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satori-runa · 8 months ago

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—The star of the night

Summary: In the middle of chaos, Reca chooses you, his assistant, to replace the actual actress.

Words: 2k

Tags: Fluff, slight comedy, mr reca being mr reca

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

In your lifetime, you'd never been anywhere more glamorous than Reca's movie set. It was a polished spectacle of wealth, fame, and sheer creative ambition concentrated in a single place.

The set was pristine. Everything from the polished equipment to the crew buzzing around the latest cutting-edge technology spoke of high-budget prowess. Reca had wrangled only the crème de la crème of actors, and the script itself was a masterpiece, lauded by critics before a single frame had even been shot. Naturally, it was no surprise when the man beside you, the very architect of this grandiose vision, let out an audible groan, throwing his head into his hands. He pulled them down his face in a gesture so theatrical it almost belonged on the screen itself.

"No, no, no." He groaned, his voice laced with overdramatic despair. “Not like this. This is supposed to be art. Art!” He gestured wildly at the set. “Any three-year-old could create such a display with macaroni!"

While you found yourself captivated by the scene's intricate design—each prop in perfect position, the textures, the layout of furniture—all meticulously assembled to support the vision of an unfolding narrative, Reca saw only flaws. In his eyes, it was a desecration of the perfection he had so painstakingly envisioned.

To him, everything was wrong. The lighting was lifeless, casting shadows that fell harshly across the actors’ faces, robbing them of the soft glamour he’d imagined. The music? A hollow echo that failed to evoke a single stirring of emotion, as far from evocative as a flat note played on a broken piano. And the actress—the poor, unknowing actress who, in any other setting, would be lauded for her skill—was, to Reca, nothing short of an abomination in this moment. His eyes were fixed on her, his lips pressed into a thin line as he shook his head.

“Does she even know her lines?” He muttered, mostly to himself, though you heard every word. “It’s as if she’s performing in a high school play, not…not this.” He ran his hands through his hair, pacing back and forth, his presence a cyclone of perfectionism.

For the past hour, Reca had been tearing every detail apart. The set he'd once raved about was now an "ill-matched mess." The weeks you'd spent booking this elusive location, the endless calls, the backup locations you’d scouted, and the rejections you’d faced until this one finally came through. The casting? The exhausting process of reviewing tapes, organizing callbacks, going through Reca's list of notes and opinions on each actress, often just to have him change his mind the next day. And that demo track? You’d pulled every string, barely scraping by deadlines, just to make sure everything was in perfect order for him.

And here you were, watching it all unravel with each of Reca’s sighs and exasperated mutterings. As he kept pacing, criticizing the lighting again and muttering that the entire production was in danger of "crumbling into mediocrity," you couldn’t help but let out a silent prayer. An aeon, a muse, a miracle—someone save me, you thought, raising your hands briefly to the heavens in a quiet display of surrender.

Because if Reca’s mood didn’t lighten, there was absolutely no way this movie was getting made today.

Just as you were silently pleading for an escape from this nightmare, Reca’s pacing came to an abrupt halt. His head snapped in your direction, and his gaze narrowed, a glint of sudden inspiration lighting up his face. You felt a jolt of dread. That look—oh, you knew it too well. It was the same look he had whenever he came up with one of his “brilliant” ideas, which, more often than not, meant you were in for another impossible task.

“You.” He said, pointing at you with a fervor that made you take a step back. “You’ll be perfect.”

You blinked, uncertain if he was joking. “Me?”

“Yes! You!” He clapped his hands together, excitement bubbling up in his eyes. “Don’t you see? You have everything this role needs. Raw energy, authenticity—a complete lack of…training! It’s fresh. It’s real!”

“Reca, I don’t think—”

“Nonsense!” He cut you off, waving your protests away. “You’re exactly what this film is missing! All this time, I was looking in the wrong places. These actresses…they’re too polished. Too practiced. They lack that something—that spark of untamed potential that you have.” He smiled, a bit maniacally, but you could tell he was deadly serious.

“But I’m just your assistant.” You stammered, feeling your face flush. “I don’t know the first thing about acting. I’d probably ruin the entire film!”

“No way.” He insisted, eyes blazing with enthusiasm as if he’d already envisioned you on the big screen. “Think about it! You’ve been here for the whole process, you know every detail. You’ve seen every scene in my head just as I see it. Who else could be better prepared?”

You opened your mouth to protest again, there was no one that had the same vision as him, but he was already motioning to the costume designer, barking orders to prepare an outfit for you. Any hint of hesitation had disappeared from his face. In his mind, you were already cast and rehearsed, the missing piece that would bring his vision to life.

The next thing you knew, you were being ushered into the dressing room, handed a costume, and given a rapid rundown of your character’s motivations—directly from Reca himself, who seemed thrilled beyond measure. Somewhere between his impassioned monologues and the mounting nervousness that took over you, you found yourself on the set, standing beneath the very lights he’d spent hours cursing.

And as the camera rolled, with Reca’s wide-eyed gaze fixed intently on you, you couldn’t shake the surreal feeling. You’d gone from assistant to lead actress in a single, unpredictable twist, and despite your inexperience, you found yourself saying the lines and stepping into the role…all under the watchful, eager eyes of a director who now thought you were the perfect star.

The set had quieted down, and the crew took a break, leaving only a few people around. Reca, still lingering near you after that intense practice, watched the others drift away before turning back to you with a small, thoughtful smile.

“Let’s run through it one more time, mon cherie.” He said, his voice softer now. “Off camera. Just us.” There was a vulnerability in his tone you hadn’t heard before—a subtle, unspoken invitation.

You nodded, though your heart was pounding again. With the equipment and the audience gone, the space between you felt strangely intimate, as if stepping outside the boundary of the roles you were supposed to be playing.

He took a steadying breath and stood before you, his gaze searching yours. “Close your eyes.” He said, his hand brushing yours. “Forget the lines, the lights. Just…feel it.”

You closed your eyes, letting his words sink in. You could feel the warmth of his presence, so close now that every brush of his hand seemed to linger, every movement deliberate. He guided you gently, his fingertips tracing the edges of your hand until your fingers were laced together, his touch grounding, even protective.

“Imagine…” he whispered, his voice soft and full of emotion, “Imagine there’s no one here but us. No cameras. No crew.”

You opened your eyes, and he was watching you, his gaze vulnerable and sincere in a way you hadn’t seen before. His expression held an emotion that was entirely unscripted—almost a question lingering in his eyes, as if he was daring you to step closer.

His hand moved to your face, fingertips lightly tracing your cheek. The way he looked at you was overwhelming, like he was seeing parts of you no one had ever seen before. It felt like he was letting you in, past the director, past the confident professional, to something real and deeply hidden.

“Just us.” He murmured, almost to himself, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone. His eyes softened, and he leaned closer, his breath warm against your skin. For a second, it felt like he might kiss you—not as part of a scene, not as an actor in a role, but as himself.

You swallowed, your own emotions swelling, breaking past the practiced distance of assistant and director. The way he looked at you, the way his touch lingered just a moment too long, felt impossibly real. It wasn’t just acting. Not anymore.

And in that shared silence, the line between character and reality blurred completely, leaving you wondering if maybe, just maybe, there was something there that neither of you had dared to speak aloud.

Your breath caught as Reca leaned in closer, his hand cradling your face with an intensity that made the world around you disappear. His gaze dropped to your lips, lingering there for a heartbeat that stretched on, filled with a tension so thick it felt like the air had turned electric. His thumb brushed gently across your cheek, and you felt your heart pounding, anticipation building with each passing second.

You closed your eyes, half-expecting, half-hoping for the kiss that seemed to hover right on the edge of happening. The moment felt impossibly fragile, a secret shared only between the two of you. And just as you felt him draw in that final breath…

He pulled back, a sudden spark lighting up his eyes, and he spun around, letting out a shout that shattered the delicate silence. “Yes! That’s it! THAT expression—exactly what we need!”

You blinked, still reeling, as he practically leapt away from you, his energy blazing. “Everyone!” He called out, his voice filled with exhilaration. “Get ready to film! Now, now, now! We have to capture this—she’s got the emotion perfect, it’s exactly what I’ve been looking for!”

The crew scrambled into action, quickly setting up cameras and adjusting lights as you stood there, frozen and feeling a little…lost. You watched him pace excitedly, giving orders and pointing out positions, his focus now on preparing the scene. Meanwhile, you felt your cheeks flush with the sudden realization that the almost-kiss hadn’t been what you thought at all.

You felt the warmth creeping up your cheeks, your heart still racing from the almost-kiss that had left you somewhere between flustered and bewildered. As the crew finished setting up, you broke into a grin, chuckling softly at the absurdity of it all. Reca had played you perfectly, swept you into the scene so thoroughly that, for a moment, you’d forgotten where the acting stopped and the real feelings began. You couldn’t help but shake your head, laughing at yourself.

Reca, seeing your smile, grinned back, clearly thrilled that he’d managed to get such an authentic reaction. “That’s the spirit!” he cheered, clapping his hands together in delight. “I knew you had it in you!”

“You know, Reca.” You said, trying to keep the teasing note in your voice light as you crossed your arms, “you played me well. Got me all caught up in the moment. Almost too well, actually.”

He tilted his head, eyes glinting with mischief. “Only did what any good director would do.” He replied, a playful edge in his tone.

You raised an eyebrow, feeling a spark of confidence as you leaned in just a little. “Well, maybe we should rehearse some more roles in private sometime.” You suggested, your smile turning slightly coy. “You know…just to pick up where you left me hanging.”

For the briefest second, he looked taken aback, his eyes widening as if surprised by your boldness. But then, that familiar grin returned, his gaze lingering on you with a newfound intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Perhaps we will.” he said, his voice a touch lower, his gaze still locked on you. “Only if you think you can handle a bit more of my…methods.”

Your smile deepened, and you felt a thrill run through you. Maybe, just maybe, the line between acting and reality was thinner than you’d thought. And if Reca wanted to blur it a little more…well, you couldn’t say you’d mind.

#⊹₊⟡⋆satori.speaks #⊹₊⟡⋆writings #mr reca x reader #mr reca #honkai star rail #honkai mr reca #hsr mr reca #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #mr reca fluff

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yourfavoritewag · 5 days ago

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2Hands

pairing: lando norris x lia brooks genre: popstar x f1 driver • fluffy domesticity • soft boyfriend lando • music video romance inspired by “2hands” by tate mcrae

a little bit spicy but no smut

lando had no idea how soft his life would get when he started dating lia brooks. he thought it would be wild, chaotic, paparazzi at every door, and sure, there was a bit of that. but mostly?

mostly it was sunday mornings. her humming in the kitchen. shared cereal boxes. the way she’d walk around the house barefoot in one of his t-shirts, half-singing whatever new demo she was working on, brushing her teeth mid-melody.

he lived for it. every part.

the two sat in lando's apartment. lando’s in his hoodie, socks pulled halfway up his calves, nursing a mug of tea that’s mostly gone cold. lia’s sitting cross-legged beside him on the couch, lyric book balanced on her knees, pen tapping against the page.

she hasn’t said much for the last few minutes, just looked out at the harbor, chewing her bottom lip like there’s something she’s not sure how to say.

he nudges her ankle with his foot.

“you good?”

lia looks up at him. her smile is soft, almost shy.

“i have a crazy idea,” she says, closing the sketchbook and setting it aside. “for the new music video.”

lando perks up immediately. “yeah?”

lia nods, pulling her knees to her chest. “i want a real f1 car in it. not a prop. not something fake. and not just any driver.”

he watches her, heart stalling a little.

she tucks her hair behind her ear, then looks at him with that kind of soft boldness that always floors him. “i want you to drive it.”

the silence between them is gentle, charged.

“me?” he asks, quietly stunned.

“yeah,” she says. “i want the car to be branded in my visuals. my colours. my name. and you. driving is literally your job. you live and breath that speed. i want you, just as you.”

lando sets his mug down, folding his arms over his knees.

“lia, are you asking me to be in your music video?”

she laughs, cheeks flushing. “yeah, i am lanny.”

“would i get to wear a suit with your logo on it?”

“custom,” she promises. “im thinking purple, my colour, and orange which is your colour. my initials on the chest.”

he breaks into a slow smile, eyes soft and awed.

“you really want me to do that?” he asks. “i mean, i’m not... i’m not some model.”

“no,” she says. “you’re my driver. and i want the world to see you that way.”

lando exhales, overwhelmed but warm. “okay,” he says, voice low. “i’ll do it.”

“yeah?”

“yeah,” he repeats. “but i want my name in the credits or something.”

she leans over and kisses him. it's soft and unhurried, like a thank you. like a promise.

“deal.”

he rests his forehead against hers.

“you know,” he murmurs, “i think the only thing better than driving for mclaren might be driving for you.”

she laughs into his chest.

it's the day of the music video and lando is nervous.

he’s in full gear. the custom orange and purple race suit snug around his shoulders, LB stitched into the collarbone, her signature in a sharp, silvery thread just above his heart.

his helmet, matte lavender with streaks of neon flame and a papaya orange visor, is tucked under his arm. it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever worn, and he loves it.

her world is louder than his. music blaring, dancers warming up, cameras everywhere. it’s chaos, but it’s also… her. and she moves through it like she owns it. grinning, barefoot, joking with the director, laughing so freely he forgets for a second that he’s even nervous.

“you okay?” she asks, appearing next to him in a matching race suit with the top half tied around her waist. she has a purple and orange custom bra on while her long brown hair flows down her back, and her makeup glittering under the lights.

he shrugs, playing it cool. “just… haven’t been in a car with someone else’s name on it before.”

lia smiles, gentle and amused. “you look amazing.”

“you designed it,” he points out.

“i know,” she teases, fixing the way his suit bunches near his elbow. “and i’m a genius.”

lando leans in, lowers his voice just for her. “what if i mess it up?”

she brushes a hand over his chest, just over her name. “then you’ll still look hot doing it.”

he swallows. “cool. no pressure.”

lando slides into the driver’s seat of the purple-orange F1 car like second nature, but this time, the helmet is hers. the gloves are stitched in lavender. the car’s side pod reads: LB // 2hands.

the cameras roll.

he speeds through the closed-off airstrip with precision, smooth turns and donuts that burn rubber into smoke trails behind him. music blares through his earpiece: the beat of 2hands, deeper, remixed, full of bass and tension.

he nails it in one take.

when he pulls back in, lia is standing there clapping.

“you just did donuts in lavender flames,” she says. “i think i’m in love with you again.”

lando lifts his visor and smirks. “again?”

“always.”

the sun’s gone down and the lighting crew has bathed the runway in violet and orange LEDs. the car sits center stage like a throne, and lando is perched on top of it, his legs spread slightly, hands resting on his knees.

helmet still on.

in full suit.

silent.

lia’s in her matching race suit with the top open. her dancers melt away as she moves closer to him. the director yells action, and the track hits the second chorus

she straddles his lap. slowly. confidently. her hands run down his chest and she rolls her hips once, twice, to the beat, lips parted but eyes locked on the visor.

lando is, quite literally, not breathing.

she leans in close to the helmet, just brushing her lips to the edge of it, not kissing, just letting the camera think she might.

lando doesn’t move.

he just feels everything.

she turns around on his lap, ass facing the camera. she goes into a handstand, her hands wrapped around his legs, face in his crotch, and legs in a middle split with his face between her legs. he automatically put his hands on her bare skin to help hold her up.

she comes out of the handstand after a few seconds, now sitting on his lap with her back facing him. she takes his hands and runs them down her chest while grinding down on him.

cut.

the director shouts, “perfect!”

lia hops off, breathless, grinning. “you okay in there, lanny?”

lando lifts his visor just a crack. “i’m gonna need a minute.”

the final shot is in action.

lando’s back in the car, engine off, the camera pulling in close. lia stands beside him, back to the lens. the beat fades out.

just before the screen cuts to black, he lifts the visor slowly and winks.

in their trailer, the night has ended and lia is sitting in front of her mirror taking off her makeup. the two finally have a minute to themselves after a busy day.

she’s wiping off her lipstick with a wet wipe when he wraps his arms around her from behind.

“you okay?” she asks, glancing at him in the mirror.

“define okay,” he mumbles. “you gave me a lap dance in front of twelve cameras that millions of people are going to see.”

“you looked hot,” she says.

“i couldn’t even breathe.”

she turns in his arms. “you really wore my name like that?”

he brushes her hair back, presses his forehead to hers.

“i always will.”

twitter, five minutes after the video drops:

🔥 @popcultqueen THE WINK. THE WINK. THE F1 DRIVER WINKED. I HAVE LOST MOTOR FUNCTION.

😭 @liandoupdates lia: does a sexy lap dance on top of an actual formula one car lando: raises his visor and winks me: dead

💜 @mclarensmut the way lando sat there in full race suit while lia danced on him… the STRENGTH. the COMPOSURE.

🏁 @gridgirlie bro has driven monaco. and this is what made him sweat.

@liasbiggestfan: lia: lap dances on a car lando: silent. deadly. then winks. me: screaming into the void

@f1lore: LANDO’S CAPTION. HER INITIALS ON HIS CHEST. THE SMIRK. THE FACT THAT HE DROVE THAT CAR LIKE IT WAS HIS HEART ON THE LINE

@mclarengirlies: lando being completely hers in every frame?? and loving it?? we’ve never seen a man so whipped and so fast

@landowdc25: may we all find someone who wears our brand colours and lets lap dance on them on camera 🧡🟣

📸 @liabrooks

caption: i just want his 2hands on me

photo carousel:

lia on the F1 car in her suit and sparkles, eyes locked on lando with his visor down

lando mid-donut, purple smoke billowing behind him

behind-the-scenes shot of lia fixing the collar of his race suit

a still of the wink

blurry polaroid of them hugging off-set, both smiling too hard

top comments:

🔥 @maxfewtrell: you gonna let him breathe or nah 🏎️ @charles_leclerc: bro sat so still. that was fear. 🧡 @mclaren: respectfully, we’ve never seen that helmet before and we’re scared. 🎤 @liahq: our favourite couple 💀 @gridgossip: LANDO. NAKED. UNDER. THAT. SUIT.

📸 @landonorris

caption: my 2hands are on her at all times @liabrooks

photo carousel:

lando on top of the car, visor down, completely still

lia dancing in front of him while he visibly loses composure

them sitting together on the f1 car

her initials stitched on his chest

a mirror selfie in the trailer of her kissing his cheek, him grinning like a goof

top comments:

😭 @oscarpiastri: bro said “method acting” and just let it happen 🤯 @kimiantonelli: this man was LOCKED IN. helmet on. lap dance happening. didn’t flinch. 💜 @liabrooks: you looked hot under pressure. might do it again. 👀 @mclarenf1: are we ignoring the wink or are we planning a public meltdown 🧃 @danielricciardo: legend behavior. if she releases merch i want the helmet.

#f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #lando norris #lando x reader #tate mcrae #ln4 imagine #ln4 x reader #ln4 #lando x oc #lando x you #music video #fan fiction #fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 fic #2 hands #mclaren

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bloodyfoundations · 3 months ago

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I Mean This.

I actually love this so much ngnfnvng it turned out so gooddd

@spookyteeth look it's your favorite losers. Also props to you for inspiring me to finally draw them. Was definitely ( and shamefully) very inspired by your last demo lovers art please don’t smite me

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!!1!!11

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misaerabl · 7 months ago

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Kiss And Tell (Or Not)

"Teach me how to kiss" CONTENT: wc...1.4k ✦ just kissing, r and e are "friends", just two losers SUMMARY: When your best friend Ellie—an awkward disaster with an inflated ego—casually flaunts her dating experience, you jokingly ask her to teach you how to kiss. Things escalate quickly from a half-hearted peck to a proper tutorial, leaving both of you flustered, laughing, and maybe questioning what this whole "friendship" thing even means.

It started as a joke, as most things with Ellie did. She was lying on your bed, her legs kicked up against the wall, her favorite beat-up hoodie pulled over her head. You were sitting cross-legged on the floor, the laptop in front of you long forgotten as the conversation shifted to relationships—or, more specifically, your lack of one.

“I can’t believe you’ve had two relationships, and I haven’t even been kissed,” you said, throwing a pillow at her. She caught it with a dramatic grunt, smirking like the smug idiot she was.

“What can I say? People can’t resist me,” Ellie replied, brushing her knuckles against her chest like she was the hottest thing alive.

You rolled your eyes so hard you thought they might fall out of your skull. “You’re so full of it.”

“Full of charm,” she countered, grinning.

But the grin faded when you didn’t say anything for a moment, staring down at your lap instead. Ellie noticed, propping herself up on her elbows to study you.

“Hey,” she started, her voice softer now. “You good?”

You hesitated, chewing on your bottom lip before blurting out the thought that had been simmering in your head for the past few minutes. “You could teach me.”

“Teach you what?”

“How to, you know... kiss.”

Her jaw actually dropped, and for a moment, you thought she was going to laugh. But she didn’t. Instead, she blinked at you like you’d just asked her to solve world hunger.

“Wait, are you serious?”

“Never mind. Forget I said anything,” you said quickly, heat rushing to your face.

“No, no, no. Hang on,” Ellie said, sitting up completely now. “You’re telling me you want me to teach you how to kiss because I’ve dated two people?”

“Well... yeah,” you mumbled, avoiding her gaze.

She was quiet for a moment, and then: “You really think I’m qualified for that?”

You shot her a look. “Ellie, you’re the only person I know who’s been in a relationship. Twice.”

“Fair point,” she muttered, scratching the back of her neck. She still looked like she couldn’t believe what was happening. “Okay, so, uh... how do we do this?”

You gave her a flat look. “You’re the one with the experience. Shouldn’t you know?”

“Right, right,” she said, nodding like she was about to present a PowerPoint on the subject. She leaned forward a little, her expression awkwardly serious. “Okay, so... uh, close your eyes, I guess?”

“This is so weird,” you muttered but did as she said, squeezing your eyes shut and waiting.

You felt her shift closer, the bed creaking beneath her. Then, after a beat, her lips brushed yours—soft, hesitant, and barely there. It was over almost as quickly as it started, and when you opened your eyes, Ellie was already pulling back, her ears a suspicious shade of red.

Ellie sat back, rubbing the back of her neck and looking anywhere but at you. “Well, there you go. First kiss—check. You’re welcome.”

You frowned, feeling the heat of embarrassment crawl up your neck. “That wasn’t... I mean, it barely counted.”

She gawked at you. “What do you mean it barely counted? You said you wanted to learn, and I taught you!”

“That wasn’t teaching, Ellie. That was, like... the demo version,” you retorted, crossing your arms.

Ellie groaned, dropping her head into her hands. “Are you kidding me right now? You want a full-on tutorial?”

“I want a proper kiss,” you said firmly, though your voice wavered just slightly. “You’re supposed to show me how to do it right, aren’t you? I mean, how am I supposed to learn from that?”

She looked at you, her eyebrows raised like you’d just asked her to climb Mount Everest. “Do you even hear yourself right now?”

“Yes, I do,” you shot back, though the flush on your cheeks was betraying your confidence.

Ellie groaned again, flopping back onto the bed. “This is the weirdest thing you’ve ever asked me to do, and that’s saying something.”

“Ellie, come on,” you insisted, tugging on her sleeve. “Please? Just... one more time? A proper kiss.”

She let out a long, dramatic sigh, tilting her head back to stare at the ceiling. “Fine. But if this ruins our friendship, it’s on you.”

“It won’t ruin anything,” you said quickly, though a tiny voice in the back of your head wondered if that was true.

Ellie sat up again, her face pink but determined. “Alright. Sit here,” she said, patting the bed next to her.

You hesitated for a moment before climbing up and sitting cross-legged across from her. The air between you felt heavier now, charged with an energy that hadn’t been there before.

“Okay,” Ellie said, clearing her throat. “This time, no half-assing it. Got it?”

“Got it,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

She leaned in again, slower this time, giving you plenty of chances to back out. But you didn’t. Her hand found its way to your cheek, her thumb brushing against your skin in a way that made your breath hitch. When her lips met yours, it wasn’t hesitant like before. It was soft but certain, warm but not overwhelming.

This time, it wasn’t over so quickly. Ellie tilted her head slightly, her movements careful and unhurried, as if she was trying to make sure you understood each step. When she finally pulled back, her face was redder than you’d ever seen it, and she couldn’t quite meet your eyes.

“Happy now?” she mumbled, her voice almost gruff.

You nodded, your heart still racing. “That... yeah. That was good. Proper.”

“Good,” she said quickly, standing up and pacing the room like she needed to burn off some of the awkward energy. “Glad we got that out of the way.”

You watched her, biting back a smile. “You know, for a self-proclaimed charmer, you’re awfully flustered.”

She shot you a glare, though it lacked any real heat. “Shut up.”

Ellie had been pacing the room after the kiss, her hands stuffed into her hoodie pocket, muttering to herself about how "this was so weird" and "friends don’t do this kind of stuff." You had stayed on the bed, still trying to process what just happened, your fingers absentmindedly fidgeting with the hem of your shirt.

Eventually, her pacing stopped, and she leaned back against the wall, her head thudding softly against it as she exhaled a long breath. “Okay, so... that was... something,” she muttered, glancing at you.

You looked up at her, and suddenly, her eyes locked with yours. Neither of you said anything, but the room seemed to shrink, the air thickening with something unsaid.

Her gaze was steady, and before you knew it, she was pushing off the wall and crossing the short distance between you. The tension that had been simmering finally snapped as she leaned in, her lips finding yours in a kiss that wasn’t hesitant or experimental this time. It was deliberate, almost urgent, like something she couldn’t hold back anymore.

Your breath hitched in surprise, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you leaned into her, your hands clutching the fabric of her hoodie as if you needed something to hold on to. The kiss was different—less about teaching and more about... feeling.

When she finally pulled back, her forehead rested against yours, and her breath came in soft, uneven puffs. “Sorry,” she mumbled, her voice barely audible. “I... I don’t know why I did that.”

You swallowed, your chest tight. “Don’t be sorry.”

Ellie leaned back slightly to look at you, her expression conflicted. “This was supposed to be a lesson, not... whatever that was.”

You didn’t know what to say, your mind still spinning from the kiss. But instead of answering, you reached out, your fingers curling around her wrist. “Ellie...”

Her name on your lips seemed to ground her, and for a moment, she just looked at you, her green eyes searching your face like she was trying to figure something out. Then she sighed, a soft, almost defeated sound, and flopped onto the bed beside you, her hand brushing yours.

“Well,” she said, breaking the silence with a dry chuckle, “you’re officially not bad at kissing now.”

You laughed despite yourself, the tension easing just a little. But even as the two of you fell back into your usual banter, a part of you couldn’t shake the feeling that something between you had changed—and that maybe, just maybe, Ellie felt it too.

#ellie williams #ellie x reader #lesbian #ellie the last of us #the last of us #tlou #tlou2 #ellie tlou #ellie tlou2 #ellie fanfic #tlou ellie #ellie #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie x female reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie x you

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cloudcountry · 7 months ago

Text

SUMMARY: you are forever grateful that mr. chopped is safe.

COMMENTS: some domestic fluff with a side of ambiguous relationships & mutual pining :3 this fic takes place post canon!! i have not actually played the full game yet LOL only the demo so pls forgive if its inconsistent

It’s a morning just like any other, one were you wake up with Mr. Chopped sleeping soundly by your side. Raising from the bed, the blankets slide off your body and crumple around your form. The head beside you furrows his brow at the movement and loss of warmth, groaning as he moves ever so slightly in his sleep.

You smile softly and tuck him back in, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead. The creases of the blanket curl around him protectively, a testament to your affection.

You spare a moment to stare lovingly down at him before you start getting ready for the day. The crowbar propped up against your nightstand goes virtually unnoticed as you slip off the bed and out your bedroom door.

Fixing breakfast is quick as always, a light meal for you and a little something for him. You’re not sure how he eats, being just a head and all, but you don’t question it. It’s okay if you don’t know things, just so long as he’s safe and sound.

As your knife slices through the fruit of your choice, you stare at the utensil and purse your lips. It’s about time you and Mr. Chopped go back and visit Mr. Silvair and Mr. Crawling. Both of them must have missed you so terribly, even if the former doesn’t show it much.

It’s always been easy to lose yourself in your thoughts whenever you’re alone in the mornings like this, but it hardly ever lasts long. Soon enough, you hear the sleepy whining and cooing that could only come from your favorite person.

Abandoning the fruit on the cutting board, you make your way to the bedroom with purposefully louder steps. It’s a habit you picked up ever since he told you he doesn’t like surprises, especially not when he’s sleepy and vulnerable.

Safe. You want that for him.

He lights up when he sees you, shouting a jumbled mix up of greetings and I like yous and want carry, and so you scoop him into your arms and hold him close as his voice becomes muffled in your sleep shirt. Your heart expands, eyes and hands softening at the familiar weight on him, his dark eyes staring up at you over the fabric of your clothes.

“ Precious. ” you say, and he blinks because he does not understand.

You kiss him, brushing your lips over his forehead, and then he does.

He’s quick to yap about the kitchen, repeating words like fridge and fruits and voicing his excitement over your breakfast. You set him gently on the counter and he pouts, but when you feed him a slice of fruit he seems rather placated.

You finish cutting the fruit with practiced strokes and gather together the rest of your breakfast, occasionally responding to Mr. Chopped’s comforting chatter. Every time he opens his mouth, wide enough that it’s almost a bit ridiculous, you end up giggling as you feed him. Each time, those fruit stained lips twist up in a frown. You assure him you’re not laughing at him, that you’re just happy, and he smiles again and proclaims that he is happy, too .

It’s easy to settle at the table and prop your phone up against the vase in the center, pulling up whatever mindless content you feel like watching that day. The vase is full of flowers he picked out just for you, colorful and bright and oh so happy. You’ve found that he’s fond of brighter colors and flashier patterns when you did his hair with your collection of hairclips for the first time. He gravitated towards the ones you barely ever wore, since it was just so hard to find an outfit to match them with...he was delighted when you offered to let him wear them whenever he wants.

A gift. From someone who just wants him to be happy.

“Precious.” you say again, looking over him fondly, brushing his hair away from his face with the tips of your fingers.

He seems pleased, preening under your attention, and you can’t resist scooting closer so he can lean against your thigh. He takes the invitation gratefully, rubbing his cheek against the bare skin he finds there, only gnawing on the flesh a little bit.

You laugh because it tickles, because you adore him and he adores you, because you are happy. And the most lovely thing about it all, is that he is, too.

#auburn's fics <3 #homicipher #homicipher x reader #mr chopped #mr chopped head #mr chopped x reader #mr chopped head x reader

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