#then had a moment thinking “that's the perfect song!!”

[mrsfancyferrari]

Hey I hope you've having an amazing day/evening/night. This is my first time requesting something😅, and I was wondering if you could possibility write something like what you did with my type but the reader having natural auburn curly hair, with freckles thinking that she's not his type or something along those lines.

Gold in Snow

Summary: you and lando are in a relationship but you're reserving hate comments about you being a ginger, with freckles because the fans don't think you're his type

Song: Golden Hour · JVKE

Author’s note: Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 5.8k

MASTERLIST - F1

The roar of the crowd was deafening. Another podium finish for Lando, another shower of champagne soaking his expensive suit. You watched from the relative calm of the garage, a small smile playing on your lips.

He looked genuinely happy, and that, more than anything, made the constant noise and pressure of Formula 1 palatable.

You’d been dating Lando Norris for almost a year now. A year of stolen moments, whispered secrets in hotel rooms, and navigating the chaotic whirlwind that was his life. A year of pure bliss…mostly.

The “mostly” came in the form of comment sections. Forums. Twitter threads dedicated to dissecting every pixel of your existence and comparing it to the accepted prototype of a WAG – Wives and Girlfriends – in the F1 world.

You were… different.

They’d say it with a thinly veiled, almost clinical detachment, but the message was always the same: you didn’t fit. You were too… ginger. Too freckled. Too… you.

The ginger part bothered them the most. Lando was a global superstar, practically sculpted from marble, with a smile that could melt glaciers. He was everything they wanted him to be: conventionally attractive, charming, and effortlessly cool.

And you? You were… well, very, very pale. Your hair was a fiery halo, and your skin was dotted with a constellation of freckles that bloomed fiercer in the summer sun.

“He likes the exotic look,” one comment had sniped. “She’s probably got a killer tan when she’s not hiding in the shade.”

You’d chuckled then, a hollow sound that didn’t quite reach your heart. Exotic? You’d spent your life battling sunburns and jokes about having no soul.

And killer tan? Honey, you burned so fast, lifeguards would start applying sunscreen just by looking at you.

You tried to ignore it. Lando certainly seemed to. He showered you with affection, praised your quick wit and sharp mind, and constantly reminded you how beautiful he found you, flaws and all.

But the insidious comments burrowed under your skin, planting seeds of doubt that you desperately tried to weed out.

You saw him heading towards the garage now, adrenaline still buzzing through him. His eyes found yours, and that signature Lando grin spread across his face. Your heart did that familiar little flip.

“Hey!” he said, pulling you into a hug. He smelled of champagne and victory. “Did you see that last overtake? Unbelievable!”

You laughed, burying your face in his still-damp fire suit. “Yes, I saw it. You were amazing, as always. Just try not to spray me next time, okay?”

He pulled back, his brow furrowed. “You okay? You seem… quiet.”

You forced a smile. “Just tired. It’s been a long weekend.”

He didn't look convinced, but he didn't push. “Well, we’re flying back tomorrow morning. We can just chill in the hotel tonight. Order some room service, maybe watch a movie?”

“Sounds perfect,” you said, meaning it. Just the two of you, away from the cameras and the judgment.

That night, as you lay in his arms in the dimly lit hotel room, the familiar ache in your chest returned. You couldn't shake the feeling that you were somehow… undeserving.

“Lando?” you whispered, the sound barely audible above the hum of the air conditioning.

“Hmm?” He nuzzled into your hair.

“Do you… do you ever read the comments? About us?”

He stiffened slightly. “I try not to. You know how toxic that can be.”

“But you do read them, right? Sometimes?”

He sighed, a heavy sound that vibrated against your chest. “Okay, yeah, sometimes. But I don’t pay any attention to them. They’re just… noise.”

“Noise that says I’m not good enough for you.” The words tumbled out before you could stop them.

He pulled back, his eyes searching yours in the dimness. “What? That’s ridiculous. Who says that?”

“Everyone. Online, anyway. They don’t think I’m your type. They think I’m… too ginger. Too freckled. Too… plain.”

He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs gently stroking your cheekbones. “Hey. Look at me. You are absolutely stunning. Inside and out. You are intelligent, funny, kind, and you have the most beautiful smile in the world. And yes,” he added with a mischievous grin, “I also happen to think your hair is gorgeous, and your freckles are like little constellations scattered across your skin. They’re unique, just like you.”

You felt tears welling up in your eyes. “But they say…”

“They say a lot of things. People are always going to have opinions. But their opinions don’t matter. Only mine does. And I think you are perfect.”

He leaned in and kissed you, a slow, tender kiss that chased away the doubts, at least for a moment.

But even as you melted into him, a small, insidious voice whispered in the back of your mind: He’s just saying that. He has to say that.

The knot in your stomach tightened with each passing day, each new photo plastered across social media. You and Lando, laughing at a restaurant, holding hands at the airport, just being normal.

What shouldn't have been a cause for concern, was. It should have been a happy bubble of romance, but it was quickly becoming a breeding ground for anxiety, a place where your insecurities festered and grew.

Because under each picture, nestled amongst the supportive comments and heart emojis, they lurked. The whispers, the not-so-subtle digs.

"He could do so much better." "She's not even his type." "Another generic influencer." And the worst of it? "Ginger + Freckles = No."

You knew it was irrational. Lando loved you. He told you every day, showed you in a million little ways, from the way he held your hand to the way he looked at you with genuine adoration.

But the internet had a way of burrowing into your brain, planting seeds of doubt that blossomed into thorny vines. You found yourself scrutinizing your reflection, picking apart every freckle, every strand of your fiery hair.

Was it too much? Was it enough? Were you enough?

"Penny for your thoughts?" Lando's voice startled you, pulling you back from the precipice of your spiral. He was standing in the doorway of your shared flat, his racing helmet tucked under his arm, a familiar mischievous grin playing on his lips.

"Just thinking about this weekend," you mumbled, avoiding his gaze. "Excited for the snow."

"Me too! Max and Steve are already counting down the hours. You're coming to the slopes tomorrow, right?"

You hesitated. "I… I have something I need to do in the morning. I'll meet you guys up there later, okay?"

Lando frowned, his blue eyes searching yours. "Everything alright, love? You seem a bit off."

"I'm fine," you insisted, forcing a smile. "Just… a doctor's appointment. Nothing serious. I'll explain later. Promise."

He didn't look convinced, but he knew better than to push. "Alright. Just text me when you're on your way. Drive safe.”

He kissed your forehead, the warmth of his touch a brief comfort against the chill that had settled within you and left.

The next morning, the drive to the snow mountains felt endless. Each mile was another step closer to the potential storm brewing in your head.

You told yourself you were being ridiculous, that you were letting faceless strangers dictate your feelings. But the seed of doubt had been planted, watered, and was now taking root.

When you finally arrived at the ski resort, the crisp mountain air did little to soothe your nerves. You walked into the reception area, the scent of pine and hot chocolate thick in the air.

"Name?" the receptionist asked, her eyes glued to the computer screen.

"It's… uh… Y/L/N, party of Lando Norris."

The receptionist's fingers clicked across the keyboard, and she looked up, a polite professional smile gracing her lips. "Ah, yes. Mr. Norris's party. You're all set. Here's your lift pass. Your equipment rental is just through those doors. Have a wonderful day."

You collected your ski boots and poles from the rental shop, the familiar weight grounding you slightly. You'd been skiing since you were a kid, practically born on the slopes.

It was one of the few places you felt truly free, truly yourself.

You strapped on your skis and headed towards the main lift, scanning the crowd for a flash of Lando's familiar McLaren Racing beanie or the boisterous laughter of Max and Steve.

The lift carried you higher and higher, the view expanding to reveal a breathtaking panorama of snow-covered peaks and pristine valleys.

For a moment, the internet, the comments, the doubts, all faded away. You breathed in the crisp air, feeling the thrill of anticipation course through you.

As you reached the top, you spotted them. Lando, grinning and waving, Max, already carving down the slope with reckless abandon, and Steve, carefully navigating the beginner trail.

You took a deep breath, pushed off, and let gravity do its work. The wind whipped through your hair, the sun glinted off the snow, and for the first time that day, you felt a genuine smile spread across your face.

You were good. Really good. You weaved and turned, carving graceful arcs in the powder, your ginger hair a vibrant streak against the white landscape. You glided past other skiers, feeling the rush of adrenaline as you navigated the slopes with practiced ease.

You found yourself on a black diamond run, moguls stretching out before you like frozen waves. This was where you belonged, where you felt alive. You took a deep breath and launched yourself into the challenge, navigating the bumps and dips with precision and skill.

Suddenly, you heard a whoop of excitement and a familiar voice. "Wow, check out the ginger ninja!"

You glanced over your shoulder and saw a couple of guys, clearly impressed by your skiing skills.

You grinned, threw them a wink, and continued your descent, the compliment a small spark of warmth against the doubt that still lingered.

The crisp mountain air bit at Lando’s cheeks, painting them a matching shade to the gaudy orange ski suit Max insisted he wear. He shifted his weight from one ski boot to the other, impatience radiating off him in visible waves.

He’d been waiting at the base of the slope for what felt like an eternity. Max was already halfway up the mountain for his third run. Steve was content to nurse a lukewarm hot chocolate and offer unsolicited advice on Lando’s form, despite the fact Lando hadn't even put his skis on yet.

"She's taking her time," Steve commented, taking another careful sip. "Probably intimidated by the black runs."

Lando rolled his eyes, though fondness softened the gesture. He knew you weren't intimidated by anything. This was more than likely your first time on the slopes, so you were probably taking it easy.

You were a natural athlete, thriving on competition, but you’d also confessed, with a sheepish grin, that skiing looked deceptively easy on TV.

He was about to tell Steve as much when Steve suddenly straightened, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Oh, there's your girl!"

Lando spun around, instantly forgetting the cold, the wait, and Steve’s irritating commentary. He searched the throng of skiers snaking down the slope, his heart doing a little skip. And then he saw you.

You moved with a surprising grace, your skis carving effortless arcs in the snow. Sunlight caught in your fiery red hair, turning it into a cascade of glittering copper. Each freckle seemed to dance on your skin, illuminated by the mountain sun.

He knew, objectively, that you were beautiful. He saw it every day. But seeing you now, flushed with exertion and radiant with joy, took his breath away.

He froze, utterly captivated, as you approached. You navigated the final stretch with smooth confidence. “Show off,” he muttered under his breath, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You slowed to a stop, kicking up a spray of snow just inches from his boots.

"Hey!" you exclaimed, laughing. You pushed your goggles up onto your forehead, revealing eyes the color of warm honey. "Sorry! How long have you been waiting?"

Your cheeks were rosy, your breath misting in the cold air. Lando stared, speechless.

"Baby? What's wrong?" you asked, your brow furrowing with concern. You reached out, your ungloved hand gently touching his cheek. The cold stung, but he barely noticed.

He swallowed, his voice a low rasp. "You're beautiful."

The words were a whisper, almost lost in the wind. He hadn’t meant to say it so abruptly, so…exposed. But the sight of you, framed by the snow-covered peaks, had rendered him incapable of coherent thought.

Your eyes widened slightly, and a blush bloomed on your cheeks, a delicate counterpoint to the healthy glow of the mountain air. "Lando," you said softly, "you okay? Are you coming down with something?"

He blinked, shaking himself slightly. "No, I'm fine. More than fine, actually. You just…you look incredible."

Steve coughed pointedly beside him. Max, having apparently teleported from the top of the mountain, snickered. Lando shot them both a warning glare. They knew how self-conscious you were, especially around his racing colleagues.

The comments section of his social media had been a cesspool ever since you two became public. Hateful words about your appearance, thinly veiled as concerned opinions that you weren’t “his type,” were a constant, ugly background noise.

He knew it bothered you, even though you tried to brush it off with a laugh and a casual, "Haters gonna hate." But he saw the flicker of hurt in your eyes when you thought no one was looking.

He hated those comments, hated the people who wrote them, and hated that they had the power to make you feel anything less than extraordinary.

He took your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. "Ignore them," he said, his voice firm, his gaze locked on yours.

You looked confused. "Ignore who? Max and Steve?"

"Everyone," he said, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. "Anyone who makes you feel like you're anything less than perfect. Because you are. Perfect. Just the way you are."

The blush on your cheeks deepened, and you ducked your head slightly, a shy smile playing on your lips. "You're sweet," you mumbled. "But I know I'm not everyone's cup of tea."

"Good," Lando said fiercely. "You're mine. And that's all that matters." He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead, ignoring Max's exaggerated gagging noises.

He pulled back and met your gaze, his expression serious. "Listen to me. Don't ever let anyone tell you that you're not beautiful, or that you're not good enough, or that you don't belong. Because they're wrong. They’re absolutely, unequivocally wrong. You’re amazing, inside and out. You’re kind, you’re funny, you’re fiercely intelligent, and yes, you’re unbelievably beautiful. And I’m the luckiest guy in the world to have you."

A tear, born of emotion and the biting wind, escaped your eye. "You're going to make me cry," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

"Good," Lando said, wiping the tear away with his thumb. "Let them see you cry. Let them see how real and how beautiful you are. Don't hide anything. Don't let anyone dim your light."

He knew his words were bold, maybe even a little cheesy, but he meant every single one of them. He wanted you to know, deep down, that he saw you, truly saw you, and that nothing anyone said would ever change that.

Max, surprisingly, had stopped snickering. He clapped Lando on the shoulder. "Alright, mate, enough with the declarations of love. Let's hit the slopes. Before I get frostbite."

Steve nodded in agreement. “He’s right, Lando. You can gush later. Right now, let’s see if your girl’s got what it takes.” He winked at you. “No pressure.”

You smiled, the tension easing from your shoulders. "Pressure is my middle name," she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Let's go."

Lando grinned, relieved to see the familiar spark back in your eyes. He squeezed your hand one last time before letting go.

He watched as you adjusted your goggles and clicked your poles into the snow. He felt a surge of pride watching you. He knew the comments would still be there, lurking in the shadows of the internet, waiting to pounce.

But he also knew that you were strong. You were resilient. And you had him.

He grabbed his own skis, a newfound confidence coursing through him. He would protect you, always. But more than that, he would celebrate you, every freckle, every fiery strand of hair, every brilliant facet of your being.

As you pushed off, gracefully navigating the gentle slope, Lando felt a lightness in his heart that had nothing to do with the altitude. He knew, without a doubt, that their love story was just beginning, and he couldn't wait to see where it would take them.

He followed you down the slope, his orange ski suit a beacon against the white snow. He caught up to you easily, skiing alongside you, matching your pace.

"So," he said, grinning mischievously. "Think you can keep up with me, ginger?"

You laughed, a bright, joyful sound that echoed through the mountains. "Try me, Papaya boy."

And with that, you kicked it up a notch, leaving Lando in your snowy wake.

He laughed, his heart soaring.

He pushed off, determined to catch up, knowing that even if he never did, he would be perfectly content just to chase you, forever. . . .

The papaya coloured dress hung on you, a vibrant splash of sunshine in the sterile white bathroom. It was Lando’s favourite colour, or so he claimed. He said it reminded him of McLaren, of speed, of… you.

But all you could see in the mirror was a canvas of imperfections.

Your reflection stared back, a stranger dissected and judged. The fiery red hair, usually a source of pride, now felt like a neon sign screaming "OUT OF PLACE."

The constellation of freckles scattered across your nose and cheeks, tiny sun-kissed stars Lando often traced with his fingertip, seemed like blemishes, flaws magnified under the harsh bathroom light.

The original plan, a simple elegance of no-makeup and loose waves, lay discarded. You'd envisioned a carefree evening, a confident entrance with Lando by your side.

Now, the thought of facing the public, the prying eyes, the inevitable whispers, felt like climbing a mountain of anxiety.

Social media had been a minefield lately. Ever since your relationship with Lando Norris became public, the comment sections had become a breeding ground for toxicity. Most were overwhelmingly supportive, celebrating your love.

But a persistent undercurrent of negativity gnawed at your confidence. The "fans," or rather, the internet trolls masquerading as them, were relentless.

“She’s not his type.”

“He could do so much better.”

“Ginger? Really? He's lowering his standards.”

The worst were the comments picking apart your appearance. The freckles, the hair, the perceived lack of "glamour." They painted you as an anomaly, someone who didn't belong in Lando's world. It was absurd, of course.

Lando loved you for you. He told you every day. But the insidious nature of online hate was that it seeped in, whispering doubts in your ear when you were most vulnerable.

Tonight, facing a McLaren party filled with glamorous personalities and industry insiders, the doubts had reached a crescendo. You grabbed a tissue from the dispenser, dabbing at the corners of your eyes, fighting back the overwhelming urge to cry.

The reflection in the mirror blurred, the colours swam, and the vibrant papaya felt like a mocking reminder of everything you weren't.

That’s when you heard the familiar click of the front door.

“Y/n?” Lando’s voice echoed through the house, a warm, comforting sound that momentarily cut through the anxiety clouding your mind.

Panic seized you. You couldn't let him see you like this, a mess of insecurities and mascara-smeared cheeks. You needed to compose yourself, to build up a façade of confidence before facing him.

Quickly, you turned the small lock on the bathroom door. The click was loud in the sudden silence.

“Y/n?” he called again, his voice closer now. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, just… just getting ready,” you managed, trying to inject a lightness into your tone that felt utterly fake. Your voice wavered, betraying your true state. “I’ll be out in a second.”

You heard him pause outside the door. “You sure? You sound… different.”

He knew you too well. He always did. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the tears away. “Just a bit of a headache. Nothing serious.”

Silence hung in the air for a moment, thick with unspoken concern. You could almost feel his presence on the other side of the door.

“Okay,” he said finally, his voice softening. “But don’t rush. I’m happy to wait. Do you want me to get you some water?”

His thoughtfulness, his unwavering care, only made the guilt swell inside you. He was so genuine, so supportive, and here you were, hiding from him, consumed by the petty insecurities fueled by strangers on the internet.

“No, I’m fine,” you insisted, a little too quickly. “Just… give me a few more minutes, okay?”

“Alright,” he said, a hint of reluctance in his voice. You heard him move away from the door. “I’ll be in the living room.”

You let out a shaky breath, leaning against the cool porcelain of the sink. This couldn’t go on. You couldn't let these hateful comments dictate your life, dictate your relationship.

Lando deserved better. You deserved better.

Taking a deep breath, you turned on the cold tap, splashing water on your face. You grabbed a towel and gently patted your skin dry, removing the remnants of your almost-attempted makeup.

You looked at yourself again, really looked.

The fiery hair, the freckles, the flaws… they were all part of you. They were what made you unique, what made you you. And Lando loved you for it. He saw beauty where others saw imperfections.

He saw strength where others saw vulnerability. Why were you letting the opinions of anonymous strangers outweigh the love and adoration of the man you adored?

You let out a shaky sigh, a weight lifting from your shoulders. It wasn't a complete cure, the insecurities wouldn't vanish overnight, but it was a start.

With newfound resolve, you took another look at the papaya dress. It shimmered under the light, a vibrant symbol of sunshine and joy. You smoothed the fabric down, a small smile gracing your lips.

You unlocked the bathroom door and stepped out.

Lando was standing in the living room, fiddling with his phone. He looked up as you entered, his face immediately lighting up. He was wearing a simple dark suit, impeccably tailored, but it was the genuine warmth in his eyes that truly caught your attention.

He took a step towards you, his gaze sweeping over you from head to toe. The smile widened.

“Wow,” he breathed, his voice laced with admiration. “You look absolutely stunning.”

You blushed, the compliment genuine and heartfelt. “Thank you.”

He closed the distance between you, cupping your face in his hands. His thumbs gently stroked your cheeks, tracing the familiar pattern of your freckles.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice soft with concern. “You seemed a bit… off earlier.”

You hesitated, the urge to brush it off still lingering. But you knew you couldn't hide from him. He deserved the truth.

“I… I saw some comments online,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “About… about me. About not being ‘your type.’”

His expression darkened, his eyes hardening with anger. “Don’t you dare listen to those people, Y/n,” he said fiercely, his grip on your face tightening slightly.

“They don’t know anything. My ‘type’ is someone who is kind, intelligent, funny, and beautiful, inside and out. Someone who makes me laugh every single day. Someone who challenges me and supports me, even when I’m being an idiot. That’s you, Y/n. That's always been you."

He paused, his gaze searching yours, making sure you understood the sincerity of his words.

"And as for the… the physical stuff," he continued, his voice softening again. "Your hair is the most beautiful shade of red I've ever seen. Your freckles are like little constellations, guiding me through the darkness. And that little dimple you get when you smile? Drives me absolutely crazy."

He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Don’t ever let anyone make you feel like you’re not good enough, Y/n. Because to me, you are perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, but this time, they were tears of relief, of gratitude, of love.

You threw your arms around him, burying your face in his chest. “I love you, Lando,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his jacket.

He held you tight, his arms a comforting embrace. “I love you too, Y/n. More than you know.”

After a long moment, you pulled back, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. You took a deep breath, feeling a surge of confidence wash over you.

Lando was right. You couldn't let the negativity of others define you. You had his love, his support, and that was all that mattered.

You looked at him, a genuine smile gracing your lips. "Ready to go to this party?"

He grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Absolutely. And just so you know, I'm planning on spending the entire night showing you off to everyone. They need to see how lucky I am."

He took your hand in his, his fingers interlacing with yours. As you walked out the door together, you knew, with absolute certainty, that you were exactly where you were supposed to be. And that, you realised, was all that truly mattered.

The haters could say what they wanted. You had Lando, you had your love, and that was more than enough. The papaya dress suddenly felt like armour, not a target.

You were ready to face the world, hand in hand, imperfections and all. . . .

The party was exactly what you expected: loud music, flashing lights, and a sea of familiar faces from the F1 world – drivers, team principals, engineers, and their partners.

The sheer volume of people made your anxiety prickle, but Lando kept a firm grip on your hand, navigating you through the crowd.

He introduced you to what felt like a hundred people, his arm possessively around your waist, his smile beaming. You tried to focus on the conversations, to be witty and engaging, but the whispers seemed to follow you, phantom echoes of the comments haunting your mind.

“Lando’s with her?”

“She’s… different.”

“Not exactly what I expected.”

You squeezed Lando’s hand tighter, trying to ground yourself. He seemed oblivious to the undercurrents, his attention solely focused on you.

“Having fun?” he asked, his voice barely audible above the music.

You forced a smile. “Yeah, it’s… great.”

He looked at you, his eyes searching. He knew you better than anyone, and he could see the forced cheerfulness masking your discomfort.

“Hey,” he murmured, pulling you closer. “If you want to leave, we can. We don’t have to stay here.”

“No,” you said quickly. “No, I’m fine. I want to be here. With you.”

He smiled, relieved. "Okay, but seriously, if you change your mind, just say the word."

Just then, a tall, lanky figure approached, his face breaking into a wide grin. “Lando! Mate, good to see you.”

“Oscar!” Lando clapped him on the back. “Good to see you too. Oscar, this is my girlfriend, Y/N. Y/N, this is Oscar Piastri.”

Oscar offered you his hand, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Y/N. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

You shook his hand, trying to gauge his expression. Was there judgment there? Pity? You couldn’t tell. “Likewise, Oscar. Congratulations on your season so far.”

“Thanks,” he said, his smile genuine. "It's been... interesting, to say the least." He paused, then gestured to a woman standing beside him. "And this is my girlfriend, Lily."

Lily stepped forward, her smile warm and inviting. She had kind eyes and a simple elegance that immediately put you at ease. "It's lovely to meet you, Y/N. Lando talks about you all the time."

You blushed, glancing at Lando, who just winked. "All good things, I hope?"

Lily laughed. "Of course! He's completely smitten."

The four of you fell into easy conversation, discussing the season, the pressures of being in the spotlight, and the challenges of maintaining relationships in such a demanding environment.

You found yourself relaxing, the tension slowly draining away. Lily was refreshingly down-to-earth, and Oscar, despite his reserved demeanour, had a dry wit that you found endearing.

As the conversation flowed, you noticed Lily subtly steer the topic towards your interests, asking about your work, your hobbies, and your passions.

She seemed genuinely interested in getting to know you, not just as Lando’s girlfriend, but as an individual.

“So, Y/N” Lily said, her eyes sparkling with curiosity, “Lando tells me you’re a writer? That’s fascinating! What kind of writing do you do?”

“I dabble in a bit of everything,” you replied, feeling your confidence grow. “Short stories, poetry, some freelance journalism. It depends on what sparks my interest, really.”

“That’s amazing,” she gushed. “I’ve always admired people who can write. It’s such a powerful way to express yourself.”

Oscar nodded in agreement. “It is. I’m useless at it. Give me a steering wheel any day.”

Laughter bubbled up from your chest, your earlier anxieties fading into the background. You were having a genuine, enjoyable conversation, with people who seemed to genuinely care about you.

Suddenly, a voice cut through the noise. “Lando, darling! There you are!”

A woman, dripping in diamonds and designer clothes, glided towards you, her eyes scanning you from head to toe with blatant disapproval. You recognized her as the wife of a prominent team principal, a woman known for her sharp tongue and even sharper judgment.

Lando’s smile faltered slightly as he turned to face her. “Genevieve, good to see you.”

She completely ignored Oscar and Lily, her gaze fixed on you. “And who is this, Lando? A new… acquaintance?”

You felt your cheeks flush, the familiar knot of anxiety tightening in your stomach. You knew what was coming.

Lando’s arm tightened around your waist. “This is my girlfriend, Y/N.”

The woman’s eyebrows shot up. “This is your girlfriend? How… interesting.” Her tone dripped with condescension. “Well, congratulations, darling. I’m sure you’re very happy.”

She turned back to Lando, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Lando, darling, you really could do so much better. Don't you want to think about your image?”

You felt your heart sink. This was it. The moment of truth. You braced yourself for the inevitable onslaught of negativity.

But then, something unexpected happened. Lando’s eyes flashed with anger, and his grip on your waist tightened protectively.

“I’m perfectly happy, thank you,” he said, his voice cold and firm. “And Y/N is more than enough. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we were in the middle of a conversation.”

He turned his back on the woman, effectively dismissing her. He looked at you, his eyes filled with concern. “Are you alright?”

You nodded, still reeling from the encounter. “Yeah,” you mumbled. "I'm okay

Lily stepped forward, her expression fierce. “Honestly, some people are just ridiculous,” she said, her voice laced with scorn. “Don’t let her get to you, Y/N. She’s just jealous.”

Oscar nodded in agreement. “She’s got nothing better to do than spread negativity. Ignore her.”

Lando squeezed your hand. “They’re right. Don’t let her ruin your night.”

You looked at them, at Lando, at Lily, at Oscar. You saw genuine support, genuine kindness, genuine acceptance. And suddenly, the weight on your chest lifted. The comments, the whispers, the judgment – they didn’t matter.

You had people who loved you, who supported you, who valued you for who you were, not for who the internet thought you should be.

You took a deep breath, straightened your shoulders, and smiled. “You know what? You’re right. I’m not going to let her ruin my night.”

Lando grinned, relieved. “That’s the spirit. Now, how about we get out of here and go somewhere more… private?” He winked suggestively.

Lily laughed. “Sounds like a plan. Oscar, you’re driving, right? I’ve had one too many cocktails.”

As you walked away, hand in hand with Lando, you glanced back at Lily and Oscar, a warm feeling of gratitude washing over you. You had found unexpected allies, people who saw past the surface and appreciated you for who you were.

You were still an outsider, still a ginger with freckles, still not “his type” according to the internet. But tonight, surrounded by love and support, you didn’t care. You had Lando, you had friends, and you had the courage to be yourself.

And that, you realised, was more than enough. The papaya dress no longer felt like armour, but a symbol of your strength, your resilience, and your unwavering commitment to being true to yourself.

You were you and you were happy. . . .

landonorris

liked by carlossainz55, alexandrasaintmleux, yourusername and 867,879 others

landonorris

Happy anniversary to my beautiful girl. Two years. Two years of laughter, adventures, and learning to love you more fiercely every single day. I know the internet can be a dark place, especially for someone as radiant as you. Don't listen to anyone who talks about you bad, especially those whispering nonsense about "types." They see a snapshot; I see the whole damn masterpiece.

Your fiery hair is sunshine on a cloudy day, each freckle a tiny star mapping out the constellation of my heart. They don't see the intelligence that sparkles in your eyes, the quick wit that keeps me on my toes, or the unwavering kindness you show to everyone you meet. They don’t see you. You are everything I could ever want, and more than I ever deserve. So, happy anniversary, my love. Let's keep painting our world with joy, ignoring the noise, and celebrating the beautiful, unique you. I love you more than words can say. ❤️

comment has been restricted

[kenyuukissme]

thinking about rin itoshi and sharing airpods with you.

i’m imagining you’re at a park together, its just about the evening. you’re standing beside the bench that you threw your bag onto, its just while you search for something in your bag. rin sighs, as you pull out your phone and an overly decorated airpod case.

now, listen. i just know he’d say “ew, that’s unhygienic.” but with enough convincing (pestering), you finally get him to wear one of your airpods. but what do you play, for someone who will most definitely judge your music taste?

“play whatever. just make it quick.” he mutters, taking your hand in his. your hand fits just perfectly with his, the gaps between his fingers comfortably enough space for yours to fit right in.

but despite him telling you to play anything, you’re still nervous. what if he’s just tolerating it?

since rin has decided you’re taking far too long (its been less than a minute.), he takes your phone from your hand, searching up an artist and choosing a featured album. you can’t see what song it is, nor who the artist is, so you just let it be.

now playing — black beauty [lana del rey]

he leads you, without a single word, to the swings and sits down. you sit on the one beside him, stretching slighting over the side to keep holding his hand. he stays put, simply taking in the moment and music. you try swinging. he sighs, letting go of your hand and letting you swing.

he can hear just barely over the music, you humming. it’s pretty. you’re pretty. so is the sunset.

ah, right. the sunset.

he stands up almost abruptly, grabbing onto the chain of your swing and accidentally stopping it so suddenly that you fall. right off of it.

“aaaaahh rinnieeee!!!” before you can even finish your sentence, he sighs. he offers his hands for you to grab and stand up with. but you stay on the floor, the wood chips and dirt clinging onto your clothes.

he sighs for what is the third (but feels like the hundredth) time this evening.

“fine, just. hurry up, we’ll miss it.” he leans down, opening his arms for you to wrap your own arms around his neck. you do as he gestured, carefully watching as he lifts you from the floor and holds his hands under your thighs.

you wrap your legs loosely around his waist, and once you’re comfortable, he starts walking yoj to wherever he said you guys would be late too.

turns out it’s not very far. in fact, you simply were carried to the shade of a nearby tree. to be fair, it’s mostly getting dark so the shade of a tree isn’t needed. nevertheless, he carefully sits you down on the grass and starts brushing the bits and bobs off of your clothes. he sits down beside you, and without a word, lays down. he looks at you, you’re confused. but he had one arm out, gesturing for you to lay down.

so you do. and before he can move his arm, you lay your head down on his bicep. you cheekily giggle, he simply rolls his eyes (he secretly hoped you’d lay on his arm).

“so, what would we be late for?” you ask, adjusting your airpod and snuggling a little closer to him. you wrap one arm around his torso, tracing light shapes on his side to pass the time.

“shh. it’s nearly time.” okay. loser.

you’re about to protest when he simply turns your face for you. and when he does, it’s perfect.

now playing — let the light in [lana del rey]

colours mix perfectly, between the branches of the tree you’re laying under. it’s truly a moment you can’t take a photograph of with a phone or just some camera. you just have to see it with your eyes. the colours are as if they’re hand in hand, they mix and merge perfectly. just like how your hand fits in rin’s.

watching a sunset, listening to lana and laying in your boyfriends arms. what more could you want?

a/n :: rushed. hate this. but it could be worse, ig. based off my irl experience. hope you like it, vee <3 taglist :: @sl-vega ; @rink1sser ; @veestar49111 + open [ask to be added] likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated

© kenyuukissme 2025 {do not copy, translate, steal, modify or repost without permission}

[gojougf]

kpop idol! suguru geto thoughts

summary: basically saw fanart of suguru as a rockstar, thought to myself.. wait.. he'd look so good in a rockstar idol concept. so had to share my thoughts (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

warnings: suggestive? kissing, suguru touches reader's butt like once, female bodied reader.

wc: 1.5k

K-pop idol! Suguru, who is a few years your senior in the company under which you debuted as a member of a highly anticipated girl group.

K-pop idol! Suguru, who notices you among the members for the first time a couple of weeks after your debut, as his band comes to politely greet yours during a dance practice for your debut song in one of the training rooms.

K-pop idol! Suguru, who cannot take his eyes off you from the moment he first sees you—your cheeks flushed from the complicated moves you still haven’t quite mastered, your hair sticking cutely to your face. He stares for a tad too long and stutters a little when introducing himself, earning a playful nudge in the ribs from his bandmate, Satoru.

K-pop idol! Suguru, who catches the way your cheeks redden a little more as you introduce yourself to him, making your fellow bandmates giggle. They chime in, teasingly telling him how you’re such a big fan—that he’s been your bias for so long that he even inspired you to become an idol yourself.

K-pop idol! Suguru, known for his stoic personality on and off camera, now takes time out of his day to always greet you with a small smile or a polite hello, even going as far as striking up small conversations whenever your groups happen to bump into each other backstage. He almost relishes the way your eyes light up at his greetings, a satisfied smile on his lips as he watches your plump, Romand-glossed lips curl into a happy grin just from being acknowledged by him.

K-pop idol! Suguru, who is friends with Shoko—one of your bandmates from his trainee days—asks her if he can have your number. After explaining to her that you two have developed a friendship (and swearing that he’s not going to do anything shady [a/n: he’s such a sweetheart, he’d NEVER]), he finally sends you a small greeting. Introducing himself over text, he asks if it’s okay that he got your number from your team member. Lying in bed in his dorm room, he lets out a relieved sigh when you respond a little too quickly, reassuring him that it’s no problem and that you’re glad he wanted to get to know you better. He’s just grateful you don’t think he’s some kind of pervert.

K-pop idol! Suguru, who quickly falls into a routine of texting you all the time. It turns out that you have a lot in common—from liking the same fashion brands to having similar tastes in music, shows, movies, and even food. Though these are small similarities, they become significant to him. Coupled with your bright and cheery personality, the way you almost always use cute emoticons and kaomojis in your texts, and how you always make time to talk to him despite your packed schedule, Suguru finds himself falling fast and hard for you.

K-pop idol! Suguru, who finally asks you out after a solid few months of subtly flirting with you—sharing small but meaningful conversations in the fleeting moments two busy idols can manage. One day, while you’re alone in one of the large training rooms perfecting a few dance moves, he walks in. You start chatting as usual, but before he can stop himself, the words slip out: Will you be my girlfriend? His pale cheeks are dusted pink, and to his surprise, you say yes—blushing furiously yourself. His lips curl into a grin.

K-pop idol! Suguru, who makes sure to slip a small snack or two into your team’s fridge before you head on stage. He knows you lose your appetite due to nerves, so he makes sure you have something sweet or cold to eat or drink before every performance to help you cool off a little.

K-pop idol! Suguru, who, in his free time, is always planning out a new date—whether it’s sneaking you out of the dorms to grab food, wandering through quiet parts of the city with you at night, or getting you small gifts and trinkets whenever he can. Coincidentally, a fan catches him buying a small stuffed toy for you after a concert in Japan. The photograph goes viral on Twitter, sparking mass speculation over who Suguru Geto could possibly be buying a Cinnamoroll plush for—especially since his entire idol image is associated with being the cool and quiet member of his band.

K-pop idol! Suguru, who you now deeply adore and have grown incessantly attached to during your secret little relationship—one that no one knows about except for his bandmates and yours. At the end of each practice, he helps you sneak into his dorm room, the perks of being part of an established and successful group allowing him to upgrade from a shared dorm to a spacious room of his own.

K-pop idol! Suguru, who can’t get enough of your lips on his—most of your stolen moments of freedom in his room spent either making out on his bed or watching TikToks while snuggled in his embrace. The slow loll of his tongue against yours, once he has access to your mouth, almost always tastes like the Americanos he drinks daily, claiming they help him stay awake. You always retaliate with a worried, “Get enough sleep, or else I’m coming to your dorm at night to watch over you.” He’s met with a light slap to his thick bicep when he suggestively replies, “If you were here with me at night, I’d keep both of us awake.”

K-pop idol! Suguru, who, behind his phlegmatic and impassive idol image, is absolutely obsessed with touching you in any way possible. The man the world sees—the one who answers interview questions with an almost bored smirk, who seems effortlessly cool at fan meetings—is the same desperate man pulling you aside backstage, dragging you into some janitor’s closet behind the Inkigayo stairs just to press you against his toned body. One of his large hands cradles the back of your neck, careful not to muss the styled hair your stylist spent hours perfecting, while the other rests on the small of your back, pulling you closer as he kisses you languidly—ignoring your protests that you have to be on stage in ten minutes.

K-pop idol! Suguru, who smirks infuriatingly as he finally lets go of you—but not before giving your butt a small squeeze. He snickers when you complain that he’s completely ruined your lip combination. But, ever the perfect idol, Suguru smoothly pulls out the exact Romand tint you’re known to be an ambassador for from the pocket of his jeans, swiping it across your lips and retouching your makeup. You’re dumbfounded yet pleasantly surprised—not only that he knows your lip product lineup by heart but that he’s bought them himself to ensure you still look perfect after he’s had his way with you. Before slipping away, he makes sure the coast is clear, straightening out your slightly rumpled outfit, whispering a soft “Good luck” before you step on stage.

K-pop idol! Suguru, whose hair has always been a topic of conversation—the long, noir locks cascading down his back, more often than not styled in a half-up, half-down fashion adored by both fans and antis alike. Lately, fans have been noticing his tresses look healthier than ever, sparking endless speculation. Little do they know, he’s quietly ditched his usual shower products for yours—your feminine haircare routine working wonders for him.

K-pop idol! Suguru, who has been warmer, more inviting, and more smiley in interviews leading up to his group’s comeback. By now, rumors are flying everywhere—he definitely has a girlfriend! But despite all the speculation, there’s no proof. You and Suguru are far too good at being discreet. Yet even with the secrecy, he makes sure you never feel lonely, always carving out time for you—whether by calling, texting, or sneaking backstage before your concerts or events just to see you.

K-pop idol! Suguru, who stuns the world a few months later by hard launching your relationship on Instagram, finally done with keeping the love of his life a secret. You both agreed on this—knowing the hate was inevitable, but after seeing the false dating rumors about him and another idol circulating online, you decide it’s time to take control of the narrative. Your managers are a little mad at how recklessly he made the announcement, but surprisingly, the response is far more supportive than either of you expected.

K-pop idol! Suguru, whose most-liked and most-viewed clips are now all related to you—him gushing about you during lives, the giddy smiles you exchange during company-wide events, the soft glances caught on camera. You both break the internet when your very first Instagram post—after finally being allowed an account—is a picture of you two kissing during a date on your off day.

K-pop idol! Suguru, who loves you, and you love him. Safe to say, you’ll probably be the first couple in the industry to have a publicised wedding. ♡

my first time ever posting something!

[lets-try-some-writing]

I am hungry and I require more oplita. Any oplita. Please, i need to feed my kids we need more oplita!!!!!

Coming right up! Your ship material, lovely asker!

Vaguely affiliated with my fic Action! but not canon to it.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

Golden spools of cloth carefully draped over her form, covering and yet accentuating every aspect Orion adored when it came to his Conjunx. The outfit was loosely hung around his beloved's frame, tight around her chassis to show off her waist, but free flowing around her legs to give her total freedom of movement. It was traditional, but Orion couldn't help but think she looked like the Primes of old. Perhaps it was heretical, but he could only compare her to Solus Prime in grandeur.

"They are going to love you, Ariel. You shine most wonderfully." Orion murmured as he began clasping her audial attachments into place. The little tear drop shaped crystals shone in the light, glittering a brilliant blue like the morning sky when Cybertron came near to it's sister star.

"I know they will. You are making me into quite the sight." A smile settled on his beloved's fair features, her antennae perking up at the praise. For all her outward stoicism, his love still adored compliments when they were given genuinely.

"You do not need my assistance to light up the room, oh mighty Elita-One." A teasing smirk played on Orion's lips, a fact that did not go unnoticed by Elita as she turned in her chair, an optical ridge raised in silent amusement.

"You say that as if you are not just as note worthy, my Prime." Orion shrugged in response, waving away the statement with a gentle hum as if he hadn't considered the concept before. Then, with his smile maintained, he gathered up the necklace he'd purchased for Elita deca-cycles before. A gift he hoped she'd appreciate.

Long and nimble digits worked quickly to clasp the bejeweled piece in place around his beloved's neck, resting comfortably just above where he knew her spark chamber to be. It gleamed a soft deep aqua, just like her optics. As cliche as it was, when he saw it, all he could think of was her.

Seeing her expression shift from amusement to awe as she touched his gift tenderly was enough to make Orion's every trial over the past few cycles worth it. Anything to see her happy.

''You did not have to." Elita murmured gently as she ran her digits over the center jewel. Orion simply hummed, leaning down to rest his helm against hers. Not a word was exchanged between them for a blessed moment. Instead, everything was conveyed through a bond forged through struggle and adoration shared in equal measure between them. While their union was not as ancient and hardened as Chromia and Ironhide, Orion liked to think it was just as strong.

"I wanted to. You've brought so much joy into my life, I simply could not help but want to return the favor." Pressing a soft chaste kiss to her audial, Orion watched Elita's expression in the mirror in front of her. Truly, she was crafted as if Primus himself had overseen every plate and seam upon her form.

"Jewels and gifts are not the way to my spark, Orion Pax. I think you of all mecha know that better than most." Elita smiled coyly, her servo reaching up to caress his cheek. It was a familiar gesture, one Orion reacted to by pressing a kiss to her palm. He knew this song and dance.

"Then perhaps I ought to show my affections more openly." Orion met her gaze, and in that moment, all was right with the world. There were no trials that could tear them apart, not when their very sparks cried out in perfect symphony.

For all the problems their world faced, when he was with Elita, none of it mattered. So long as they were together, the universe was theirs to mold as needed.

"I think you should." With her quiet confirmation, Orion gently tilted her chin up with a digit. Then, with a quick press of their helm crests, her brought their derma together, soft and unhurried. There was no rush.

The rest of reality could wait. For the moment, all that mattered was the two of them and their quiet connection.

[awhhayden]

LOVE BITES ₊˚⊹♡ (Sam Monroe)

CONTAINS : [ fem reader x sam monroe ] | smut with plot?

THE NIGHT WAS COLD, the February sky shrouded in clouds, as if the world was waiting for something to happen. Sam sat by the window of his apartment, the flickering streetlights casting shadows on the walls. He had never been one for Valentine’s Day—too cliché, too forced—but tonight, something was different. The air felt charged as he waited for you to arrive, as if he had spent years building walls around himself and now, with you in his life, they all crumbled.

you were kind—gentle in a way that made the harshness of the world seem less cold. The way you smiled, the way you looked at him, as if you saw beyond the tough exterior. Sam was dark, brooding, and he knew you noticed. But you never judged him for it. Instead, you had embraced it, offering him warmth when all he’d known was isolation. That soft spot he tried to ignore for so long had become impossible to deny, before he knew it he had fallen in love with you.

When the doorbell rang, his heart gave a jolt. He stood up, straightening himself, as if the weight of his feelings could somehow be hidden. He opened the door and saw you standing there, a soft blush on your cheeks, holding a large box that was delicately wrapped in red paper. you smiled with excitement that made him arch his brow.

“Hey princess,” Sam said, his voice low, almost gruff. He couldn’t help the way his lips curled into a small smile, the corners of his mouth betraying his usual stoic expression.

you stepped inside, your warmth filling the room like sunlight breaking through the clouds. Sam watched as you carefully sat the box on the counter, your hands delicate, as if you were afraid to disturb the quiet beauty of the moment. He didn’t know how you did it, but to him, you made the world seem softer just by being in it.

“I wasn’t sure what to get you,” you admitted, your words stumbling slightly as you met his eyes. “But I thought, These were cool. Something you could enjoy.” you handed it to him. "I think you’ll like it," you said quietly but nervously.

He took the package from you, feeling the weight of it in his hands. His fingers carefully unwrapped the ruby paper, peeling back the paper to reveal a stack of old vinyl records. His breath caught in his chest as he recognized the covers—the classic art from bands he had adored for years, ones whose songs had become the soundtrack to his life. These were no ordinary records. They were vintage—rare, hard to find.

He picked up one of the albums, his fingers grazing over the surface of the cover, taking in the familiar design. “Where did you find these?” Sam asked, his voice thick with disbelief.

you sat beside him, watching his reaction with a soft smile on your face. "I remembered you mentioning you liked them. Thought you'd appreciate having something like this... something from the past." your voice was low, as you blushed deeply.

He leaned closer to you, the space between you charged with unspoken tension. “You didn’t need to get me anything,” he murmured. “But these... they’re perfect.”

he gently cupped your face, pushing you against the couch. He hesitated for a moment before kissed you deeply, taking the lead and pinning you there with his body. he continues to kiss you with a mix of tenderness and a slight hint of desperation. his hands are planted firmly on either side of your head, caging you in against the couch as he deepens the kiss.

sam breaks the kiss for a moment, panting heavily as he hovers over you, his chest heaving slightly. his eyes scan over your face, his gaze intense as he takes in your flushed expression. he reaches up to brush a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering against your skin for a moment. “I love you” you whisper tenderly.

he leans forehead against yours “say it again." he says urgently. you smile, “I love you sam.” he lets out a shaky breath, the words sending a warm rush through him. he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, his arms wrapping tightly around you as he holds you close. he presses soft kisses along your skin, “i love you too... so damn much."

He swiftly picks you up and you gasp and giggle. he carries you easily, his arms strong as he holds you close to his chest. he lays you down on the bed gently, his body following to hover over you once again. he gazes down at you with an intensity in his eyes that was different from before, his expression now filled with a mixture of desire and adoration. “you're mine." he whispers, his voice low and possessive.

you nod and he grins at your response, his hands roaming over your body slowly, tracing every curve and line with his fingertips. he kisses you deeply again, his tongue exploring your mouth with a newfound urgency. “no one else gets to have you, understand?" he murmurs against your lips, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulls you closer to him.

you gasp softly. he smirks at your gasp, loving the effect he has on you. he nips at your bottom lip, his hands moving up under your shirt, eager to feel her your against his.

"i need you... need to feel you, all of you." he whispers huskily, his breath hot against your ear. he quickly pulls your shirt off, tossing it aside before doing the same with his own. he runs his hands over your bare torso, his touch gentle yet possessive. he kisses down your neck, his lips trailing down to your collarbone, leaving a trail of hot kisses in their wake.

"god, you're beautiful." *he murmurs, his voice thick with desire as he looks up at you, his eyes darkened with lust. “Please Sammy” you whisper. his smirk widens at your plea, and he chuckles softly. “please what, princess? use your words." he teases, his fingers trailing along the hem of your skirt. “N..need you” he lets out a soft groan, his control wavering at your words. he moves back up to kiss you again, his tongue sliding against yours as he grinds his hips against you. “i need you too... need you so bad." he murmurs against your lips, his voice strained with need.

he kisses you hungrily, his hands working quickly to grab your skirt and slide them down your legs. he breaks the kiss just long enough to rid himself of his own pants as well, leaving you both in just your underwear.

he gazes down at you, taking in the sight of you lying beneath him, looking absolutely beautiful and wrecked already. he runs a hand through his hair, trying to compose himself. “you're driving me crazy, you know that?" he tosses your underwear aside before sliding out of his own, his eyes roaming over your naked form hungrily. he moves back up to hover over you, his body now completely pressed against yours.

“you're so perfect... so perfect for me." he whispers, his voice hoarse with desire. he kisses your neck again, his hands gripping your hips tightly as lines up with your entrance. he groans deeply as he enters you, the feeling of you surrounding him sending a wave of pleasure through his body as you let out a soft moan, he pauses for a moment, his breath coming out in short pants as he tries to collect himself.

"fuck..." *he murmurs, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before he opens them again to look down at you "you feel so good, baby..." you moan louder and he shivers at the sound of your moan, his hips starting to move slowly, savoring the feeling of being inside you. he leans down to kiss you again, his tongue delving into your mouth as he starts to pick up the pace, his thrusts becoming more urgent.

"I needed you so bad princess." he mutters against your lips, his hands gripping your hips tightly enough to leave bruises. he continues to move, his pace now relentless as he pounds into you. he buries his face in your neck, his breath hot and heavy against your skin as you moan and whimper in his ear. “you're mine... all mine. i'm not gonna let anyone else have you, you understand?" he growls, his possessiveness shining through as he thrusts harder.

he moves one of his hands up to tangle in your hair, pulling your head back to expose more of your neck. he nips and bites at your skin, leaving a trail of love bites and hickeys as he goes. “say it... say you're mine, baby. i need to hear you say it." he demands, his voice rough with need.

“I..I’m yours” you gasp between moans. he groans again at your words, his grip on your hair tightening as he quickens his pace even more. he's losing himself in you, his mind clouded with pleasure and the overwhelming need to claim you as his. “good girl... that's right. all mine, forever." he growls, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he feels himself getting closer to the edge.

he can feel you getting closer too, your body trembling beneath him as he continues to move inside you. he lifts his head to look down at you, his eyes dark and intense as he takes in the sight of you. “you're close, aren't you, princess? I can feel it. you're gonna come for me, aren't you?" he asks, his voice strained with effort as he tries to hold off his own orgasm.

you nod desperately. he smirks, his pace becoming even more brutal as he drives you closer and closer to the edge. he leans down to whisper in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “that's it, baby. come for me. let go for me." he urges, his hand moving from your hair to your clit, rubbing you there in time with his thrusts.

he feels you tighten around him as you come in soft breathless pants, and that's all it takes to push him over the edge too. he buries his face in your neck once again as he reaches his climax, his body tensing as he spills inside you with a loud groan.

he collapses on top of you, panting heavily as he tries to catch his breath. he gently pulls out of you, rolling onto his back beside you. He turned over to face you as he stroked your hair softly, “Happy valentine’s day princess”

My first story in so long finally! I promise i’ll be writing more! this isn’t my favorite and it was a bit rushed but wanted to get something out there before valentine’s day, Love you all! <3

TAGLIST : @anakinstwinklebunny @fredswrite @inlovewithdob @speaknow-sw @haydensheartt @malinadbbdh (let me know if you’d like to be added!)

[salternateunreality2]

I think I'm going through a Cloud phase (again) + because my birthday's coming up I'm requesting ambrosia straight from the source (saltcanons): How did Cloud usually celebrate his birthday as a kid in Nibelheim vs. as an adult. Any tl you want; canon, AC, agszc, the choice is yours <3

❤️🍊❤️ henlooo pumpkin! Thanks for the ask! ❤️ and Happy (soon) Birthday!

0 years old:

Against tradition, both his parents were there to welcome him. They were both young, both scared, both excited, and when he came out breech, they held each other's hands and their breath until he drew his first and SCREAMED.

He came out the same way he would go through life: feet first and impossible to kill, stubborn as a mule. They were so proud and laughed and cried and couldn't get over how perfect he was.

1 year old:

Papa (Cloud could say his name and Mama's) made a little carrot cake from carrots they grew in their garden, honey from their bees, and a lot of love since they didn't have much else. Claudia decorated it with dandelions to match his shockingly thick and spiky hair (just like hers).

He LOVED it, shoveling handfuls in his mouth with a frown of determination while Mama and Papa giggled and kissed.

2 years old:

Cloud said "NO!" and Mama cried. She tried to make the cake again but couldn't focus because he kept asking "WHERE PAPA?!" and when she told him "I don't know", he started saying "NO!" and didn't stop until he screamed himself to sleep.

3 years old:

They moved to the mountains, Mama said they would look for Papa, and Cloud tried every day, even on his birthday, but couldn't find him. He wanted chocolate milk, so Mama got it for him, but stopped wearing her pretty sparkly earrings after.

5 years old:

Cloud was excited to have friends show up. He helped Mama every day, and this year she said they could make a real cake big enough to share! Only one friend from school came, TIFA! And her mom. And they ate cake and had some left over and it was SO FUN!!!

9 years old:

Cloud asked Ma to please stop trying to invite people; they wouldn't come, not even Tifa since she got hurt and her dad said to stay away from him. So they celebrated together, with a small cake and milk (he was too mature for chocolate milk, but regular had lots of protein, which he needed to grow strong).

14 years old:

After Ma went to bed, he slipped out the back door with a small bag of food and a lot of determination. He left her a note. He didn't realize she was watching from the window and crying, knowing she couldn't stop him.

15 years old:

He spent far too much gil to call his Ma, since she had insisted, and ate the cookies she sent with a carton of milk from the mess hall, all while hiding in a broom closet.

16 years old:

Red-faced, he blew out a candle on the ridiculous cupcake Zack got him, all covered in sprinkles and frosting. Zack hollered and cheered and Kunsel blew a party horn. Absurd.

He loved it.

17 years old:

He stared at the glowing eyes above him, wondering if they would ever make it out alive. A skinny arm braced him, and he could barely hear a warbly, whispered rendition of a birthday song as...Zack? Zack. Sang to him. He closed his eyes, not hearing Zack begging for him to stay awake.

20 years old:

He blinked. One moment he was in the desert with a sword. He couldn't leave the sword, it was important. He didn't know why, but he couldn't drop it, no matter what. He blinked again and he was in a city. He blinked again and he was on a train. He blinked again and there was that girl, who wasn't dead? Was she supposed to be dead? Tifa? Tifa. He knew that, he was a First Class SOLDIER.

21 years old:

He was working on some construction for Tifa when she brought him a big glass of milk and a little cake.

"Happy birthday," she said, smiling softly.

He thanked her and she went inside. It was salty. Oh, no, that was from him, as he remembered Zack, Aerith, Ma...

23 years old:

He thanked Marlene and Denzel for the pictures they drew, and let them help him blow out his candles. He also allowed himself a small smile, until Yuffie strapped a stupid birthday hat to his head and he had to chase her down and mess up her hair. Tifa laughed and gave him a big hug and a little kiss on the cheek, which he thought about for several weeks after. Months. Years.

25 years old:

Tifa took him out under the stars.

"Hey Cloud?" she said, taking his hand. His heart raced. She was always a touchy friend with him and he didn't think she knew how much it made him feel like blushing and melting and wanting to put his mouth on hers.

"Yeah?" he said.

"I've been dropping hints, but I don't think you've been picking them up," she said. He tilted his head.

"Is this about the eggs? You SAID cook less than three, I SAW your text: less than sign, then three. Two eggs is less than three. How was i supposed to know you wanted more?"

Tifa giggled.

"No no no," she said. "Well yes, that was one of the hints. The less than three was supposed to look like a heart. Because I like you."

"Oh. I like you too," he said. More than she knew.

"Cloud, I love you as more than a friend. I like you romantically and want to kiss you and go on dates. It's ok if you don't feel the same! But I wanted to be sure to say it clearly, just in case."

Cloud blinked rapidly.

"You...love me?"

"Yes."

"Romantically?"

"Yes."

"You want to kiss me?"

"Yes. Is...that ok? We don't have to change any-"

"YES!" he squeaked, then controlled his voice and pitched it lower. "Yes, that is ok. Um...can I?" He waved awkwardly at her lips.

"Yes," she said, smiling

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

Alternate 25th birthday, because Genesis:

This red-coated, poetry-nerd asshole was on his LAST nerve. Cloud stomped into the bar and slammed the stupid roses and the stupid luxury chocolates onto the counter.

"Oof, someone's in trouble," said Tifa. Cloud snorted.

"He keeps dilly-dallying. It's been a year. If he wants to have sex, he should just say so. He's hot, I'd just do it if he wanted. But he won't just SAY SO, and I know if *I* try to say it, it'll come out wrong and he'll leave because I'm just...not...words...good."

"I highly doubt he'll give up on you over you being bad at saying you want to sleep with him," said Tifa.

"Not sleep, have sex," said Cloud. "And how do YOU know?! Don't you know he's like, super book smart? I ain't had that education!"

"I know because he turned the color of his coat and dribbled the pie out of his mouth onto my nice booth table the minute you said you wanted to bed him," said Tifa pointing to a dark corner behind him.

Cloud whirled around. She was not joking. There was Genesis, in all his glory, fork hovering midair, jaw dangling, red faced, half-chewed pie in front of him, staring at Cloud.

Genesis quickly shut his mouth and cleared his throat.

"Ahem, Strife, I, well, I did not realize, I would be honored, I thought perhaps you would not stoop so low, after, you know," he waved his hand vaguely.

"After you didn't help Zack, basically made me help kill Angeal, and moped in a cave while Sephiroth was trying to eat the damn planet? Well yeah, that sucked, but you were sick and unaware for most of that, and it doesn't change the fact you're h-hot," said Cloud, only stumbling over his words at the end.

"Oh," said Genesis, gazing into Cloud's eyes.

"Yeah," said Cloud, gazing into Genesis' eyes.

"Get a room," said Tifa. "You're grossing out my customers."

Yuffie waved from a couple tables over, making gagging faces as Vincent sat with her looking pained and Cid rolled his eyes.

Cloud had a very exciting birthday after that.

[ironinc]

Desire in the Web.ᝰ.ᐟ 

Spider-man x F!Black Reader. (Smut/NSFW)

˗ˏˋ As a villain, you've been causing trouble for Spider-Man, but lately, things have taken a turn. There's a growing tension and attraction between you two. Spider-Man is torn between his heroic duties and the desire that's building inside him. You decide to use this to your advantage, taunting and toying with him as you plot your possible escape.

⤷ Oneshot, smut, oral sex, very detailed so here’s the warning!

⤷ A/N: I saw that y’all liked my Peter Parker/Spiderman story so I wanted to make another one! I also want to do something different. And he’s aged up to 20! This is for my bestie Mia-Mia as well!! I know you're gonna love this one.

⤷ Word count: 2,795

⤷ Special song to add spice: Harleys In Hawaii by Katty Perry

⏦ﾟ♡︎

You’re trapped. His webs cling to your arms, and your legs, pinning you against the cold brick wall of the alleyway. The rain is coming down in sheets, soaking through your suit, and you can smell the metallic tang of the city mingling with the earthy dampness around you. 

Spider-Man. Of course, it’s him. Always him. He lands in front of you with that infuriatingly confident stance, his mask hiding everything but the tension in his jaw. You know that tension isn’t just about stopping you. It’s different tonight. Deeper.

"Well," you drawl, your voice dripping with mockery, "looks like the neighborhood hero finally caught me. What’s the plan, Spider? Take me in? Lecture me about how I’m on the wrong path?"

He doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he steps closer. His red and blue suit glistened under the dim streetlight. His gloved fingers twitch slightly, and you can feel the heat of his body even through the rain. 

He’s hesitating. You’ve seen this before, the way he lingers just a little too long, the way his eyes—those damn eyes—seem to linger on you even when he’s trying to focus on the mission.

"You’re not getting away this time," he finally says, his voice low and strained. It’s not just determination in his tone. There’s something else. Something you’ve been intentionally stoking for weeks now.

"Oh, I’m not?" You tilt your head, your lips curling into a smirk. "You sure about that, Spider? Because you’ve had me in this position before, and yet… here I am again. Funny how that works."

He growls a sound that’s more frustration than anger and takes another step forward. The rain is plastering his mask to his face, and you can see the outline of his lips, the way they’re pressed into a tight line. Perfect.

"You’re playing a dangerous game," he warns, his voice dropping even lower.

"Dangerous?" You laugh, the sound echoing off the walls of the alley. 

"This isn’t dangerous, Spider. This is… fun. And I think you’re starting to enjoy it too."

His hands clench into fists, but he doesn’t move. You’re close enough now that if you leaned forward, you could kiss him. Not that you would. Not yet. 

You’re savoring this, the push and pull, the way he’s fighting himself more than he’s fighting you.

"You think I don’t see what you’re doing?" he snaps, finally breaking the silence. "You’re trying to mess with my head. It’s not going to work."

"Is that what I’m doing?" You feign innocence, batting your lashes. 

"Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re the one who can’t keep his eyes off me. Or is that just the hero complex talking?"

He exhales sharply, a sound that’s almost a growl, and then before you can react, his hand is on your throat. Not hard, but firm enough to make your breath catch. Finally.

"You’re pushing me," he warns, his voice almost a whisper.

"Or maybe," you purr, your voice trembling slightly but still laced with defiance, "you’re just tired of pretending you don’t want this."

For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of the rain and the ragged rhythm of your breathing. Suddenly he pulls his mask halfway up. Only exposing his lips. Then, his lips crash into yours, rough and desperate, and you can feel the heat of him through the suit. His other hand is on your waist, pulling you closer, regardless of you being trapped in his webs. You can feel the hardness of him pressing against you.

It’s not gentle. It’s not sweet. It’s raw, animalistic, the kind of kiss that leaves you breathless and aching. His tongue invades your mouth, and you bite down hard, drawing a low groan from him. He pulls back, his chest heaving, and for a moment, you think he’s going to stop, to walk away. But then his hands are on your hips, lifting you effortlessly, and your back is hitting the wall again, the cold brick a sharp contrast to the heat of his body.

"Spider," you gasp, your voice trembling, "you’re going to regret this."

"I already do," he growls, and then his mouth is on your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as his hands work to free you from the webs. They’ll take a while to dissolve, but he doesn’t seem to care, his hands slipping under your clothes, his fingers rough and demanding.

"You’re going to hate yourself tomorrow," you whisper, your nails digging into his shoulders.

"Maybe," he says, his breath hot against your ear, "but right now, I don’t give a damn."

His hands are on your ass now, lifting you higher, and you wrap your legs around his waist, grinding against him. The friction is electric, and you can feel the tension in his body, the way he’s holding back, barely.

You were getting wetter by the second.

"Fuck me," you demand, your voice low and throaty. "Right here. Right now."

He growls a sound that sends shivers down your spine, and then his fingers are working at the bottom of your suit. Pullingthem down just enough to expose you. He’s fumbling with his suit, his movements hurried and clumsy, and then he’s inside you, filling you in one rough thrust. 

You cry out, the sound swallowed by the rain, and your nails dig into his back. He’s not gentle, not this time, his thrusts are hard and unrelenting, each one driving you closer to the edge. You can feel the tension building in your body, the heat coiling in your core, and you know he’s feeling it too, the way his breath is coming in short, ragged gasps.

"Look at you," you whisper, your voice trembling, "the great Spider-Man, fucking the villain he’s supposed to stop. What would your fans think?"

He growls, his hips slamming into yours with even more force, and you can feel the sting of the brick wall against your back, the ache in your legs as you cling to him. But you don’t care. You don’t care about the pain, the rain, the danger. All you care about is the man in front of you, the way he’s losing control, the way he’s giving in to the desire he’s been fighting for so long.

"Harder," you demand, your voice breaking, and he obliges, his thrusts becoming even more brutal, driving you closer and closer to the edge. 

His moans were like a drug, and the feel of his hands on you was intoxicating. His possessive and affectionate touch was both thrilling and comforting.

You can feel it building, the tension in your body, the heat in your core, and then it’s too much, too overwhelming, and you’re coming, your body shuddering against his.

He follows you over the edge, his body tensing, his thrusts becoming erratic, and then he’s collapsing against you, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of the rain and the pounding of your heart.

And then he pulls back, his mask still plastered to his face, his eyes dark and unreadable. "This doesn’t change anything," he says, his voice low and dangerous.

"Oh, Spider," you whisper, your lips curling into a smirk, "I think it changes everything."

── .✦

The rain had stopped, leaving the streets glistening under the dim glow of streetlights. Spider-Man stood there, his suit still clinging to his skin, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. You, the villain, leaned against the damp brick wall, your smirk never wavering. The air between you was thick with tension, a dangerous cocktail of desire and rivalry.

"You’re always so predictable, Spider," you purred, your voice low and sultry. "Always chasing after little old me. But tell me…" You stepped closer, your hips swaying with every step, the sound of your heels clicking against the wet pavement echoing in the alley. "What would you do if I stopped running?"

His eyes narrowed under the mask, but you could see the flicker of curiosity—and something darker—behind them. "What are you getting at?" he asked, his voice steady but with a hint of intrigue.

You reached out, your fingers grazing the fabric of his suit, feeling the heat radiating from his body. "Come with me," you whispered, leaning in so close that your breath ghosted over the edge of his mask. "Just for tonight. Let me show you what it feels like to let go."

He hesitated, his jaw tightening as he weighed his options. You could see the conflict in him, the struggle between his duty and the pull of whatever this was between you. Then, finally, he nodded. "Lead the way."

Your smirk widened as you turned, walking confidently down the alley, knowing he would follow. The city buzzed around you, but it felt distant and irrelevant. All that mattered was the game you were playing, the one you were determined to win.

Your lair was hidden in plain sight, an unassuming building in the heart of the city. Inside, it was a different story—a sleek, modern space filled with cutting-edge technology and decadent touches. You led him through the dimly lit rooms, the air thick with the scent of leather and something faintly floral. Finally, you stopped in a room dominated by a large, circular bed, the walls made entirely of glass, overlooking the city skyline.

"Impressive," Spider-Man said, his voice tinged with caution. "But this doesn’t mean I trust you."

You laughed, a low, throaty sound that sent a shiver down his spine. "Oh, Spider, you don’t have to trust me. You justhave to let go."

You moved closer, your body brushing against his as you reached up to trace the edge of his mask. "Take it off," you murmured, your voice dripping with temptation. "Let me see you."

He hesitated again, his breathing growing shallow. Then, slowly, he peeled the mask off, revealing Peter Parker’s face—youthful, vulnerable, and undeniably handsome. You stared at him for a moment, savoring the way his eyes flickered with uncertainty and desire.

"Beautiful," you whispered, though you knew better than to let him hear it. Instead, you closed the distance between you, your lips crashing against his in a searing kiss. He groaned into your mouth, his hands gripping your waist as he pulled you closer.

The kiss was fierce, and desperate, a battle for dominance that neither of you was willing to lose. Your hands slid under his suit, feeling the hard planes of his chest, the way his muscles tensed under your touch. He broke the kiss, his breathing ragged as he stared at you, his eyes dark with hunger.

"Tell me what you want," he growled, his voice rough with need.

You smirked, your hands trailing down his chest to the waistband of his suit. "I want to see you beg," you whispered, your voice a low, dangerous purr.

He let out a choked laugh, but there was no humor in it. "You’re playing with fire."

"And yet," you murmured, your fingers toying with the edge of his suit, "you’re the one who’s burning."

Before he could respond, you pushed him down onto the bed, climbing on top of him with a predatory grace. You leaned down, your lips brushing against his ear. "Let me show you what it feels like to lose control."

And then you kissed him again, harder this time, your hips grinding against his, feeling the way he hardened beneath you. His hands gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your skin as he pulled you closer, his body arching against yours.

This is it, you thought, your mind hazy with desire. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for.

You pulled back, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps. "Take off the suit," you commanded, your voice firm and unyielding.

He hesitated for only a moment before obeying, stripping off the suit and tossing it aside, leaving him bare before you. You took in the sight of him—his lean, muscular frame, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath, the way his cock stood hard and ready against his stomach.

"Perfect," you murmured, more to yourself than to him. Then you leaned down, your hands sliding up his thighs, feeling the way they trembled under your touch. "Now, let’s see how long you can last."

You wrapped your hand around him, stroking him slowly, savoring the way his breath hitched and his hips bucked into your touch. His hands gripped the sheets, his knuckles turning white as he tried to hold back, to keep control.

"Don’t fight it," you whispered, your lips brushing against his ear. "Let go."

And then you took him into your mouth, your tongue swirling around the tip before sliding down the length of him. He moaned, his hips jerking upward as you took him deeper, your hand moving in tandem with your mouth. He was thick, his cock filling your mouth as you worked him, every stroke driving him closer to the edge.

"Fuck," he groaned, his hands perfectly grabbing your braids as he tried to hold you still, but you pulled back, teasing him with the tip before plunging down again. He cried out, his body tensing as he tried to control himself, but you were relentless, your mouth and hand working in perfect sync.

"You’re so close," you murmured, pulling back to look at him, your lips swollen and glistening. "But I’m not done with you yet."

You climbed off him, ignoring his protest as you turned around, straddling his chest. You leaned down, your breasts brushing against his face as you whispered, "Your turn."

He didn’t need any more encouragement, his hands gripping your hips as he pulled you down onto his face, his tongue delving into you with a hunger that matched your own. You moaned, your hands tangling in his hair as he licked and sucked, his tongue driving you wild.

"Don’t stop," you gasped, your hips grinding against his face as his tongue worked its magic. You could feel the heat building in your core, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until it was almost unbearable.

I’m so close, you thought, your mind hazy with pleasure. Just a little more…

And then he slid a finger inside you, curling it just right, and you were coming, your body shuddering as waves of pleasure crashed over you. He didn’t stop, his tongue and fingers continuing to work you through your orgasm until you were a trembling, gasping mess.

You rolled off him, your body still trembling as you caught your breath. He stared at you, his chest rising and falling, his eyes dark with hunger. 

"You’re insatiable," he muttered, his voice rough with need.

You smirked, your hand trailing down his chest to his cock, feeling the way it twitched under your touch. "And you’re far from done," you murmured, your voice a low, dangerous purr. "Now, let’s see how much you can take."

You climbed on top of him, guiding him into you, your breath hitching as he filled you completely. He groaned, his hands gripping your hips as you moved, your bodies sliding together in perfect sync. The sound of skin against skin filled the room, mingling with your breathy moans and his choked gasps.

"Fuck," he muttered, his hands sliding up your body to grip your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples. "You’re… unbelievable."

You leaned down, your lips brushing against his ear. "And you’re mine," you whispered, your voice a low, dangerous purr. "Even if it’s just for tonight."

He groaned, his hips bucking upward as you moved, your bodies sliding together in a perfect rhythm. The sound of skin against skin filled the room still. Mingling with your breathy moans and his choked gasps. You could feel the tension building inside you again, your body coiling tighter and tighter as he thrust into you, his cock hitting that perfect spot deep inside you.

“Surrender to me,” he growled, his hands gripping your hips as he thrust harder, deeper. "Let go."

And then you were coming again, your body shuddering as waves of pleasure crashed over you. He followed you over the edge, his body tensing as he spilled inside you, his grip on your hips almost painful as he held you still.

You collapsed on top of him, your bodies still trembling as you caught your breath. For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your breathing and the steady thrum of your hearts.

And then he spoke, his voice low and dangerous. "This doesn’t change anything."

You smirked, your lips brushing against his ear. "Oh, Spider," you whispered, your voice dripping with amusement. "I told you—it changes everything."

HAHAHHSHDDHSHDHUWDHU. IM BITING MY LAPTOP RN- THIS IS SO GOOD. I hope you all AGREE!!!

(Credits: Aylaksu141 on TikTok)

See you later ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

[starman-john-tracy]

Pink Hair, Does Care [RP]

scramjettracy:

“The very same” Scott confirms with a wry grin. “We did go out, I wore one of Dad’s old NASA baseball caps so I kind of got away with it.” It had turned out rather useful in fact, as having had little in common to talk about it was a relief when she’d asked about it and wanted to hear every second hand Jeff Tracy story he could remember… Scott uses a large wadge of damp tissue to collect and dump the remainder of the glass into the bin and then crouches to inspect the tiles carefully - last thing little brother needs is to step out of the shower and slice his foot open. He looks up at John who is frowning into the mirror. “It’s looking better, give it another go?” The slightly less pink-headed spaceman ducks back into the shower and the muttering has restarted. “Mom didn’t reckon she’d pulled it off at all but Dad clearly thought otherwise and made a beeline for her. Maybe it was a good icebreaker - you know she was playing keys in a punk band at the time?”

"Mom never seemed like the punk band type." John comments. His memories of her are full of soft blond hair, frilly kitchen aprons and soft kisses to scraped knees. When John thinks of his Mom, he thinks of fresh bread, simmering stews, and hot apple pie: cinnamon-spiced and cooling on the windowsill - the perfect target for hungry pre-teen boys. She was the kind of woman who knew how to fix things with her hands, but also how to find peace in the simplicity of a Kansas morning sunrise: rippling golden wheat fields and the rustle of leaves in the wind. Mom was beautiful and perfect, in her well-worn jeans and old flannel shirts, but there was always a quiet elegance to the way she carried herself. Something awe-inspiring and untouchable. The boys had loved her unconditionally. They couldn't have asked for a better Mother.

"Were they any good?" John knows Virgil got his musical ear from her - the kid was sitting on Lucille Tracy's lap at the piano from the moment he was old enough to babble along - but John's sad to realise that, personally, he doesn't remember very many of her songs outside of nursery rhymes. At the time, with a head full of space facts, Mom's music was never something John had paid attention to. Something he'd never expected he would have to miss.

"Do y'think Virgil would do us a rendition, if I can dig up any of their old songs?" John postulates, going in one last time with the shampoo. If this doesn't get it, he's going to have to dry his hair and try again tomorrow. "There's a box of Grandma's old CDs in the attic, I wonder if any data chips with Mom's work on ended up there with them."

[penrose-quinn]

Between "Don't touch the sleeping pills/they mess with my head" and "You love me so hard and I still can't sleep" and "And, ah, my love remind me, what was it that I said?/I can't help but pull the earth around me to make my bed" and "It's just that I fell in love with a war/nobody told me it ended", I went with Mitski's A Pearl for chp 13 (just for that first line fitting MC and Shin so much) but I'll use Florence & The Machine's Ship to Wreck for a different chapter, probably MC's backstory for obvious reasons jdjdk.

[rottengurlz]

try to be gentle when you are ripping me apart 🔪

w/ @kashisun

[agentc0rn]

Another XY Animatic :))) * loud volume warning

[seaweedstarshine]

Thinking about the convolution of Eleventh Doctor's expressions of love for River Song in Season 7B. He does not trust Clara. He is utterly (wrongly) convinced that he and Clara are playing a grand manipulative game together. “What are you, eh?! A trick? A trap?!!”

So naturally, the last thing he should do in this game is to clue his opponent in on something that could be used to hurt him. Something like River, so painfully near the end of their time together, whose data ghost he can always see, who “it would hurt too much” to acknowledge. He can't let Clara know of the loss which constantly floods his senses; (“You are always here to me. And I always listen, and I can always see you,” he professes, once Clara has vanished into his timestream).

And yet. River fills his every moment (irregardless of any sneaking out for dates with increasingly-young Rivers while Clara is asleep like he did while the Ponds slept, which would explain his absence when the TARDIS is hiding Clara's bedroom). Even though it's not strategic, he can’t help but tell Clara about her. The best defense he can manage is to phrase it as if River isn’t as important to him as she is. Not only is avoiding her first name in his grief; he's also completely avoiding pronouns; which seems extreme given that he's still mentioning her as often as: “Oh yeah, of course he has! Professor Song! Sorry, it's just I never realized you were a woman.”

Leave out the emotion — leave out the details — don't show the cracks in the armor — play the part — win the game.

“Well, there's no point now. We're about to die. JUST TELL ME WHO YOU ARE.”

[camellcat]

WTFFF I thought thirteen would be my new girl crush love of my life heart eyes wife you-came-after-twelve-you-must-be-better-than-they're-all-saying bbygirl and then I had to sit down and watch as she told a man who (if he were not a murderer, of course) literally every regeneration before her would've LOVED and FULLY SUPPORTED that "the systems aren't the problem. how people use and exploit the system, that's the problem. people like you" </33333 !?!?

[forevercloudnine]

on again and off again and on again and

batcat break up and/or hook up playlist (Spotify || Youtube)

Too Close Sir Chloe // Lost Kitten Metric // Blah Blah Blah The Oozes // Wet Dazey and the Scouts // get him back! Olivia Rodrigo // Rehab People Planet // Margarita Spin Doctors // Paris Kate Nash // Denial Thing Amanda Palmer and the Grand Theft Orchestra (Spotify Alt: Gives You Hell All-American Rejects) // I Really F**cked It Up GIRLI // Good in Bed Dua Lipa

[selfinflictedgunshotwound]

find it very funny how so many twin peaks fans (aka redditors) seem to think there's really only one way to read the series and just ascribe every single thing to their view of it instead of actually interrogating things

[onewordshy]

Wish I could bottle the feeling this gives me