two could go, this time with real feelings. That was a few weeks ago, and all this time since has been magical. 

You haven’t intimately slept together since just before that night, instead establishing boundaries and focusing more on the non-sexual ways to be intimate, loving, and kind. He loves the way your hand brushes his, the way your fingers interlace with his as he moves in to hold your hand. You love the way his hand lands on your back, stretching to your hip to pull you closer to him, especially when meeting new people from town to town. While you still struggle with eye-contact in general, it feels easier around him, especially now since he has found himself to be more comfortable actually looking at you, taking in your appearance and being more present in your conversations. 

For many nights now, you’ve been cuddled up nicely in one or the other’s tent, fingers interlaced, hands gently wrapped around hips, legs occasionally intertwined. He still continues to feed on you, though he makes sure to gain your permission before bed each night. On the nights where you felt too tired, too drained mentally even, he would leave you be, hoping to keep you as comfortable as possible. Those nights were just as romantic, as you could feel his breath against your neck as he cuddles you tightly, his lips on your shoulder as he falls into the soft rhythm of sleep. 

Tonight didn’t start off any differently from any other night; you both gathered in his tent, doing your nightly routines as per usual (always before promptly passing out until the next morning hit you like a boulder). Most nights he would wear a nice, silky pajama set, one he purchased from an unreasonably expensive fashion designer in a small village. You didn’t have as luxurious of pajamas, but yours still covered most of your body, keeping you feeling safe and snuggled up each night.

Neither of you expected that this night would change everything.

He’s standing off to the side of your shared bedroll, changing into his pajamas while your back is turned to him, fiddling with the blanket you both share. You notice just how used this blanket is, and you realize that it might have been the only thing giving him comfort, the feeling of security over the past 200 or so years. Astarion was far from one to share, whether it was his feelings or his belongings, and it isn’t long before you have a second realization: you are possibly the only person to have ever slept with that blanket besides him. Your fingers gently roll the decaying fabric between your fingers, taking in all of his memories that have been exhausted on the threads. 

You hear him walking over and you drop your thoughts about the blanket, not wanting to pry into more of his distressing past. He kneels, picking up the blanket and sliding next to you, your bodies touching in an instant. Turning your attention away from the blanket, you look up to see your love is shirtless, moving around in the bedroll, trying to be more comfortable at your side. 

You know just how insecure he is about his scars from Cazador, that disgusting, vile, treacherous bitch, but it was so lovely to see him stepping out of his comfort zone. While you’re quick to notice this new change, he’s even quicker to notice your reaction. Diving back into his comfort charm, he smirks at you, loading a phrase to protect his vulnerable side.

“Like what you see, darling?” His eyes flutter to the side a bit, and you immediately notice his withdrawal from the conversation. With a calm and gentle hand, you caress his cheek, turning his attention back to you. 

“I always love what I see…” You smile, your eyes looking at him in such a way that your face beams with pride, though you try to find a balance between that and neutral so as to not overwhelm him. To see just how much he trusts you, is willing to open up to you and be vulnerable… Your heart can barely take it. In a quiet voice you’re sure to check in on him, wanting to make sure he feels secure in his choice. “Don’t feel you have to do this for me though, okay?” 

His hand reaches up to hold yours against his cold cheek, his stare suddenly becoming more present. “I wanted to.” His voice is low, his hand taking yours off his face as he leans in gently to kiss your palm. He kisses your forehead before moving to lie down, making himself comfortable in your small space. 

You sit there for a moment, considering your options. You don’t want to make him uncomfortable, but you want him to be aware that you feel the same sense of shared comfort. As he turns to the side, looking at a book he left on the ground earlier, you move to remove your shirt, tossing it off to the side. He moves the book away from you both so you don’t roll into it in the night. Turning back to face you, he pauses, taking in the sight of your bare chest. He looks up at you, tilting his head, nearly asking you the same question you just asked him.

Before he can say anything, you lean slightly closer to him, your voice a loud whisper. “I wanted to.” His eyes soften, and you can tell he’s flattered by this display of intimacy. You begin to crawl under the old blanket with him, and he pulls you close, his hand around your waist. The feel of his cold, soft skin against your bare back is enough to send shivers down your spine, and you realize that this must be so close to what heaven feels like. His free hand reaches up and caresses your jaw before tangling in your hair, gently playing with it as he knows it helps you fall asleep. 

Your hand rests on his bare chest, feeling the rhythm of his heartbeat slowing down as he continues to relax in your care. You lie there for a while, trying to sleep, but something is keeping you awake. Perhaps it’s the looming threat that you could all die soon in brutally vicious ways, or the fact that you don’t want to waste a single second enjoying this time with your new lover. Suppose you’ll never truly know. 

Regardless of what is keeping you up on this night, you begin to feel a little restless, unable to lie there in that position for too much longer without your arms going numb. You sit up a little, leaning on the arm you’ve been lying on, trying to not wake your companion. However, his body shifts with you, and it appears that he is still just as awake as you are.

 “I didn't wake you, did I?” You whisper in a worried voice. 

“Not in the slightest, my dear. Unable to sleep tonight, as I am sure you understand.”

You sigh, still leaning over him slightly, his hand that was once on your waist now drawing circles on your shoulder blade, the hand in your hair now resting on your hip. You want to speak, but you find yourself getting lost in the way his face looks in the moonlight peeking through his tent flap. It frames his face so perfectly, almost as if this scene was sculpted by the Gods. He notices your sudden distance, and he is quick to check in on you. 

“Are you alright, love?” He asks, a tinge of concern in his voice, once again tilting his head like a confused puppy. 

“Sorry… Yes, yes. More than alright.” You reassure him, not breaking your focus. A beat; he attempts to determine what’s on your mind. Thinking he’s found it, he smirks.��

“Admiring how beautiful I am?”

“Yeah… Just looking at creases around your eyes…” You say in a loving tone, not even remotely aware of how backhanded the comment you just made sounds. 

He begins to shuffle, pushing you away, offended by your lack of sincerity. “Alright, there’s no need-” 

“No! Not like that.” You chuckle, snapping back into reality. You grab him, pulling him back to you, his head pressing back into the pillow below you.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I just-” You can’t stop yourself from laughing a little at the sight of your pouting partner underneath you. 

You notice just how unamused he is, and you abruptly stop laughing, clearing your throat and composing yourself in a more serious manner. Your hand reaches up and the pad of your thumb brushes against his crows feet, your mind falling back into your feelings of love and adoration for him. 

“The way your eyes crinkle when you laugh… The way your eyes sharpen when you’re glaring at me, like you are right now… The way they soften every time I walk in the room… I love those wrinkles, they’re such a beautiful part of you.” He relaxes again, taking in your words, though still unhappy at your mention of his wrinkles, making him feel old. Though, no matter how much he hates his aging characteristics being brought up, he will never turn away any form of flattery. 

“Well, augh. You really are sweet, aren’t you? But I’m sure you like more of me than just my dreaded wrinkles.” He was definitely fishing for compliments, that much was obvious, but he wasn’t aware of just how much you wanted to smother him in loving words. You lean forward and kiss his crows feet on both sides, surprising him. Smiling, your thumb traces over his eyebrows, taking in their shape and feel. 

“My eyebrows, really? Nothing else catching your eye?” He whines, his hands going back to resting on your shoulder blade and hip. He can feel your body shake as you laugh, your head falling forward towards his chest as you continue to giggle from his pouting. You bring your head back up, focusing on his face once more. 

“One thing at a time, dearest.” You pause, analyzing the shape of his eyebrows. Just how sharp they are, how often he uses them to his advantage when he is charming people. As you continue to gaze at them, he raises one of them, making your heart go crazy. 

“You’re so expressive. Your eyebrows are so perfectly shaped, the way you use them like a weapon… I know it’s silly, I know they’re just eyebrows, but they’re your eyebrows, and they mean so much to me.” You trail off, your face flushed with embarrassment as you realize just how overly sentimental your words are. He smiles at you, knowing just how hard you’re trying, and appreciating every second of it. You kiss his eyebrows before quickly moving on.

Your fingers trace along his face, noticing his mole. By now he’s exhausted, you’re three for three with things he’s sensitive about. “Darling, if this is your way of making me feel less upset about not being able to look in mirrors, I must say it’s starting to work.” His words deceive his face and body language, but you still try to abide by his wishes. 

Wanting to show your love, without spending too much time on it, you mention how much the mole under his eye suits him, how he would almost seem incomplete without a beauty spot. The usage of ‘beauty’ in ‘beauty spot’ convinced him to let it slide, but the ice you were dreamily skating on was wearing thin. Kissing his mole, you move on once again. 

The skin of his nose was soft as you trace the pad of your finger down the bridge of his nose. “Your nose… it’s so sharp. Don’t laugh, but one of my favorite feelings is when I wake up and your nose is either on my back or my neck. I can feel your breathing on my skin, your nose pressed against me while you sleep. It’s so calming, having any little part of you so close to me.” He looks at you a little confused, mostly due to the fact that you’re still here appreciating him. The things you’re saying, they’re so small and insignificant, yet you enunciate each word like it’s the most important thing you’ll ever say. Each word has a purpose, a meaning, and they fall out of your mouth effortlessly; something he still has yet to learn how to do. 

You kiss the tip of his nose, your fingers tracing down his face to his smile lines. Oh his smile lines. You just can’t help but adore his smile lines, no matter how much he absolutely hates them. He hates them because they age him, but you love them for all the same reason. To know he laughs, smiles, has any semblance of being happy is enough for you to be overjoyed at the sight of these lines that prove the existence that he has been able to enjoy life enough to have physical proof on his face.

“Don’t you dare.” He teases, though you wish he could bear with you for just a moment to explain your thoughts. Figuring you could do it another time, as tonight has already had enough excitement, you kiss his smile lines and spare him from your honeyed words. 

Last, but certainly not least: his lips. Your thumb traces over his lips which are closed together, gently pushing up just enough to where you wonder if he was trying to secretly kiss your thumb. As you continue to run your thumb over his lips, reminiscing on all the times your own experienced his, he takes you by surprise. 

Removing the hand from your hip, his thumb graces your lips, and you find yourself trying to inconspicuously kiss at it like he did to you just moments ago. You open your mouth to speak, but he uses his finger to silence you, gently shushing you. 

“My turn.” His voice is smooth and tender as his thumb continues to trace over your slightly parted lips. “Your lips… They have always been so soft and inviting.” He pauses, still staring at them.

“I must admit, I despised them at first.” A confused expression crosses your face just before he continues. “They would taunt me on a daily basis, the one thing I couldn’t have no matter how much charm I threw at you. When I was eventually graced with them, I loathed the way my name would be cried out from them, almost as if you were saying it like a prayer. It tore me apart, wanting something I wasn’t sure I actually wanted, or even felt like I deserved…” He trails off, though his gaze remains constant on you.

“How do they make you feel now?” You softly ask, just barely loud enough for even yourself to hear.

He thinks on this for a moment, searching for the proper word.

“Safe.” 

He leans up to you, cupping your cheek as he kisses you, the most delicate and loving kiss you two have ever shared. You both pull from the kiss, exercising restraint and respect for your pre-established boundaries. A hand resting on his chest, you encourage him to lie back on the pillow once more, which he does. You lean forward, kissing every part of his face that you mentioned, as well as a few spots just because you wanted to. Kissing his lips again, you pull apart just enough to whisper against his lips. 

“I admire everything about you. Every aspect of you is just so lovely… Thank you for being here, with me. I don’t ever want to leave your side.”

He smiles, his fangs poking out this time. His hand moves a strand of hair out of your face as he clears his throat. 

“And thank you for all the kisses.” He says, resuming his usual charm. You try to hide your slight disappointment, but you know he is trying his best and you can’t expect him to always meet you halfway, especially in this time of healing. 

“Always.” You whisper, lying down next to him as he wraps his arms around you, holding you closely. It’s late, and now that you have this feeling lifted off your chest, you find it easier to sleep. Your heart rate begins to slow, your breathing finding its usual pattern, your lover wrapped up tightly with you. 

When you’re on the edge of falling asleep, you feel his head tilting down towards yours, which is resting on his chest. His lips kiss the top of your head, his chin then resting on that same spot. A quiet voice breaks the air, unaware that it still has an audience.

“I love you.”

You freeze, unsure of whether or not you have actually fallen into a dream state, or if you just heard him correctly. In this state of grogginess, your body shifts as you attempt to determine the truth.

“Shit. Did you hear that?”

“Mhm.” You sleepily groan. He lets out a sigh of relief, thinking he’s talking to you in your sleep like he has before. Settling further into the bedroll, making himself more comfortable, he pulls you tighter, finally deciding to rest. 

“I love you too.” You break the silence, your voice more awake this time. His eyes flash open, his red irises laser focused on you. You can feel his heart pounding as you rest on his chest, and you lean over and kiss just above his heart.

“Safe.” Is all you can say before promptly passing out, your warm skin slowly heating up his own. He sits there for another moment, taking in the events of today. It was a lot, to say the least, but he felt comfortable and confident in his decisions, and that was almost truly a first for him. His hand finds its way back into your hair, stroking it as he begins to drift off to sleep, for the first time in a long time feeling comfortable, guarded, protected, safe. 

~

Author’s Note:

He’s extremely OOC, I’m 95% sure lmao but I love making characters total softies, even if we don’t see that side of them in the media they’re from. (I'm still in the very beginning of Act 2 so I'm learning a lot about him through this site too)

I’ve never experienced love, I’m also sure that’s obvious- I’ve always wanted to do something like this with someone though (look at their face and kiss all my favorite spots). While I was writing this, I felt so awkward writing such sappy dialogue, but I realized that moments like these aren’t smooth and rehearsed; feelings get mushy and oftentimes people say dumb and dorky things because they’re just so in love. I hope it gets translated that way at least hahaha

My Spotify is fucked because I listen to specific songs on repeat whenever I write. I have probably about 4-5 hours of “Blue Moon” by Billie Holiday logged on there now because of all the time planning, writing, and thinking about this fic- I got this song from Neil’s Astarion playlist, it’s so sweet and loving :) 

Edit: So many people are saying he’s actually pretty in character so thank you for the validation because I was nervous 😭

[taesnix]

BACK from the void to present to you: Nico, who wears the most absolutely ridiculous socks ever because no one can see them.

Gods, he has so many.

Most of them are thick and warm for maximum comfort, and they go up to just under his knees with the stupidest little things and patterns on them. For summer, he has an equally impressive collection of crew socks that are still thick enough to not get easily worn out, but don't make him sweat buckets trudging under the sun.

Nico knows that he'll forever be a collector at heart but it's not like he wanted to choose socks of all things as his next prized possessions. He didn't wake up one day and decide "man, these things are pretty great, let's go amass an army's worth of SOCKS!" It just happened. He had no control over that. They just feel nice, okay. And perhaps the colour combos and sheer variety of everything makes him happy.

Is it kind of embarrassing? Yeah. Would he cease to exist if anyone found out? Holy shit, maybe. But it's not like anyone has been able to tell underneath his daily go-to of heavy jeans and combat boots, so he's been in the clear so far.

Until he gets distracted for a split second while sparring with Percy and riptide cuts a huge slash across his leg.

Nico's fast, so he's able to jump back just enough so that the sword barely catches any flesh, but his jeans unfortunately don't come out unscathed.

"Keep your head in the game, Neeks!" Percy teases with a grin. He's got an annoying glint in his eye to match and Nico just knows he's about to say something worse. "No matter who walks in."

And—shit. Nico feels his face flush scarlet despite him screaming internally at his body to not react. He pointedly does not look at the new blob of neon scrubs sitting next to Kayla in the stands. "Shut up, Jackson. Like you're any better when Annabeth so much as blinks at you."

Percy shrugs. "Hey man, at least I acknowledge it."

And—fine, he does. Nico will give him that. Jackson was peak levels of embarrassing about his girlfriend on a good day.

"I think you should go get that patched up," Percy smirks. He then makes a big show of squinting at the stands, pulling a similar face that Jason makes trying to read highway signs without his glasses. Basically, he looks really fucking stupid. "Impeccable timing, too! Whaddya know? There seems to be a free medic right there."

One day, Nico will kill him. It'll fix almost all of his problems, and gods know he'll always have too many at any given point in time. But he'll do it. Maybe Annabeth will even take pity and give him a pass.

Before Nico can even open his mouth and retort with something snarky, Percy raises his hands and hollers. "Hey, Will! The King here is in need of some dire medical attention!"

"No, I'm not!" Nico shouts when Will's eyes grow wider. "Nothing happened, I'm fine."

Percy snorts and claps him on the shoulder. "As if that's worked before. Good luck, little man. Same time tomorrow?"

And he doesn't wait for a response, just gives a one-handed salute and begins to make his way to the stands. Percy says something to Will as they pass by each other and Will's brows furrow.

One day.

"What happened?" Will asks as he jogs over. His blond curls rise and fall with every step and if you zeroed in on only them, the loose coils look like they're in zero gravity. Bouncing with an impossible grace as they get closer and closer.

Not that Nico was looking. Or that he'd even noticed at all. Man, is it getting hotter here? He should definitely drink some water soon.

"Nico?" Will waves a slow hand in front of his face. "You alright? Percy said his sword mostly caught your jeans, but you never know."

"Huh?" Nico chokes. Right, this is the dire medical attention part.

Will gives him a wobbly smile, like he's trying not to laugh but failing miserably. "Okaaay then. Can I check your leg?"

"Um, sure."

He's still so out of it that he doesn't hear his subconscious screaming at him why Will kneeling down to lift the denim is a terrible, horrible idea.

Nico feels the lithe fingers carefully cut down the fabric with scissors that have seemingly appeared from nowhere. He feels them gently peel back his jeans with a confident precision, minimizing the disturbance to the wound. He hears the faintest of gasps and he feels the other boy go completely still.

He tilts his head down to see what the issue is—surely Percy hadn't slashed him that bad—and then, like a statue, he freezes in place too.

In the most obnoxious shade of yellow possible, rows of mischievous rubber ducks beam back at both of them. He says mischievous because they've got annoying smirks and eyebrows strong enough to rival the Stoll brothers on the first of April. Which is quite a concerning amount. The smallest flecks of red from his cut take the whole "sinister menaces" thing to an unholy level.

Neither of them breathe for the next 30 seconds. Or maybe it's 30 years. Hell, if Nico knows now, his damn heart stopped working properly ages ago.

Then, either his saving grace or the final nail in his coffin, Will sucks in another shaky mouthful of air and clears his throat.

"You know," he starts, scarily neutral. Not a single waver in his voice. "I'm beginning to think Kayla's got a point."

Kayla talks a lot, running through an average 5 conversation topics in a record of 7 minutes with Nico himself, so that narrows it down by exactly nothing. "Uh, about what?"

Will doesn't reply, simply carrying on with cleaning and dressing his injury like he hadn't said anything. It drives Nico crazy, but he knows Will's priorities, so he holds his tongue. Will had drilled them into Nico's brain during his first infirmary stay; treat first, talk second.

So he waits. He lets Will dab the tiniest bit of nectar across the cut and wipe away blood. After a minute or two, his leg is wrapped neatly with a bandage, and suddenly, there's no more treating to be done.

"We're matching," Will finally says.

Nico blinks. Because—what.

"I mean, it's a slightly different shade, but eh, close enough to count."

Nico breaks out of his stupor when Will traces one of the ducks with his nail. Soft but accurate, light but impossible to ignore, like everything else he does.

"Yellow?" Nico whispers. He can't seem to muster up his voice to be louder than that.

Will looks up at him with a particular glint in his eye, and Nico's heart stops a second time.

"Mhm," he grins, dusting his knees as he stands up. He winks and it has no right to kickstart the thumping in Nico's chest. "Same wavelength."

"You're ridiculous," Nico lightly shoves at Will's shoulder and prays that his face isn't burning red.

Will just laughs and catches his hand, holding it in place. "Sure, but I'm also right."

"Are not."

"Are too."

"Are n—"

"Okay," Will interrupts, "I hate to break it to you, Neeks, but we're both wearing obnoxious shades of yellow. You've got the added bonus of sly rubber duckies, and my scrubs glow in the dark. Ergo, we're both ridiculous and both on the same wavelength."

Gods, who the hell says, "ergo". Why is Nico so enamoured with such an idiot.

"And how, exactly, does Kayla have a point here?" Nico sighs, ignoring that his hand is still on Will's shoulder and that Will is still holding it there. He'll take his silent wins as they come.

Now, Will's cheeks become a rosy red. It makes Nico want to trace a finger around his freckles to check if his skin has become warmer, too.

"Well..." He trails off. He glances down to Nico's leg again, where some of the damn ducks are peeking out behind his jeans.

With a grounding deep breath, Will shuts his eyes for a moment. When they open, he meets Nico's gaze head on, calm yet confident once more.

He's beautiful like this, like he always is.

Against his own will, Nico smiles. Will shines underneath the sun and his stupid blond curls are golden.

"She said we're soulmates. And I think she's right about that."

And Nico thinks she's right about that, too.

[invinciblerodent]

hang on, this was a very out of pocket thought I had in like, tags on a thing, but fuck, it's actually very sweet to think about the PC early on in their relationship picking and pressing flowers for Karlach

like as a "I saw this and thought of you, but I couldn't give it to you then, so I saved it for when you can enjoy it too"? adorable.

I'm kind of really into this idea of Mara keeping a journal in her attempts to recover her memories, and also pressing flowers between the pages. I'd have to work out the specifics of how their relationship is going to work out once I get there in act 3 (I tried not to spoil myself, but something tells me a romanced Karlach is gonna be pretty upset about Gortash greeting her lover so warmly so maybe an apology gift will be needed), but the idea of the two of them going through a book-bouquet together, almost as kind of a "the person he knew is not who I am anymore, this is who I am, this is the me who loves you" thing is really sweet

like.

"this one is from near where we first met- look, this leaf is even singed where your heat had touched it, like it touched me."

"this one is from just outside camp, and I picked it the night I told you I liked you, because I was just so happy."

"this is from near Rosymorn, when I looked at you just enjoying the breeze, and thought that you looked particularly beautiful."

"this is the prettiest flower I could find near Reithwin, and it may be a pathetic, wretched little thing, but it still grew stubbornly where it wasn't supposed to, and it reminded me of how your love took root in my heart."

"this one is my favorite color, and I wasn't sure why I thought that until I realized it's the same color as your eyes."

and so on and so on.

i'm about to chew gravel istg

[larsnicklas]

2023-24 NHL SEASON SNAPSHOT MOMENTS ↪ TAMPA BAY LIGHTNING VS. DALLAS STARS

Tampa Bay's VICTOR HEDMAN is honored in a heartfelt ceremony prior to his 1000th game in the NHL. He becomes the first Lightning defenseman and only the third player overall to play 1000 games for the club. Tampa Bay would go on to win the game 4-0 in a dominant performance in front of a raucous home crowd. HEDMAN logged over 23 minutes of ice time in the victory and was +1 to end the night as his team snapped a four-game losing streak.

[dameronswife]

Happy Birthday to Poe!!! I wanna know, how do he and Volya celebrate his special day, if they do? Any traditions or fond memories? :) —CCFM

AAA, thank you Rina!!!!! And oh this is SUCH a great question. It's been awhile since I've talked about my loves, and I can't think of a better reason than Poe's birthday 🥺

Volya doesn't know when she was born, that information was lost when she was kidnapped by pirates as a child before being rescued by the Jedi. As such, she's a little bit out of her depth in terms of understanding birthdays to begin with — and it certainly doesn't help that Poe. usually forgets his birthday ("I'm busy, I don't always have time to look at the calendar," he'll joke.)

but the first time Poe's birthday rolls around when they're together, they happen to be on Yavin for a vacation. Poe's thrilled to show Volya his family home, and Volya's pretty quickly enchanted by it. She's also determined to make his birthday the best birthday he's ever had.

She sneaks out of bed first thing in the morning, borrowing some of poe's clothes and gets to baking. Normally, it's stress relief, but this time it's to make Poe smile. She makes koya flavored cobbler for later in the day, and koya muffins for breakfast.

(Also eggs. And that's kind of where she draws the line because cooking freaks her out a teeny bit.)

So she surprises Poe with breakfast and caf in bed. And after they're done eating, they prob spend a little extra time in bed snuggling and kissing before they head out to the market or something.

But being in the Resistance means that not every birthday is going to be spent at Poe's family ranch.

Supplies are usually fairly tight, and there's ordinarily nary a koya fruit in sight. But Volya tries to bake Poe something, every year. Poe gets used to waking up to an empty bed on his birthday, or just in time for Volya to reappear in their quarters with a tired but genuine smile on her face with a plate of breakfast for him.

It gets more elaborate after the war ends and Volya has more time to really hone her baking skills.

As for fond memories around his birthday — they've got a couple. Their first time was around his birthday, and Poe stills holds the memory close because it was on Yavin; it might be his birthday, but he loves that he's able to give Volya a home, small as it is. That same year, the morning of his birthday, Poe gets an encoded message from Beaumont. When he and Volya decode it, it's declassified files Beaumont discovered from the Rebellion — including a small clip of Shara and Kes during the war. For the first time in years, Poe gets to hear his parents' laughter fill the walls of his home again.

but one of Poe's fondest memories isn't even on Yavin. It's on Ajan Kloss, smack dab during the war. Supplies were so tight, that Volya's tradition of baking him something doesn't go real well. But they wind up sneaking off after sunset, to one of the rivers in the jungle, and lay by the shore watching the stars together, talking about everything and nothing, and making plans for the future together. They're both a little tipsy, too, but Poe thinks that the way Volya beams at him with lavender cheeks when he suggests she comes home with him after the war, is the best gift she could've given him.

At least until she knocks shoulders with him, kisses his cheek, and tells him in that tone of voice that he should already know this, "I'm already home with you.”

[queerplatonicdiaries]

just got to call my squish for like 3 hours, life is wonderful I am thriving the birds are singing problems aren't so heavy etc etc :)))

[amiharana]

For the kiss prompt.. can't have revalink without ❦

(ask game from here)

you're so true about this anon what is revalink if not snow kisses persevering or however the quote goes (more under the keep reading)

Revali doesn't think he'll ever tire of looking at Link.

They're atop the Biron Snowshelf, having just permanently finished off the Guardian Stalker buried there, and after they had collected the parts of its destroyed corpse, it began to snow lightly. Not enough to warrant any concern from Revali, but enough for Link's eyes to widen at the event, looking around in quiet, yet delighted surprise. He holds out a hand palm up to the sky and when he catches a few snowflakes, he cups them in his hands and stares in wonder, eyes sparkling.

Beautiful, Revali thinks to himself, utterly besotted in an instant. You look beautiful when you're happiest, my love.

"Have you never seen snow fall before?" the Rito says aloud instead, rather softly. Link looks back at him grinning wide, his eyes bright with glee. Even in the merciless chill of the Hebra Mountains, Revali melts under Link's smile.

"Well, I mean I have," the blond says, rolling his eyes. "But it never gets old. It's incredible." He glances back at his hands and brightens when he finds more snowflakes have fallen in, and starts waddling towards Revali.

"Look how pretty," Link whispers, showing his cupped hands to Revali, who instinctively reaches a hand out to hold his mate's waist. Within Link's hands lies a group of small, but intricately patterned flakes. They were quite pretty, but—

"You're far prettier," Revali murmurs back, and Link snorts at him.

"You're such a sap," the blond says, but he's grinning. He's got snow in his hair now.

"I have no choice, you make it too easy which how much you endear me." Revali takes his other hand to tilt Link's chin up and presses their foreheads together. Gently, he nuzzles his mate's nose and lips with his beak, to which Link sighs in response and wraps his arms around Revali's midsection, returning the gesture.

"You dropped the snowflakes," Revali remarks softly.

Link hums. "I can always catch more. A moment like this with you is much more valuable." He brings his hands up to cup Revali's face and presses a soft kiss to the middle of his beak, the Rito's eyes shutting.

"If you desired so, I'd give you all the snowflakes this land could offer," Revali says under his breath. He's far too infatuated with the blond to be making such impossible offers, but he supposes that he would die trying to give his mate everything he'd ever want.

Link only giggles in response. "That won't be necessary," he says. "I already have you." When Revali pulls away to look down him, the blond's cheeks and nose are flushed pink, but his bright grin keeps the cold at bay, his eyes sparkling with mischief and fondness.

Yes, Revali won't ever tire of looking at Link, his most precious jewel. How could he ever?

[astralmarionette]

im currently writing an atsugawa (I hate the name shin soukoku or whatever I'm sorry but I'm actually not. also I cannot pronounce soukoku {this is the real reason I don't use soukoku}) and I don't even ship it lmaoo

[seelestia]

✧ i'll show you (if you'll let me).

⎯ there is a certain touch of beauty to witnessing a side of theirs revealed to you so naturally. it becomes as easy as breathing if you just let it happen... so, will you? ( or in other words, a way you enable them to be themselves. )

#STARRING. aventurine, dr. ratio, sunday, dan heng ft. gn!reader. { 4.2k words }

#TAGS. fluff, established relationship. more: minor spoilers for aven's backstory (described mostly abstractly), ratio is referred to by his first name, i called sunday a nerd (sorry), dr. ratio & dan heng are certified workaholics.

#P/S. i think i may have yapped a little considering the word count but i hope it ends up being a good kind of yapping. tysm for reading! ♡

© seelestia on tumblr, may 2024. please do not repost, plagiarize, translate, use for AI-related purposes or claim as your own.

★ 〜 masterlist.

will you let aventurine hold you close when he sleeps? . . . whether it's an arm slung over your hips or his nose buried in your shoulder or fingers tracing shapes onto your skin. he doesn't ask for too much; only that you grant him the permission to cradle you in his arms, somewhere within his reach. it's a habit, he hopes you don't mind.

you have to wonder, though. considering the plenitude of pillows on the bed, why do his hands still seek you out? with all the credits he spent on those cotton-stuffed angels, you thought aventurine would relish them a bit more. but ah-ah, see? that is where you're wrong. sure, the pillows are extremely comfy but he always has a preference for things with much, much more value.

and the truth — well, his truth — is that even the softest cushions from oti mall couldn't compare to the privilege of laying his head on your chest, he'd say. especially when you brush his hair with your fingers - oh, one of the easiest ways to paradise. truly, the best value there is! can you blame a man for being honest and a little lovesick?

(“sappy,” you accuse. he pouts, offended.)

but aventurine has a flair for theatrics, you know that. his witty quips are as feather-light in weight as light-hearted they are in intent. but his touch - in the forms of kind caresses or rhythmic taps to a tune from his forgotten culture - lingers on your skin, with a yearning so heavy. you question whether it could be nostalgia or instead, silent awe at a reality he never imagined could ever be his.

(kakavasha remembers. clinging onto you for warmth like he once did to his sister, falling asleep with her prayers to mama fenge in his ears. the avgins believed gaiathra triclops to be the symbol of humility; so naturally, their prayers to her should also be humble, not too quiet but not too loud. all in moderation. for a frail child like him, those gentle prayers alone were enough to let him drift into a dreamless slumber and to ignore the shackles of reality if not for the briefest moments.

time passed. came a time where the melody he associated with slumber was no longer a soft voice lulling him but pure static, a noise to distract his mind from the chains around his wrists. they burned themselves onto his skin, searing, but he was already too familiar with the sensation to care. the mark on his neck was unwelcome, laughing at him, but he too laughed at his own pitiful reflection so what's the difference, anyway?

time passed again, the call of slumber then turned into clattering noises of chips doused in gold and dice thrown onto a surface. he thought it'd stay that way forever but before long, it morphed into up-and-down waves he couldn't decipher initially. they're gentle, faint like a human's breathing: your breathing as you allowed him to lie beside you for the first time, he realized back then. although he deems himself unworthy, an ugly grime on your pristine existence that still insists on cradling him — but despite it all, he finds this last melody to be his favorite so far.)

✧ a moment among the stars:

ticklish.

the sensation, minor yet still impactful enough, causes you to stir out of sleep. the light of noon greets your eyes and you become vaguely cognizant that the root of it all is the tufts of blond hair brushing against your neck.

there is a solid weight on your torso and a pair of slender arms loosely wrapped around your waist - but they're nothing you haven't grown used to. you comb your fingers through the messy locks licking at your skin, instinctively, and the fragrant scent of what you register as penacony's limited edition perfume kisses your nose.

“...ugh, what system time is it?” you let out a grunt, shifting around slightly to let your limbs breathe. you don't get an answer to your question, instead, aventurine's arms reestablish their hold on you. hooking you closer to him as if to wring out whatever proximity is left, if there is even any. his simple proclamation of “who cares?”, in a sense.

there it is again, that ticklish feeling. you feel soft lips grazing feather-like kisses against your collarbone. oh, he definitely isn't letting go just yet. truly merciless, a dozy morning thought accompanied by your tired sigh. the noise still comes out fond, however, so your feigned act of annoyance is fooling no one.

“it's warm, you know,” you grumble. but the yawn escaping your mouth right after betrays whatever stern image you're trying to adopt. not like you can ever be too stern with him. aventurine knows this, yes, and he gives you an A+ for effort each time.

“mhm,” he finally speaks, snuggling into your chest with no care about anything in the world, “g'morning to you too, lovely.”

his favorite mornings aren't his favorite if not thanks to your innocuous complaints and delightful attempts at pushing his pretty face away, no? a lazy grin graces the stoneheart's lips and eyes like exquisite gems, although sleepy, flutter open to gaze at you languidly. he takes the sight of you in then lets out a sigh - a fond noise just like yours earlier; the both of you really are two peas of a pod.

you must look a terrible mess right now and yet, the sight of you has aventurine smiling dazedly. “ah, what a spectacular sight. i really am the luckiest man in the galaxy,” he hums in approval. you want to roll your eyes but stops as he leans up to pepper (ah, one necessary correction: smother) kisses all over your face, arms dragging you closer to his chest like a cage. your eyes widen comically. what a nefarious trap, he has the advantage!

every remnant of sleepiness clinging to your mind evaporates. you squeal with laughter, shoving at his shoulder using the strength of a baby deer because no, you don't really want him to stop. he knows that too, of course.

“mwah, mwah, mwah—”

“pfft...! kakavasha, i can't breathe!”

(he has half a mind to pinch his skin, as if to remind himself that this is real. he can feel your giggles tickling his skin as if to tell him in return: yes, you are.)

will you let veritas pour his heart out after a long day? . . . well, that could count as too much of an overstatement. others say, “that man is like a brick wall!” some more dare to whisper, “doesn't his temper already exhaust whatever emotional quota he has?!” needless to say, everyone knows that dr. ratio is a man ruled by the mind, not by the heart. alright, that's quite true - but does that imply he has discarded the latter altogether? if so, then you beg to differ.

(not in the literal sense, of course! the heart is a vital organ of the body. saying otherwise would be akin to spitting on his shiny phd in biology... or his seven other phd's at that.)

the pedestal which the public places veritas ratio on reaches still great heights, even if it may not rival an ivory tower a member of the genius society resides in. it is so high up that mundane troubles of those below can't reach a genius like him, surely? well, as tall as he stands - somehow, the universe grants you a front row seat for a particular sight that proves otherwise.

if only they knew the doctor has a habit of mumbling these incomprehensible (more like barely intelligible) grumbles under his breath, striking a resemblance similar to a grumpy old cat. if you strain your ears hard enough, you might catch a “...this has to be it...” or “...i dare not think so...” from time to time as he roams around the room with materials in his hands.

(absurd, people would say. but you think it's extremely cute.)

veritas doesn't say it out loud - but you can tell by the hunch in his stiff shoulders, by the one or two sighs he huffs every six minutes - that he is itching to tell somebody of all the tomfooleries he has encountered today. of course, the topics he laments about vary; it's only when you hear him exhaling the loudest sigh that you get to find out.

mostly though, it's about his students and remarks on how they can further improve their performance — sure, he could phrase it a little gentler — but you still find it sweet that he cares. if not that, then it'd be about indolent colleagues, complicated formulae and more. on some days, he'll even let out an exasperated “truly mind-boggling! could you believe that?” to which you'd reply with an “uh-huh, go on.”

at the end of a ranting session, veritas takes careful note to leave a kiss on your person afterward. no matter where it is - on the lips, the cheek or your hand. no matter where you are - sitting on the couch beside him, behind the kitchen counter or across the room. the warmth that stays on your skin when he pulls away is somewhat tingly. appreciative, you think, especially when he looks at you with such loving eyes that his colleagues would be sure to retch in shock if they were a witness.

looks like you are right on the money; he has never discarded his heart, after all. so yes, to rephrase - will you lend veritas a listening ear when he needs it?

✧ a moment among the stars:

“...yet another headache.”

as unsubtle as ever, the doctor's complaint is barely hidden behind the guise of a mumble. those neatly styled violet bangs of his aren't doing an excellent job at concealing that frown strewn across his forehead either. veritas's posture is tense, a dead giveaway, as he goes over the piles of documents on his desk.

you cock an eyebrow upon seeing the stamp belonging to the intelligentsia guild on one of the papers. definitely work. it has been two system hours since he took a seat at the work desk, you concur, or lifted a finger to do something besides flipping through drafts. a mere glance at the stack of documents is enough to convince you that those researchers at the guild must really value veritas's input.

a perk of being a genius, maybe? the phantom of a weight lands alight on your shoulders. with a mug of black coffee in hand, you make your way to him. your footsteps are without a sound, only the noise of porcelain being placed down onto woodenware is enough to announce your arrival. “rough day at work?” you ask, peering down at his progress.

(a doctor's handwriting really is something. you resist the urge to squint.)

veritas doesn't seem to mind. if the way he smiles at the sight of you, albeit tiredly, is any indication. “hah,” he rests a hand on his temple and scoffs wryly, “so much grievances like you wouldn't believe.”

oh, he is teetering on the precipice of a tangent but stops himself. “...fret not, i'm fine. this is hardly something beyond my expertise,” he shakes his head, the motion causing his reading glasses to slide down a smidgen down the bridge of his nose.

you're too familiar with the self-assured bravado he puts on. you're quite endeared, actually. “okay, mr. i-require-no-rest,” you take the glasses off his face and he breaks into a frown. at the childish tone you're using or for having his reading glasses taken away, you don't know.

“why don't you take a little break?” you suggest. veritas sighs, “need i remind you that dilly-dallying is for fools who wish to waste their time?” and crosses his arms defiantly. he knows your strategy, he has come face-to-face with it several times.

“do you think a break with me is a waste of time?” you present him with a rhetorical question, quite the difficult adversary.

(and he keeps losing to it every single time.)

“well, that's—” the doctor nearly splutters, taken aback. “that's different if you insist on inserting yourself as a variable,” he infers, putting emphasis on the last part accompanied by an incredulous look.

“the answer is up for debate then,” you shrug with a cheeky smile. your hand then deftly lifts the mug you previously set down to your lips, veritas's eyes dilate in bewilderment. “so,” you hum at the rich taste of your handiwork, “wanna tell me about your day? haven't heard about the council in a while.”

“you—” he gasps in defeat, “i thought that was supposed to be my mug of coffee.”

(he has a slight pout on his face, but you dare not point it out lest it disappears in the blink of an eye.)

“our mug of coffee,” you take a few more sips with an innocent decadence. “all is fair in love and war, doctor.”

“i can never win with you,” he buries his face in his palm with a groan. you laugh heartily, a sound that chimes like quaint little bells in his ears - it elicits a reaction from his lips, for them to quirk up at the corners in the smallest of ways.

“regardless. . .” veritas relents and reaches for your free hand. you let him. “it seems a break wouldn't be so amiss, after all,” he then presses a kiss on the side of your wrist, affectionate.

(your heart skips a beat.)

will you let sunday regale you with facts you've never heard of before? . . . a man of eloquent words, no less a man of educated mind. you have no doubt that the books in the dewlight pavilion really aren't just there for show - not that you're allowed to browse through them at your own desire. a servant's voice would stop you in your tracks should your fingers ever brush against something in the family's secret bookshelf.

how mysterious.

but sunday makes it known to the staff that you, in particular, are allowed more access to the shelves - perhaps, not too much - but more than even mr. mccoy, at least. with the way you have to crane your neck far up to pinpoint the tallest height that the shelves reach, you wonder: has sunday gone through everything here personally?

your immediate answer is most likely. you know sunday fairly well; to have something that he hasn't scrutinized from the inside out in his possession will surely gnaw away at his psyche incessantly. not being in the know at all times is a looming fear for him. but of course, you have other ways to confirm the answer for yourself.

pick out a book from a shelf there, either intentional or purely arbitrary, and watch as sunday carefully traces his steps towards you. his curiosity is piqued, which topic has caught your interest this time? but he tucks it under proper cordiality. with a hand behind his back, he'd utter your name in the softest tone and ask the familiar question of “would you like to know more?” — asking for your permission to ramble, essentially — you find this tendency of his to be charming, so you nod each time.

(and he smiles when you do. a smile less refined at the edges, kinder and relaxed.)

the best place to start from is always the beginning. you think sunday agrees because he often starts by telling you the history and its origins before moving on to its impact on the galaxy, then his personal stance on the topic. it's a pattern, you notice, his ramblings have a pattern. and it's consistent every time, you might've believed he was reading off a script. and what's more? sunday is blissfully oblivious of it.

fascinating. you ponder: what kind of things you can do with this information? decisions, decisions, decisions. . . but ultimately, you opt for keeping it a secret like a treasure only you're allowed to see.

(that might be true in a way. you don't doubt that robin, his dear sister, is familiar with this side of him. does that mean he treasures you like he does her? your chest starts to feel a bit lighter.)

if you were to point it out, you fear you might never witness it again - goodness, to know that he has been displaying such foolishness or rather, what he viewed as an embarrassing freudian slip in front of you? his wings might as well resort to covering his face for good until the end of time.

as you listen to him talk (with such elegance at that), you can't help whatever tender look you have on your face. really, who would've thought the head of the oak family could be such. . . a nerd?

(you hope in secret that sunday will be more willing to show sides like these to you in the future. and that they're not a weakness at all, not when they're shared with you.)

✧ a moment among the stars:

“it looks like you're fascinated by the dreamscape nursery rhyme this time.”

sunday spares the article in your hold no further inspection. one glance at the cover and walls of memorized information rush to the front of his mind. he looks familiar with it; could it be a part of his childhood too? but then again, everything found here is within his knowledge.

“i am,” you say with intrigue, “it got me ruminating for a while.”

you meet his gaze, stumbling upon yellow irises that glimmer akin to gold under penaconian chandeliers. you think you see a hint of affection in them, swimming around your reflection like a school of fish in a pond. it makes you smile.

he smiles back, oblivious to your thoughts but returns your gesture. he asks, “how so?” and you reply without delay, “i read through it and the morbid undertone took me by surpri—”

or at least, it's supposed to be without delay until you realize sunday has stepped closer in order to peer down at the page you're holding open. and suddenly, you're extremely aware of every minute detail like how his breath brushes against the side of your cheek and how his chest rumbles as he hums in acknowledgement.

(you flush in the neck and he perceives this reaction of yours with mirth.)

“my apologies,” sunday chuckles and pulls away, “i've simply forgotten the rhyme and wished to refresh my memory.”

“somehow, i feel that isn't the case...” you mumble accusingly. that seems to amplify whatever little amusement he gets from flustering you. “oh, my dove. i can assure you that it is,” he caresses your head, a little placatingly.

most times, sunday isn't so laidback about giving affection in public — since he has an image to maintain — so you assume the fact that the servants are out and about, leaving only you and him here, plays a role in his unusual boldness. you accept the gesture with a bashful pout.

“now, where were we?” sunday clears his throat, “ah, yes. some people have noted on the nursery rhyme's strange quality but still, it retains its popularity in penacony. it is also widely assumed that the hound resembles the bloodhound family while—”

you hold back an amused sigh, but it's more out of fondness than anything. he'll start from the history then the effect on the general public, as per usual, but you're not the only predictable one here. you'd listen to him anytime too, won't you?

(you do adore when the head of the oak family would put off his public figure mask around you. if only for just a while.)

will you let dan heng rest his head on your lap when it's just you two? . . . the sense of comfort it provides isn't something he can explain with words. as if he has ever been good with words in the first place. saying a sentence bereft of logical reasoning or witty remarks doesn't come easily to the express’ guard. neither does intimacy. . . but you know that already, don't you?

after all, it isn't a secret that dan heng prefers speaking with his actions. if to show one's intentions is the end goal, then actions are the fastest route to choose. words, although able to sweeten the trip like how a beautiful scenery can, will eventually lead to actions regardless so why take the extra step?

but you're different from him; you articulate what you think and what you mean. you're honest in ways that keep catching dan heng off guard without fail — just like the first time you offered your empty lap to him when his head was swirling in pain — but he supposes that is one of your charms. “words can be useful. we're not all born mind readers,” you told him once and he hummed, accepting of your perspective.

(“look at you two! opposites attract!” march chirped. he recalled shooting her a look of indignation and she rubbed the back of her head sheepishly in response.)

dan heng has learnt to grow used to your propensities - but by far, your shameless invitations are still one matter that can't be comprehended even with time. he cannot understand; how you smile as you sit on his futon in the archives (he doesn't mind), how you link gazes with him so effortlessly, how you pat your lap knowingly and say, “why don't you rest your head here?”

(he has to restrain himself from bursting into flames like a heliobus.)

sometimes, he'll accept reluctantly or he'll decline with an underlying tone of longing he doesn't want you to notice. because as much of a good hold dan heng has on nonchalance, he cannot deny that this particular gesture of yours has left a mark on him.

(it remains persistently.)

when he rests his head on your lap, he can't help but take a deep inhale - your fragrance fills his senses and he discards the selfish desire to keep it all to himself. your fingers are soothing as they thread through his hair gently. the feeling that washes over him is serene, almost comparable to submerging himself in the pure waters of scalegorge waterscape.

when overcome by such a tranquil state of mind, dan heng wonders what expression he might be making at that moment? he always keeps his eyes closed, so it's a shame he may never know. but you do, and you don't think you've ever seen him look so at peace before like he does now.

(perhaps, that's why you keep offering him this in the first place.)

✧ a moment among the stars:

“someone looks tired,” you state with a pointed stare. the archives isn't a room too spacious and the only ones here are you and him. the target of your sentence is obvious.

but dan heng doesn't take the bait, barely looks away from the entry he is currently authoring. still, he spares you a glance and hums glibly, “are you projecting? if so, feel free to use my bed in the meantime.”

you let out a noise, something gibberish that conveys disappointment but it is effectively drowned out by the typing noises. “you haven't even touched the food i bought you,” your voice becomes mellow, “why don't you rest for a while?”

he isn't convinced, you think, since his fingers are still hard at work. the new info the team brought back must've been a lot if he's that focused.

“dan heng?” you try again, hopeful for the last time. you don't take him for a fool, of course, he'll know when he reaches his limit and have proper rest then. but would that really be ideal? a second passes and that hope flickers like a dimming light. but just an inch before the edge of giving up, the typing slows to a stop.

“. . .alright,” he murmurs. finally, after a good hour spent drawing patterns on his backside with your eyes, dan heng turns around to face you. he look tense, you note with abject concern.

“here,” you usher him to your lap, empty and conveniently so. dan heng shoots you a blank look - this isn't the first time you offered and this isn't the first time he reacted like that. you try to suppress a laugh, failing gloriously at it. “just for a little bit,” you utter through a stifled fit of chuckles.

dan heng shakes his head, not in rejection but in defeat. his eyes slip close, second nature, as he leans to situate his head on your lap. you welcome him with a hum and let your fingers card through his hair. a calm sigh falls from his lips like a water droplet in springtime.

“this. . . is nice,” he admits, sudden and unprompted. you nearly doubt your ears for a moment there. did he— “i don't hate it is, uhm, what i mean to say,” dan heng adds and it dawns on you that your ears are still working. his eyes are still closed, not that you'd expect anything else, he prefers to treat it as a shield from being face-to-face with embarrassment.

(or to avoid your ecstatic gaze. he can feel warmth rushing to his cheeks already.)

“i know,” you smile, brushing away a few messy strands from his forehead. he isn't an open book but you think you've read the pages enough to remember all the little details. “but thanks for telling me. i'm no mind reader but i think i can read yours pretty well.”

“i shall provide no further comment,” he holds back an incredulous exhale, yet his lips still curl slightly at the corner. you feel the teeniest desire to trace the curve of his lips with your fingertip but settle for silently admiring them instead.

“it's fine. i know the answer already,” you say, words dripping with affection. such a shame dan heng never looks up at you during a time like this. because if he did, he wouldn't have missed seeing the sheer fondness in your gaze that rains down on him in light showers. a true shame.

(one day, he'll gather the courage. maybe.)

— thank you for reading! reblogs with comments are most appreciated. ♡

[queenpiranhadon]

So, it's basically canon that Pro Heroes come to assist heroes in training at UA, right?

Just imagine the horror the new generation of heroes would face when they realize that their opponent for training that day is none other than the Number Two Pro Hero, Dynamight.

It's a hero team vs villain simulation - a joint practice between both hero course classes - Katsuki basically has free range to destroy the mock city UA had built and the students had to prevent him from doing so, which was really just a waste of money because of the Pro Hero's already destructive tendencies.

He already had to regulate himself for Pro Hero work, so this was really just waving the reg flag in front of the bull.

Needless to say, they all got their asses kicked, all 40 of them. Whether it was due to falling debris or evading explosions, all of them were forced to wave their white flags eventually.

The students weren't so much in shock, they were in awe, of how a Pro Hero could be so powerful and intimidating, and well...badass.

Their main takeaway? Katsuki Bakugou was an impenetrable force to be reckoned with.

Or... at least for a few minutes.

You can imagine the shock on their faces when the grim and serious expression on Dynamight's face melts instantly when he hears a voice speak up behind him.

"Katsuki, if you keep frowning all the time, you're going to get wrinkles."

He turns around, a rare smile stretching across his face as he stares at you, his wife, like you're the only person in the world at that moment, like you're the only one that matters.

"Tch. I don't get wrinkle lines, woman. Yer just seein' things."Despite his slight harsh words, they're softer, somehow, and the happy twinkle in his eyes is unmistakable.

The students gape at each other. The Dynamight, Katsuki Bakugou , in love? The same pro hero that was wreaking havoc and creating carnage in his wake was the same one now staring at his wife with a dopey grin and peppering kisses across your face.

"Katsuki!" You whine, but it looses its credibility as you start to laugh at his antics. "What's gotten into you, huh?" you ask, a little softer, so that only he could hear.

He looks at you, a soft look in his eyes as he kisses you gently and lovingly pulling away to admire your pretty face.

"M'just feeling sentimental I guess... We were probably their age when we started dating huh?" He says, referring to the students.

You snort, recalling the time when Katsuki first asked you out. "Aww...is my baby feeling sentimental? You were a dork back then."

Katsuki looks offended and his grumbles, nipping your jawline in annoyance."Oi. I was not a dork back then. If anything, Izuku was the dork."

You smile teasingly, kissing his nose, effectively shutting your explosive husband up.

"Is that so? Because I recall you had your All Might posters set up in chronological order of his costume eras."

Katsuki's ears turn red and his large hand wraps around the back of your hand, burying your face in his chest.

"Shaddup woman. Yer the one who fell for this dork in the first place."

You laugh, your voice muffled by his chest, but he can still hear you just fine. Looking up at him you smile.

"You may be a dork, but you're my dork."

The students watch is abosolute shock, mouth gaping open as they wonder how the hell you were able to render Katsuki Bakugou to the sappy man they saw in front of them.

A/N: He's so silly I love him 🥰

[jkgnggj]

Never saw this addition but now that I have I wanna add onto it lmaoo

The psychickers always thought the other group were just... Y'know, joking around. Like just being silly when they said nice things Abt saiki and how kind and quiet he is. They always just played it off for laughs. Until they witness shit and they're like shocked to the core (Akechi pisses himself bc of how shocked he is) like Tori even pulls shun aside like alright chihuahua what did you do to make saiki like you? Did you bribe him? How many coffee jellies?! And shuns like wtf man I didn't do anything saikis just nice like that. But Tori is skeptical. Or saiki will be nice to nendou and Miko will be like uh do I got glitter in my eye or did I see that right? Who are you and what did you do to my kusuo?! And the psychickers are all worried and fretting over saiki like are you ok?! Do you have a fever?! Are you feeling well?!

One time they overhear the others gushing about how kusuo is a good listener and gave them a present they had their eye on for a while etc. and then Toritsuka passes by and is like "damn no fair. For my birthday saiki gave me a black eye and three broken ribs ;-;" and everyone's just dead silent and then they turn around and keep talking completely ignoring the germ. Best thing is nobody believes Tori yk.

Ok but on a serious note although he has a different relationship with both of his friend groups saiki still loves and cherished them in his own way. Like he is worried over his friends safety bc they got the shittiest timing and bad luck and bc they're also dumb and naive as hell so he's gotta babysit them like the mom of the group bc he feels responsible for them bc he's got powers that will help keep them safe yk? And sure he also looks out for the psychickers but not actively. Like he'll keep Miko safe bc of her job and help kechi if he bumps into bullies and uh... Heal Tori when hes on the brink of death (though that's usually because saiki made him see God). But he knows the psychickers are more or less capable of not needing his help bc they are actually competent (despite him calling them incompetent and useless all the time). Well except Tori, he's actually useless and incompetent but he's a danger to society so the world is better of without him teehee. Ok no but srsly saiki can be more upfront and honest with the psychickers bc they know his secret and with this secret comes other parts of his personality that were hidden. He puts up a bit of a front and some distance between him and his friend group bc they don't know Abt his secret and so he feels like they'd stop liking him if he did so ofc he's not gonna mess that up and he mean to them. But with the psychickers they know how dangerous he is (or at least how dangerous he perceived himself to be) and still willingly stick by his side like glue or more accurately like the fucking gun that u accidentally step on and gets stuck to the bottom of your fucking shoe and now u can't even scrape it off goddamn what a nuisance (affectionately). So yeah he lets up a little and maybe tries even harder to push them away by being mean and violent but that only pulls them closer to his heart <3

The main Saiki friendgroup and pk psychics are mostly seperate group right? And Saiki acts deferently with both of them so what happened is someone from the main friendgroup (like Kaidou or sth) witnesses some "weird" Saiki behavior? Like Saiki being more sarcastic and mean or even violent thowards Toritsuka, while hanging out with him. Or he hears Saiki calmly saying "kill yourself" and he's shocked that Saiki, who is so nice and calm could say something like that, even to the germ. Or Teruhashi overhears a conversation between Aiura and Toritsuka that goes like: "Yo wheres Saiki" "oh he's stalking that guy again" "again? Damn he needs to leave that poor guy alone" and she's like "what? Stalking? I never thought Saiki was like that". Or the groups combine and they’re playing "who is the most likely to..." and there’s a question like "whos most likely to tell you to kill yourself/beat someone up" and the psychickers are automaticaly like "Saiki" "Saiki-san" "Kusuo" and everyone else questions if they even know him.

[ink-livi]

Man I love my friends lmao <3

[hopeluna]

Satoru's sure his heart is going to wrench itself away from his chest any moment now.

Today's run to his favourite bakery was supposed to be like any other. He had given his students a rare day off today. The air held a little humidity but was otherwise pleasant. The bakery owner's cat hissed at him and strolled over for pets as usual.

Everything was normal. It was normal up until he caught a glance of you from the corner of his eye.

Satoru almost gags at the sappy feeling bubbling in his stomach like acid. From what he can tell- it's clear that you are tired, maybe you are here on a break from work. But god, the light seeping in from the window seems to be soaking into your skin and making it glow. He can tell from the sluggish movement that you are sleepy, but you still offer a small, appreciative smile to the worker taking your order.

He only snaps his eyes away when the owner's cat, Mochi, starts bumping her head softly on his leg. Satoru takes his package of sweets and baked goods from the elderly owner, wondering about you.

Why has he never seen you here? Maybe you're new here? Because he's sure he would've noticed you before.

"Oh my god! Aren't you the cutest thing?"

Satoru's oh-so-charming smile at whoever called him falls as fast as it had appeared. You are beside him, crouching and petting at a purring Mochi. You. You are beside him.

Shit. Satoru internally cringes at how lightheaded he feels. You look even more beautiful from up close.

A car honks in the distant, as the sound of the bell above the bakery's door jingles with new customers coming in. Satoru's ears feel like they're stuffed with cotton. Everything is muffled. The growing sweat from his hand bleeds into the paper package of his sweets, making it soft. He faintly registers you cooing to Mochi about coming back here again for the sweets and her.

Satoru walks away then, with a giddy smile on his face like a lovesick teenage boy. He'll have to come back here too after returning from his mission in Shibuya.

© hopeluna. Do not copy, translate, modify or repost any of my work in this or any other site. Do not steal or modify my ideas/concepts either.

[maplesyrupsainz]

˖⁺｡˚⋆˙bows before bros | LN4 ˖⁺｡˚⋆˙

pairing: lando norris x actress!reader y/n (she/her)

genre: social media au

warnings: sooo super fluffy!!

summary: in which a trail of bows leads to everyone's new fav grid couple

a/n: feel like i havent written for lando in ages so here we are!!

request!!!: I’d like to request an au for lando where y/n’s an actress who’s getting recognized more and more, she’s really humble and sweet but pretty similar to lando as a goofy and funny girly(idk why but I picture Sabrina carpenter vibes) 🎀 if u could add a little scene of some of the f1 drivers and wags reacting to their relationship/talking to the media how they’ve never seen lando so happy. Just a sappy and goofy couple living life (manifesting✨🕯️)

fc: sabrina carpenter

my masterlist

instagram ->

yourusername

liked by reneerapp, sydney_sweeney, and 301,283 others

yourusername sooo where else can i put bows? 🎀

view all 6,918 comments

user1 omg the bunny is so cute im going to do that

user2 i dont wear bows in a coquette way i wear bows in an y/n y/l/n way

liked by yourusername

user3 i love seeing y/n in her movies so srs then going on her ig & it's jus this

reneerapp put them on your hand soap 🥺

yourusername you make jokes but i really will do that

user4 LOL as u should y/n!!!

user5 oh i love her

sydney_sweeney this is so real of you!!

yourusername i knew you'd get it

sydney_sweeney bows before bros ‼️

yourusername louder 🗣️

landonorris

liked by sydney_sweeney, danielricciardo, and 819,055 others

landonorris you got my heart loud.

view all 11,193 comments

user6 okay simp lando?

user7 HUH????

user8 looking a LOT like a soft launch i cant lie to u

user9 thts what i was thinking.....

user10 the bows...... anyone one else thinking what im thinking?

user11 DONT EVEN SAY IT

user12 VERY y/n y/l/n coded

user13 y/n was here vibes

oscarpiastri simp simp simp

landonorris shutup pastry boy

yourusername posted a story

liked by sydney_sweeney, daisyedgarjones, and 89,541 others

user14 so cute ily y/n

user15 my spidey senses are tingling

user16 is this a hint that ur dating lando norris.

user17 feels very very targeted miss y/n

user18 our bow queen 🙇‍♀️

twitter ->

instagram ->

landonorris posted a story

liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, and 159,701 others

user22 omg y/n y/l/n is ur gf fr

user23 never thought i'd see the day lando norris pulled

user24 THE BOW AND THE MCLAREN HOODIE AHHH

user25 the most y/n thing i've ever seen

danielricciardo she's made you soft

landonorris she definitely hasnt i'll tell you that much

danielricciardo right. not what i meant but great to know thank you so much

yourusername

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, and 661,328 others

yourusername feeling orange 🍊

view all 16,754 comments

user26 oh my god

user27 is this the hard launch

mclaren your best look yet, y/n!

yourusername 🤭 feel very honoured

user28 next we want orange bows

liked by yourusername

sydney_sweeney sports 🤢 but make it girly 🎀

yourusername me with everything

landonorris it's papaya y/n we've been over this

yourusername there isnt a papaya emoji ✨🎀💕🫶🍊

user29 omg they're first public interaction...?

user30 they're in love i called it.

interviews ->

twitter ->

instagram ->

landonorris posted a story

liked by lilymhe, carlossainz55, and 157,814 others

user36 omg lol

user37 THAT'S Y/N'S CAT

user38 lol at ur response to ur friends saying ur obsessed with a girl is to post her cat on ur story with bows on

sydney_sweeney one of us now

landonorris this feels like a cult

user39 the coquettification of lando norris

user40 the y/nification of lando norris

landonorris

liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, and 1,091,727 others

landonorris my response to everyone talking about me recently is you would be the same if you bagged a girl like mine

tagged: yourusername

view all 22,183 comments

user41 A GIRL LIKE MINEEEEE

user42 how did he do it

lilymhe congratulations 🥂

carlossainz55 yippee!!

oscarpiastri we are all beyond proud of you lando

danielricciardo good for you bro

charles_leclerc happy for you

mclaren our fav girl!!

yourusername 🤭🧡

user43 all the celebrations in the comments 💀

user44 they had no faith in him fr

yourusername blushing and giggling at this!!! i love my lil lando!!!!!

landonorris you what?

yourusername i wont be taking questions at this time

landonorris you love me so bad

landonorris i love you so bad

THE END 🧡