#and it fills me with so much joy and emotion

[agentstarkid]

YOU'RE JUST LIKE MARS, YOU SHINE IN THE SKY ✦ CL16

✦ pairing: charles leclerc x reader ✦ words: 2.4K ✦ warnings: female!reader, fluff. ✦ may's radio: my hands were shaking so much that they slipped and this got written :)) <3

The roar of engines reverberated through the narrow streets of Monaco, the glistening harbor contrasting with the vibrant red of the Ferrari garage. I stood amidst the controlled chaos, the scent of burning rubber and fuel heavy in the air. Charles' family was beside me, their faces a mixture of tension and pride, reflecting my own swirling emotions.

In my hand, I clutched a small bracelet, its delicate threads intertwined with colors representing our journey together. Charles and I had made it during a quiet evening in Maranello, each bead and knot a silent promise of our shared dreams and love. I rubbed the beads with my thumb, seeking solace in their familiarity as the final laps of the Monaco Grand Prix unfolded on the screens before us.

Charles was in the lead. I could see his car darting through the tight corners, threading the needle between the unforgiving barriers. The commentators' voices were a distant hum, my focus solely on the scarlet blur of his Ferrari.

“He's doing great,” Pascale whispered, her voice tight with barely contained excitement.

I nodded, unable to tear my eyes away from the monitor. My heart pounded in time with the relentless rhythm of the cars on the track. Each second stretched into an eternity, every corner a potential triumph or disaster.

With just a few laps to go, the tension in the garage was palpable. I could see the mechanics poised for celebration or action, their faces masks of concentration. The bracelet's colors shimmered softly, a small but powerful reminder of the man I loved and the journey that had brought us to this moment.

The final lap began. Charles' car streaked past the iconic Casino Square, down towards the tight hairpin at Fairmont, and into the tunnel where the roar of the engine amplified tenfold. My grip on the bracelet tightened and all around, the horns of the yachts in the harbor were already blaring in celebration.

"C’mon, mia stella," I whispered, as if my voice could reach him through the cacophony of the race.

Through the chicane and into the swimming pool complex, his car danced on the edge of control, the very limits of physics and skill. The crowd's roar was a constant backdrop, a wave of noise that crescendoed as he approached the final corners.

Then, in a blur of red and precision, he rounded Rascasse and Anthony Noghes. The checkered flag waved, and Charles' car crossed the finish line.

“C'é l'ha fatta!” someone shouted, the garage erupting into cheers and applause. He did it.

Tears of joy sprang to my eyes as I watched Charles slow down for the victory lap, the realization sinking in. He had won. In Monaco. His home race. 

Monaco has finally loved him back.

It was a colossal victory for Il sole di Maranello, Il Predestinato, Il Principe Rosso, 

The brightest star in my night sky.

The screen cut to his in-car camera, showing his triumphant fist pump and the liberating scream he let out. My heart swelled with pride and love.

As the celebrations commenced around me, I felt a strong arm wrap around my shoulders. Charles' mother pulled me into a hug, her eyes glistening with tears.

“He's done it,” she whispered, her voice filled with emotion.

We all moved towards the pit lane to greet him, the crowd's energy sweeping us along. The bracelet dangled from my wrist, a symbol of our bond and the incredible moment we were now living.

Charles pulled into the Parc Fermé, and as he climbed out of the car, he immediately jumped onto the nose of his Ferrari. He threw his arms up in victory, letting out a boisterous scream full of raw emotion, the sound echoing through the throng of fans and team members. The crowd's cheers reached a fever pitch, their collective joy merging with his triumphant cry.

He then jumped down, his feet hitting the ground with a determined thud. Amidst the jubilant chaos, his eyes scanned the sea of faces until they found mine surrounded by a sea of red uniforms and jubilant faces. He pushed through the crowd, making his way to me.

“Amore mio!” he exclaimed, lifting me off my feet and spinning me around.

“You did it, Charles! You won!” I laughed through my tears, my hands framing his helmet.

He leaned in, pressing his forehead against mine. “We did it,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. His fingers brushed against the bracelet on my wrist, I could see a hint of a knowing smile spreading across his face. “This is also for us.”

In that moment, surrounded by the cheers of the team and the adoring fans, it was just the two of us. The handmade bracelet, the race, and our love intertwined into a perfect, unforgettable moment.

The jubilation in the Ferrari crowd was palpable, the energy electric as the team celebrated Charles' monumental win. Mechanics, engineers, and staff swarmed him, lifting him up and congratulating him, hugging him and tapping the top of his helmet, their faces glowing with pride and admiration. Fred approached with a broad smile, clapping Charles on the shoulder and embracing him in a vigorous hug.

Next came Carlos, grinning from ear to ear, pulling into a brotherly embrace. "Amazing job out there, mate! You deserve this one."

"Thanks, Carlos," Charles said, hugging him tighter. "We did it together."

John Elkann, Ferrari’s chairman, stepped forward, his demeanor exuberant and congratulatory. "Charles, you've made Ferrari and all of Monaco incredibly proud today. Congratulations!"

Charles nodded, his gratitude evident. "Thank you, Mr. Elkann. This victory is for the team, for all of us."

With the formalities complete, Charles turned to the crowd. He moved towards the barriers, where the sea of red-clad fans erupted into deafening cheers, their love and admiration washing over him like a wave. He basked in the adulation, lifting his arms to acknowledge the fans who had supported him through thick and thin.

He spotted Andrea waiting by the edge of the crowd. The Italian had been with him through countless highs and lows, a steady presence in his life. Charles embraced him tightly, their bond evident in the heartfelt hug.

“You did it, Charles. I'm so proud of you,” Andrea said, his voice choked with emotion.

“Couldn't have done it without you, Andrea,” Charles replied, pulling back to look his friend in the eye.

Andrea handed Charles his jewelry and the other handmade bracelet, the one that perfectly complemented the one I wore. A significant piece that he entrusts to his friend every race. Charles took the items, his eyes briefly meeting Andrea's in silent gratitude before he turned back to the crowd. He moved to the front of the sign indicating his 1st place finish, ready to be interviewed by Jenson Button for the post-race interview.

The crowd's roar never dimmed, their adoration a constant backdrop. I watched him, my heart swelling with love and pride, as he fought back tears. Charles took a moment to gather himself, fidgeting with his cap and then with the bracelet. The raw emotion in his voice was palpable as he spoke.

“It means a lot obviously,” Charles said, his voice wavering slightly. “This is the race that made me dream of being a Formula One driver one day.” 

He paused, taking a deep breath. “I have to say that I was thinking of my dad a lot more than what I do while driving. Obviously he’d given everything for me to be here. It was our dream for me to race and to win here.”

The weight of his words sinking in. The raw emotion in his voice, the tears brimming in his eyes, spoke volumes. This victory was not just a personal triumph but a tribute to his father and their shared dream. I felt tears spill over, my heart swelling with love for the man who had just achieved a lifelong dream, carrying the memory of his father with him every step of the way.

While Charles spoke, I stood beside Pascale and his brothers. My heart ached with a mix of overwhelming pride and sorrow, mirroring the emotions etched on their faces. Pascale had tears running down her cheeks, her expression a blend of grief and pride for her son's achievement.

I reached out and grabbed her hand in mine, squeezing it three times—a silent gesture of support, love, and shared emotion. She squeezed back, her grip firm and reassuring, a small but powerful connection in this deeply poignant moment.

As the interview concluded, the crowd erupted into applause once more. Charles looked over at us, his eyes locking with mine, and in that moment, everything else faded away. The noise, the cameras, the crowd—it all disappeared, leaving just the two of us connected by an unspoken understanding and an unbreakable bond.

He made his way toward us, each step filled with purpose and emotion. When he reached us, he first hugged his mother tightly, their shared tears a silent tribute to the man they both missed so deeply. Then he turned to me, pulling me into his arms, holding me close.

I held him tighter, feeling the weight of the moment. “I'm so proud of you, Charles. Your dad would be too.”

We stood there for a moment, wrapped in each other's embrace, the world around us celebrating his incredible victory. The cheers of the crowd, the flashes of cameras, and the palpable joy of the team enveloped us, but all that mattered was the love and pride we felt for Charles.

Pascale joined our embrace, her tears now mingling with smiles. “He's always with you, Charles. And he's so proud.”

Charles nodded, his eyes glistening. “I feel him here today, maman, more than ever.”

As the celebrations continued, Charles' brothers took turns hugging him, their faces glowing with admiration and joy. He was then quickly rushed into the Driver’s Cooldown Room along with the other podium-finishers. 

The crowd's roar never dimmed, their adoration a constant backdrop to the unfolding celebrations. Charles made his way to the podium promptly being showered in overjoyed hugs and words by Monaco’s Royal Family. He took his place on the top, the Monegasque flag wrapped around him like a protective mantle. 

The Prince of Monaco, his eyes glistening with emotion, handed Charles his trophy first. Their embrace was heartfelt, filled with warmth and a deep sense of pride. As Charles lifted the trophy high, the crowd erupted into deafening cheers. He turned to the other drivers, congratulating them as they received their trophies, and then Fred accepted the constructor's trophy with a broad smile, lifting it skyward to the adulation of the crowd.

The Monaco anthem began to play, its solemn notes filling the air. Charles stood tall as the anthem resonated deeply, the pride of the nation evident in every note. As the final strains of the Monaco anthem faded, the Italian anthem followed, a tribute to the Ferrari team and their storied legacy.

The sound of both anthems being sung at the top of everyone's lungs was deafening, a beautiful cacophony of national pride and celebration. Tears streamed down faces all around, from the Prince and the royal family to the mechanics, marshalls, and fans. Even the seasoned veterans of the sport were visibly moved, the emotion of the moment overwhelming.

He lifted the trophy high, a triumphant smile spreading across his face. The crowd erupted once more, their cheers echoing through the narrow streets of Monte Carlo. He looked down at me, our eyes locking across the sea of faces. He mouthed the words “I love you,” and I felt the tears spill over again, tears of unadulterated joy and love.

The podium celebration reached its peak and the champagne bottles were uncorked with a resounding pop. Charles, Carlos, and Oscar grabbed their bottles, shaking them vigorously. The crowd's anticipation grew, knowing the champagne shower was about to begin.

Charles stood at the center as Carlos and Oscar turned towards him, their bottles aimed and ready. With a synchronized motion, they sprayed him with champagne, the sparkling liquid raining down on him as he laughed and tried to dodge it.

Fred, ever the spirited team principal, turned his champagne bottle toward Prince Albert. His Serene Highness, caught off guard but clearly delighted, laughed heartily and grabbed a bottle himself. He joined in the festivities, spraying Fred and the other drivers with gusto. The entire podium was a scene of jubilant chaos, the air filled with the scent of champagne and the sound of laughter and cheers.

Charles reveled in the moment, his face beaming with pure happiness as he shared the celebration with his teammates and the Prince. It was a rare and beautiful sight, the convergence of competitive spirit and heartfelt camaraderie.

Finally, the champagne showers subsided, and Charles descended the steps, droplets of champagne glistening on his suit and face. After a while, he made his way back to me, his steps purposeful and his eyes locked on mine. The crowd's cheers still echoed in the background, but all I could focus on was him.

As he reached me, he didn't hesitate. He pulled me into his arms and kissed me deeply, a kiss full of love, joy, and adoration—and even a hint of something more passionate, something more intense.

The kiss was electric, sending shivers down my spine. His lips moved against mine with a fervor that spoke of the countless emotions coursing through him. His hands gripped my waist tightly, pulling me closer as if he never wanted to let go. The world around us blurred, the noise of the celebration fading into the background.

His kiss was hungry and unrestrained, a raw display of the depth of his feelings. It conveyed everything words couldn't—the relief, the triumph, the passion that simmered beneath the surface. My toes curled, and I felt a heady rush as I responded with equal intensity, matching his fervor.

When we finally pulled apart, breathless and smiling, he rested his forehead against mine. “This is just the beginning,” he whispered, his breath warm against my skin.

I nodded, holding him tight. “I'm with you every step of the way, Charles. Always.”

And in that embrace, surrounded by the love of family, friends, and fans, we knew that no matter what the future held, we would face it together, hand in hand, heart to heart. The journey ahead was filled with promise, and with each other, we could conquer anything.

[xxspringmelodyxx]

Happy Anniversary~

Gojo Satoru x Reader (angst)

Currently sobbing, crying, and throwing up while writing this

“Toru, stop it!” I giggled, feeling his kisses cascade along my neck while his arms ensnared me, refusing to let me escape.

“But… I… love… you… so… much!” His words punctuated by the soft press of his lips, his embrace tightening around me.

“And I love you more, but we’re out in public. People are staring,” I chided, though the sensation of his cool, tender kisses was undeniably intoxicating.

“Who cares, let them see. Everyone will know that you’re mine~” His declaration sent a flutter through my heart, prompting me to pull back slightly, needing to gaze into his eyes. I gently cupped his face in my hand, tracing the lines of his features with reverence.

He smirked, a knowing glint in his eyes as he watched me with affection. “You know, if you like looking at me that much, I could take a picture for you and sign it even,” he teased, earning an eye roll from me.

“Oh, shut up, you. It’s not my fault you’re the epitome of gorgeousness,” I retorted, unable to hide the fondness in my voice.

“Look who’s talking~” His response was playful as he drew me closer, capturing my lips in a tender kiss.

I closed my eyes, letting him draw me into him. As our kiss deepened, warmth spread through my body, the world around us fading into insignificance. Eventually we needed to pull away to catch our breaths, but that was short lived as Toru pulled me back in for another, not wanting to waste anymore time.

I giggled into the kiss, trying to break away to tease him. I succeeded, but only for a split second. The instant I pulled away, he gently grabbed me by the neck and whispered, “Not yet. I’m not done~”, and pulled me back in.

With each kiss, our connection felt more profound, as if our souls were entwining in perfect harmony. It was a moment suspended in time, where nothing else mattered except the love we shared.

Lost in the bliss of our embrace, we seemed oblivious to the world around us. But reality intruded in the form of a gentle breeze, carrying with it the murmurs of passersby and the distant sounds of traffic.

Reluctantly, we pulled apart, our gazes lingering as if trying to prolong the fleeting moment. Toru’s hand found mine, his fingers intertwining with mine as we began to walk, the city bustling around us.

“So, where to next, my love?” he asked, his tone playful yet tender.

I smiled, the warmth of his affection enveloping me like a comforting embrace. “Anywhere, as long as I’m with you,” I replied, leaning into his side as we continued our journey together.

”Oh baby, there’s nothing that could ever tear me apart from you. I’m with you until the end of eternity,” he spoke, his voice filled with unwavering devotion, making my heart swell with love and hope.

With tears of joy brimming in my eyes, I smiled at him, feeling the warmth of his words wrapping around me like a comforting blanket.

”I love you, my ’Toru~” I whispered softly, the words a balm to my wounded soul.

“And I love you, my N/n~” His response was tender, filled with a depth of emotion that echoed in my heart.

But our moment of bliss was shattered by a sudden, loud noise that pierced through the tranquility like a knife.

“Ugh, what is that noise?” I groaned, instinctively turning to Toru for comfort. But instead of finding solace in his arms, I was met with a heartbreaking sight – his smile, tinged with sadness, tears glistening in his eyes.

“Toru? What’s wrong?” My voice trembled with fear, a cold knot of dread forming in the pit of my stomach.

“It’s time to wake up, my love~” His voice was gentle, but there was a finality to it that sent a chill down my spine.

“What… what are you talking-”

And then darkness consumed me, swallowing me whole as I plummeted into the abyss of consciousness.

———

“About,” I whispered, my eyes fluttering open to the harsh reality of the world around me. My smile that was previously plastered on my face quickly turned into a frown as realization washed over me, shattering my heart into a million irreparable pieces.

It was just a dream. A cruel illusion that teased me with a happiness I could never truly have. A sharp pang of sorrow struck me as I sat up, looking over to the side of the bed where he used to sleep. The place where he used to hold me close. The place where we would talk endlessly about any and everything just to delay going to sleep.

Toru was no longer here, his presence nothing more than a fading memory lingering on the edges of my mind.

I looked over to see my phone alarm going off. I quickly picked it up, turning the alarm off. Before I could put it back on the nightstand, I saw today's date and realized today was…our 5th year anniversary.

A wave of grief washed over me as I stared at the date, the weight of his absence pressing down on my chest like a leaden weight. The world around seemed to blur as memories of us together began to play in my head. The way he held me, the way he spoke to me, the way he looked at me, touched me, kissed me… everything. It all kept replaying in my head like a broken record. And each one… a painful reminder of what I had lost.

Tears welled up in my eyes as I clutched the phone to my chest, wishing that I could go back in time and stop him. If only I had held onto him tighter, told him how much he meant to me, begged him not to leave to go fight Sukuna. But time was cruel, unforgiving, and now he was gone, leaving behind nothing but memories and regrets.

I closed my eyes, willing the tears to stop, but they kept coming, a relentless torrent of sorrow that threatened to consume me whole. How could I go on without him? How could I face a world that no longer held his laughter, his warmth, his love?

I pulled the phone away from me, looking at my home screen, seeing the picture of us together. We looked so happy... he looked so happy.

A pang of longing shot through my chest as I stared at the frozen moment of happiness captured in the photo. How I wished I could turn back time, relive those precious moments with him once more.

But reality was unforgiving, and no amount of longing could bring him back. With a heavy heart, I set the phone aside and rose from the bed, a solemn determination settling over me.

I made my way to the door, slipping on a coat to ward off the chill of the morning air. The journey to the cemetery felt like an eternity, each step weighed down by the burden of grief.

———

Finally, I stood before his gravestone, the sight of his name etched in stone sending a shiver down my spine. The world seemed to fall away as I knelt beside his final resting place, the silence broken only by the sound of my ragged breaths.

"I'm here, Toru," I whispered, my voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't forget. I could never forget."

Tears welled up in my eyes as I placed a bouquet of fresh flowers on the cold, hard ground, their vibrant colors a stark contrast to the somber surroundings. I knelt down, the tears threatening to fall any second now.

"I miss you," I murmured, my voice choked with emotion. "Every day, every moment. I miss you."

I reached out, tracing the letters of his name with trembling fingers, as if trying to etch them into my memory forever. The pain of his absence threatened to overwhelm me, but I refused to let it consume me.

As I knelt there, the weight of his absence bearing down on me, a profound sadness washed over me. How could someone like him be subjected to such cruelty and pain? Even when he was first born…he was already a target.

“I’m sorry, Toru,” I whispered, the words catching in my throat. “I’m sorry for everything you had to endure, for the life you were forced to live.”

Tears streamed down my cheeks as I thought of all the moments he had missed, all the joys and sorrows he had been denied. He never got to experience the simple pleasures of life, the freedom to choose his own path, to love and be loved without fear or reservation. Simply just because of who he was and this cruel world we live in.

But despite it all, he had remained strong, his spirit unbroken even in the face of unimaginable hardship. And through it all, he had found solace in my love, in the simple act of being seen and cherished for who he truly was.

"I wish I could have given you more," I whispered, my voice barely above a whisper. "I wish I could have shielded you from the pain, shown you the beauty of the world beyond the darkness."

Tears continued to fall unabated as I spoke, each word heavy with the weight of my regret. How I longed to turn back time, to rewrite the script of his life, to spare him from the agony he had endured.

But even as I grappled with my own guilt and sorrow, I knew deep down that Toru had found a kind of peace in my love. In those fleeting moments we shared, he had known what it meant to be truly seen, truly loved, and for that, I would be eternally grateful.

And as I knelt there beside his grave, the quiet stillness of the cemetery enveloping me like a comforting embrace, I made a silent vow to honor his memory in the best way I could – by living my life with the same compassion and kindness that he had shown me.

"I will never forget you, Toru," I whispered into the silence, the words a solemn promise echoing in the air. "I will carry you with me always, in my heart and in my soul."

I leaned over and gave his gravestone a kiss, a powerful pang in my chest appearing.

With one last lingering glance at his gravestone, I rose to my feet, a sense of peace settling over me like a gentle breeze. And as I turned to leave, I knew that even in death, his love would be my guiding light, illuminating the path ahead as I walked forward into the unknown.

With a heavy heart, I whispered the words that had become my mantra, my lifeline in the darkness:

"I love you, Toru. And I always will. Happy Anniversary, my love"

______________

[likedovesinthewindd]

game; part eight of sore loser ⋆ masterlist

summary: patrick doesn't understand the game you're playing | content/warning: explicit language, light angst, arguing, and everyone being shitty lmao | tags: @midwestprincesss

"Do you ever think she's just using us?"

Art makes a questioning sound, muffled by the mouthful of donut he had all but shoved into his mouth. He chews and swallows it quickly before speaking up again. "What do you mean?" he asks.

Patrick sinks a little lower into the plastic chair, the sun catching his face before he sits upright again. "I dunno, like," he thinks a moment before continuing. "This thing we have, whatever it is," he says, gesturing between the two of them, "it just kinda revolves around tennis."

"It's like some kind of weird pavlovian response she has," he continued, eyes trained on the blue clay of the turf. "Like as soon as she starts talking about tennis, it gets her going."

"Kinky," Art joked with a playful scoff. Patrick shook his head, his body sinking back down into the chair. "It's kinda fucked up," he added softly. Art only hummed as he thought the situation through, his hand wiping across his mouth absent-mindedly. "Maybe it's better that way," he says, "I mean, she knows you're not serious—"

"Who says I'm not serious?" Patrick asked, looking at Art, who in return had a incredulous look on his face. "C'mon, Pat," he started, "you're in a new city every week, she's doing good for herself, moving up the ranks. I mean," he shrugged.

Patrick scoffed, sitting upright once again. "Why do you sound like you're trying to protect her from me or something?" he asked with a laugh lacking any humor. Art stayed quiet, his eyes now also trained on the blue turf, and just in time to see you emerge from the locker room, the giant bag hanging from your shoulder.

Patrick's eyes followed you for a moment, watching the way your tennis skirt swayed with each step before he suddenly stood up and moved through the grumbling people wordlessly.

When you scanned the crowd, you found Art sitting in the fourth row, a small smile on his face when your eyes finally met his. You returned the gesture with a wave before you noticed the seat next to him empty, no Patrick in sight. Your stomach churned with something uncertain as you started warming up.

✰ ⊹ ˚.

You lost, and horribly at that. Your opponent was still fairly new and the fact that she had managed to beat you inflated her ego by a hundred and made you want to throw the tennis racket at her head to wipe that smug look off her face. You should've been able to beat her, but you didn't, and now Sarah Joy Anderson had ended your winning streak.

You were in a foul mood after that, not even waiting around for Art and immediately making your way back to your dorm. A piping hot shower later, and you now sat quietly in bed, finally working on your assignments as the small radio on your dresser softly played.

A knock at your door startled you a bit and you had to gather all your strength to face anyone considering the mood you were in. You got up with a grunt, taking a moment to take a few calming breaths before opening the door.

It was almost funny how fast the initial calmness seeped right out of your body at the sight of Patrick standing in front of you, a matching scowl on his features.

"What kind of game are you playing here?" he asked, voice soft but still demanding of an answer. "I don't wanna do this right now," you said, ignoring his question as you moved to slam the door shut until he effectively stopped it with an outstretched arm. "I'm serious," he said, eyes staring you down and filled with so much unidentifiable emotion you almost folded. "What's your plan? Why are you doing this?" he tried again.

You were quiet for a few moments, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. You were angry at him, angry at losing to fucking Sarah Joy. Angry that he thought he could come here and confront you like this. "Why weren't you there today?" you asked, a small smirk forming when you could physically see the frustration expression deepening, his hands moving to rub over his reddening face. "Because I don't want to play your fucking game anymore," he answered in a frustrated breath.

"Choose," he said suddenly, catching you off guard. "What?" you questioned, recoiling when he moved closer to you, almost in your face. "Choose," he repeated, "me or Art."

"No," you said, watching that sickening smirk stretch across his face. "C'mon, is it really that hard?" he laughed. Actually laughed. "Fuck you," you said with so much venomous anger you felt lightheaded once the words left your mouth. "Yeah, you've been trying to for months."

The sound of your open palm hitting his face was loud in the quiet hallway, echoing through the area and through your body. The bright red hand rapidly imprinting itself onto the side of his face almost made you smile if it weren't for the look on his face.

You both were quiet, the realization sinking in as you stared at each other. It was a blur after that, as cliché as it sounded. All you remember was him pulling you closer with a force that had you practically falling against his chest and his mouth on yours. And as messed up as it was, you could feel the anger pouring out of you with the way he was gripping at you and the way his mouth moved against yours almost angrily.

✰ ⊹ ˚.

[moonxytcn]

Would you mind please writing a fic about us painting a portrait of billie! We are an amazing painter and we wanted to surprise billie :)

a painted portrait as a gift

Billie Eilish x fem!reader

summary – you paint a portrait to give Billie Eilish as a gift

warnings – fluffy

a/n – I hope you enjoy

English is not my first language so there may be some errors.

–––

The studio was silent, except for the soft sound of the brush bristles gliding across the canvas. The afternoon light streamed through the large windows, illuminating the space with a golden glow, perfect for working on delicate details. You, a talented and dedicated painter, were focused on your latest creation: a portrait of Billie Eilish.

The idea had come to you during one of your morning walks. Billie’s music was playing in your headphones, and a sudden vision of the artist appeared in your mind, capturing her essence in a way you felt compelled to put on canvas. Since then, you had been working on this project with special passion, eager to capture the strength and vulnerability she so well expressed in her songs and public appearances.

Today was the day. The portrait was finished, and the result was more than you could have hoped for. The image captured Billie in a moment of introspection, her eyes reflecting a mix of melancholy and determination, something you always admired in her. Every detail, from the texture of her hair to the softness of her skin, had been crafted with extreme care and dedication.

You had a plan to surprise Billie. Through a mutual contact, you discovered that she would be in town for an interview, and with a bit of luck and a lot of courage, you could deliver the portrait in person. Arriving at the interview location, your heart was pounding. After explaining to the security guard the purpose of your visit, he nodded and asked you to wait. Minutes that felt like hours passed until finally, you were invited in.

Billie was sitting on a couch, looking a bit tired, but when her eyes met the covered painting you carried, they lit up with curiosity. You introduced yourself briefly and explained the reason for your visit, trying to keep your voice steady despite the nervousness.

"I'm a big admirer of your work and wanted to give you something special." You said, beginning to remove the cloth covering the painting. "I hope you like it."

When the canvas was revealed, the silence in the room was palpable. Billie stared at the portrait, her eyes widening in surprise and then filling with emotion. She stood up slowly and approached the artwork, analyzing every detail with an expression of wonder.

"Oh my God." She whispered. "This is incredible. I... I don't even know what to say."

Your heart raced at her reaction. "I'm so glad you like it." You replied, trying to contain the wave of emotion threatening to overflow. "It was a pleasure and an honor to paint this for you."

Billie turned to you, a genuine smile lighting up her face. "You are extremely talented. This means so much to me, really. Thank you so much."

That afternoon turned into something unforgettable. Billie made sure to talk with you for a while, wanting to know more about your work and your inspiration. Every moment felt magical, and you knew this memory would stay with you forever.

As you said goodbye, Billie promised to find a special place to hang the portrait, where she could see it every day and remember the unique connection you shared at that moment.

Leaving the studio, with a feeling of fulfillment and joy in your heart, you knew this was just the beginning of many other stories you would have the chance to paint.

[sreyaya]

Ey so I have a Norton smut idea teehee :333

So I wanna req a short smut drabble with Norton's skin Infernal Sin where he worships the reader (preferably gn)

Pls I'm this desperate to see someone write a damn demon going all soft and puppy eyed to a human hhehshhebebhdhehehe

In the Shadows

Infernal Sin!Fool's Gold x gn!Reader NSFW

Content Warning: praising/worship, warm warm warm sex, 600 words, MDNI

(A/n: THANK U FOR THE REQ! I DON'T USUALLY WRITE FG!NORTON BUT I HOPE U ENJOY ANON~ (tried making reader as GN as possible))

smut under the cut!

Everyone was aware of him, his relentless demeanor sending shivers down everyone’s spine. Norton Campbell, no– not that Norton, Fool’s Gold. His mysterious face, body covered in molten lava of anger and heavy wounds casing his body, releasing red flames that erupted with hatred and malice. Even in frequent matches, he lets no one off his hook, a good hunter supposedly.

But it was all different for you, the only person he ever tolerated, adored, devoted himself to. Down the manor halls to the bedroom, he melted under your touch, feeling warmth in his hollow heart. Someone he could finally call his treasure, someone he had been longing for so long. He adored you more than anything else, the one and only, and he knew that all too well.

“You take it so well, treasure. Looking divine as ever,” he cooed, slowly caressing your hair, his eyes drinking in the sight of your already sobbing face as he inched more and more inside.

He was slow with you, why would he hurt his one and only treasure? After a long day of hunting, all he wanted was cuddles and time with his pride and joy, his gold. Releasing low grunts every now and then, his rough palms curving on your cheeks slowly as he entered even deeper, satisfied by how you took him so well.

“So warm for me, just can’t ever get enough of you,” he murmured, admiring every inch of your body as if it was a sacred finding, something he had longed for so long. Your moans sounded like music to his ears, earnest melody for his chaotic mind.

You held onto his shoulders, feeling the texture of his eccentric golden decorations that made him more captivating. Clenching every inch of him inside, you stared at his face ever so deeply, feeling slightly bummed out that his mask covered his handsome face regardless of what it was missing. It felt like as if the world had stopped for the both of you, everything was flawless tonight.

“I adore you too much, my diamond,” he whispered, thrusting languidly once. “You’re so perfect to me, I always wonder why you’d even look my way when everyone does differently,” he continued, not breaking the eye contact you both had. “And when you call my name ever so sweetly, I'm done for,” he said before kissing you deeply.

His crimson wound emitted light and warmth around the both of you. What usually tormented him throughout the nights finally made him feel warm with you. He had always appreciated all these slow nights just being next to you, just the two of you, as he kept himself warm inside, feeling fulfilled more than anything.

“You drive me insane, baby, the way you do everything, you’re so perfect for me,” he groaned, thrusting in one last time before coming undone inside you, his seed filling you slowly. His flames dimmed by the second, his demonic eyes glowing softly under the faintly lit room.

Norton was happy, genuinely happy, a rare emotion that he had almost forgotten existed. In your embrace, he found a serenity that had always slipped away from him, a peace that wrapped around him like a comforting blanket. Your gentle touch, your soothing voice, and the love in your eyes were all he needed to remind him that he was more than just a monster, more than just a hunter feared by all.

[vicsy]

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[brambletakato]

Yknow what. Rank all the main themes from the Professor Layton series, I'll go first

[charles-edwin]

him 🥺

[romeowfr]

i do want to say 1) i am an ancient lover and 2) most of my dragons are not clothed, but i do think people blow a lot of the ancient stuff out of proportion. i think you can make valid criticism of the staff and the time crunches they seem to put themselves on and such, but also. they are making the game you like. continuously just hating on them and bitching about everything is. not productive

i full heartedly don't agree with certain policies or don't like certain breeds or think that things especially overtime should be written and redone, but i'm not going to constantly engage with the negativity. flight rising has done a lot of good and to be a still functioning pet website in 2024 is pretty crazy. i do think some people do need to recognize that even if you don't like the new dragons right now, you don't have to interact with them. you don't need them on your account and stuff. obviously there are things i wish they did but that doesn't mean what they did was bad. i've seen a few posts that do a good job of pointing out that like. again if you had it so bad and think you'd do better you don't have to engage. i might be crazy sappy about flight rising right now but it's a really enjoyable game and it's kind of disappointing how much people hate on it when the team is trying to update and manage a lot and Do come out with really nice things.

[scrambledslut]

just finished Red, White & Royal Blue and holy shit that was such a feel good movie

[https-hunter]

I love animation so much. It's beautiful, the way one frame goes into the other and creates one whole flowing movement. It's tedious, yes, but I wouldn't have it any other way. The patience and love that runs through the animator into the moving image is something that is so profound, so indescribable. Animation, my love for you is so deep and knows no bounds that it transcends words

[jouska-the-deer]

Watching the cutscenes in Sonic Frontiers taking a screenshot every time Sonic makes an expression [snap] [snap] [snap] [snap] [snap] [snap] [snap] [snap] [snap] [snap] [snap] [snap] [snap] [snap] [snap] [snap] [snap] [snap] [snap] [snap] [snap] [snap] [snap] [snap] [snap] [snap]

[candyradium]

watches a single gtws video and immediately feels way more at peace with the world

[noxtivagus]

thinking about haurchefant hours (tales from the dragonsong war side stories) 🥺🤍

[yellowsubiesdance]

maybe i’ll get my vape out of my suitcase and get a lil silly

[eye-scream-girls]

I saw your post about a "her", and I just wanted to come here and say, that you are not alone in this. I think feeling so deeply is such a gift, and whoever you are talking about is very lucky you're alive, I am sending you all the love.

This is such a genuinely sweet ask, thank you 💜