#and I feel like it fits right in with the shirts

[cornliastreett]

BED CHEM ⎯⎯ chapter seven

drew starkey x singer!reader

NAVIGATION !

BED CHEM MASTERLIST !

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

001. NOTE

🤭🤭 don’t have anything to say but enjoy

i haven’t proof read this chapter so apologies for any mistakes but i really wanted to get this up today

yourusername posted a photo !

liked by rudeth, zendaya and 1,073,278 others

yourusername went to some industry events

view all 5,073 comments

user let’s hope she sees drew again 🤭

Y/N DIDN'T OFTEN EXPERIENCE DEJA VU, OR EVEN AT ALL. But when she locks eyes with Drew at yet another event, she feels it, causing her to almost irrupt into a fit of giggles. Was the universe trying to tell her something? Was there a reason it kept pulling her and Drew together?

He didn't approach her straight away, as he was in conversation with somebody else but he smiled, almost a smirk, before his eyes averted away. Meaning he didn't see the deep blush take over her face. She felt like she was back in High School. What was this man doing to her? Y/N needed to get it together before somebody caught on to the effect he had on her. Or before he caught on.

Little did she know, Drew was feeling the exact same. How could a girl he'd met no more than three times have such an effect on him? He'd locked eyes with Y/N, then looked away, but he couldn't stop thinking about her. The way her eyes sparkled when she saw him, the sound of her giggling at his pathetic attempts of flirting with her and the way she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Drew Starkey could not get Y/N Y/L/N out of his head, no matter how much he tried. Not that he was trying too hard.

After a few more minutes, Y/N had made her way over to the bar. She had brought Paloma along with her but she was long gone, Y/N assumed she was around somewhere trying to see who the most famous person she could talk to that night was. But Y/N didn't mind, not when she knew Drew was around somewhere.

The glass of her drink had barely reached her lips when a familiar voice spoke from behind her. "Well, well, well, fancy seeing you here." The voice spoke with a hint of amusement, causing her to smile. She placed her glass back on the bar and turned around.

There he was. Blue eyes staring into her own. "Hey, Starkey." Y/N teased, leaning back on the bar behind her. Her eyes quickly detoured down him, trying to covertly check him out but Drew saw, as clear as day.

"Oh, is that how it is? Not even first name basis." His eyebrows raised at Y/N’s words, teasing her. "I'm hurt, Y/L/N." Drew held his hand up to his chest. His chest that was covered in a black button up. Y/N noticed how he'd ditched the jacket, there was no tie, and the first three buttons had been disregarded. Showing off the top of his chest. Was he trying to kill her?

Unbeknown to her, she wasn't the only one focused on what the other one was wearing. Drew felt as though he couldn't breathe. Y/N looked unbelievable and he couldn't stop his eyes from dropping down. Who wore leather to an industry event anyway? But he wasn't going to complain.

Y/N frowned in a teasing way. "Drew isn't even your first name anyway." She pointed out before raising her own eyebrows.

"How do you know that?" Drew laughed, had she been Googling him?

"Maddie told me." Y/N shrugged her shoulders. It wasn't a big deal that her and Maddie were talking about him, right?

"You've been talking about me with Maddie?" Drew's face had unknowingly lit up.

Y/N felt her face heat up again but she tried to brush it off. "Maybe." She reached for her drink to distract Drew from her flushed face. "So, Joseph, are you following me or what?" Y/N then changed the subject, they didn't need to discuss that she was talking about him with Madelyn.

"You wish." Drew laughed, crossing his arms over his chest, trying to act cool. But all Y/N could focus on was how his shirt tightened around his biceps when he did that.

Her eyes went back up to his face, and Drew expected her to laugh but she didn't. "Maybe I do." She wasn't going to lie.

"Oh yeah?" Drew smirked and Y/N's body reacted in a way she had never felt before.

"Yeah." She mirrored his smirk.

And that was it for the rest of the night. The two were glued to each other. Y/N and Drew had migrated over to the very end of the bar together, sitting opposite each other on two bar stools. Y/N hadn't even noticed but every time one of them had stood up, their stools seemed to get closer and closer together. Till their knees were slotted in between one another's. Y/N's left leg was slotted firmly between Drew's, meaning she could not move away. Luckily, she hadn't wanted to.

That had also meant Y/N was in perfect reaching distance of Drew. So he could place his hand directly onto her knee, casually without being too obvious.

The first time he did it, she had noticed. Although she had been wearing leather trousers, his hand felt as though it was burning a hole through them. The next few times he did it, she hadn't noticed as much. Then in the end, he hadn't even moved it away. Drew's hand stayed there till they had left that night.

There was laughing, and giggling from Y/N, flirting and teasing. If anyone was in earshot of the two, it would've been plastered all over the news the next morning. But nobody was really paying attention to either of them. Which was nice. Y/N didn't have to worry about what anybody would say.

The only person who really took notice was Paloma, who had circled back around to find Y/N. But when Paloma saw who Y/N was with, she decided to stay away. She hadn't seen her that happy in a while.

After an hour, or maybe two, of talking, Y/N was maybe tipsy enough to be braver than she usually would. Their last conversation had ended. Drew's hand was still resting on Y/N’s knee but now her hand was with his, fingers running over his own and over his rings. She hesitated before she spoke but meant every word. "Would it be totally inappropriate to ask you if you wanna get out of here?" Y/N said, eyes flickering up to meet his. She smirked, running her fingers around his own and holding them. The tension between the two was becoming too much for them both.

"Absolutely not, let's go." And Y/N had never seen Drew move so fast. Although he didn't let go of her hand, he used the other one to down his drink and he stood up, taking Y/N with him.

She had started to giggle at his eagerness but found it oddly attractive. "Okay, slow down." She said in between laughter leaving her mouth. She brought his hand closer to herself, gaining his attention.

"You want me to slow down?" Drew raised an eyebrow at her as he placed the glass back down on the bar.

Y/N paused, staring up into his eyes. Did she want him to slow down? "No, not really." She said softly, before letting Drew practically drag her out of the building.

A taxi took them back to Y/N's apartment. Only because it was closer. Y/N had also texted Paloma while in the taxi, telling her she'd left with Drew and that she'd pay for a taxi for her back to her apartment. She felt awful for ditching her friend but she knew she wouldn't mind, Paloma wasn't that kind of person.

The taxi ride was filled with Y/N's giggles as Drew whispered things into her ear. They couldn't keep their hands off each other as Y/N found herself unbuttoning more buttons on Drew's shirt. Her nails tracing patterns into his skin. Her touch was electric and Drew knew he wouldn't be able to stay away from her now.

When they got dropped off at her apartment building, Y/N led Drew inside. He followed behind her as she made her way over to the elevators. Y/N pressed the button and felt Drew press himself into her from behind, wrapping his arms around her waist softly. Drew's lips then found her neck, and her collarbone, and her shoulders. He only stopped when the doors opened in front of them.

The two adults stumbled inside, more laughter leaving Y/N's mouth. She pressed her back against the wall of the elevator, after pressing the right floor number. Drew stood in front of her, towering over her small frame. Y/N slowly wrapped her arms around Drew's shoulders, bringing herself closer to his face. They didn't move any closer, although there wasn't much room between them anyway. As they stared into each other's eyes. Y/N slowly moved her hands up to the back of his neck, stopping before bringing him any closer.

"If you kiss me right now, I am not going to be able to stay away from you." She admitted, eyes glancing down at his lips.

Drew wanted to laugh, was that supposed to make him want him to stop? "Maybe that's exactly what I want." Drew told her before he closed the distance between them himself.

Y/N had never had a first kiss so electrifying. She'd never had one that made her body feel on fire and so calm at the same time. It just felt right.

But unfortunately, it was short lived as the sound of the elevator doors opening forced the two apart. Y/N grabbed hold of Drew's hand, dragging him along behind her to her apartment. She dug her keys from her bag, fumbling with them as she tried to unlock the door. When she finally did, Drew followed her inside and into her kitchen, where Y/N threw her phone and bag onto the side.

"Do you want a —" She attempted to ask Drew if he wanted a drink, trying to occupy herself as she wasn't really sure what was about to happen next and didn't want to just assume why Drew had accompanied her back to her apartment. Although the reason she assumed, she really hoped was the reason.

Luckily for Y/N, she didn't need to assume as Drew spun her around and pressed her against the kitchen counter. Drew's lips found Y/N's again, but this time it was more forceful, more passionate. It meant more than a hesitant, slow kiss in an elevator. This one was leading somewhere.

The kiss became faster, like they were afraid the other would disappear. Drew's hands found a place on Y/N's waist, gripping the leather covering her skin. Y/N's had found place on Drew's jaw, giving her a sense of control. They continued, till Y/N needed to catch her breath. She pulled away, keeping her hands on Drew's face but Drew had other plans. His mouth attached itself to Y/N's jawline, making it's way down to her neck and even further.

The sounds of Y/N's breathing filled the room as she attempted to fill her lungs again but Drew was making it awfully difficult. Her empty fingers found space in his hair, nails scratching his scalp. Drew had lightly nipped the skin above her collarbone, eliciting a soft moan from Y/N's lips. "You have no idea how much I have thought about this since meeting you." Drew's words were muffled, not wanting to remove himself from Y/N.

Y/N found herself smiling, even though Drew couldn't see. "I think I have a slight idea."

Finally, Drew had removed his face from her neck. His face was red and his lips were swollen but Y/N had never been more attracted to him. "God, you're so beautiful." His 6 foot 2 frame towered over her 5 foot one. "I can die a happy man now."

A laugh escaped Y/N's lips as she shook her head at the man. "You're ridiculous."

"Is that why you're blushing?" He smirked, leaning his head back down but stopped before their lips touched.

"Just stop talking and kiss me."

"Yes, ma'am."

BED CHEM TAGLIST !

tags: @esquivelbianca @ts1mp0ne @fruitcakerafe @anothertimegirl @soincredible @ursogorgeous13 @drewsephrry @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @hypnotizedstarkey @harrys-housewife @st8rkey @lyannesworld @bxbychxrry @midnight-and-books @dontknow3m @amel1ee @preyperch-blog @dreamybabbyy @lolasangelz @nai12 @drewstarkeysbabe @blog-luvdance @darlingstarkey @chillgal135 @blushmimi @fveapplestall @rlalliehayes @moonssyrup @pamwired @kissesandmartinis @sereneera @imtalkinnonsense @starkeybae

[wendichester]

I absolutely love your work! Could I request something where the reader is not the most active person, like... She doesn't like running, she's not fit, she's terrible at fighting. She maybe does research, but that's all. But she's good at picking clothes, she always makes sure Sam and Dean look professional/appropriate to what they'll be doing. And she makes absolutely AMAZING apple pie, and she cooks, and all - just helps "passively", not "actively". So one day she decides that "alright, that's enough, I'm only causing trouble" and leaves - and at first the boys don't care, since she "wasn't too useful" - but after like a week or two they notice that they miss the apple pie, they miss someone who could help them with looking better, especially Sam, who realizes how deep in love with her he is? And maybe she comes back?

I'm sorry if it's too specific, or too much details, or anything😅😅

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ all the little things,

summary. when you start to think just how replaceable you are, sam shows you exactly otherwise

pairing. sam winchester x reader ft. dean winchester

wordcount. 681

notes. honestly, this is just a heartwarming idea! thank you for requesting lovely 🩷

The motel room is quiet when you slip out.

Your bag is packed, everything neat and folded because, well—of course it is. You aren’t a mess. You don’t do things hastily or without thinking. But you’ve thought about this—leaving—long and hard, and the conclusion is always the same.

You aren’t useful.

Sure, you help. You make sure Dean’s FBI suit isn’t wrinkled and that Sam has something other than plaid to wear when interviewing victims. You keep the bunker stocked, and you make damn good apple pie.

But you can’t run. You can’t fight. You can barely hold a gun without it shaking in your hands.

And you’re tired of feeling like dead weight.

So you leave.

No note, no big speech—just a quiet exit in the middle of the night, the way you’re sure they’ll forget you.

Because you? You’re replaceable.

Right?

At first, the boys don’t notice.

They wake up, see that your things are gone, and shrug it off. Maybe you got tired of the life. Maybe you found something better.

They don’t talk about it.

They just move on.

Then things start feeling off.

Not all at once—just little things.

Like how Dean’s shirts are suddenly wrinkled as hell, and his ties are never quite right. Or how Sam keeps losing his laptop charger because you’re not there to remind him to bring it.

And the food? Absolute garbage.

Dean burns everything. Sam tries to cook and nearly poisons them both. They eat diner food three times a day, and after two weeks, Dean stares blankly at the menu and mutters, “God, I miss pie.”

Sam’s fork pauses mid-air.

It’s the first time either of them has said it out loud.

Dean catches himself, scowls, and shoves a bite of pancakes into his mouth. But the damage is done.

They do miss you.

The bunker feels wrong without you.

Your room is empty, hollow in a way Sam can’t stand. He stops by more often than he wants to admit, staring at the bed like it might hold answers, like it might tell him why you left without a word.

At first, he assumed it didn’t matter. But now—now it’s everywhere.

It’s in the little things.

Like how there’s no warm light from the kitchen in the morning, no soft hum of music while you bake. No one teasing Dean about his terrible diet or fixing Sam’s collar before an interview.

No one who makes them feel like they have a home.

It takes Sam longer than he’d like to admit to realize what it means.

He doesn’t just miss you.

He loves you.

And he needs you back.

Finding you takes time.

Sam spends hours searching, fingers flying over the keyboard until—finally—he gets a hit.

Dean doesn’t argue when Sam says, “Let’s go.”

Because he misses you too.

You stare at them when they show up at your new apartment.

“...What are you doing here?”

Sam takes a slow breath. “We need to talk.”

You cross your arms, trying to hold your ground. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Dean scoffs. “Bullshit.”

Sam shoots him a look, then turns back to you, softer. “We didn’t realize how much we needed you,” he admits. “Not just for the small stuff—for everything.”

You blink, and Sam steps closer, voice steady.

“You make us better. You make us feel like we’re more than just hunters. More than just the job.”

You swallow hard. “I—I thought I was just in the way.”

Sam shakes his head. “You were never in the way.”

Dean chimes in. “Look, we’re idiots, okay? We should’ve said something when you left.” He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “But the truth is—we suck without you.”

Your throat tightens.

Then Sam says, quietly—earnestly,

“I love you.”

Your breath catches.

Dean smirks. “Took him long enough to admit it.”

Sam rolls his eyes but doesn’t look away from you. His hand finds yours, warm and solid.

“So,” he says. “Come home?”

You hesitate—only for a second.

Then you nod.

And just like that, everything is right again.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @taurus0queenie33 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @whereiwakewarm ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystems ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @s0urw00lf ⋆ @mrs-pondwater19 ⋆ @myceliumsunshine ⋆ @idk6505 ⋆ @giggles1026 ⋆ @idontwannabehere7 ⋆ @bamboobooshark ⋆ @ocelotlist51 ⋆ @lelapine ⋆ @pwin098 ⋆ @lacysretribution ⋆ @i-love-gvf ⋆ @lemonswinchester ⋆ @4k1vrr ⋆ @defnot-svnshine ⋆ @szyszoszelest ⋆ @angelicalm3ss ⋆ @writtenbyhollywood ⋆ @larasalii ⋆ @yeehawgiddyup13 ⋆ @xo-zeze ⋆ @jules-pagie ⋆ @freeluigihesbae ⋆ @viarasvogue

[butch-with-a-deep-voice]

Transfem butch here! Happy to add in a few tips that help get butch masc vs. dysphoric masc

One thing that really helped me was finding a balancing-act line between men and women's clothing. Where that line is for you will differ depending on your body and frankly, how far along you are in transition. I've been on E for over 6 years now, and as a result certain clothing just straight up fits different.

Take jeans for example. I exclusively wear men's boot-cut jeans because 1) They're comfier. 2) They fit better. 3) They're more durable than most women's jeans, especially for a thicker set butch like myself. And 4) The flare of the boot cut coming down from a tighter fitting pant *really* rides that line between masculine clothing, and showing a little more "figure" for your body.

In the women's clothing vs. men's, a lot of my button ups are specifically women's blouses/button ups/flannels, not men's. Women's shirts will have a cut out portion on the hips that *really* feminizes your figure, and from there you can masc the look up with things like how you roll your sleeves, wife-pleaser undershirts, how you button it, etc. My only caveat is that most women's button ups are *horrid* for tucking in, so either make sure they're long enough to tuck, your pants are higher waisted, or use men's shirts for tucked in looks.

Another tip is don't be afraid of tighter fitting clothing, especially T-shirts and tanks. Before transitioning I often bought myself a Unisex XL or even 2XL. Partially because of dysphoria, but also partially because that's just how the clothing was supposed to fit. It was supposed to be looser on the body. Nowadays I'm usually a Unisex L, or even M. If you're earlier into transitioning and your figure has you dysphoric, that's where your open flannels and button ups come in. But trust me, tighter t-shirts are your friend.

Accessorize. My daily is three rings, septum piece, ear piercings, a very large bear paw pendant, a belt or suspenders, 1-3 bracelets, a watch, and a carabiner with enough hanging on it that I sound like a cowbutch with spurs on while I walk. Hell, most days I have more accessories on than my femme. Obviously find the balance that works best for you, but most men don't accessorize much at all. Most butches do.

While it isn't a clothing bit, hair is a big factor as well. Find the style that works for you, and hone in on that shit. Prettyboy-butch who preens their hair constantly is a beloved thing for a reason. Use it.

The other aspect is frankly, if you're a fresher out transfem butch, it's no different than other trans people and finding the right clothes for you, which is that annoying portion of time. If you're medically transitioning, you may find that the look you desire won't be achieved for quite a few years while HRT works its magic.

The final part I want to add to this is for those who may initially react negatively to some of this advice. I'm very aware that these feel like a lot of facets to constantly keep in mind when trying to be butch that feel antithetical to a lot of what butch is. And if this were a perfect world, I would agree. But we live in a world where transfem butches like myself are playing this constantly balancing act of passing as a butch, not a man, while still being masculine. Finding the line of masculine strength, and butch safety in women's spaces. Finding the ability to frankly, pass.

Being true to ourselves while being respected in lesbian spaces, larger queer spaces, and the world overall means needing to be much more intentional than some of my other butch peers may need to be. Many days I put on the more feminine clothing and try to butch it up because frankly, it let's me pass as a woman first. I found with a lot of my TME butch peers, the biggest area that we differ in fashion is just how much more masculine they can dress than I can without fear of being misgendered. One of my best friends, a cisgender butch, will never need to worry about someone refusing to view her as a woman. Never need to worry about entering a space for women while dressed firmly in nothing but men's clothing and a shaved head. That's a privilege that unfortunately transfem butches don't really get. One day perhaps...

I do hope this advice is helpful. Finding your niche in butch fashion can be difficult baseline, but especially as a transfem. Weirdly enough though, I found that once I really found said niche, I actively got misgendered less than I did before. Which I think speaks to the role self love and confidence plays in the whole equation. But that's a whole other thing.

Probably a silly thing to worry about, but as a recently out transfem butch, I'm getting stuck on how to dress masc in a butch way, as opposed to just masc in a guy way. As someone into butches, do you have any advice?

oh my god yes absolutely 🥰 also, putting out the call to my transfem butch mutuals and followers, if you have any advice or input please reply to this post or rb!!!

i think a lot of looking butch is just curating your particular style, and finding the right accessories. your butch energy will come through. but here are a few items/materials that strike me as particularly butch (some of these may be worn by more of the normie cishet population depending on where you live, i’m in the pnw):

bolo ties

vests of any kind

big fuckoff belt buckles

leather (🤤)

butch jewelry!! rings, chains, a double venus pendant, stud earrings, leather bracelets/chokers

hats

vintage clothing that looks vintage

clothing for a specific activity/sport when you’re not doing said activity: motocross jacket, fishing vest, etc.

bandannas (super cute around your neck or your head if you have long hair)

suspenders

wallet chains

paisley patterns, florals, any intricately patterned fabrics

unusual/old watches

doc martens or any big stompy dyke boots

western shirts

belts (with the shirt tucked in!!!!)

if you’re in a casual setting or trying to be slutty, open button down showing off the sports bra is SUCH a look

these are just kinda my own taste and what i’ve seen butches wearing that makes me go ‘oh yeah that’s butch’ but if there’s a specific lane of alternative fashion that calls to you, follow it. i think specificity and intent, combined with that butch je ne sais quoi, really come through when it comes to personal style. and being a little bit vain about your hair 😘

[meadowfics]

seoah's first sport

father!husband!kang dae ho x f!mother!wife!reader

apart of my 'kang family' series

warnings: none, however I do use the american way of saying football

the morning sun poured into the living room, casting a warm glow over the wooden floors as seo-ah bounced onto the couch beside you, her tiny legs barely able to sit still.

your daughter's face is glowing with excitement, her bunny hugged tightly against her chest as she beamed up at you.

“eomma!” she practically shouted, eyes wide with enthusiasm.

“eomma, i wanna play soccer like my friends at school!”

the school she goes to is a daycare, but I digress.

you blinked, slightly surprised at the sudden outburst, before a fond smile crept onto your lips.

“oh yeah?” you asked, gently tucking a stray hair behind her ear.

“you wanna play soccer?”

she nodded furiously, her little pigtails bouncing with the movement.

“yes! jiho and min-seo play, and they say it’s really fun! they have real teams and everything, eomma! real games and goals!”

you couldn’t help but giggle at her excitement, her entire body practically vibrating as she spoke.

“that sounds amazing, baby. do you want to be on a team too?”

“yes!” she said without hesitation, gripping her bunny a little tighter.

“please, please, please?”

your heart melted at her excitement. she was only four, but her enthusiasm was undeniable.

“okay, okay,” you laughed, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“let me talk to appa about it, and we’ll see what we can do, okay?”

“okay!” she grinned, throwing her arms around your waist before scrambling off the couch, her bunny swinging wildly as she ran off to play.

you watched her go, shaking your head fondly before standing up and heading toward the kitchen, where dae-ho was finishing up his morning coffee.

he was dressed in his usual work-from-home attire, sweatpants and a fitted black t-shirt, his hair slightly tousled from sleep.

he glanced up as you entered, immediately sensing you had something to say.

“what’s that look for?” he asked, smirking as he set his mug down.

you leaned against the counter, crossing your arms.

“seo-ah wants to play soccer.”

he blinked, then let out a small chuckle.

“soccer?”

“mhm,” you nodded, “apparently, a few of her daycare friends are on a mini team, and now she wants to join too.”

dae-ho rubbed the back of his neck, thinking for a moment.

“well… that’s kinda adorable.”

“right?” you laughed, “i mean, she’s only four, but if she really wants to try it, why not?”

he nodded in agreement.

“so, what’s the schedule like for this team?”

you pulled out your phone, glancing at the information the daycare had sent you.

“they practice once a week, and the games are on saturdays.”

he considered this for a moment, taking another sip of his coffee.

“well, since you’re home with the girls, you could take her to practice during the week, and i’ll come to all of her games on saturday.”

your heart warmed at his immediate willingness to adjust their schedules for seo-ah.

“you sure?” you asked, “i mean, we don’t have to sign her up if it’ll be too much.”

he scoffed, shaking his head.

“y/n, we’re literally in a position where we can do this without any stress. we have the time, and more importantly, she’s excited about it. we should let her try.”

you smiled, nodding.

“yeah and of course, if she ever decides she doesn’t want to do it anymore, we won’t force her to stay right?”

“exactly,” he agreed.

“it’s about her having fun, not turning her into some superstar athlete unless she wants to be of course.”

you let out a small laugh at the thought, imagining seo-ah running around a little soccer field, her tiny legs chasing after the ball with all the energy she had.

“alright,” you said, setting your phone down, “i’ll enroll her today.”

dae-ho smiled, stepping forward to wrap his arms around your waist.

“good. she’s gonna love this.”

you rested your head against his chest, feeling a sense of peace settle over you.

“i think so too.”

you couldn’t wait to see your little girl run around on the field, her face bright with excitement as she chased the ball with her tiny teammates. seeing her find something she loved, something that made her feel proud and happy, meant everything to you.

the sun hung warm and casted a soft glow over the small soccer field. little kids in neon orange jerseys ran around in packs, their tiny legs carrying them across the grass with excitement, while their opponents in bright blue did the same.

it was chaotic, unorganized, and absolutely adorable.

you stood on the sidelines, byeol snugly strapped to your chest in the lavender baby carrier, her tiny head resting against you as she slept peacefully.

beside you, dae-ho casually ate from a mini bag of chips, his eyes locked on the field with a look of pure focus.

meanwhile, seo-ah sat on the bench before warm-ups, munching on the small rice cakes you had packed her, her little cheeks full as she chewed.

she looked just like her father.

the similarities were crazy.

the way they both ate, their little habits of pausing mid-chew when something caught their attention, the way their eyebrows furrowed in the exact same way... it was like looking at two versions of the same person, one grown and male and one in toddler and female form.

“you two are so alike,” you muttered, shaking your head with a small laugh as you glanced between them.

dae-ho popped another chip into his mouth and shrugged.

“good genes,” he smirked, before nodding toward seo-ah, “she’s got my athletic skills too, just watch.”

you rolled your eyes playfully, though your heart warmed at how invested he already was.

the little warm-up drills started, and the moment seo-ah successfully tapped the ball with a tiny pass to one of her teammates, dae-ho sat up straighter, his hand hovering near his knee as if he were about to get out of his seat.

“that’s it, seo!”

he called, his voice full of encouragement.

you bit your lip, trying not to laugh at how intensely he was watching the game, but you had to admit...seeing seo-ah run around out there, her little face full of determination, made your chest swell with pride.

soon, the mini-game started.

the tiny players took their places on the field, and you could tell from how seo-ah was positioned that she was supposed to be one of the little defenders.

your heart could have burst at the sight of her little body bouncing in place, already eager for the ball.

suddenly, the ball rolled toward her feet and that’s when everything else went out the window.

seo-ah, your little girl, your firstborn, saw the ball and took off, straight up the field, forgetting all about her defensive position.

you and dae-ho exchanged a glance before laughing.

“you can pass it, baby!” dae-ho called, amused as he watched her tiny legs power forward, completely focused on reaching the goal.

seo-ah didn’t pass it. at least, not right away.

she kept dribbling, weaving between the other kids in her own version of ball control, before finally sending the ball toward a little girl on her team who was wide open in front of the undefended goal.

the girl kicked it in.

you and dae-ho immediately started clapping, your cheers loud and proud.

“great assist, seo-ah!” you called, your voice carrying across the field.

she turned, hearing your voice, and gave you a small wave, her tiny face lighting up with pride.

soon after, the other team managed to score.

your eyes landed on seo-ah immediately, noticing the way her little shoulders slumped, her bottom lip pushing out into a small pout.

“it’s okay, seo!” you called, giving her an encouraging wave.

she turned again, her big brown eyes locking onto yours before her tiny hand lifted to wave back.

near the end of the game, something magical happened, well at least for your oldest daughter.

seo-ah got the ball again, and this time, instead of passing, she ran full speed toward the goal.

tiny legs pumping, arms slightly out to the sides for balance, her face scrunched up in the cutest little look of focus... you and dae-ho were completely locked in.

she kicked it.

the ball rolled slowly but surely into the goal.

goal.

you and dae-ho erupted into cheers, clapping like absolute idiots around the other parents who looked at the happy parents with admiration.

“that’s my girl!” dae-ho hollered, grinning ear to ear.

your hands clapped together, your voice carrying across the field,

“way to go, seo-ah!!”

the loud cheers startled poor byeol, who had been peacefully napping against your chest.

she let out a small whimper, her tiny hands stretching slightly in protest of being woken up.

you immediately rubbed her back, rocking her gently.

“sorry, baby, eomma got too excited.”

on the pitch with seo-ah, her faces beaming. she turned toward the sidelines and saw you, saw her appa, saw that she had the biggest, loudest, most supportive parents in the crowd.

and that made her smile even bigger.

as the tiny game came to an end, you and dae-ho exchanged glances, both filled with the same overwhelming love for the little girl on the field.

kang family masterlist

[buckysouvenir]

agora hills

pairing: bucky barnes x y/n authors note: day thirteen!

the valentine’s day collection 2025: for the first 14 days of february, i’ll be posting a series of short stories inspired by songs, all centered around bucky barnes.

reblogs, likes and comments are always encouraged and highly appreciated! thank you ♡

Bucky never cared much for attention. He had spent years slipping into the shadows, keeping his head down, trying not to be seen. There was a time when being invisible was a matter of survival. A habit that never really went away.

But with Y/N?

With her, he wanted the world to see.

He didn’t care who was watching when he pulled her closer in a crowded room, his arm wrapped securely around her waist. Let them look. Let them whisper. He wanted them to know she was his. He wanted them to see that she had chosen him. That she loved him.

And he loved her right back.

His fingers found hers, warm and soft against his own, and he squeezed gently, grounding himself in the reality that she was here, that she wasn’t going anywhere. He caught the way people’s eyes followed them, the way heads turned as they passed. Normally, it would have put him on edge, sent him into that old fight-or-flight instinct that never quite left him. But not now. Not with her.

"Let ‘em watch, doll," he murmured, a smirk tugging at his lips as he leaned down to her ear. "I don’t give a damn."

Y/N laughed, the sound warm and easy, and she turned to face him, tilting her head. "You sure about that, tough guy?"

"Wouldn’t be doin’ this if I wasn’t," he muttered, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to her temple.

She shivered at the contact, and he didn’t miss the way her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, holding on just a little tighter. He wasn’t subtle. And for the first time in his life, he didn’t want to be.

The music was loud, the bass vibrating through the floors of the dimly lit club. Normally, a place like this wasn’t his scene—too many people, too many flashing lights, too much noise. But Y/N had wanted to go out, and if she wanted to dance, if she wanted to have a good time, then he’d be damned if he didn’t give it to her.

"Come here," he said, tugging her toward the dance floor, ignoring the way a few people turned to look.

Y/N raised an amused brow. "Didn’t take you for a dancer, Barnes."

"Not usually," he admitted, guiding her through the crowd until they were in the middle of the room, bodies moving all around them. "But for you? I’ll make an exception."

His hands found her hips, fingers pressing firmly into her skin, and he pulled her close, letting her body melt into his. She fit against him like she was made for it, her arms wrapping around his neck, her fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck.

It was dangerous, how easily she undid him.

"Big, strong hands, huh?" He teased, the words low and rough as he leaned down, his lips barely grazing her ear.

She grinned, looking up at him through her lashes. "You heard that?"

"Doll, I hear everything."

Her laughter vibrated through his chest, and damn if it wasn’t the best sound he’d ever heard.

He spun her then, pulling her back against his chest, his arms locking securely around her waist. Her body moved against his, hips swaying with the music, and he let himself get lost in the feeling of her. In the way she fit against him so perfectly.

They had spent too much time apart in the past, too much time dancing around whatever this was, whatever they were. But now?

Now he had her.

And he wasn’t gonna let the world forget it.

[notapradagurl7]

90s method man fic ? i see you write about him currently but i want one from like 95 😩😩 pleaseee

Love To Give.

Black!OC!plus size X Method Man

Summary: You were supposed go out with your friends to movies when in reality you bump into a familiar rapper, leading to something more.

Warnings: smut, praise, fluff, oral(fem receiving) fingering, tiny sexual innuendo, strangers to friends to lovers, consensual for both parties, counter sex, kinda messy sex.

Taglist: @mermaidchansons @megamindsecretlair @mymindisneverhere

@mind-somewhere-else

@kindofaintrovert

@5starr-staciii

@lady-olive-oil @23jammy @zillasvilla

@yassbishimvintage

@musicisme333

@chaoticcoffeequeen @saturnville

@enchantedillumination @kaylalb @mogul93

@theereina @uzumaki-rebellion @blyffe @fakxmbj @kumkaniudaku @ranikyani

@mama-2001

@ororosdaughter @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @nayaesworld @ovohanna24

@novahreign @writingsbytee @avoidthings @kimuzostar @slippinninque @keyera-jackson @theblacklewinsky

@euphorichappiness10 @life-in-the-slut-house

@miguelspvssy @liatreads @kaylaahisthebestest-

@tforpresz

@uniqueoutlierblog

@dxddykenn

@secretlifeoofmarpessa @planetblaque @hxneyclouds @henneseyhoe @catxo @brattyfics @cocooned-butterfly @charismablu

                     ——

            (1995.)

She strolled down the grey sidewalk towards the towering dust-colored building, her jet-black heel sandals clicked with each step. Above her head, the blue sky was adorned with cirrus clouds, while her brown pupils were fixed on her friend, who she had finally convinced to hang out with her today after her mom's hesitant approval.

As she walked, her ears were greeted with the rhythmic sounds of Big L, A Tribe Called Quest, Biggie Smalls, Jay-Z, MC Lyte, Queen Latifah, Nas, and Wu-Tang Clan. The music was emanating from a boom box held by a young brown-skinned male sitting on a dark green bench. He bopped his head to the beats, lost in the music.

Lisa wandered the streets of New York, she scanned the bustling crowds for her friend. The warm sun beat down on her shoulders, making her thankful for the light fabric of her sundress. Suddenly, a familiar voice rang out, "Lisa!!!" Imani's beaming face greeted her, arms spread wide in greeting. She looked stunning in her form-fitting pink sundress, which accentuated her curves. "Are you all set to go?" Imani asked with a raised eyebrow, ready for their plans to unfold.

"Yes, I have everything I need, Lisa waved her off, with a nod and the two friends continued their stroll, exchanging smiles. They were almost at the street that led to the bodega when Lisa accidentally bumped into someone. Imani halted and spoke up, "Lisa, I need to grab something for the movie." She paused as she realized that her friend had bumped into someone.

Startled by the sudden interruption, Lisa's gaze was immediately drawn to the towering figure before her. His baggy dark blue denim jeans, grey tee shirt, well-trimmed beard, and deep brown eyes made for a striking combination. Before she could even apologize, the person spoke up with a raspy, masculine tone and a New York accent. "My bad shorty, I didn't look where I was goin'."

Imani's hands flew to her mouth as she exclaimed, "No way, you're Method Man!" Lisa blushed, feeling nervous as she introduced herself. "Um, hi, I'm Lisa."

Clifford asked if they were busy, adding, "My bad, I don't want to interrupt your plans with your friend." Both women shook their heads, indicating they had no plans.

"I was planning on hanging with my friend but I think I might cancel them." Lisa replied flirtily, her pearly whites sunk underneath her bottom fully glossed lips.

"For Method Man, girl? But We—" Lisa suddenly hushed her with her palm. Rolling her eyes, Lisa groaned and chimed in, "We have no plans, right?" She giggled, but Imani wasn't amused. Swatting her friend's arm, Lisa smacked her lips in response. "You owe me," she grumbled.

Trying to make it up to her friend, Lisa whispered, "Don't worry, Mani. We can hang out next weekend. I got you." She reassured Imani that they would spend time together soon.

As Lisa and Clifford collided, a spark ignited, and their connection grew stronger every day. They spent countless hours chatting face-to-face and on the phone, even causing her mother's phone bill to skyrocket. After meeting her mother, they started dating and discovering each other's passions.

Lisa's cozy apartment had a medium-sized living room, furnished with a sleek black suede couch where Clifford flipped through channels with his jet-black remote. The room was painted a calming light green, creating a serene atmosphere.

Lisa finished cooking as she placed the food in Tupperware containers for Clifford and her to eat, the tip of his tongue ran across his shut lips from the tangy scent of the food and the curves on her body. Clifford stepped off the couch and strolled into the kitchen, a grin plastered on his face.

Clifford's lips curled into a smirk as he let out a seductive plea, "Baby I'm hungry, come over here quick." she spun around and gestured to the food containers.

Lisa responded with a playful roll of her eyes. "Boy, I already cooked the food," she replied, before Clifford pulled her into him, planting kisses on her lips, cheeks, and the pudge on her stomach twice. His hands cupped her face tenderly to make her gaze into his eyes.

"I ain't talkin' about the food yo."

Lisa's bare back pressed firmly against the luxurious black suede couch cushions, her legs extended upwards and resting on Clifford's muscular shoulders. His arms were locked underneath her thighs as he buried his face in between her thick legs, his tongue flicking over her throbbing clit. As he continued to pleasure her, his slender fingers slid in and out of her wet core, causing Lisa to cry out in ecstasy.

"Shit! Clifford!" she screamed, her legs clamping around his face as he moaned in appreciation of her sensitive pussy. Removing his fingers, Clifford replaced them with his tongue, teasing her with his lips and working his way up and down her sensitive folds. Lisa reached down and tangled her fingers in Clifford's hair, pulling him deeper into her as he continued to pleasure her in all the right ways.

Her fingertips dug deep into the back of his neck, leaving scratches in her trail as his raspy, low groans filled her wet folds. His fingers were soon replaced with his lips, and Cliff murmured in delight, "You taste so fuckin' good, baby." His head swayed messily from side to side as he lapped up her love juices that trickled down his jawline, hungrily savoring her like it was his last meal. He loved every sound she made, every expression of pleasure, and her moans only grew louder as he pleasured her.

With his slender fingers slipping back into the wetness between her thighs, Clifford used his left hand to knead her erect nipple. Her eyes fluttered back as he curled his fingers at just the right spot, making her walls clench and her hips grind against his digits. "You're so wet for me," he whispered, relishing in the pleasure he was giving her. Lisa couldn't contain herself, chanting "Oh shittt!" as the pleasure overflowed through her body, sending chills down her spine.

Her legs were sore and twitching in her lover's grasp, unprepared for the knot that suddenly curled up in her stomach. Her juices splattered onto his face, but Clifford quickly cleaned up the mess with a paper towel. Smirking at her dazed look, he knew he had just given her an unforgettable experience.

She playfully pecked his lips twice and added a sly grin. "How about I make you breakfast tomorrow?" He hummed, her hands gently resting on his shoulders. "Oh, I like the sound of that," she chuckled, his arms snaking around her waist, his lips brushing against her ear.

She blushed, feeling his palm roughly smack her plump ass causing a squeal to escape her lips. "Not now, my legs are sore," she whined, pouting at him. He pulled back and cupped her face, pecking her forehead. "I'll draw you a hot bubble bath, shorty," he added, seeing her blush shyly. As he sauntered into the bathroom, she couldn't help but feel grateful for such a loving partner.

—————-

[universefcb]

make one which reader and Pedri are trying to have their alone moment, but the universe seems like to be against them, and everytime they try something they're interrupted

↬❥ The universe against us

Pedri Gonzalez x Fem!Reader

a/n: I THINK THIS IMAGINE IS WHAT I LOVED THINKING AND WRITING THE MOST KAKAKAKAK. And sorry if there are mistakes, English is not my language.I hope this is what you asked for!

REQUESTED!

warnings: Hot kisses, stress, and comedy.

The sun was beginning to set in Barcelona, dyeing the sky with orange and pink hues. The city was alive, but inside Pedri's apartment, all that mattered was the comfortable silence between the two of you. He was there, sprawled on the couch, one hand resting on your thigh while the other absently played with a lock of your hair.

— It's been a while since we had a moment alone... — he murmured, his voice hoarse, his brown eyes fixed on hers.

You smiled, sliding your hand down his chest.

— That’s right. There’s always some event or games…

Pedri chuckled softly, leaning in to capture your lips with his. The kiss started softly, but soon intensified, his firm hand gripping your waist, pulling you closer. Your bodies adjusted naturally, and the heat that formed between you was unmistakable.

That's when his phone started ringing. Loudly. Insistent.

Pedri groaned in frustration, throwing his head back.

"I don't believe."

He ignored the call and went back to kissing you, but seconds later, the phone rang again.

“Better answer it,” you said, laughing at the irritation on his face.

He picked up his cell phone and answered without even looking at the caller ID.

“What is it?” he grumbled.

It was Gavi.

“Bro, can you tell me where my black boots are? You borrowed them last week!”

Pedri closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to calm himself.

“Gavi, do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Yes, I do. That’s why I’m calling. There’s training tomorrow.”

“It’s in the hall closet. Now stop calling me.”

He hung up before his friend could respond and threw the phone away.

“Okay, problem solved. Now, where were we again?”

You laughed and pulled him into another kiss, this time more intense, his hands sliding over your skin in a way that made your entire body shiver. He leaned over you, his knee gently pressing against your leg, and you were about to finally lose yourself in each other when…

TOC, TOC, TOC!

The two were startled by the knock on the door.

Pedri closed his eyes, letting out a long sigh.

“If it’s Gavi again, I’ll kill him.”

He stood up, clearly irritated, and went to open the door. It was his brother.

“Fer, this is not possible now!”

“Relax, bro. I just came to get my headphones that I left here yesterday.”

Pedri practically pushed his brother out of the apartment and slammed the door. When he returned to the couch, his gaze was determined.

“I do not accept that the universe wins.”

“Me neither,” you agreed, pulling him by the collar of his shirt.

This time, you decided not to give him any more chances to interrupt. He gently cupped your face and deepened the kiss, his hands exploring every inch of you. You fit perfectly against him, his skin feeling warm under your fingers, and everything finally seemed to be going in the right direction…

But then…

The loud sound of the doorbell made you both jump on the couch.

Pedri stared at the door, his eyes shining with fury.

“If it’s Gavi or Fer, I swear…”

He opened the door with a jerk, and you were both taken by surprise. It was a delivery man.

“Request for Pedro Gonzalez?”

Pedri frowned.

“I didn’t ask for anything.”

The delivery man looked at the name on the paper and then at him.

“Oh, it was your brother. It’s in his name, but this is your address.”

Pedri ran his hands over his face.

“I'm going to kill Fer.”

After taking the order and closing the door tightly, he walked back to you.

“Forget the universe. I don’t care anymore.”

You laughed and pulled him back, deciding that this time, nothing else could get in the way.

And finally, the universe gave up on being against you.

✦ tysm by request

[mediocre-shark-tales]

Your Secret is Safe with me... With US....

Doohan Sister Reader F1 Driver Reader Cadillac Formula 1 Reader

Returning to the track the next day felt like a chore, each step heavier than the last. Today wasn’t about the race—it was about honoring my uncle in the only way I knew how.

A long time ago, he had given me a custom pin chain designed for the collar of a suit—something sleek, something personal. Silver, with two outstretched wings as the pins. I had never worn it at a race before, but today, it felt right.

So I dressed accordingly.

A black button-up shirt, the collar adorned with the silver chain and its delicate wing pins. Over it, a baggy leather jacket, only half-buttoned to let the chain glint under the paddock lights. Straight-legged black pants completed the look, along with my usual Nike high-tops—one of the few constants in my life.

I walked into the paddock in silence, the hum of conversation and laughter faltering as I passed. The atmosphere of this track was bright, electric, filled with vibrant colors from drivers wearing bold outfits to match the energy of the weekend. And then there was me—dressed in something more fitting for a funeral.

The moment the media caught sight of me, the chaos erupted. Cameras snapped in my direction, the clicking and flashing intensifying with every step. I didn’t flinch, didn’t stop. Normally, I would have. Normally, I would have given them something, even if just a glance. But not today.

I could already see the headlines forming in their heads. They would twist this against me, paint me as distant, unapproachable, brooding. But I couldn’t bring myself to care. Not today.

Interacting with fans and media would only make it worse. I didn’t trust myself to keep up the act—to hide the weight pressing against my ribs, the ache sitting heavy in my throat.

By the time I reached the Cadillac garage, the usual hum of chatter inside had quieted. Mechanics and engineers paused mid-task, eyes flickering to me before quickly looking away. The concern was evident, but I ignored it, making a beeline for the one person I trusted most here.

Nico was waiting for me in my usual corner of the garage. The moment our eyes met, he gave me a sad smile, understanding without needing to ask.

"Hey, Ghost," he said gently. "I know today’s gonna be tough. Do you need anything from me?"

I nodded, my voice carefully neutral. I had been fighting the burn in my chest all day—I wouldn’t let it consume me here. Not now.

"Yeah. If you can find a way to minimize my media duties after the race, that would be great. I can do them, but… I don’t know how long I’ll last before I break."

Nico didn’t hesitate. "I’ll see what I can do, bud." He placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder, a silent promise. "For now, take whatever time you need before the drivers’ parade."

I gave him a curt nod before turning on my heel. I could have gone to my driver’s room, locked myself away from the world. But something about the heat of the sun pressing against my black clothing felt grounding.

So instead, I walked.

Down the pit lane, where the media weren’t allowed, where I could breathe without feeling the weight of a hundred lenses on my back.

At least for a moment.

When it was time for the drivers' parade, I stayed in the back of the room, away from where the others had gathered. The air buzzed with conversation, laughter, and the usual pre-race energy, but I remained silent, still.

Any other day, I might have felt a pang of hurt at how easily silence made me invisible. How quickly I could fade into the background when I wasn’t cracking a joke or joining in on the pre-race banter.

But today, I was grateful for it.

Grateful to be overlooked.

At least, until I wasn’t.

Two sets of eyes found me, locking onto me like twin beacons through the haze of chatter.

I didn’t need to see their faces to know who they belonged to.

Both boys peeled away from their own groups without a word, their movements quiet but deliberate. When they reached me, stopping just two feet away, the energy between us shifted.

Their expressions, once lighthearted and carefree, had darkened—concern replacing whatever pre-race excitement had been there moments before.

Neither of them spoke right away.

They just stood there, looking between me and each other, waiting.

Waiting for me to let them in.

Oscar looked like he wanted to say something, but the moment was cut short. The call to head onto the trailer came, and like a machine set on autopilot, I fell into line with the other drivers.

I barely noticed that Lando and Oscar had taken up position on either side of me until Lando nudged my arm lightly.

“Alright, Ghost,” he said, his voice casual but playful, “I know you’re not much of a talker, but this is ridiculous. You’re usually at least pretending to enjoy this part.”

I blinked, forcing myself to focus as the three of us stepped onto the trailer.

Oscar leaned in slightly. “I was gonna say, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this quiet. Are you conserving energy or just silently plotting something?”

Lando gasped dramatically. “Oh no, don’t tell me you’ve finally given in to your dark side. You’re planning world domination, aren’t you?”

I let out a slow breath, pressing my lips together to keep from smiling.

“Damn, he’s not denying it,” Oscar said, eyes widening in mock horror. “It’s over for us.”

Lando placed a hand over his chest. “We had a good run, mate. At least we’ll go out knowing we were kind of the fastest here.”

I exhaled through my nose, shaking my head slightly. They weren’t being pushy, weren’t demanding answers—they were just being themselves, trying to pull me back into reality.

“I hate to break it to you,” I said, voice quiet but even, “but if I wanted world domination, you two wouldn’t be my first recruits.”

Lando gasped again. “I’m offended. We’d make an excellent evil trio.”

Oscar crossed his arms. “Yeah, you’d need at least one of us for planning and the other for distracting.”

I huffed a small laugh despite myself.

Lando grinned like he had just won something. “There he is.”

Oscar nudged me lightly with his elbow. “Alright, now that we’ve got you talking, tell us—what’s with the dark-esk outfit? Did you finally snap and we are seeing a revenge arc?”

I stiffened for half a second before forcing myself to relax, shoving my hands into my jacket pockets. “Not really.”

Oscar and Lando exchanged glances, sensing something but wisely not pushing further.

“Noted,” Oscar said, shifting the topic. “Well, just so you know, Lando here has already almost fallen off one of these things before. So if he suddenly disappears mid-parade, don’t be alarmed.”

“Hey,” Lando protested. “That was one time.”

Oscar smirked. “One time that we know of.”

This time, I didn’t have to hold back the laugh. It was small, barely there, but real.

And for a moment, just a moment, the weight pressing down on my chest felt a little lighter.

By the time the parade had ended, just about every rookie had taken a moment to try and lift my spirits. They offered small jokes, lighthearted banter, and reassuring pats on the back, all assuming that the brutal criticism and the weight of the weekend had worn me down. But none of them—none—truly knew the ache my heart was trying to mend, only for it to tear open again with every quiet second I was left alone with my thoughts.

The only one who didn’t come near me was Jack. And maybe that was for the best.

How was I supposed to look him in the eye, knowing that the same grief that had shattered me was clawing at him, too? How could I lie to him, pretend I was upset from media critics, when we were both drowning in the same loss?

I couldn’t. I knew that.

So the moment the trailer came to a stop, I was the first to step off, weaving through the bustling paddock with only one thought in mind—get back to my driver’s room before the walls I had barely managed to keep standing finally collapsed.

The second I shut the door behind me, my chest caved, and I sucked in the first deep breath I had taken all day. It was shaky, unsteady, as if my lungs themselves rejected the idea of calm. But I needed to regain control. I needed to silence the storm in my head. I needed to go numb before the race.

I pulled out my phone, scrolling mindlessly through my playlists before my fingers hesitated over one I hadn’t touched in years. Indycar Rage+Ruin.

I pressed play.

The soft strum of a guitar hummed through the speakers, and immediately, my throat tightened. My uncle and I had made this playlist together during my first year in IndyCar. It had been our escape, the one thing that always seemed to drown out the noise of the world. He had built my music taste, shaped the songs I clung to in my hardest moments. This playlist, though—it was filled with his recommendations. Every song carefully chosen, meant to guide me through anger and exhaustion, to remind me of my worth when the world told me otherwise.

Back then, when I was ridiculed for being too young, too inexperienced, too different, he sat me down, placed an earbud in my hand, and said, "Let the music turn their doubt into your fuel. Show them what I already know you can do."

Tears burned in my eyes as the memories swelled, raw and vivid. His voice. His laugh. The way he always believed in me when no one else did.

I pulled off my helmet, my hands trembling as I changed into my fireproofs. But when I picked my helmet back up, my breath hitched.

It was another piece of him.

I ran my fingers over the design, tracing the lines and colors that hadn’t existed until he convinced me to take a risk. I had wanted to keep my old one—stick with something familiar. But he had pushed me to evolve. To make it mine. To leave the past in the past, to move towards my future, to the day I finally showed my truth to the whole world. 

So I had. Every stroke, every detail, had come from his suggestions.

I swallowed the sob creeping up my throat, forcing my emotions into the deepest corner of my mind. I couldn’t break here. Not now.

I wiped the last of my tears away, pulling my balaclava over my face and securing my helmet in place.

This is for you.

And with that, I stepped out, ready to race.

—

Lap 26.

P8.

I should be fighting. I should be pushing harder, clawing my way back up the field. But all I could do was exist in the seat, my body moving through the motions like a machine while my mind drifted elsewhere.

The world outside my cockpit blurred into streaks of color—flashes of the crowd, pit boards, and curbs passing by without meaning. The radio crackled in my ear with strategy calls, updates on gaps and tire wear, but they barely registered.

Numb.

That’s all I felt.

The weight of grief had settled into my bones, anchoring me to a darkness I couldn’t shake. Every turn, every straight, every second that passed only reminded me of the gaping hole in my chest.

My uncle should have been here.

He should have been watching from the garage, pacing back and forth with that nervous excitement he always had whenever I raced. He should have been waiting for me at the end of this, ready to pull me into one of his crushing hugs and tell me exactly what I did right, no matter the result.

But he wasn’t.

He never would be again.

I clenched my jaw, my grip tightening on the wheel. The ache inside me grew stronger, heavier, suffocating.

Then, without warning—

"You know why people look for flaws in you?"

A voice.

His voice.

It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. But at that moment, it didn’t matter. It was as if he was right there beside me, speaking through the static of my own thoughts, cutting through the numbness with words I had heard before.

"It’s because they see something in you that terrifies them. You’re not just another driver. You’re proof that the future doesn’t belong to the same old faces they’re used to. You prove them wrong every damn time you put your hands on that wheel."

I sucked in a sharp breath, my vision focusing again on the track ahead.

"They will always find something to pick apart. They will say you’re too young, too reckless, too emotional. But that’s just what people do when they can’t deny talent anymore. When they know that talent is going to change everything."

A lump rose in my throat.

"I know you, kid. I know you better than anyone. You’re strong, you’re relentless, and you are more talented than you even realize. I can’t have kids, but from the moment I put you back in that kart and saw that fire in your eyes, I knew—I didn’t need to. You were mine. You are mine. My kid, my racer, my pride."

Tears welled up, blurring my vision for a split second before I blinked them away.

"I love you like a father loves his daughter, and I will always, always be with you. My sister has no idea the daughter she lost that day, but I know the one I gained. So show me, kid. Show me just how amazing of a daughter I got."

The numbness cracked.

Then shattered.

A fire erupted inside my chest, spreading through every inch of my body. My grip on the wheel tightened—not from despair, but from purpose. My uncle’s words weren’t just a memory; they were fuel, reigniting the part of me that had been drowning all day.

I would not let this race slip away.

I would not let grief steal this from me.

I would honor him the only way I knew how—by fighting with everything I had.

"Let’s go hunting." I growled into the radio.

The response was instant. I could almost hear the sudden excitement in Diego’s voice.

"Copy, let’s get it."

Lap 27.

I launched into attack mode.

The first victim—P7. I lined up the move through Turn 3, positioning myself perfectly for the switchback out of Turn 4. Late on the throttle, I powered past, slicing ahead just before the braking zone into Turn 5.

One down.

Lap 30.

P6 was trickier. They defended hard, forcing me to back off twice. But they were draining their tires with every aggressive move, and I was patient. Into Turn 12, I dummied left before diving right, catching them off guard. My front wing edged past their rear tire—just enough. I held my breath, committed, and sent it.

They locked up. I didn’t.

P6 was mine.

Lap 34.

P5 and P4 were in a battle ahead, slowing each other down. I used it. A perfect slipstream down the main straight, and with DRS wide open, I took them both into Turn 1 in a double overtake that had my heart hammering inside my chest.

Lap 39.

P3.

Only two cars stood between me and the top step of the podium. My tires were screaming, my body was running on adrenaline alone, but I refused to lift.

Lap 42.

P2.

A lunge down the inside of Turn 10. No hesitation. No second thoughts. It stuck.

Final lap.

The leader was just ahead, but I was closing. DRS on the back straight. Slipstream. My pulse thundered in my ears.

Turn 14—late braking. Aggressive entry. I forced them wide.

Turn 15—I pulled ahead.

Final corner.

I could see the finish line.

This is for you.

I floored it.

The checkered flag waved.

I crossed the line.

P1.

I won.

A cheer ripped from my throat as I screamed into the radio. The team’s voices roared back at me, their cheers barely audible over the pounding of my heartbeat.

I slowed the car, my hands shaking, my breath coming in uneven gasps as reality crashed into me. Unbeknownst to me, My sobs being played over the live broadcast, something that could come back to bite me in the ass. But I no longer would care. 

I had done it.

I had honored him.

Slowly, I rolled to a stop in parc fermé, the engine ticking as it cooled behind me. My chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, my hands still gripping the wheel as my body trembled with adrenaline, exhaustion, and something much deeper—something far heavier.

I had won.

But he wasn’t here to see it.

The roar of the crowd echoed around me, but it felt distant, almost muffled. Right now, the visor had become my barrier from showing the emotions racking my mind. That barrier felt like the only thing holding me together.

With slow, deliberate movements, I unstrapped my belts and climbed out of the car. The moment my feet hit the Halo, I stayed there, standing tall atop my machine.

Then, I placed my hand over my heart.

And I pointed to the sky.

My head stayed bowed, my gaze locked onto the carbon fiber beneath me. It wasn’t a grand gesture, it wasn't a show for the cameras or the fans—it was just for him. A silent message. A promise.

This win is yours, too.

The moment passed, and I finally stepped down from the car. The second my feet hit the ground, I turned toward the barrier, toward my team waiting on the other side.

They were already there, arms outstretched, shouting my name.

I barely made it two steps away before they pulled me in, wrapping me in a massive hug, their cheers filling the air around me. The warmth of their embrace, their unfiltered joy—it should have grounded me, should have held me together.

But as I let myself sink into them, the weight of everything crashed down all at once.

My breath hitched. My chest tightened.

I wasn’t ready to break here. Not in front of them.

Slipping away from the group, I ducked my head and moved quickly, weaving through the celebration before anyone could notice. I needed a moment. Just one.

By the time I reached my driver’s room, I barely had the door closed before my legs gave out. I sank onto the small couch, my hands trembling as I ripped off my gloves, pulled off the helmet and balaclava before I pressed my palms over my face.

A shuddering breath. Then another.

And then, finally, the dam broke.

Silent sobs wracked through me, my body shaking from the force of them. The grief, the joy, the pain—all of it collided in a way that stole the air from my lungs.

I had won.

I had done exactly what he always believed I could do.

But it would never be enough to bring him back.

And God, how I wished he was here.

Suddenly, I heard yelling from outside my door.

"You can’t go in yet!"

The warning reached my ears too late.

The door swung open before I could react—before I could pull my helmet back on, before I could even turn away.

Three pairs of eyes locked onto my tear filled ones.

Fuck.

Instinct took over. More voices echoed down the hall, growing closer. I didn’t think—I just moved.

Grabbing all three of them, I yanked them inside and slammed the door shut, twisting the lock into place.

Silence.

Only the sound of my own breathing filled the room, ragged and uneven. My heart pounded as reality sank in.

The gig was up.

There was no covering this up, no half-baked excuse that would save me now. They had seen me. Really seen me.

I dropped my head against the door with a quiet thud, the dull ache grounding me in the moment. A long sigh escaped me.

Shit.

I finally turned around, bracing myself.

Lando and Oscar were still frozen, their faces caught somewhere between shock and disbelief. Lando’s mouth hung slightly open, as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. Oscar just blinked, like his brain was still buffering.

But Franco—he looked different. His expression wasn’t one of shock, but something else. Guilt.

That’s when the dots connected.

Franco had been acting differently ever since the day my uncle passed. Ever since the moment I broke down in Nico’s arms. But… the door had been shut, right? No. It hadn’t. He must have seen me.

My breath hitched as I locked eyes with him, and in that instant, I knew. He didn’t say a word, but his gaze told me everything. He had known—maybe not the full truth, but enough to suspect. Enough to treat me differently ever since.

“This whole time…”

Lando’s voice cut through my spiraling thoughts, calm but laced with something unreadable. My head snapped toward him, bracing for the inevitable backlash, the betrayal, the anger. But it never came.

Instead, the shock on his face melted into something else—wonder, maybe even admiration. Beside him, Oscar’s expression shifted in the same way, the disbelief settling but not turning to resentment.

“You’re actually a girl?” Oscar blurted, blinking rapidly. “This whole time we’ve been calling you a dude?”

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, a small smile tugging at my lips. I nodded.

Lando let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Well, I guess the voice changer actually makes sense now. I thought maybe you were just embarrassed about your voice or something stupid like that.”

Oscar grinned. “Yeah, I figured it was just part of the whole mysterious Ghost persona thing. But damn—this is next level.”

Their easy acceptance caught me off guard. I had prepared for anger, disappointment, maybe even disgust. But this? This felt… light.

“I honestly wasn’t expecting this reaction,” I admitted, my voice softer than before. “I thought there’d be a lot more anger. Or, I don’t know… disgust.”

That wiped the smiles off their faces instantly.

“What? No!” Lando exclaimed, his brows furrowing.

“Why would we think that?” Oscar asked, genuine confusion in his tone.

I hesitated before answering. “Because I’m a girl. Or maybe because I chose to hide my identity instead of fighting my way into the sport the ‘right’ way.”

Lando let out a short chuckle, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Right way? What even is the right way? Every girl in motorsport has to jump through hoops just to get a fraction of the chances we get.” His gaze softened. “If anything, you found the only real way to prove the facts over the ideals—you proved you belonged before anyone had the chance to doubt you.”

Oscar nodded, crossing his arms. “Think about it. You’ve spent the last five years proving a girl can race with the best of the best. The only difference is that you were given a fair shot—without prejudice clouding people's judgment from the start.” He tilted his head, a sly grin forming. “Just imagine the absolute meltdown the anti-female racing fans are gonna have when you reveal yourself. You’re about to shatter every argument they’ve ever had in real time.”

My heart swelled, an unfamiliar warmth spreading through my chest. For the first time in years, I felt like I could breathe.

They didn’t just accept me.

They believed in me.

Franco finally spoke, his voice quieter than usual but steady.

"They are right," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "When I found out yesterday,"

My stomach twisted as he confirmed my suspicions.

"The door wasn’t all the way shut. I was walking past when I heard you sobbing, and before I could even process it, I saw Nico holding you. And… I saw you—not Ghost, not the masked driver everyone argued over—but you."

He let out a slow breath, like he had been holding it in for months. "At first, I didn’t know what to think. I mean, I had hunches that something was off—sometimes your mannerisms didn’t match up, your reactions felt… different from what I expected—but I never thought this was the truth. And when I did realize? Everything just… shifted."

I stiffened slightly, but his expression wasn’t one of judgment—it was one of understanding.

"I saw the way you carried yourself, how you fought for every inch in this sport, how you refused to back down even when the entire world was tearing you apart over baseless rumors. And then it hit me—" He shook his head, his voice growing more certain. "—if you had never hidden your identity, if they had known you were a girl from the start, you wouldn’t have even made it to IndyCar, let alone past it. You would’ve been written off, ridiculed, shoved into a marketing stunt instead of given a real seat."

I swallowed hard, because he was right. I had known it. But hearing someone else say it out loud? It made my chest tighten.

Franco ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "And that’s what pissed me off the most—realizing that you had to do this. That you had no choice but to race under a mask just to prove you belonged. And even then, people still found ways to tear you down." His jaw clenched. "It made me sick. That’s why I started acting different—I wasn’t mad at you, I was mad at the system that forced you to do this in the first place."

Silence hung in the air between us.

I had spent years preparing for this moment, expecting rejection, expecting people to be angry with me for lying. But instead, all I was met with was understanding.

A lump formed in my throat, and I had to blink hard to keep my emotions in check.

Lando let out a deep breath. "Damn… that’s actually insane when you think about it."

Oscar crossed his arms. "Yeah, it’s fucking bullshit is what it is."

Franco looked at me then, something unreadable in his eyes. "But you made it anyway." His lips quirked up in a small, almost proud smile. "You proved you belonged—without sponsors forcing a diversity hire, without a team trying to sell you as the next big ‘female trailblazer’ before you even turned a wheel. You earned this. And now that you’re here? No one can take that away from you."

Something in me cracked at those words.

For so long, I had braced myself for this truth to destroy everything I had built. But instead, these three—these friends—were standing beside me, not tearing me down but lifting me up.

For the first time in years, I wasn’t Ghost.

I was just me.

I took a slow, shaky breath.

“If I tell you the full truth… will you promise me something?” My voice was quieter now, uncertain.

Lando, Oscar, and Franco exchanged glances before nodding.

“Of course,” Lando said.

“Anything,” Oscar added.

Franco just gave me a firm look, waiting.

I hesitated, but I couldn’t stop now. The weight of the secret was pressing down on me, and for the first time in years, I wasn’t carrying it alone.

“I didn’t start hiding my identity because I wanted to,” I admitted. “It wasn’t some big strategy or grand plan. I did it because it was the only way I was ever going to race.”

Their brows furrowed, curiosity flickering in their eyes.

“My parents… they never wanted me to be a driver.” The bitterness in my tone was undeniable. “Jack? He got everything. He was the future of our family in racing. My parents invested everything into him, his training, his career. But me? I was their daughter. That meant a different future—one where I was supposed to be proper, ladylike, anything but a racer.”

Oscar’s mouth parted slightly in shock. Lando looked outright offended.

“But… then how did you start racing?” Franco asked, confusion laced in his voice.

A small, sad smile pulled at my lips. “My uncle. He helped me. He was the only one who saw how much I loved it—how much I needed it. He taught me behind my parents’ backs, found ways to get me into karting under a fake name. He made sure I had a shot.”

I swallowed hard.

“They never knew. Not my parents. Not Jack. And as I got older, the lie became my only way forward. The mask… it became necessary. If they found out, it would’ve been over before I even had a chance.”

Silence filled the room, the weight of my words settling in.

“I watched so many other girls get stuck,” I continued, my voice dropping to almost a whisper. “They had the talent. They worked just as hard, if not harder. But they were always seen as ‘a risk,’ as ‘a marketing opportunity’ instead of real drivers. Meanwhile, I just kept moving up—because they didn’t know. Because I was a mystery they could project their own expectations onto.”

I let out a humorless chuckle.

“And now? This is all I know. I don’t know how to race any other way. If I take the mask off now, everything changes. I change.”

I met their eyes then, desperation creeping into my tone.

“That’s why I need you to promise me. Please. Keep pretending you don’t know. Keep using male pronouns. Keep the secret alive—just a little longer.”

I could see the emotions warring in their expressions—concern, understanding, frustration at the reality of it all.

Then, Lando let out a long breath, shaking his head in disbelief before cracking a small, lopsided smile.

“This is fucking mental,” he muttered.

Oscar nudged him. “Lando.”

“What? It is! But…” He looked back at me, something more serious in his gaze now. “I get it.”

Oscar nodded. “Me too. It’s not fair, but if this is what you need… we’ve got your back.”

Franco was the last to speak, his expression unreadable. But then, he gave a single nod.

“We’ll keep the secret. No one’s gonna hear it from us.”

Relief flooded through me so fast I almost felt lightheaded.

"Thank you," I whispered, meaning it more than I ever had before.

Lando let out a deep sigh, running a hand through his hair. "You know, we originally came in here to congratulate you on your first goddamn F1 win, but somehow, we ended up in a full-blown identity reveal."

Oscar snorted. "Yeah, this was not on my bingo card for today."

Franco shook his head with an exasperated laugh. "You literally won your first race, and instead of celebrating, we get emotional in your dressing room and drop the biggest plot twist of the season."

I couldn't help but chuckle at that, the tension in the air finally easing. "I mean… if it makes you feel any better, I also wasn’t expecting this to happen today."

Lando threw his arms up. "Oh, fantastic! That makes it so much better."

Oscar patted his shoulder. "Deep breaths, mate."

Lando shot him a glare. "I have been breathing, thank you very much."

"Could've fooled me."

"Shut up, P5."

Oscar smirked. "P5? Mate, you're acting like you didn't just get your ass handed to you by the ‘rookie’ we all thought was a guy five minutes ago."

Lando groaned dramatically. "And now that's gonna haunt me for the rest of my life."

Franco clapped his hands together. "Alright, as fun as this little existential crisis is, we have an awards ceremony to get to before the FIA starts hunting us down."

My eyes widened. "Shit, you're right." I rushed over to grab my helmet, shoving it back on my head before anyone else could see my face. The visor clicked into place, securing the secret once again.

Lando waggled his eyebrows. "So mysterious."

I smacked his arm.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"For being you."

"Wow. Rude."

Oscar sighed, already heading toward the door. "Can we please move this along? I'd like to see secret history being made sometime today."

Franco pulled the door open, peeking outside to make sure the coast was clear before gesturing for us to follow.

As we stepped out, Lando leaned in toward me. "Just so you know, Max is gonna be so pissed he lost to a literal ghost driver."I smirked under my helmet. "Then let’s not keep him waiting."

Taglist: @widow-cevans @honethatty12 @wierdflowerpower @imlonelydontsendhelp @thatsnotaddy

[lyiswriting]

Plus size!reader x Stalker!OC

Past mention

Things about Landon!

I kinda want Landon to be like a Punk/Jock. Idk I'm figuring it out

How I'm thinking they met

Met the reader in the subway. It was a rush hour and the train was packed and she was standing in front of him. He didn't pay attention at first just scrolling on his phone. Until he looked up and they accidentally made eye contact. He fell so quickly, he couldn't stop looking at her as she squirmed. His gaze making her uncomfortable, she thought he was handsome but why would he be looking at her. Reader doesn't question her beauty but it's still weird.

Offered her his seat but she refused as it was already hard to get around and her hips weren't about to fit in that space. He insists but she keeps refusing. Eventually they both drop the conversation but Landon doesn't stop looking at her. Taking in every inch of her, even sneaking a picture the best he can.

Things he starts to do

He starts purposely missing his usual train to take the same one as reader. Once this starts to affect his schedule he changes it so it can fit. Doesn't even need to talk to reader as long as he gets to look at her.

Observes everything about her. Her style, purse, pins, keychains, anything! To try and get more information on her, soon enough he catches a glimpse of a tag on her purse. That's how he gets her name and quickly takes it to social media.

Starts to purposely push people out, makes sure there's a seat next to him. Once this fails the first couple times and reader doesn't sit next to him he re-thinks. From observing he notices she tries to take as little space as she can. And from media he finds out people complain about plus size people sitting next to them. So he starts to stand, stands next to her, glances at her phone, down her shirt, and into her bag if he can!

Subway can get pretty rough so when they hit a rough patch he always uses it as an excuse to get closer. Putting his hand on the bar next to her, "stumbling" into her, grabbing her so she "doesn't fall" all with that innocent charm of his.

Diary keeping. Writes down everything! Even if it's the smallest glance it will have almost a whole page. What reader wore, if she had a snack, how she looked, and not only the stuff you can see. But the stuff he's imagining, the bra color, the beauty marks, the positions.

He starts incorporating her into the things he does. I'm not sure what I want Landon to work as but reader does make her way into it. If it's art she is his muse, he draws her and paints her body all the time. Over and over making sure every detail is just right not leaving a single mark. If it's music, his lyrics describe her. The plush of her hips, his need to grab and bite. If it's business or something of the sorts he creates things that allows plus size people to be more included. Like more sizing, open spaces, and things he knows she will like.

Reader isn't Landon's type.

By reader not being Landon's "type" I mean he has never been with a bigger woman. He's stereotyped to be seen with that classic skinny, blonde, and blued eyes. It will play into the gaslighting and manipulation I have planned for him to do.

Landon is used to getting what he wants.

Even if he has to fight for it he will have it. Anything and anyone. He's patient and will achieve. Yes, this does mean he would kill for reader.

Reader makes Landon feel like he's never felt hormones before.

He's confused himself because he's never been shy with women, always had options. So the way that he can't get her out of his head is insane to him. Spends hours and hours just thinking about reader, drawing, writing, rewatching videos he's taken, printing pictures, picking out gifts to send her, and watching porn but looking for her. Anyone that looks like her but it's never enough because it's not reader!

I'm so happy and grateful for the support on the first post! So here's some stuff I have planned for Landon. Definitely more to come and more scenes!

[discodummy]

I'm gonna rant about my body image issues and dysmorphia for a second so watch out. I'll put it under a read more if i can figure out how

slay i think i did it. anyway, going to the gym as much as i have and getting into shape and stuff has been lovely, dont get me wrong, but it also makes some things very strange for me. Like, I was raised by a an who had a manual job and was a bodybuilder in his 20's. My perspective of what a "dad bod" was was SO skewed by my dad that i though it meant a buff guy who puffs his chest out when he stands stil to look bigger. My older brother (by three years) was chubby in middle school and then did swimming and lacrosse and had an insane dorito shaped body by 17 and still has it now. I was 6'3 when i started high school and i looked like a lollipop: just a big head on a tiny body. And i stayed that way all through high school. I assumed that getting beefy and filling out like my dad and brother did just want going to happen for me. I spent all of my early and mid 20's weighing like 145 (150 on a good day) and having to buy 28x34's for pants and medium shirts. The pandemic happened and i started working from home and after a few years i was about 210 or so. I stayed around that weight for bit and assumed it was my adult weight and what my body liked and spent over a year coming to terms with it. wel NOW after going to the gym and eating better for the last 10 months, im down to a toned 180 and im all sorts of jumbled up. I hit my shoulders on doorframes bc even though i measured and know my shoulders got at least 4 inches broader, i still dont believe it or feel it. My mediums got too tight, and my XL's from being 210 fit my shoulders and chest but hang off of me. Like im surrounded by evidence of the shape my body is in now, and i can see in the mirror how i look, i just dont think its clicking for me. I'm right about 6'4 and until the last year or so i wouold just say i was "medium tall" bc i didnt think i was TALL tall, just tallER. Like thats how deep this weird disconnect from the objective truths of my body goes. And now im at the point where people compliment my arms or chest or butt or something and i cant shake the nagging feeling that its just flattery and they dont mean it and isnt true. Someone said my arms were big and i was like "i mean theyre long, but i wouldnt say big" and it took me seeing several people with smaller arms over the course of a while for me to be like "oh yeah i guess so". Like, i always felt like the most average and unremarkable of my family and thats SUPER bleeding into things now. Maybe i dont think i can be extraordinary or above average or something?? All i know is im CLEARLY not seeing what everyone else is, and poeple are getting frustrated with me about it and taking it as me being fake-humble or just plain oblivious. And i feel insane talking about it bc one of my friends says it makes him feel awful to see someone who "looks like me" doubt myself so much, because that means that HE must be so much worse then. I also know that a 6'4 in shape white guy having body image issues isnt exactly the easiest thing to sympathize or empathize with, but it sucks that I feel like i cant really talk about it with anyone bc it just gets too personally hard for anyone to go in depth about. Its like my issues are too triggering for others and i just need to get a grip or something. IDK, i just needed to vent about this bc i dont know what else to do. if you read all of this, let me know what you think or something lol

[physics-of-one-piece]

Ohhh Fizzyyyy~ ✨

While researching Doffy's Looks, I noticed something sad about the DQ Brothers and I have to make everyone elses a bit sad with me ~ 😌

And someone else has probably pointed that out already

About the color reverse with Doffy and Rosi, it only happened after Doffy shot his Brother ! (Actually it happened when Doffy ruled Dressrosa, but let me have this!!! )

Before The Incident™ we see Doffy in two magnificent fits.

This one: white trousers, black shirt, bit of red and dark pink on his pants. Similar colors to Rosi over all, but not a color reverse. Not sure about the timeline right now, but the colors might symbolize Doffy being happy his little brother is back and therefore making them wear similar colours to show it (let me have this 😩plz)

And then there is our beloved Red Suit Doffy. No White in sight, just Black and lots of Red (= blood = Family and death). He feels betrayed by the only Family he has left and there is only one solution for him! 😩 Bang bang.

And only after Doffy realized what he has lost, he subconciously choose to wear his brothers colors! ( I know it was Odas choice to show the parallels with the Brothers in the Dressrosa Arc, BUT let me-)

Anyway ✨✌🏻 i just wanted to point this out !

Have a loveley Day, Fizzy 🦩

PS: Its totaly off topic but I headcanons Doffy with a bellybutton piercing. Let me ha-

Hello, Coco ~💕✨🫶🏻

I love this. First of all, these two pics made me swoon North Blue Doffy is so handsome 😍

We will ignore that Oda designed Doffy first and only later decided to make Rosinante (in Oda's first ever sketches of Doffy, Doffy was a single child! But man am I glad he changed his mind) and used Dressrosa Doffy's clothes colours but switched them for the base of Doffy's brother because clothes are another writing/artist tool- as a writer, what better way to speak to the audience than through clothes? You get to say soo many things with clothes, especially in manga. Clothes are such a simple tool and yet a great tool to show the connection between characters while also giving them their own style!

However, let's ignore that entire "Oda created Doffy first" which and focus on how the characters feel and what made the characters pick their clothes.

And you're right. Now, why Dressrosa Doffy reverse clothes colours scheme for Cora? Easy. Audience. By now, it's been (counting from ep 608 when post-timeskip Doffy aka Dressrosa Doffy is revealed) 100 episodes that the audience has seen Doflamingo dressed in those clothes, white shirt, pink coat. The moment we see Cora, our minds need to go "that's Corazon, that's Doflamingo's younger brother" at FIRST SIGHT of Corazon.

So, Oda does the colours the same but on different clothing aka if Doffy has a white shirt, Cora will have white pants. If Doffy has a pink coat, Cora can't have a pink coat but his upper body needs to wear sth pink. Pink shirt with pink hearts. Genius. Oh, and the biggest "THIS IS DOFLAMINGO'S LITTLE BROTHER" sign? Feather coat like Doflamingo's just a black colour. Oda coloured Cora's coat black but I love the purple of the anime too cus it's literally on the colour spectrum right next to pink. I think Oda made it black but myb it was originally purple but the amount of times Cora lit it on fire just made the poor thing turn black. Though, there is the entire thing with flamingos. They have black feathers underneath their main pink feathers - it's the black feathers that help them to fly.

North Blue Doffy

I think the moment Doffy hit 21 (that's the legal drinking age in Japan) he switches to suits/more formal wear. And yes, you're right about Dressrosa Doffy being the reverse clothes switch of Cora aka after his brother's death. Doffy liked red a lot to go with his wardrobe.

This is how he dressed at 17 (I love it, it makes no sense and I love it) at Roger's execution. Maybe it was hot that day, but it did start to rain later but it was probably summer rain anyway. But I can totally see this being 17 year old Doffy's everyday fit.

So, sometime later when he reached 20 and he became the young pirate underworld businessman as Law (and we, the audience) meet him later as in North Blue, he switched to formal wear. Doffy likes luxury. He's a Celestial Dragon. Also, I like to think the climate of North Blue doesn't agree with him, so he goes for long sleeved shirts such as dress shirts and the full red suit. Of course he goes for suits. They can also make him appear less dangerous than he is while giving him an edge over other pirates who dress... Well, like pirates 🤣

So, when Cora came back (Doffy was 24, Cora 22) of course Doffy will try to colour match somehow. Ties are a no go. First, he needs EVERYONE to know that this clumsy pyromaniac is his wonderful cute little brother! And how does he do that?

COAT.

Doflamingo already probably has quite a bounty on his head even in his North Blue days (probably a 100,000 berries or a bit more, I think it skyrocketed to its 320 mil. when he attacked the Heavenly Tributes). His coat is probably INFAMOUS. It's what other pirates recognise him by. You see a big pink feather coat? Oh, that's Donquixote Doflamingo.

And so Doflamingo wanted everyone to connect Cora's black/purple(in anime)coat to "this is Doflamingo's younger brother, Corazon"

It's not known whether the pirate world is aware that Corazon is Doflamingo's younger brother,but I'd wager the answer is a big NO. They think as Doflamingo's right-hand man, it comes with the perk of wearing a feather coat 🤣

In short, I am a 100% sure Doffy picked Corazon's outfit.

Red Suit Doffy being = blood, family, death you get it Coco, you get it. 🥹🫶🏻

I love being delulu thinking Dressrosa Doffy subconsciously chose to wear his brother's colour scheme but reverse and with his own twists cus wtf are those pants colour, Doffy what fckn colour is that, Doffy. I fckn love it but what fckn colour - oh even that is just a lighter shade of Cora's beanie, just shoot me.

I mean, I know it's probably not true that he like subconsciously chose them cus of Cora, but I totally get you, Coco. Even if Doffy most likely chose them cus he likes them+white dress shirts are always worn by royals (thinks Sanji's outfit in Whole Cake) I support being delulu☝🏻🫡

Thank you for the ask, it hurts but it's worth it. 🫶🏻💕

But maaan, all this clothes talk is just making me wonder if Merlot & Primroses Doffy would be so terrible (at least it's in Reader's POV how Reader would understand it) to give Reader Cora's extra black feather coat fitted for her. Or myb the opposite, sth that he tries to erase Cora's presence with...

Where are those American flamingos...

A feather coat like this colour? It's such a close shade to pink but is its own shade. Like, the people will be thinking "there is a connection to Doflamingo" and that already is bad enough the moment they think that

Plus, the Chilean flamingos have their tail feathers in a darker pink colour too!

And some flamingos have black tail feathers, too (prob why Oda drew Cora's coat black (or bcs of the underneath black feathers as I said), now that I think about it).

Aaah, thank you for making me cry over DQ brothers again, Coco 🫶🏻🥹✨💕

And you may or may not have made me think about how to make Merlot & Primroses even more angsty, though I for some reason don't want to give Reader any feather coat. Those things can be HEAVY.

Doffy with a bellybuton piercing 😳😳 oh my 🫣🫣 that is so cute 🥹🥹

[twopoppies]

Hi Gina! I don’t know if you’ve been able to take a look at Louis’ new 28OP drop, but I LOVE IT! I have some fashion training so I know good clothes when I see them, and these are SO GOOD. The attention to detail is astounding. There are many things that are done in a more complex way than is functionally necessary, but help to elevate the item so much: extra panels, embroideries, branded zippers (those are especially rare for a small brand, because custom-ordering them in a small batch is very costly), PROPER CUFFS!!! I love that there is some variability in the level of branding on the items, because the more low-key ones could help him to reach customers beyond his fanbase, which is something that I’d be very happy to see. I hope that the actual quality matches the pictures, but if it’s on par with the previous drop (I have a two-colour jersey from that one and it’s my favourite thing ever), then I’ll be beyond happy. I had such a tough internal debate over what to get, because I loved almost everything, but ended up choosing the zip-up pullover. The bombers were also great, but I had to recognise that the particular colours don’t fit well in my wardrobe, so now I just hope that there will be other variants in future collections. But Louis in that green one at the launch event… omg, he looked so hot, I swear that if he wore each item for like 5 seconds I wouldn’t be able to stop myself!

I also felt like there were a few subtle nods to Harry, not at the level of references or proofs, but just a feeling of him. The denim two-piece outfit resembling that iconic look from your profile pic. The t-shirts being a take on infamous Umbro (Harry didn’t give it back, so Louis made his own?). The layer hoodie replicating how Harry wore the Umbro. The black bomber having a violet lining (especially considering the meaning of this colour in LGBT context). The sheer amount of bluegreening in the styling choices and at the launch event. Small things, all of these, and some likely coincidental, but they warm my heart nonetheless.

Hi, sugar. Yes, I took a quick look. And you’re right, everything looks very nicely made and like good value for the price. It was really nice to see him venture into something a little more upscale, like the bombers.

In really trying to not spend money right now, but I think he’ll do really well with this collection (and yes, he looked gorgeous at the event)!

[misspoetree]

Aaaand we've reached another FINAL CONTENDERS poll, folks!

Yet again, you had 25 (well, 26 actually, but I got scolded for re-including the dark velvet shirt because of the fluffy hair 😂) options to choose from, you picked your favourite ones and now let me ask you ONE last time:

Presenting: The Great KinnPorsche Fashion Showdown (nobody asked for)

A few weeks ago, I made a poll about the best dressed KinnPorsche character. Tankhun won that one, followed by Vegas and Tay. Legitimate results - but the tags had some really interesting arguments for a bunch of different contenders. So why don't we take a closer look? Why don't we go through all the characters and their outfits one by one, choose the best one for each of them and repeat the initial poll at the end?

Sooo...that's exactly what we're doing right now.

*For the characters with more than 10 outfits - like Vegas - I'm making multiple polls and put the best voted ones into a final one - hence the FINAL CONTENDERS poll you have right before you!

**I deciced to include a WILDCARD - an outift that didn't win any of the pre-selections but was most frequently mentioned in the tags and comments.

Tankhun - FINAL CONTENDERS (CAPE vs. CRUELLA DE VIL vs. FUNERAL FIT ) (closes March 22nd!!!!!!)

Vegas - Part 1 (CLOSED) | Part 2 (CLOSED) | Part 3 (CLOSED)

Kim - Part 1 | Part 2 coming March 23rd | FINAL CONTENDERS coming March 30th

You can find the links to all the polls (as I gradually post them) HERE (pinned on my profile).

LET'S GET VOTING! 🎉

[ghastigiggles]

let's let our guards down, just for a second. we've earned it.

[joshuamj]

Linktober Day 8. Tunic

[socially-awkward-chocobo]

Hi @rayshippouuchiha! I drew a few Eds from your Full Metal Sky au

Hope you enjoy it!