#and i've also never been to a concert before

[acosmicbee]

Rising Star

(The Kpop Demon Hunters inspired fic I've been working on! Hope you all enjoy it! All band names were made up on the spot so if theres a shared name with a real band... whoops. Also! I just want to say that I hope you're all safe with all the floods going on around the country right now (Both in Texas and North Carolina). My heart goes out to everyone affected and I hope everyone's okay.)

It wasn't news that the bands 'Three of Hearts' and 'D4RK3Y3' hated each other. Even if the fans never openly acknowledged it and both groups constantly attended the same events, there was always some sort of tension between them.

Both of their leaders, Blair from Three of Hearts and Rowan from D4RK3Y3, could hardly be in the same room as each other. Their thinly veiled insults back and forth were often disregarded of their true meaning by their fanbases and instead interpreted as 'hostile flirting'.

Neither of them were happy about that. In fact, Blair spent most of her time on talkshows having to reiterate again and again that nothing had ever, or would ever, happen between her and Rowan. Rowan just laughed, truly laughed like it was the most hilarious and unserious thing ever, whenever someone mentioned any of the dating rumors.

The other members of Three of Hearts, Calliope and Maeve, were in the same boat. Even though they weren't as openly hostile with Dante and Kenji, the other members of D4RK3Y3, they were still being shipped mercilessly.

Their bands were in constant conflict, always trading #1 and #2 spots between each other week by week. A concert would shoot D4RK3Y3 to the top only for a merch launch to reinstate Three of Hearts. It was a never ending rivalry.

Perhaps it was the lack of attention they were paying to the rest of the ranks every week. Maybe it was just somehow slipping under the radar, who knows? All they know is both Blair and Rowan woke up one day to an unfamiliar name in the number 3 trending spot.

Current Music Rankings:

1 - D4RK3Y3

2 - Three of Hearts

3 - Y/N L/N

‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹

For you, on the other hand, it was a perfectly normal morning. You woke up with a yawn, immediately checking for any texts from your manager. Technically, he was your father's manager, but he'd more-so taken you on as his main client at your father's request when your singing career began to take off.

There was a reminder about a photoshoot for a clothing line during the morning, then rehearsal for your show tonight, then the show itself. You still remembered dropping your phone in shock when you saw how much tickets were selling for before publicly asking people to please stop reselling your tickets for the price of someone's rent.

It wasn't like you needed money, being a nepo baby of a famous actor. The only reason you'd started singing was because it made you happy and feel wanted by someone. You made sure to give out more than almost anyone else in what you not only paid your team for their help, but charities of your choosing.

It was part of the reason you had such loyal staff members, even if you didn't think of them as such. Your manager was Uncle Chris, your lead makeup artist was Aunt Connie. They were your family, the only people you had who saw the real you.

You were already humming one of the songs you'd be performing tonight as you sat at the kitchen counter, a plate of pancakes and a cup of chamomile tea waiting for you. Chris walked in a few minutes after you sat down, on the phone with someone as he handed you a written version of your schedule for the day.

"Save your voice, Y/N. Wouldn't want you to lose it before the performance tonight." Chris said, finally getting off his phone call. "Now, lets get ready to go to that photoshoot, yeah?"

‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹

"Turn a little- yeah, there." Honestly the photoshoot wasn't going too badly. The clothes were comfortable, even if they did feel a little childish. Then again, that was the brand you had somehow managed to accumulate.

All cutesy and soft and pastel. You didn't entirely hate it, at least not all the time, but it got tiring after a while. It didn't help that it made a lot of the other singers or actors you'd worked with in the past treat you like a child. You were a very proud 15 year old, thank you very much.

You were changing into one of the last outfits, some cozy space themed sweatpants and a soft, oversized sweater with stars stitched into it, when the door to the studio opened.

"Marcello! We are in the middle of a shoot!" You could hear the photographer yelling as you exited the dressing room. You had to do a double take when you saw Blair Axford walking behind him, a strangled wheeze leaving your throat.

You'd been a fan of Three of Hearts since their debut, you had their posters up in your bedroom. You also had some D4RK3Y3 posters as well, but your true inspiration was Three of Hearts. The song that had made Chris notice you as more than his boss' child was one of theirs.

"Miss Blair! I apologize, but I'm in the middle of a shoot right now." The photographer said. You could see Blair's eyes looking around before they landed on you. You who were currently dressed in childish space themed almost-pajamas in front of one of your biggest idols.

Needless to say you felt your face burning in embarrassment when she smiled at you, a soft smile that you've seen parents give their children. She walked over to you, her blond hair in a flawless ponytail as she extended her hand.

"It's a pleasure to meet you. You're Y/N L/N, right? I've heard a lot about you." She said kindly, laughing a little at your flustered expression.

"Please excuse her, Y/N's a giant fan of yours." Chris said, approaching the two of you. His words only make your face darken more as you eagerly ran back to where the photographer was waiting. "I'm Christopher Farley, Y/N's manager and family friend."

"They're a cute kid." She said, watching as the photographer positioned you in the bedroom-esque set. A book about space spread across your lap as you stared out at a green screen window. "Are they really a fan?"

"Actually, it was your music that got them into singing. I think I still have the video somewhere of them at 6 years old singing along to one of your songs as they danced around the living room." He said with a laugh. "Just don't tell them I told you that. They can get rather shy."

"Long time fan, huh... They're what, 15? So they've been a fan since we started playing basically." Blair said, doing the math in her head. She watched as the photographer had you lay on the set's bed, staring up at the ceiling. "Anyway, I just came here to see if Liam was busy so we could talk about an upcoming photoshoot. I'll be taking my leave now."

With that she made her way towards the exit to the studio only to pause to wave at you as you exited the set to change into the last outfit of the shoot. "Bye sweetheart!" She called, watching as your face instantly went bright red.

As she stepped out into the hallway she pulled out her phone, calling Calliope. "Hey Cal, is Maeve with you?... I scoped out the kid rising the ranks like I said I would but I think we all underestimated how adorable they are... They aren't after our rank, it's not another D4RK3Y3 type thing. Anyway, they're having a concert tonight and I think I'm gonna buy us all tickets so you can see for yourselves."

‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹

"I'm here." Rowan said, wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses. He hadn't wanted to spend an arm and a leg on some ticket for a kid who was trying to steal his band's rightful spot at the top of the charts, but here he was. Front row too.

It was bad enough dealing with Blair and her harpies without some dumb kid getting thrown into the mix. Unfortunately, Dante and Kenji both had stuff to do so here he was, suffering alone in a sea of young adults.

When the show finally started he had to admit to himself that he could see the appeal. You were wearing this pastel purple jacket with cute swirls all over it and light blue pants. It was cute, a nice appropriate outfit for a kid, even if it did make you look a bit younger.

It was toward the end of the concert when you paused in the middle of a song, gesturing for the band to stop playing as your eyes fixed on the mezzanine. "Does someone need medical attention up there?" You asked, a hand blocking the light from your eyes as you searched the crowd.

"Can we get some medical attention up there please?" You asked, looking offstage. "Is there anyone else who needs help right now? Anyone who needs water?"

It was only after making sure that everyone else was okay, and getting a couple of people who needed it some water, that you continued. It was mature of you, Rowan thought. He'd heard and seen his fair share of accidents at concerts, but normally it was the security who noticed first.

But you had been the one to stop the music, to call out and make sure your fans were okay. Maybe you were more than just a dumb kid. When the show finally ended, he found himself a little surprised at how enjoyable it had been.

You clearly had fun, performing like that. You were a natural. Of course he knew that the whole pastel, innocent vibe was just marketing, but it worked well. Maybe he bought some merch of yours that night, maybe he didn't. But he never looked to his left to see three familiar girls talking in hushed tones as they did the same.

‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹

"Two collabs!" Chris said, when you finally emerged from your room for breakfast the next day. "This is so amazing, Y/N!"

"My brain isn't working this early. Why are you so excited?" You murmured, your throat a little sore from all the singing yesterday. A cup of tea was waiting for you and you took a sip, relaxing as the flavor of honey and ginger hit your taste buds.

"Both the managers for Three of Hearts and D4RK3Y3 reached out asking about possible collaborations! Apparently some members of both bands were at your show last night and were really impressed with your work!" That made you spit out your tea, choking and coughing as you did so.

"H-Huh...?!" You stuttered, wiping tea off of your face with the arm of your pajamas. "Wait, what kinds of collaborations are we talking about?!"

"For Three of Hearts, they want you to record a song with them for their upcoming album. D4RK3Y3's manager said something about a photoshoot for a different clothing line." Chris said, typing furiously on his phone.

"Why would they want me- basically their rival as far as rankings is concerned- to model for them?" You questioned suspiciously, taking an actual sip of tea this time.

"Same reason as why Blair 'accidentally' stopped by the photographers yesterday during your shoot." Chris said, never looking up from his phone. "They're scoping out the competition."

‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹

"Wow. You're tinyer in person."

You barely had time to be offended before another boy appeared on your other side, playfully stealing your hat and holding it out of your reach.

"They are quite small. I guess you really aren't lying about your age. Only a kid would be that small." He said, holding your hat higher when you tried jumping for it. "Aw, look at you trying to play adult.

"Dante, Kenji, stop teasing them." Rowan chuckled, appearing out of the back room. "They are our guest, after all."

Rowan had definitely perfected the whole 'bad boy' persona he was known for. He absolutely had the smirk and tone down at least. Kenji had finally lowered your hat just enough that you were able to snatch it back with an annoyed huff.

You rolled your eyes as you shoved your hat back on your head, deciding to be the bigger person, even if you weren't physically. "My name is Y/N L/N. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Wow, so formal! I'm sure you know who we are already, do we even need an introduction?" Dante asked with a sly smile. "Then again, I guess it's probably 100 times better to hear it in person. I'm Dante Cromwell."

"Kenji Sato at your service, pipsqueak." Kenji said, appearing on your other side as he ushered you further into the studio. "Come on kid, let's see what you've got. Apparently you can sing well enough without autotune, but is all that photogenic stuff natural?"

"Guys, be nice," Rowan laughed, following the three of you inside as the shoot began.

You were better than they thought, better than they expected. You listened well to the photographer, and the outfits looked good on you, even if they were outside your normal marketed range of pastels. You pulled off red and black, D4RK3Y3's signature colors, well.

Not to mention you had the most adorable pout whenever they'd tease you, like a wronged puppy. When Chris finally came to pick you up, already on his phone talking about some other thing you had to do, they were a bit disappointed to see you go.

"Hmm... Maybe we should do something else with them." Dante suggested, from the passenger seat of Kenji's bright red porsche. Kenji himself hummed in agreement from behind the wheel.

The pictures would launch in a couple of weeks, once they were done being edited and photoshopped. Rowan was wondering how much the photographer would charge for all the raw shots from today, the ones that still had a little bit of the true you in them. Maybe that was something worth spending money on.

‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹

“Oh my god, you’re even cuter in person! Blair, you held out on us!” Maeve yelled, squishing your cheeks. You’d barely even entered the recording studio before she’d descended upon you, cooing and aweing at you.

“Chill out Mae-Mae, you’re gonna scare them off. They are cute though.” Calliope said from where she was tuning her guitar. “You ready to sing, sweetheart?”

You nodded, fighting back an embarrassed blush. This was almost worse than the nonstop teasing you’d endured from D4RK3Y3 a couple days ago during the photoshoot. At least the girls were being nice about it, even if they were treating you a little childishly.

“I’m sure you’ll do great, you have an amazing voice.” Blair laughed, coming up behind Maeve to pull her off of you. “The producer is asking for you. Ready to record?”

“Yep!” You eagerly ran inside, hoping you weren’t noticably flustered. After all, how often is it that you not only get to meet, but work with your heroes? Almost never! Well besides the photoshoot from a few days ago… but still! This oportunity might never come around again so you were going to do your best to make them proud.

You did your best, listening when the producer had you try different ways of singing it, playing around with the sounds. By the time you had finally been given the ‘okay’ that your part sounded perfect, you were tired, but happy. 

You were invited to stick around and watch as Blair, Calliope and Maeve finished up their own recordings. It was so interesting to you to be on the other side of the recording booth for someone else. You felt like your life was made all the more complete when they invited you out to dinner to celebrate only for your heart to be crushed when Chris walked in and heard them.

“Y/N, you have dinner with your father tonight. He’s coming home from his most recent shoot.” He shut you down with a dissapointed sigh when you tried to argue that this was the first that you were hearing about it, already ushering you out the door. “I told you this morning Y/N, I know I did. Maybe you can have dinner with them another time.”

Blair, Calliope and Maeve watched how unhappy you looked as you were spoken to like a child. They knew you cared for your manager from how you’d talked about him when they’d asked earlier, but that could’ve also been because he was all you had in terms of support. Either way, it rubbed them the wrong way. Your happiness should’ve been the top priority and maybe it was time for someone to show you that.

‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹

“What is that.” Rowan demanded, glaring at the artist and song rankings for the week. Last week D4RK3Y3 had been on top again so he knew Three of Hearts would probably revive from the dead like every week, but he hadn’t been expecting this.

“You’re joking.” Dante hissed, angrily begining to pace Rowan’s apartment. Kenji didn’t even have anything to say, just walking over to the punching bag in the corner and taking a few hard swings at it. Even when the chain creaked dangerously he didn’t stop, anger overtaking him. They were all angry.

Some new single, catchy enough title and chorus, yada yada, whatever. Didn’t matter. What mattered was the little ‘(feat. Y/N L/N)’ next to the song title. You. How had they gotten to you first?! More importantly, why hadn’t they though to ask you for a song collab first?! How could they have let Blair and her crones steal you away?! No, no they’d show you that they were better. 

The second the clothing line launched and the photoshoot pictures went viral, everyone would see you in their colors. You were just some kid who needed a little help to see who really had your best interests at heart. Sure, they were a little mean and rough around the edges, but you’d handled it so well. Don’t worry, they’d protect you.

‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹

“I can’t believe them!” Maeve hissed, her hands vibrating in anger around her phone screen. “Red and black?! Those aren’t even their best colors! Look at how shaded and dark it makes their face look!”

“You know how those three get. They’re like dogs, mercilessly marking anything they can.” Calliope was already writing a whole new diss track on them, her pen angrily scratching against the pages of her notebook. “Those no good, dirty-!”

“Poor Y/N. I doubt they even knew what they were getting into.” Blair lamented, falling back onto her couch. “Poor sweetheart… We should reach out to them and see if they’re okay.”

Of course you didn’t mean to work with such antagonistic people. It was surely that awful manager of yours who’d forced you into it and you were just too naieve to see it! They’d find some way to take care of him- to take care of you! Oh poor dear, don’t you worry, soon you’ll be safe. Then maybe they could finally take you out for dinner like you’d wanted.

‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹

It had been a weird few weeks to say the least. Both D4RK3Y3 and Three of Hearts had reached out practically demanding more collabs. The fans were loving it, already passing around rumors about their sudden interest in you.

Of course there was the gross minority with the super wrong ideas, but you ignored them. There were the fans saying that the whole thing was a rivalry competition and you were the current item being fought over. As in, whoever got the most popular collab with you won. 

Then there were the others who immediately started talking about how it was clear Rowan and Blair had broken up, and you were the child of divorce, getting pulled from parent to parent. Honestly, it wasn’t even that far off, aside from the fact that they were never together.

From the way they talked about each other you’d think some super messy divorce had gone on. Rowan, Kenji and Dante spent most of their collab time with you, outside of actually doing the necesary work, warning you about how Blair just wanted to steal your soul like some kind of demon and how they would protect you like the ‘honorary big brothers’ they were.

Blair, Calliope and Maeve made it known just how little they thought of the boys. They were playboys, bullies, cheaters. They couldn’t be honest to save their lives. They were only interested in you because you were the newest shiny thing, but don’t worry your pretty little head. You had them on your side and they would save you.

Either way you started telling Chris to start rejecting some of the collabs. You were tired and needed a break, not to mention you were tired of being stuck between the two groups. The fans were right, you really were embodying a child of divorce right now. Maybe you should donate some more money towards free therapy for children in need, or get a therapist yourself. Or a vacation. Yeah, a vacation sounded nice.

‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹

It had been a week of complete silence. Any calls immediately went to voicemail, all texts went unanswered. It was like you had just… vanished. Gone.

It was coinidence that both bands got fed up on the same day, making the trip out to your house to make sure that you were okay. Despite their mutual hatred for each other, their concern and worry for you overwhelmed that. Both groups were standing at the top of the stairs, ringing the doorbell when the front door opened.

Of course they knew who your father was, everyone did. You never hid your nepo baby status, but it was different seeing him in person. He didn’t even seem surprised, just welcomed them in with a knowing smile, leading them to a fancy sitting room.

“Y/N isn’t here right now. They’re currently enjoying a nice, phone-free vacation halfway across the world. They may be my child but everyone gets overwhelmed now and again.” He said, elegantly perched on a fancy leather chair.

“When will they be back?” Maeve and Kenji asked simultaniously, only to glare at each other.

“Depends on when they feel rested.” He said with a sly smile. “But lets be real here. You six are possesive, no? More so than what is considered ‘socially acceptable’. It doesn’t bother me, I’ve been in your shoes before, but it does bother Y/N. My question is, what are you going to do to make them feel more comfortable? To make them feel safe enough that they rely on you by themself?”

‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹

When you finally arrived home from vacation it was blissfully peaceful. Three of Hearts and D4RK3Y3 had backed off, saying they were ready for you when you wanted to collab with them. They would wait for when you wanted to have dinner with them. They’d even stop fighting around you if it would make you happy.

Truth be told, it worked. It was more enjoyable being around them now, you were happier. You would navigate lunch and dinners around your busy schedule, finding time to spend with them. They seemed to have changed, then again, your dad said they had stopped by while you were on vacation and he’d talked to them. Maybe he’d said something to convince them to tone it down.

You would likely never know that he’d instead taught them to hide it better. To cover their tracks and find their own ways to indulge without overwhelming you. Photos, videos, social media posts. Soon they’d know you better than you knew yourself.

It was refreshing to know that there would be people looking out for his darling child. He loved you in his own way, but he was a busy man with a chosen little sibling of his own. One he’d certainly been neglecting with his busy filming schedule. Maybe it was time to be home for a bit, take some time for himself. After all, he was sure Chris was beginning to get a bit lonely, even if he did have you.

Rest assured, he’d make sure your new siblings never went too far, but wasn’t it nice to feel loved and cared for? Wasn’t it nice to have such dedicated big siblings? All you needed to do was accept it.

[yourfavoritewag]

All I see is You

pairing: lando norris x sienna ray (popstar) genre: slow-burn romance • fluff • mutual crush • interviews & banter structure: third person, lowercase, alternating povs setting: formula 1 movie premiere weekend – monaco, 2025

🎬 sienna ray – interview with variety magazine (june 2025)

"q: how did you end up with a song in the f1 movie?"

"a: i’d always loved the sound of engines growing up, weirdly calming? so when the lewis reached out and said the movie needed a song for a pivotal turning point like, where the main driver starts falling for his love interest, i just… wrote from my gut. it’s called “all i see is you.”

"q: do you follow f1?"

"a: i do. im a big drive to survive girlie. the drivers are unreal. also pretty sexy if im begin honest." [laughs]

"q: do you have a favourite driver? i know some of them follow you on social media."

"a: i love lewis, he is amazing in every aspect. im also a carlos supporter, mr smooth operator. lando is pretty cute too, cheeky but thats hot."

🏁 lando pov – later that week

lando’s in the mclaren motorhome, feet up on a chair, scrolling instagram.

sienna ray posted. it's a photo dump. he scrolls through the pictures. a pretty sunset, photo of her with friends at dinner, food, and a video.

the video stands out because it's her lipsyncing her song for the f1 movie wearing an orange number 4 mclaren cap.

lando literally drops his phone.

“you’re ridiculous,” oscar piastri says from across the room, not even looking up from his phone.

"did you see what she posted? she's wearing MY MERCH." lando say's loudly.

lando groans. “she’s just, cool. like way too cool. and hot. and talented. and her voice is—” he clutches his chest dramatically.

carlos sainz walks by with a smoothie. “just talk to her.”

lando glares. “why don’t you talk to god while you’re at it. she's never going to notice me."

"clearly you didn't see her interview with that magazine." oscar says in a sing song tone smiling cheekily at lando.

lando quickly searches for it and squeals when he reads that she said he is hot.

🎥 lando – red carpet interview

the interviewer smiles, holding a mic a little too close.

"lando, huge night. who are you most excited to see?”

lando scratches the back of his neck. he's in black tailored suit pants and a loose, no-tie shirt, his hair doing that perfect-flop thing. he looks good and he knows it, but his voice betrays him.

"i probably say brad pitt or one of the big actors i've been watching since a kid, but i'm gonna be honest and say sienna ray. she’s here, right? i am a huge fan."

"she is. you like her music?"

he laughs, eyes darting away.

“yeah. spotify wrapped number 1 artist last year. the song she did for the film? literally hasn’t left my head since i heard it. it’s stupid good.”

“have you met her yet?”

“no. god, no.”

“you planning to?”

lando blinks.

“only if i don’t throw up first.”

🎤 driver roundtable interview clip

"remember these are rapid fire questions so just blurt out your answers. question one, which driver here has the most crushes?" she asks with a little laugh.

charles: “lando.”

lando: “what the hell—”

oscar: “he’s in love with sienna ray and he’s not subtle.”

lando: “you lot are actual traitors.”

george: “i saw him practicing a conversation with her in the mirror before we got here.”

lando: “shut up!”

oscar: “he used the phrase ‘your music changed my tires.’”

everyone loses it.

lando: "she's awesome. i got tickets to her concert in London in august. it's sienna babbyyy." said in the same tone as 'its monaco babbyy.'

🎬 f1 movie premiere dinner

lando norris isn’t nervous around most people. he can flirt, tease, banter with fans, hold his own with sky sports or will buxton or even a pissed-off engineer. but tonight, at the f1 movie premiere dinner, seated next to sienna ray, the actual grammy-nominated popstar, voice of the All I see is You track that plays during the most emotional scene of the film. he’s completely, catastrophically wrecked.

it doesn’t help that she smells like citrus and amber and something he can’t name. or that her dress keeps slipping slightly off one shoulder, or that she says hi like they’ve met before, like he’s not just another fast driver with a schoolboy crush.

he tries to play it cool. “your song in the film, All I see is You? it’s... i mean, i wasn’t expecting it to hit that hard.”

she tilts her head, eyes bright. “you’ve actually heard it?”

“memorised it,” he says before he can stop himself.

she grins. “oh?”

“yeah. the part where you say, uh—” he rubs the back of his neck, suddenly fourteen years old again, “—‘don’t slow down now, you’ve already lost me once’... that line is brutal.”

“was meant to be,” she says softly. “lewis spoke to me and said that he wanted something that felt like freefall. like the moment right before you let go.”

lando nods. he knows that moment. turn ten at spa. late braking into monaco’s hairpin. falling in love with someone who probably doesn’t even know your name until today.

“my favourite line’s the next one,” he says. “kiss me like we’re out of time.”

she looks at him. really looks. her lips part slightly like she might say something, but she just sips her drink instead, smile twitching at the corners.

across the table, oscar piastri catches lando’s eye and gives him a tiny thumbs-up. carlos is pretending not to watch, but he’s leaned so far forward over the front of his chair it’s comical. someone, probably charles, coughs the word sienna dramatically loud from across the table, and lando pretends not to hear it.

sienna raises an eyebrow. “your friends always this subtle?”

lando groans. “they’ve been waiting for me to humiliate myself for months.”

“why?”

he shrugs. “i’ve had a bit of a thing for you.”

“a bit?”

“okay, a lot.”

she leans in, conspiratorial. “you know what’s wild?”

he swallows. “what?”

“i watched one of your interviews last year. you were explaining drs to someone and it made no sense, but you were so into it i ended up watching three more. i kind of loved that.”

lando blinks. “you watched my interviews?”

“you’ve got a good face when you talk about something you care about. well, a good face in general."

he laughs, caught off guard by the way his stomach flips. “you do too. guess we’re even now.”

“almost,” she says.

dinner stretches on. conversation slips easily into music and racing and the weird pressure of being seen. she tells him how she almost didn’t record the song because it felt too personal, too vulnerable. he tells her about crashing into a sim wall once because her debut album was playing and he got distracted during a gear shift.

she laughs. throws her head back a little when she does.

when dessert comes around, he knows he has to ask.

“okay,” he says, leaning slightly closer. “this might be forward but... do you wanna get dinner sometime?”

she blinks. not startled but more surprised it took him this long. "we are at dinner?”

“like... no. like a normal one. just us. no cameras. no tux. no drivers trying to embarrass me”

she smiles, soft and certain. “yeah. i’d really like that.”

his grin is instant. impossible to contain. she reaches for his hand under the table, brushes her fingers across his knuckles like it’s the easiest thing in the world. like she’s been waiting too.

he doesn’t even feel the rest of the night pass.

later that night she posts a video on her story if her singing in her room. dim lighting, her with no make up, sitting on her bed playing the piano.

her own voice sings soft, sultry, cracked with emotion.

kiss me like we’re out of time, crash into me, don’t apologize.

lando watches it from his hotel room, phone dimmed to the lowest light, a ridiculous grin stretching across his face. he doesn’t say anything in the group chat. he doesn’t have to.

they all know.

he said it once already, earlier at dinner. but now, lying on his back in a room that suddenly feels quieter than it did before, he whispers it to no one.

“i really, really like her.”

and this time, he thinks, maybe she likes him back.

[indiaalphawhiskey]

This is why artists who were formerly at the top of their industry get dropped by their labels and management the very second they have scandals or health issues or their potential dips for any reason

////

This isn't true. Chris Brown (abused Rihanna and his girlfriend Karrueche Tran). Travis Scott - ten people killed at his concert because he incited crowd surges. Lewis Capaldi - severe Tourettes which impedes his ability to perform. Halsey - multiple serious heath issues. None of these and many others were dropped by their labels. Can you give some examples of people who were?

Yes.

Look, I appreciate you trying to fact-check me, and I'll admit my wording was exaggerated. They don't drop artists the "very minute" they cause problems. But, if you want to have a debate, debate the entire context of my point.

My point wasn't that labels and management drop all artists with scandals, health issues, etc., or that they never ever keep people on. My point was that artists constantly and consistently need to prove that they're lucrative and worth the investment/trouble. It's not enough to be talented/have potential/have made labels oodles of money before.

And, if they can't, they get dropped. Clearly, in your examples, those artists were able to prove to their labels that they can continue to generate income regardless of their personal issues/their need to take a long break. (Whether thats an ethical bar is completely up for debate.)

The question I was asked was whether I think Harry and Louis are really in the industry to make music they love, and I said yes because there would be no need for them to "play the game" if not. They can (and do) make money other ways. But, the prerequisite for making music you love is proving, first, that you're going to make money. That regardless of how long it take for you to cough up a new album, people are going to be interested in you, as proven by the GP's obsession with their stunts/romantic lives.

More than that, though, the spirit of these series of anons don't seem to be wanting to learn about the realistic pressures that Harry and Louis face as closeted musicians. The spirit, it seems, is to prove they're actually terrible people who are playing the fandom in order to line their pockets. Even this "fact-check" feels disingenuous, nit-picky, and not sent in good faith, but I answered it because there are genuine people in the fandom who want to learn. But, I need to make myself clear: my patience is running thin.

So, if you send these kinds of asks with the intention of looking for a gotcha moment with me, please know that there's no valor in it because I don't care. I won't fight you. You are more than welcome to believe that my love for and support of Harry and Louis is stupid, baseless and unjustified, and as a consequence, that I am also stupid. I have found my friends here. I discuss things with people I trust, and a faceless anon is not going to veer me off a path I've been witness to, first hand, for a decade now.

If my support for them changes, it'll be because either Harry or Louis have crossed a red line I've defined for myself, using my own common sense and level of ethics.

If you want to learn and discuss, welcome.

If you're here to fight, I have a life to live, and you can see yourself out.

[franky-y]

the berlin gig is two days away and my anxiety is now going through the roof. i feel sick to my stomach and part of me wants to bail and not go at all. i hate this

[anaconda-creates]

I thought there was no hope for me to go to the will wood tour BUT a sliver of hope has returned

my mother would hate the concert and probably never allow me to go if she knew about will wood... but my father...

there is a small window where I'm moving up to college and if we take the long route I can hit a will wood theater show and I'm showing my dad his music and he actually kinda likes it and he's a bit nervous about the 18+ bit but I'm pitching it to him as kind of like the time we saw beetlejuice together so maybe maybe maybe he'll go with me

[zakiyah]

unfortunately doing it scared actually works

[clockworksheep2]

thought my hair was long enough to braid finally even if it was a little one but noooo the sides are not long enough to pull back into any sort of braid yet 😔 maaaaybe i can try a dutch braid or smth but auugghhh (also i am learning that braiding ur own hair is rly hard fbfkdl it would be easier to learn if i had longer hair but alas !!!)

im partially disappointed bc i just want to be able to braid it finally, but mostly i am disappointed bc i rly wanted to wear it in a braid for the concert 😭😭😭 OH WELLLL

[sigmastolen]

"the conductor said you can rotate parts if you want, decide amongst yourselves"

ACHIEVEMENT: NEW ANXIETY UNLOCKED

[shandidellamorte]

\m/

[funkaliciousfrog]

just bought a ticket 🤪 to owl city 🤪🤪🤪

[himbosandhardwear]

Steve is rifling through Eddie's collection of magazines, while he's waiting on Eddie and Wayne to get done fixing the dryer(Wayne's fixing, Eddie's getting in the way it sounds like), when he realizes how insane the assortment is; Heavy Metal, Car and Driver, Rolling Stone, National Geographic, OMNI, MAD, even a copy of Good Housekeeping. It's all so Eddie though, to have so many varying interests. He's a little jealous, if he's being honest with himself.

"You have a lot of stuff," he comments when Eddie comes back, closing the copy of Rolling Stone.

"Oh, yeah, sorry, let me just..." He starts kicking a pile of clothes under the bed.

Steve huffs a laugh. "No, I meant you have a lot of interests." He waves the magazine. "Hobbies and stuff."

Eddie nods, continues to shove piles of stuff under the bed anyway. "I guess, yeah. I tend to jump from thing to thing though. Last night it was painting miniatures, tonight it could be writing a song. I don't really get a say in which one. Oh, nice, I've been looking for this," he says, holding up a random T-shirt.

He watches Eddie get distracted by the new discovery and leave the rest of the pile where it's at, smiling to himself as Eddie goes on a tangent about merch vendors at concerts being the real enemy of the people.

"How do you know what you like?" Steve inadvertently blurts out during a gap in Eddie's tale.

He turns toward Steve. "What do you mean?"

What does he mean? "I guess... It's just, I like cars and sports and girls. That's, like, kind of it. And since I started being friends with Henderson and Robin and you I've figured out that's, like, the most basic shit a guy could be into. Level One Dude Interests. So, I guess I just want to know how you find other things? And how will I know if I'm interested?"

"Hmm." He frowns softly. "I've never had to think about it before. I kinda just...fall into things. I like it or I don't."

"Okay, but what's it feel like?"

Eddie puts the shirt down, forgotten again in a moment, and sits. "What does it feel like when you think about cars and sports and girls?"

Steve really thinks about it. Nothing is as consuming as when he was younger, but he does remember a vague sense of excitement, a feeling of connection with the people he surrounded himself with, who shared his interests. But he hasn't felt that in a while. Maybe he wasn't as into those things as he thought, was only into the connection.

"You're having very deep thoughts over there," Eddie points out with a grin.

"Shut up." He grins back. "I think maybe I don't actually know what it feels like to like something because I like it, not just because everyone else likes it. You know what I mean?"

"Well, yes but no." He waves both hands to indicate his person and also the chaos of the room around them.

"See? This is why I'm asking you. If anyone can help me figure out what I like it's you."

Eddie slaps both hands together and rubs. "A project! Excellent idea!"

Wasn't his idea but sure.

"First we have to get you exposure to new things. Movies, TV, music, culture. Then we'll rate how you feel about each demographic. Your music taste is already improving so that's good. Movies, I'm thinking 12 Angry Men to start. Food? Authentic Mexican. We're gonna get you excited about shit!" He seems excited enough for the both of them, which is great. "Excitement is key! You want enthusiasm, yearning even. Your interests should consume your every waking thought. When I'm consuming a new hobby, I'm focused like a shark, I'm obsessed. I go to bed thinking about it and wake up thinking about it. Excited to get back to whatever it is. I wanna talk about it, share it with other people. Complete and total immersion. You wanna marry that interest. You know what I mean?"

Steve blinks at him, stunned into silence. Eddie's just described how Steve feels about him...

Oh.

Oh.

[sweeterthanficstion]

— all the right reasons || l.s.k

pairing: older!rockstar!leon x popstar!fem!reader

tags: music au, set in 2011, leon is a rockstar (obviously), and reader is a popstar (think like, sabrina carpenter type). rivals to lovers, lots and lots of shitty banter, feelings are CAUGHT!, really bad music related puns, MDNI 18+, unprotected p in v, reader rides that dick into next weeeek, vaginal fingering, lots and lots of dirty talk too. sappy ending <3

summary: You're a sugarplum tabloid darling who's making headlines across the globe, he's a tried and true rockstar who's a household name. Leon S. Kennedy was just another thorn in your side. Until he wasn't. He’s older, meaner, and too good with his hands. You’re supposed to hate him. So why do you feel like you’re falling in love?

word count: 8.4k

a/n: omg... so like... hi again... it's been a while!! i dragged myself out of the depressive pit that is trying to date real men and reminded myself of what REALLY matters (writing fanfiction of men who don't exist) so that's how i'm back here, lmao.

also, BIGGEST thank you's to my gorgeous girls vivi and lea for offering to beta read and leaving the silliest, funniest comments and feedback

anyway enjoy asshole-older-rockstar leon, he's stolen my heart and i want to [REDACTED] [REDACTED] [REDACTED]... i've been shot 47 times

playlist⭑masterlist⭑AO3

You never liked Leon Kennedy.

He’s always been bark and bite, broody and callous. All whiskey breath and tired denim and the kind of stubble that looked more like laziness than effort. Too jaded. Too old. His time has come and gone, and still, somehow, he was headlining festivals, charting on billboards, signing tits.

You’d met him twice before you ever really spoke. Once at an awards afterparty, where he didn’t even look at you when you said hi—just brushed past with a half-hearted “sorry, sweetheart,” before disappearing into a crowd of laughing industry men. The second time, backstage at some benefit concert. He’d been in the wings, watched you be hurried past in a blur of glitter and gold, murmured something you can only imagine was unsavoury under his breath.

So yeah. You weren’t exactly dying to be his friend.

Which is why it’s so fucking inconvenient that your first real single is now under the same label as his—why you pass each other in the hallway at Capitol every other week, the scent of his cologne arriving before he does, heavy and heady and masculine.

But you’re not stupid either. You knew who he was long before you ever stood in the same room as him. You knew the album that broke him, the single that went triple platinum, the first stadium he sold out. You knew the way critics talked about his guitar playing like it was something they’d never seen before. You might’ve even had a crumpled tour shirt buried somewhere in your closet from high school, but that was a long time ago. That was before you learned what it meant when people said never meet your heroes.

But still there were moments, little things that made you reconsider. Once, at the label offices, he held the elevator door open for you even though you were halfway across the hallway. He didn’t look at you when you stepped in. Just said, “You gonna hit the button or stand there all night?” but his voice had been warmer than you expected.

And maybe it’s all in your head. Maybe he’s not thinking about you at all. Maybe he’s just that kind of man—coated in disinterest, carved out of concrete. Still, there’s something behind the way he looks at you that you still haven’t quite figured out.

It’s midnight when Leon finds the fork in the road that decides his fate.

It’s the voice of an angel that seals it.

He’s not even supposed to be standing in the liminal space outside your door and wondering if he should go in. He’s not even meant to be thinking about you at all.

He was thinking about the rain. About how he’d failed to remember an umbrella, about how his car smells like mildew and the CD player is still shot. About how he hasn’t written a decent song in six months. His manager had so kindly told him to go home, sleep it off, stop showing up to the label’s building like a ghost to its haunt.

And fuck if he’s already had his fill with the shitty elevator. Leon’s busy jamming the buttons to the ground floor, stuck on the second, when he hears it.

A pretty litany of sun-soaked lyrics that spills into the hallway and the elevator the same way the light from the half-opened door does.

That’s how he finds himself here: standing outside your studio door, staring at the plaque with your name engraved in gold like it’s daring him to knock.

He doesn’t. Just opens it.

“Didn’t know they let you keep the studio past your bedtime.”

It’s a joke. Kinda. He winces halfway through delivery, like he hears it too late. Nose scrunching like he didn’t mean it, and truthfully he doesn’t think he did. God, Kennedy, didn’t anyone teach you to think before you speak?

You flinch—just a little—eyes snapping open as you pull off the headphones. The track dies in your ears, and the silence feels abrupt, almost rude, like it’s been interrupted mid-confession.

You glance over your shoulder. Leon stands in the threshold looking exactly like he always does—leather jacket, dark jeans, stubble that's a little more dirty than charmingly rugged. He could be anywhere else. He should be anywhere else. And yet.

Your brow lifts, unimpressed. “Didn’t know they let you out of the retirement home either. Should I call someone?”

Leon scoffs. “I’m not geriatric.”

“Sure.” And you turn back to the soundboard like he doesn’t exist.

He stands there, lips pursed like he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.

“So… what was that?” he asks.

You sigh like it costs you. Slip the headphones off and let them settle around your neck. “A song. You’re familiar, yes?”

Leon rolls his eyes. “Plenty. You’ve got a smart mouth, kid.”

You grin, all teeth. “Thanks.”

He lets that hang in the silence for a beat, then has the bright idea to push off the doorway. He wanders in and makes himself at home in your space. His boot grazes a stack of scribbled sheet music, and he nudges it aside with his toe like he’s being polite. Then he drops onto your couch without asking—moves a cushion, spreads his knees, settles like it’s shared property.

You shoot him a look. “Comfortable?”

Leon shrugs. “Your feng shui needs work.”

“What do you want?” You finally ask, defeated.

He nods toward the board. “Play it.”

You blink. “What?”

“The song. Play it.”

“You’re really bad at this, y’know.”

“At what?”

“Basic human interaction. Hospitality. Small talk.”

He blinks, caught off-guard like he’s never been told that a day in his life.

“Sorry,” you say sweetly. “Too honest?”

“Play the damn song.”

You raise a brow. “Magic word?”

Leon just stares.

You sigh, press spacebar. The track tumbles out of the speakers, raw and half-finished. It holds for a moment, teeters, then collapses—unfinished and unsatisfying. You pull your headphones off with a huff. Leon thinks it's cute.

The weight of his gaze burns a hole into your back, makes heat crawl up your spine. You glance at him when it gets too much. “What?”

“I didn’t say anything,” he hums.

“Felt like you wanted to.”

He laughs a little then, like the meekness to your voice is amusing. “I was just gonna say it’s close.” He murmurs, “But it’s stuck.”

You exhale through your nose, lean back in your chair, swivel from left to right. “No shit.”

You don’t see him move as much as you hear him, the creak of the aged leather couch, before there’s the familiar dull ring of your guitar.

“You don’t mind, do you?” He asks as he slips into the second chair next to yours, you try to ignore the way your skin prickles when his knee knocks yours.

“Mi casa, su casa,” you sigh defeatedly, his lips quirk and you find yourself smiling against your will.

Leon decides your song just needs some weight to it. Typical of him. All his music has weight. A smoky, heady bass, a sexy guitar, heavy drums, but what he plays for you is none of that.

Yes, it holds weight, but a different one to what you pinned him for. It carries something gentler, softer chords that fill your lungs with exactly the type of yearning you were aiming for. 

You pause. “That’s…”

“Exactly what you wanted?”

You nudge his knee with your own, hit record on the soundboard, “do it again.”

And so it begins. 

You find that Leon isn’t so bad when he’s writing music with you. In fact, within the four soundproof walls of your studio, he’s almost nice. He listens when you tell him to change a chord. He lets you needle him, prod at his composure like you’re tuning a guitar string too tight just to hear it snap.

Most nights you’re in the studio until the twilight hours before sunrise. You stay until your voice is worn ragged, fingers blistered from overuse. Until your limbs give out and you’ve passed out in the swivel chair, curled up like a cat in the glow of LED strips and mixing boards. You always wake to something left behind—a lukewarm cup of coffee, a half-drunk energy drink, sometimes the old throw blanket draped over your shoulders. It’s a rhythm now, syncopated and strange, yet something you’ve grown fond of.

It’s only inevitable, the way you grow closer with time. 

“Don’t lie sweetheart,” he murmurs one night in the hush of your studio, “I think I’m growing on you.”

“Like black mold.” you shoot back, but the grin tugging at your lips betrays you.

And it’s just all too easy to think about him when he's not there.

You remember watching his set from the wings at that summer festival—the first time you’d shared a stage. The downpour had been terrible and insistent his entire performance, rain slicking his thread-bare shirt to his skin, turning his hair dark and wild. He’d looked like straight up sex appeal, sweat and storm and strobe lights, and you’d had to physically stop yourself from reaching for him when he walked offstage.

He’d smelt like a thunderstorm, heady as he’d squeezed your shoulders like he was grateful, damp and buzzing with leftover adrenaline. “How’d I do?”

“Not bad, rockstar,” you’d said, but your voice had come out all soft.

Now he lives in your notebooks.

That’s the real inevitability of it, you think. Unreleased verses tucked between grocery lists and studio appointments. Lyrics written in the haze of 2 a.m., voice notes left half-sung on your phone, songs you’ll never show him during your secret writing sessions.

They’re not the kind of songs you should be writing.

They’re laced with want—velvet and teeth, obsessive and desperate. They don’t sound like you, not the way your label wants you to. They’re darker, sultrier, leave you flushed when you play them back. 

It’s not like you mean to write them about him. They just come out that way. Something about the way his voice sounds when he's two glasses of whiskey in and recounting a silent film he’d watched three fortnights ago. They’re all pent up tension—the way he pretty much knows his way around your apartment now, well enough to find where you keep the good wine anyway, the way his fingers move over the fretboard of his Paul Reed Smith with a guitar pick between his teeth, the phantom weight of his palm on your lower back when he passes by you.

You bottle every look, every breathy half-laugh, every fleeting moment where you wonder what his hands would feel like if they dipped lower.

Your songs are about him, yes, and they’re for him, in all the infuriating ways you wish they weren’t.

So naturally, the smartest thing to do is keep them buried—demo files hidden in unlabeled folders, notebooks tucked behind equipment cases. Off-limits. Confidential. A bomb waiting to go off. 

At least, until tonight.

You’re curled up on the studio couch, Leon’s out at some fancy party tonight, said he couldn't write. There’s a half-empty bottle of wine and the glow of your laptop screen to keep you company, but it’s not enough not the same without him.

There’s a particular song that haunts you. It’s a confession wrapped in delicate ribbons of sultry melodies. Your voice a touch away from a moan, lyrics that dance around his name.

You shouldn’t have written it. 

Definitely shouldn’t have recorded it either.

And now you find yourself hovering over the file like it’s taunting you.

Maybe you can blame it on the buzz in your veins, or the way you’d caught his eye earlier that morning in the breakroom. He’d looked at you over the rim of his mug, winked at you like he could read you. You curse yourself under your breath at the memory. He totally knows he’s getting to you. You’d dropped the I-hate-you act three moves back.

So you drag-and-drop the demo. Chew your lip. Hit send.

Check and mate.

But by the time you’ve sobered up enough to panic, it’s already much too late.

Seven minutes. He texts back, and it sounds nearly like a threat.

Bad, bad, bad idea. No, actually, bad doesn’t even begin to encapsulate how horrific of an idea that was. A category-five hurricane of a mistake. 

What were you thinking? 

Well, clearly you weren’t.

You clamber to your feet, pace barefoot on the studio carpet, wearing a frantic path into the fibres. Back and forth, back and forth. Damage control is like a roulette wheel spinning in your mind, you could delete the message, a phone malfunction, yes, totally. Your label leaked it by accident, or it’s just one big elaborate joke.

Or, or— and this is the best one yet, you could change your name, dye your hair, move to another country where six-time award winning rockstars with stupid voices and stupid fingers on guitars don’t exist.

You’re halfway through plotting your escape through the window when the door clicks open exactly seven minutes later.

You startle like a deer in headlights, eyes wide when they snap up to the man of the hour—to Leon— and your stomach drops clean through the floor.

“You drive fast,” is what you manage. Leon clicks the door shut behind him.

His hair’s an artful mess, like he’s either run his hand through it a million times on the drive here, or just rolled out of bed. You like the former option so you pretend it’s that. His shoulders look tense, jaw tight, and his eyes—dark, sharp, dragging over you like he’s trying to see right through you.

His eyes flick to the littered coffee table, your notebook, the bottle of wine that looks at least a quarter drained.

Something strange flickers in his gaze, and for a minute you paint him as disappointed. 

Oh. You realise, with startling clarity, that he thinks you’re wasted.

It’s like a light at the end of the tunnel, a saving grace. It’d be an easy way out, wouldn’t it? Oops, Leon, sorry, wasn’t in my right mind, don’t even remember sending it, haha, how embarrassing!

But you’re not, at least not anymore, you’re standing in front of him with unfortunate sobriety. 

“Are you drunk?” He asks, voice low and rough around the edges.

Your mouth falls open, as if you’ve been scandalised. “Uh, rude?” You gesture wildly to the wine, then yourself. “I had two drinks, max. I am perfectly—” you take a dramatic step forward, stop, then another, arms out like you're proving a sobriety test, “—-fine.”

Leon doesn’t budge, stands there with his brows cinched like he’s in deep thought. It gives you space to take the upper hand back, if it was ever yours in the first place. “You, on the other hand,” you point an accusatory finger across the room, “are looking at me like I crashed your car or something.”

You might as well have with the way you have his heart hammering up his throat. He hates it, how you make him lose his carefully crafted cool. Being this nonchalant doesn’t come easy.

His tongue swipes over his teeth. And fuck him, because that shouldn’t be so distracting.

“Fine,” he starts, slow, “you wanna play dumb?’

“M’not dumb, it’s called being coy,” you hum, all too self satisfied.

Leon lets out a short breath of laughter, sharp, shakes his head and turns away like he needs to physically remove himself from you before he does something stupid.

And you should leave it there, because his buttons are officially pushed, yet you don’t feel familiar satisfaction curl around your chest like it should. “If this is about the song—”

His head tips, just slightly. “If?”

You swallow. “I mean—”

He scoffs. Sharp. Disbelieving. Runs a thumb over his lips. “If this is about the song,” he repeats, like he can’t believe you even tried that.

You open your mouth, then close it, then open it again. "I—"

“Don’t,” he mutters. “Drop it.”

Your jaw shuts, and it takes less than a second for Leon to close the distance between you, effectively stealing all the air from your lungs. You resist the urge to back away, to give him that satisfaction, even when your body screams at you to. Not out of fear, but because he’s looking at you like he can finally see right through you.

"You sent it to me first," he says, quiet, but sure. His eyes flick down, over your lips, your throat, back up.

Your stomach turns, and you force yourself to bite back your words, despite how hard they are to swallow.

“And I wanted to believe you were drunk when you sent it,” he says, voice rougher now than before, “would’ve been easier that way.”

You shift your weight, but don’t bow your head. “Easier?”

Your gaze flickers to where his jaw flexes. "Would’ve been a mistake, then. Would’ve meant I could just forget about it."

Forget about it. That shouldn’t sting.

You shrug, aiming for nonchalance, but your voice comes out quieter than you mean it to. "So forget about it."

His voice, that stupid calibre of his, drops to something even lower, something  barely above a whisper. 

"You really want me to?"

Your breath stutters. He takes your loss of words as an answer.

His fingers brush against your wrist, deft hands circle around the bone, his thumb brushing up against your pulse. Your skin burns where his finger’s graze. His other hand skims up your other arm, brushes against your jaw, and it’s so soft, tentative in a way that makes you shudder, an oxymoron to the storm brewing in his eyes. 

“Tell me,” he murmurs, “if I kiss you right now, are you gonna pretend you don’t want it?”

The question hangs in the space between, thick like tar.

It’s only when his thumb brushes against your cheek, that you feel your restraint, thin as hair, give. Slowly—so slowly—you tilt your chin up, just a fraction, just enough to close the distance so that your lips ghost over his, an echo of a kiss, but not quite one. Your move, rockstar.

It’s a thread-thin dangerous thing that sets his jaw tight, he inhales sharply, and you swear you see him tremble. 

You laugh softly at that, sweet as ever.

Leon caves.

His hand shifts, curls around the nape of your neck, pulls you flush and slots his lips against yours. 

The press of his mouth is warm, wanting, firm and demanding. 

But then you smile against his lips—satisfied, smug, victorious—and he groans something devastated.

It’s a low, deep, wrecked sort of sound, something that comes right from his chest, heavy with everything unsaid. His other hand finds your waist, squeezes tight, feels your skin give under his hold, like you’re finally his to keep and he can’t quite get enough. 

“Minx,” he mutters, breathless frustration bleeding into his words.

You revel in it, your skin erupting in goosebumps.

His hand tightens around the back of your neck, tilting your head just so—like he’s determined to kiss that satisfaction right off your lips.

Spoiler: he won’t.

Because you kiss him back just as fiercely, just as insistently, pressing up on your toes like you need to get closer, like you could crawl inside his skin if he let you. 

Your hands curl around his shoulders, move up to the junction where they meet the column of his throat, tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck. You tug and he lets out something that sounds dangerously close to a moan.

And you wonder if he hates this, how easily he unravels for you, how easily you undo him. It’s like you’ve been sent right from heaven to torture him.

His hands find the curve of your waist, skate down the warmth of your skin, the swell of your hips, the back of your thighs, until he’s pressing in, guiding you backward—steady, steady—until the backs of your knees hit the couch. 

Your balance wavers.

“Careful,” he murmurs, half-amused like this is funny to him.

He doesn’t give you the grace of finding your footing, pressing forward until you’ve sunk into the cushions.

Leon stands there for a second, looking down at you, eyes heavy-lidded, dark with something that makes heat coil in your stomach. He drags a hand over his mouth, like he’s trying to wipe away whatever impulse is written across his face. Like it might be something reckless, ruining. 

Then, he exhales. Sharp and quiet, he sinks to his knees in the space between your legs, a sight so devastating you forget to breathe. 

Broad hands wrap around the plush of your thighs, fingers pressing half-moon divots into your skin. 

“Look at you,” he murmurs, half to himself, half to you, something dangerously close to adoration lacing his words. His thumb brushes absently along the sensitive skin just above your knee, gaze tracking the way your breath shudders. Ruining, indeed.

And then—oh, then— his palm slips to hook underneath your knee, pulls your leg over his shoulder. You suck in a sharp breath, unable to tear your gaze away from his; bright blue eyes that sparkle something wondrous in the low light. 

You try to handle yourself, lest he watch you fall apart from a simple look. “If you think I’m just gonna melt the second you put your hands on me, you’re—” Your breath unfortunately hitches the second his grip tightens around your thigh, makes your pulse jump.

He raises a brow, infuriatingly smug, like he’s daring you to finish that sentence.

You clear your throat. “—you’re sorely mistaken.”

Leon huffs out a laugh, low and knowing. “Sorely?”

You fruitlessly dig your heel into his back, a half-attempt at a kick, a half-attempt at saving some of your dignity. “Yes, sorely.”

His hands slide up in a wordless answer—dragging his nails back down your thigh, nosing at the soft fat, pressing his mouth against the skin. The brush of his lips alone unravels you enough that you can’t muster an appropriate response, shivering, sighing instead.

“Someone’s quiet,” he muses lazily, drags his teeth just barely along your skin before soothing the spot with his tongue. “Where’d all that attitude go?”

You scowl before you can stop yourself. “It’s recalculating.”

A shit-eating smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, “Yeah?” He does it again, open-mouthed this time, sucks supple flesh between his lips, bites, pulls away. “Let me know when it’s back."

Your chest feels like it’s on fire, so instead, your hands find the broad line of his shoulders, curl into the fabric of his shirt, and pull him up by the collar. He follows without much give, your thigh falls off his shoulder when he climbs up to press you into the plush cushion, cages you in. And fuck—you don’t think you should be this turned on by his weight atop you, by the heat of him, by that look in his eyes.

You can hear the way your heart pounds, blood rushing in your ears. Can feel it in your fingertips when you drag them down his chest, his stomach, until they catch the hem of his shirt. You push it up enough to reveal the hard muscle of his abdomen. He shudders atop you.

Leon’s lips are back on yours before you can even think to be smug about it, before the teasing grin can curl at the corner of your lips. It’s hotter now, deeper, tongue sliding against yours like he’s trying to drown you. And in the heat of it, his knee presses between your thighs. You’re not sure if he does it on purpose, if it’s a brilliant accident, but either way it makes you keen, a gasp of pleasant surprise tumbling from your lips.

He groans into your mouth, one hand tightening on your hip. “You sound better than I imagined,” he breathes heavily, and heat floods your face.

You swallow hard. Shut up, shut up, shut up. 

Your heart jumps at the thought of him having imagined this. Having imagined how you sounded, how he would’ve imagined you falling apart. It does horrible things to your head and even worse things to the slick heat between your thighs.

You should have a response by now, something sharp and devastatingly witty, but all you can really focus on is the way he looks at you. Like he’d let you ruin him and call it a privilege. And then he moves, pressing closer, knee pressing up between your thighs more purposefully than before, and whatever witty remark you had queued up promptly exits the premises.

The sound that leaves your mouth is embarrassing. Mortifying, even.

“Oh,” Leon murmurs, voice all smoke and velvet, “there it is.”

You absolutely despise how much you like that, refuse to let him have it. Can’t. Won’t. His ego is slowly swelling to the size of a stadium, and the last thing you need is for him to think he has you all figured out.

So, you do what any self-respecting, prideful person in your position would do: you take the liberty to push at his shoulders, and when he leans back, you seize the opportunity. Grip the front of his shirt, and push him down against the couch. He lets you, laughing under his breath, hands settling easy against your thighs as you straddle his lap.

“Don’t look so smug,” you warn, fingers sliding down, slow and deliberate. His stomach tenses beneath your touch.

“I’m not smug,” he argues, but he’s smiling something devilish—lazy, lopsided, thoroughly enjoying himself. His hands flex against your legs, and you let yourself believe he needs it to ground himself. “Just waiting to see what you’ve got planned.”

Your pulse thrums in your throat, but you play nonchalance better than he gives you credit for. “You got a request?”

“Don’t think I need one,” he says, watching as your hands dip lower, brushing over his belt buckle. “You wrote a song about it, m’sure you have ideas.”

If looks could kill he would be dead, because you’re glaring at him like he’s said something horrific. He is right, but you don’t let him have the satisfaction of hearing you admit it.

Instead, you hook your fingers under the leather, tug just enough to make him suck in a harsh breath. His eyes darken, and it’s thrilling—watching him unravel, shift beneath you.

“Aw, is that all it took?” You coo, pleased beyond words, leaning in close to brush your lips against his jaw. “Usually so put together, doesn’t take much to get you like this, does it?”

Leon huffs a laugh, but goes willingly, tilts his head to let you mouth down his throat. “You wanna talk about falling apart? What was that sound you made just a minute ago?”

You bite down, enough to make him hiss. “Stop talking.”

You can picture the smile that tugs at his thin lips, feel the way his warm, broad palms skim up, under your shirt, pressing into your back, fingers tracing the curve of your spine, slipping under the band of bra.

His belt slips free with a quiet clink, and you savour the way his muscles jump under your hands as you undo the button of his jeans, the steady sound of his shallow breathing when your fingers brush against the sharp line of his hip bone. 

He tries not to push, but you can just about feel the restraining in him, the way his fingers twitch where they rest against your thighs, jaw clenched, muscles tight like a wire pulled taut.

You drag your nails lightly over the plane of his stomach, card your fingers through the thin trail of hair that leads down from his navel, just to see what he does when you do.

Leon sucks in a sharp breath, his head tipping back against the couch, and the sound he makes—low and barely restrained—sends a rush of heat straight through you.

“You’re trying to kill me.” He swears, voice beyond wrecked, and for a second you think he might start begging for mercy. 

“No,” you hum, tilting your head, hands running up his chest, under his shirt. “Just having fun.”

Leon laughs—all breathless, shaky around the edges. But there’s something desperate in the way he exhales, in the way his hips shift up just barely like he’s fighting every instinct to meet you halfway.

There must be a devil on your shoulder, he thinks, because you make it worse.

Your hips roll down, testing, barely any pressure, but enough he feels it. His breath punches out of him like you’ve knocked the wind from his lungs. His fingers dig into your thighs, desperation in his grip.

His head falls forward, eyes flicking up to meet yours, and fuck, you really weren’t prepared for how he looks at you—half-lidded, dark with something simmering just beneath the surface.

“You enjoying yourself?” he asks, voice low and rough, like it pains him to think too hard.

A grin stretches across your lips, heart thrumming with satisfaction, you’ve won, you think, made him fall to pieces without even touching him properly. 

But then he exhales sharply through his nose, takes your hand.

He presses it to his chest, right over his heart—fast, heavy, pounding. 

“You feel that?” His voice is low, his other hand, still on your back, coaxes you closer. Close enough your lips brush. “You did that.”

You let out a shaky breath, Leon curses because he thinks he finally has you breaking.

You didn’t expect him to do that, to let his walls come down and show you just how much you affect him. Didn’t think he’d pull the rug from under your feet and admit defeat in one fell swoop. He looks at you like he actually wants you, not just the game of it, not just for the win.

He wants you. 

…You want him.

Leon watches your face like he’s waiting for you to stop him, but when you don’t, when your lips part like you’re about to ask for something, maybe even beg—he decides.

He leans up, closes the short space between you, and kisses you deep and slow. Like you’re the best thing he’s ever had the pleasure of tasting. He doesn’t rush, nor does he fumble. Just touches you like he means it. Like he really has thought about this more than he’s willing to admit.

His fingers push at the hem of your shirt, sliding up your ribs, pulls the fabric off like it’s nothing. And when your body trembles against his, he swears to himself he’d do just about anything for you.

He lets you tug his jeans lower, helps you. His hands are steady, careful when he presses against the fabric of your underwear.

Leon watches your face, watches the way your lips fall open, breath uneven, the way your fingers tighten in his shirt, and then—

Then you make a sound so sweet, so utterly wrecked that his resolve snaps like a thread pulled too tight.

“Christ,” he mutters, like it physically pains him, and then he’s kissing you twice as hard as before, deep and wanting, swallowing every breath, every soft noise, every shaky exhale.

His fingers press firmer, so, so eager, willing to coax any sound out of you that you’ll let him. Your hands curl at his shoulders, hips bucking deftly against his palm.

“Leon, Leon, Leon,” you murmur, breathless and shaking, spilling his name into his own mouth.

He stills just barely, and fuck, it wrecks him—he doesn’t know if it’s the way you say it, like he’s something sacred, or the fact that you’re coming undone just for him.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he whispers, pulling away even if it kills him, pressing warm lips against your jaw. “Gotta use your words.”

You blink up at him, dazed. “Don’t baby me.”

His mouth twitches. “You don’t want me to baby you?”

You want to tell him everything. That you want him to touch you like this, and talk to you like that, but also see you, really see you. Want him to want all of it—not just your body, not just the thrill of it, but the gentler parts too. The parts of you that ache when he leaves the room. The parts that want to believe someone like him could care that deeply.

“I want—” you start, then stop, teeth sinking into your lip.

He softens. Just a bit. Just enough. 

“Alright, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Tell me how you want it.”

Your throat works around the words. You reach down, let your fingers trace along the waistband of his boxers, and look him dead in the eyes.

“Wanna ride you.” You whisper, voice is thin with adrenaline and want.

Leon groans like it’s been punched out of him. “Fuck. Jesus. Shit.”

You grin, all teeth, trying to ease the gravity in your chest. “Oh, c’mon, rockstar. I’m sure that’s not the first time you’ve had a girl say that before.”

He huffs out something like a laugh. “S’different,” he says quietly.

You’re too scared to ask how.

So instead, you kiss him like it’ll shut out the question. Like you can pour your want into his mouth and he’ll take it, keep it, like your secret's tucked somewhere between your teeth and if he’s patient enough, if he presses hard enough, he’ll find it there.

Leon groans into it, hands dragging along the curve of your waist, your hips. His palms are firm there, like he’s claiming something, like he’s grounding you both.

“You ride me,” he murmurs against your lips, “and I swear I’m not gonna last long.”

“Aw,” you tease, all syrup and heat, brushing your nose against his, “poor baby.”

He bites your bottom lip in retaliation, gentle but pointed, and you gasp.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” you whisper, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt before finally, finally, dragging it up, over his head, revealing sweat-warmed skin that you wish you could lick clean with your tongue.

Unfortunately, there doesn’t seem to be much more time to waste. Leon’s handsiness, you’ve discovered, is both a curse and a gift—he can’t seem to stop touching you, and you’re in no hurry to make him. 

He helps you shimmy out of your underwear, breath catching when you’re bare before him. He drinks you in, staring like a man praying for patience. Then you sit back slightly, thighs spread over his lap, and he does it again, that mouth of his.

“God, look at you,” he mutters, like he can’t believe his luck. “You’re unreal.”

It makes your head swim, the way he says it.

In hindsight, you should’ve taken more time, wish you’d used your hand to stroke his length until he was begging for more, but the heady haze of sex-soup your brain is swimming in doesn’t leave you much choice. You’ll get him next time, you decide.

So instead you hide the flush of your cheeks with the sink of your hips, and you think it just about does it. Leon groans like it knocks the wind from him, his head tips back against the couch, throat bared, lashes fluttering.

The stretch is deep, thick, just shy of overwhelming. It steals your breath and then your balance, and you fall forward, catching yourself on his chest. He’s warm there. Bare skin and heart beneath your palms, his pulse kicking against your fingertips like it might leap out and run to you.

“Fuck— God you’re warm. You’re so warm,” he mumbles, and it’s so hot and heavy it makes you blush hard enough you feel it in your ears, your chest, your thighs.

“Romantic,” you breathe against his jaw, trying for wit but inevitably melting into the moment.

He huffs out a laugh, half-amused, half-ruined. “Mouth on you.”

“You like it.”

“Unfortunately,” he grits out, squeezing your thighs. “You gonna move or just sit there lookin’ pretty?”

He feels you grin against the column of his throat first, then feels you roll your hips sickeningly slowly second.

“Christ,” he moans obscenely, fingers digging into your skin. “You’re—fuck. This is a bad idea.”

You pant, shake your head. “I think we’re way past bad ideas.”

Leon’s hand slides up your back, catches at the nape of your neck, forces your mouth back to his like he needs to taste your smugness. You feel him twitch inside you when you moan into the kiss—high and desperate, something wild climbing up your throat.

“You sound so sweet when you’re full of me,” he murmurs against your lips, and it’s awful, the way your body clenches down at the filth of it. “All that smartass attitude, but now you’re just—” he cuts himself off with a groan, “—fuckin’ whimpering.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Your hand finds the back of his neck, you tighten your grip in his hair and drop your hips again, slower this time, grinding until he groans like you’ve punched the air out of him. You want to crawl inside him, disappear beneath his skin.

“Pretty girl,” he says, low and reverent. “You sound so fuckin’ sweet.”

You whimper at that. Your rhythm stutters.

Leon finds it really doesn’t take much to melt your poor brain. You’re already gone—thighs trembling, mouth open, whimpering nonsense between the slick drag of your hips. He takes advantage where he can, thrusts up into you with a force that makes you hiccup on a wet moan. Cute, cute, cute. 

“Leon,” you whisper, voice thin and cracked and ruined. You’re not sure what you’re asking for. More? Less? Everything?

“Yeah, baby,” he breathes, eyes glassy as they flick between your face and where your bodies meet. “Feels good, huh?”

God, his voice. You want to drown in the low timber that rattles through your head when he speaks like that. And of course, you nod. Desperate, mindless, somewhere between obsession and devotion. Your nails dig half-moons into the meat of his shoulders, your hips rocking pitifully.

“Can’t—can’t think,” you admit, a choked sound riding the edge of a sob.

Leon lets out a sharp breath through his nose, swears under it. “Good.” His voice is hoarse, fraying at the edges. “Don’t wanna hear you think. Just wanna hear you come.”

“Yours,” you whisper without thinking, tears burning and cresting your pretty lashes. “Yours, yours, yours—”

“That’s it,” he groans, “My girl.”

Your head jerks slightly, like the words ripple straight through you.

“Your girl?” you echo, dazed, like it floated up out of your mouth before your brain could catch it.

He doesn’t answer—not with words. Just thrusts up into you slow and deep, like he can fuck the truth back into you. Kisses you like you’ve ruined him completely. 

And just like that, it’s all too much.

The rhythm you’ve managed to keep starts to splinter, your movements losing precision. You’re clinging to him, breath coming in hot, wet gasps, thighs shaking, body screaming for that last push.

Leon feels it. Sees it in your face.

“You gonna come for me?” he pants, hands sliding down, down, gripping the back of your thighs as you lift and drop, roll and press. “You gonna soak my cock like a good fuckin’ girl?”

“Don’t wanna yet,” you whisper, but it’s fragile, a lie at best. You’re already falling apart.

He groans like you’ve stabbed him. “Jesus, you’re killing me. I haven’t fucked you stupid enough yet, huh?”

His hand slides down, fingers finding your clit, circling slow and punishing.

You arch into him with a cry, loud and unfiltered, every inch of you unraveling.

“There she is,” he breathes, reverent and wild-eyed, watching you fall to pieces on top of him. “God, baby. Just like that.”

“You’re bein’ mean,” You whine, words all slurred, as the tears begin to well and dribble down the pretty apples of your cheeks.

“Oh, angel,” He coos, and god you really do hate how smug he gets. “Me? Mean? You wound me, pretty.”

“Shut up,” you pant, whining high and rutting hopelessly against him. 

“C’mon,” he pants, thumb still working lazy circles against the throb of your clit, “I wanna feel you beg for it.”

It’s cruel. Cruel, the way he says it—rasped out like a curse, like it’s the last thing he’ll ever ask for. His hand is steady even as his breath breaks apart. He’s wrecked. Close. You can feel it in the way he shakes under you, in the stutter of his hips against yours. 

You giggle helplessly into the crook of his neck.

His thumb presses firmer, tight figure eights.

“Leon—!” your voice catches on a sob, you’re so close it’s dizzying, so wet and full and tense that your whole body tightens like a string about to snap. “Can’t—too much—”

“Too much?” he echoes, low and amused, and god, it shouldn’t sound so tender. “Thought you said you didn’t wanna come yet. Changed your mind?”

You nod before you can stop yourself, head lolling as your hips rut down in frantic little circles, chasing the friction.

He groans at the sight, palm spreading wide across your spine like he’s trying to hold you together. “Fuckin’ knew it. Talk big, but look at you now—makin’ a mess on me.”

One arm tightens around your waist, locking you down, and the other braces at your back as he thrusts up into you again—deeper now, sharper, fucking the air right out of your lungs.

You keen, and he laughs—breathy and soft and so fucking fond that it breaks you open.

“Look at you.” He noses at your cheek. “You’re outta your mind.”

You are. You really are. And it’s all him. The heat of him, the rough scrape of his voice, the way he touches you like you’re something to worship and ruin in the same breath.

“Gonna come,” you choke out, breath hitching as your thighs start to shake. “Please—Leon, please—”

“Fuck,” he groans, and his hips stutter. “Go on, baby. Let go. You’ve been so good for me.”

That’s all it takes. The words hit like a match to gasoline. Your whole body seizes—tight and trembling and gasping as your climax crashes over you like a wave, dragging a whine out of your throat that doesn’t sound human.

Leon holds you through it, rocking you through every pulse, every shudder. He murmurs something into your skin, something quiet and unintelligible, and then he follows—his body locking up beneath you, his breath catching.

“Fuck—fuck,” he hisses, head tipped back, mouth open. You feel the heat of him inside you, feel the full-body tremor that wrecks him. He’s still buried deep, still gripping you like he’ll fall apart if he lets go.

It’s a long moment before either of you moves.

You can feel his heartbeat against your chest, wild and unsteady. 

“You alright?” he asks after a minute, voice low and rough around the edges.

You nod, cheek resting heavy against his shoulder, still trembling even when he eases you back. Your body feels like it’s been rung out, soaked in sugar, nerves singing somewhere between pleasure and disbelief.

Your fingers twitch where they rest against his chest, and you murmur something against his neck—something nonsensical, vowels dragging like honey.

“What was that?” he asks, voice hoarse but amused, his hand smoothing over your back, tracing your spine like a secret.

“Dunno,” you mumble, “I think I saw God.”

Leon huffs a laugh. “You talk a lot.”

You don’t respond, just hum again, lost in the float of it—too far gone to be embarrassed, too fucked out to pretend you’re not still clenching around him. You feel him begin to shift, and what starts as a delighted little hum, turns to protest, a whimper slipping from your lips before you can think to stop it when you realise he’s pulling out.

“No,” you whisper, eyes glassy, fingers curling weakly at his wrist like maybe you could keep him there. “Wait—Leon—mmph.”

His laugh is breathy, wrecked. “That good, huh?”

You glare, or try to. It’s weak at best. “Don’t—don’t be mean to me.”

“You’re the one whining.”

“You made me whine,” you grumble, but it comes out slurred, a little dreamy.

Leon grins like he’s won the lottery. He’s still so close, and maybe the way his hands are smoothing over your thighs, up your hips, dragging the touch out like he can’t stand to stop can make up for how empty you feel now.

He has no shame when he cups between your thighs again and presses two fingers there, slow and lazy, you jolt. “Leon—”

He hums, smug. “Messy,” he murmurs, fingers slipping between your folds. “Look at what you let me do to you.”

You shiver hard, half from oversensitivity, half from the way his voice drips with possessiveness. You’re too blissed out to argue, too soft to push him away. Especially when he slides one of those fingers back in, just enough.

You gasp. “Ohhhhh,” you sigh, all delight and dazed affection.

You squirm against him a little helplessly, make a face when you feel him push a little deeper, like he’s guiding what’s left of himself back into you. Your head tips back with a helpless sound.

“Leon—what the fuck?”

He has the audacity to look smug. “What? Can’t let any of it go to waste.”

“Gross,” you whine, trying and failing to wiggle away. He keeps you right there, hands firm but fond, and you know, deep in your bones, that you don’t really want to go anywhere but where he is.

He offers you a real clean-up after your thighs have stopped shaking, drives you back to your place and walks you to the door like a gentleman. It feels all too sweet for the type of night you’ve had, and every part of you wishes this won’t be the last of them.

You half expect him to say something—to ask to come in, or kiss you goodnight, or at least promise to see you again.

But he just smiles. Nods. Taps two fingers to his temple in a lazy salute.

“Night, sweetheart.”

Then he’s gone.

And in the warm lull of dawn, with your sheets still cold and your heart beating somewhere between your ribs and your throat, you wonder what to do with the ache of him still lingering under your skin.

So when morning properly comes—sun high, coffee half-sipped, hair still tangled from the night before—you call.

Just to see if he’ll pick up. Just to hear the line connect.

It rings once.

Twice.

And then you hang up in a panic.

You curse under your breath. Call yourself a hundred kinds of idiot. Your thumb is still hovering over the screen when your phone buzzes in your hand.

Leon Kennedy is calling you.

Shit, shit, shit! You muster whatever dignity you have left, swallow, and answer.

“Sweetheart?” His voice is all sleepy, a little hoarse with morning, makes your heart bloom with warmth. You sink deeper into your mattress at the sound of it, curl into your pillow like it’s his chest.

“Yeah?” you say, like you’re afraid you’ve imagined the whole thing.

“You alright?”

“Mhm.”

“You called?”

“Yeah.”

“Wanna say something?”

You pause to worry your lip between your teeth.

“…No.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. You can hear the rustle of sheets over the line, the sleepy shift of his weight. You picture him in bed—bare chest, tousled hair, phone pressed to his ear, eyes still half-lidded with sleep.

“Alright,” he murmurs.

And then he hangs up.

You stare at your phone, wide-eyed like you can’t believe he really did it. Then you hit call again before you can talk yourself out of it. He answers right away.

“Hi,” you say.

“Hey,” he breathes, voice quiet and curious like a secret. “Couldn’t stay away, huh?”

You roll onto your back, smiling helplessly at the ceiling. “No.”

He chuckles, quiet and fond. “Me neither. Was already thinkin’ about you.”

You close your eyes. “I liked your voice just now.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“I like yours too,” he says, voice thick. “Sound all soft. Like I should be wakin’ up next to you.”

The room feels warm again, like the night before never ended, whatever figurative line that you’ve drawn in the sand between you seems thinner than ever.

“Maybe next time,” you say softly.

There’s a careful pause. You both hang in the quiet, waiting to see if the moment passes.

“Have you…” he starts, then clears his throat. “Have you eaten yet?”

You shake your head although he can’t see. “No.”

“You want me to bring you something?”

The question bowls you over. It’s too sweet, too easy. Like he’s asked it a hundred times before, like this is just what you do.

“You don’t have to,” you whisper, but the fond curl of your lips slips into your voice and gives you away.

“Didn’t say I had to. Just figured you might want it.” A pause. “Something hot and filling.”

Your throat closes up a little, an uncharacteristic flush to your cheeks. “You mean pancakes?”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Among other things.”

“Leon,” you say his name urgently, too much bubbling to the surface all at once.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“You’re being…” You trail off, plucking at the fraying cuff of your sweater, too afraid to name it how it is, to ruin a good thing.

Another pause, you can hear the soft rise and fall of his breath. “I can be soft on you.” He murmurs, “If you let me.”

You press the phone harder to your ear, eyes stinging. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

“Good.” He says finally. Then, “Any coffee left at your place?”

“Only if you make it.”

He chuckles, low and fond. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

likes n reblogs r very much appreciated <3

[chirpingchorus]

chirp

(long and silly rant in tags so maybe don't open them if you're scrolling at a leisurely pace)

[xiaq]

I want an AU where Steve is a werewolf and Eddie is a vampire except neither of them know about the other.

Eddie is the frontman of an up and coming band, but he's left his coven and surrounded himself with humans. They perform after sunset anyway so it's easy enough for him to hide his nature.

Steve has similarly left his toxic family pack and built his own pseudo-pack through the kids. He works as a park ranger. Or an ornithologist. Or something else nature-y/nerdy. But no one knows about his furry little secret.

Maybe Steve ends up attending a concert with one of the kids who has VIP passes and Eddie zeros in on Steve immediately at the meet and greet because he's pretty and preppy and delightfully out of place and also he smells good. And Steve is having similar thoughts, but he tries to play it off because there's no way an honest to god rock star would be interested in him and his polo and his boat shoes (also his hearing is temporarily fucked from the concert, so he doesn't register Eddie's lack of heartbeat).

After some light flirting, Eddie invites Steve back to his hotel and Steve is like, you know what? Yes. I am going to have a one night stand with the gorgeous front man of a metal band and I'll probably fall a little in love with him by the end of the night and it will break my heart when he kicks me out in the morning, but it will be an experience. Let me go drop off my kids and I'll be right back.

Except what he doesn't know is Eddie is planning to have a little snack while they're in the throes of passion––not enough to hurt Steve or anything, just enough that he'll have a pleasurable blackout and wake up tired but sated.

The only problem is that neck-biting (that breaks the skin) for wolves is the equivalent of marriage.

So when Eddie bites Steve, instead of a venom-drunk human, peacefully slipping into sleep in his arms, he gets a very horny, very confused, werewolf who is now insisting that they're married.

I can't decide if it would be funnier if Wolves/Vampires didn't know about each other, Ie:

"You're a Werewolf?" Eddie says, "What do you mean you're a werewolf? Werewolves exist? No. Shut up. Prove it."

And:

"Holy shit. A vampire. Vampires are real," Steve reaches for Eddie's face and Eddie is so baffled by the everything of this situation that he lets Steve pinch Eddie's top lip and peel it up off his fangs for a mortifyingly long moment. Eddie draws the line when he starts poking at Eddie's incisors, though.

"Why do I feel funny?" Steve mutters. "Will your venom kill me?"

"How should I know," Eddie hisses, only a little hysterical, "I didn't know wolves existed until two minutes ago, I've never bitten a wolf before."

"And you won't be biting any others, mister. Infidelity is not ok."

The other option is that wolves and vamps DO know about each other but stay so isolated in their covens and packs (and loners are super unusual) that they never interact. So Steve and Eddie are both like, dang, I'd been raised to think all of your kind were smelly/ugly/gross, but you uh, don't fit into that box at all. Weird.

Regardless, Steve (still naked, probably) crosses his arms all huffy, like, "well, we're married now, you're not going to bite me and then cast me aside like some harlot," and Eddie is like "...I'm weirdly ok with this, actually. No arguments here." And eventually they live happily ever after.

[bows4tyun]

PASSIONS - ! ⸝⸝ 최수빈 & 최범규

۶ৎ: "c'mon sweetie, tell us what you want." beomgyu's voice dripped with lechery as he spoke with a sexy tone. both of them looked down at you menacingly, waiting for you to speak. "we don't have all day"

⌗ pairing! - band member!soobin x fem!reader x band member!beomgyu

⌗ warnings! - smut, softdom!soobin, meandom!beomgyu, sub!reader, threesome, unprotected sex, oral (both m. receiving), no mxm, big dick soogyu, degrading, voyeurism, teasing, vaginal fingering, choking, ass smacking, cum restriction, breast worship, nipple play, soogyu call reader sweetie, baby, good girl, and whore

⌗ lexi adds! - this one made me... feel something. I'd be the same as reader if I was in this situation :3 also ty to anon for sending this yummy request!! also might be inaccurate cos I've never been to an actual band concert ;( not proofread!

your favourite band was coming to town, how could you not go?

so here you were, amidst the crowd of eager fans in the front row waiting for the members to come out and begin the concert. music videos of the band display on the big screens as the fans sing along to the songs.

once the last music video ends, it's silence. and suddenly, the lights go dark, signalling that the concert was beginning. roars and shouts began to join together as the members walked on stage, looking better than ever as the bright lights focused on their forms, positioning themselves in front of their designated instuments and microphones.

you looked at them in awe, taking your time to admire each member.

yeonjun, a confident guy who was also the main singer began to sing their newest song while the other vocalist stood beside him. taehyun sang with yeonjun, their voices harmonizing with such beauty that you and the crowd couldn't help but cheer for them. behind them was kai on the drums, his amazing drumming skills working amazingly with power and rhythm.

when you turned to taehyun's right, you saw soobin, a tall guy towering over his keyboard, his eyes focusing on each of the notes played.

finally, your gaze reaches beomgyu, who was right beside soobin. your eyes widened as you realized that beomgyu was a looking straight at you, a smirk adorning his face as his fingers worked on the strings of his bass guitar. he elbowed soobin gently and nodded toward you for soobin to look. you watched as his eyes searched for you, the person who beomgyu already had eyes on.

you made eye contact with him, smiling eagerly at the fact that two of the band members were gazing at you. they smile back and you wave your glow stick with power that had been given to you by the other fans before everyone was inside the venue.

beomgyu doesn't hesitate to laugh at how excited you were. finding it cute that you were acting like that just for them. you felt like your heart could just melt on the spot.

It went on like this throughout out the concert. of course, you had interactions with the other three members; a high five from yeonjun, a wave from taehyun, and a wink from kai, but soobin and beomgyu gave you the most attention.

you knew that getting the expensive front row tickets was worth it at this point. you were having the time of your life right now.

⸝⸝

then the concert came to an end. fans flooded the exits of the venue, buying merch and grabbing extra banners to keep as memories.

you followed behind the big crowd, about to walk through the doors of the venue when you hear a slightly muffled "excuse me" from behind you. when you turn around you realize you were stopped by a staff member.

you thought you were in some kind of trouble but what could have you done wrong? certainly nothing, right? "um... is there something wrong?" you stammered on your words as you spoke, a bit anxious for their response.

"come with me" the staff spoke with such bluntness, saying no more but turning around and starting to walk. hesitantly, you follow behind, your mind full of scepticism as they lead you to a part of venue you had never been to before.

finally, you reach a door, the room is labelled as "green room"

and then it hit you, this was where the group waited before going on stage. why were you being taken here? "uh- I don't have the vip ticket..." the staff leaves your words unanswered and opens the door, holding it and waiting for you to enter. you quickly do, not wanting to leave the staff waiting. "is there some kind of mistake?"

you couldn't see the staff's face, half of it covered by a white mask but you could tell they were getting tired of you, "do you want to see the members or not?"

"I'm seeing the members?" your eyes widened in surprise from the staff's words, completely bewildered.

before you could look at the staff member again, they left the room, leaving you to figure it out yourself. so you stood there, gripping your purse nervously as you await for the members of your favourite band to appear. you were so tense at this point, overthinking everything. thinking of what to say to them, how to act, and if you looked good right then and there.

before you could even check yourself in a mirror, the members came out, but only two; soobin and beomgyu.

they smirked when they saw how still you stood from shock. beomgyu chuckled softly, "what are you? some kind of statue?" his tone was joking yet sweet, just how you had imagined it. this felt like a dream. everything felt so surreal you wondered if you were even alive.

"uh no-" you stuttered and quickly fixed your stance.

"you're cute" soobin said, his hands leaving from his pockets as he crossed his arms over his chest. they both looked so menacing in front of you, they were even better looking up close.

they started walking closer and you didn't know what to do. your thoughts were running through your head like a bullet train and you felt the heat of their bodies radiate off of them ever so slightly when they were close enough.

beomgyu ran a finger softly across your jawline and cheek and suddenly, heat ran up to your face, your cheeks immediately turning to a pink hue, spreading like blush. of course, this was a normal reaction when your celebrity crush was this close to you and even caressing your face.

"when I saw you in the crowd... " he began, his tone in a low and soft growl "i couldn't help but think of how hot you were." you blush even harder than before at his words. you couldn't believe it. dressing to impress was definitely the way to go for the concert and it was paying off. you look at his face, only to see his eyes glued onto your slight anxious look on your face, a smirk running along his face as his eyes deepen into yours, creating some kind of romantic feel in the air.

"do you want to do us a favor? " soobin asked, his voice less menacing than beomgyu's. you nod your head, causing both of them to grin. "good, tell us what you want from us."

"what I want..? " you repeat his question, a bit confused of what he was implying.

"okay, let's make this easier for you to understand." soobin gripped your shoulders and pushed you down, making you get on your knees in front of them. you could feel your body heating up as you tried not to gaze at the bulges in their pants.

"c'mon sweetie, tell us what you want." beomgyu's voice dripped with lechery as he spoke with a sexy tone. both of them looked down at you menacingly, waiting for you to speak. "we don't have all day"

"I-I don't know..." you stammered over your words, the scene getting overwhelming.

"then we'll just have to ask you, don't we?" beomgyu put his hands in the pockets of his jeans while soobin moved a hand to softly rub your hair affectionately. "do you want our dicks?" he spat out with no filter and soobin chuckled under his breath when he saw the way your eyes widened.

"don't ask her, just give it to her." soobin said, leading both of them to unzip and unbutton their pants. you moved your gaze to the floor, not wanting to look like a pervert.

"hey, look up." beomgyu commanded , gripping your chin with his thumb and pointer finger to make you look up, their dicks both hard and hanging right in front of your face. they each griped their base with one hand.

"oldest goes first, hm?" soobin said, pushing beomgyu to the side softly before gripping your head. you looked at the monster that they expected to fit in your mouth: a long and girthy cock, his tip a pulsing sweet pink, veins running along the length with big and heavy balls. just looking at it alone made your throat want to close up.

soobin looked down at you with soft and gentle eyes, making you calm down a bit. he caressed your head again, fond of your pretty features. "you're so pretty," he said, admiring the scene for a few more seconds "just signal me when you can't take it anymore, okay?" his words of reassurance made you nod, a small smile adorning his face and he placed his satiny tip against your pursed lips. when you felt comfortable enough, your parted them, his dick making it's way into your mouth slowly.

soobin couldn't help but groan at the feeling of your mouth enveloping him with so much warmth. "just like that..." he mumbled under his breath, his eyes closed shut as he enjoyed the moment.

he thrusted into your mouth, making sure to not hurt you or go to hard, just the right speed, allowing both you and him to enjoy it.

when soobin spoke, his tone was of embarrassment "fuck, I'm gonna cum already... you're gonna swallow like a good girl, right baby?" you nodded a bit to eagerly at his words, sucking even harder than before, causing him to hiss. "take it, baby..." his cum shot into your throat and your felt him pull out with a pop. your mouth felt so full and sticky but you swallow, opening your mouth to show him. "such a good girl..."

suddenly beomgyu cuts into the moment "get over here." he said as he signalled toward the gray couch that decorated the minimalistic room. soobin helped you off your knees and you both walked toward him. you sat down next to beomgyu and he began taking your top off, catching you off guard. he smirks at your expression "what? thought you'd only be here to suck dick? you're in for a ride."

he pulled your shirt over your head, throwing it on the floor and leaving you in only your bra and skirt. his actions followed with him ripping off the other pieces of clothing from your body and having them all in a built up pile.

and that was when they began staring in admiration, taking in every inch of your body. "fuck, you're beautiful..." soobin said, moving his hand up your waist to cup one of your breasts, sitting on the opposite side of you, allowing beomgyu to do the same.

both of them rubbed their thumbs over your hardening nipples, the touch on your sensitive skin, causing you to whimper.

"what? do you like this?" beomgyu asked a bit harshly, moving his finger away to lean down and place his lips tightly around your bud, sucking lightly and running his tongue over it.

sounds of ecstasy rolled off your tongue when you feel both of them sucking on each of your nipples, the lewd scene seeming so vulgar and full of lust.

beomgyu's hand discreetly slid down your body, feeling each of the curves and dips of your form before reaching your embarrassingly wet folds, the amount of slick enough to wet the couch. he ran his lanky and long fingers along them, the wetness coating with digits with ease from how wet you were.

his lips left your nipple, the cold breeze hitting your nipple like an iceberg as you shivered. your eyes screwed shut once he rammed two of his fingers inside your hole, the stretch a bit painful from how long you had anything inside you. you could just hear and imagine the look on beomgyu's face as he chuckled ominously at the way your face contorted with pleasure as his fingers pumped in and out of you aggressively. only the wet sounds of the fingering and the somewhat loud noises that escaped past your lips were audible.

"fuck, you like being pleasured by two men don't you? such an attention whore..." beomgyu stated, his other hand creeping up from your breast and to your neck, he didn't apply any pressure but the threat still lingered in the air. "hyung, get your phone, would you?"

soobin detached his lips from your chest and went to another room for his phone. beomgyu smirked at the opportunity he had here. he picked you up with ease and placed your over the armrest of the couch, your back arched as your hands gripped the armrest. a shaky breath left your mouth and you felt the tip of beomgyu's cock prod against the rim of your hole, drawing a circle around it repeatedly.

you parted your lips to say something but the only thing that escaped were whines. beomgyu leaned in next to your ear, his breathing warm against your neck and earlobe. "you're whining?" he questioned, his tone sinister and dangerous as he spoke. "why are you instead of telling me what you want, hm?" his hand reached your throat once more, applying the pressure that he hadn't applied last time. "say what you, beg for it like a whore."

when you spoke, you had sounded this desperate and needy ever if your life. "need y-your dick... pleasure beomgyu..."

another low chuckle came from beomgyu, his words and questions never failing to leave you wanting more. "hm? need this fat cock inside of you?" you nod a bit more eagerly than needed and yelp when a his other hand is brought down hard to your ass unexpectedly. "I don't that's enough begging, is it? doesn't seem like you'll be having dick anytime soon"

tears began to adorn the rims of your eyes, threatening to fall from your lashes as you begged even harder, "please! p-put it inside of me! even if it's just the tip...!" your voice was failing to keep the tears a secret which only turned beomgyu on even more.

his eyes seemed to have soften for a while, but just how quickly they softened, they turned and went back to the fierce look of lust "that's more like it baby..." you shriek when he smacks your ass again and lets only his fat bulbous tip push inside of your awaiting hole, the stretch so good your eyes almost rolled to the back of your head and your breath quiver.

soobin came back into the room, one hand holding his phone while the other still held a grip at the base of his cock, his fingers able to wrap around it with ease unlike your mouth. he rolled his eyes at beomgyu already having his turn with you, "you really can't play fair in anything can you? I wasn't finished. "

"don't worry, she's not even getting dick yet... I'm just waiting until she snaps." and with that, he slid his tip out of you, leaving your hoke to be clenching around nothing.

desperate and pathetic, you whine again, the tears finally falling down your face. "put it back in-!" you cry out, moving your hand behind you to possibly put his dick inside you yourself. beomgyu sees this, quickly gripping your wrist with such force you swear it could've stopped your blood circulation.

"what the fuck do you think you're doing?" the sterness in his voice didn't fail to scare you, your arm weak against his as you give up trying to get what you want. "that's not how things are given." he throws your hand back onto the arm rest where it was. "hyung, get a picture of her face, I bet she looks pathetic as hell right now, just like a whore would be."

soobin nods and moves in front of you, panning the phone down to an angle where your whole face was visible through the camera app. he was taking the picture with one hand, the other jerked himself off. he spoke to you softly unlike beomgyu, "chin up baby, let me see your pretty face. he's not hurting you, right?"

you shake your head, letting him capture your vulnerable form displayed before them. just as he took the pictures, you feel beomgyu's dick surge into you and thrust relentlessly causing you to yelp and cry out, "t-too fast!"

soobin smiled and placed his dick against your lips again, prodding them open. you look at him, your eyes shimmering from the tears you had shed and he nodded, leading you take in his cock once more as you moaned and whimpered from the speed beomgyu was going.

beomgyu smacked your ass again, causing you to lunge forward and choke on soobin's dick, taking it in deeper than you had the previous time. your muffled moans not reaching their ears from how soobin's dick muted you.

"f-fuck... beomgyu let me have my turn. oh shit-" soobin huffed out, knowing that his climax was close. but beomgyu was still thrusting into you, in a completely different world, eyes closed as he continued to pound into you.

he pulled out of your mouth abruptly, a string of saliva stretching and snapping as he made his way behind you. he pushed beomgyu aside, the feeling of both of your holes being empty making you whine once more.

beomgyu lets out a long annoyed sigh, not liking how you were acting like a brat. he moved in front of you where soobin had been, lifting your chin harshly and looking at the pouty look on your face, finding it cute yet frustrating at the same time. "one second without dick and you're already starting to whine. you're lucky you're getting two instead of one" he grabs his dick and signals you to suck. slowly but surely, you tongue wraps and swirls around the tip of his dick; its smaller than soobin's, but it was super thick, the girth left you in shock.

beomgyu threw his head back as his adam's apple bobbed up and down from his heavy pleasured breaths. and again, you're surprised when soobin slams into you from behind, his dick reaching even deeper than beomgyu's.

soobin groaned behind you, gripping your hips as he thrusted in and out, "I wasn't going to let beomgyu have this all to himself... tell me if it hurts, okay pretty?" his reassuring words cause you to nod while sucking beomgyu off, small kitten licks given to the slit of his tip before beomgyu gripped the back of your head and pushed you down, forcing you to take him down your throat.

his fingers wrap around your hair and grip it tight and he guides your head along his shaft, pleasuring himself to the max as you tightened your cheeks. "oh fuck, of course a whore like you has experience with sucking dick, hm? fucking take it...!" without warning, his cum shoots down your throat just like soobin's had.

your moans and whimpers continue as you swallow and soobin fucks into you harder in order to chase his climax. the wet lewd sounds of skin slapping on skin echoed in the room along with their heavy breathing and your moaning. the tickle of his balls hitting your clit made you shudder and twitch.

"hmph! I'm cumming...!" you cried out, gripping the couches arm rest as if your life depended on her it.

"oh no you don't" beomgyu spoke sternly as he stared into your eyes, "brats like you don't cum until he cums."

you trembled as you tried to hold in your cum, feeling as if you'd pop like a balloon. A flash from the camera shot in your face, another picture captured for memories. each thrust of soobin's had you so close to cumming just by the way his dick pressed and kissed your cervix, sending you into a spiral of pleasure.

finally, you heard as his breath grew heavier and quicker, a signal of his incoming climax. he hissed as he pressed his hips against yours and he completely buried himself inside of you before his cum shot out. you cum right after him, listening to beomgyu's words and cumming all over his cock.

"that's it baby... you did so well for us... " he leaned in forward, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. soobin pulled out, taken a picture of the way your mixed cum spilled out of your hole and onto the couch.

beomgyu tilted your head upwards, his lips finding their way to yours as he kissed you with a bit of pressure.

both of them put their dicks back into their pants, zipping up and standing in front of you. soobin patted your butt lightly telling you to "get dressed". they kept the same smirk on their faces as they watched you pick up your clothes piece by piece. soobin spoke in a proud tone, "I guess we picked the right person to come backstage." his statement caused beomgyu to laugh with pride before speaking.

"I hope you enjoyed your vip experience, this won't be the last time."

⌗ taglist! - @hyunj00 @lovingbeomgyudayone @saejinniestar (please lmk if you want to be tagged in any of my future works!)

[ineffably-queer-book-lover]

Inconspicuous Meeting (ca. 2013)

“In the background Crowley and Aziraphale met on the tops of buses, and in art galleries, and at concerts, compared notes, and smiled.”

Good Omens (by Terry Pratchett and that other guy) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So, I've been thinking about S3 (as one does) recently (all the bloody time) and wondering about some potential inconspicuous (or so our Ineffables probably like to think) collaboration of these two idiots to avert the End of the World™️ (again!).

Please keep in mind that I try to stay spoiler-free for S3, so if you already know something in that vein, please don't mention it here! Thank you. 😘

Anyway, these musings reminded me once again that my LEGO babies have wanted to do a little reenactment of that famous bus ride scene from S01E01 for ages! I've been designing and collecting various parts over a long time, but never got around to actually make all the necessary modifications to my London bus to set the scene up. Until today. Wahoo! 😊

I'll add a little BTS shot of their outfits and accessories. This is one of my all-time favorite Crowley looks that really would have deserved more screen time! Rawr. I'm also amused by all the little references in Aziraphale's copy of his celestial observer (rare old books, a serpent statue, a new galaxy, lol).

Psst, I'm aware that Crowley's sunglasses aren't exactly a perfect match, but they're the closest I have, so please just enjoy Aziraphale's most nice and accurate reading glasses instead! 😉

I'm just happy to have accomplished this little photo shoot this weekend, because there are a couple of very busy weeks/months coming up and I just wanted to have a bit of fun with my LEGO babies before those taxing times. Also, I'm still waiting for some custom printed parts for my 1960s Ineffable Wives. Fingers crossed they'll turn out well. 🤞

Tagging all you wonderful people again, but please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the list! No hard feelings, promise!

@di-42 @snognes @ineffablepretzel @phoen1xr0se @thatineffablewitch @ineffablyruined @lickthecowhappy @caminholonge @gallup24 @tickety-boooo @waitingtobebroken @ineffablecrow @neversam23 @juliette-tango @crowleysgirl56 @hellsgardener01 @lookingatacupoftea @the-oak-branch-nebula @just-sauntered-vaguely-downwards @lutraslutra @fumblingbuffoon @naturallyteal @noxnightingales @bl0ndwave @faeriedays @vidavalor @inezrable @simonezitrone79 @confusedtoadsworld @darlsbardlife @imfruity5432 @ineffable-xenanigans @handyowlet @ineffablequeermoony @fellshish