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jamminvroomvroom · 2 months

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die for you.

ln x driver!reader

in which you can’t stand each other, or so you say…

this took waaaay too long for me to hate it sm but she’s here! and she’s long! love this concept so much, thank you for this request. so many feels so many vibes, tell me what you think <3

loosely inspired by die for you by the weeknd

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! smut, language, slight glimpses of she fell first, he fell harder, rivals to lovers/enemies to lovers, choking, hate sex? bar fight, mentions of blood

8.3k words (oop)

it’s rare that you miss a podium, so when you do, it tastes bitter and stings like a bitch.

the car has been on fire all season long, a thing of beauty in your calculated hands. so, the string of bad luck you’re enduring, small mistakes with big consequences, it’s quite the pill to swallow.

out of the car you jump, teeth grinding hard out of frustration. you could see the commotion ahead of you, members of the papaya team celebrating their driver. your eyes roll so hard in your head that you feel a lasting ache. you side step members of your team, dodging every single person that tries to talk to you, your comms officer knowing better than to try and engage with you. you know you’re being unreasonable, it was a p5 finish! but it isn’t a podium or a win, so quite frankly, you aren’t interested, and you certainly don’t have any energy left to hear how amazingly well he had driven.

lando fucking norris.

what was once quiet disdain had grown into fully fledged hatred and you fear you’ll be violently sick if you catch a single glimpse of him on the podium. sure, he’s talented, and sure, he’s beautiful, you suppose. that doesn’t mean you have to like him. not anymore. he lives under your skin, inescapable.

you struggle through every interview in the media pen, most of which dissect your recent fall from grace, your mouth forming a hard, unimpressed line every time they mention the orange goblin and his recent streak of podiums and good luck. you wish the journos would bring up his string of women and the probable plan b receipts that went with them. that, you would love to talk about.

you drive in silence back to your hotel, leaving the track as soon as possible, and quickly find solace in your bed for the night. the idea of seeing the inside of a club makes you nauseous after your epic downfall. as your eyes are drooping, your body going limp under the thick duvet, a knock sounds from the door.

“no.” you shout flatly, but the only response you get are giggles from the hallway. for fuck sake, you mutter, groaning as you shift out from beneath the covers and trail apprehensively towards the door.

george and alex appear before you, and you throw your head back is exasperation.

“mate, it’s 9:30.” alex laughs, taking in your fancy attire; pyjamas that you’ve had since you were 17.

“what’s your point?” you croak, glaring up at your obnoxiously tall friend.

“why aren’t you getting ready to go out?” george questions, leaning against the doorframe. he, too, was obnoxiously tall, you thought, feeling the strain in your neck as you move your glare onto him.

“if it wasn’t obvious, i’m not going.” you deadpan, crossing your arms over your chest. “i thought that was clear after i ignored all 77 of your texts.” you smile sarcastically, rubbing sleep from your eyes.

“don’t be boring! you’re an f1 driver, you’re in a cool city, you’re rich and, let’s face it,” he sasses. “you need to get laid.” alex says, like it’s the most causal thing in the world. your eyes bulge out of your head at the utterance of the last bit. george bites back laughter.

“choosing to ignore that.” you hiss. “i’m sorry but i refuse to go out and celebrate that arrogant, whiny little bitch.”

they both know exactly who you’re talking about.

you and lando have simply never seen eye to eye. your karting days were spent pushing one another off the track or into a muddy puddle if things got a bit heated out of the car. sure, olive branches were extended, and maybe adolescent feelings were secretly harboured, but he never gave you any reason to tell him that. you’d grown out of the childish violence when you graduated into formula 1, but you hadn’t been able to shake the rage he made you feel.

it didn’t matter how many dinners you attended where others had conspired and forced you to sit next to each other. it didn’t matter how many times you turned up to play padel and were met with the same lame excuses of ‘oh, did we not mention lando would be here?’ it didn’t matter how many times you’d hugged it out on the podium while adrenaline and tensions were running high.

it didn’t matter how many times he’d watched you from across a crowded room and you’d found his eyes, watched him back. it didn’t matter how many times he’d smirked at you at the start of a race weekend, made you blush. and it certainly didn’t matter what happened last time you found yourself in a club with him.

you just don’t like him. not anymore. you sleep better at night when you lie to yourself.

~ the last time

you sink shot after shot, cocktail after cocktail; the taste of fruity liquor stains your lips and burns your throat. you feel electric, sizzling with ecstasy and the heat from the flashing lights above your head.

it’s approaching 4am and you can’t recall a time in your life where you’d felt so fucking good. the high of your first win is indescribable.

you’ve lost track of the guys, alex and george have packed it in and gone back to their hotels with their girlfriends. pierre and kika are somewhere in a corner, you’re certain. you’re pretty sure you’ve even seen lewis with his entourage and a brick wall of a bodyguard trailing behind him. and at the bar, a set of eyes watch you.

lando isn’t even listening to oscar anymore, no. he is too entranced in the way your hips move to the beat, lost in the carefree lines your body makes in the crowd. he’s itching to go to you, put his hands in places that would stay between you, him, and god, but he doesn’t think a broken nose would be good for business.

everything changes when you spin around, facing his direction. then, it begins: the same thing that happens every time you end up going out in the same group. you watch one another, pretending you’re not both achingly desperate to find out how the other tastes.

but lando is feeling bold. he tells oscar he’ll see him in the morning, and then, egged on by a moscow mule and a few too many shots, he makes his way towards you. it is instinctual, magnetic, the way he is drawn to you.

hands on your hips, lips on your neck. the song changes. you recognise the weeknd’s voice. you are disappointed in yourself but it feels too good to stop.

you know what i’m thinkin', see it in your eyes you hate that you want me, hate it when you cry you’re scared to be lonely, 'specially in the night i’m scared that i’ll miss you, happens every time

the lyrics sober you up. you’re in the first taxi you can see when you finally get outside.

alone.

as much as that memory makes you shiver, for several different reasons, you find yourself putting on some makeup and raking through your suitcase for something to wear. george and alex are waiting downstairs for you at the bar, and when you finally make your way down there, they have a martini waiting for you. they watch in impressed horror as the alcohol disappears from the glass mere seconds after it touches your lips.

“let’s get this over with.” you sigh.

it could have been worse, you suppose.

the club is packed, hundreds of faces blurring into nothing. you feel better knowing that there is a one in a million chance of running into lando.

you’re tucked into a booth with alex and george, carmen and lily, a few faces you can’t quite place, and charles and pierre. you’d conspired to sit on the outside, prepared to make a quick getaway at the first sign of tension.

you’d been in a state of fight or flight since your last run in, nails bitten down every time you thought about his hands on you, how good they felt on you. it scared you more than anything had in a long time, how your desire had festered.

you go to take a swig from your glass, only to find it empty, aside from a few sad ice cubes. you watch jealously as they melt into nothing, wishing they would take you with them, shoving your glass across the smooth table top when your frustration boils over.

you’re on edge, ridiculously afraid of bumping into a curly haired man. it wasn’t him you were scared of, per-say, more yourself. god knows what you’d do if you felt those warm, calloused hands pulling your hips into his again.

“you okay?” pierre calls across the table. he and charles abandon their conversation as soon as your glass goes flying towards their side of the table. you’re broken out of your trance, caught off guard like a deer in headlights.

“tired.” you reply, shrugging it off like it was nothing. it’s clear immediately that they don’t buy it.

“she’s hiding.” alex chimes in from beside you, and your elbow goes straight into his ribs. he feigns pain for a moment, cackling at your reaction.

“from who?” charles inquires. you roll your eyes, blush spreading down your neck already. you hate everything about the conversation, and yet you need to see where it goes. you’d planned your escape, and now was the opportune time to make it, but you seem to be glued to the leather of the booth.

“lando.” george smirks into his drink as a he speaks, wiggles his eyebrows.

“oh yeah, we know all about that.” pierre laughs, his head tipping back in amusement.

“what?” you spit, eyes wide with confusion.

“don’t think me and kika didn’t see you two before the summer break. that night you won? we thought you’d finally cave.” pierre explains, his grin conveying pure evil.

several “what?!”’s sound from around the table, and now all eyes are on you.

“nothing even happened.” you mumble. “he came over to me and then i left.” you look away, twisting your hair around your finger. you are sweating.

“you looked like you were minutes away from being arrested for public indecency.” pierre smirks. you almost launch yourself across the table, intent on strangling him, and then perhaps throwing yourself in front of an oncoming uber outside.

“well, well, well. i fucking knew it.” alex is giggling beside you.

“come on guys, leave the poor girl alone.” lily winks at you, but even she has a twinkle in her eye. “there’s obviously feelings there.” and just like that she betrays you. her sympathetic smile doesn’t make you forgive her.

“i think you guys just need to get it out of your system,” charles starts, pausing to take a sip of his drink. “just fuck.” he waves his hand, like it was the most causal thing in the world.

the table erupts in laughter and you decide that you are well past the end of your tether. you shake your head, declaring that you need another drink, or ten, and strut away from the table. a chorus of ‘love you’-s and ‘get some’-s sound from behind you. you reply simply by raising your middle finger and refusing to look back.

the bar is in sight, just about in your reach when your evening goes from mildly bad to aggressively worse.

“fuck sake.” you sigh.

“and good evening to you too.” lando replies. he’s blocking your path, materialising before you out of nowhere.

“get out of my way, lan.” it sounds like you’re pleading and you cringe internally.

“don’t you wanna congratulate me?” he feigns a pout and you almost swing for him.

“no, not particularly.” you say dryly. “all i want is a drink, so if you’d just…” you gesture for him to move. of course, he doesn’t.

“haven’t seen you in a while, though. thought maybe you’d missed me.” he takes a step closer; goosebumps litter your bare skin.

“you are such an entitled prick.” you spit, moving to step around him but he catches you, gripping your wrists and pulling you in. you feel heat radiating off of him, expensive cologne overwhelming you in the best possible way.

“and you, honey, are such a fucking brat. but you don’t hear me complaining, do you?” lando whispers, cool breath hitting your face, minty, laced with champagne and cockiness. you almost fold, thighs clenching so tight that he must have noticed.

“move.” you grumble through gritted teeth. you are crumbling painfully, embarrassingly fast.

“make me.” your underwear is damp, but you are fuming.

“don’t fucking test me, lando.” something in your chest sets on fire and you’re over him and his bullshit, and the way he makes you feel.

“i know you want me.” he dips his forehead down to rest gently against yours. his grip on your wrists tightens, thumbs swirling circles into the flesh, right where your pulse is.

you lean in, mere centimetres separating your lips. his eyes darken, the assumption of victory over you tugs his lips into a smirk.

“all i want is my fucking drink. come find me when you’ve managed to navigate your gigantic, stupid head out of your arse.” you catch him off guard, wriggling out of his grip. you’re shaking when you walk away, thoughts of doing things with him that would get you both fired invading your foggy brain.

you try to disappear into the crowd, finally breathe a sigh of relief when your hands meet the cool surface of the bar. you order your drink, putting it on your tab and drum your nails against the marble top. you’re lost in your own world, watching as concoctions are mixed, as shots are downed. you finally feel at ease, until your evening takes yet another turn, one that was somehow even more unfortunate than all the others.

your attention is rudely stolen by the guy stood next to you.

“can i get that for you?” the random man speaks, in a way that he must of assumed was smooth. slimy, you think. he’s gesturing to your drink, clearly having watched you add it to your bill already.

“no, thank you. it’s already paid for.” you smile politely, turning on your heel. it seems he wasn’t quite done with you. you feel a clammy hand tug on yours, a wave of sickness washes over you.

lando’s hands are bigger, warmer, softer.

“where are you rushing off to, babe?” the sweaty man asks, his tone fake in a way that makes you uneasy.

“i need to get back to my friends.” you try to pull your hand free, but he won’t budge. “can you let go-“

“i can show you a good time. always thought you were kinda hot.” you’re panicking now, looking every which way for a familiar face, a security guard, anyone.

“take your hands off of me.” you snap, still wrestling to pull yourself free.

“one night with me would pull you out of that little slump you’re in.” he leers. you visibly gag, white hot rage blurs your vision.

“okay you piece of shi-“ you snarl, interrupted by a flash of curls and tanned skin.

“she told you to let go.” lando stands in front of you protectively, rigid and furious. you’ve never been so happy to see his annoying(ly beautiful) face.

“and what are you gonna do?”

“hands. off.” lando stands up even straighter, looking bigger than you’ve ever seen him.

“okay, mate, whatever.” the stranger rolls his eyes, shoves your hand away.

lando turns to you, opening his mouth to speak when…

“keep that stuck up bitch all to yourself.”

and then, everything goes to shit.

lando whips around, fists are flying, the stranger topples to the ground, amassed to nothing in the face of the mclaren drivers rage. lando doesn’t stop there, makes sure he is sufficiently dealt with, flat on his back on the sticky floor. you don’t know what to do, calling out for lando, begging him to stop, as satisfied as you are. lando hears your shouts, pulled out of the chaos and back to you. always back to you.

“are you okay?” he has his hands on your face searching for any remaining fear or upset. a crowd has formed and you see alex and george towering above the other club goers, jaws agape.

it’s as if he dj has it out for you, and you realise that the song has changed to something moodier, slower, one that gives you whiplash.

even though we're going through it and it makes you feel alone just know that i would die for you baby, i would die for you

“we need to get out of here. security are coming.” you mutter, keening into his touch.

“i have a car outside.”

“well, let’s use it then.”

you can’t help but stroke over his knuckles mindlessly in the car, an unlikely comfortable silence settling between you. they look raw, cracked slightly and you have an overwhelming desire to kiss them better. your head is fuzzy, and you’re unsettled with confusion, but at the same time, you feel lighter.

“why did you do that?” you murmur, disrupting the quiet that has settled over the backseat of the town car, the question burning desperately on your tongue.

lando turns his head so that he’s looking down at you, his good hand comes up to cup your jaw softly.

“no one can talk to you like that.” he’s staring so deeply into your eyes and you almost squirm at the intensity. you feel exposed, bare.

“but why did you step in before that?” you reiterate shakily. lando hums in understanding.

“i’ve known you since we were 10 years old. i know when you’re scared.” he whispers, breath dusting your cheeks. you almost lean in, then, something about his words pull you even closer towards him. you feel warmth creeping over your chest, sinking into the pit of your belly.

“we’ve arrived.” the driver calls from the front, signalling that you need to get out of the car. it was like an elastic band had snapped, and you spring away from lando, scrambling to undo your seat belt, the moment of weakness long gone.

you sneak into the lobby, on the lookout for any angry PR teams or incognito photographers that are scoping for their next pay check. the coast seems clear, so you manage to scurry discreetly into the elevator. you hit the button for the third floor.

“can you hit the button for five?” lando asks, leaning against the opposite wall.

“you’re coming to my room.” you state, offering no other explanation, even when he raises his eyebrows.

the ding of the lift has lando pushing himself off of the mirrored wall, trailing behind you into the corridor. the lights are low as he follows you to your door, hands deep in the pockets of his jeans. he watches in anticipation as you rifle through your small bag for your keycard. the green light gives you the go ahead to open the door, and he awkwardly follows you inside, peering around the room.

you notice the slight apprehension in his features, eyes blown wide from alcohol and adrenaline. they seem to sparkle more than you’d seen in a while, a hazel-y blue twisting with secrets and unspoken thoughts.

“let me find my first aid kit.” you tell him. you guide him towards the foot of your bed, gesture for him to sit. “make yourself comfortable.”

“you don’t need to do this.” lando replies, sitting down anyway.

“and you didn’t need to get between me and that dickhead but here we are.”

your words elicit a low chuckle from him, and you’re glad you have your back to him while you dig through your suitcase. he can’t see your smile at the wholesome sound, and he doesn’t need to.

random pieces of clothing fall out of the bag as you rummage through it, your attention taken up completely by your mission to find the small box. you don’t notice the pile of garments littering the floor.

“wow, didn’t take you for that kinda girl.” lando teases. your cheeks flame red when you catch sight of the cherry red thong that has managed to get caught in the wheel of your suitcase.

“shut up, i’m helping you.” you grumble, balling up the lace and burying it at the bottom of the case.

“why is it ferrari coloured? something you wanna tell me? do you think charles is… foxy? or is it fred? oh, i bet it’s fred, isn’t it.” he’s laughing now, loud and boisterous, and if it wasn’t for the butterflies erupting in your belly at the sound, you would have throttled him.

“i’ll leave you to bleed out.” you tease back, pointing at the dried up blood across his knuckles.

“of course, i am in urgent need of medical attention!” he exclaims sarcastically, clutching his hand. you roll your eyes.

“you know where the door is.” you stand from the floor, carrying a little square antiseptic wipe with you.

“yeah, i do. feel like staying now, though. i’m just so comfy.”

and with that, he throws himself back on your bed, closing his eyes as he sinks into the mattress.

you stare at him for a second, noticing the way his eyelashes dust the tops of his cheeks, his tanned, thick neck peeks out from in between the undone buttons of his dress shirt. you exhale shakily, moving to sit beside him on the bed.

“give me your hand.” you instruct him, tearing the packet open and unfolding the wipe.

“romantic.” lando snarks. you shove his shoulder in response. he holds his hand out.

“whatever.” you sigh, avoiding eye contact as you run the wipe over his knuckles. you can see how they are already tinged purple, wincing at the idea that it is your fault.

“what is it?” lando asks, noticing.

you don’t respond. this proximity is odd, you can’t quite tell yet if you like it. what you do know is that you certainly don’t know how to handle him now that the alcohol is wearing off and you’re left tending to the wounds of a man that you could have sworn you didn’t like.

“so that’s how it’s gonna be? we’re going back to the silent treatment again?” lando scoffs.

“don’t know what to say.” you mutter, keeping your eyes trained on every line and indent of his knuckles.

“why do you hate me so much?”

“i don’t.”

“yes, you do.” he scoffs.

“i don’t think about you enough to hate you.” you lie. it’s cruel. he winces.

that shuts him up.

“i’m gonna go. thanks for this.” lando waves his hand and you feel a wave of guilt hit.

“no, fuck, i’m sorry.” you apologise, bowing your head. “stay.”

“i’ll stay if you tell me why you hate me.”

“i’ve never hated you, lan. haven’t always particularly liked you but i never, ever hated you.”

“okay.”

that’s all it takes for him to flop back onto the bed. some unexplainable instinct that you loathe has you crawling onto the bed beside him. you wrap your arms around your pillow, watching him watch you.

“i used to have such a big crush on you, you know.” lando says. you stare at him blankly.

“what?”

“yep. i think i was about 15. you were the first girl i ever really liked that way.” he smiles, recalling the memory. “it kinda sucked because i knew you wouldn’t even look at me twice but it’s funny thinking back to that time.”

~ 15

he watches the way her hair gets caught in the breeze as she takes off her helmet. two messy braids are shaken free, and his heart skips a beat or two, or seven, when she turns around with the biggest grin on her face.

she’s just won a race, another one, and he’d be so jealous if it wasn’t her.

he thinks she’s the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. george and alex go over to her, congratulating her, hugging her. he wishes he could do that. he definitely can’t.

she doesn’t see him, the only times that she does are when they argue, when they push eachother off the track and scream at one another across a gravel trap. the times when she plants her pointed finger in his chest and calls him dirty, the times he gets heated and calls her something he doesn’t mean under his breath. and she always hears him. always. he watches her eyes pool with tears every single time.

he wants her, in a way he’s never wanted anyone before. he’s never felt like this, wonders how he can make it go away. she hates him. she must.

he can never have her, so why even try?

“i had no idea you ever felt that way.” you’re quite shocked, really. you knew that you had this intensely charged sexual tension between you now, but you had failed to realise how far back this all went.

mutually, at least.

“i’d say i’ve done a pretty good job of hiding it.” his smile changes slightly. it was now a sad smile, one that conveys disappointment in himself, and that you hated to see. it reminds you of the one you’ve gotten used to seeing on your social media feed after he’d had a shitty race.

you sigh, bracing yourself for what you are about to say.

“you’re not the only one who hid it.” you raise an eyebrow, your face says ‘guilty!’

“no?” lando’s eyes widen at your revelation.

“i think we were 13. you gave me half a cookie to apologise for pushing me off track.” you smile coyly. “it’s kinda sad but 13 year old me died inside.” you laugh.

“so, we’ve both… liked each other.” lando assesses. you nod.

“when did you stop?” you inquire, scanning his face. you take in each detail, each individual freckle, the curve of his lips. he seems closer, all of the sudden, and that’s when you realise you’ve closed the space between you. lando is within reach now, it would have been so, so incredibly easy to shift even closer still; it was like you were in his gravitational field, reeled in by pretty, pretty eyes.

“who said i stopped?”

“oh.” you breathe.

~ 13

he snaps the crumbly biscuit between his fingers, trails towards her awkwardly. he feels bad, feels a strange pang in his chest that he doesn’t recognise.

he finds her around the back of her parents car, arms crossed, eyebrows scrunched, pouting hard. he thinks she’s cute.

“why are you here?” she whines.

“this is for you. i know it doesn’t make up for the race. i didn’t mean to take you out, i swear.”

he sounds panicked, sincere. her tummy turns funny.

he’s holding out a cookie, the children’s equivalent of an olive branch.

her face softens. she accepts it. they bite into their cookies at the same time.

it’s not the worst day in the world anymore.

messy kisses and soft whispers lull you to sleep.

his nose bumps yours every time your lips meet, gentle and plush.

you feel delicate in his arms, treasured. his lips press gently to your hairline. he’s different, softer than you’ve seen him since you were teenagers splitting cookies.

it’s the easiest thing in the world to curl into his side, mould together until you’re part of him, and drift off.

the heat wakes you up.

you stir, eyes fluttering open, searching for the source of the onslaught of warmth. it clicks quickly, and you realise that you hadn’t dreamt the events of the night before.

lando is in your bed.

lando had protected you.

lando had wanted you since you were stupid kids who didn’t know any better.

he is the heater that had woken you up, and suddenly you don’t care that you’re far too hot. you curl back into his side, head rests on his chest. it rises and falls softly, his heartbeat thrums beneath your ear. you are jealous of how pretty he looks when he’s asleep, relaxed and infatuating. you lose track of time, gazing up at him.

a sharp pain in your side makes you groan. you had fallen asleep in your dress, lando in his jeans and his shirt, and now you’re paying for it, your fingers searching for the zipper that was now digging into your side. your movements draw him out of his slumber, and when you look back at him, he’s watching you, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“you okay?” lando croaks, his voice deep and sleepy. it sends shockwaves through you.

“mhm. how did you sleep?” you ask, mindlessly running your hand over his jaw like it was the most natural thing in the world. a smile breaks out across his face, eyes fluttering shut once more.

“really fucking well.” he laughs, almost in disbelief.

“yeah, me too.” you smile at him, shy.

“what’s bothering you?”

“well, a human heater woke me up and now this fucking zipper is killing me.” you joke. it’s weird that this doesn’t feel weird.

“i am pretty hot i guess.”

“yeah, yeah.” you roll your eyes and stand from the bed.

lando sits up, resting on his elbows. his eyes follow you as you walk around the room. you take a bottle of water, drinking half of it before passing it to him. his lips wrap around the bottle and you have to turn away, the ache between your legs that you’d been fighting for months rearing it’s irritating head. you clear your throat, composing yourself.

“need to get this dress off.”

lando pulls himself off of the mattress, stalking towards you. you stop in your tracks and he meets you at the foot of the bed. his hands find your cheeks, thumbs smoothing over your skin in little circles, and then kisses you deeper than he did last night.

it’s impossible not to melt into him, hands running over his chest, his shoulders, and finally finding solace tangled in his curls. if someone told you the morning before that you’d wake up in lando’s arms, you would have cackled, urged them to seek medical attention, and probably spat in their face. how things change.

“i think you should keep it on, look so pretty.” lando breathes, staring down at you. you blush hard, leaning into him.

“but i’m uncomfortable.” you grin coyly. and then, a surge of confidence has you whispering: “i’ll let you take it off if you want.”

“let me make you comfortable first.” lando murmurs, dipping his head down until it rests in the crook of your neck. “want me to get you nice and comfortable, baby?” he kisses up your neck.

you cave, finally.

it takes him all of thirty seconds to have you spread out on his face, laying himself down on the mattress and pulling you on top of him so that you’re hovering over his lips. he mouthes at your panties for a second, getting his first taste of you, and then he drags them to the side, clearing a path. his tongue laves over your cunt, groaning as soon as he gets a proper taste.

your dress fans out over your thighs, and lando has disappeared beneath the fabric. you can tell he’s there, though, by the strong hands gripping onto your thighs, the tuft of curls peeking out, and the feeling of his nose bumping your clit as he buries his face deeper and deeper between your folds.

“lando.” you cry, throwing your head back. the straps of your dress are slipping down your arms, skimming your goosebump ridden skin. he just groans into your pussy in response, pulling you impossibly closer to his mouth, backwards and forwards until you’re grinding down on his willing tongue. you reach down blindly, grabbing one of his hands where it rests on your thigh, and your other threads through his hair, gripping tight as you revel in the pleasure.

lando pulls your clit between his teeth, grazing over the bud and you’re jolting, writhing above him. you feel like you’re going to die, heat pricking all over your skin, your tummy tight from the building orgasm. he’s so eager, sliding his entire face through your slippery folds, obscene sounds falling from his lips that ricochet through your quivering body.

tears prick your eyes when you finally let go, slumping forwards from the overwhelming sensation taking over every single nerve. he lifts you off of him, laying you back on the bed as you come down from your high.

“you okay, baby?” he coos, brushing sweat dampened hair from your eyes.

his lips are stained, dark pink and shiny, a mixture of enthusiasm and your slick coating them. lando scans your watery eyes, feral at how fucked out you look all because of him, and tantalisingly licks his lips.

“need you.” you moan, reaching out for him. his shirt is wrinkled where he’d slept in it and your shaky hands find the few buttons that are actually done up. you push the material off of his shoulders, pupils blown wide at the sight of his toned chest, at the feel of smooth, golden skin. you pull him in by the shoulders, swallowing him whole as you kiss him with everything you’ve got left.

lando’s hands find your thighs once more, running his hands over them to push your dress up your hips.

“wanted this for so long.” he whispers into the kiss, pulling away so that he can take the dress off of you. he looks ravenous the more he pushes the fabric up your body.

you feel vulnerable under his intense gaze, watchful eyes taking in every movement you make. you try to pull him back in for another kiss but he resists.

“let me look at you, please?” lando asks. “there you go, baby, let’s get this off, hmm?” he sits you up so that he can get it over your head, and you lay back, bare aside from your panties that he’d left in disarray.

he sucks in a breath, raking his eyes over the curve of your lips, your collarbone, the slope of your breasts. his gaze lingers there for just a second, before continuing further over your belly, the length of your legs. you want to hide away, pull him in so that he can’t look at you like this, or just dive under the duvet and stay there until you need to catch your flight.

“god, you’re so, so fucking beautiful.” he gasps, awestruck. he sounds speechless, and you feel yourself going red again.

“come here.” you whine. “needed you for so long.”

your admission seems to kick him into action, because seconds later, he’s on top of you, fingers grazing the band of your underwear while you fiddle with the button on his jeans.

“gonna be good for me, aren’t you?” lando stares you down, tone sending a shiver down your spine. you nod, batting your eyelashes. “words, my love.”

“yes, lando.” you affirm, arching into him. that’s all he needs to know, kicking his jeans away, boxers too.

“good girl. took care of me so well last night, now ‘m gonna take such good care of you.”

your eyes skim his body, honing in on how hard he is. your hand finds his cock, tentative at first, stroking over it softly. it’s heavy in your hands, red and dripping already. he wants this just as bad as you do. you continue to jerk him off, watching the way his eyes squeeze shut and his lips part, soft pants falling out. a low hum sounds from the back of his throat, and you wet your lips, threading your free hand through his hair.

lando opens his eyes at the sensation, gently batting your hand away. he dips down even closer, resting on one of his forearms. he lines himself up and your legs wrap around him instinctively. slowly, he pushes inside of you, his breath catching in his throat.

“fucking hell.” he groans, deep and guttural, something carnal sending shockwaves through his body. “been dreaming about all the ways i’d get to fuck you.”

your eyes roll back and you go languid in his arms, feeling every inch of him slide against your slick walls.

“want you.” you rasp, clinging to him, your fingernails leaving patterns between his taut shoulder blades as you beg for it.

“you have me, baby.” and then he kisses you, messy and slow, stealing the air from your lungs. you’re dizzy when he pulls away, sitting back slightly to change the angle. you cry out, feeling him even deeper and everything is more sensitive, warm. you roll your hips, meeting his thrusts deliciously, and he chokes out a moan as you clamp around him. “yeah, that’s it. fuck yourself like that for me.” he encourages.

this is all too much, too good. you have whiplash, physically and emotionally, eyes pooling with tears as the man you’d wanted so badly that you hated him for it rocks into you. lando hits the right spot every time he pistons his hips harder, and his nimble fingers slide up your abdomen, applying light pressure to your navel that makes you writhe.

“fucking perfect for me. gorgeous.” lando slurs, entranced by the sight of where you’re joined. he can see just how wet you are and it drives him insane, barrelling into you like a man possessed, drunk on every single way that your body responds to him.

his wandering hand finds your breast, kneading it before he traces your nipple. he watches the way it hardens at his manipulation, wetting his lips. he collapses back on top of you, sucking the bud into his mouth. you’re panting, whining beneath him as his tongue swirls over your chest, switching to the other side. you jolt, a silent scream scratching your throat when he slips his hand between your thighs, working your clit with the pad of his thumb. he’s rutting against you, grinding deeper, faster, uncontrollably.

“come on, baby. you’re so close, so tight for me.” he mutters into your skin. you nod frantically, your words lost on you. he kisses over your collarbone, the base of your throat, until he finds your lips.

“so close.” you sigh.

he stops.

“tell me you’re all mine.” lando growls, his entire demeanour changing. the tone of his voice almost finishes you off but you’re suddenly enraged. you’re too close for him to stop.

“c’mon lando.” you hiss, trying to move your hips but he has you firmly in place.

“need to hear you say it.” his hand slithers over your chest, finding a new home at the base of your throat. it makes you throb, the way his thick fingers wrap around you. slowly, his grip tightens, and you see an opportunity.

you buck your hips hard, whimpering at the sensation, but your plan works and now you hover over him. he’s still buried inside you, and you can feel him pulsing as you steal control.

“for once in your life, honey, shut the fuck up.” you smirk, mischievous in victory.

slowly, you build up your rhythm. he feels bigger like this, deeper, and you almost lose yourself in the small circles you make with your hips.

“knew you’d be like this. you liked giving yourself to me but i just knew you’d need to take back control.” lando teases. his hand is back around your neck, squeezing slowly, and you grind frantically, dizzy for him. “i was right last night, wasn’t i, baby? pretending to be my good girl when really,” he pulls you down so that you’re chest to chest. “you’re just a fucking brat.”

lando holds you close as he fucks up into you, feeling the way you go limp on top of him as the pleasure washes over you like a million electric shocks. you’re crying, tears pooling on his chest, because there is nothing you can do, nothing you want to do, but take it. he’s got you right where he wants you, and you’re loving every fucking second of it.

“yeah, baby, take it how you want it.” lando commands through gritted teeth, and you move your hips in a feeble attempt to match his speed. everything is slippery, everything feels wet and flushed.

the power play, the position, the frenzy he seems to be in as he fucks you, it all has you gushing, spilling all over him. you choke out a sob, shuddering as the elastic band in your belly snaps. lando stops his thrusts, replacing them with small rolls of his hips to help you through your orgasm.

a sharp breath and a string of curses from him give you the strength to muster the last little bits of energy you have left to look up at him. you pull your head up off of his chest just in time to watch him shatter into a million little pieces.

his neck flexes as his head rolls back, sinking into the pillow, his eyes tight. swollen lips part and your name falls from between them like a prayer. you can feel him filling you up, his hands tightening their hold on your hips like he’s scared to let go, like the world will stop if he does.

the world stops anyway, because then you’re looking at each other. really looking at each other.

it only takes a second for you to be drawn in and his hands leave your hips to cup your face. his calloused hands feel your skin, stroking over rosy patches on your cheeks. it’s deathly silent all around you, apart from the breathless pants you share.

swollen lips crash hard into yours and you melt. he’s still buried so deeply inside of you, your hips digging into his, impossibly close. you’re blindly reaching for any part of him you can get your hands on, and his big hands slide down your body until they meet the small of your back. ever so carefully, he flips you onto your back, easing your spent body into the mattress.

lando collapses on top of you, mouthes at your neck for a moment, delicate kisses making your eyes flutter shut. the eye contact almost sends you into cardiac arrest as he pulls out, oh so slowly. tease.

he holds you close in the shower, fingers massaging every part of you. sex and sweat are washed away, almost lovingly. you let the water run for far too long, content in clinging to him. it’s quiet, reflective time for both of you, exactly what it needs to be. you’re both hung up on questions that need to be asked, neither one of you brave enough to take the first steps. you know one thing, and one thing only: something has changed, in a forever kind of way.

your hair is stringy, half dry, and you’re stood in your underwear. your legs are still shaky.

“your flight soon?” lando asks. he’s stood in his boxers on the other side of the room, scrunching the water out of his curls.

“yeah.” your throat feels raw.

“and you’re going back to monaco?” he’s stopped what he’s doing now, staring at you. you can see the cogs turning behind his eyes.

you nod.

“fancy a sleepover?” he grins, boyish and careless. your heart falls to your feet.

you’re giggling when he sweeps you into his arms and kisses you into the freshly made bed. the sheets are on the floor by the time you finally remember you have a flight to catch.

you’re his now, you realise. he’s too beautiful for his own damn good.

“baby?” you hear lando call from his bedroom. you make out the faint sound of his footsteps making their way in your direction. he appears before you can even answer him, and he’s smiling softly at the sight of you bundled up in a blanket, sprawled across his couch.

“what is it?” you ask. the next thing you know he’s on top of you, peppering kisses over every single inch of skin he can get to on your face. “hey, get off, muppet.” you whine playfully, ruffling his hair.

“do you know how much i love having you here?” he murmurs. it’s endearing as fuck and you fight a foolish, dopey grin.

“you’ve mentioned once or twice…” you’ve been here since your flight touched down a week ago. you haven’t even been home to get clothes, not that you needed them in his company.

“we might have a teeny, tiny issue.” he squints, pulling a face.

“and what’s that?” you ask, your voice measuring equal parts cautious and amused.

“so, alex called…”

“oh, shit.”

“we have to go to dinner tonight.”

“we have to?”

“he’s suspicious as fuck. you do realise they’ve been plotting for us to happen for years,” you roll your eyes as if you say duh. “and also, you’ve been in monaco for a week and haven’t seen him once. oh, and also, the last time we saw them, we were running away from a fucking crime scene.” lando smiles sarcastically, and you sigh, defeated.

before you can reply, your phone is ringing somewhere beside you. you root around in your blanket searching for it and when you find it:

“son of a bitch.” you exclaim, showing lando the caller ID. alex is one persistent motherfucker.

“hey girl.” alex singsongs down the phone before you can even say hello.

“hello to you too.” you can hear the fear in your own voice.

“dinner. tonight. although, i’m sure lando already told you.” alex teases.

“why would lando have told me? what?” you choke. lando slaps his hand over his face. your voice has gone up several octaves. not suspicious at all.

“so, you’re at home? you haven’t been at his place since last week?” the playful interrogation begins.

“why would i be with lando?” you try and feign disgust at the implication. it does not work.

“because you hate fucked after he beat up that perv? i have to say, i didn’t think he had it in him but he’s been in love with you since he was like, ten, so, you know-”

“bye alex.”’

“you’re not denying it-“

“bye alex!”

you’re flaming red when you throw the phone to the other end of the sofa. lando, as on brand as ever, is cackling into a pillow.

“he is such a fucking shit stirrer.” you bury your face in your hands, slumping back into the fuzzy cushions.

“well, he’s right about one thing.” lando trails off. suddenly he’s looking anywhere but you and you see him gulp, hard, swallowing his words, like he’s too afraid to bare his soul.

“huh?” you ask gently, sitting up to reach out for him. “what’s wrong?”

“we need to get ready for dinner. that’s what he’s right about.” lando says, standing from the sofa and walking towards his room. you’re suspicious, watching him go with furrowed eyebrows.

“lando, behave! you’re the one making me go to this dinner.” you squeal, batting his restless hands away.

you’ve made it as far as the elevator before he pounces on you, caging you in against the metal walls.

“but you look so good, can’t help myself.” he mutters between kisses on your neck, pressing himself even further into you.

the hand that finds it’s way between your legs, exploring beyond the hem of your skirt, is the one that makes you press the button for his floor. why have plans when you can have sex?

he gets through the door to his apartment at lighting speed and carries you all the way to his bed.

when you’re sweating and breathless a good hour later, half of the bedding on the floor with your clothes, you realise you never cancelled your plans.

lando is drawing shapes into the bare skin of your arm, kissing over your shoulder as he does so. his eyes are dropping from all of the over-exertion and you want to count each and every freckle on his face while he falls asleep. he’s cute like this, soft and yours.

and idea comes to your mind, and as if he can see the lightbulb, lando half raises an eyebrow at you. you giggle, somewhat evilly perhaps, and scramble for your phone on the beside table.

“what’re you doing?” lando groans, pouting as his outstretched arms try to find you.

“getting even.” you state.

with the phone in your clutches, you roll back over towards him, holding the camera above you both. he hears the shutter sound as you snap the picture, and peers closer to see the screen. when he sees the groupchat open, he quickly understands what you’re plotting.

“may i?” you ask for his consent.

“are you kidding? go for it. that’ll shut them up.” he laughs sleepily, muttering something about how this is the most lando thing you’ve ever done

FROM: you

TO: the groupchat

1 image attached

couldn’t make dinner. something came up xx

“alex always thinks he’s right, this’ll teach him for being such a little shit.” you flop back into bed even more satisfied than you were before.

you hear lando inhale shakily beside you.

“he is right sometimes you know.” he repeats his earlier words.

you hold your breath. his eyes say so many things that are too delicate to be spoken yet.

“like… like what he said on the phone?” your voice quivers with anticipation, fear. your heart is thunderous, hammering away like it wants to escape the clutches of its cage.

“yeah. i-“ he stops himself. you don’t need him to finish, you know which two words follow. they can follow in good time, you both know it.

“me too, lando.” you coo.

he’s beaming, eyes half shut. you watch as he falls asleep, the both of you ignoring the way your phones are vibrating so aggressively that they might buzz their way off of the night stand. you lose count of his freckles, but it doesn’t matter.

you’ll have plenty of time to figure it out.

let me know what you think :D

taglist

@boysthatgovroomvroom @thegirlinthefandoms @welld0nebaku @mcmuppet @japanesekel @vinvantae @ggaslyp1 @dr3lover @smiithys @rachstash @infinitebells @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @disneydaydreameralways @canyouseethesainz @ferrarifwendvale @fcbformulaeri @tony-stank3 @maih23 @nokiaholland @soleilgrec @carolineworld @anthonykatebridgerton @allywthsr @iamasimpingh0e @ophcelia @lovelynikol16 @coffeehurricanes @jennx03 @blueflorals @lqvesoph @sidcrosbyspuck @better-dead-than-smeg @buendiabebeta @pjofics @kovalcin @wintergilmore3 @for-writing-shit @youdontknowmeshh @im-an-overthinker @jule239 @darleneslane @jazzy722 @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @therealone4r @pleasecallmeunhinged @theonlyadrienne @spideylovin

(i ran out of tags omg? whoops) lemme know if you wanna be added or removed <3

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azullumi · 25 days

Text

“i wanna be yours” ; aventurine

premise — but this is what friends do, right? they slow dance together in the living room while saying sweet nothings ; inspired by this ask (though i never really followed the entire idea, my hands has minds of its own)

pairing — aventurine (w/ gender-neutral reader)

tags — fluff (with a little bit of angst at the end), friends but wanting more type of relationship, all written in reader’s pov, not proofread, 1.2k words ; one-shot

tagging — @toorurs (hi boo)

note — i keep on comparing aventurine to the sun i dont even know why i do it. 9 DAYS LEFT UNTIL HIS BANNER

“care to dance?” the languid, lazy silence draws itself away as the honey-haired man spoke, offering you his hand as he did. the light humming of the music in the background keeps the night awake and alive, the softness of the notes intertwined in the air that settles in your home.

you stare at his hand for a moment, admiring the glistening bracelet on his wrist before you answer, tone meek and hesitant: “i don’t know how to dance.” you expected him to laugh at you for not knowing a simple and common concept; dancing was a form of art known to many and yet, you are unfamiliar with it.

but aventurine simply smiles at you and takes your hand to hold on his own, gently pulling you up from your seat and making you stumble on your feet—however, he catches you and doesn’t let you fall to the ground. you are only met with the warmth of his body and the feeling of his unoccupied hand resting on the small of your back.

“you could have warned me before you did that.” you huffed, although you weren’t exactly reprimanding him.

“i still caught you, didn’t i?” the man answers in a gentle tone as he begins to sway you to the rhythm of the song (the melody wraps itself around your form like the cradle of a warm blanket), a familiar tune that plays in your living room and now you are listening to it as you—no, as he dances and guides your movements. you try to follow him albeit like a clumsy child and silence trailed behind your steps as none of you spoke, only wallowing in this moment between you and him.

(his hand is warm against yours, fingers lacing with each other like two puzzle pieces meant to fit together. you have never known how gentle he can be, have never known the warmth of his hands and the softness of his palms up until this moment. maybe it’s the feeling of his touch that’s making you drunk and aeons, you’ve never thought of yourself as a selfish person but something in the way he’s holding you makes you crave for more.)

“focus,” he whispers to your ear, catching you completely off-guard when his breath tickles your skin, “you’re supposed to look at me, not at the ground.”

you compose yourself, bringing your gaze to his face instead of the marble floors that seem to spin as you move, “i was watching my feet so i won’t accidentally step on you.”

“i don’t mind if you do, all i wish is for you to look at me and me only.” he speaks so gently, so delicately as if something akin to despair hangs on the tangled threads of his words. you study his face, looking at the lines on his features and trying to look for the gap of his expression—you could never tell what he was thinking, could never decipher the meaning he skillfully weaves to the words that he utters (you wish you had the ability to look into minds, perhaps you would have known him).

he notices your silence and smiles, “can’t a poor man have their own wishes?”

you take a moment once more to answer, “i didn’t say that.” well, in fact, you weren’t saying anything. the sound of laughter slips past his lips and perhaps, if you didn’t see the way his eyes formed into a crescent and his expression contorts one into amusement, you would have mistook the sound as part of the song.

“you should see the way you look right now.”

you raised your eyebrow at him, confusion evident in your face, “what do you mean? is there dirt on my face?”

aventurine pulled you closer to him, movements coming to a stop as you two stood still. his face is leaning down to yours, lips merely inches away from each other, and your thoughts are in a jumble as if your mind was a library of cluttered and disorganized bookshelves.

“no, i’m saying you look lovely tonight.” he whispers—and you swear, you see his eyes look down to your lips for a moment—, his voice low as if you’re the only one who’s supposed to hear and not the moon that casts its curious glow on his skin, not the stars that watched your every move, but you and just you.

(you’re left with nothing but silence and warmth in your cheeks, not knowing where to focus or even think about—the strong scent of his perfume or his words that repeatedly echoed inside your head.)

the golden-haired man doesn’t speak any further, continuing his slow dance with you in the comfort of your living room as he hums along to the melody. the night is heavy against your shoulders as the silver moonlight laid on the ground like spilled milk.

“it is quite simple, isn’t it? look, you’re able to follow.”

“aven, you’re doing all of the work.”

he slowly spins you around—the world looks slow and messy for you for a moment—before he answers, “barely.” he comes face to face with you and you don’t fail to notice the affection in his eyes when he meets your gaze.

“don’t look at me like that.” you wished he wouldn’t look at you in that way; something tugs at your heart and suffocates you.

“like what?”

“i don’t know.” hesitation follows your tone, broken and unsure, seemingly lost in an empty field full of directions. “like…” like you wanted me like a lover, you keep the words at your throat knowing you’ll choke on it one day. you don’t know how to say it, you don’t even know if you can say it. it was as if the ability to speak has been taken away from you.

the song came to its end and so was the dance.

“you should go to sleep, don’t stay up too much.” aventurine says, tucking a few loose strands of hair behind your ear before cupping your cheek and pressing a kiss on your forehead. he lets you go as soon as he parts his lips, stepping back to the distance the both of you once had before all of this happened, as if nothing occurred between you two, as if the words whispered against each other, the closeness, the intimacy were all just some silly imagination.

“are you leaving already?” you ask, your hand reaching out to tug at his sleeve as if you didn’t want him to go. you don’t even know what made you hold on to him, what made you want him to not want to leave.

the man who had the universe in his wake answers with warmth in his tone, “i can’t stay any longer.” he holds your hand and ushers you to remove your grasp on his sleeve. everything felt so different now, your thoughts were all so loud but you couldn’t dare to speak nor say something as you watched him turn away and leave—the sound of the door closing echoed throughout the corners of your home and you were left alone, in silence and in the cold.

but the comfort and warmth of his touch lingered on your skin—and you’ll remember it all; it will haunt you, follow your shadow everywhere you go, pulling on the hem of your shirt with the desperation of a dying man and you don’t know how to live knowing the way he held you on this night. how are you supposed to deal with the fact that his hands were as soft and warm as summer?

#honkai aventurine #aventurine #hsr aventurine #aventurine x reader #aventurine honkai star rail #honkai x you #honkai star rail x reader #honkai fluff #honkai imagines #honkai #honkai star rail #honkai x reader #star rail aventurine #aventurine x you #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr fluff #hsr #azul.writes

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peanutbutterand · 25 days

Text

this is how you fall in love; hhj

word count: 986

a one shot inspired by the song "this is how you fall in love" by jeremy zucker and chelsea cutler bc its so soft and bestfriend hyunjin concept eats it up (in my humble opinion)

“How do people do it?”

“What do you mean?”

Hyunjin focused in on your softly perplexed expression, a chuckle falling from his lips at the sight of your stare fixated onto the long awaited kiss being shared by the leading characters.

The entertainment he found in your distracted state soon craved your attention, waving his hand in front of your face just as the rolling credits came in.

Faintly smiling at the blank screen, you turned to look at your best friend who displayed confusion and concern in his expression.

“I was just wondering how people do it?”

Hyunjin moved his body closer, head leaning in as if to motion for you to continue your thought.

“Fall in love I mean.”

In an instant, you fell towards the back of the couch, the pillow that was once on Hyunjin lap now falling onto yours.

“Hwang Hyunjin, what the actual fuc-”

“Y/n its a fucking movie! They are acting sweetheart and you really made me miss the last scene!”

Letting out a sharp breath, you stuck your tongue out and slightly nudged the side of his stomach with your elbow, causing him to flinch away with a giggle.

“I’m not talking about the movie stupid. I just mean in general, it’s a genuine question, the movie just prompted my thoughts.”

You moved towards Hyunjin, closing the minimal space between the two of you, settling closely beside him as you readily waited for his response. Tilting his head, he lifted his fingers to fix the hair on the top of your head that had been messily misplaced by his pillow throwing. The both of you paused before bursting out into giggles.

It’s not like you were completely oblivious to the many answers that existed for your question.

Some say, people fall in love with what makes up a person: how they laugh, what makes them cry, how they like their coffee, etc. Some say falling in love requires the essence of time and self discovery. Some say falling in love is like jumping off a cliff, only hoping that you’ll land safely in their arms. And some say, falling in love is nothing but a series of chemical reactions occurring in the brain.

Nonetheless, everyone arrives at an answer sooner or later in their life. So, it’s always good to talk to people, gain their perspective on the little things in life, like love.

And Hyunjin was the one person whom you turned to when it came to talking about those little things. You raised your finger towards Hyunjin's cheek, softly poking it as he kept his eyes on you, lips in a tight line while he remained silent.

“I guess you don’t have an answer yet either.”

His shoulders lifted as he gave you a shrug while he pulled his phone out of his pocket. Music began to fill the air as the beat resonated in your mind. Your body began to respond, standing up as you pulled off the most ridiculous of moves that were a stark contrast to the song playing.

Hyunjin brought his hand over his mouth, stifling giggles at your unrhythmic dancing that seemed to always be one second behind the beat of the song. The sight of his crinkled eyes only encouraged your tasteful movements. Before you were able to continue your shenaniganz, the music had suddenly come to a stop.

You sent a glare towards him while he held his stomach from laughter obviously putting a pause to the music. Before you could protest, a soft melody eased your frown. You glanced at Hyunjin, immediately catching his eyes. A breath hitched in your throat the longer you stared. For the look reflected in his orbs was soft and endearing.

With a small smile, Hyunjin stood from the couch and made his way towards you, body slowly swaying left to right. You mirrored his movements, closing your eyes as you let the tune take hold of your body as the lyrics fill your mind. Just as the chorus had started, you found yourself opening your eyes in response to the sudden warmth placed on both sides of your face.

Hyunjin's face was only a few inches from your own, but the both of you remained still, bodies lingering in the short distance. You said nothing as his hands fell from your face, to your shoulders, and soon down your arms. The comfort of his fingers provided heat to your still state.

His hands landed into your own, fingers playing with each other as he raised your hands towards his shoulders, putting them in place. The eye contact between the two of you brought heat to your cheeks and emphasized the pounding in your chest.

Your chest slowly raised as he placed his hands on your waist, his fingers moulding into your skin and softly pulling your body towards his.

“Close your eyes.”

You pursed your lips as he flashed you a small smile, closing his eyes, only leading you to follow his request. He leaned forward, setting his forehead on yours. His soft breathing fawning over your skin, a type of warmth you quickly grew fond of.

The urge to never let him go grew with the intimacy flowing between the both of you, bodies intertwined as your feelings ached to do the same. Your bodies swayed side to side, falling into the soft melody, falling into him. As if he were holding you up, ready to catch you.

“I think this is how you do it Y/n.”

The light met your eyes before you settled on his face. His soft and kind and endearing face.

“What do you mean?”

His eyes. Those deep brown eyes. They always calmed you down. Holding a sense of passion as they traced your features, delicately framing you in his mind.

“This is how you fall in love.”

#skz imagine #skz #hwang hyunjin #hwang hyujin imagines #hyunjin x reader #skz x you #skz fanfiction #soft hours #softhyunjin #straykids #lee know x reader #bangchan x reader #lee know #bang chan #skz scenarios #skz imagines

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bellaireland1981 · 19 days

Text

Babymoon

Summary: You and your husband take a quick beach vacation before becoming a family of three.

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female! Reader

Warnings: Illusions to smut, heavy making out, pregnancy, fluff, Jake being adorable. UNDER 18 DNI

Word Count: 2231 (look at me keeping it quick!)

A/N: Written for @thedroneranger 's Pick Your Poison writing challenge. Inspiration for the fic was Sex on the Beach As always, I do not own the Top Gun Maverick characters but all OCs and Reader insert concepts are my own and storylines are mine. I do not give permission for my work to be translated, copied, reposted to other sites, used in AI generators and sold on any platforms.

Masterlist

“Angel, are you sure you’re not overdoing it?” Jake asked as the two of you made your way down to the beach from your hotel room. “We can relax in the room for a bit or sit by the pool if that’s better…”

At 7 months pregnant, you were getting close to the point of no travel and Jake had surprised you with a last minute “babymoon” down to Mexico. He wanted the two of you to have one last opportunity to be spontaneous and fly off for a romantic getaway before you become parents.

“Jake, I love you, Stud…” You said, looking up at your husband, a coy smile on your face, “I promise I’m not overdoing it. I just really want some time on the beach with my sexy husband and baby daddy…maybe some sexy time on the beach with my husband.”

“You’re a menace, Angel.” He chuckled, pausing your walk to the beach to steal a quick kiss. “But anything for my sexy pregnant wife” kissing you again, “Beautiful mother of our daughter.”

“Our daughter is going to have her daddy wrapped around her tiny little finger.” You smirked, as you continued toward the beach.

“Just like her Momma.” He replied, chuckling. “Wouldn’t want it any other way, Angel.”

He led you to a cabana area he’d rented for you for the day. There were beach loungers set up in front, where you could lay in the sun and soak up the warm rays, but there were also loungers in the cabana to allow you to lay down out of the sun and rest without having to leave the beach. It came complete with full food and drink service from the resort. Your amazing and perfect husband had thought of everything.

“Before you get all comfortable out there, darlin’ you need sunscreen.” Jake reminded you.

“Are you worried about me burning…or do you just want a reason to rub your hands all over me in public without the threat of getting arrested?” You teased him.

“A little of both.” He admitted with a smirk, “I’ll always take any excuse to get my hands on my wife, Angel, you know that… it’s why you’re currently pregnant.”

“Does this mean I’ll be spending a lot of time pregnant over the next five to ten years of our marriage?” You laughed.

“I will happily give you as many babies as you want Angel.” He said, pulling you close, one hand naturally finding its home on your swollen belly, the other behind your head, tilting your head back before capturing your lips in a tender kiss.

“Let’s see how things go with our daughter first.” You suggested, “So far, she’s a handful just like her daddy.”

“The morning sickness finally eased up.” He reasoned, “And after several talks recently, she’s no longer using your bladder as a punching bag.”

“True.” You acknowledged, “Now she’s using my kidneys and rib cage for soccer practice and I swear she takes joy in giving me major heartburn.”

“I’ll have another talk with her.” He smiled, “But you’re not fooling me. I see you when you don’t think anyone is watching… or listening. You’re loving every moment, kidney shots and all.”

“I really am.” You sighed happily, rubbing your hand over your belly where your daughter was safely growing and developing. “I can’t even describe the feeling… knowing a part of you and a part of me…growing inside me. Getting to feel her move and being this close to her… knowing that once she’s born, I’ll never be this close to her again… I’ll have to share her, I’ll no longer be able to protect her from the world… It’s an incredible thing.”

“It’s pretty damn amazing from this side of things too, Angel.” He said gently, his hand joining yours on top of your belly, “Watching our little girl grow inside of you, knowing I helped put her there… seeing you literally grow a human, OUR human… protecting her, nourishing her, loving her… it about brings me to my knees. You’re already the most amazing momma in the world, Angel. Our little princess is so lucky she gets to have you as her momma. As for protecting her once she’s on the outside… I have zero doubts you’ll be fierce and badass at that. I’ve seen you in action protecting those you love. She’ll have us, and a squad full of uncles and aunts to keep her safe. Our little girl will be just fine.”

“You’re gonna make me cry.” You sniffled, tears threatening to spill over. “Not like it’s hard to do… it’s kinda low hanging fruit.”

“You said it, Angel.” He laughed, “But you’re adorable when you’re all emotional.”

“I love you, Stud.” You said, snuggling into your husband.

“I love you too, Angel.” He replied, holding you close.

After a moment, once the emotions had calmed down you pulled back a bit, “Can you put sunscreen on me now?”

“Absolutely,” He agreed, grinning, “Let me grab the bottle. Sit down on the lounger and I’ll get you all sorted.”

The two of you spent time laying in the sun, you reading a steamy romance novel, Jake reading an updated manual for new equipment to his jet.

“You know, My Love,” You teased him, “We’re on vacation, you shouldn’t be working.”

“I enjoy learning about my jet, Angel.” He defended himself, “Besides, wouldn’t you rather I know everything there is to know about it so I can be extra safe?”

“You already know that jet down to the last screw.” You laughed, “And I love that you’re thorough, Babe… it makes it a little easier to send you off on missions and deployments because you tackle those the same as your jet and you learn every detail given to you. I love that about you.”

“I will always do everything in my power and control to come home to you and our little girl.” He promised.

“I know.” You smiled, “And I know that you have amazing squadmates who have your back.”

“They’re alright.” He laughed playfully. Truth was, you knew he loved all of the Daggers and would do anything for them. He’d already been best friends with Javy coming into the Uranium mission that had formed the Daggers, but afterwards he and Bradley had formed an unbreakable bond and a strong friendship. Bradley had even asked Jake to be his best man in his wedding the month before. “Feel like getting in the water?”

“I could cool off.” You replied, “Going to need help getting up though.”

He set his manual down under his towel so it wouldn’t blow away and reached for your book so he could set it next to his before reaching out to lift you up. You swayed slightly into him, the change in position causing you to feel slightly lightheaded.

“Easy does it, Angel.” He said, “Are you ok? Do you need to go inside to rest for a bit?”

“No, I’m ok.” You replied, “I just stood too fast. Let’s go into the water, then we can cuddle in the cabana for a bit.”

“Cuddle?” You asked, smirking.

“Behave.” He chuckled, playfully swatting your butt.

You laughed, taking his hand and the two of you walked to the water. There were some waves but the surf wasn’t overly active. Jake still made sure to keep you close and his hands on you at all times while you were both in the water. You waded out until you were mostly past the break, the water to your chest, but barely above Jake’s belly. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in as close as possible with your very pregnant belly between you.

You leaned up on your tiptoes, your arms around his neck, pulling him down so you could kiss him. You didn’t hesitate to swipe your tongue over the seam of his lips, seeking entrance into his mouth. His own tongue came out to meet yours, the kiss deepening. He let his hands wander down to your butt, rubbing over your bikini clad cheeks.

“What are your thoughts on sex on the beach, Angel?” Jake asked, his head dipping down to kiss over your neck and shoulder.

“Oh my God.. I MISS those amazing little cocktails.” You sighed, “Penny makes the BEST Sex on the Beaches.”

“Angel, I was talking about literal sex on the beach.” He groaned, still trailing kisses over your collarbone, tasting the salt from the ocean water.

“Pretty sure THAT is how I ended up pregnant, Stud.” You teased him.

“The night after the bonfire?” He asked, lifting his head to look at you, a smirk playing on his lips, “Seriously?”

“The timing is perfect.” You shrugged, “Lord knows I DRANK enough of those sneaky little cocktails that night…”

“I remember.” He said, his voice going husky, dropping deeper, “You suggested we do an experiment to see if actual sex on the beach was as good as the drink.”

“Well, it looks like it exceeded expectations.” You giggled, pulling his head down to kiss him.

“So, how about round two?” He asked, his hands wandering back down to your butt.

“I’m way too pregnant to end up with sand in unfortunate places, so how about sex in a cabana?” You compromised, smirking.

“I think it’s time to head back to shore, Angel.” He replied, scooping you up bridal style and carrying you in towards the shore.

“Jake!” You squealed, “Put me down! I am way too heavy!”

“Angel, I can handle carrying my girls just fine.” He promised, “I would never let anything happen to either of you.”

“Such a softy.” You said, letting your fingers run over the wet hair at the nape of his neck.

“Don’t let that get out.” He teased, “I have a reputation to uphold.”

“The gig is up, Babe.” You laughed, “Everyone knows you’re not really an asshole. As soon as they saw you with Ruben’s kids it was all over.”

He carried you out of the water and over the sand back to the cabana before setting you back on your feet. It had shades that could be pulled down for privacy and to block out more sun, which Jake took advantage of as soon as you got inside the cabana. There was a large sun lounger that looked more like a bed, in the middle of the cabana with small tables set up on each side. With the shades pulled on the sides and the light weight material used as a curtain in the front of the cabana let down, it gave you a little privacy from prying eyes of other resort guests. It was at least a private beach, only open to those staying at the resort.

“This might have been easier before we were all wet.” You said, winding your arms around his neck as he came back to stand in front of you. “Now our suits are all clingy”

“Hmmm,” He hummed, leaning down to nibble at your jawline before working back towards your ear, whispering “I prefer my wife to be wet and clingy.”

A shiver ran through your whole body, arousal flooding your system, soaking your already wet bikini bottoms.

“Jake” You moaned, trying to push up against him, as much as your very pregnant belly would allow, “I need you to fuck me.”

“Your wish is my command, Angel.” He replied, guiding you back towards the lounger. He untied your bikini top, letting it fall to the floor of the cabana, making sure to block you from view of the outside world. “Fuck, I love your boobs.”

“Thought you were an ass man, Stud.” You smirked, knowing that your husband had been infatuated with your boobs since you’d become pregnant. They had increased two cup sizes by this point in your pregnancy, and you were told they’d get even bigger once you were breastfeeding your daughter. Jake was intrigued by it.

“When it comes to you, Angel there’s not a part of your body that doesn’t get me going.” He admitted, flashing his dimpled smile. He helped you to lay down on the lounger. He made sure you were propped up on the many decorative pillows and comfortable, leaning in for a quick kiss, before running his hands down over you, pausing to rest his hands on and gently kiss your bump, before continuing down, pulling your bikini bottoms off on his way.

The look of pure lust and adoration on your husband’s face was enough to give you confidence in your own body and not give in to the negative thoughts that tried to permeate your brain when you looked in the mirror. Your OB said it was normal as your body was rapidly changing, to have the negative feelings or insecurities but reminded you to be kind to yourself and if the thoughts became too intrusive to let her know so she could set you up with someone to talk to. Jake had been at that appointment and had made it his mission afterwards to make sure he knew how absolutely beautiful he found you and how incredible it was that you were growing an entire human.

“I think you’re overdressed.” You smiled, allowing your eyes to hungrily track over his sun kissed body. “And I believe I was promised Sex on the Beach.”

A/N: There it is! My second ever Jake fic! What do you think??

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#top gun maverick #jake seresin x reader #pick your poison #glen powell #bellaireland writes #top gun fan fiction

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mistydeyes · 8 months

Text

miss americana: gaz edition

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series summary: The 141 has varying thoughts about Americans which range from finding them wildly entertaining to thinking they’re the worst people on earth. However you challenge their perspectives when you meet them. Something about you makes them feel a little more patriotic ;)

summary: When you finally move to the UK, there are a few things that confuse you and Gaz is more than happy to help out! From realizing cars are not automatic to the different colloquialisms, he enjoys clarifying the differences in culture.

pairing: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x American!Reader

warnings: none

a/n: FINALLY something that I don’t have to do research on because I’m from the US🦅🎆 I have other parts planned to this as well!

also these are 100% inspired by all the questions I ask @lundenloves, she entertains my constant surprise and shock lol

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Whenever you go out with Gaz you ask him to “translate” for you.

When you first walked the rainy London streets with Gaz, you felt like a toddler with all of your questions. "Why does that stationary store have a sale on condoms?" you asked, confused, as you directed his attention to the sign that displayed a sale on rubbers. "You mean erasers?" he corrected, laughing. Next was when you saw a store you liked and immediately directed him inside, saying you needed pants. Despite how cute you looked while shopping, he had to correct you saying they were trousers and that pants had a very different meaning. Finally, the most egregious example was when you went to a restaurant and ordered biscuits to accompany your savory dish of soup. Once the waiter laughed in response, you looked at Gaz confused. "A biscuit is not like what you get in the Southern US, it's more of a cookie," he explained as you flushed with embarrassment. You would have to do some research next time and consult your British tour guide.

You’re an absolute menace when he goes to the grocery store or what he calls the grocers. You will go up and down the aisles, picking up whatever you fancy.

"Where are those chocolate oranges?" you demanded as you went down the aisle with Gaz. He pushed the cart, or trolley as he called it, which was already filled with a variety of snacks. Anything that looked distinctly British and that you knew you couldn't get at home, went in the cart. He had to hold you back from getting biscuits and crumpets. "Do you think we're having a tea party?" he joked as you waddled back with your selection. "Can we?" you asked, excitedly, and Gaz knew you were going to spend another 30 minutes in the tea aisle. "Let's just find you some Terry's and then we can consider getting tea," he corrected and you pulled the cart rapidly ahead. "I'm going to buy a whole orchard of those oranges."

Later on, you did buy a bushel worth of oranges and Gaz gently rubbed your stomach after you ate two entire ones. "They're just so good," you mumbled before you regretted the lactose coursing through your digestives.

Sometimes you’ll entertain him with distinctly American experiences.

"Did I ever tell you I was going to join a sorority in college?" you mused as you sat on the couch. He looked down at you before replying. "A what?" he questioned and you laughed. "You're telling me you've never heard of Greek life!" you exclaimed as he shook his head. You sat up for this fun explanation. "Essentially, if you're a girl you join a sorority and you spend like 4 days meeting the sister, trying to get them to like you, and then you're given a bid," you explained, he nodded as if this wasn't a foreign concept to him. "Then you all gather, usually in a football stadium or field, and they call your name as well as the sorority you're in and you run towards them." At that, he looked in horror. "It sounds cultish," he remarked and you lightly punched his arm. "It's cute! Everyone dresses up in different themes like 'Las Vegas' or 'Teddy Bears'," you smiled but he still shook his head, "it's the hazing that's cultish."

You will always insist on driving but Gaz remembers the one time he let you drive.

"Kyle, just let me drive!" you exclaimed as he beat you to the car door. In all honesty, you were a little used to being on the passenger side back at home but nevertheless, you were annoyed at his constant insistence at driving. "No," he simply said, "need I remind you what happened last time." The minute he said that you remembered the first time he tried to let you drive. First, you were surprised it was a stick shift rather than an automatic but it was nothing to worry about. It took you a few streets to get used to the changing gears but Gaz still had confidence in you. It wasn't until you pulled into a shopping center and started driving on the wrong side of the road that he made you park and take over. "It wasn't that bad!" you exclaimed, buckling into the passenger seat. "Love, my life flashed before my eyes."

He’ll make fun of you when you order coffee with a smile and try to make a friendly conversation with the barista.

As you entered the coffee shop, you were easily the happiest one there. It was 7 am and even Gaz wasn't as cheery as you are. "Good morning, how are you?" you smiled at the young barista. She returned your smile and eased her tired shoulders. "I'm doing alright, what are you having today?" she replied and you took a minute to think. “Just a cup of coffee for him,” you replied, pointing at Gaz. You pondered for a minute as you strained to look at the signs. "What do you think is good here?" you questioned and her eyes lit up as she began to list the options. "If you're looking for coffee, a cortado is my favorite, but I personally recommend trying our tea," she recommended and you nodded. "Hmm I'll take both," you cheerily replied, watching as she typed in your order. When you pulled out your wallet, you looked around curiously and the barista noticed your hesitation. "Is there anything else I can get you?" she asked before you looked up at her. "You don't have a tip jar here?" you wondered and she let out a laugh. "We don't, more of an American thing," she answered and you frowned slightly. You let her know to keep the change and waited patiently for your order at the end of the coffee bar. "You're too cute sometimes," Gaz said, kissing your forehead gently. He made sure to get a picture of you with your two cups, captioning it, "They finally got their cuppa!"

He helps you navigate the surprisingly easy currency and pricing system.

“Kyle I need more,” you corrected as he handed you a handful of notes. You had gone souvenir shopping in London but forgotten your wallet at his flat. “What do you mean, that’s enough,” he replied as he flipped over the postcards to check if he did his math correctly. “What about the tax? You forgot about that,” you said triumphantly and he laughed in response. “Oh this is one of your American things,” he said, his new favorite term to use, “Love, you pay what’s on the sticker.” Cue your shocked face as you couldn’t fathom the moment of anticipation as your items were rung up at home. On the ride home, you were sure to explain to Gaz the ins and outs of the different taxes including that there was no clothing tax in Minnesota, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and Vermont. “I cannot believe you don’t know how much you’re paying when you go up to the till,” he remarked, shaking his head in dismay. “The what?”

There are some disagreements on the meaning of different words (especially ones that you both share but mean two completely different things).

On a rare day, the entire 141 was free, and Gaz decided to introduce you to them. You returned back from the grocers and were surprised when Gaz began preparing a late lunch. “We’re not going to eat at the bar?” you asked, noticing him turning the stove on. “No, no they don’t have food there,” he corrected as your face turned to confusion, “what do you think the bar is?” Upon your explanation of an American bar with cheap drinks and greasy food, Gaz laughed and kissed your cheek gently. “If you want to go to a pub, I can just let them know the change of plans. There’s plenty around,” he responded and went to put the items back in the fridge.

When you arrived at the lively pub, Gaz made sure to sit you next to Soap so you could listen better to his thick accent. While you appreciated the gesture, the Scotsman still spoke a mile a minute. Despite your initial uneasiness, you soon fell into lively conversation and entertained everyone with your stories from college and things you found differently in the UK. "I think the time zone was the biggest issue," you said in response to Ghost's question about your transition to living abroad, "although, the lack of ceiling fans was interesting." They all laughed in response before Gaz interjected. "Tell them about when you ordered a baked potato," he joked and your eyes immediately lit up before you went into a long conversation about your experience. As everyone laughed at your bewilderment at the lack of serving the side with bacon, cheese, and sour cream, Gaz looked at you fondly, his favorite American.

#kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #task force 141 x reader #task force 141 #cod x reader #call of duty modern warfare #cod mwii #modern warfare 2 #call of duty #mw2 imagine #madebyizzie #gaz imagine #kyle garrick imagine #mw2 #izzie is writing

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oneofafew · 1 month

Text

@morelikeravenbore inspired me with their Sebastian Fluff Alphabet and I’ve done one for our perfect boy Ominis.

I am currently battling a fever so my brain is slightly more foggy than usual so bear with me if the details aren’t as in depth as I would have liked to go. I may revise!

Disclaimer: purely my own head canons based off my own perceptions and writing

Without further ado

🐍 Ominis Gaunt Fluff Alphabet 🐍

A - Attractive - what do they find attractive about their partner?

Being blind Ominis is going to base his attraction to touch and smell as well as the sound of your voice, there is nothing he finds more adorable than the sounds of his love ones laugh, he’s attracted to someone with similar values as his and finds himself inexplicably drawn to those he feels need taking under wing and providing guidance to.

B - Body - what is their favourite part of their partner’s body?

Their hands without a doubt, it’s his gateway to the world so he is always found holding or kissing them especially in private

C - Cuddle - how do they like to cuddle?

Despite being relatively reserved he insists on being the big spoon, purely so he can burrow his head in their hair and inhale their intoxicating scent, don’t let him always have his way though that boy needs some comfort even if he won’t admit it he secretly loves being held by his partner.

D - Dates - what does their ideal date look like?

Raised in higher classes his dates may be somewhat old fashioned and stiff to begin with, formally asking you by letter rather than verbally, always the proper gentleman he needs some time to relax and come out of his shell before he’s doing anything spontaneous

E - Equal - are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

Ominis absolutely lives by the trope he should take care of his partner, he has strong opinions and this often materialises as dominance

F - Fight - would they find it easy to forgive their partner? how are they fighting?

He is well versed in navigating arguments in a mature and gentlemanly manner, he would never raise his voice and is an excellent communicator though can become quickly frustrated if his partner isn’t seeing his side of things and is prone to giving the cold shoulder now and again, though he quickly melts under their touch and sincere love

G - Gifts - how do they feel about gift giving? what are their habits when it comes to this?

Ominis is a sugar daddy and has no idea that he is, growing up with the Gaunts he has absolutely no concept of the value of money and will buy ridiculously expensive gifts “just because” which may require some gentle talking to, however he becomes very easily flustered when given a gift himself.

H - Holding Hands - when / how do they like to hold hands?

Ominis loves his partners hands so any opportunity to hold hands is always welcome even publicly though he’s mostly subtle about it

I - Injury - how would they act if their partner got hurt?

Given his childhood and family Ominis is fiercely protective of his loved one, if they’re hurt or sick he’s at their side day and night making sure they’re comfortable and they make a quick recovery, he’s always projecting an air of calm (though he’s paddling like mad beneath the surface like a swan)

J - Jealousy - do they get jealous easily? how do they deal with it?

Ominis is fairly self assured and isn’t quick to get jealous, but if he does happen to find himself feeling that twinge he will bottle it up and opt to be extra attentive rather than actually talk about his insecurities, it takes a fair amount of coaxing to get him to speak up.

K - Kisses - how do they like to kiss their partner?

Ominis loves to kiss their hands, given any opportunity his bringing them to his lips, actually kissing though takes a lot of courage for him, it takes him awhile to open up and relax but rest assured once he’s found his confidence he’s not afraid to make a move, though he is always gentle and rarely messy

L - Love Language - what’s their love language?

Acts of service and gift giving are his two go to love languages when he’s smitten, the later can become somewhat problematic if he’s not reigned in fairly quickly given enough patience physical touch becomes another one of his favourites

M - Mornings - how are mornings spent with them?

Ominis is always up early, no matter what the day he rises with the sun only to take little cat naps throughout the day, he finds lie-ins tedious and pointless and will insist his partner rise with him.

N - Nights - how are nights spent with them?

Despite being up early Ominis rarely sleeps at night, whilst he takes pleasure in going to bed early he often finds himself laying awake for hours listening to the strange sounds around him unable to settle he finds comfort in having someone beside him to take care of whilst they sleep and finds it easier to sleep with company

O - Open - when would they start revealing things about themselves? how would they do it?

Ominis would take his time to open up to someone, given his nature he’s not the most forthcoming of people but once he does open up he’s prone to dropping random tidbits of information into every day conversation like it’s nothing, he doesn’t like talking about himself or his past and prefers to focus on his partners needs.

P - PDA - how comfortable are they with pda?

Ominis values his personal space, he doesn’t like being touched without his consent or prior knowledge, he’s very gentlemanly so PDA isn’t really on his radar though he’s very affectionate in private the most you’d get from him out in the open would be hand holding until he’s fully opened up to you

Q - Quirk - what is a random ability that helps the relationship?

His patience and gentle nature, despite his life he’s a very caring soul and enjoys being the caregiver in the relationship, his ability to sit and talk for hours until an issue is resolved helps smooth out any problems the relationship may face

R - Romance - how romantic are they? cliche or creative?

Ominis is very cliche in the romance department, roses and jewellery, having learnt it from books rather than example, he needs a creative partner to balance him out

S - Security - how protective are they?

Immensely protective, without being overbearing, Ominis will follow you into the shadows if it meant keeping you safe despite not wanting to go himself, his protectiveness is a cause for a majority of your arguments especially if as a partner you tend to be quite reckless

T - Talking - what do they like to talk about?

Ominis has the ability to converse on almost every topic known to wizard kind, he has a broad knowledge and is happy to debate and share his beliefs, though his guilty pleasure is gossip that boy cannot resist eves-dropping on his class mates and relaying the juicy details to his partner afterwards

U - Understanding - how well do they know their partner?

Ominis takes his time to get to know someone before opening up himself so he knows his partner very well probably better than they know themselves right down to their little mannerisms

V - Vaunt - what are they proud of? do they like to show their partner off? He prides himself on being able to take care of his loved one so will happily let anyone who asks know exactly who their partner is, whilst he believes he’s very subtle about it it couldn’t be farther from the truth.

W - Whole - would they feel incomplete without their partner? Ominis had learnt from an early age to be by himself to rely on no one and take care of himself so he tends to regress into his shell without his partner around becoming withdrawn and quiet if he goes a long period of time without them.

X - XOXO - are they affectionate?

In private Ominis can be very affectionate given time, kissing playing with hands, gentle touches are his go to, he often becomes flustered however if he’s not the one to initiate it.

Y - Yearning - how well do they cope when they’re separated from their partner?

Ominis fares well by himself and would never openly admit he yearns his partner’s presence despite missing them, his protective streak however lends to him feeling anxious without them and he’d often be found pacing until he knew they where safe again.

Z - Zzz - what are some sleeping habits of theirs?

He’s well known for his intermittent cat naps throughout the day, he very rarely sleeps at night but enjoys being close to his partner whilst they sleep and is always the first to suggest they go to bed.

#hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt #headcanon #fluff #fluff alphabet

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theemporium · 9 months

Note

steve noticing a new shirt or a new song youve become obsessed with. asking you about it and just smiling as you explain (the band, writer, movie,show whatever.) R"what..?" S"Nothing-" R"Youre making that face-" "well if you must know, ive got the cutest most precious woman as my girlfriend." or something like that-

this was so cute!!! thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

Steve knew you had been waiting for the book to come out.

The second you found the date, you had marked it in your shared calendar and drawn a bunch of doodles around the announcement that it was very hard to miss.

He knew you were excited, he knew how long you had been waiting for it. Steve took the extra initiative to make sure it was the perfect day. He had worked out with your coworkers so you had the day off on your rota, made sure the pantry was stocked with your favourite snacks and left a few cans of your favourite drinks in the fridge (along with a bottle of wine).

He drove out early to the next town over so he could pick up the book the second the store opened, drove back before you woke up and left a note and a kiss on your forehead before he headed out for the day to work a shift at Family Video.

By the time he came home in the late afternoon, you had finished the book and you were buzzing off the walls. Steve didn’t think he had seen a sight so fucking adorable. It made up for the constant teasing he received from Robin all day about the way he was head over heels for you.

You lifted your head up off the couch where you were laying, a grin spreading across your face when he walked through the door. “You’re home.”

“Someone’s happy to see me,” Steve teased as he made his way over, leaning over the back of the couch to press a long, greeting kiss against your lips. “How was your day, honey?”

“Perfect ‘cause of a certain someone,” you said with a teasing tone, though your smile became more sincere as you dragged him into another kiss. “Thank you, for everything.”

“It’s what my girl deserves,” Steve stated simply before smiling. “Let me go change and then we can order some food and you can tell me all about your book.”

And that’s exactly what you did.

After changing into some sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, Steve ordered from your favourite takeaway place before he settled on the couch across from you. He was leaning against one arm, you were at the other and your legs were intertwined in the middle with a blanket over you both.

You are animated and enthusiastic as you spoke, your hands moving wildly as you gave him a run down of the previous books (as if he had forgotten from your previous rants) before launching into everything you had read that day.

He hadn’t meant to zone out, and he didn’t really. He was listening, he would be damned if he didn’t listen to every word that came out of that pretty mouth of yours, but he couldn’t help but let a giddy smile take over his face as he watched you ramble on passionately.

You seemed to pick up on his expression as you were mid-way through a plot twist, the words falling short from your lips as you flushed at his expression.

“What?”

Steve blinked, his brows furrowed slightly. “What’s what?”

“You’re…smiling all weird,” you said, almost laughing as you spoke.

“It’s nothing,” Steve said with a shrug. “You’re just…so cute when you talk about your books.”

You could feel your cheeks heating at his words. “I’m sorry, I’m probably talking so much—”

“Hey, no,” Steve said with a shake of his head. “I love when you share this with me. It’s like being a part of it, without actually having to read the books.”

You snorted lightly. “You really don’t mind?”

“Listening to my pretty girlfriend talk all day? Of course not,” Steve scoffed like the concept was absurd. “Like I said before, it’s cute.”

Your smile was almost as giddy as his.

“Plus, those lil’ sex scenes give me good inspiration—”

“Steve!”

“Kidding, honey!” There was a pause. “Okay, I’m only slightly kidding, but there’s some real good tips in those books.”

#steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington one shot #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things x y/n #stranger things fic #stranger things one shot

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ruthytwoshakes · 10 months

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Howdy everyone!! I got super inspired by @a-scary-lack-of-common-sense class swap au and wanted to try my hand at it!

I really love these designs!! If people like them too I’ll make some full refs and make some more content with them. I probably will anyway because I have so many ideas.

Under the keep reading I added wayyy too much description if you’re interested. You are interested you will read I’m using my evil mind magic to make you want to read

(I’ll address them by their names to make it less confusing btw. Pyro and Spy are called Demonan and Soldier though. I’ll name them one day probably)

For Medic and Heavy I kinda swapped their backstories and personalities. Misha is an only child who comes from a family of, fucked up to say the least, doctors. He lost his medical license for stealing the entirety of a patient’s skin. Misha is much more of a hardass with a superiority complex. Cold and callous. He takes himself and his work very seriously,, thinks he is very scary. The other mercs don’t really give a shit, which infuriates him to no end. He cares about his teammates! somewhere deep down inside ,, like really far down. Probably. Really attached to his tools, names them like how the original Heavy names his guns. He’s pretty fluent with English.

Ludwig is much more silly and caring. He’s the youngest sibling out of his 3 sisters, and took this job because he feels obligated to pay back his family for protecting him and helping him go through college. He’s not sadistic per se, more just, really loves the blood, guts, and carnage of war, and has a very morbid curiosity. He often accompanies the Medic when he's doing operations, if he's not already the patient himself. Misha adores how fascinated he is by all of it, and gladly answers and questions he may have. Very loud and extroverted,, his laughs can be heard from miles away. He kinda scares the other mercs, but he’s trying his best to tone it down. He has a horde of pigeons that just ,, follow him around. He doesn’t really know where they came from. His favorite is named Euripides. He’s intermediate at English.

For Sniper and Scout I kinda kept their backstories the same, they just had different personalities and life circumstances that led to them taking their respective jobs. Jeremy is the older brother of 7 little sisters. His mother had him when she was 16 and going through college, leading Jeremy to have to grow up fast. He and his mom have always had to pick up odd jobs to help pay the bills. One of Jeremy’s bosses took him out onto a shooting range one day and noticed he was a natural. He encouraged him to take up predator/invasive species control to help pay the bills and helped him get started, Jeremy eventually saved up enough to move to the northwest. As he got more skilled, some shady people took note and offered him some more,,, lucrative opportunities. He’s a hick with a slight Boston accent, making him all the more awkward. Pretty introverted, the only friends he's ever had is his little siblings. He’s quick-witted when he wants to be, but usually stays quiet. He seems pretty cold tough, but will change really quickly around little kids. Drinks way too many energy drinks to compensate for his insomnia.

Mick is an only child and basically the Australian version of Scout. Which is a terrifying concept!! he scares me. He’s a pretty extroverted guy, but was still bullied for his scrawny appearance and a lack of mustache hairs when he was little, so he devoted himself to becoming the best track runner in Australia. Also he couldn’t win a fight against anyone and he tended to piss off a lot of people, so running was a necessity. He doesn’t have any siblings, but he has a lot of older friends who treat him like a little brother. He likes to paint in his free time. Took the job to help support his parents and to explore the world, or just New Mexico. Annoying jock bastard. He wears those tank tops with the holes at the sides that just go all the way down,, not even a shirt at that point. Still throws piss at people because I think its really fucking funny.

Nobody quite knows where Soldier came from, not even herself. All she knows is that she’s a General, and a damn good one at that. Although his team would like to suggest otherwise. She’s loud and erratic, missing quite a few cogs in her brain. Not lead poisoned like the original soldier, I’m leaning towards a lobotomy that really melted his brain, soupe de cerveau or somethinf. Even though she lost her mind, she kept her great commanding skills and leads the team in attacks. He can be found planning and strategizing for the next round, or hanging out with the other team’s Demo. A bit silly, a bit goofy. Comically patriotic like the original Soldier. Parleys-tu Français, DO YOU SPEAK FRRRENCH ??? Non tu ne le fais pas, you don’t? FUCK YOU

Tavish and pyros personalities are a kinda combined? I just took little bits from both of them and squashed them together. Tavish is a pyromaniac hailing from Scotland. There’s rumors that he was the cause of the fire storm that rained down on Scotland for about a week, but he’s never confirmed or denied this. His voice isn’t all that muffled, his Scottish dialect is just so thick that nobody can understand him, except for Ms Pauling and Engineer like usual. Tavish can be pretty unstable and hyperactive, but an overall happy-go-lucky guy. Drinks responsibly most of the time! Still depressed! Lots of Molotov cocktails. His favorite animal is the Pegasus, and his life's goal is to find and tame one some day.

Dell is the same personality wise, just more like spy. So a bit more stuck up lol. He also shares the same care that the original spy shows for his team, as long as it benefits him along the way. Dell comes from a long family line of Spy’s that all worked for the Mann brothers, they stole Australium for them and kept them safe from other entity's that wanted to have control over the Australium too. His goggles have all that super cool spy stuff in them, night vision, cameras, a radio. Jane helped him add some new features as of late, . I'm not sure how to incorporate Dell's fascination with trans-humanism into this Dell quite yet. Maybe something to do with his senses? Name’s Spy. Spy Gaming.

Jane is pretty much the same silly little guy,, but now with 11 phds! And he’s not lead poisoned anymore! Nobody’s quite sure where Jane comes from, every time he’s asked he always changes up his backstory. He tends to slack off more than the original soldier, "A good hard-working American always knows when to take breaks!" He's also built a variety of raccoon-themed machines that get into mischief around the base. He and the Pyro are good buddies! He likes reading their stories, and gently encouraging them to write more. He's pretty strict when it comes to safety, and will come down hard on his teammates for messing around. THAT IS NOT OSHA APPROVED HEAD-WEAR MAGGOT!

Demoman is more like Tavish backstory-wise in this. They’re a midwesterner with way too much free time who blew up their family’s corn field by accident when they were little, oh and their parents. Their bio family crawled out from the remains of the farm and took them in after they proved themselves, even with their lack of tentacles and wings. (yeah their parents are the Great Old Ones, cthulhu guys, for sillies :3 ) They still like to do creative stuff (but adult-ified because adults are insecure about having fun for some reason.) like adult coloring books, or oil painting, or having adult tea parties. Demoland is a book that they're writing, and will TOTALLY 100% work on this weekend. They hate eye contact and have never been seen without their bombsuit on, except for Scout, but he can comprehend these otherworldy horrors perfectly fine so idk maybe you have a skill issue or something.

Heavy is Medic

Medic is Heavy

Sniper is Scout

Scout is Sniper

Spy is Soldier

Demoman is Pyro

Engineer is Spy

Soldier is Engineer

Pyro is Demoman

notes: I was thinking of making Dell Jeremy's father, but I didn't want to change up Jeremy's facial features too much, so Spy remains. Mick has that neck-mic thingy that soap from COD has because I was scrolling through soapghost on pintrest help. Soldier wasn't actually a general, I was thinking he was just somebody who knew too much. But after she got the lobotomy, I'm thinking she did something similar to soldier and tried to get into the military, and failed. Ludwig is the biggest on the team, with Misha having a more agile body type. Still a bear!! Just a bit smaller. This art is a bit old because I've been working on this since MAY?!?!??? ough. Maybe I'll swap some side characters as well! Pauling with Bidwell, Saxton with Helen, if ya want you could give me some suggestions 👁 👁 This is all Merasmus's fault some how, babygirl messes up the timeline for the sillies, the funny haha even. I love her <3333 Also sorry if the info for Jeremy is incorrect, I just thought it would be neat idk a whole lot about hunting.

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bakerstreethound · 2 years

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Worth More Than Gold

Relationship: Smaug x reader

Warnings: Fluff, mentions of fire, Smaug is a tad insecure

Summary: You never cared about the gold or treasures Under the Mountain. All you sought was some company and found the most unlikely of companions. Now, the dragon can’t bear to part with you despite his doubts.

All writings belong to me @bakerstreethound (Do NOT claim, copy, repost, or translate my works to other sites. I only publish here and on A03 under the same username)

Word Count: 766

A/N: Listen, I was wanting to cuddle this dragon so...I may have selfishly wrote it because of that. Please don’t judge. I love this dragon so platonically and would love to have this bond with him any day...just think of the CUDDLES not to mention how protective he is. Also, @frostandflamesfanfic may have inspired me to do like two more follow up parts to this one. I hope you enjoy!

====================================

They told you to stay away from the mountain, but what was left for you in that sphere of the world? There wasn’t much to say in the least. But, you were happier here than you ever were before. The company you craved was answered in the form of a glorious dragon, who you feared would turn you away, but the months spent in his company improved his mood slowly but surely and he felt himself growing softer towards you. You didn’t care for the riches around you, wanting him for his company. All he ever wanted was the gold but it worked out between you.

You find yourself yawning after you get back from the library, leaning against Smaug’s slumbering form, but he glances at you curiously studying the book in your hand.

His massive head cranes toward you, huffing at the book you hold out for him to inspect.

“Tell me a story.” His massive wing gently guides you closer to him, where you can get more comfortable and you settle down, opening up the ancient book carefully, allowing yourself to get lost in the pages, and soon you find your eyes unable to focus much longer, the book falling from your hands as you cuddle closer to Smaug. One of his massive wings drapes over you, pulling you closer.

He looks down at you from where you are curled against him, so small and fragile, huddled against him for warmth. He huffs to himself in annoyance, oddly feeling reassured by you next to him slumbering away, fighting off the occasional shiver.

His gaze sweeps the cavern, his narrow eyes catch only the shimmering gold littering his glorious cavern, before he curls his body around you more, burying his head under an assortment of jewelry goblets and armor.

You mumble something in your sleep and one of your hands reaches out to stroke his scales. A low rumble resounds, and you smile softly to yourself knowing he secretly is enjoying the simplicity of you being here with him.

“You are supposed to be asleep.” His low rumble resounds, yet he makes no effort to move, not even when you turn to stroke his wing, and a smile tugs at your lips.

“Is that a crime? My being awake, that is.”

“Thought humans required long naps for three months.”

“Your conception of humans is a long way off, but I wish I could hibernate that long,” you groan fighting off another yawn, the warmth of him a comfort. You fumble through to find your book, chuckling to yourself when you find it unsurprisingly buried under rare jewels anyone in Middle Earth would care to have.

Everything here costs a fortune beyond anything you could imagine and you can't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. You were sleeping next to the pale silver delicate jewels of some Elvish noble with the most feared creature in Middle Earth of all time.

“I wasn’t wrong about you. You like it here for some reason. There’s nothing here beyond all the riches in Middle Earth others dream about and you’ve taken nothing.” He growls low, red fire glowing like an ember from within him.

You don’t move, don’t shudder at the display. You feel oddly at peace with this overgrown furnace.

“I don’t want any of these treasures. For a fearsome dragon, you can be oddly dense at times. I want to be with you. I’m here because believe it or not I actually enjoy your company.”

His massive head turns towards you, the sound of gold dripping from his glorious scales as he blinks, processing, snorting almost laughing at the notion. Who’d ever heard of such a thing? Is someone here because they like or tolerate him? He the monster dwarven children fear at night?

Carefully you reach out to him, stroking his nose not caring or fearing the sharp teeth could rip into your flesh, breaking you apart in an instant. If he wanted to kill you, he would have done it sooner, run you out of the cavern, or burned you to a crisp the moment you held a single golden coin of his in your hand. Safe to say, you were unimpressed by it, more interested in Smaug himself.

“If you are that dense, then I guess I could take my leave of this place…”

“NO” he roars, a ball of spinning fire bolts across the corridor, barely singing your hair. Your heart races, but not in fear.

“Stay…I want you to stay…stay…stay” the cavern echoes, enveloping you in the fiery flames.

******

@frostandflamesfanfic @novaracer27 @lilythemadqueen @starks-hero @feral-for-strange @azu21 @classickook @viper-official @ravencatart @aephereal @sherlocks-blanket

#Smaug #smaug the dragon #smaug x reader #the hobbit #gender neutral reader #benedict cumberbatch

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tearsoftime0086 · 7 months

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Small Heartsteel Settphel fic inspired by some fun idea bouncing with friends :) Sett's mother is really harping on him to go out and find love - what she and Aphelios don't know is that he already has someone in mind...

“You’re almost 30, Settrigh! It’s time to start thinking about settling down. Having a family.”

Aphelios peeks through the half-open door to Sett’s room. He’s resting lazily in bed, phone in one hand and twirling earbud wires in the other. The two of them match eyes.

“Your mother?” Aphelios signs. Sett grins and nods.

“Ma, you make it sound like I’m two steps away from my deathbed.”

“You never know! It’s best to be prepared about these things.” comes her chirping voice over speakerphone.

Sett shakes his head and laughs. It’s a deep belly laugh, one that tells all three of them he’s not taking her seriously. “I’ll keep it in mind, Ma.”

“I just don’t want to see you lonely, Settrigh. Who will you have when I pass on?”

It’s at this point Aphelios realizes he should come back later, but Sett holds out a hand to stop him. “One sec,” he mouths, before turning back to the phone. “Now don’t talk about that, Ma. You’re gonna outlive all of us.”

“Tch – you shouldn’t say things like that to your mother. It’s improper for a parent to bury their child.”

“You’re taking this way too seriously,” he responds, “But I’ll keep it in mind, Ma.”

“You should. And don’t eat too much of that protein mix! It’s bad for your skin.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sett murmurs, “Hey Ma, I’ll call you later – something just came up. Love you.” He stares at the phone fondly before looking back up at Aphelios. “Sorry, did you need me for something?”

The remnants of Sett’s fondness remain on his face – the soft curve of his smile, the crinkle around his eyes. Aphelios freezes, before realizing Sett’s now talking to him. Haphazardly taking out his pad, he writes, “Wanted your thoughts on some instrument tracks, that’s all.”

“Sure, I can take a listen,” he says, standing up and moving over to his desk. Aphelios shuffles over as well, trying to grab his laptop out of his bag on the way.

Cursing his luck, Aphelios realizes he exited the song file and needs to load it again. “Sorry,” he signs rapidly, before writing out the rest of his apology. “Didn’t mean to waste your time.”

“You’re not wasting my time,” Sett responds. A small pause, before scoffing. “Has Ezreal been on your case for that?”

A hesitant nod, but one, nonetheless.

“Don’t worry about it. It's nothing personal – he’s just used to the idol circuit. Everything’s so streamlined there.”

“I also cut the call with your mother short,” Aphelios scribbles.

“Ah that?” Sett laughs, patting him all too firmly on the back. “You did me a favor. If I'd talked with her any longer she would’ve gone into the ‘You’re going die single and alone’ part.”

The file’s fully loaded at this point, and Aphelios debates whether or not to go straight into business. But no, he has to satisfy his own curiosity.

“Are you interested in anyone?” he writes, the plainness of the text hiding his sheer anxiety in jotting down each word.

Sett hums. “Maybe. Maybe not. Why do you ask?”

He feels his cheeks go red. Aphelios ducks, trying to hide it under his bangs. “For band reasons. The media wouldn’t like it if they found out you were dating a fan.”

“Well, I never said it was a fan,” Sett says. “But hey, looks like the song’s done.” He shakes the pair of earphones in front of him. “Let’s take a listen through these first. You know, average listener and all that.”

As Sett passes him an earbud, Aphelios lets himself imagine that he’s the subject of Sett’s feelings. Just thinking about it causes his heart to race. He takes the earbud, almost sure his face is flaring red right now. He has to snap out of it – stay professional, for god’s sake. Sett’s one of the biggest stars in the world, and he’s just the lucky instrumentalist in his concept band. They operated on different scales.

Sett coughs lightly. When Aphelios flips over to him, there’s a humorous glint in his eyes as he gestures to the play button.

For a moment, it makes his pining wish seem like a reality.

#bits and baubles #league of legends #settphel #sett #aphelios #I don't know the exact lore on this skinline so I took a couple liberties ^^#heartsteel

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lxvestxned · 2 years

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Tongue Tied (18+)

steven grant x f!reader steven and reader are fresh into their dating phase (after a long time of friendship). reader finally admits she’s ready to try something new. warnings: first time sex talk between two mildly drunk, awkward virgins lmao, pet names, alcohol consumption, minors go tf away this is clearly a telltale “i wrote this purely for myself and only to please me” bit of writing that has collected dust in my notes app. so do with this little 888 word blurb what you will. i just really love this dude and the idiots to lovers trope.

“I don’t really understand sex. I mean obviously because I’ve never done it before.” She didn’t mean to sound so annoyed with her last statement, but it didn’t help that she began to talk through a clenched jaw. “But, I think…” she shifted to hold her cup of wine between both hands as she stared down into it, “… I want to do it with you.”

Steven’s reaction (or rather lack thereof) was no surprise to her. When she looked up through her lashes, it was clear what was going on in his brain from his side of the loveseat. She could practically see the cogs churning and breaking down behind his eyes. And unfortunately, all the metaphorical computer shutdown noises coming from Steven.exe was not enough to fill the silence, so she’d felt the need to buy him time to power back up.

“Obviously, we won’t really know what we’re doing and everyone has warned me that it probably won’t be good the first time. But like— I think all of my friends lost it really young, back when we all had this limited concept of what sex was supposed to be and how we were supposed to be perform in it. And I just know I wouldn’t have to worry about all that with you. And anyway— anyway the other day, all you did was like groan while stretching and I still can’t get it out of my head. I just want to make you… feel good I guess.”

A bit of a long winded way to say ‘please let me put your dick in my mouth’, but at least she eventually got to a point. Steven seemed to have finally defrosted, but only enough to rapidly bat his eyelashes. His face was still stuck doing that thing where one brow was arched a bit higher than the other, his mouth agape despite the fact that he may not be breathing at all.

She took a long sip out of her glass, allowing him all the time in the world to respond. Although she realized that maybe it would be easier if she’d probed him with a question. “So that’s what’s been on my mind lately. What’s on yours?” She punctuated with an amused smile into her glass.

“Sweetheart, darling, my love.” His free hand flattened to his chest, wallops of air finally reviving him there. “Am I red right now? I must be glowing red.” They joined in laughter together as she nodded extra hard. He moved to fanning himself, while he set his own wine glass on the coffee table. She tried not to focus too much on how he had to fold forward and into her proximity to reach.

“Does that mean you want to have sex with me too?”

“Yes. Bloody— yes, love.”

She laughed even harder, inspiring some more from him as well. “Okay, let me say now though, I don’t want to do like full blown sex yet.”

“Of course, yeah.”

“I really, really just want to know how to—“ funny how the proper words to the action never feel right coming out of her mouth. Even when she’d try to engage in the sex-capade talks with her friends that they frequently got in to. Her lips could only press hard together. The rest of the sentence knocked at the front of her skull wanting only to burst out.

Poor Steven looked on patiently, hanging on for dear life. Until he was chuckling out a, “oh, shy now, are we?”

“God, I wish you could just read my mind.” She said instead, throwing a hand out in defeat.

He threw his hand in a similar gesture, “it’s okay, we’re talking about it. Just say it!”

She could feel the anticipation building suddenly, which she knew all too well would cause her to freeze up thrice over. So she started again, “I really, really want to know how to—“ she turned her head as far left as she could, only managing to clear her throat. “Sssssssssss…” ah, she really was useless. She jokingly dry heaved.

And she was grateful for his burst of laughter, he even feigned offense in his reply, “Oh my god, well don’t make yourself sick.”

“Okay, I’m being childish. I’m just going to say it. ‘Cause it’s literally no big deal.” She tried to convince herself, even setting the wine glass down beside his for some kind of finality. “I mean it might be a big deal, it’s not like I’ve seen it yet.” She cocked her brows at his crotch for a second.

“Oh my god.” He sounded incredulous.

“Can I suck your dick?” She dropped her palms to her thighs.

“Oh my god.” His voice pitched a lot lower that time he said it.

She felt aglow again. Awash down her chest like she’d been hit with a craving, just like when he groaned the other day.

He visibly swallowed, then licked his wine-stained lips. Before finally he said, “yes.”

“Yes what?”

“What?”

“Yes, I can what?”

“Yes, you can…” his eyes roamed the space around them distractedly. He was redder than the first time they’d kissed.

She couldn’t help but smile cruelly, as she began to close the distance between them, “see it’s not easy to say, is it?”

His laughter was so breathy she almost didn’t recognize it as such. Until they were both fighting back smiles between smooches.

#steven grant x reader #steven grant x y/n #steven grant fanfiction #steven grant fluff #moonknight fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #steven grant smut

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dirty-bear-rick-sanchez · 1 year

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Alien

Edit to the edit: Now with art from the wonderful @geetimesthree! Thank you so much for this! Please check out the rest of their art as well, it’s amazing!

Edit: copy and pasting from Google Docs fucks up the format so some lines were missing. Please excuse my shitty replacements lol.

This is a Birdrick fic I’ve been sitting on for a while because it got out of my control and I couldn’t figure out what direction I wanted to go with it. It’s set in the early Flesh Curtains days and draws a lot of inspiration from Becky Chambers’ Wayfarers series (which I would 100% recommend). It was originally intended to be a series of moments where Rick and Birdperson realise just how alien the other really is to them (with undertones of Birdrick) but it kind of mutated into something more. However, I’ve been so stuck with what do with it that I haven’t really touched it, so I’ve decided to post what I’ve got so far. There are inklings of a plot/potential future stuff developing but I can’t promise that anything more will come of it so this may end up being a oneshot. Anyway, let’s get on with it!

Summary: Birdperson looks close enough to human that Rick sometimes forgets he’s not only a member of another species, but one from an entirely different evolutionary timeline. Other times, however, the difference is undeniable. ~6.8k words

Warnings: ableism (both internalised and from others, including mentions of forced institutionalisation, mainly towards the end), both Rick and BP having derogatory inner thoughts, eating insects (why is this something that’s been a warning for multiple fics of mine lmao)

Birdperson looks close enough to human that Rick sometimes forgets he’s not only a member of another species, but one from an entirely different evolutionary timeline. Other times, however, the difference is undeniable.

One such time is when he offers to make Birdperson a coffee one morning shortly after the Flesh Curtains move in together.

“H-how do you take it? Milk, sugar?” he asks.

Birdperson looks at Rick in puzzlement. “Milk?”

“Uh, yeah, you know. It comes from mammary glands?”

“Is that not what mammals feed to their young?”

Rick blinks. “Well, I mean, yeah, originally, but most people have it in their coffee or cereal or, or whatever, even adults.”

Birdperson considers this for a minute. “Might I ask how you acquired human milk so far away from Earth?”

“What? No, this isn’t human milk. I-I don’t have breastmilk in my coffee!”

“So it’s artificial?” Birdperson asks with an air of relief.

“No, it’s real! It’s from shloopy-shlops.”

Birdperson looks vaguely sickened. “You consume the milk of other species?”

“Uh, yeah. You didn’t think it was from a human, did you?”

“Are you not disturbed by this? It must be a big change from what you’re used to on Earth.”

“Nah, this stuff is pretty similar to cows’ milk.”

“Cows?”

“Yeah, they’re-they’re a big herbivorous mammal we have on Earth. We use ‘em for their meat and milk.”

“Even on Earth you eat the mammary fluids of other animals?” Birdperson’s expression of disgust deepens.

“Uh, yeah?”

Birdperson takes a moment to steady himself. “Forgive me. I do not mean to judge your species, but this concept is sickening to me.”

Rick grins. “Now you know how I feel about eating bugs.”

Birdperson smiles, very subtly, but Rick catches it.

“So, no milk?” Rick asks.

For the first time since meeting Birdperson, Rick hears him actually laugh aloud. It’s more of a sharp exhale than anything else, but it sparks a giddy feeling in his chest all the same.

“No, I think I will go without it for now.”

———————————————————————

Rick sits at home, alone and bored. An hour or so earlier, Squanchy had retired to his room with explicit instructions not to disturb him for the next few hours and Birdperson had left to buy groceries. Birdperson had invited Rick along, but Rick had waved the offer off, not interested in braving the sensory overload of the markets on that particular day. However, he has since started to regret this choice, as Birdperson has been gone for some time, and Rick’s not making the mistake of interrupting Squanchy during his ‘me time’ again. As much as he hates to admit it, Rick struggles with being alone.

He gets up and paces restlessly over to the window. He tells himself he’s not going to sit and wait like a dog, but he can’t stop himself from looking outside anyway.

Pathetic. he scolds himself. You couldn’t bear to be alone, that’s why you moved in here. You want to tell yourself you’re still out hunting, but really you just can’t cope on your own, can you? I hope they get sick of you and leave, and then you’ll have to get back to actually looking for your daughter’s killer. Have you forgotten about that, you piece of shit?

His train of thought grinds to a halt as he catches sight of Birdperson approaching the apartment building, paper bags in his arms. Rick jumps at the opportunity to escape his thoughts and rushes out of the apartment and down the stairs.

He opens the front door to see Birdperson fumbling for his keys. The other man looks up in surprise.

“Hey, Pers.” Rick grins, leaning against the doorframe. “I saw you coming, thought you-you might want some help.” he holds his hands out and Birdperson passes him a bag. It’s heavier than he made it look and Rick struggles with it for a second. Birdperson raises an eyebrow - or rather, his equivalent of an eyebrow.

“Can you manage?” he asks.

“Yeah!” Rick insists, trying not to let on how heavy the bag actually is. His brain doesn’t help matters, distracting him with thoughts of how strong Birdperson must be and ideas of what else he could use that strength for.

“If you insist.” Birdperson replies in a tone that shows he’s not convinced. “Thank you.”

The two make their way back up to the apartment, Rick finding himself talking far too much about any inane topic he can think of. Thankfully, Birdperson doesn’t seem to mind.

“By the way, whatever you do, don’t go in Squanchy’s room until you’re sure it’s fine. Trust me.” Rick advises him. Birdperson nods seriously in response, knowing all too well what Rick means.

They tumble into the apartment and Rick dumps the bag on the kitchen table, spilling its contents everywhere. He spots a packet of cookies and tears it open, cramming one into his mouth. Among the groceries, he notices a container of bright-coloured red and orange fruit labelled with an unfamiliar script.

“Hey, Pers, what’re these?” he asks through a mouthful of food.

“It is a fruit from my homeworld. Cubba-sah.”

Rick attempts to repeat the word back to Birdperson, who nods at him and takes one.

“Would you like one? They’re sweet.” he offers.

“Lemme just check real quick.”

Rick fishes around in a drawer and pulls out a device of his own making to check if the fruit is suitable for human consumption. While more widespread species enjoy the safety of relatively common knowledge when it comes to what alien foods they can and can’t eat, humans are not so lucky. After all, very few of them have ever made it off Earth, and fewer still have met aliens, much less tried their foods. As such, Rick has to take his own measures to work out what is and isn’t safe for him.

He scans the fruit and the screen lights up green with the message ‘No known toxins’. Shrugging, he takes a fruit and pops it into his mouth.

A second later, Rick is aware of nothing except burning. A stinging sensation starts in his tongue and rises throughout his face, setting his skin ablaze as it goes. The pain is vaguely familiar to his unconscious mind and he grabs at the fridge, chugging down milk in hopes of relieving the sensation.

“Hot.” he gasps. His eyes and nose are streaming, blurring his vision. Through the tears, he can make out Birdperson’s form moving towards him.

“Rick, are you alright? Do you require assistance?” he asks urgently.

Rick shakes his head and takes another swig of the milk, wiping at his eyes.

“No, it’s fine, it’s just… Jesus, why didn’t you tell me it was spicy?”

Birdperson blinks. “I was not aware that you would perceive it as such. Are you entirely sure that you are not having an adverse reaction?”

Rick nods. “Yeah, because this makes it better.” he replies, raising the milk carton. “Fuck, it’s like eating my abuela’s cooking.”

Birdperson suddenly starts. “Ah.”

“What?”

“I… have just remembered something.” he seems uncharacteristically downtrodden. “On my home planet, there is a species of rodent we call sqoo rah lub. They are pests that invade supplies of grain and the like. To deter them, we use an extract of this fruit. It contains a compound that they find unpleasant, but that is harmless and undetectable to us. I believe the term for it in common is ‘capsaicin’.”

Rick chuckles. “Ah, that would explain it. So these,” he gestures to the fruit, “are basically peppers?”

“I am unfamiliar with this term.”

“Hang on.” Rick rummages through the cupboards until he finds a seasoning that’s roughly the alien equivalent of chilli powder. “Try this.”

He sprinkles some on Birdperson’s outstretched fingers. Birdperson raises them to his mouth and flicks out his tongue to lick the powder from them. Rick has to fight to keep his thoughts from wandering off into less appropriate areas. Birdperson smacks his lips.

“It is… very dry.”

“But not spicy? Or hot?”

“No, just a slightly sweet-tasting powder. You mean, to you, this causes pain?”

“Ah, pain’s a strong word. It’s kind of just like… a burn.”

Birdperson still does not look convinced.

“I have seen you use this on your own food before. Why do you own and consume something that causes a burning sensation for you?”

Rick shrugs. “It’s nice. Gives it a kick. A-and hey, like I said, I grew up on Abuela’s cooking, this is nothing in comparison.”

“I am afraid I still do not understand.”

“Oh man, if we ever visit Earth you totally have to try a ghost pepper.”

When Squanchy emerges from his solo session, Rick hounds him to try one of the cubba-sah. Squanchy sniffs it and instantly recoils with an expression that reminds Rick of a domestic cat.

“No way am I squanchin’ that! It smells like that stuff you put on your food!” he exclaims to Rick, backing away.

“I wonder if it is only mammals that experience this as spicy, or whether it is only my people who do not.” Birdperson ponders.

“See, you eating this I can understand because you don’t feel the burn, but him,” Squanchy points at Rick, “I just don’t get! How can you enjoy that pain?”

Rick grins. “It’s not painful, it’s just a nice kick.”

They continue to squabble playfully and, for the first time in a long time, Rick allows himself to relax into the happiness, rather than waiting for it to be snatched away.

———————————————————————

Living in what can only be described - in rather generous terms - as ‘a shithole’, Rick has long since become accustomed to pests. Slugs, some sort of small rodent, and, most recently, ants have all invaded their apartment and subsequently faded into just another part of the background noise. Therefore, it doesn’t come as a surprise to him to walk into the kitchen one morning to a colony of the insects on the floor.

What does catch him off guard, however, is the sight of Birdperson lying amongst them, wings spread out and lowered so that they’re touching the floor. Rick’s half-asleep brain takes a few moments to clock his bandmate at all, but once it does, it goes into overdrive, thinking his friend has passed out or worse. Before Rick can spiral too far, however, Birdperson tilts his head up to look at Rick.

“Good morning, Rick Sanchez.” he greets, using Rick’s full name in a way that never fails to make Rick melt a little inside.

“Uh… BP? What’re you doing?” Rick asks, his voice still rough with sleep.

“I am getting rid of parasites.” Birdperson responds simply, matter-of-fact as ever.

“…how?”

“It is a natural remedy used on my home planet. A compound produced by these ants helps to kill harmful microorganisms that reside in my feathers.”

“So this is… normal, in your culture?”

“In a sense, yes. Usually, I would use what my people call ‘kubba rub-oo’ - loosely translated, it would mean…” he trails off as he mentally translates the words “...‘feather-cleanse’ - but I have been unable to find anything suitable on this planet. The natural method is slightly old-fashioned, but effective.”

Rick stares blankly for a few seconds before accepting this information. “Cool. You want coffee?”

“Indeed.”

Rick brews coffee for the two of them, serving Birdperson’s with no milk - god knows they’d already been through that fiasco - and two sugars, just as he likes it. Birdperson remains on the floor as they drink their coffee in companionable silence.

Rick averts his eyes and decides not to comment when he sees Birdperson begin to pick ants from his feathers and pop them into his mouth. In a best case scenario, this could be an effective pest-control solution, but he’d rather not think about it too much. He sets the half-empty coffee mug on the table, unable to stomach the rest.

Birdperson doesn’t see Rick for the next few days, but assumes that the scientist has simply got himself wrapped up in a project. Since the Flesh Curtains are still struggling to book gigs, Rick’s absence doesn’t have a negative impact on the band, and it’s not unusual for Rick to disappear for days at a time, so Birdperson decides not to worry unless the other man doesn’t return soon.

That evening, Birdperson walks into his room to find a bottle of unidentified deep red liquid and a note on his bedside table. The handwriting is familiar to him from lyric writing sessions and blueprints scattered haphazardly around the apartment. He picks up the note and begins to read.

BP,

I looked some stuff up and the main ingredient of kubba rub-oo is formic acid, with some stabilisers and then scents added in. That’s what this is. I know you like grenaberry so that’s what the scent is. Hope it works.

-R

Birdperson sets down the note and smiles. He picks up the bottle and sees a spray lid, then tilts it to confirm the liquid’s water-like viscosity. Both of these match his expectations, and he trusts his friend’s abilities, so he extends a wing and cautiously gives it a single spritz. The smell is sweet, but with a distinct and familiar sour undercurrent. Satisfied, Birdperson sprays the rest of his wing, then the other, followed by his head-feathers. The liquid feels cool and pleasant on his feathers, and he lets it soak in for a few minutes before padding to the shower to rinse it off.

The steam amplifies the scents and Birdperson’s breath catches for a second as he’s hit with a pang of homesickness. At first, he’s confused at his own emotions - after all, the reason he left his home world in the first place was that he always felt like an outcast there - but quickly finds the feeling replaced with gratitude at Rick’s gesture. His friend has taken the time to listen to him, learn about his culture, and try to recreate part of it as a present for him.

Birdperson spends the rest of the shower bobbing between bittersweet memories and a newfound depth of affection for his bandmate. He flutters his wings to let the water flow through his feathers and wash away the oil.

Once he switches the water off, he stands with his wings outstretched for a few minutes, letting them dry. While he might use a towel for the rest of his body, feathers are always better to air dry.

As he exits the shower, he catches a glimpse of his outline in the steamed-up mirror and freezes. Something isn’t quite right about his appearance, and he can’t work out what until he shifts his weight slightly and sees a flash of dark pink at the edge of the mirror. Turning to look at his wings in disbelief, he realises Rick’s attempt at kubba rub-oo has dyed them. He wipes the condensation from the mirror to inspect his reflection more closely and finds that his head-feathers have also been discoloured. Being darker, the grenaberry hasn’t quite managed to turn them the same deep pink as his wings, but the colour difference is definitely noticeable. He even thinks his skin might be slightly pinker than usual.

Birdperson wraps a towel around his waist and exits the bathroom in pursuit of the living room, where he can hear Squanchy laughing as Rick protests.

“Oh, man, Rick, didn’t anyone ever tell you ‘don’t squanch too much or it’ll turn your palms red’?” Squanchy guffaws. “What were you even doing?”

“Sh-shut up! It was an experiment!”

As Birdperson rounds the corner, both Rick and Squanchy’s gazes turn to him simultaneously. The three stare at each other in silence for a moment before Squanchy cracks up. He chokes out what Birdperson assumes to be some sort of joke at his expense, but his laughter is so strong it renders his speech unintelligible.

Birdperson looks at Rick, expecting him to also be cackling, only to find the man staring at him intently, his cheeks pink in a way Birdperson doesn’t think has anything to do with the kubba rub-oo.

“Rick Sanchez?” he asks, and this seems to snap Rick out of his reverie.

“O-oh, hey, Pers.” Rick chuckles guiltily. “I see you found my… present.”

Birdperson nods. “Indeed.”

Rick raises his hands up as if in surrender, showing their red staining. “Sorry. I, uh, I guess I didn’t realise grenaberry would stain.”

“Rick Sanchez, you went out of your way to learn about and recreate something from my homeworld on my behalf. This was extremely kind of you.” he ignores Rick pretending to vomit at this and places a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you.”

Rick freezes and looks away, his cheeks once again pink. “I-it was nothing. I couldn’t let you roll around on the floor with the ants, could I? A-anyway, I fucked it up.”

“I am very grateful.”

Rick mumbles something inaudible in response, still not making eye contact.

The three sit in each other’s company for a while, Squanchy chiming in regularly with yet another joke until eventually all of them are laughing about it.

After a while, Birdperson realises he should probably get dressed and excuses himself to his room. As he walks away, he hears Squanchy make a final comment to Rick that he doesn’t understand.

“Dude, you’ve got it bad.”

As it turns out, the staining on Birdperson’s wings lasts for quite a while. So long, in fact, that the Flesh Curtains have somehow managed to get themselves a gig before it starts to show any sign of fading.

“Man, Pers, at this rate you’re gonna be like that on the stage.” Rick teases him a few days before the show, lightly hitting Birdperson’s arm with the back of his hand. Birdperson has noticed a marked increase in Rick’s physical affection towards him lately.

“Don’t worry, I hear some people find it really hot!” Squanchy bursts out and Rick scowls at him. Birdperson is mildly confused by the interaction but brushes it off as Squanchy teasing him.

“Perhaps we should match.” Birdperson suggests, only half-joking.

“What, you think I should dye my hair?” Rick asks.

“I think it would suit you.”

Birdperson reaches out and fingers a lock of Rick’s hair, attempting to return the physical affection. Rick’s face turns red, as he’s seen it do before. Although blushing is a behaviour that’s present in his own species, he doesn’t want to assume that it means the same thing in humans, or indeed that it’s the same phenomenon at all. However, he can tell that Rick is embarrassed by it, so he enjoys trying to fluster him. Birdperson wouldn’t want to genuinely upset Rick, but he takes pleasure in teasing his friends, just as they do to each other. This sort of behaviour is not present in his culture, at least not as a means of expressing affection, but Birdperson finds that he likes it. Even though his homesickness seems to be returning more and more often these days, he finds himself continuously discovering new things that make him decide leaving was worth it.

Rick agrees to dye his hair surprisingly readily, although no amount of cajoling can convince Squanchy to colour even a small part of his fur, insisting that it’s the key to attracting partners. He pops an unidentified pill and situates himself on the sofa in front of some sort of porn while Rick and Birdperson retire to the bathroom.

Since his initial attempt at kubba rub-oo, Rick has made another sample, this time using a flower he claims to be remarkably similar to the vanilla orchid of Earth for scent instead. Although Birdperson has begun using this one, he has kept hold of the original as well, and he brings it out now in lieu of hair dye.

“Rick Sanchez, before we begin, are you certain that this is not harmful to your species?”

“Yeah, BP, it’s fine, trust me.”

Rick pulls his shirt off over his head and Birdperson finds himself regarding his friend’s bare chest with interest. He’s used to the hair on Rick’s head, since it’s similar to his own feathers, and used to the fur covering the whole of Squanchy’s body, but he always forgets that humans have hair on other parts of their bodies as well. Similarly, he finds nipples extremely intriguing - while he appears to have them, they’re actually little more than markings on his chest, some sort of evolutionary leftover, giving him an illusion of humanity. The idea of these markings being something more - something with a function, something that’s an erogenous zone - excites him in a way he’s not sure he wants to admit to, even to himself.

Rick leans his head forward over the sink and Birdperson sprays the liquid into his hair, admiring the way the deep red drops of liquid stand out against light blue strands.

“How long d’you think I should leave this in for?” Rick asks, his voice slightly reverberating as he speaks into the sink.

“I only left it for a few minutes. I am not sure if that will be sufficient for you or not.”

The floor of the shower is still stained red, and Birdperson wonders if they should’ve done this in there instead of giving the landlord something else to charge them for when they move out, but the sink is easier, and it’s too late to change their plans now.

After a few minutes, the two decide they’ve waited long enough and Birdperson switches on the tap, cupping his hands and pouring the water over Rick’s head to help him rinse the oil from his hair.

“Shampoo.” he hears Rick mumble from underneath his mass of wet hair, and passes the bottle into Rick’s outstretched hand. Mammals, he’s found, can generally all use the same sort of product to clean their hair, although when he tried it on a small area of his own feathers, it didn’t wash out properly, leaving clumps.

Rick lathers his head and Birdperson waits for him to finish before helping him wash it out. They repeat the process until the water running from Rick’s hair is clear.

Rick straightens up and flicks his hair back out of his face, before shaking his head and getting water everywhere, including on Birdperson. He grins at Birdperson cheekily, and Birdperson can’t help but find it charming. He passes Rick the towel quickly, hoping that the human won’t see his smile. He’s found that, although most species seem to struggle to read his emotions, Rick is unnervingly good at it, which Birdperson finds relieving and irritating in equal measure.

Rick roughly towels his hair dry, then flicks it out of his eyes so he can look at it in the mirror. It’s turned out more purple than pink, with some darker reddish streaks in places, but Rick grins anyway and Birdperson feels warmth rise in his stomach.

“I was right.” Birdperson murmurs.

“About what?” Rick asks.

“It does suit you.”

Rick’s face reddens once again and he fumbles with the towel, bringing it back up to his face in order to dry his hair. Birdperson frowns.

“Forgive me, Rick Sanchez, have I made you uncomfortable? I did not intend to.”

Rick freezes with the towel in front of his face for a few seconds before slowly lowering it.

“No, Pers, i-it’s fine. D-don’t worry about it.” Rick doesn’t seem to be telling the truth, but Birdperson doesn’t want to pry and risk making things worse. He stretches a wing out and holds it next to Rick’s head to compare the shades.

“We match now.” he says simply, and Rick grins at him. Birdperson feels his body relax as most of the tension rushes out, although a lingering worry remains. He never fit in on his home planet, didn’t understand social norms or have any friends there. While befriending aliens gives him a fair amount of leeway when it comes to social mishaps, he still feels the familiar fear of rejection sitting uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach. Rick and Squanchy are the closest friends he’s ever had, and while Squanchy is fairly straightforward and easygoing, he’s all too aware of Rick’s mercurial nature, as well as the suffering that comes with being his enemy.

Besides, Birdperson feels an unusual attachment to Rick, in a way that’s markedly different to his friendship with Squanchy. Part of him knows exactly what it is, but he’s not quite ready to put a name to the feeling. His culture regards naming as a form of cage and, while he might agree with Rick’s perspective on that particular idea for the most part, he’s all too aware of the tendency labelling things has to make them far too real. Names are powerful things, and giving one to this feeling will tie him down in a way that he’s not prepared to commit to yet.

On the morning of the gig, Birdperson walks into the kitchen and is hit by an overwhelming chemical smell. His first thought is that there’s some sort of gas leak, either in their building or nearby. When he sees Rick sitting calmly at the table, he tries to still his panicked thoughts. Rick turns around to face him with a grin.

“Hey Pers! What do you think?” Rick stretches out a hand for Birdperson to inspect. His claws - nails, Birdperson corrects himself - are black and shiny, and he can see a bottle containing a liquid of similar appearance on the table.

“What is this?” Birdperson asks.

“Nail polish. You-you never heard of it?”

“My species does not have nails.”

Rick rolls his eyes in mock exasperation. “You don’t paint your claws? Or-or talons, or whatever?”

Birdperson shakes his head. “No. What is the purpose?”

“It’s like makeup. Or like dyeing your hair.” he gestures to his hair and Birdperson’s wings.

“A form of self-expression?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

Birdperson sits at the table and picks up the bottle, inspecting it.

“You wanna do the other hand?” Rick holds out his left hand, and Birdperson sees that the nails there are still plain.

“I… do not know how.”

“It’s easy! Just grab the brush and smear some on.” Rick pulls the cap off to reveal a brush, then hands it to Birdperson and stretches his hand out again. Hesitantly, Birdperson takes Rick’s hand in his own. He’s not sure if this is acceptable and glances up at Rick’s face to check. The other man is blushing faintly, but looks expectant. Birdperson adjusts his grip so that he’s only holding one of Rick’s fingers and begins daubing nail polish onto the nail. He’s not sure how much is required, so he puts on one coat and then looks over at Rick’s other hand to see if the two are close enough.

“Is… this acceptable?” he asks.

“Yeah! It’s great!”

Birdperson feels reassured and paints the remaining nails, starting to relax into the simple domesticity of the moment and the exciting yet grounding feeling of touch. Once he’s done, he pulls back uncertainly.

“What now?” he asks.

“Now, we wait for it to dry.”

Birdperson gets up and washes his hands, just to be safe. After all, this is an unfamiliar substance, and he doesn’t want to take any unnecessary risks. Once they’re dry, he opens the fridge and pulls out a tub of grenaberries, holding them up to Rick and finding himself rewarded with a laugh.

As he sits down and begins eating, Rick leans back his head and opens his mouth. Birdperson stares for a second and then smirks.

“Are you a youngling?” he teases.

“Come on, Pers, I can’t eat when my nails are still wet. Feed me!”

“My people feed our young by regurgitating partially-digested food into their mouths. Is that what you wish for me to do?”

Rick kicks him playfully under the table. Birdperson takes a berry and holds it out just in front of Rick’s mouth in jest. Rick responds by leaning forwards and wrapping his lips around Birdperson’s fingers to eat the berry, pulling back with a shit-eating grin on his face as he chews. For once, Birdperson is the one who’s flustered. Now he understands how he must make Rick feel with his teasing.

“You are a cub rah bah, Rick Sanchez.” he admonishes. He’s fairly sure Rick doesn’t know what that means, but the other man cackles anyway, making Birdperson’s heart flutter in his chest.

Once again, Rick holds his mouth open expectantly and Birdperson feeds him another berry, then eats one himself. They continue in this manner for a while, until Birdperson is sure that the substance on Rick’s nails must have dried by now, but he finds himself putting another berry into Rick’s mouth regardless.

The gig goes reasonably well - for them, anyway - and they’re in high spirits as they walk backstage. Squanchy almost immediately makes off in search of a woman he claims to have been ‘giving him the look’ for the duration of the show, leaving Rick and Birdperson alone together.

Rick begins his typical excited post-gig breakdown, listing their successes and complimenting Birdperson’s performance while his hands bounce in front of his chest and his fingers dance. Birdperson suspects that this might not be a behaviour that’s typical for humans based on the way he’s seen Rick react when he catches himself doing it, with the kind of shame that only comes from having an intrinsic part of yourself suppressed. Birdperson, always an outcast on his home planet, understands this feeling intensely, and so tries not to draw attention to Rick’s behaviour, even though he finds it adorable.

“A-and, you know, we looked great while we were doing it!” Rick concludes in that half-joking, half-cocky way of his, indicating their dyed hair and feathers.

High on post-performance euphoria, Birdperson is filled with an uncharacteristic boldness and steps forward into Rick’s personal space, gently taking a lock of hair between his fingers.

“Yes, you did.”

Rick’s face turns redder than Birdperson has ever seen. Birdperson revels in the feeling of soft hair and their closeness to each other. He can see Rick staring at his lips and, without even meaning to, finds himself leaning in.

Apparently Rick feels the same way because the next minute they’re kissing, Rick’s lips surprisingly soft against his. Birdperson can taste the bitterness of the beer Rick had drunk before the show, smell the lingering hint of grenaberry on his hair.

When they pull back, both of them are breathing heavily. Birdperson is overwhelmed by a mixture of excitement and nervousness. Judging by Rick’s face, he appears to be experiencing a similar set of emotions.

“Rick.” Birdperson begins, but before he can put his thoughts into words, he’s interrupted by the sudden appearance of a stranger.

They both jolt backwards from each other, caught in the act. Fortunately, the stranger doesn’t seem to notice. Xe’s a member of the predominant species on this planet, a scaly six-legged reptile, with a hard grey shell-like structure on xyr back, coming up to just below Birdperson’s waist.

“Hey, I’m Taub, best agent this side of Messier 31. I’ve got clients touring across all six major systems in this quadrant, and I think you guys showed some real promise tonight. If you sign with me, I’ll get you gigs all across the galaxy. So, how about it? You boys looking for an agent?”

Rick and Birdperson glance at each other conspiratorially, their kiss forgotten.

With Taub, the Flesh Curtains finally have a steady set of gigs for the first time in their existence. More than that, they have an actual tour. Taub has just sent across the list of locations and all three band members are sitting around the table, poring over it with interest.

“Oh, man, just listen to some of these places. Alpha-Betrium, Venzenulon-9, not to mention all of our home planets!” Rick exclaims.

“You know, I wasn’t too sure about Taub at first, but xe’s really out-squanched xyrself with this.” Squanchy comments.

“And that’s not all! Check it out, boys!” Rick tears open a package to reveal black fabric. “T-shirts, motherfuckers!”

“Ooh yeah, gimme!” Squanchy reaches for it excitedly, checking out the illustration of the three of them on the front, then the list of tour locations on the back.

While their drummer is preoccupied, Rick turns to Birdperson.

“Whaddya think, Pers. P-pretty cool, right?” he asks, and Birdperson can detect a hint of nervousness in his smile. Things have been slightly awkward between the two of them since their kiss, but they’ve been busy with the band now that things are moving forward, meaning that neither of them have brought it up. Birdperson wants to, but he keeps worrying that he’s reading too much into things or misinterpreting yet another cultural difference.

“Extremely cool.” he replies, placing his hand on Rick’s in what he hopes is a reassuring way. The other man blushes and pulls his hand back, and Birdperson is more confused than ever. He opens his mouth to apologise but Rick catches his eye and gives a subtle shake of his head.

“Don’t.” he mouths, his eyes flicking to Squanchy, who’s still distracted by the shirt, rubbing it against his face with an orgasmic expression. Birdperson doesn’t understand the situation, but the instructions are clear enough, so he drops it, not wanting to make things worse.

Rick paces up and down the floor of their rented tour ship, trying and failing to avoid thinking about a number of things.

Firstly, things have been awkward between him and Birdperson ever since they kissed backstage, and while he knows he’s not helping matters, he can’t bring himself to say anything to Birdperson and risk having his heart broken or making things even more awkward, especially not while they’re on their way to their first gig of the tour, on his own home planet no less.

That brings him to the second issue. He hasn’t been back to Earth since before he met Birdperson and Squanchy, and he can’t deny the anxiety that sparks in the pit of his stomach at the thought of returning, despite knowing that their performance won’t bring them anywhere near his house. Rick’s hands alternately flap and curl into fists at his sides in response, and right there is his third issue.

He’s known his entire life that he’s not like most other people, and not just in the sense that he’s smarter than them. More specifically, he’s not like other humans, a fact that neither his parents nor his classmates had ever let him forget growing up. In response, he had used his incredible intellect and pattern-recognition skills to learn how to fit in around others. It had worked so well that he had adopted the mask almost full-time, only dropping it around a very select few people, all of whom are now dead.

However, since most aliens have never met a human, let alone have any idea of how they’re supposed to behave, he’s fallen out of the habit of hiding his oddities lately. He’s had enough interspecies culture shock just with the other members of the Flesh Curtains, let alone aliens who are gobsmacked by behaviours such as blinking and laughing, that he’s long since decided to just do whatever the fuck he wants. However, it turns out that, like a too-tight shoe, once you take the mask off, it’s very hard to put back on. Although he’s not planning on spending too much time around other humans, he’s still nervous at the thought of being very openly weird in front of them.

“Rick?” a voice from behind him breaks his spiral of anxiety and he snaps his hands guiltily to his sides as he turns to face Birdperson. Birdperson only recently seems to have realised he doesn’t need to use Rick’s full name every time, and Rick finds it almost unbearably intimate.

“Are you alright?” Birdperson asks.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine!” Rick knows instantly that Birdperson doesn’t believe him. While with anyone else he would double down on the lie, something about this man in particular manages to break through his defences. “Pers? C-can I… tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“I, um… I’m not like other humans. There’s, there’s something… wrong with me. I don’t know what it is, but I could get by, especially once I left Earth and nobody knew if I was acting normal for a human or not, but you’re about to meet other humans for the first time and…” Rick trails off, not sure if he’s trying to hold back from admitting too much or building himself up to say it. Either way, the truth slips out. “I’m worried about what you’ll think of me once you realise how weird I am.”

Rick keeps his eyes fixed on the ground, fighting tears he wasn’t expecting. This is something he’s never told another person except Diane, and he wasn’t prepared for the emotions it’s stirring up.

“Rick.” Birdperson places a hand on his shoulder. “On my planet, I am also, as you might say, a weirdo. Until I met Squanchy, I had never had a friend. He told me there is a word for it in common, ‘autistic’.”

At first, Rick had found himself feeling relieved and connected to Birdperson, but hearing that final word makes something in him snap.

“I’m not fucking autistic.” he hears himself growl, his heart pounding in fear as he thinks of a cousin he had been told his whole life had died as a baby until one fateful argument with his dad had revealed that she had been sent away to an asylum for ‘the severely disturbed’, the place his dad had told Rick he should’ve been sent to. Rick feels a hot, sick rage bubbling up his throat, his body trembling with adrenaline.

“Rick.” Birdperson’s calm and concerned voice snaps him back to reality.

“I’m not autistic.” Rick repeats, his voice shaking.

“Forgive me. I do not know what this means on Earth. I had not heard of this word until I left my planet. I merely wished to reassure you that I will not think you weird, no matter how different you are to other humans.”

A sob forces its way from Rick’s mouth, and he can’t believe he’s crying in front of Birdperson, but he can’t help himself. He feels Birdperson wrap his arms around him and clings to him tightly, sobbing against the other man’s bare chest.

“It is OK, Rick. I am here. I will not leave.” Birdperson reassures him.

Rick fights to calm himself and steady his breathing. Eventually, he manages to stop crying, quickly wiping tears and snot from his face. He can’t bring himself to look at Birdperson.

“Come.” Birdperson instructs, gently but firmly, guiding Rick with an arm around his shoulders. Rick allows himself to be led to a bed, wrapping the blankets around his entire body like a cocoon.

“Rick… I am sorry that I have upset you. It was not my intention.”

Rick sniffles and shakes his head. “I-it’s not your fault, Pers.” he mumbles. “It just… that word brought up some bad memories for me, that’s all.”

He feels Birdperson rest a hand on his arm and continues. “On Earth, people like me - like us - if people find out that’s what we are, they… they get sent away.”

“Sent away… from Earth?”

“No, just to another place on Earth. A… a bad place. If I hadn’t been smart, that’s where they would’ve sent me, too.”

“Are you in danger of this if we return to Earth?” Birdperson asks in concern.

Rick shakes his head. “No, it’s fine. They wouldn’t do that to me now. They couldn’t, even if they tried. But it happened to… to my cousin. I didn’t find out until I was older. My dad told me about it. He said it’s what should’ve happened to me.”

Rick feels Birdperson squeeze his arm.

“My father was not supportive of me being different, either. I always felt as if I had to prove myself to him, but he was never happy with me, no matter what I did. I knew I was a source of shame to him.”

Rick lets out a humourless laugh and leans to rest his head against Birdperson’s shoulder. “Sounds like we both had shitty dads.”

“Indeed.”

Birdperson wraps both an arm and a wing around Rick and rests his chin on Rick’s head. Even through his distress, Rick feels a rush of warmth in his abdomen at the gesture.

“Do not worry, Rick. Even if anybody tried to harm you, I would not let them.”

Rick’s never felt so protected, and that’s the moment when he knows that his feelings for Birdperson are far beyond just a simple crush. He swears to himself that he won’t lose Birdperson, even if it means they’ll never be more than friends. Now, more so than ever, he resolves not to bring up the kiss in fear that it might jeopardise their relationship.

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writing-yarn-goblin · 4 months

Text

MERRY FUCKING (early) CHRISTMAS!

Holy hell, what a treat.

Thanks to @quinloki for further inspiring me to do this. I couldn’t have done it without you.

Rayleigh/ShakkyxReader

Relationship: none, but it’s the beginning of the end.

Song: The Devil Wears a Suit and Tie by Colter Wall

Warning: the devil, fire, drinking and how pretty Shakky is.

“Miss (Y/N)?”

“Yes?”

“Would you mind starting from the beginning?”

The thought of recounting your story to the pink haired police man shook your core. You didn’t know if it was because of what happened…or if it was because of him.

The silver haired man who was taking nursing a serving of what could be aged bourbon. The pretty woman next to him whispering things as they sat next to you, maybe six foot apart, from the bar you frequented.

The bitter flavor of angostura clinging to your lips are you took a sip of your Old Fashion. Tonight was open mic night and you came to see what was fresh in the music scene. You could either ask for a track or bring your own instrument and sing to your hearts content.

Simple concept, but effective.

The gaudy club seemed to attract all sorts of odd fellows in the middle of nowhere. Almost like a reunion by the way they all looked at each-other and spoke to one another.

Almost like old friends.

Almost.

The looks they exchanged seemed to hide more than they showed and that made you felt more exposed to them.

Why, of all the nights, were you here? Something attracted you to this place and it rubbed you off in the worst of ways.

But just because it was worse, it didn’t mean it wasn’t welcomed.

The sick urge to see how the night unfolds just left you with a need to see it to its culmination.

“Miss (Y/N)?”

“Yes?”

“The couple by the bar wish to refill your cup. Would you like them to?”

You whipped your head towards where the bartender was nudging his head to, there they were.

Black haired woman with an angelic face, taking a drag as she waved at you and whom you presumed to be her husband…devilishly handsome with a soft smile gracing his lips.

“Yes..I uh, I’ll take my drink with them.” You mumbled, picking up your things, hopping out of the stool as you made your way towards them. Feeling how the brunette was sizing you up and her husband tear you down with his gaze from the inside.

“We don’t bite but…you looked mighty lonely. Thought you might like some more…pleasant company.” You heard his woman say, eyes of unlit coal starring behind you. Almost like if she did you a favor by moving you towards them. You heard the men behind you groan in disappointment and cursed a the couple under their breath.

“Assholes like that are normal in this part of town…” you whispered, making her laugh softly into the drink she was currently busy with.

“Rayleigh-“ you heard him say, his hand before you in order to present him self. Almost innocently. “This is my wife, Shakky. Pleased to meet you, Miss (L/N).”

“The pleasure is mine.” You whispered, reaching his hand to shake it and wondering how they knew your name. You thought it could be that you were a regular and they asked the bartender about it, all thoughts went to hell when he lifted your hand to his lips, kissing the knuckles softly. His eyes focused on the blush your face was sporting in the dimly lit pub. You felt his wife place a hand against your shoulder and lightly squeezed it, affectionally, you might add.

“Please put your hands together to our next entertainer! The man, the myth, the legend…Silvers Rayleigh!”

“That’s my queue.”

“Go get ‘em’, Old man.” You heard Shakky say as he gave both of you a smirk, eyes swishing to you as you felt them swirl and zero on you.

There was something different about that stare.

It felt so deep and intimate. So inviting yet so…

So intimidating.

With a wink he gave Shakky a kiss on lips and squeezed your shoulder, fingertips as if they were scorching against your skin.

You felt your stomach do backflips.

The man was carrying a guitar case, as he sat on the stool by the stage he took out a black Gibson Orianthi with silver details on the top left of the body. The neck was jet black and he slowly whispered into the microphone.

Testing the noise.

He didn’t need to present himself to the public. He automatically began to play the six-stringer as the club went dark, lights only focused on him.

He let out a sigh and began to sing his tune.

“Well…

Reverend, reverend, please come quick…

'Cause I've got something to admit

I met a man out in the sticks of Good Ol' Miss…

He drove a series 10 Cadillac and wore a cigar on his lip.”

You saw how the fluid motion of his fingers expertly played his guitar.

The focus on his eyes was to the floor but that smirk was to you. You knew it.

You could feel it like if it was behind you.

“Don't you know the devil wears a suit and tie?

Saw him driving down the 61 in early July.

White as a cotton field and sharp as a knife-

I heard him howling as he passed me by…”

You were surprised. The smoothness of his voice was haunting and your body was now warm. You saw how Shakky was taking a drag from a smoke in her hands and gently caressed your shoulders, almost like if she was grounding you to your seat.

The lights started to flicker in the bar, you thought it was a power outage and the bar switched to a power plant…but no one else seemed to be bothered by it.

“I’d be wary of strangers moving forward, (Y/N).” You heard Shakky say as she took a gulp of liquor, knocking it back down. “You never know who the devil fancies…”

“How so?”

“You look like an untouched fruit. Begging the devil to bite into you.” You heard this woman say to you, blush coming back harder. “Innocent. Resilient and very capable of handling yourself, little one.”

You found odd what she was saying but you didn’t mind. It was comforting to not be alone. The conversation kept going to and through with between you two, it was turning out to be a very pleasant evening.

Like if you two were old friends.

The song kept progressing, and the more you saw him sing, the more you saw from him.

The deep dark eyes seemed to glint gold in the light. You saw how his hair seemed to be hiding something in its tresses as you saw what you thought was a horn poke out of the Snow White locks.

But just momentarily.

Briefly.

Almost as if it was just for you.

“Oh

Foolish, foolish was I…”

You were back to focusing on his voice.

“Damn my foolish eyes

'Cause that man's lessons

Had a price, oh, sweet price…”

The air felt chilly for a moment. You looked to your right, where Shakky was supposed to be, but the stool was empty.

“My sweet soul,

Everlasting

A very own eternal light..”

Your blood ran cold. The seedy pub seemed to be eerily still as the six-stringer on the

Stool on stage was strumming his melody.

The moment you blinked, you found yourself outside. Blankly starring from the at the pub, blanket across your shoulders as you saw the place go down in flames.

You don’t even recall being taken outside.

The cops didn’t take much time to go to you and help you out of your trance.

Now you found yourself being escorted out of the Police Station and got a taxi to take you to your home.

Your hands were cold as you stepped out of the cab with your heart in your sleeve.

You thought you could hear the old Six stringer sing as you went inside your home, showered and cozied up in your bed.

The melody still haunting you.

You found yourself singing the end of it as you drifted to sleep, image of the man with his wife, beckoning to follow him down the path that could mean your beautiful demise.

But you didn’t care.

If it meant to have those eyes looking at you again as he did, and her touch as she did- you’d happily take the plunge.

But for now, you rest.

“White as a cotton field and sharp as a knife

I heard him howling as he passed me…by.”

#dark king rayleigh #one piece #reader insert #x reader #i am unwell #fem reader #shakky #silvers rayleigh #onepiece

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pogostikk · 9 months

Text

Info dumping rn cause I can’t seem to draw anything and I needed to engage in my au somehow.

There’s a lot I’d like to draw in my au that I haven’t been able to, particularly how Steven would entertain himself on Homeworld. He’s a small human in a giant palace with no purpose to busy himself with, of course he gets up to things when he’s not with Star.

And this was stuff he did before Connie, she had no idea how good at sneaking around Steven was till later.

Obviously it would be hard to get around without being noticed, I think Steven also wouldn’t enjoy the gawking stares when he wasn’t being picked up and brought back to (Star’s… Quarters? Chamber? I dunno) his room. But also occasionally some gem would get brave and be like oh wow Star’s “pet” is so adorable let me go say hi! Which is also uncomfortable bc who wants to be dehumanized?

Anyway getting off track here, Steven would be able to get around by going through secret pathways that led pretty much anywhere, I’m calling them the Pearl Pathways for now. I got inspired by the servants’ staircases, which were in Victorian houses of certain sizes. Apparently they were used because servants were expected to be out of sight when they were moving around (I haven’t done much research). Which is messed up, but I feel like gems would have a similar opinion of pearls. So I broadened the concept. And I think Steven would totally be allowed to enter them. Orchid probably introduced him to all the local pearls, and they could understand his experience of needing/wanting to stay out of sight, so he became a bit of an honorary pearl and was allowed entry. Which btw, pearls aren’t allowed to explore any hobbies or have any fun, so I imagine they get by by sharing all the tea they gather from standing by their gems all the time. And Steven totally gets to hear all the gossip, he knows all about the “scandalous” fusions, and the opinions of higher ranking gems that would never be spoken otherwise. If he was desperate and needed something done, he’d have blackmail. Lol

I honestly think Steven could befriend anyone, and with all those secret halls, I bet he found his way to those sentient gems made into architecture. The show never talked about them much, but I think they were harvested gems used to build the palaces or something of the like. I bet they get bored. And I bet they enjoy Steven’s company and laugh at all his corny clown jokes.

When Steven isn’t traveling the palace talking to pearls or architecture gems (I don’t know what else to call them), I honestly think he’d be reading. Orchid definitely taught him gemglyph. So he’d sometimes just read up on gem reports or the empire’s history on his (organic-accessible) screen.

And then when he gets bored of doing that he’d go find Star and beg him to hang out with him. And Star wants to hang out with Steven, he really does, but he can’t afford to neglect his court and god forbid anger the other diamonds. So then Star would see if Spinel could hang out with Steven. And that’s like a last resort because they kind of trouble they could cause could be catastrophic.

Steven is a total extrovert and overall just loves getting to know people. Star is the exact opposite, he doesn’t enjoy talking to people much but I also wonder if introversion and extroversion would even exist in gems? Like I bet they have their preferences regarding socializing but do they have like levels of energy that is based on how much they interact with others? Either way, Star isn’t a big fan of big groups of ppl or making tons of friends, he’s just a workaholic and his work involves talking to tons of gems. He doesn’t mind Steven’s presence though. Sometimes he’s not up to chatting endlessly or even hearing Steven go on talking from subject to subject (he can be up for it tho and it happens), and they’ll just do their own thing in each other’s company.

Anyways I’m done ranting now, if you made it this far congrats I hope this was somewhat entertaining.

#steven universe #su au #human steven #pink steven #connie maheswaran #I’ll probably do this again at some point so I can talk about what Steven and Connie did together when she came to Homeworld

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mirrortouchedsea · 6 months

Text

What does being an idol mean to you, Kohakucchi?

wc: 2467

Despite being an idol for a few months going on a year, Kohaku doesn't really understand the concept of idols.

This was my piece for @alkakureizine ! You should check it out everyone did a great job ^.^

Read on AO3

----

“Hey Niki-han,” Kohaku started as Niki set a plate with his lunch in front of him. “What does it mean to be an idol?”

Niki’s face took on a pensive look, like the question was hard to answer concisely. “Hmm, well I’m not too sure, Kohaku-chan. Why don’t we talk about it together over lunch? My break starts in a minute here.”

“Sure.” Kohaku took a bite of his food as he let his thoughts surface again. He had been having doubts about being an idol, about what it meant to sing and dance on stage with Crazy:B (and to some extent, with Double Face). Could someone like him even call himself an idol?

It was just a minute later when Niki set down an astounding five plates piled with food on the table and sat across from Kohaku and began eating.

“So Kohaku-chan, what brought this on?” He asked between bites, not bothering to wipe the sauce dripping down his chin. Kohaku thought it was almost endearing how much Niki was “un-idollike” in these moments. Niki felt more down to earth than some of the other idols at ES at least.

“I was just thinkin’ about a conversation I had with Rabu-han earlier is all,” he responded. “I know Rabu-han says we’re real idols but ‘m not too sure what that really means sometimes, and I don’t think he does either. At the very least, he didn’t care for my answer on the subject.”

“Nyahaha! Is that all? Well, Rinne-kun would always say that idols bring love and joy to the world with their music when we were younger. He’d never admit to that now though.” Niki moved one of his plates to the side and began working on his second one. “Do idols have to be contained to just the music industry though? I think that Nagumo kid from Ryuseitai would consider me an ‘idol’ from my cooking show days.”

“Huh, I didn’t know that Tetora-han looked up to you like that.”

“Me neither, he just came up to me one day and started talking about how he used to watch my show when he was younger. He’s an enthusiastic one at least!”

The two of them laughed at that.

“Well I s’pose that idols could be anyone that someone looks up to. Even the man on the news could be an idol to someone out there, but I don’t think that’s what most people think of when you say ‘idol’...”

“Hmm, yeah, TV personalities are being phased out to make room for musical idols more and more. Oh, how I wish I could still do a cooking show like I used to!”

Kohaku knew that Niki was thinking about a specific set of events, though the details had never really been made clear to him. Rinne would always dance around the topic and Niki would just change it altogether.

“Well then, I guess Rinne-kun was right for once about idols being people who make you smile and want to live! We wouldn’t be here without his love of them, after all.”

“What d’ya mean, Niki-han?”

“Oh, did we never tell you? Rinne-kun ran into an idol when I first picked him up off the street who inspired him to keep going or something. That’s how he tells the story anyway. I think he might have just seen someone on one of those TV displays on the street and got taken in by all the glitter.”

“Kohkohkoh, you really don’t trust him, do ya.”

“Nah, I trust Rinne-kun with a lot of things, but to not exaggerate his idol origin story isn’t one of them.”

Kohaku raised an eyebrow. “You trust Rinne-han with anything?”

“Well…”

They laughed lightly as Niki finished another plate.

“Anyway, Kohaku-chan, I think you’re a great idol. You’ve got a lot of fans who love you and cheer you on, even as Double Face! We’re all a little awkward on stage but that’s part of our charm, isn’t it?”

“I guess you’re right, Niki-han. Rabu-han always talks about how people think you’re cute and adorable on stage when you forget the choreography. He doesn’t like to tell me what they say about me online though.”

“Hmm, I wonder why that is.”

“I think he just wants me t’ focus on the people we see at our lives. He tells Otouto-han the same thing.”

“Does that answer your question then, Kohaku-chan?”

“I think I have a better understanding of idols now. Thanks, Niki-han.”

“Nahaha, I’m glad! I have to get back on the clock in a minute here, but I’ll see you at practice later, right?”

“We have practice later?”

---

The next day, HiMERU and Kohaku met up at the cafe and slid into a booth in the far corner. HiMERU finished scribbling some notes on the paper in front of him and slid it to the boy across from him.

“Here’s the notes from the meeting you missed yesterday. HiMERU recommends just skimming over it, as we don’t have any important work this week.”

“Thanks, HiMERU-han. Didn’t we have that new song we were supposed to be learning?”

“Ah, yes, thank you for reminding HiMERU. He believes it should be…here.” He points to a circled date on the schedule. “Try to practice your vocals before then. HiMERU is free this afternoon if you’d like to work on them together.”

“Thanks again. You really don’t have to do that for me though.”

“Nonsense. HiMERU needs to make sure his junior is keeping up with everything. Please let HiMERU know if you have any questions.”

“Yeah yeah I got it you don’t have to keep repeating yourself like that.”

HiMERU chuckled. “Of course, HiMERU will keep that in mind.”

Their drinks were called out from the counter and HiMERU excused himself to get them, leaving Kohaku alone for a minute. The question he had asked Niki the other day tickled at the back of his mind, wanting to know what HiMERU thought about it. He would probably have a very different answer from Niki at the very least.

A bright pink drink with whipped cream was set in front of him, pulling him from his thoughts.

“Here you go. Enjoy, Oukawa.”

Kohaku nodded as he bent the straw towards his mouth and took a drink. It was really sweet, almost too sweet. Aira might like it more than Kohaku did, though Aira would also probably insist on sharing it.

“Hey, HiMERU-han, I got a question for you.”

“What is it, Oukawa?”

“What does being an idol mean to you?”

HiMERU took a sip of his coffee.

“Such an interesting question, Oukawa. Why do you ask?”

“I was just thinkin’ about it. Rabu-han asked me a few days ago and didn’t seem to like my answer so…”

“Ah, HiMERU understands. An idol to HiMERU is someone who is perfect and yet down to earth. Someone that their fans can aspire to be some day.”

The answer is so matter of fact that Kohaku takes a second to respond.

“That’s a very HiMERU-han answer.”

“What do you mean by that, Oukawa?”

“It just feels like somethin’ you’d say. Which I guess is why yer sayin’ it.”

HiMERU chuckles and takes another sip of his drink.

“HiMERU is glad to hear that.”

“Mhm. Anyway, do you have any idols that you look up to, HiMERU-han?”

HiMERU hesitated and took a long sip of his coffee.

“He would rather not talk about that.”

Kohaku raised an eyebrow.

“Maybe another time, Oukawa.”

There’s an awkward pause as Kohaku tried to figure out what to say again. The mood had soured just a little bit and he wanted to avoid making it worse.

“Forget about it then. You said you were free to help me later, right?”

HiMERU smiles again and sets his cup down. “Of course. He finishes his job around three this afternoon if that works for you?”

---

The music ended and everyone slid into their final position with the last beat. Their breathing was heavy and the stench of sweat filled the air, but they had finally mastered their newest choreography. Kohaku felt proud looking at himself in the mirror with everyone else. He really had come a long way since their first live all those months ago.

“Alright! Great job everybody!” Rinne shouted, pulling everyone into a very sweaty hug. They all grumbled, but Kohaku could see the tiny smiles on HiMERU and Niki’s faces. This song had been giving them difficulty with all of the complex jumps and having to stay in sync so much, but they had finally gotten to something presentable.

Just in time for their live, too. With just under a week left, they had all been worried about being able to get this dance down. Niki had even asked to simplify some of the choreography, but when they tried that, everyone agreed it wasn’t nearly as impressive as the original, and thus scrapped the idea.

HiMERU and Niki were already out the door, yelling something about meeting up for dinner in a few hours. Kohaku tentatively approached Rinne who was packing up the rest of their gear to take back, sweaty towel draped around his neck.

“Hey, Rinne-han, can I ask ya something?” Why did this feel so awkward? He didn’t really approach Rinne first, it was normally the other way around.

“Aw, Kohaku-chan has a question for me? Shoot, little man.”

Kohaku rolled his eyes. “I was just wondering what being an idol means to you?”

“Where’s this comin’ from? Did little Ai-chan put something in your head again?”

“Rabu-han has nothing to do with this.” Kohaku felt his face heat up. “Not in the way yer thinkin’ anyway.”

Rinne laughed. “‘Course he doesn’t. But why do you want to know?”

“It’s for a school project,” Kohaku lied through his teeth. He knew Rinne would see right through it, though the older man didn’t say anything to that.

“Alright, if it’s that important, I s’pose you can get an exclusive interview with the Amagi Rinne.” Kohaku rolled his eyes again. Maybe this was a mistake.

“Well, you already know how I ran into that idol on the street and it completely changed the course of my life, yeah? That’s also shaped my own philosophy on idols. I know the other bees probably told you some bullshit about making people smile and laugh, but it’s more than that.

“Being an idol is about giving people a place to belong. Crazy:B is there for the underdogs, the people that society tries to crush under its thumb, telling them to get back up and fight back, to speak their mind. If nothing else, we’ll be there to support them.

“It’s more than just those surface level emotions. Music should resonate with the soul.” Rinne pointed to his heart. “You want to feel the music in your bones, scream those lyrics and mean them with everything you have. Never back down and never give up.”

Kohaku was entranced for a moment after Rinne was done speaking, expecting something else to come after.

“That was…very profound of you to say, Rinne-han.”

“Kyahaha! I’m full of surprises, Kohaku-chan!”

“But uh, thanks a lot. I think I get it now.”

“So what exactly is this ‘school project’ you needed this for?”

“Uh…” Kohaku bolted for the door as Rinne cackled and chased him out, both of them abandoning their practice bags in the room. They could always come back for them later anyway.

---

After thinking about all of the answers he had gotten, Kohaku met up with Aira in the cafeteria again. He set his plate of food down and slid in the booth across from his dear friend who was typing away on his phone.

“Oh! I didn’t see you, Kohakucchi! You said you had something for me?” Aira tapped the enter key and clicked his phone off, putting it face down on the table.

“Yeah. I’ve thought about what it means to really be an idol for me and--”

“You didn’t have to take it that seriously, Kohakucchi! I was mostly just joking with you and Hiiro since you two don’t know anything about idols.”

Kohaku felt his face flush again.

“Well if you don’t wanna hear my answer then--”

“Agh! No I didn’t mean it like that, Kohakucchi! Please tell me!”

Kohaku flicked a piece of rice at Aira and took a bite of his food.

“I s’pose I can tell ya then, since you asked so nicely.” Kohaku purposefully chewed slowly on his food as he put his thoughts in order. “Well, Niki-han said being an idol is about making people smile, and doesn’t necessarily mean yer in the music business. Anyone can be an idol in any occupation.”

Aira nods with a curious look on his face. He almost certainly didn’t agree but found the answer interesting all the same.

“An’ HiMERU-han said that an idol should be somethin’ anyone can aspire to be, someone’ untouchable but humble.”

“HiMERU-senpai is kind of old fashioned, though I guess that makes sense.”

“An’ Rinne-han was Rinne-han. He said idols have to give a voice to the voiceless or somethin’ like that.”

“He’s more…idealistic than I thought he would be.” Aira took a bite from his snack. “But you still haven’t told me what being an idol means to you, Kohakucchi.”

It was then that Kohaku realized he hadn’t actually thought of his own answer. He supposed it was probably a mix of the others but…

---

Just like in practice, the music wound down and they all slid into place. Niki’s jump was a beat behind but everyone was able to cover for it, and honestly? It was still a very Crazy:B performance.

The audience is cheering and Kohaku thinks about what Aira said. You still haven’t told me what being an idol means to you. His eyes scan the crowd and he lands on a group of people towards the back of the small venue. They’re excitedly jumping and yelling with everyone else, decked out in what looked like handmade merch (maybe they couldn’t afford idol merch? It was certainly a possibility).

He recognized them from a few of their other lives. Did they go to one of their handshake events too? They must have.

Everything clicks into place as Kohaku realizes why he’s an idol. There are people just like him out there, people who feel isolated by their families from the world, people who can’t connect with others easily who are brought together by Crazy:B’s music. By his music. Because he’s up on stage and having fun with his friends (his new family), people are finding a reason to keep going.

He smiles and waves to the crowd, smiling brightly at the fans in the back row.

#shay writes #enstars #ensemble stars #kohaku oukawa #niki shiina #himeru #rinne amagi #aira shiratori #I'VE HAD THIS FINISHED FOR MONTHS YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW LONG I'VE BEEN WANTING TO POST THIS

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