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thelov3lybookworm · 3 days ago

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Alone (part 2)

Azriel x Reader

Summary: The morning is bleak, business as usual. Nothing new. Nothing fun. Until someone decides to make it fun.

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Word Count: 1568

Warnings: just yn being depresso espresso and done with life and az lol, some vague descriptions of the previous part i think, and kidnapping teehee 🤭 ig you could also say angst? idk tho lol you decide

A/n: GUESS WHOS BACK MY GUYSSSSSSSS 🥹🥹🥹 ive been SO DESPERATE TO WRITE SOMETHING THE PAST FEW MONTHS but couldnt cus of exams and stuff and then had a bit of writers block lol but OMG IM SO HAPPY RN

this is like. a sequel to Alone, a ficlet id written for starfall week hehe. ALTHOUGH THIS IS A SEQUEL, IT CAN STILL BE READ AS A STANDALONE!! so go ahead and pls comment hehehehe i love reading comments <3

this purely exists because of the amazing people who commented on the previous part, and also people who asked to be tagged in part 2 hehe: @blessthepizzaman @vanserrasimp @sophieliz and @saltedcoffeescotch

ANYWAYS, ENJOYYYY!!!🥳🥳🥳

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Brows furrowed, Y/n pushed her face into the pillow, her annoyance slowly rising.

Why did every morning have to start with sunrise? Why couldn’t she wake up and it be night outside for once?

This had become a routine, almost. Her, lying in bed, then glaring out the window at the sun that didn’t seem to care, and then rolling as far away from the rays as she could without tumbling over. Nothing was fun anymore. Nothing to be excited about, nothing new. Only fatigued nothingness remained.

The only time she left her bed was when the rumbling in her stomach became too loud to ignore.

Which, as was evident by the slow but steady feeling of her stomach starting to cramp up, Y/n figured would be happening sooner rather than later.

Lungs expanding, air filling them, Y/n shoved the covers off of her body, scowling at the soft material, then swung her legs over the side of the bed, huffing. A small moment passed, and then two, as she stared down at the grainy planks of wood.

Somewhere outside the small apartment she had rented out a week after starfall, children played amongst themselves. The sounds of loud, free and innocent laughter that would have made her smile once now only served to grate against her nerves.

Eyes closed, breathe in, breathe out.

A flick of her wrist, and the house was covered in a sound barrier, suddenly silencing any and all sounds that before penetrated the walls. Quietly, Y/n stood, pushing strands of hair away from her face and then tying it up in a bun with the small strip of leather lying on her bedside table.

Feet bare, Y/n traipsed down the hallway to the kitchen, trying to remember if there were any leftovers she could have as she splashed her face with cold water from the tap. But the clean, empty counters told her that no, there were no leftovers.

Checking the cabinets, Y/n realised that the two slices of bread she had stored away to eat someday when there was nothing to eat had caught mold and now looked like the sadistic announcement of doom.

Pulling her lower lip between her teeth, trying desperately to find something, anything to satiate her needs for the day, she looked around. But alas, not even a dust particle dared to show face.

Having had her mental health on a downward tumble the past few weeks, Y/n disliked doing anything, much less cook for herself the first thing in the morning, and so, caving, she walked back out and towards the main door of the apartment, pulling off her thick coat from the corner where a lone shoe cabinet stood haphazardly.

It had been one of the things the homeowner had left for her in the partially furnished house. Granted, it looked older than the mother herself, much like everything else in the building, but it held up, and that was all that mattered.

It wasn’t that Y/n couldn’t afford to rent better living quarters. She could probably buy around three of the buildings in the area and still live out her life comfortably from what she had acquired. It was just that she didn’t want to get anything fancy.

What was the point in pretty things, anyway?

After all, she had lived her whole life bathed in riches and jewels and luxury, and yet, the thing that mattered most in life stayed just out of reach. All the warmth she craved, the comfort, the feeling of belonging, remained contained in books and soft bedding.

All the love she craved right in front of her eyes. Always there, never hers.

Glancing in the small mirror covered in questionable stains that for some reason refused to budge when taken to with a rag and soap, Y/n deemed her hair to be… fine, for an errand that was meant to be quick. She just had to walk a few blocks down, grab a few necessities, bread, and maybe a cup of coffee from the shop across the street that always tasted way more watered down than it should, and then it was just her and the comfort of the apartment against the world.

Preparing herself mentally, Y/n quickly pushed her feet into the boots set in the corner, tugging up the hood of her jacket, and pulled open the door. As she stepped outside and began to lock the door, a stale breeze from the cracked window in the far end tickled her nose, making her scrunch her face in distaste.

She always wished they would repair the thing, because not only did it make her cold sometimes, it often brought in smells of alcohol and everything else that disgusted her, and she hated it with every fibre in her being.

Not to mention, the stench also reminded her of cold nights alone on a high peak, surrounded by lights and glitter and stars, bottles and tears and liquid that made her throw up in the Sidra when walking all by herself in the snow while a party raged in her wake.

Y/n shook her head, shoving the icicles on her hands into her pockets as she walked down the steps, glad no neighbour of her seemed to be out and about.

Going unnoticed in the streets was almost too easy, considering she blended well in with the crowds of people going to work. All of them wearing dark coats, so bleak and ordinary. It would be a lie to claim she did not prefer this over the fur and jewels her friends decked themselves in.

Well, most of them anyways.

The tiny little building of the bakery was easy to spot, not because of the peeling colours and cracked steps, but because of the scented smoke billowing out of the chimney first thing in the morning, announcing the making of new, fresh bread.

The door creaked open under Y/n’s stiff fingers, blasting her in the face with the warm whiff of freshly produced goods, and she sighed, letting the door fall shut behind her. Instantly, the air warmed up her skin.

The bakery was fairly crowded, mostly filled with some buying smaller packages of cakes and muffins to eat on the go, and others bringing bigger packs of bread, likely to feed their families. Ignoring all that, Y/n walked over to the small old lady behind the counter, calling out orders at the younger female running about in the back visible through a small window, likely baking more.

"Good morning, darling. What can I get for you today?"

Y/n tried her best to offer her a smile, she really did, but she was ready to bet her small toe that it looked more like a grimace than anything else. "Just a roll of white bread, please."

The lady quickly put the bread in a brown paper bag, then paused, before adding in a small muffin. Y/n began to protest, but one wink from the lady and a secretive smile later, Y/n once more stood in the bustling streets of Velaris’ almost forgotten square.

Its on the house. You look like you could use a bit of sweetness, child.

The words were so simple, yet they swirled around Y/n’s mind like a whirlpool.

Maybe I do need some sweetness.

With the thoughts in her mind, Y/n began trekking back to the ramshackle apartment. One foot in front of the other, an occasional sidestep, and repeat. Until a pit opened up in her stomach, making her pause.

Y/n looked up, scanning her surroundings. Nothing out of the ordinary, and yet…

Am I just hungry?

She continued on, shaking off the concerns. But with each step, the pit deepened, spreading, and encompassed all her insides with unshakable dread.

Maybe… this isn’t hunger.

But just as she had the world breaking intervention from the mother, there was a crunch behind her. A whoosh, and then a bag was thrown over her head.

The first thing she noticed, even in her panic- aside from the sudden darkness, of course- was the stench coming from the threadbare bag.

A stench she, as part of the inner circle and one of the more skilled chemical researchers of Prythian, was quite familiar with.

Faebane.

Faebane, mixed with something more…acrid, something she recognised but couldn’t quite put a finger on, but knew it was meant to put someone in a deep, uninterruptible slumber for the very least of a day, or something similar to that.

Way to go down, I guess.

Y/n decided, then and there, as the bag tightened on her head and she was pulled back and to the side towards her captor- and what she assumed was into the small, dark alleyway, away from sight- that she wouldn’t fight back. What was the point in trying to overthrow someone who undeniably had you in captivity?

At least I can say I went with dignity. No kicking feet and screaming.

The bag tightened, and tightened, and tightened, and gradually, her head became lighter, and whatever limited vision she had began fading, her limbs loosening, falling limp. With barely any consciousness left in her, she felt her body being jostled, thrown over someone’s shoulder, maybe, before the person started walking off.

Into an adventure, I hope.

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ACOTAR taglist <3

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@buttermilktea11 @loving-and-dreaming @yucanbmylxdy

@dnfhascorruptedme @fuckingsimp4azriel @moonchildlv @12358

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motorsportbarbie13 · 12 hours ago

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Is It A Sin? (part two)

before we begin: hello my loves! i'm so glad you all liked part one to this little two parter. i've also been thinking of writing the beginning of their story. how they met the summer of her internship, how they became friends first, how they fell in love without realizing it...all that. and then what happens beyond this one two. almost like building it's own little universe. would anyone like that? :) and also LANDO HOME RACE WIN. LANDO HOME RACE WIN. AHHHHHHH

part one heremaster list here

content warning: angsty with a happy ending. smut (lite? idk it's really not hardcore smut but it's graphic? ig? idk) word count: 5.7k as always, best beta reader/writing therapist/writing bestie award goes to @lestapiastrisgirl thank you for always talking me off a ledge whenever i need it. <3

The drone of voices pressed against your skin, thick and buzzing, as you stepped into the bar later that evening. You’d called up 2 of your friends that had been at dinner with you earlier in the night to see if they were still up for another few rounds of drinks and thankfully, they had been. The bar that you’d all agreed to meet at was one of the typical student bars close to campus, all rowdy with newly turned 21 year olds and frat boys.

It wasn’t quite your scene anymore but with the way your head was buzzing after the fight with Lando, you needed something to distract you. Thankfully, your friends had come in clutch.

Both Sofia and Cora had beaten you there and were tucked away in the quietest corner they could find, a hard task on a busy Friday night during a game weekend, but the tiny four top table was plenty big for the three of you.

“So, what’s up? Where’s Lando?” Sofia asks the moment you’re settled into your chair.

You lean back, tipping your head to look at the grungy ceiling above you. You should have known these two would instantly call you out. They knew you too well, even if it had been several years since you’d all lived on the same continent.

“Yeah, everything okay?” Cora nods, taking a sip of her drink. “I was surprised when you texted me. I thought for sure you and Lando were going to go back to the hotel and call it a night.”

The aftershock of the fight with your boyfriend is still stinging and fresh. You didn’t want to talk about it. Wanted to ignore the press of anxiety that had fixed itself to the walls of your chest, squeezing at your insecurities.

You knew better. Your friends knew you better.

They knew something was up.

“We got into a fight.” You confess, eyes dropping down to the sticky table in front of you.

Around you, the bar continued to buzz like you weren’t terrified that you’d just walked out on the most important relationship of your life. You desperately wanted to believe you and Lando could survive this. Deep down, you think you did but something nagged at the corner of your mind. He had thought you were capable of cheating on him?

Did he even know you at all?

Out of the corner of your eye you catch the look that Sofia gives Cora before she shifts in her seat.

“Over Andrew?” Sofia asks carefully.

Your eyes flick up, brows rising in mild surprise. “Yeah, how’d you guess?”

Your friends exchange another glance before Cora shifts her glass from one hand to the other. “We just saw how Lando looked while you guys were talking to Andrew earlier this afternoon. He seemed…” Cora pauses, seemingly searching for the right word.

“Blindsided.” Sofia supplies roughly.

You huff a laugh, swearing under your breath.

Apparently you were the only one who’d missed the otherwise obvious tension between your boyfriend and Andrew. What else had you missed today? How had you been so oblivious?

Slouching down further into your chair, you groan. This had really spun so far out of control so fast, you weren’t sure how it had even happened.

“He didn’t like the way Andrew was flirting with me, which I get. I just…fuck.” You shake your head, mind replaying the entire conversation over in your head.

You didn’t know if you’d just not been paying attention or if you hadn’t wanted to see what Lando had seen. Looking back, the flirting and biting comments towards Lando were obvious. But in the moment?

“I didn’t even realize that’s what Andrew was doing.”

Cora’s eyes soften seeing your distress. “Andrew has spent years pining after you, babe. Frank told us at dinner that Andrew overheard him talking to another one of the faculty and just showed up when you were there to speak. Didn’t even ask if it was okay to be there.”

You freeze. “What? He told me Frank invited him that morning.”

Sofia shakes her head, “That’s not what Frank said. He seemed a bit annoyed that Andrew had shown up in the first place, especially when Lando was there.”

You felt like you were going to be sick. Lando had seen it. Frank had seen it. Sofia and Cora had apparently seen it too. You were the only one who hadn’t and now look what it had cost you. You thought back to the way Lando’s face had twisted when you’d told him it was just a joke, that Andrew hadn’t been hitting on you. How you’d dismissed his feelings, made him feel like he was the crazy one. No wonder he’d overreacted.

“Andrew and I ended on good terms though. He said he understood and had thought I wouldn’t choose him anyway. So I left. I thought…”

You blink down at your drink, sudden realization washing over you like a cold splash.

You’d been wrong all those years. Apparently what had been your version of events after your breakup hadn’t been reality and now it had caused a riff between you and the one person who meant the entire universe to you.

Your mind went back to the sly grin he’d given you. The way he’d kept stealing looks at Lando. It had never occurred to you that he was sizing Lando up, intentionally riling your boyfriend up to cause the exact thing that happened when you’d gotten back to the room.

Andrew had meant to do this the entire time, hadn’t he?

“I am such a fucking idiot.” You murmur, head falling into your hands.

“Oh no.” Sofia mutters, elbowing Cora sitting next to her.

Your back is to the door so you can’t see who has made Cora and Sofia go pale but then you hear the voice. “Well, look who it is!”

Fuck.

Your eyes fall closed and you try to decide if you can dig yourself a grave right here under the table.

The chair next to you scrapes loudly against the old hardwood floors of the bar. You don’t have to look to know who has just sat down next to you. Too closely. Much too closely.

“Ladies, fancy seeing you here.”

Sofia glares at Andrew, unimpressed look on her face. “You’re only here because you saw my story about meeting up with the girls.” She says.

You almost laugh. Almost. If there was one thing Sofia was good at, it was calling men out on their bullshit. It was an admirable trait for someone who worked in a male dominated field like the three of you did. It was also a skill you were still working on.

Andrew does his best to feign innocence while leaning further into your space. You scoot your chair over towards the other side of the table as subtly as you can.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I finished up grading some papers at my office and thought I’d grab a drink before going home. I had no idea you guys were here.” Andrew turns to you, slick smile on his face. “I promise.”

Sofia levels him with a stare, “You viewed my story 35 seconds after I posted it.”

Beside her, Cora snorts softly.

You’re too busy trying to figure out how to escape to react properly. Andrew was too close. You could smell the cloying scent of his cologne wrapping itself around you. It made your entire body feel too big and too small all at the same time, like you didn’t fit inside your skin anymore.

“I was scrolling.” Andrew shoots back, not missing a beat.

He turns to you then, sensing that you’re not participating in the conversation. His brow knits together in concern when he sees the way you’re staring down at your phone.

“I would have thought Lando would’ve joined you tonight. Is he feeling okay? God, I’d hate for him to get sick a week before a race, but I guess that’s the risk you take with all of the travel he does.”

There wasn’t an ounce of concern in Andrew’s voice. You knew he was just talking to hear himself talk. Something twists in your gut at the way he was talking about Lando.

You recalled what Lando had said earlier in the day. How Lando had seen right through him and picked up on the fact that Andrew was still hung up on you. How everyone had apparently seen it all along and you’d somehow been too stupid to see it too. Everyone was right and you’d played right into Andrew’s plan.

“Lando’s fine.” You bite out, anger bitter on your tongue.

You pull yourself up by the shoulders, straightening your spine to steel-like alignment.

Andrew has the nerve to look relieved. Cora and Sofia remain quiet, seeing the way you’ve seemingly snapped back with a glint in your eye.

“Oh, that’s good.” Andrew pauses, noticing the shift in your posture and energy. “Is everything okay? You seem a little on edge.” He pauses again, his hand twitching on the table as if he’s trying to decide if he can touch you or not.

You’d cut off his fingers first.

“Did you and Lando have a fight?”

The way he asks the question has your chest clenching. It was like he was excited to hear the answer he already knew. Like he knew his plan had worked and was preparing to swoop in and save the day.

“If you need to talk about it, I’m willing to listen. I know we broke up years ago but I sometimes think about the ‘what if’s’ of it all. I’ve always thought of you as the one that got away, you know.”

Cora blinks at his audacity.

You hear Sofia mutter ‘Jesus Christ’ under her breath as she pinches the bridge of her nose.

The anger that had been stoking in your chest sparks to full strength. You turn on Andrew, crowding into his space in a way that is anything but friendly.

“We did get into a fight, Andrew. But you already knew that didn’t you?”

Andrew has the nerve to look confused.

“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He stutters.

You roll your eyes, “Oh fuck all the way off, Andrew. You’re too smart to be that fucking obtuse. God, I am such an idiot. I thought you were just eager to catch up after all these years. I thought we ended on good terms and went our separate ways.” You laugh bitterly.

Cora and Sofia don’t quite know what to do but neither of them make a move to get up. You didn’t care what they did but it was nice to have an audience to the dressing down you were about to unleash.

“What you did…what you’re doing right now is so disrespectful to both Lando and I. I should’ve called you out earlier about it but I was too naive to see past the glaring red flags you’ve always been waving in my face.”

Andrew swallows thickly, eyes darting up and away from your face to some place in the corner of the room and then back down to yours. He’s panicking, you can see it but you’re so keyed up from your fight earlier with Lando that you can barely see straight.

“Don’t give me this ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’ shit either,” You cross your arms over your chest. “Yes you do. Don’t be an asshole. You tried to drive a wedge between me and Lando and it’s not going to fucking work.”

Blood roars in your ears drowning out every other bit of noise. Your earlier sense of panic at losing Lando is replaced by fire hungry anger at the person responsible for the pain that’s stealing the breath from your lungs.

“It’s not going to work because Lando is my person. He’s the first person I want to see in the morning and the last person I want to kiss at night. He lives and loves so freely and openly that it hurts him sometimes. Lando is my soulmate, Andrew. I only feel settled when I’m with him. I can confidently say that I never felt even a fraction of what I feel for Lando for you.”

You swipe at an errant tear that you hand’t even noticed falling until it sat cold on your jaw.

“Lando’s it for me. I don’t know how else to convey the fact that I will die before I fall out of love with that man. You have no chance with me now or ever. Please, have some respect.”

Your heart hammers against your ribcage, breath coming quick and shallow. You feel like you’ve just downed 5 shots of espresso on an empty stomach, the frantic energy of standing up for yourself singing in your veins.

For a moment, no one says anything. Cora and Sofia exchange amused looks before turning their knowing grins back on you. Andrew just blinks, eyes fixed on a spot somewhere over your shoulder.

No, you realize.

Not somewhere.

Someone.

Andrew is looking at someone standing behind you. Someone who’s heard your entire rant and must be sitting there shellshocked at such a wild private conversation out of context.

And then you feel it.

A hand.

No.

Not a hand.

His Hand.

You know that cool black tungsten and stainless steel ring on the middle finger.

You know the hard press of the bracelet that you’d gotten him three years ago for Christmas. It had your initials carved into it along with the words ‘Sans toi, je suis perdue’ Without you, I’m lost.

You know the gentle squeeze that he sinks into your shoulder because it’s how you communicate when words don’t work.

“Andrew.” Lando’s British accent is thicker thank normal, sending a curl of desire swirling in your chest. “I think that’s your cue to leave, mate.”

Andrew seems so caught off guard by the swift shift in momentum, he simply blinks up and Lando before finally finding his feet. He’s taller than Lando but not by much and when he stands, Lando takes a step to get between you and him. The look on your boyfriend’s face is not something you’d ever seen before.

There’s a quiet calm in the set of his shoulders. His jaw is tense but not in a way he gets when he’s anxious or concentrating too hard. Lando simply stands there, figure imposing as Andrew struggles to figure out how to salvage the situation.

“Leave. Her. Alone.” Each word is punctuated so sharply you flinch. “Are we clear?”

Andrew spares you one last glance before turning tail and nearly running over several frat bros in his rush to get away from his humiliation.

Lando drops down into the chair beside you and grins at Sofia and Cora. “That was fun.”

You huff a laugh but shift your chair closer to him. The need to be next to Lando, to feel his warmth is so overwhelming you can barely think. Lando can feel the shift in your energy and has his arm around your shoulders before you can even blink.

He looks down at you, that boyish smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. He drops a reassuring kiss on your temple.

“Hi.”

You blink.

“Hi.” You breathe.

Sofia and Cora take that as their cue. They say hurried goodbyes with promises of meeting up later in the weekend and then suddenly, it’s just you and Lando.

The bar is still busy, loud and crowded. It’s barely past midnight but the ambient sound of people socializing falls to a gentle hush around you. It takes every ounce of self control and social decorum you possess not to climb into Lando’s lap right then and there.

“How much of that did you hear?” You ask, fingers finding Lando’s in his lap, curling around them so his hand is wrapped around yours.

“Enough.” He says, eyes serious. “Did you mean it?”

“Every word.” You whisper, leaning your head on his shoulder.

When he pulls you into his lap, you don’t resist. It’s dark enough in your little corner, loud enough in the bar that no one really notices anyway.

Wrapping your arms around him, you nuzzle that warm space at the base of his neck, breathing in the smell of your shared laundry soap and Lando’s cologne.

He smells like home.

For a moment, Lando just holds you, fingers curled into your sides like he’s afraid if he loosens his grip, you’ll disappear.

He’d been wild with panic the moment the door shut behind you. He’d wanted to go after you, to tell you to stop, get you to come back with him, that he hadn’t meant any of the cruel words he’d said to you. But he knew he couldn’t. Knew that you’d hate him even more if he tried to talk to you while you were that angry.

So he’d waited. An hour. And then two. Before finally he’d had to come and find you.

He’d never imagined he would have come across you yelling about how much you loved him though.

“I thought I was about to lose you.” He says, neck reaching up so he can dust a smattering of kisses on your jawline.

His fingers dig deeper into the flesh at your hip, pulling you impossibly closer.

You shake your head, pulling back to look at him. Lando blinks up at you, eyes a bit watery and red still. Your heart twists at the thought of your actions doing that to him.

“Never.” You murmur, running your fingers through his curls, tugging a bit before dragging your thumb across his cheekbone.

“I shouldn’t have…” He starts but you shake your head again.

“Not here. Can we go back to the hotel and talk about it?”

Lando nods.

You climb off his lap, holding your hand out to him when your feet hit the floor and let him lead you towards the door of the bar.

The hotel room is dark and quiet when Lando opens the door for you. It feels lighter now, the tension from earlier having dissipated after you’d stormed out. Lando flicks on the bathroom light so the small room is illuminated but not bright enough to be too much.

You’d both been fairly quiet the entire drive home, the radio making most of the sound. You’d been lost in your own head, running through everything that had happened that day, trying to figure out where it had all gone wrong. Lando had kept hold of your hand from the moment he’d slipped into the drivers seat until he’d gotten out to open your door for you at the hotel.

It wasn’t tense quiet. It was the quiet that settled between two people when there was a lot to be said but neither one knew exactly where to start. Heavy but not overbearingly so.

You toe off your shoes before stripping off the hoodie you’d been wearing that night, leaving you in just a thin tank top and leggings. Lando does the same, tossing his sweatshirt over yours before kicking off his trainers.

Exhaustion washes over you the second your body hits the mattress. It’s not just a physical exhaustion, it’s emotional too. That kind of mental exhaustion that comes from being wrung out emotionally continually. You curl up on your side, eyes heavy and watch as Lando flips back the duvet on his side of the bed and slips under the sheets next to you.

Your breathing stutters as Lando lays his head down on the pillow next to yours. He reaches out a hand, tucking a stray piece of hair back behind your ears. He’s got this look on his face like he can’t quite believe you’re real, that he’s lucky enough to have you in his bed. It’s a reverent kind of gaze that you only see when Lando’s allowing himself to be vulnerable.

It’s a look that only you get see now.

“I’m sorry.” He starts, words raspy and strained, like he wants you to feel the weight of them against your chest.

His arm slips over your waist before he hauls you to him.

“I don’t know what got into me but I should have never said any of it.” He drags in a breath before reaching out to drag his thumb across the swell of your cheekbone. “I know you’d never cheat on me. My fear got the best of me and I’m sorry.”

Fear.

That word has your stomach twisting.

“What were you afraid of?” You ask into the dusky quiet of the room.

You lift up a hand just to run your hands through his curls. Lando groans softly in the back of his throat, eyes flutterings shut, when you tug on the ends like you know he likes.

Lando is quiet for a moment, his top arm tucked back around your waist, fingers tracing lazy patters across against the warmth of your skin.

“That seeing…” A pause. Lando clears his throat. “That seeing him again today would make you realize you’ve been pretending with me all these years. That you made the wrong choice back then and that I wasn’t…”

Emotions he’s wildly uncomfortable with sink their claws into his throat, strangling the words before they can form.

Lando clears his throat.

Unsticks the words.

The hand that had been in his hair settles against his neck, curled around it, softly scratching.

“That I wasn’t the man that you wanted anymore and that you would leave me.” Lando huffs an embarrassed laugh. “Fuck. And then I come into that bar to hear you shouting at him about how much you love me. About how I’m your soulmate and how you’ll die before you fall out of love with me.”

“I meant it. I meant it all.” You whisper against his collarbone, scraping your teeth just to feel him shiver.

“I know.” Lando tips his forehead against yours, smiling. “And hearing you say that made me feel about two inches tall because how could I have ever doubted you?”

Quietly, slowly, you burrow in closer, like you can’t get close enough. Your leg hitches over his hip and he bends his knee to slot between your legs. It’s a position that feels as natural as breathing to you both by now.

Your default requirement for comfort.

“I didn’t do you any favors with my behavior this afternoon either, Lan.” You confess, guilt’s warm presence settling in your throat. “I didn’t realize how much his words mattered to you. I minimized your feelings and dismissed them. I was too blind to what my interpretation of what happened when we broke up to understand how fucked up Andrew behaved.”

Tears sting as the vision of Lando’s face earlier in the evening when he’d been shouting flash across your memory. You should have noticed. You should have done something.

“I should have said something right then and there but I wasn’t the person you needed today and I’m so sorry.”

Lando swipes at an errant tear before pressing his lips to your forehead. “Pretty girl, you’re always the person I need. No matter what.”

Your chest aches at the honesty in his voice.

“You always want to see the good in people and it’s one of the many reasons I fell in love with you. I should have voiced my issues with him in a better way instead of pouting like a baby.”

You huff a laugh, shaking your head.

Lando’s grip on your hip tightens, finger tips digging a little harder into your flesh there. He shifts his hips only slightly but it’s enough for the electricity that had been building between your bodies to spark.

The air in the room shifts, like the moment is holding its breath. Lando looks down at you and has to choke down a boulder of relief. There had been several moments this evening where Lando thought he’d never get to hold you like this again. You two rarely fought like you had today so it had felt like his world was collapsing.

He grins when he hears the breath catch in the back of your throat, teeth nipping at your earlobe. “Can I show you just how sorry I am?” The words scrape a delightful shiver of pleasure up your spine.

The question hangs, Lando waiting for you to give him permission.

“Please.” You sigh, dropping your head into the crook of Lando’s neck.

He slips his fingers under the thin cotton of your tank top first, warm and sure because he’s done this hundred, if not thousands, of times over the years. He knows your body better than his own. Knows what makes you sigh, what makes your eyes flutter shut with pleasure, how to pull the most tantalizing moans from your lips.

Lando brings his lips down to yours, pressing firmly before running his tongue along the seam of your mouth. You open for him, warm and inviting, so he can lick into your mouth like he’s done a million times.

You tilt your head upwards just a bit so the kiss deepens, slow and deliberate. There’s no rush, just a shared need to reassure each other that everything is going to be okay. That today’s fight wasn’t going to be the end of what you two had together. That it would take a lot more to break you two apart.

His hand slides up your ribcage, the soft brush of his fingertips against your skin a silent reminder of how much Lando adores you. You arch into his touch, a low hum vibrating in your chest, encouraging him on.

Lando’s lips move away from yours, smiling against your already flushed skin when you let out a soft, disappointed whine. He keeps kissing you though, tracing a path along your jaw, down the sensitive curve of your neck, into the hollow at the base of your throat. Every touch is feather light, reverent, like he’s discovering every inch of you for the first time all over again.

Your fingers tangle in his curls, tugging gently, and he groans against you, a deep, satisfied sound that rumbles through him. Lando shifts, hovering over you, his weight a delicious press of pressure and presence that you crave after days like this. It’s confirmation that he’s still here. That he’s got you. That he’ll never leave.

He presses soft kisses along your collar bone, whispering apologies as his mouth trails down your body, between the valley of your breasts. His breathing syncs with yours, the slow rise and fall of his chest a comforting sound in the otherwise quiet hotel room. His hands drift lower, tracing the line of your hip, sending shivers through you that have nothing to do with the air conditioning being set to full blast.

Lando’s breath catches when his fingers finally slip beneath the waisband of your leggings, a quiet intake of air that sends sparks of anticipation bursting across your skin. There’s a soft rustle of fabric as he helps you shed the last of your clothes, his touch lingering, almost hesitant, as if he’s afraid to break the fragile spell of the moment.

You help him out of his clothes as well, a slow and torturous drag of fabric that is suddenly too restricting and too much. His shirt joins yours on the floor, his joggers and boxers following shortly after. Then, it’s skin against skin, warmth enveloping you with a stead presence that has a sigh of contentment tumbling from your lips.

There’s no need for words as Lando cradles your face in his hands, thumb stroking your kiss-swollen bottom lip as he looks down at you, eyes dark with adoration. There’s no need for words because all you need now is a look to pass between you, eyes locking on each other, to know that forgiveness has been freely given on both sides and that tomorrow, you’ll both be stronger together after this.

Lando moves slowly, deliberately, the tension building between your two bodies feels both familiar and utterly new in its tenderness, like you’ve both unlocked a new level of intimacy tonight that you haven’t experienced before.

“I love you.” He whispers, dragging his hand towards the soft dip of your waist.

“I love you.” Is your response as you wrap your arms under his arms and around his back, scratching at the hard planes of his shoulder blades, pulling him even closer to you.

The heat of it all is delicious in a way that makes you dizzy, your hips rolling up into Lando’s in a desperate search for the friction you crave. You arch into his touch, a low hum vibrating in your chest when Lando’s fingers thread into your hair, tilting your head back so he can press another kiss to the base of your throat.

Lando shifts then, settling between your legs, his weight a comforting presence that you know like it’s your own. Your legs wrap around his hips on instinct, no words needed anymore to coordinate how to make each other feel good, how to apologize without words. The warmth of his skin, the way his hips slot together with yours, Lando’s hardness pressing into your already slick center. It’s all more than enough and almost too much at the same time.

He looks down at you with a reverent gaze that has your heart tumbling down into your feet. “God, you feel so good.” He murmurs.

You lift your hips up towards his in response, wanting to feel every part of him as closely as you can. Desperate to feel him inside you.

“Lan, please.” You beg, fingernails scratching at the back of his neck.

He groans, long and deep, in the back of his throat as he listens to your pleas and sinks into you, warm and wet and waiting for him.

“Fuck.” He breathes. "So tight. Always so fucking good for me."

You respond with a soft whine, the pressure and stretch from his cock splitting you open, laying you bare. You’d never felt like this with anyone before Lando, never knew sex could be this emotional, this intense but now that you knew what it was to be loved so profoundly, you knew you’d never be able to walk away.

The initial movements are slow, a gentle rocking rhythm that allows you both to simply be present. Your eyes flutter close, allowing you to focus on the sensations — the drag of Lando inside you, every ridge and twitch taking you apart bit by bit and then putting you back together. You feel so full, so overwhelmingly full of him all at once, everywhere that it’s difficult to focus on just one thing.

Lando’s hips move against yours, a steady cadence that slowly builds, stoking the heat that has been close to catching fire since he touched you when he first laid down. You can feel the control slipping, his focus entirely on your pleasure, but it’s slowly coming undone. He drops his head into the crook of your neck, eyes closed, a soft moan vibrating fro his chest.

Your fingers splay across his back, nails digging little half moons into his tanned skin. His muscles are pulled tight as he fights for control over his body, wanting to make this last as long as he can.

“Baby.” You coo into his ear as your hands drift lower, gripping at his hip. The other hand sifts into the curls at the nape of his neck, tugging hard enough so that Lando loses the rhythm of his movements for a moment. “You feel so good inside me.”

Lando responds with a soft groan, hips snapping more erratically now as you bite down on your puffy lower lip to stifle your own moan, arching up into him.

Each thrust is deliberate, a languid push and pull that stretches you out and amplifies the exquisite sensation. He watches your face, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, searching for your pleasure, his own face mirroring yours. His muscles tighten, a tremor working through them, as he fights to hold back his own release, stretching out the moment. His lips find your neck again and Lando scatters tiny, damp kisses as you arch your back into him, hips pressing up, encouraging him further.

“‘m not going to last much longer.” He whispers, fighting the coiling tension building at the base of his spine.

“I’m so close, Lan.” You whimper, hips jerking up in desperate search for that final slick of friction that you need. “Harder, please.” You beg, knowing that it’s all Lando will need to get you there.

The world outside the dark hotel room fades away, replaced by the soft sounds of your sighs, the sticky smack of flesh against flesh, and the quiet murmurs that Lando can’t seem to control anymore. The pressure builds and builds until you’re both at the crest of the wave. When it hits, Lando stills inside you, mouth dropping open as he comes so hard he sees stars. You bite down on the tender flesh of his neck, nails digging into the flexing muscles above you.

You cling to him, breathless and content, feeling the thrum of his heart against your bare chest, a steady and comforting rhythm that grounds you. Lando gently rolls over, pulling you with him so he’s still buried deep inside you. He doesn’t want to lose that connection. Not yet.

He shifts so you’re both on your sides again, your leg thrown over his hip as feel him soften inside you. It’s so unbelievably intimate, your breaths matching up as Lando rests a hand on your hip so he can stay inside you for longer.

“I love you.” He whispers against the slick skin of your neck before he presses a soft kiss to your temple.

“Always.” You reply before snuggling deeper into his chest, allowing sleep to pull you under while you’re still connected to Lando in the most intimate of ways.

Later, much later, you'd wake up still wrapped around him, Lando still inside you, and allow the quiet of the night settle you back into sleep. The comfort of having the one person on the planet that knows you inside and out in your life no matter what is enough to sooth the scars of the fight that should have never happened in the first place.

You were happy. Lando was happy. Everything was finally perfect.

#jealous lando #boyfriend lando #lando norris x you #lando x reader #lando x you #lando norris #f1 #formula 1

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loserabby · 1 day ago

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hi hi! 🍃 i think it’s time that I request something as well (since i love ur works so much!)

so, abby anderson x fem!reader - something fluffy and sweet. i’ll let u have creative freedom with this, do whatever fluffy bit you like!

i’d be super happy if you’ll take this request on but if you don’t - that’s totally okay as well! ☀️

love, hallow 🦋

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚. 𝐁𝐄𝐃𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐎 𝐎𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐍 𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐒 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆. wlf!abby x gf!reader

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ . ** MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, THIS IS AN 18+ BLOGI DO NOT GIVE ANYBODY PERMISSION TO REUPLOAD OR PLAGARISE MY WORK. IF YOU SEE SOMETHING I'VE WRITTEN ANYWHERE ELSE OTHER THAN HERE OR MY A03, PLEASE LET ME KNOW VIA ASK **

₊˚ 𓂃 ₊ ˚ ✧ you're not your girlfriends keeper but if hunting her down when she doesn't come back past curfew to make sure she gets a decent sleep is what it takes to make sure the patrol squad she gets paired with the next day doesn't get a grouchy abby anderson, you'll do what you have to.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : established relationship, fluff, kissing, mentions of lord of the rings? the barest of spoilers for the series ig but not really, wlf!reader, just kinda domestic 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 : 1,738k

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 : i had a crisis writing this because i started to panic i couldn't write straight up fluff, then i started wondering what constitutes as fluff and it just turned into a very weird moment where i was judging every aspect WAY too harshly so this is what we've ended up with. also hallow!!! ily sm thank u for ur kind words and i really appreciate that 🥺 also despite being a big fantasy reader, i have never read the tolkien books and only watched the films once (i cried bc i did not want to watch them lmao) so the snippet where abby speaks about the book i literally got from spark notes okay. [ read on ao3 ]

[ border credit ] [ resources for palestine ] [ boycott tlou ]

A soft hum falls from your lips as you shift in the sheets, arm stretching as you move before you still and begin to softly pat at the mattress beside you with a furrow of your brow. Blearily you open your eyes, your hum sounding discontent when you realise the space really is empty and you weren’t just imagining the lack of another person beside you.

You wouldn’t quite say you’re awake but you still force yourself to toss the covers aside, fist curled and rubbing at your eyes tiredly as you throw yourself out of bed before you can think further on it. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Abby has clearly lost track of time and there’s only two options for places you can find her.

You don’t claim to be your girlfriends keeper but you do like to look out for, you don’t know, the rest of the stadium and if there’s one thing that could potentially ruin everyone's day and keep them on edge, it’s a tired, grouchy Abby Anderson served with a side of the well known Anderson Attitude.

Call it civic duty or whatever.

Now that summer has hit you don’t quite feel the same need to pile clothes on while you wander the near empty stadium but you still pull one of Abby’s hoodies on, sleeves falling past your hands and hem past your ass, since you know a chill still remains in the air once the sun goes down. And boy has the sun gone down, went down hours ago. It’s gotta be way past curfew, probably closing in on two am when you tredge up to the door of your apartment — your shared apartment — with your girlfriend who promised she’d get home at a reasonable time.

Your eyes are a little less heavy with sleep by the time you push the doors to the gym open, noting the few people working out in solitude but mainly the lack of one Abigail Anderson with a sigh. That leaves one last place, you think as you yawn unabashedly.

It takes a while to walk across to the other side of the stadium with a sigh, but luckily it’s quicker with the lack of other people taking up space and getting in your way. Really, beyond the few people pulling night shifts or returning to their own homes, it’s practically empty, and the only reason the few guards you see don’t pull you aside to ask why you’re out past curfew is because they likely know who you are; or more likely, who you’re after.

Creeping into the stadium’s makeshift library you shake your head softly when you spot a familiar blonde head of hair just above a book, half-sunk into the cot with her knees up that you know she’d claimed as hers for these reading sessions. When you walk closer you can see she’s struggling to keep her eyes open — eyelids bouncing open wide every couple of seconds like she’s being repeatedly jolted awake, almost like a kid whose up way past their bedtime.

She’s not even noticed you standing in front of her with a fond but tired look on your face, eyes too fixed on the words on the paper, engrossed by whatever is going on in her book of the week. She used to read mainly classics and fiction, but she’d begun to branch out into sci-fi and fantasy books, quickly becoming enraptured by the worlds she’d discover hidden within each book's binding.

You watch her eyes attempt to close before widening, forcing herself to stay awake, one last time before you reach over and gently push the book down on her lap, making Abby finally aware of your presence.

A sleepy smile and look of surprise appears across your girlfriend's face when she realises you’re there before her face falls slightly with a look of alarm in her eyes, “Shoot, what time is it? Did I stay up too late?”

An easy laugh tumbles from your lips as you place one knee on the cot, leaning over her and placing a soft kiss to her forehead. “Yeah, baby” You tease with a grin, watching as her cheeks tint rosy as she shoves something between the pages of her book to save her place. “Your book good?”

At your question her eyes light up, nodding as she pulls you down onto the cot with her — ignoring your grumble that they need to go to bed not get comfortable here — and pulls you up against her side, your cheek pressed to her chest as she lifts the book up to show you the cover.

“So good, no wonder it was basically a classic. I know I promised I’d be back and in bed for a reasonable time but I can not put this down”

You snort, “Weren’t you telling me at lunch that all they’ve done is travel so far?”

“It’s still so good” She pouts, rubbing at her tired eyes.

“Baby, for the good of everyone you need to be in bed ASAP” Abby’s face morphs into a desperate look and she shakes her head at your words, presenting the book to you as she tries to bargain for more reading time.

It’s some worn old thing, the corners scuffed and curled but Abby holds the thing like it’s precious, careful not to inflict any more damage than already done to it. You recognise the name, sure there was a movie made on it but you listen as she rambles on about the book.

“They’ve just got to an inn and there’s some mysterious figure called Strider that Frodo — he’s the main character, you know, one of the hobbits — talks with and I swear, he’s gonna be important cause even Frodo knows that he knows more than he’s letting on”

You nod, looking up at her from where you lay your head on her chest with a fond smile as she babbles on about her book, hand coming up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear that’s from the fallout of her now messy braid.

“—And I was talking with someone about it on patrol and she said there’s a prequel about Bilbo and for the life of me I can not find it in this place so I’m hoping on the next patrol I can get away to one of the libraries in the city to scope the places out for it.” Despite her animated, excited tangent her words are interrupted by a series of yawns she can’t fight off.

“Okay, hobbit—”

“I wouldn’t be a hobbit! I’d be… Uh, I don’t know, maybe I’d just be a boring human but I wouldn’t be a hobbit” Abby interrupts, pulling a face as you lift up to move. Her hands come to your elbows, trying to ease you back down.

“Okay, well, we can figure out where you fall in Middle Earth tomorrow but you, ma’am, need to get into bed pronto.”

Abby rolls her eyes but finally relents, another yawn escaping. She laughs when it makes you yawn too, pulling herself up to follow you like a puppy and wraps her large arms around your shoulders, her chest pressed to your back and head ducked into the crook of your neck. She can smell your shampoo, greedy for the scent of you and smiles happily as you both awkwardly start walking away.

“Careful, still guards about. Don’t want your reputation going down cause people see you actin’ like a clingy octopus” You tease her, taking her book from where she’d tucked it into the waistband of her pants, and holding it carefully as you push the door to the library open.She just nestles her face further into your hair, blindly following you as you make your way home.

“Still kick their asses any day, I can be soft when I want to, especially when my girl is so pretty” Her lips press a kiss to your neck, making you squirm slightly. You’re not quite sure if it’s because she gets that spot that makes you go gooey beneath her or cause every time she calls you her girl you feel yourself going a little stupid for her.

She peppers light, tired kisses to your skin until you both make it to your apartment, finally releasing you from her grip as the two of you make your way inside. You place her book on Abby’s bedside table, ready for the next day, “There you go, ready to continue your adventures in Middle Earth another day” You tell her, watching as she strips from her casual day clothes tiredly.

You mirror, pulling her hoodie up over your head and putting it over the back of the desk chair in the bedroom area.

You know she’d showered earlier, most likely after her patrol, due to the wet towels she left on the bathroom floor (so unlike her normally but when she gets invested in one of her books she sometimes neglects other chores in favor of diving back into the pages) so you tug her over to the bed when she’d down to just her sports bra and underwear.

“Wait there,” You murmur, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder as she sits and waits patiently on the edge of the bed. You return a moment later with a hair brush in hand, passing it to her as you take a spot behind her and remove the hair tie from the bottom of her braid.

You loved the small moments of domesticity like this, where you unwrap her braid and run your fingers through her hair, massaging gently against her scalp and feeling her melt under your touch with a blissed out expression on her face. You take your time then combing through her blonde locks, making sure not to pull at any of the slightly tangled strands until the brush runs easily through her hair.

Abby’s lips press against yours, not trying to deepen it but more show her appreciation. By the time the two of you are beneath the covers, bodies curled around each other. You both giggle tiredly as you set each other off with a myriad of yawns, but soon you both fall asleep in each others embrace. The last thing Abby remembers is the feel of your fingers tracing shapes against the exposed skin of her back

#.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚. asks #wingedhallows #wingedhallows-prime #abby anderson x reader #abby x reader #abby tlou #abby anderson imagines #abby anderson imagine #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson fluff #abby anderson x y/n #abby anderson x you #lesbian #.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚. writing: mine

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bewitched-hours · 1 day ago

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(Haaaaaa tumblr yu STINKY ask eater) So... as i was sayin'... SPECTRE YU BETTER STOP BEING A FUKING IDIOT ASSHOLE AND KEEP MESSING UP THEIR FUKING SLOWASS BURN LOVE LET THEM HUG OUT OR I WILL PUT YU IN A JAR-

I think this last chap before i req another platonic child ship again (gotta be pr3ttypriincess but i won't spoin)

So after a while, the spectre got bored, decided to NOT be an idiot for a day and return reader back to normal. That includes going back into being the survivor again. Dw the spectre erased everyones memory of what has happend, the survivors will only remember that reader is a survivor and the killers will remember that reader should not be harmed (even mean disobeying the spectre) Oh and this dumbahh decided to NOT erase bluududs and reader memories, for funny ig???? They dgaf, not like they were gonna convince or bring back memories anyway; because they can be together again ^Q^

Happy ending, don't yu think???

-kikiki anon

DAMN YOU TUMBLR- But I am excited for more child reader tbh, this is fun to write on o(≧▽≦)o Part 1Part 2Part 3Part 4 Part 5

She/Her reader is back baybeee-

It was... Confusing...

First you woke up back in the survivors cabin, somehow being returned to normal-

Then the survivors all act like nothing happened? Maybe best not to mention it then...

But you remembered. You felt guilt you couldn't express because everyone would be confused and you were worried this was a curse in disguise.

After the torture from the Spectre, surely it erased Bluudud's memories as well. You were probably back to relying on the adults to keep you company.

And just your luck, Bluudud was the upcoming killer of the round... It kinda bummed you out but after figuring out where in time everyone's minds were reset to, you figured you were safe to distract your favourite killer again. Even if it hurt thinking that you were the only one to remember.

Surprisingly though, he proved that that wasn't the case when he practically dashed for you without even his usual lollipop in hand. He went straight to hugging you and somehow... That was all the relief you needed.

He remembered. You were happy he did and couldn't help the tears warming your face as you held him in your arms, both of you now crying from what now feels like a simple nightmare.

The other survivors didn't bother to interrupt it. They figured you two had just gotten close enough and some even cooed to themselves about how cute the sight was, not noticing you were both crying silently.

Eventually though it turned to just hiding out somewhere. Away from view so you could cuddle without embarrassment. Mostly because you wanted to be the big spoon and pat Bluudud like a cat.

Not like he didn't like it, he'll just never say it openly. You just know by the subtle way he relaxes in your arms. Your heartbeat and careful movement over his head and back would be relaxing to anyone! You can't expect him to resist that!

"You're lucky you're cute..." He grumbled as he tried to resist the urge to just let himself fall asleep in your hold. He'll be damned if he returns to his cabin and gets even more teased because the killers only remember you two being a couple.

But the way he clung to you was still telling of the fact he hadn't fully calmed down yet. Neither had you, to be fair, but you were happy knowing that things were at least okay now. They didn't have to be great but this was a million times better than the hallucinations and emotions you had to experience as a killer.

You chuckled a little, feeling him hide his face against your clothes and you just knew he was embarrassed. "And you're lucky I like my peace because if this happens more often, I'll be looking forward to our shared rounds more!" You wheezed at his grip tightening unexpectedly. Though you struggled not to laugh afterwards.

He was probably trying to shut you up... And to his credit, it worked...

Who knew two children could bore the Spectre so much it didn't even care about romance-

Brain empty, just cuteness

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

#forsaken roblox #forsaken #roblox forsaken #forsaken x reader #forsaken x y/n #bluudud forsaken #bluudud x child reader #child reader #female reader

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saetoru · 2 years ago

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something that’s always been funny to me is that long fics with smut tend to do better than long fics without but it’s like. if you write a longggg 10k+ word fic with a build up and plot and sprinkle in smut at the end, people will read that long build up and pay attention to the plot in order to get to the smut. and 99% of the time the tags and comments will talk about the plot itself and the way it was written as opposed to the sex and they will ask for more or for part 2’s and as annoying as the part 2 comments can be sometimes, it also means that they focused on the plot and not the smut. but if you post that fic without the smut—as in same fic and same build up and everything, but the smuts not there, a lot of those same people will simply not give the fic a chance. it’s just funny to me bc yes, a part of it is just horniness, but also i think it’s partly that there is also some conditioning to believe that a “perfect romance” or a “perfect story” of a romance is sealed with intimacy that’s more often than not sexual in order to actually be valid. and yeah. idk. it’s an interesting thing to see from a writers perspective

#me personally i write what i want im at a comfortable place in my writing that #i don’t rly feel i need to add that smut to get engagement #partially bc i think im blessed with readers who are very kind to me and always reiterate that they would read whatever i put out #i have so many anons that tell me they don’t know anything ab genshin but they read my works for the fandom anyway bc i wrote it and i feel #grateful that there will always be an audience i can count on to support my writing #but partially also bc i’m also happy w my writing that if i did post a fic that had not smut and it didn’t rly get attention i wouldn’t feel #disheartened by it bc writing it was meaningful to me #but #ig it’s just an interesting divide to see of like ‘i won’t read it without smut’ vs ‘i will read it with or without for the story !!’

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dismas-n-dismay · 6 months ago

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Having OSDD and playing STP and seeing how other people interpret the voices is crazy. Mostly because I attribute all the Voices as just being smaller parts of the Whole (You, the player) so it’s harder to take their flaws seriously when it’s like. Yeah but I’m not like that and I don’t wanna do that, ur just a thought bro.

Like L + Ratio imagine not being the guy in control of the body today, ANYWAYS-

(Mini ramble undercut!!)

It what makes certain routes like the Spectre so fun when she joins the mess and is like “??? Is it always this loud” because like yeah. Being apart of a system in real life is really just fine tuning the noise and making your own choices, especially since the voices are usually shown at face value and when you dig deeper they all usually want the same thing: To survive.

And when you realize that it’s easier to take agency of the control you Do have as the player and therefore the vessel. They each have their own different ways and thoughts of surviving but ultimately they either just want to survive or they want to survive and end the pain of the cycle they’re forced through.

They’re just thoughts, just voices, brought forth from trauma and trying to escape, give them grace.

All this to say, being apart of a system and playing a game that involves multiple voices is really just like playing a real life simulator and is probably why I have such an easy time playing and understanding the characters in the game

#had to write this one because I couldn’t figure out why it was igging me that some folks interpret the voices +#as fully fledged people and not Voices. they’re merely shattered parts of a whole mirror #their flaws and thoughts are just that. flaws and thoughts. combine them with your own to dilute their extremities.#though this might also have to do with my mindset and play style of ‘no I’ll just succeed.’#literally just think logically because all your voices are feelings based and to make decisions you need both heart and mind #as the player you have to stop trying to input Your feeling or it’s going to conflict and get lost in the mesh of voices #see their feelings- hear them out - rationalize and you’ll win #basic system and personality disorder stuff to deal with the noise and overcrowding #honestly STP is the perfect game for systems 😭😭😭#osdd system #did osdd #osdd #osddid #actually osdd #osdd 1b #slay the princess #stp voices #stp shifting mound #shifty stp #stp analysis #slay the princess princess

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yikesharringrove · 1 year ago

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hi i've missed you!

can we do something soft and just cute like going for drives and getting fast food and just talking?

“I’m picking you up,” came the crackling voice from the walkie talkie on the nightstand. “Meet me at the spot in ten. Over.”

“No, you freakazoid,” Steve barely moved from his blanket cocoon, only reaching one arm out to press the button on the side. “I’m asleep.”

“Clearly not. I’m on my way, Shithead. Over and out.”

Steve rolled his eyes, and contemplated going back to sleep for all of five seconds before he sighed, and heaved himself to standing.

Curse Billy for stealing that walkie from Max, for suggesting they stay on their own channel, different than the ones the kids use. Curse Billy for his insomnia and his late night drives. Curse Billy for the way he keeps on hand on Steve’s thigh while they go and always stops at the nearest drive-thru to get Steve a milkshake and wolf down a double cheeseburger (because his dad slapped him and sent him to his room without dinner. Again.)

Steve trudged around the side of his house, crashing through the well-worn path through the sparse trees to the road on the other side.

They both agreed that Billy’s car shouldn’t be spotted outside of Steve’s house, even if they were publicly friends now.

The Camaro was rumbling up the street, and Steve could practically feel the road of the engine shake in his chest before he could even spot the headlights.

Doesn’t matter how many speeding tickets Officer Callahan gives him, Billy’s never gonna be a sensible driver.

He stops in front of Steve, and he grins as Steve joins him in the car, leaning over the center console and burying his left hand in thick, dark brown hair to kiss Steve in a way that steals the breath from his lungs.

“You owe me.”

“Yeah, yeah, Princess. I’ll get you a damn milkshake.”

The car lurched forward, and they flew down the service roads, flipping off the Leaving Hawkins sign as they went past, on their way to a different little town.

A different little slice of life.

#idk if this is what you had in mind but it’s what I got :)#I’ve had such a nightmare week #so much crazy shit went down at work with some of our seventh graders #and some of our theater kids were in chat roulette (or ig the current equivalent) during rehearsal and saw a dick bc #they figured out how to get around our censors on their school chromebooks #and also my grandpa was given weeks to live #and I crashed my fucking car #so that’s cool I’m having fun I love everything <3 #on the other hand I saw one of my all time favorite bands again last night and it was really just what I needed #okay anyway that’s been my week hope you enjoyed #billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove #yikes writes

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telesodalite · 2 months ago

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Thinking about KrokFire...

Thinking about them sparring in the cargohold, because it's a long trip, and cabin fever is setting in, and Misfire is gonna pop a gasket if he doesn't do something about it soon, since flying in open space gets real boring real fast, and it's making everyone a little nervous, but Krok has time to kill, and maybe, quietly, he's also two steps away from doing something stupid just to feel alive again after cruising around pointlessly, mindlessly, endlessly, for so so long... (It's barely been a month)

And sure, Misfire is a terrible sparring partner. He has no technique, no concept of proper balance, or an inkling of how to use the weight of his own frame. He rushes headfirst like he's more bull than fighter jet, he talks too much, he spits, he bites, and he can't stand losing. But, in a roundabout way, it almost makes him the perfect partner in Krok's eyes.

Crankcase won't spar, "can't" he claims flatly, gesturing at the gaping hole in his helm, but Krok can respect his want for distance. That occasional flash of fear and frozen unease in Crankcase's visor in close combat doesn't go over his head. He knows that look. He gets it. He won't push.

Fulcrum... well, a streetlight might be a tougher fight, or at least it would stay up longer and complain less. So much for a once respectable officer of the empire. What was Deathsaurus' command thinking promoting anyone without any actual combat training? It would almost be pathetic if Fulcrum didn't find a way to put the vitriol of thrown fists into his words instead. Now there was some swears Krok hadn't heard in a couple millennia, it would be inspiring if it wasn't his own spark Fulcrum had been damning to the pits and back through a bloody nose.

Spinister? Now Spinister was a good fighter, a better fighter, Krok wasn't so prideful to deny that truth. He'd tasted the dust of the cargohold floor enough to know it was a definitive fact. But Spinister held back, he was careful, he matched Krok's pace, his movements, he held himself defensively, any attack was quick, simple, and merely restraining. It was less a fight, and more a waiting game until Krok finally gave up, and that... well, that did sting a bit.

But Misfire? Misfire was a different beast all together. Sure Krok could dance circles around the flier all day, but it wasn't totally effortless work, he had to stay sharp, Misfire was so predictably unpredictable, he kept him thinking, moving, on his toes, and maybe it felt good to sidestep another stupid headfirst charge, easily grabbing and swinging Misfire around by his arm, so unbalanced all Krok had to do was let him go, and the weight of his own frame would send him careening into the crates stacked around them.

Most days, Misfire would give up by then, pull himself off the pile of overturned cargo with no small amount of burning shame and frustration, as he avoided Krok's optics and stormed off into the bowels of the ship before Krok could say something to ease the sting of losing again and again. Misfire didn't want his apologies though, and even as a pang of guilt ate at him over it, Krok knew he'd be back eventually.

But today, too pent-up and bored to quit now, Misfire pushed himself back onto his feet and charged back in again, and again, and again.

And Krok moved with him again, and again, and again. It was almost repetitive, but lively enough that he could feel the energon pumping through his head, a thrumming beat in his audials that reminds him of deafening battlefields and roaring stadiums, and oh, he'd missed this feeling, the adrenaline, the movement, more so than he thought he did.

Maybe it's the overconfidence that gets him then, or the memories pulling him out of the present, but Misfire's fist suddenly comes slamming down into his mask, and for a moment everything becomes a blur, until he finds himself on the floor, clutching at the shattered metal falling from his face in disbelief.

Faintly he can feel the twinge of broken mesh, of pain pinching dully across scarred flickering sensors, and maybe it's the adrenaline that pulls a suprised and breathy laugh out of him as he stares down at the pieces in his hand.

Maybe it's also the disbelief, the sudden shock at being struck hard enough to break his mask, by Misfire of all mechs. Or maybe he's cracked his helm, finally snapping something important deep in his processor, some vital function that kept him sane all these years.

Either way, an old familiar buzz of heady energy fills his chest, loosening his joints and straightening his struts as he stands back up, brushing off the broken remains of his mask as he stares back at Misfire, barefaced and bleeding and amused as the flier's optics go bright and wide.

And all Misfire can do for a moment is stand there, wide-eyed and breathless, his own adrenaline filled frame and hammering processor still trying to make sense of the broken plating of his knuckles and the energon trickling down Krok's scarred lips.

But connections are made, and it's a panicked realization at first, a cold dread, a 'ohhhhh fuck oh primus I fucked up I'm dead I'm so fucking dead-!' sort of feeling, as Krok's marred face breaks into an energon stained grin. But then there's another feeling, growing somewhere underneath the panic, a sudden curl of heat in his chest, a flush of pride, conviction, a sort of frenzied joy at the sight of broken mesh and fresh energon, and another rush of hot anticipation as Krok began to move again, circling, waiting, an unspoken question in the air as he rolls his shoulders back and flexes his hands.

And Misfire answers eagerly, suprising himself almost as he charges foward again, wanting more of that feeling, wanting to win again.

It's not really sparring past this point, and somewhere in the back of their minds they both know that. Every strike, every kick, every punch, it's all thoughtless instinct, each clash of plating, and bite of denta, and scrape of fingertips, is part of a mad dash for victory in the gladiator pit of scrap and debris they've built around themselves.

Of course, it can't last forever. They're no real gladiators, no phase-sixers, no primes, and movements get sluggish, vents rattle and wheeze as coolant pumps reach their limits, and building condensation slides powerless punches right off of scuffed metal and mesh.

Even like this though, worn out and bleeding from more scrapes than he had half a mind to count, Krok is still better, and Misfire is still predictable, and it's no great feat to sweep his legs out from beneath him, landing him flat on the floor, wings spread out and chestplate heaving.

Overworked joints sharply protest as he goes to pin the flier down bodily, and finally Krok faces the fact he has to consider how to end this, so he might let his own beaten frame finally still for a moment to breathe.

But as Krok catches one flailing arm in his grip, scoffing at the desperation, still goading Misfire on even as he tries to end this, a hand stubbornly catches his throat, but stops before it can truly squeeze.

And once more they're not really moving, just staring, watching, but it's less wired and tense now, rather, its shaky, a little unfocused, as exhaustion filters out in heaving puffs of hot air between their frames.

Someone's plating is rattling, Krok isn't sure if it's his own or Misfire's, but the cost of adrenaline is painfully noticeable now. His grip loosens on Misfire's arms, and the idea of total victory is less sweet as his cables begin to ache throughout his inner-framework.

But Misfire's hand slides up to catch his jaw before he can lean back and relent to a truce, and he's pulling him closer, and Krok starts to push him off, call it quits before either of them breaks something past repair, but a flash of energon on Misfire lips catches his eye, and that hadn't been there a moment ago?

Before he can even begin to ask what that was supposed to mean, Misfire is pulling him down again, angling his helm upwards to feverishly meet his lips half-way.

Although the mesh of Misfire's face was throughly bruised and scuffed, Krok had frustratingly failed to return the favor of a busted lip. So, it had to be his own, smeared across Misfire's face at some point in the scuffle, it shouldn't have been interesting in the slightest, but Krok's processor was hazy, slow, and his optics trailed Misfire's glossa as he licked his lips and made an odd curious sound.

And maybe it was a stupid move to make so impulsively, one he'd regret making probably, but still too caught up in the waning heated high of the fight, Misfire figured he could worry about losing such a hard-earned battle later. Right now, this seemed far better than actually winning, and the taste of Krok's energon felt like a victory and reward nonetheless.

Bracing himself as Misfire wriggled his other hand free to splay out over his thigh, holding him desperately against his frame as he tried pulling him even closer, Krok considered the heat dispersion warnings flickering distractingly in his peripheral, and the very noticeable strain on his back and legs, even his arms.

It's not a great position to be in right now, after all they've done already. He'll regret it, he knows he will, his body will make sure of it, if Spinister doesn't first.

But then Misfire's glossa is sliding against the jagged edges of his teeth, and he's making hoarse little pathetic noises into Krok's mouth that stoke some sort of ego at having the flier so desperate beneath him, and Misfire's hands are warm and heavy over aching plating and seams, and really, on second thought, after weeks of boredom, why the hell not?

They've got nowhere to be.

#*cough* uh. 👋👁👁. hi. nice to see ya. lovely weather we're having eh? what was that? oh. editing? spell checking? never heard of her #this is just... pure unfiltered mental spiraling. could i have written it down in a proper fic? yes indeed. did i? ha! nope #''jesus fucking christ teles'' you might think. ''go the fuck to sleep'' and i agree. but!#i get my best ''visions'' in the acursed hours between midnight and daybreak. and also the gumption to actually write shit down #i am a coward when the sun is out and im (mostly) rested. id never post at all if it weren't for the confidence of sleep deprivation #...thats a lie. but it feels true. its easier to not overthink shit at night ig? i 'unno :/#anywhoooo. so. uh? that was smth. i said i thought they should kick the snot outta eachother and i meant it #jokes aside. i genuinely wanted to plot this idea out in like. proper fic form. but i havent had the brain power to do so #so. yeah. its all flow of thought ig. which technically counts. but still. not as proper and neat as id prefer from myself. but ehhh #better to make something instead of nothing. right? probably. ya know what? yes! bcs ai cant fucking compete with my shitty 3-5am spirals #gonna stop myself before i start thinking abojt all that ai shit ahain. ive never been so pissed in my life as ove bern these past months #fuck ai man...#i need to sleep. theres birds chipring. which is dope. always. but still. gotta sleep thru that.#uhhhhh #cw suggestive #<- just in case? maybe? idk #not gonna tag this onr me thinks. if ya see it ya see it👁👁👍#quick noye tho. in tbr fic plan. i thought of ending it with fulc wandering in asking for smth or other-#-only to pause mid-sentence. gawk at all the damage. and the fact thr mibs is vaguely tryinf to eat krks face off-#-before politely excusing himself with an apology for intruding. as the logical side of him goes for speen to give a headups-#-and the rest of hims fianly accepting that smth is def wrong with him bcs ....goddamn😳 maybe sparrings not so bad🤔#they shoudl invitr him.to eatch mayhaps. crkcsr can bring popcorn. and speen can stress the fuck out over ebery ding and dent #i hate thrse losers so much. i say as they still somehow consume ny every waking thought

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