#it’s a way longer and more detailed answer than I was intending to write

[fairene]

beneath the moonlight / ln4

vacay lando norris x maxf!littlesister

no use of y/n, as always.

prompt ⋯ ohhh hey ! wanted to stop by to say i love ur fic and wanted to request insatiable lando with max f’s sister like a forbidden summer fling with all their friends and no one’s supposed to know about their secret relationship ( especially max ) — @444mercss

a/n ⋯ this was much longer than i intended, but the words just kept flowing out of me. thank you to all those who beta read my post and helped with grammar!!! ( @jamminvroomvroom , @theonottsbxtch ) you all helped so much. and thank you to mercs for requesting this. i didn't know i'd enjoy it as much as i did, but it definitely was for 20k words. i'll probably take a week ( or maybe not ) off from writing just to give myself a cool down period, but still here to answer any asks. feel free to pop in. hope you all enjoy this, and remember, readers looks are up for interpretation, along with the outfits. colors of coloring are mention only briefly!

warnings ⋯ SMUT 18+++!!! minors DNI!!!, language, drinking, choking, p in v sex (wrap before you tap!), fingering!(f)receiving, oral(m+f)!receiving, mutual masturbation, overstimulation, feral lando. best friends little sister, brothers best friend dynamic, mutual pining, 'games', horny thoughts. much, much more. but even, possession, jealousy. if i forgot any warnings, feel free to let me know.

wc ⋯ 20.1k (WHEWWW WEEE... edited by @jamminvroomvroom, @theonottsbxtch)

the summertime was one of your favorites. you and all of the rest of your girlfriend’s would spend each and every day together without question. but as time went on, they got their own lives. partners, engagements, jobs. not to say that you weren’t an accomplished young lady, but it was starting to show that you were hung up on a life that was starting to fade.

your brother on the other hand, was keen on keeping you in this life. in tip top shape on your toes, he’d always challenge you in a multitude of ways. or annoy you to no end. typically it was the latter. 

but he had invited you this summer on vacation with his friends. you knew them all relatively well, texted here and there, but you never imagined to be trailing along on a villa getaway sponsored by the quadrant house, mainly the famous lando norris himself. 

you would be shy to admit it, but you had a bit of a soft spot for lando. him and his cheeky smile. the moles that donned his face. his starlit eyes that radiated an emerald hue beneath the sunlight. it was intangible the way that you could pick apart the details about his nuanced beauty, but it was a secret for you to keep.  a secret that no one, especially your brother, could ever find out about.

but that’s all that it was, wasn’t it?

a dream. a pathetic fantasy. you wouldn’t ever gain the courage to talk to him, make a move, despite how often him and max talk about going on dates with girls. talking about his love life, or the rather drab there of. he fucked around a lot, max knew that, and would consistently warn you to never get wrapped up in the same lifestyle as the british driver. you’d hold up your hands in defense, shrieking a ‘don’t worry about me,’ though you wish you gave him a reason to.

why did you feel undeserving of lando– because he was a formula one driver? attractive? charming? were you afraid that you were going to be friendzoned–? oh god, that would be the fucking worst, wouldn’t it? you could never imagine the hangouts being the same. so you’d bite your tongue until it bled, even when your body yearned for the heat of his own. 

the villa that you would be staying at was on lake como in italy. it was a beautiful venue, a place that you’d been dreaming of visiting. max knew this, hence why he’d probably sniped you an invite. but it wasn’t like no one wanted you there. everyone did. that was the problem. you were so incredibly loved by all of max’s friends, that he kept them at arm’s length. no one would ever hurt his little sister. not while he was still breathing. 

“wow,” you breathed, stepping out of the uber from the airport. the house before you was a stunning makeup of eccentric architecture that dated decades before your own birth. it was a grand building with tall, marble columns. thoroughly decorated landscaping, and even had running fountains in the front. you were so lost in your awe that you didn’t see the huge pair of mahogany doors swing open. 

“max,” you turned your head towards your brother who was grabbing your bags from the trunk. you shifted to the source of the voice, finding the british driver standing barefoot with a beach flannel and short-inseam khaki shorts low around his waist. you gulped before looking anywhere else but him. 

“lando!” max approached him, arm outstretched for a shake. lando met him half way down the marbled steps, taking his sunglasses off from the top of his head. 

“how was the flight, mate? good?” max nodded for the both of you whilst you fiddled with the accessories around your hands. you didn’t ever know what to say to lando. you found yourself unbelievably speechless in his presence. 

“not too bad, ‘specially if this is what you’ve got.” lando chuckled at your brother’s words, and then his eyes finally landed on you. you and your comfortable outfit from the plane ride over. you and your pulled back hair, respectfully messy, and the jewelry that adorned your fingers. his eyes caught over the bling, and how you anxiously picked away at the skin. 

“never thought she’d grace our presence,” lando said jokingly, which had your head snapping upright. you flushed, sucking your bottom lip with your teeth. 

max rolled his eyes, avoidant of the topic of you in general. “whatever, mate, she’s here now, in’she?” what? what was that supposed to mean? was your presence requested? you suddenly felt wanted above all things. 

“she certainly is.” lando approached you with his tongue tucked behind his bottom lip, hasty in his steps. you stood up straighter with a light smile on your face, eyes twinkling away from his own. you couldn’t keep eye contact with him. “c’mon, love, i’ll take your bags.” 

“are you sure? i can take–”

the bags were grabbed from your hands. you felt the palm of his own for just a moment— the warm flesh, humming low against his own. you felt like he spoke to you through your blood, but you let it go. lando norris wasn’t giving you special attention, that’s for sure. 

you promised yourself that much. this whimsical, airy crush of yours needed to be vetted on the spot. he was your brother’s best friend, older than you, and certainly didn’t have time for a girl who wasn’t a celebrity. 

right?

he took your bags through the exquisite villa. the interior was even more luxurious than you could ever imagine– floor to ceiling windows, candlelit ceiling lights, flora decorating each wall that you turned to. it smelled delectable, too, wafting germanium and coconut oil. the smile on your face couldn’t be ignored, as you shimmered brighter than the summer sun. 

“you like it, then?” came lando’s voice. your head dropped, glancing at him from where he stood, waiting for you to join him on the steps. had he been watching your face? 

“you’re joking.” you assured, hands clasped together. “it’s beautiful.” 

lando smiled then, too, letting his lower lip snatch between his top teeth. he tried hard to conceal his happiness, but you felt like you could feel it amongst the air. you felt warm all of a sudden and cleared your throat, urging him forward up the spiraling staircase. 

you walked in silence with him down the long corridors. you would pause before each door briefly, wondering if he was going to open it, but he didn’t. it wasn’t until you were reaching the ends of the hallway when he stopped, twisting the knob of the white wooden door. he stood aside, letting you in first. 

the room you’d be staying in for the next few weeks was more than you could ever dream of. with its spacious interior, personal bathroom, and private balcony, you felt like the luckiest girl alive to be able to experience this. to live in this moment. to be here. in italy, of all places. 

lando interrupted your dreaming haze by sliding the bags in. you turned to face him in your unruly, exhausted glory, and he stared at you. a hand of his found the back of his neck. 

“so…dinner tonight at seven, pool day tomorrow, um…” he looked around, acting as if he could suddenly have the words appear into his head. “oh and, if you need anything, my room’s just next door.” 

he said it with haste, as if he were shy about the fact, and was already stepping out the door. 

“wait,” you said, stepping forward. lando hung back, gripping onto the door frame, swinging his head back into the room. “thank you.” 

the words seemed to hit him harder than you thought that it would. he blushed a light red, dimming his tanned face, and cleared his throat before nodding. “of course.” he said with out hesitance, making it clear that he would do this for anyone. “‘m glad you’re here.” 

and then he was gone. 

you stared at the shut door in stunned silence. did you really hear him correctly? 

you didn’t let your thoughts linger too long, but you couldn’t help but let it. the curly-haired brunette stayed in your mind whilst you settled in and unpacked. all ounce of his shy, gaunt nature. 

by the evening you were more than settled and relaxed. you’d taken a small nap to rejuvenate your energy, and just in the nick of time for dinner. you got ready amply, sliding a comfortable dress over the surface of your body. the straps were thin and fell loose upon your collarbones. you’d pair an elegant pair of low rise heels on your feet, pointy-toed, that matched the color of your dress.

you stared at your reflection in the mirror, the dim yellow lighting illuminating the corners of your face that you so frequently forgot to appreciate. it was in the hours of the night that you could appreciate yourself, unopposed to the gawking looks of strangers. 

there was a soft knock on your door at 6:57. you turned, dress swaying from your movements, and cracked it open. 

lando stood there on the other side. him and his dark shirt and khaki pants. he wore a pair of leather black loafers that matched his shirt. he smelled good, too, a masculine tint of sauvage. 

no words were spoken between the two of you. you simply stared at one another, lost in each other’s features. you resisted the urge to trace the moles on his face with a finger, whilst he fought himself to not reach out and run his hands along the fabric of your dress. 

his eyes softened when you met his, cheeks filled with a simple kind of joy. the two of you were done ogling at one another, still foreign in each other’s presence. 

“ready?” he asked. you nodded, grabbing a matching handbag from the countertop and slung it over your arm. you shut the door to your room behind you and walked a few paces behind lando. you weren’t close with him like that to walk side by side.

or so you thought.

he dragged his feet to slow his pace, coming parallel to your side. he held his breath for a moment, turning to look at the exposed skin from your dress. you caught his wandering eyes and looked up at him, wandering beneath his emerald depths. 

“what?” you asked tenderly, voice hitching in your throat. 

“nothing.” he turned his head to face back forward. “just haven’t seen you in a while, that’s all.” 

that was an understatement. you haven’t seen lando in almost three years. max had done a stellar job of wanting to keep you separated from his friends, though you weren’t upset about it. you had your own life, and that was perfectly enough for you. 

but you were a girl with a heart full of wanderlust, and often dreamed of what you could’ve had. there was a marksmith of delusion prodding the hidden parts of your brain, working tirelessly to pick apart the small interactions you’ve had with lando over the years. 

when you turned 18, he brought you to an exclusive club and showered you with gifts, alcohol, and even more. it was a night you wouldn’t forget, feeling lucky enough to manage a dance with him on the dance floor. his hands hovered above your body, the warmth seeping through your skin, rattling your bones. he even got so close to your face that you could feel his breath. smell the alcohol that reeked from him. 

you thought you were going to kiss. 

and so did he. 

but your brother separated the two of you, calling lando over for a group shot. you were left there, stranded on the dance floor, with the phantom touch of a man that you knew you could never have. it pained you to admit such a truth to yourself, but it didn’t loiter. you had a life to get back to, not indulge some silly, fanatical dream that kept you up late at night as a teenager. lando norris was the fantasy, never to become a reality. 

though, every time in presence, you’d manage to falter. set those delusions free the second he’d act kindly to you; gentle, tender tenacity that you believed would be special to you. max’s little sister. that’s all you were, though, weren’t you? 

“you’ve been well, haven’t you?” you asked him with a hum, holding your bag with both hands in front of you. the leather piece bucked against your abdomen. lando watched, peering to see if he could hold it for you. 

“‘course. living my dream, aren’t i?” you’d made it to the end of the hallway. the top of the staircase. 

“it’s not a dream.” you said with a softer intonation. he looked back towards you with a raised brow. “it’s reality now, i’d reckon.” 

he smiled. 

the two of you made it down the steps. you lingered in the grand foyer, beneath the candlelit chandelier. it was still light outside, but the sun was beginning to set. it had created a pink and blue hue over the water’s edge. 

but you weren’t looking at the water’s edge. 

you were looking at lando. your brother’s best friend. he had his hands in his pockets, facing the open living room, rocking back and forth on his heels. you cut your way to his line of sight staring upward at him. he looked down at you, wondering what you were searching for.

you had considered not doing what you were about to do. you really did!

but your hand was already outstretched, the tips of your fingers grazing over the grown facial hair on his chin. he didn’t jolt from the action and merely stared into your eyes, pupils blown wide from the warmth of your touch. 

“i like it,” you commented before taking your hand away, finding yourself into much deep trouble if max had seen the two of you. 

“yeah?” lando asked, suddenly much closer to you. 

“makes you look older and manly.” you rolled your eyes. 

“what? i wasn’t manly before?” 

your hand rolled over your mouth to withhold a laugh. “i’ve seen you weep at the sight of fish.” 

lando’s face lit up and his tongue prodded the inside of his cheek. “doesn’t make me any less of a man.” he crossed his arms. 

“really?” 

“just enthusiastic. don’t see a problem with having a bit of character.” you didn’t argue with him further when you saw your brother and other group friends join one another in the living room. they made their way closer to the two of you.

you took a step back from lando. he couldn’t take his eyes off the action, his face falling instinctively. it’s nothing. his expressions mean nothing. they’re not for you. 

“c’mon, i’m starvin’.” max called, slapping lando on the back. sure enough, you were walking out the door behind your brother, everyone trailing in an orderly manner. 

you heard lando call your name from in front of max. you hummed in response. “you’ll ride with me, yeah?” you blushed. how could you not? max turned his head over his shoulder, his voice saying nothing, but his eyes telling all. he knows how you felt about lando when you were younger. 

he knows, he knows, he knows. but surely, surely you’ve gotten over that little crush of yours. and lando, too, hadn’t harbored any feelings towards you either? surely, surely he couldn’t. you were his little sister. and max knew how lando treated girls as of late. 

it left a sour taste in his mouth, but he said nothing when you nodded, brushing past him. 

lando opened the door for you. his mclaren was a two seater, comfortable, and roared to life when lando turned over the engine. you couldn’t help but laugh feeling the seat vibrate beneath your thighs. it was a feeling of exhilaration that you hadn’t felt in a long time, but a feeling that came perpetually with lando’s presence. being with him made you feel alive, more alive than the years you’d walked this earth. 

your excitement had done things to him as well. his eyes were glued to how you reacted, enthralled by your visceral enthusiasm to being in such a tangible sports car. your fingertips grazed across the leather interior of the door handle. 

“gonna jump out on me?” 

you shifted in the leather seat, crossing your legs over one another. there was a heat building inside of you, deep in your core. 

“not if you don’t give me a reason to.”

he chuckled at that. “i’ll try.” 

you smiled to yourself, looking down at your fiddling hands. lando stepped on the gas and pulled out of the villa’s extraneously long driveway, leading the pack of friends behind him. 

“you look fit.” came his voice, nervous, beneath his breath. your eyes caught his side profile, all rough edges of it. “beautiful, but your brother’d have me by the balls if he heard me say that.” 

your breaths were heavy in your chest. “then don’t let him.” 

lando’s head whipped to meet your eyes, hand white-knuckling the steering wheel. you weren’t even sure what you were implying with your words, but he hoped that he wasn’t misinterpreting them. god forbid he didn’t understand. you didn’t brush him off like you did as a child, didn’t stumble away bashfully. now, in your grown state, you faced him head on. you challenged him, just as he suspected you would. 

“between us, then?” 

you nodded, tongue coming to wet your bottom lip. you made a motion of a lock and key against them, throwing the key out the window. he watched, but was drawn back to the road. that was one of the fastest car rides you’ve ever been in with that roaring engine, feeling like you had stepped into the biggest unknown of your very existence. 

the restaurant that lando had made reservations for was absolutely beautiful. you couldn’t count the amount of times you’ve been awed by the sites you’ve seen, but you couldn’t help yourself. you were simply one of the luckiest girls with even richer friends. 

lando opened the car door for you, sprinting to the other side. you found yourself laughing at the action, finding his urgency cute. 

you stepped out of the car and you immediately found your brother, his stance idle before he marched over to you. 

“he say anything to you?” 

you flushed. between us, then?

“no. what would he say?” 

max didn’t elaborate and simply settled for a huff from his nose. lando had been handing off his car to the valet man when he met up with the two of you. your other friends were in tow, eight of you in total, and made it inside the restaurant with ease.

you didn’t even think about what the seating arrangement would be. not until lando pulled out a chair for you, beside him, and you had no other choice but to settle in. not like you were complaining though. 

but max was going to. you could see the look on his face when he sat opposite to you, flashing you a pair of warning eyes. but you didn’t know what warranted them– you didn’t even say anything to lando, more or less. 

you furrowed your brows at him, feeling far too old for these insolent glances, and picked up the menu. lando sat next to you, mirroring your actions. you placed the napkin on your lap, a polite etiquette you’ve always precluded dinners with. 

“ah– look,” you leaned into lando’s space, the heat from his body, the cologne from his shirt, sifting through your nose. it was tempting. “for you.” 

your finger pointed to the blackened cod that they had on the menu. lando met you half way, looming over your shoulder at what you were pointing at. as soon as he read it, he scoffed. “fuck off.” you couldn’t help but giggle, attempting to stifle the sound the best you could.

“don’t do that,” lando’s voice came firm, but soft against your ears. he was talking just loud enough for the two of you to be able to hear. you glanced quickly at max, who was lost in conversation with his buddies. 

“what?” 

“hide your laugh.” you guessed you didn’t realize how often you muffled yourself. your hand lowered to your lap. “you used to do it when you were a teenager, too.” he pointed. you thought for a moment, realizing that he was right. “never understood why. especially since it’s so pretty.”

you froze, staring up at him with weary eyes. he looked confused at your expression. your hand came to slap his bicep. “stop it.” but you were teasing him. he saw right through your tone. 

“don’t let him, ‘s what you said, right?” 

you swallowed. nodded your head. 

his mouth dipped to your ear. his breath hot, just like your cheeks. “he won’t hear a thing then, will he?” lando’s nose brushed against your scalp, and you thought for a moment, dreamed, that he would plant a kiss upon your head. but his lips simply hovered, breaths warming your strands of hair. 

but you turned your head to meet his eyes, shaking his contact off. he noticed. tensed. “but he can see, you imbecile.” 

that had lando laughing. your face broke with a smile, unable to resist his intoxicating gestures. he simply shrugged, letting you win this one, and his arm came to sling over the back of your chair. his fingertips grazed the strands of your dress, dipping down to your bare shoulders. your posture straightened against the chair, legs crossing over one another beneath the table. he watched you shift, his teeth catching his bottom lip to retain his smile. 

the waiter came to take your orders. you ordered your preferred choice and drink, lando following suit. when the table received their drinks, you lifted your glasses for a collective ‘cheers’. 

when the main course was finished, you were handed the dessert menus. short a couple, you had to share with the man next to you. you nudged lando’s shoulder with your own and like a dog to a whistle, he was over your shoulder once more, his stubble barely pinching your skin. the thought burst through your head: what would it feel like on your neck? on your thighs, your cunt? you blushed again for what felt like an infinitesimal number, but turned your attention back to the menu. 

you pointed at the option that you thought was best. lando hummed, his eyes tracing over the features of your face. you glanced at him. “what?” you asked. 

he simply huffed a short laugh and nodded his head at your choice. 

it arrived sooner than later and the two of you split the sweet dessert. your brother was still lost in his own conversations, leaving you to your ministrations with lando. whatever they may be, you’d want them all. 

when you had your fill and so did he, you couldn’t help but look at him. he turned, and you laughed quietly between the two of you. he raised a brow. 

“you’ve got–” you pointed to his lip, but you figured your words were fruitless. you licked at your thumb and raised it to his mouth, cleaning him. his eyes darkened, becoming hooded with the shadows of lust. you even dared to bring your thumb back to your mouth, popping the remnants across your lips with a ‘pop’. lando never thought his dick could be so hard. 

“there,” you breathed. “all clean.” 

there was a brief silence. one second. two. “you’ve always been trouble, haven’t you?” 

your own eyes were hooded. “maybe.” you teased, cleaning your fingers with the napkin. “guess you have to find out?” 

lando’s hand gripped tighter on the back of your chair. 

“guess so.”

the drive back was tense. tense with your excitement. on the way out, lando and you lingered at the back of the pack. his hand was on your lower back, warm and electric, reminding you that you had stepped into the deep end with him. 

you still couldn’t believe what had happened. 

lando was speeding down the freeway, weaving his way in and out of cars, a dangerous task that you only felt comfortable with him performing. you’d lose your mind if anyone else was the driver, but he was the professional here, wasn’t he? 

you were even so bold to roll the window down and stick your hand out, feeling the harsh slipstreams beneath your nailbeds. you relaxed in the seat, head lolling against the cushion, hair flying into the wind. lando turned his head to look at you, his elbow leaning on the interior beneath the windowsill, and almost swerved into oncoming traffic. you were a picturesque beauty, lounging freely in his passenger seat, legs crossed, free. 

you were at peace for the time being, and it was the only way he’d wish to see you. but he could think of other things. 

he pulled into the house with ease. it was well lit amongst the long, windy driveway, and he made sure to let you out first. you two were the last to arrive at the house this time, taking your sweet time. you were in no rush to race back to your room, and neither was he. 

it was well past 10pm. when you reached the foyer, max was waiting for you.

“bright and early tomorrow?” he asked. 

“bright and early.” you confirmed. he pulled you in for a swift hug, rustling the top of your head with that familial brother love that you adored him for. 

he patted lando on the back briefly, before narrowing his eyes at him. you didn’t understand what was happening between the two of them, bro code, but lando seemed to understand well enough. max and his buddies traipsed up the steps, and you felt at ease when you heard their doors shut. 

it was just you and lando, now, idling in the foyer. 

you said nothing but began to walk, trailing forward through the grandeur villa. you were ample with your pace and heard him moving behind you. with a push of your hand, you opened the door to the grand balcony, leaving it ajar for lando to sneak out from. 

he did. 

there was a patio set there, waiting, and you let your handbag drop onto the coffee table. you sauntered over to the cobblestone walls, the balustrade meeting post to post for about thirty feet. you leaned against the stone. it was cold against your bare back. 

lando seated himself in one of the chairs, his legs spreading wide. he watched you lean forward, then spin to face him. your back was illuminated by the halo of the moonlight, drenching you in a pale visage of beauty. 

“you wanna know something?” you asked. lando perked up, humming with curiosity. he was too busy admiring your figure, having to pull himself back from such tumultuous thoughts. “i had a crush on you when i was a kid.”

that stifled a laugh from the british driver. “you did not.” 

you shook your head. “sure did.” you didn’t know why you were telling him this all of a sudden, but it was weighing heavy on your mind. “max was pissed. knew i only came around when he told me you’d be there.” 

the pieces began melding together in lando’s mind. he had been such an idiot boy that he couldn’t see what a prized beauty you were. there was a trace of second hand guilt. a pattern of ‘what-ifs’ trifling through his mind. 

“‘was just a stupid girl. tried so hard for you to notice me.” your hands covered your face for a brief moment. 

“you always wore skirts,” he recalled, looking at his hands in his lap. he looked up at you, smirk building. “that why?” 

you were shameless when you nodded your head. 

“so embarrassing, i know–” 

“what about now?” he cut you off, clearly wanting to ask this question the moment it left your lips. 

“what do you mean?” your mouth went dry, your hands clasping at the balustrade as if you were going to faint. your heart pounded in your chest. 

“what do you feel for me now?” 

you couldn’t meet his eye. you looked anywhere else but him, in fact, and opted to over your shoulder to admire the view of the ocean beneath the starlight. the ocean wouldn’t judge you. it would wash away your problems, in fact, and not stare you down. 

there was a deep intake of breath that had your head settling from its dizzy state. you looked back to lando and he sat there, cocky, upright. but there was a genteel nature about him that didn’t have you as afraid as you thought you’d be. 

he raised his arm, outstretching his hand for you. 

you swallowed, pushing yourself off from the balustrade. you sauntered towards him, earnest in your steps, before letting your palm rest on his. 

he pulled you close, fingers wrapping against your wrist. he was warm to the touch and he could feel your erratic heartbeat in your veins. 

lando’s legs spread for you to settle between. you stood above him, looking down at his brunette curls, his stubble, his cheekbones. his own hands were experimental against the planes of your body, touching sweetly against your hips. 

“you didn’t answer me.” he repeated.

you crossed your arms over your chest. 

“some dreams just remain dreams.” 

he waited a beat. you felt his chest rise and fall. 

“do you want to dream forever?” 

no. no. you didn’t. you wanted your fantasies to become reality. being with him. being loved by him has always been what you wanted. 

you lowered yourself on his lap, straddling his waist. you felt his cock thrum beneath the guard of his pants. did he want you the same? 

his forehead collided with yours. his nose brushing against your bridge. you shook your head, closing your eyes. 

“wake me up,” you mewled quietly, voice deep within your throat. it was a desperate plea, one that you thought he may not understand until he caught the glint in your eye. the wanting. the years of pining from a distance. how he was so wrapped up in his boyhood that he couldn’t appreciate a woman at his side. “please.” 

he didn’t wait any longer to meet your lips with his own. 

you were cautious with your touches. your hands were on his chest, gripping at the fabric of his shirt. but your kiss was deep by his own volition, gripping your chin with his forefinger and thumb, earning a groveling sound in your throat. 

his other hand was stroking your back, pushing you against him until your breasts were firmly against his chest. you gasped at the firm contact, him using it as an excuse to slip his tongue into your mouth. he explored every corner with an expertise you didn’t know was possible. no place went untouched by his saliva, marking a cavern of his own, and perhaps awakening a fantasy that had been dormant for years. 

he lied when he said he didn’t notice you. 

he lied. 

lando would always await your appearance when he went over to max’s house. he’d hear you skip down the steps in whatever mary-jane heel you wore for that day. max would groan when your head popped through the archway, waving at his friends, but your lashes fluttered when you settled on lando. 

‘course he fucking noticed. 

he thought of you a sweet girl, caring for her brother, with an exquisite taste in fashion. he’d remember the skirts you wore–  black ones, pleated ones, plaid ones– they were all committed to the vaults of his memory. he thought you were the most beautiful girl in the world. 

and he still did. while you were perched atop of his lap, huffing in nervous breaths, your hands anxiously skirting across the plane of his dress shirt. you shook atop of him as your lips moved coincided with one another. two bodies, melding together beneath the moonlight. 

your tongue swirled against his own, hips bucking against the bulge in his pants. your cunt tightened aimlessly, drenching his pants below. he could feel the patten of fabric become lathered in your slick, and it brought him back to earth.

“we can’t.” he breathed against your lips. his chest was beating up and down, unable to calm himself. though he attempted rejecting you, his hand tightened around the fabric of your dress. 

your nose brushed against his as you chuckled. “a bit late, isn’t it?” your teeth bit at your swollen, bottom lip. you could see his eyes flash downward at your action, his own tongue wetting his own. 

“your brother,” he began to shake his head, still clutching around the fabric of your dress. 

“he doesn’t…” you began to say, kissing the sides of his stubble. you were even so bold to take his free hand, guide it to your inner thighs, and let his fingertips caress the wet fabric covering your cunt. it was swollen, desperate for his touch. you’d been desperate for his touch. desperate for as long as you could remember. “have to know.” 

lando’s fingers curled upward to apply pressure right on your clit. he didn’t even have to search for it, and you shifted your hips, bucking them across his palm. “fuck, baby…” he groaned into your cheek, followed by a crass chuckle. “you always get this wet?” 

your head buried itself into the junction between his neck and shoulder, whining with embarrassment. “jus’ for you…” the words came quietly, but they rang loud in lando’s ears. he could feel the vibrations from your throat, your aching cunt. you were laid atop of him, dripping down your thighs. 

“yeah?” he breathed, finding his heart beating rapidly beneath the weight of your body. his fingers began a pattern of motions across your clothed clit—back and forth— and you mewled into his shirt. there was a patch of drool beneath your lips. “look at you, then, made a mess all over me…” 

your lips sucked on the skin of his neck, biting at his chest. attempting to shift closer to him, if it was possible, had your cunt aligned over his clothed cock. 

“‘n i’ve barely touched you.” 

lando wasn’t even sure he could bring himself to. this was his best friend’s little sister. the amount of lines he’s crossed. the friendship he’s had for years suddenly feeling vulnerable, out the door. but he can’t say he hasn’t thought about a moment like this. fantasized about it once or twice. 

“touch me,” you pleaded, tilting your head to look at him. your eyes were wide, glossy with your pleasure, whilst his darkened at your contact. “more, i need…” your hips grinded against his palm. “more.” 

“fuck,” he cursed beneath his breath. fuck his self control. fuck whatever this was going to do to his friendship. you are real, pining for him in his lap, begging you for his touch. anything from him, really, you would take. this moment felt like it was going to flutter away any moment, and you’d be waking up from a sick, yearning dream. 

the hand upon your back steadied you against his body, whilst the fingers of his other moved the fabric of your panties aside. here, with his sensitive fingers, he could feel the heat from your cunt. it washed over him like a wave, retracting, tightening when he flexed his middle finger. you were utterly drenched for him, the cool breeze of the night raising goosebumps along your skin. 

you shivered above him, watching how his hand worked beneath your dress. his hand against your back curled around the base of your neck, angling your eyes back up to his own. “eyes on me.” you listened, melted at his soft, demanding tone, and nodded your head. you shimmied frantically across the plane of his hand, but he tsked. “be patient.” 

you seemed to understand well enough. he would give you what you wanted, in time. you would be patient, holding back the whimpers deep within your throat. you were just about to implode on yourself when he finally inserted his middle finger into your folds, taunting you dangerously. you gasped, unable to keep yourself still as your back arched. your head fell back into his hand, lando’s thumb swirling around your bare neck. 

the straps from your dress fell loose with the motion and you could feel the breeze harden your already taut nipples. his eyes clinged downward at the sight before him, head bending forward to kiss your exposed chest. one of your hands came to clench around his wrist, the other to his neck, holding him fiercely to your body. 

your fingers were thrusted deep into the base of his neck, the fade of his hair. you tugged when his finger curled deliciously inside of you, his thumb– acting so expertly– applied gentile pressure to your clit, toiling with your impetuous lust. you felt exposed to him, putty in his hands, weightless against his body. 

the british driver’s lips were relentless on your skin. your chest was claimed by his tongue, swirling around the top of your breasts, edging you further to a spectacular orgasm. he sucked tight against your skin, but your head raised to meet your lips to his ears.

“no marks,” you requested, but you heard him growl against your chest. his hands flexed– his wrist clutched with your palm, his hand on the back of your neck– the contact with your neck had you breathless, clenching around his singular finger, and he took blatant notice. 

“a secret, yeah?” he confirmed, holding back his groveling tone. the words were bitter when they hit your ears. there was a layered amount of surplus emotions that guarded his heart, held him at arm's length, and he knew it would tear him apart. but now, he focused on you atop of him, and getting you to come. 

“mhmm…” you had to clamp your mouth shut from bursting with a wanton moan. it was too much– the way that he swirled his thumb, how his finger was just the perfect length to bottom out inside of you. your hips moved relentlessly, despite his grip around your neck, and you pushed down on his wrist when it started to become too much for you. 

but lando had other plans. he shook his head, let out a tsk between his lips, and let his ring finger slip into you with ease. you let out another moan, deeper than the rest, but he responded with a tug on your hair. 

with his lips still against your breasts, his motions froze. “quiet.” you hummed a disapproving sound. “want me to stop?” 

you shook your head. “no– no!” 

you could feel his teeth against your breasts, a cocky smile no doubt with how flustered you became at the thought of him stopping. 

“gotta be quiet, love–” and then his lips were back on you, sucking amply at your skin. his head lowered until he captured a nipple between his teeth, letting the ridges toy with your sensitive buds. your head lowered to the top of his as you breathed him in– his shampoo, his cologne– and it didn’t help with containing yourself. 

his pace against your cunt quickened. dual fingers sliding in and out of you with ease, thumb riding aggressively on your clit. you could feel the coil inside of you wringing with heat. 

lando’s lips found your other nipple, treating it with the same voraciousness that the other received. it was beginning to become too much for you. no man had ever had you this way– putty, liquid, melting– beneath his touch. you feared that you’d never be able to have an orgasm again. 

you became antsy in his hands. your grip on his wrist was shaking, your thighs desperately clenching around his waist. he took it as a sign that you were close, and the words fell easily from his lips. 

“gonna cum for me?” his chin rested on your chest, angling to look up at your sweating, flushed expression. your eyes fluttered shut as you nodded. his grip around your throat tightened against the columns. you’d never trusted a man so much to not hurt you. 

“come on, sweet girl, ‘ve got you.” he promised to you, “bet you’re so pretty when you cum.” 

you felt the skin of your lip break into a light gash beneath the weight of your teeth. you’d been so focused on keeping quiet, that you went ahead at your own expense. lando saw the way your eyes opened, and lurched to meet your lips with his own.

the iron upon his tongue didn’t frighten him. perhaps it turned him on in some manner. the lengths that you were willing to go to keep your sweet lips tightened. but as his own tongue swirled around the stinging cut of your lip, you moaned into him. he absorbed the sound, locking it into the expanse of his memories. you had such a sweet voice. he’d never hear something like it again. 

“come on, baby,” he urged you once more, speaking into your mouth. his breath was hot, spinning a knot of thread with your own. you felt him laugh at your oncoming orgasm, taking joy from eliciting such pleasure from you. “let me see how pretty you are.” 

it didn’t take much longer for your orgasm to reach you. you went taut, shaking in his hands, eyes rolling into your head. you swore you saw stars, and that was just from his fingers alone. it had you wondering what his cock felt like. 

your head fell limp against his shoulder, breathing heavily, clutching the fabric of his shirt. you didn’t want to let him go. his fingers laid idle inside of your tightened walls, not wanting to release the feeling either. not with his hand drenched, his pants soaked, and his forehead dripping with his own sweat. his cock had been painfully hard, a pool of his precum seeping through his pants, combining with your own. it was a beautiful, disastrous mess that he’d initiated between you two, but he felt no regret. 

you sniffled against his shoulder, breezing with the cold air, and let your arms wrap around his neck. you hid your face against his body, attempting to bury your embarrassment within him. you had just come on the balcony atop lando’s lap. what fucking world were you living in? you’ve had feelings for him for what felt like a century, and now a dream that you didn’t even know was possible of coming true, came at the palm of his hand. 

lando couldn’t believe it either. you were tucked against his body like a hand to a glove, a perfect fit, breathing heavily, shaking, against his palms. your cunt roared with a beating heat, swimming with the orgasm he had given you. proud wasn’t a word that could surmount to this feeling. 

and he said nothing when he fixed the straps of your dress, gauging a more presentable you. he tucked your hair behind your ears, fingertips loitering on the expanse of your cheek. you smiled into him, coming to raise your head to meet his eyes. 

his eyes fell to your blistering lip. the swollen buds that he sucked the blood out of. his forehead met yours, and neither of you said anything; just a soft breath and heartbeat between the two of you. 

within seconds he took his hand from your cunt, washed his fingers against his tongue, and let it fall to your bare back. you were stunned at the motion, but drool pooled in your mouth. you gawked, openly, just how hot the action was alone. 

lando stood with you in his arms. one hand on the back of your neck, the other cupping your thigh. your legs, whilst trembling, tightened around his waist for support as he took you through the quiet villa. the only lights were the candles that were still burning, but you didn’t see them, your head hiding in the crevice of his neck. he hummed quietly, a rhythm that had your eyes beginning to lull with sleep. 

you heard him open a door quietly and shuffle around the mess on the floor. your room, no doubt. you’d left a pile of clothes as a welcome for yourself when you were picking out your attire for the evening. it didn’t help him, either, by being surrounded by your scent. your perfume, you, it swirled around him, taunting him. dared him to fuck his best friend’s little sister. 

lando bent down to lay you into your bed. you fell against your will, hands still upright for him to fall in. but he just couldn’t let himself. 

he did, however, let his fingers trail across your bare thighs, your knees, your calves, ankles, until he was met with your heels. his hand lingered on the back of your ankle, angling one of your feet upright to slip a shoe off. his fingers moved to the other, placing the expensive pair on the ground. you stretched your hands above your head, falling deep within the pillowy, feathery embrace. 

you stared up at him. your hair messy, dress disheveled, eyes heavy with exhaustion. and he looked down at you, moving forward to let his fingers trail up your sternum, the perks of your breasts. the moment was so quiet. only your breaths and his own could be heard– and maybe the pounding of your heart. 

he looked beautiful looming above you, hovering with a protective, apologetic look. apologetic? what did he have to apologize for? except for a mind-blowing orgasm, that is. 

his hand froze against the place of your heart. palm flattening, he could feel just how fast your heart was racing. you grabbed his wrist, thumb sliding up and down against his veins. he swallowed. 

“don’t know if we should do this again.” he spoke quietly. 

your heart broke. you sat up straight in your bed, confusion written all across your features. you thought that this was something between the two of you. that he wanted you. and now what was happening? did you do something wrong? 

“why?” you asked, feeling tears well in your eyes. you couldn’t help it. the girl inside of you had come to the forefront, her dreams of being with lando being squashed beneath the weight of his words. 

he sighed deep, unable to meet your eyes. he was about to say something before you interrupted him.

“you don’t want me?” 

his head snapped in your direction, almost breaking clean off his spine with just how fast he went. he shook his head, hand coming to cup your cheek, but you shook his affections away. your hand dropped from his wrist, wanting to feel nothing of his heart. 

he spoke your name. twice. three times. you looked back toward him, tears hot in your eyes. “hey.” you focused on his voice. “you know that’s not true.” 

your brows furrowed. “do i?”

his expression dropped. 

he fell to his knees before the side of the bed. an action no man has ever done for you. you gaped visibly, watching as both his hands came to rest upon your knees. he leaned into you. stubble tickling your thighs. 

your name was sweet on his tongue. 

“what would your brother say–?” 

“fuck what he thinks.” you leaned down. 

lando’s head dropped between your thighs, taking a deep inhale of your skin. you shivered, letting your hand rest on the back of his neck. 

“we need t’give it time.” he said upon raising his head. he looked at you with a glimmer in his eyes. the moonlight shimmered through your windows, casting a vague gracefulness of illumination across his tanned skin. 

“how much?” 

lando wasn’t sure. his silence was an answer enough. you sighed, letting your body fall against the bed once more. he lifted himself to sit beside you, placing both hands at your hips to cage you in. 

“hey,” he said to gauge your attention back to him. “we’ll figure it out, won’t we?” 

you wanted to believe him. but you weren’t sure that you could. lando leaned down to kiss your sternum against the fabric of your dress. 

“you still want me?” you asked, voice cracking with your emotions. 

“i’ve wanted you,” he said against your stomach, “since the day you came down in that white skirt.” 

you gasped, head tilting to look at him. that was one of the first times you met him– third, maybe– you remembered which one he was talking about. it was a skirt with little white bows, embellished with threads of ribbon and lace. 

“the one with the bows?” 

“that fuckin’ skirt…” he scoffed with a laugh. you were still floored, but managed to smile. you couldn’t believe his confession, finding it unbelievable. unbelievable that maybe, maybe you had a chance with him. the girl inside of you was squealing, but the woman didn’t quiver beneath him. 

there was a momentary silence between the two of you. but you shifted, moving to stand. lando watched you from his perch on your bed, hair ruffled and eyes red from his own wrought of emotions. you didn’t expect this from him. this sensibility. 

you began to strip with your back turned to him. he watched. silently. 

you stripped of your panties and threw them over your shoulder. lando caught them, still gawking at you. “keep them.” you spoke. “you ruined them.” 

that had him laughing. but he kept them, staring down at the lace material. you threw on a large shirt from your suitcase that reached your mid thigh. you finally spun around to meet his eye, but he didn’t dare move. 

“what?” you asked, his staring becoming more intense. 

he swallowed. shook his head.

“you better go.” you spoke for him as you approached your bed, narrowly dodging him when you threw yourself down. his eyes raked over you, speechless. “lando.” you reaffirmed, bringing him out of his haze. he let out a sigh and stood, hand coming to brace the back of his neck. 

he lingered before opening your door, glancing at the dress on the ground. and then he was gone, shutting your door behind him, before falling to his own bed. you were lucky to find sleep that night, and it came easy with your exhaustion. but anxiety thrummed through your mind, bustling with a pint of rejection. it was so sweet from his tongue, but it hurt all the same. 

lando laid in his bed before he showered. changed. laid in his bed with the thought of you. how did this happen? how could he forfeit a lifelong friendship? it was simple, really. you were the most beautiful woman he’s ever met, and he couldn’t ever let you go. he’s always watched you from a distance. liking your posts, viewing your instagram stories. he was obsessed with you in more ways than one, but that was a secret for him and him alone. 

yet, he couldn’t get max out of his mind. how he would react to him? to you? fuck, the thoughts were brewing a storm inside of his head. the damage had already been done, his heart already thrumming with the essence of you in its wake. you spread through the blood in his veins, latching onto his vitality like a parasite. though he welcomed the thought, the wonder of you overtaking his life. 

that was a thought that he could fall asleep to. and he did, snoring with a good guzzle that had you tossing and turning. 

the morning came and went. you were up early, as you promised max, but took time planning your wardrobe. you wore a bathing suit beneath your choice of clothing, but what was essential was the short, white, skirt that rode mid-rise on your waist. 

the shirt you wore was thin, sheer, a light beige. it had straps that came down to tie a bow between your breasts, and cropped enough to leave heaven to the imagination. for one man in particular, that was your goal.

‘i don’t know if we should do this again.’ 

fuck that. 

you skipped down the steps and were met with max awake bright and early. he had been cooking breakfast, a favorite of yours, and was just about finishing up before he glanced towards you. 

“morning!” came his preppy voice. he was wearing a thin white shirt and swim trunks, ready to take on the day to swim. 

“good morning.” you sat down at the lush kitchen island, max sliding a plate of food in front of you. you dug in immediately. 

“woah,” max commented, sitting down beside you with a cup of tea. “relax. thought we were going swimming?” 

you coughed. “we are.” you continued to finish your food with haste. “just hungry.” 

you heard more steps come down the stairs. but you didn’t turn your head until max did, his eyes brightening as his close friend was approaching.

“mate,” max said, eyeing up lando. “you look like shit. did ‘ya sleep last night?” 

lando hummed with his tired voice, already prepared to go swimming as well. he wore a black shirt with papaya swim trunks. you ogled at him before he looked at you, turning away quickly once he skirted his eyes towards your direction. 

“slept great.” 

you scoffed. 

max and lando turned towards you. the fork in your hands dropped and your eyes widened. a blush creeped onto your cheeks. 

“you snore,” you commented, still refusing to look at him. “you know that?” 

max turned towards lando. “your rooms are next to each other?” the words were poignant, aimed as a remark to the british driver. he simply shrugged his shoulders in response, not finding any reason to engage. 

you stood with your plate in hand, making headway for the sink. from behind, you could feel a pair of eyes heating the plane of your back. you weren’t stupid. and neither was he, knowing exactly what you had done this morning. 

the skirt you wore was a reminiscence of his confession the previous night. it brought back the childlike memories of grade school. a time when life was simpler, and you were just a girl, and he was just a boy. but he knew you weren’t that girl anymore. a woman grown, you were elegant. he didn’t understand how you were related to max, a scruffy rascal, but he was happier for that. 

when you turned on the water for the sink, lando approached you. max had been tending to his phone, scrolling through social media, so he hadn’t been paying attention. lando’s shoulder brushed against your own when you were scrubbing, desperate to say something. 

“you–”

“max,” you interrupted lando, turning off the water and turning towards your brother. lando took a side step away from you, giving you space when max looked up from his phone. you received a side eye from the british driver, his lip curling with pettiness. he saw what you were doing now. was this your form of punishment? 

max responded with a ‘hm?’ “you want me to cook tonight?” you offered, and max glanced at lando, who never stopped looking at you. you saw max’s expression tense. 

“why not. could save us some money, won’t it?” he said, waiting for lando to add on. “right, lando?” 

lando spun around, releasing his tight grip on the counter. he took a sharp breath in, nodding his head in agreement. you watched as a blush creeped onto his face. you bit on the inside of your cheek, but weren’t expecting lando to retaliate. 

he spoke your name, which had your head lifting. “what happened to your lip?” 

you froze. eyes widening. your own lip twitched with a remedy of a snarl, and he bit back, his nose curling with distaste. 

max approached you two, observing your scabbed lip from the night before. “shit. he’s right. what happened?” 

you reached back to clench the marble counter beneath your fingers. “uh–” lando held back his devious smile. “bit it in my sleep, ‘spose.” 

max simply shrugged his shoulders, and headed for the backyard where the pool was. when the door shut, you let out a sigh. lando stepped in front of you, caging you in with his arms. his head dipped to your shoulder, his curls brushing against your cheek. 

“get off me,” you commented with grit, biting your words. lando shook his head, not moving. 

“don’t play this with me,” he said, lifting his head with a deep inhale. you raised a brow at him, having absolutely no idea what he meant. 

“said we weren’t going to do this again, didn’t you?” you made him sit with his words. make him roll in the fucking mud. “we’re not. and if we were–” you shoved his chest with both your hands, which had him lurching backward. he didn’t go far. “i’d fucking win.” 

he invaded your space again, leaning his lips towards yours. you felt his breath again, his scent creeping into your nose. it was like he never left. 

“y’sure ‘bout that?” he said with a light tone, teasing you with the vibrato of his words. you swallowed a lump in your throat. 

but you stood your ground. “positive.” 

lando lingered for a second longer, leaning closer to your lips, and you thought he was going to kiss you out in the open kitchen. “whatever you say.” were the only words he said before he leapt away from you suddenly, leaving your exposed body cold. 

he followed you out to the pool, never leaving enough space between you two. but you had other plans–sticking by max’s side would surely drive him insane. 

so you sat beside your brother all day. in the pool chair next to him. tanning, reading a book, scrolling on your phone– it didn’t matter. it wasn’t long before the rest of your brother’s friends joined everyone by the pool. 

most of them were in the pool by the afternoon. you had made your way to the kitchen, shedding of your skirt and top. left in your swimwear, you wanted a snack. 

in the bowls of fruit you found, you pulled some mango, strawberries, and bananas. you cut them with a knife from the drawer, and put them in a bowl. there was more than enough fruit for everyone, but you took some of your favorites in the meantime. 

the sun was hot that day, and you had forgotten your sunglasses. sunscreen on your head would cause greasy hair, and you didn’t want that. so you searched briefly in the kitchen for any sort of hat that someone left, and you found one. 

it was a papaya hat. with mclaren’s logo, and a number 4 on it. you smirked, bringing the hat atop your head. 

it fit nicely and you grabbed the bowl of fruit. you made your way back outside to the patio and your brother noticed you immediately. he called your name, and you sauntered over. 

lando and his mates had been in the pool playing with a frisbee, but as soon as max had said your name, he was looking over his shoulder. he went speechless. 

with his hat atop your head and your exposed body, he could help but drool at the sight of you. a droplet trailed down his chin, but he dunked the lower half of his mouth into the pool before anyone saw. 

“for us?” max asked towards the bowl of fruit. you popped a slice of mango into your mouth, biting tenderly into the piece before nodding your head. lando swallowed tightly, practically shaking beneath the surface of the water. 

you placed the bowl on the wooden table and stood back as you were met with the onslaught of a crowd of wet dudes. you backed up towards the stairs of the pool, ready to hop in yourself. you thought yourself a genius– having the entire pool to yourself while they ate. but before you stepped in, your elbow was caught in a warm palm.

lando faced you with his bare chest dripping with chlorine, hair ruffled and damp. droplets of water slithered down his cheeks, which you felt tempted to rub away with your thumb, but you retained from stretching out your hands. 

he simply stared at you. and you stared at him. 

then he flicked the end of the cap with his pointer finger and smirked, raising his brows with a teasing fashion. he had the nerve to glance at your chin, narrowing his eyes. you didn’t have time to react before his own thumb came to wipe away a droplet of mango juice from your chin. 

the action was fast, unnoticed by anyone around you. you blushed instantly, freezing in place. lando popped his thumb into his mouth, tongue visibly swirling around the fingertip. he made a humming sound, approving of the taste. 

“tastes sweet.” he muttered to you. he raised his eyes, hooded beneath the glare of the sunlight. “not my favorite, though.” 

holy shit

you thought you were going to pass out. 

with your eyes flared wide, you spun away from him, throwing the hat to the side, and dove straight into the pool. 

you needed to cool off. desperately. and your time in the pool did. when you finally climbed out, max was lounging in the pool chair beneath an umbrella. you joined him in your seat, drying yourself off with your towel. lando was watching the entire time, sitting opposite to max. 

when you finally laid down with the towel of your bare legs, max scoffed at his phone. clearly, he was trying to get your attention. 

“what?” you said, the hat you had thrown off was now back in your lap. 

“look,” max handed you his phone, and you immediately rolled your eyes. it was a picture on instagram of your ex-boyfriend and his new girlfriend. his new girlfriend that he cheated on you with. he was a fucking asshole, and max knew that from the very beginning. 

“ugh,” you groaned, handing his phone back to him. max took it and was about to keep scrolling. 

“what?” lando asked, curious now to see what the two of you were grumbling about. max handed him his phone, but he was still confused who he was looking at. 

“her ex,” max commented with a rumble. lando’s eyes shot up at you, watching your expression shift. lando was now investigating thoroughly, scrolling through this guys posts. he still had some of you up, and it only angered him. it angered him to an unfair degree, feeling the pinnacle of jealousy, although entirely unwarranted. 

“i brought him to a race once,” you pointed out, unable to look at either of them. instead, you settled on the water in the pool. “barcelona, last year.” your arms crossed over your chest. 

lando raised a brow. “he was that leach for leclerc, wasn’t he?” you were surprised that he remembered, but nodded your head. it wasn’t a good memory. he had abandoned you the minute you arrived at the race in search of the ferrari driver, and had to manage yourself alone in the crowds. it was miserable, but at least you got to see a good show. 

“yeah,” you commented with a huff. “fucking asshole.” 

“asshole.” max mirrored you. 

“why did it end, then?” lando was pushing the boundaries, but max didn’t seem to notice or mind. 

though you did. 

you didn’t want to relive the thought. the embarrassment. the entire fucking heartbreak that you pathetically went through. 

“because i was stupid.” is all you said before you stood with your towel, making your way inside without another word. 

max turned to face lando and smacked him on the shoulder. “the fuck did you ask for?” came his harsh words. lando was stunned, not intending to chase you away.

“shit, sorry i–” lando was quick to rise to his feet, though, not even glancing back at max before he chased after you. “i’ll fix it,” he promised before disappearing inside, and max simply shrugged, wondering just how lando could work his wonders. though he doubted he truly could. 

lando called your name from deep inside the villa but you were already half way up the steps. you froze when you heard his voice, stifling back any sounds from your chest. he caught up to you, standing a step beneath you. 

“i’m sorry–” he said, “i was just—”

“just what, lando?” you grumbled, truly not wanting to hear his words. “you wanna know just how embarrassed i was? huh? when i found he was fucking one of my best friends?” 

lando stood there, shocked, coming to hold out his arms for you to fall into. but you didn’t. “i was such a fucking idiot. it was right in front of me but i didn’t believe it. how smart of me, right?!” your voice raised when lando cornered you at the top of the stairs, your back against the wall. 

you couldn’t help but spew emotional nonsense. “oh woe is me, truly, you’d probably end up doing the same–”

lando caught your chin between his thumb and forefinger, his other hand leaning against the wall. “what did you say?” 

you gulped, not meaning for the words to slip off your tongue. shit. he looked pissed. pissed that you would think so lowly of him. 

“i–” you gulped. “i didn’t mean–”

his hand tightened around your chin. “really? that what you think of me?” no, no, no! you didn’t. you didn’t. you shook your head in his hold, your eyes largening with your emotions. 

“if you were my girl,” lando whispered to you, not breaking eye contact with you once. “you’d know it.” 

but you dared to disagree. 

“what am i then?” you challenged, your voice raising in the echoing halls. “what was i yesterday, a whore?” 

he bared his teeth at you, displeased with what you called yourself. his hand from your chin latched onto the side columns of your throat and your mouth parted with a delectable pleasure. 

“you needed me, yeah?” he was sure to comment. but you didn’t budge. 

“get your hands off me.” you bit out. 

“you didn’t seem to mind yesterday.” 

“clearly you didn’t do a good job for a second run,” the words pinched his ego, though the hand against the wall came to slide around your waist. 

“weren’t you begging for me? or did i make that up?” you seethed at his cocky tone. 

“think you had too much to drink. i’d never beg.” it was a straight lie that came from your lips. he knew it. you knew it. but you pretended to keep your strength. 

“‘touch me, please,’” he mocked in your tone. 

“must’ve dreamed it. thinking ‘bout me, lan?” the nickname was new for him on your tongue and he bristled, along with the blood soaring to his cock. 

“‘more, need–” you slapped your hand over his mouth.

“fuck you.” you hissed. his mouth curved to a smile before he let his grip on you go. 

“we’ll see if you’re lucky tonight.” 

you brushed past him with a scoff and he stood there idly, watching your hips sway side to side. he chuckled at your retreat and you flipped him off before entering your room and slamming the door. you were done with these fucking games, his toying words. he had no right to approach you after finding out about your ex. 

you immediately turned on the shower in your room and stripped of your bathing attire. it was when you were searching aimlessly through your drawer of panties, you remembered that you were missing a pair. 

a smirk grew on your face, and you couldn’t help but feel that you held the power. 

a few hours had passed after your interaction with lando, and he couldn’t help but feel anxious. you were missing from the entirety of the activities around the pool, and he even dared knock on your door, but he resisted. though it tore him apart, thinking about your writhing anger. 

but you, you had other plans. you’d showered off from the pool, taken care of your skin, and taken a nap before you were to get up and make dinner. 

you had come up with the idea for dinner. 

fish. as everyone enjoyed. 

you smirked to yourself as you made your way down the steps. it was quiet, and you heard no churning of others about the halls. it was nice to revere yourself in the solitude of the late afternoon, hoping that you would have the entirety of the downstairs floor yourself. 

you got to work with your scheme and pulled out the fish from the fridge. whatever you were making, you were sure it would be delicious. 

and when the meal was just about done, you heard a strangulated sound of ample footsteps down the staircase. you were just about done setting the dinner table when max soared through the kitchen, aiming right for the pans and pots of ingredients you sniffed.

“woo!” he cheered, clearly delighted with your cooking. the other boys at his side were quick to mimic him, agreeing with his statement. your hands clamped over your heart, showing how happy you were that they were thrilled.

“well,” you urged. “go sit! i’ll bring it over.” 

they didn’t hesitate. beginning to take spoonfuls of rice, vegetables, and the fried fish you whipped up, they were eager to get a headstart. your thoughts wondered where the british driver was, but your thoughts were answered when you heard the last pair of footsteps through the grand foyer. 

you just finished placing the bowls of food in front of the eager boys. they weren’t polite in waiting for everyone to sit down, but you didn’t mind. 

it was an afterthought  for what his meal would be. of course you knew he despised fish. you listened to everything he said when you were younger, years ago, and never forgot. 

you leaned against the kitchen aisle, facing him, and he immediately recoiled at the smell. his nose turned upright, curling upward with his lip, and you saw the sparkle of his canines. 

lando approached you, the stove, and took a glance at what the helpings were. he turned his head over his shoulder, giving you a knowing look, which you returned with a small shrug and a smirk.

“witch.” he uttered, hands clamping around the edges of the countertops, unsure what he was going to fish through the cabinets for. 

“don’t worry.” you said, lando turning to raise his brows. you slid him a bowl filled with greens, vegetables, and a little bit of rice. “plenty for you, don’t you think?” 

you cocked your head toward the empty seat, but he instead took the one right next to you. the bowl in your hands was pungent with sprouts, and even you recoiled. you placed it down in front of him, letting your hand linger on his back. “i’m no dietician,” you said quietly. “but i tried to substitute as much as i could.” 

“thank you,” he said through clenched teeth, fucker. 

you were quaint with your serving, taking enough for your fill, and sat down swiftly. conversation grew between all of the men, your brother included, and you ate in silence. you had done more thinking about your situation with your ex, and recoiled with a sickening feeling in your stomach. lando watched from the corner of his eye, noticing how little you touched your fork with your lips and spun your spoon amongst the rice. 

he knew he said tribulating words. taunted you. teased you. but he did not mean for it to stretch as far as it had. you were twiddling with the accessories on your wrists, barely saying a word the entire meal, and he felt that it was his fault. you’d only gone as far enough to tease him with a full fish basking over an open flame on the stove. 

it wasn’t shameful when he was devouring the meal you had cooked. despite the repugnant smell of fish lingering in the air, your food was…divine. he wasn’t all that surprised, but it was a nice treat to end one of the first full days. 

but the most courageous ideas filled his head. he kept looking at you, staring, out of the corner of his eye. you were entirely blue with your melancholy, and he resented the soured expression upon your beautiful face. he took it as his own responsibility to relieve you of your worries. your anxieties. insecurities. as it was his fault that they emerged. 

it didn’t take long before beneath the table, lando’s hand wandered. he began with a soft graze of your knee which had you sitting up straight, white skirt you dressed in before remaking its appearance around your hips. 

you turned your head to face him, eyes flaring with wonder of just what the fuck he was doing. but his expression stayed nonchalant, undeterred from his conversation with your brother. you decided that you should play the same game, sliding into the roll of uncaring of his soft touches.

though it was much easier said than done. 

his fingers were daunting. restless. he took a break to sip his water with his opposite hand, divulging into deeper conversation as his hand trailed higher. it was then that he spread his palm wide over the span of your thigh, bare, pinching at the skin. you leaned over the table, leaning your head into your palms that were supported by your elbows upon the table. 

you sighed, your other leg jumping up and down. you attempted to listen to whatever they were talking about– football, instagram, the races– but you couldn’t tune in for long. not when he tugged the fabric of your skirt to the side, and let his pinky dance across your folds. fuck. 

attempting to muffle your struggle, you brought your glass to your lips, sipping in promptitude. you leaned back, tucking your chair as far as you could against the table. it finally caught lando’s attention, briefly, when he gave you a once over with a cheeky smile. max caught the action, raising a brow at you, but you simply swallowed down your drink and crossed your hands over your lap. 

your lap, that so happened to house lando’s hand between your thighs. your cunt was clothed by your panties, but you could still feel the pressure of his finger lodging against your slit. 

you wrapped your hand around his wrist, gripping tight with the desire for him to stop, but he would do no such thing. he went as far as using his ring finger to stroke the cotton of your underwear, grazing over your clit as if it were nothing. he circled around your tender bundle of nerves, refusing to leave it alone. 

your second hand came to wrap around his wrist, higher up on his forearm, pleading indefinitely to halt his movements. your thighs clenched impossibly tight around his hand, suffocating him, but it didn’t stop him. it only had him steadfast in his pursuit– to get you to come at this dinner table. 

with your force against his forearm, you were sure to leave bruises of your fingertips in your wake. but you didn’t care. through your tension, he could feel your pleasure. he knew that you would writhe, squirm, but you couldn’t. not here. 

you found yourself trembling. your grip around his wrist softened, lip caught between your top set of teeth. you were lucky that the tablecloth was acting as a barrier between any wandering eyes–though, shamefully, that was the last thing on your mind. 

but right now, you felt yourself coming to a clearing. a light at the end of the tunnel in the name of your orgasm. shit. 

it took only one quick glance around the room to see that everyone was done with their meals. with empty plates, they were awaiting more. and more you shall give, best to get up rather than submit to lando’s toilsome teasing. you couldn’t give him this pleasure. not when he toyed with you, refused to admit to any truths that might belittle his feelings. 

you finally shoved his hand away. it took all the might you had, and it even had his head shifting in your direction. you stood, and he immediately tugged the hem of your skirt down beneath the table cloth. if anyone noticed, they didn’t say a word. 

“dessert, anyone?” 

there was a small rally of cheers, and you smiled. it was the only thing that could get your mind off of lando’s hand between your legs. the flushed expression you wore didn’t wane until you were alone in the kitchen. 

it was ice cream that was for dessert, and that would be enough. you put out some toppings for them to choose from, and returned with the platter. you set it toward the center of the table, and the pickings were gone instantly. everyone had their own serving, side bowl, ready to go. 

but lando waited for you to settle back in before he grabbed a pint of vanilla. he nudged the ice cream scooper towards your direction, a silent indication that had him asking if he could serve yours. you simply nodded, even though your cunt burned with the phantom touch of his fingers. he did that to you in no way another man could. leave you wanting more. sex with your ex boyfriend had been a joke. you never came. ever. you only did when it was at your own hand, your own touch. but with lando…

lando on that balcony, dressed in the pale moonlight. you, his angel, glowing halo of energy illuminating your face, unraveled before him. he doesn’t think he’s ever met such a woman receptive to his touch. he’s fucked girls before, too many for max’s taste–hence his displeasure– but they weren’t like you. they didn’t squirm, whimper, in his hold. they’d moan like they were being televised, recorded, ready to be on a screen play.

you were natural. beautiful. incapable of being anyone but yourself. he admired you for such bravery, commending you silently through the cosmic planes. though you could not hear the words from him, you felt a warmth coming from his direction despite the cold treat being scooped into the dish in front of you. 

he gave you more than enough and smiled. a real one, you caught. it was a break from the humidity, a breeze that was most welcomed upon your skin. fuck. you were supposed to be mad at him, weren’t you? weren't you supposed to plot your volatile revenge for him touching you? 

you were. 

when he settled beside you with his own serving, you were quick to shuffle a bit closer to him. the chair scooted across the floor, a vibration felt beneath his own, and he bristled. what were you up to? you appeared to be happier, a bit less caught up in your own head, and that he could be grateful for. you even engaged in a few conversations with max’s friends. 

they were lovely chaps, truly, but they were his friends. not yours. 

lando was just about to respond to a question that max had asked him, but he coughed on his ice cream, the feeling of your fingertips darting across his crotch taking a huge galavanting surprise out of him. he didn’t know that you had such austerity within you, but it was a welcome discovery.

but your skillfulness was not. 

the outline of his cock beneath his shorts was obvious. you felt the light curve, the tip, the base all beneath your palm. it was an empowering sensation, hidden beneath the table cloth, and lando had to outstretch both of his hands to steady himself. 

“y’alright, mate?” max asked when lando coughed. the british driver nodded beside you, leaning forward. 

“yeah. fine. carry on?” max repeated his question for lando. before he was about to answer for a second time, your hand curled around the base of his cock, feeling full in your palm. your thumb brushed against his tip, smiling to yourself when you felt a light wet patch against your finger. 

he sucked in a tight breath, but answered max with a strained voice. he clenched his jaw tight and his tongue poked the inside of his cheek. you knew you were riling him, and it was paying off to see him flustered. 

you continued your stroking motion discreetly beneath the table. the excitement of being caught was perhaps too thrilling, and the presence of your hand against his cock only excited you further. he was big. that was enough for you to be floored. your guesses as a edgy teenage girl were correct, and the woman inside of you purred at the idea of him inside of you. 

little did you know, he thought the same. when his fingers were lodged inside your hot folds, your deathly tight grip clamping around him, he knew that he had to have you. he knew it years ago, too, but just how pretty you were atop of him…how receptive you were to his touch– it was a pillar of pleasure that continued to build and build, until it will ultimately fall. 

until it will fall, and he is deep inside of you. with the outline of his cock embedded in your lower belly he would feel satisfied, with his cum dripping from your cunt, he could find a peace from this torturous lust that overtook every fucking part of his mind. he needed you. carnally. in whatever fashion labeled him as a barbarian, he would hunt you down if that is what you wanted. 

and maybe you did. 

you wanted him to chase you. to fight for you. to appease the teenage girl inside of you that yearned for his affections, his oblivious attentions. you felt that you deserved it for all the work you put in through your teendom. the boys you rejected. the time you gave up to attend his races. 

was that such a bad thing to be wanted? to be wanted above all, by the man of your wonderlike dreams? but was he so dreamy, then, when he glanced at you with his needy, preening eyes when you held his cock so firm in your hand? 

the answer was undoubtedly yes. 

you felt the pulse of his cock against your hand. it was a delectable vibration that beat for you of all people. you felt more than divine prowess gripping his length, such a dirty, lewd, action beneath the table. and none of them knew what you had been doing. how you were affecting him. it was a secret wasn’t it? 

the catalyst for your movements was about to be thwarted when he readjusted his hips in the chair, bucking fiercely against your touch, your hold on his dick. 

conversations around you began to dull down to a minimum. the night was ending, and he felt himself rearing a release. but he couldn’t. not here. fuck. he gripped on your hand beneath the table, shivering, shaking, as he pleaded you with his eyes. they were wide drawn, glossed with a desperation that you needed permanently in your life. it was a face you wouldn’t forget. ever. how he yearned to cum in your hand, but it wasn’t the right time. when would be the right time? 

“since you made dinner,” max began, letting out a grueling burp, “i say we lot ‘ought to tidy up, shall we?” the boys nodded and hummed amongst each other in agreement. they made quick pace clearing the table, and this was lando’s excuse to rip himself free of your devilish hand. though he wanted nothing more than to cum with your sleek fingertips, he had to be nonchalant about it all. 

he cleared his throat when he stood, feigning a quietness that felt unusual, but no one said a word. you smiled to yourself, pulling your hand away back to your lap. it was damp from his precum, sordid with an urge to pop a finger or two into your mouth. and you did. pretending to clean yourself from any residue of icecream, you licked your fingers clean. 

lando stared. unable to take his eyes off of you. he lingered with his hand around your bowl and plate, his breath hitching in his throat. devil woman, he thought. 

when the dishes were loaded into the dishwasher and the fragile ones laid out to dry, you finally stood. you arched your back, stretching your limbs, but felt cold on your cunt. it was the air conditioning that cooled you, reminding you that he was the one to tease you first beneath the table. 

your brother bid you goodnight with a kiss to your cheek, whilst the others thanked you sincerely for the meal. you were grateful to receive such gratitude, but it wasn’t from the man you wanted it the most. 

tucking your chair into the table, you made your way into the grand kitchen. with its tiled walls, marbled kitchen island, lando stood at the epicenter. with a towel in his hand, drying the last few of the dishes, he watched you saunter in. 

his tongue poked at the inner corner of his cheek with a clenched jaw. boy, did he have words for you. you and your actions. how you ruined him at the dinner table whilst talking to your brother of all people. it was like you wanted them to see–

ah

ah

when you joined him side by side, the pair of you said nothing for a moment. but the moment when lando scanned the room front to back, he dropped the towel and grabbed onto you.

he spun you around so your front pushed against the kitchen aisle, your back arching against the palm of his hand. his second went around the front of your throat, pulling your head up to his own. 

“that what you wanted?” he growled into your ear, trembling with his edged orgasm teetering on the tailend of a massacre. “hmm? tell me, baby.” 

you were at a loss of words, dizzied from the grip around your throat. you wished that he would leave bruises. 

then he bent you over the counter, the cool surface eliciting a gasp from deep within you. his hand flexed over your back, scaling your spine. 

“being a fucking tease…” 

“you started it.” you retaliated with a childlike immaturity. 

lando chuckled as his crotch came flush against your cunt. your wet, dampening cunt by the second. the hand that had been latched to your throat moved to your skirt, toying with the fabric. he scoffed, feeling the wetness of your panties. “bet you’re still wet anyways.”

you were.

your face flushed. 

“dirty fucking girl.” he said quietly, a comment to himself, but loud enough for you to hear. you swayed your hips against his, desperate for a flickering sensation of friction. 

“ah ah,” he tsked, landing a slap to your ass. the sound ricocheted through the echoing kitchen. “think you deserve it after tonight?”

you mewled in response, your cheek freezing against the countertop. the heat from your asscheek was enough to satisfy you for the moment, your thighs clenching together. he ogled, head twisting in a fashion that was revered with lust. 

with a fist he made a makeshift ponytail of your hair, pulling your head back against his chest. “hmm?” 

“no.” 

“no?” he’d repeat. you nodded your head, submitting to him without question. he was peeved that you didn’t fight back, but would take your submission with earnestness. but you had other plans brewing inside your head. ones that you knew would drive him up the fucking wall.

but that would come later. for now, you let your head fall backward onto his shoulder, and looked up at him. “let me fix it…”

your whimpering had his eye twitching, lip curling, arms flexing. it was a gut reaction to how soft your voice had become, how eager he knew you were. 

his hold on you loosened, and you took this as your opportunity to spin around and drop to your knees in front of him. you couldn’t help but gape at his thundering cock beneath his shorts, salivating at just the thought of him filling your mouth. 

but he said nothing else, stunned in his place; how could he not be when you regarded him with ardor, quivering hands?

“please…” you said, your cheek coming to nuzzle against his thigh, one hand gripping the back of his calf. he couldn’t reject you like this. not when he wanted you so dearly. 

a hand came to run through your hair atop your head. an nonverbal, encouraging pet. you hummed, making quick work of lowering his shorts, his briefs, and his cock sprung free with vitality. it was red hot, pulsating with blood, beating a bright scarlet for you. it glistened with his own slick for you. 

“go on, love,” he was breathless. “you can take it, can’t you?” 

you nodded furiously, a whine leaving your lips. with your determined fingers, you wrapped them around his base, pumping your hand back and forth. it didn’t take much before he was leaking over your palm, and you let your lips swirl around his tip.

his head fell back in pleasure, fingers tightening his grip in your hair. with his empty hand, he gripped the island to support his weight from toppling upon you. 

he was both sweet and salty, a sensation you’ve never tasted before. you continued your relentless pursuit on his tip until he was wrought with desperation, and let his hips buck forward until he was half way down your throat. 

you groaned in protest, your eyes watering with tears, but took him like the good girl you were. he wanted you, and you wanted him. you could ask for nothing more. 

“just like that, baby–” he stuttered out, voice cracking when you took him whole down your throat. you breathed through your nose. “fuck,” he cursed, your lips puckering, even stimulating him with the top ridges of your teeth. he let out a deep moan. 

“perfect,” he commented, but you thought you misheard him for a moment. “you’re perfect.” 

it persuaded you further–not like much was needed– and sped up your pace. faster and faster you went, guzzling him perfectly. with your other hand that gripped his calf, calm to knead at his balls. that was the moment he faltered, unable to withstand your feverish tongue. he had to bite back his own groans of pleasure. 

“where?” he demanded of you. you paused, but didn’t take long for your answer. he was holding himself back as much he could, his hips bucking down the hot cavern of your throat, but you didn’t relent. my mouth, your actions screamed, and he didn’t think twice.

before you knew it your mouth was loaded with his cum, hot rods of delectable nectar from him. you were pleased, more than satisfied, that you made him cum in just a matter of minutes. 

he pulled himself out of you, letting you breathe. you swallowed, not finding him distasteful, and even showed him your bare tongue. he was panting, attempting his best to catch his breath, but managed a coarse chuckle. 

you gave his flaccid cock a singular kiss before you rose to your feet, bringing his shorts and briefs up with you. he adjusted himself before launching his lips on your own. the remnants of him were prominent on your tastebuds as he swirled his tongue into your mouth. you allowed his strength, making a sound from your throat. 

“taste like me,” he commented against your lips. you beam. 

“must’ve been good, then?” you knew it was. but you wanted to hear it from him. 

he snickered. “guess so.” 

you slapped his chest before breaking your kiss. you glanced up at him one more time before placing a kiss on his cheek, escaping his grasp. he held onto your hand, though, wondering just where you were going. not when he didn’t have you cumming on his tongue. 

“it’s past my bedtime,” you remarked, raising your brows. his own scrunched. “what?”

“let me–” 

you shushed him. 

“on the house.” 

you were gone before he could respond, skipping up the steps, ready to set your plan in motion. he didn’t know what was coming, not yet, but he surely would once you closed the door to your room, and stripped of your clothes. 

you left him there pondering. he was entirely at a loss— you skirting away with ease, high tail with that lacey material– and vanished without another word. it had lando breathing heavily, hands running through his hair. shit, he thought, this was bad. 

in the bathroom of your suite, you twisted the shower on. whilst waiting for it to heat up, you turned your attention towards the open shaft windows that you could prop open. your room is next to mine, lando’s words rang through your head. okay, you thought, game on, right?

you made sure the windows were open at a respectable distance, praying that his own would be too. he liked the cool breeze from the night, pray tell from his times of sleeping in max’s room in your childhood home. 

glancing at yourself in the mirror once, you were betting on this to work. to truly grab his attention, whilst also awarding yourself a release you’d been craving since his fingertips caressed your knee. 

into the shower you went, tilting your head back and letting the waterfall drench your scalp. it was relaxing, more than you anticipated, and your mind was able to wander to other things. like his hands. his toned, muscular arms. his neck, built intensely with strength that you’ve never seen before. in certain lights, especially beneath the italian sun, it bulged outward. you wondered what it’d feel like between your thighs. your fingers wandered along your soaked skin, breasts reacting to your touch, taut beneath your palms. 

lando had just shut the door to his room, shaking off the sweat that dribbled down his forehead. and his windows were open— the curtains swaying back and forth— and he heard your call. 

at first, the british driver thought that he was hallucinating. that he was hearing things from losing it. but there was no denying that it was your sweet siren serenading through the air, wafting against the mediterranean winds. 

a moan had been pulled from you by your own hand. your head flat against the tiles of the shower wall, you twisted until your cheek was firm against the siding. one hand came to rest on the base of your throat, gripping for comfort, while the other trailed downward to your navel, priming at your folds. 

you were swollen hot, but never to the same degree you were on his lap just the previous night. 

it was enough, though, for you to rub against your clit the way you knew your body best. a delicious combination of whimpers and moans trembling through the air. 

lando was brought to his fantasies, unbelieving that they were coming alive before him. he leaned against the windows from his room, hand clenching tight around the ledge, and listened to your whining calls, urging him, tempting him, to knock down your fucking door and fuck you like you wanted him. 

a finger slid easily inside of you. with both stimulation to your clit and your sensitive nerves inside of you, it was heaven. the hot water combined with your punitive thoughts, tracing back to lando, aroused you to a degree unfathomable to any pleasure you’ve ever felt. besides his fingers, that is. 

lando couldn’t resist. his own cock was blistering with heat, again, in just the span of ten minutes. you had just been on his knees for him. now, here you were, a siren within the night, taking him under your bewitching. 

and spellcasted he was. 

with his dick in his hands, he was dripping. your sounds became louder, prominent, for his open window. and he absorbed every droplet you gave him, a man dehydrated of the world’s most sweet nectar. he was greedy, selfish even, and knew then that he had to be yours. he didn’t give a fuck what max said, thought, cared about this moment. it would belong to him and him alone— your saccharine temper. 

he could imagine you there, thinking about just how desperate he was. how you knew what you were doing to him. how he unfolded before your voice. 

you were. 

you thought of his face. how it contorted with pleasure while you sucked him off. you’d remember the sounds he made— whimpers of desperate, wicked nature— that had you curling your finger inside of you, even becoming so bold as to add a second. it should be criminal to think of your brother’s best friend this way, but that thought came and went just as the tides changed. 

lando fisted his cock with the thought of you wrapped around him. hand draped across the ledge of the windowsill, he writhed and seethed from his own daring thoughts of you. your skirt, your pretty eyes, your wondrous nature. he was awed by you, but wanted to damn you to ruin with his touch. it pursued him further, and he knew he wasn’t going to last long.

surely he wouldn’t, not when he heard his name carry through the air. his name rolling off your tongue. his name in the form of a whimper. 

“lando,” you breathed, loud enough to surpass the stream of the water. and your stomach coiled, reaching an orgasm before you could count to three.

lando had, too, spurring loads of his come into his empty hand. it wasn’t an elegant movement— rather messy and untamed— but that’s how it was when it came to you, wasn’t it? nothing was going to be easy about this relationship he conjured up in his head, but for you, though it’d be worthwhile. 

you went to bed that night with a sleep full of your wildest, fanatical dreams that included lando. whereas he tossed and turned, unable to believe that the girl he knew in his childhood had him wrought with lust. 

the morning that followed was a quiet one. you and the rest of the vacation group of boys were headed out to one of italy’s finest beaches, chartered there by a small boat. you had opted for one of your best bathing suits and cover up pieces, looking outright chic. 

when you arrived at the beach, you stuck closely to max’s side. the entire ride, lando had been stealing glances from you, shifting awkwardly in his seat. you had your answer from your plan the previous night. he heard you. 

good, you thought, crossing your legs over one another. serves him right. 

you’d lay out your towel on the white sand. your brother joined you, laying down a few feet from you along with some of his buddies. lando kept his distance, knowing too fucking well that’d he’d pull some feral shit in front of you and your brother. 

some of the others opted for surfing. with their boards ready from the rental shack, they were catching waves with ease. you watched from your upright position, lathering yourself in spf. 

“what’dya think of chris?” your brother asked you. you turned your head, wondering what he was implying. chris was one of his good-natured, all classic, sweet boy friends. you’d known him for a good majority of your life, but never…really thought of him. 

“he’s a good guy.”  

lando was sitting up now. listening. 

“well,” max shrugged, taking your nonchalant answer with grace. “asked me if it was okay to give him your number. think he fancies you.” 

your expression dropped. chris fancied you? in what universe could he, when he couldn’t even manage a conversation with you. you weren’t even sure he could ever muster the courage to look you in the eye, for that matter. 

“and…what did you say?” 

max looked at you with his sunglasses on. you saw your reflection in them. 

“think it’s fine. ‘e’s a good lad. nice. well-mannered.” he emphasized his last point. was that a jab at your previous boyfriends? “besides…i wanna see you happy.” 

it was touching, truly, that your brother cared for you on such a protective level, but you didn’t need him meddling with your romantic life. not when the man who consumed your sexual thoughts sat a few bodies next to you. 

your eyes drifted to find lando’s. he was already glaring, sending sharp daggers your direction. he heard it all, and was about to combust with jealousy. you could see it. you’d use it. 

“maybe.” you brushed it off, but found chris in the waters. he was just coming out from the sea, and you thought this was your perfect opportunity. 

you jumped to your feet, sunglasses on, and tore your cover up from your body. you didn’t look back to know what lando’s expression was— worshiping. 

chris’ head popped up when he saw you approaching him. he shifted a bit, as if he were preening his feathers. 

“catch any good ones?” you asked, your feet touching the water. chris cleared his throat. 

“some,” he gestured to the large waves. “current is strong today.” 

you edged further into the water until your knees were covered. 

“you looked good out there, at least i think so.” you managed a smile, not entirely opposed to his company. your brother had been right. he is a nice lad. you should at least build a friendship with him, shouldn’t you? 

“really?” he was shocked. “you were watching?” 

you nodded with a hum, and continued further out into the blue waters. chris took this as an invitation and dropped his board high up on the sand and followed you in. he wasn’t as built as lando was, but you shouldn’t even be making the comparisons. 

you stopped when the water was just beneath your breasts. water seeped in through your top, and you noticed that chris’ eyes caught on the fabric. typical. 

“what do you do for work, then? are you a student?” you managed a brief conversation with him. chris met you at your side. 

“business student in scotland,” he confirmed, but he wasn’t all cocky about it. you thought that he’d boast, but he didn’t. “yourself?” 

you told him your plans. he was impressed that you’d accomplished so much at your age. 

and your conversation with him went on, but not without the darkness of lando’s envy over your shoulder. you’d taken a few glances over chris’ shoulder to see his reddened expression, watching the pair of you share a few laughs. 

he wanted this day to be fucking over. he wanted you in his bed. and he would have it one way or another— whatever it takes. 

arriving back to the villa that evening, your brother and his friends wanted to go out clubbing. it was around 8pm and the sun was beginning to set, though you didn’t feel like a night out. the sun had gotten to you, and you were rather tired. 

“you’re sure you don’t wanna go?” max asked you in the foyer, waiting for the rest of his band to go along.

“i’m sure. besides, i could use a night in.” your brother respected your choice and didn’t push you further. before he left with his friends, he did turn and leave you with one comment.

“lando’s here, too, in case you need anything.” 

and then he was gone, tailending with chris flashing you a smile. 

shit. 

shit, shit, shit. you knew you were in for it now. there was no way that you’d escape lando for the evening, unsure how he caught notice that you’d be staying in for the night. 

when the door shut and the house was empty, you raced up to your room. you’d worn a floor length slip dress when you’d gotten home, but wanted to change and lock yourself in for the rest of the night. but your situation changed drastically when you reached the first step, and saw lando leaning against the staircase from the top. 

“just you and me, yeah?”

you gulped, taking a few steps back. he looked furious yet unbothered at the same time. 

“what to do, what to do…” he began to saunter down the steps when you moved back. “in this big, empty house…?” 

he trailed after you all the way until you were on the balcony. he slipped out from the sliding door, watching as you were frantically nervous in his presence. you had no idea what he was thinking, watching you all day flirt with chris. 

your back was against the stone balustrade, hands spread wide to support yourself. your heart was racing, but you wouldn’t let him see that. wouldn’t show him the effect he had. 

lando wore a black ln4 shirt from his collection, along with tan sweatpants. it was an understatement to say he didn’t look fucking good. 

he donned a cocky smirk as he closed the distance between the two of you, leaning into your space. you felt his breath on your cheek. 

“he’s a good lad, innhe?” 

you met his eye— his blue, green eyes that were swarmed with a darkness you didn’t believe him capable of. 

“he’s nice.” you said, referring to chris. because he was. he was respectful. 

“‘he’s nice.’” lando mocked, scoffing. he turned his head to the side to look over your shoulder to the coastline that surrounded the villa. 

“yes, he’s nice.” you bit back, brows furrowing. “more than i can say for you.”

lando’s expression froze, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek. his jaw tightened as he processed your words, foot tapping against the stone. 

“yeah? you don’t think i’m good to you?” 

whatever this was…you loved it. you craved him. needed him. there was a zing of electricity that ran down your spine, electrifying your cunt. your thighs tightened together and you shrugged, playing him off the best that you could. 

he tsked, tilting your chin to meet his eyes with his index finger. “we’ll see.” 

and then his lips were on yours. ravaging. starving. he was a man that has been deprived of you for far too long— twenty four hours— without your touch. it was maddening the way he was obsessed with you. how you infested every corner of his mind. you, you, and more you. 

you succumbed to his kiss with ease, your tongues battling between one another. he tasted of espresso, whereas you tasted of the apple liquor from the boat. 

he won, ultimately, a hand coming to wrap around the back of your neck. your own latched to his shoulders, another going for his hair. you tugged on the strands, eliciting a groan from him that you wished to hear over and over, time and time again. you were sure that you would, not daring to ever let him go. you had him surrounded.

his tongue lathered over yours, dripping saliva down your chin. it was messy, intangibly so, but you’d have him no other way. you wanted him like this, uncontrolled, pining, for your affections. you had him in the place you wanted, and he had more in store for you. 

he broke the kiss with a string of saliva connecting the pair of you. your eyes heavy with desire, his own mirroring the same. his kisses traveled to your jaw, your throat— but he sucked feverishly against the skin, surely to leave bruises. you gasped when you felt his teeth puncture through the top layer of your skin. “marks—” 

you reminded him, but he didn’t care.

“fuck what they think.” 

you melted where you stood. his hand came to wrap around your lower back, angling your hips to brush against his. he was already hard, you could feel it, but you were sure that you were dribbling too. 

his relentless pursuit of your neck didn’t end there. when he met the fabric of your dress, he pulled the straps down with ease, your breasts falling free. he ogled at your mounds, saliva dripping from his chin. it was, perhaps, the hottest sight you’ve ever seen. not the waterfalls of france, not the cascades of lake como— but this, right here— lando norris drooling on your chest.

“what would you do with ‘nice’?” he mumbled into your skin, attacking one of your perked nipples with his tongue. you gasped, biting your lip to retain a moan. 

“he could treat me well,” you seethed through clenched teeth, gripping the strands of his brunette curls. you felt him vibrate with a hum. 

“you’d eat him alive.” he chuckled, switching to your other nipple that was blistering with heat. your entire body radiated like the sun, but did no good beneath the moonlight. “what would he do—” a nip of his teeth against your nipple, you jolted, hips bucking forward with an anxious pension for friction. “with all of this?” 

you were at a loss for words, drowning in his sweetness. 

“let it go to waste…” lando dropped to his knees with a hand still firm on your back, the other raising the hem of your dress. he tsked, cheek flattening out against your thighs. he separated them with the strength of his neck, looking up at you from the bundled fabric. “a shame.” 

you agreed mercilessly, nodding your head with a whimper. it elicited a laugh from him. 

with a singular finger he pulled down your panties. the cotton was thin, as if you knew this would happen. they slid down your legs and you kicked them away. 

your hand was still threaded at the base of his neck, continuing to tug at his strands. it’s how you told him you needed him, but that wouldn’t be enough. not for lando.

“what do you want?” he asked, looking up at you from his seated position, face wedged between your legs. you gaped at him, breathless and flushed. 

“your mouth—” you pant, but before you could finish he licked a long stripe down your folds. “god, fuck—” 

“not god,” lando corrected. “just me, baby.” 

“lando, lando…!” you whined, back arching for a better angle for him to reach. he responded, humming against your clit, sending throttling vibrations up your navel. he was so fucking good. how? how could a man treat you in such a way? 

finding your writhing adorable, he finally let his tongue swipe past your entrance. the sensation was indescribable, but you knew that you needed more. and more he was willing to give, burying his face into your cunt. 

your honeyed cunt that he was addicted to. he knew you’d taste like heaven, but this was all the more holy than he could fathom. 

with his face buried inside of you, you were sure to see stars. here, beneath the moonlight of the italian villa, you were ethereal. he could steal glances up at you. your contorting face, toiling with passion. passion that he drank from the source, sucking you dry. 

his nose applied pressure to your clit— the perfect combination— and you knew that you weren’t going to last long. not with his jean paul scent invaded your senses, his thick hands cupping you so perfectly. one hand kneaded at the flesh of your thigh, the other swirling circles on your lower back. it was perfect. he’s perfect. 

“please, please,” you didn’t know what you were begging for. 

lando hummed, feeling your cunt clench around his tongue. he curled inside of you, teetering you upon your edge, and you were just about to let loose when he pulled his head away, leaving you trembling. 

he stood with ease, as if he wasn’t just devouring you, and you reached out for his hand. you were about to reach the peak of a mind blowing orgasm, but he denied you. with your hand wrapped around his, he knew how this would end. his lips came to your ear. 

“you were right,” he huffed. you felt his retentive anger. “don’t know if i’m nice.” 

he tugged you along through the house, hand upon your back steading your shaking stance. too impatient to help you up the steps, he swooped you into his arms bridal style. you gasped with a giggle, reflexive from his actions, and he burst open the door to his room with his shoulder. 

he dropped you onto his bed, ripping off his shirt in the process you propped yourself up on your elbows, gaping clearly at his tanned, toned skin. he smirked down at you, coming to hover above, and stripped the dress clean from your body. before him, you were bare, naked, more exposed than you've ever been with your brother’s best friend. 

you went to cover your chest, clamp your thighs shut, but lando refused. he trapped your wrists above your head, knee coming to separate your legs. you wiggled your hips hopelessly for friction, still wading heavy on your lost orgasm, but he didn’t let you graze his thigh. 

“you’re being mean,” you whined, attempting to twist out of his hold. but you didn’t prevail. 

lando’s lips met yours with a kiss of depravity. he pulled away, but you chased him, your head leveraging from the bed. 

“am i?” 

one hand left the hold on your wrists to touch your cunt. you were dripping down your thighs. he brought his fingers to his lips, wiping them clean. 

“think you like it, love.” 

you hissed when he took his hand from you, but relaxed when he kneaded one of your breasts. he was in utter reverence of your body, your beauty. you eclipsed all things that shined bright in his life, you becoming the epicenter. 

his pants were off in the next second, thrown to the corner of his room. his briefs, too, and his cock danced freely from its entrapment. your mouth watered. 

“this what you need?” his tip teased your entrance. your eyes rolled back into your head with a frenzied nod. “yeah? think you can take it?” 

“yes, yes! i can, i can, please lando…” your hand latched around the back of his neck, the other to his shoulder. 

it didn’t take him much convincing to surge forward, agonizingly slow, until he has inside of you. you choked on your breath, the air ripped right from you lungs with how he stretched you. it was alike no pleasure you’ve felt— his fingers, his tongue, all works of mastery— but you feared that nothing could compare to this. not when his hand around your breasts drop to your cunt, rubbing voracious circles against your clit. 

he let you adjust, waiting until you shook your hips from side to side, and bottomed out. it was surreal how you ended up here. but you wouldn’t go back. not for a second. not when his dick inside of you ripped through you with such passion, such love, you were inclined to imagine. 

lando’s own breaths were wild. erratic. he had to halt himself from slamming inside of you, your tightening, wet walls gleaning him of any morals he had come into this villa with. 

“move,” you urged him, breaking him free of this torment. his eyes flared wide. “need you to move.” 

need

such an all encompassing word that would drive him mad. 

he listened to you without hesitation. his hips slapping in and out of you with a heavy, dangerous pace, he never wanted this moment to end. it would feel like this every time he fucked you— the first, starstruck time— and that would be enough for him to lay to rest in an early grave.

both of you were a mess of moans, sounds of skin on skin echoing through his bedroom. the moonlight casted a white haze upon the pair of you, your eyes shimmering in the reflection. he was lost in it, in you, how seraphic you’d become in just the few days he’d been around you. how undone he became. he was a lost cause the minute you made a jest to him at the dinner table. 

his chest lowered to yours for a better, sweeter, angle and it had you screaming. your nails cut through his back, leaving reddened scratches against his tanned, freckled skin. he loved it. it had his pace quickening, and his hand working harder at your clit. you were close, he could feel it. 

feeling the way you began to tighten around him, how you became barely lucid beneath him. “so good,” you mewled, finding no other words but to praise him. 

“nothing compares,” he groaned, his head falling into the crook of your neck. “you’ll be mine then, yeah?” 

your heart surged in your chest, but your breathing remained the same. you were too fucked out to truly resonate the meaning behind his words. 

“yours, yours,” you repeated over and over until you were sent over the edge. you screamed his name, cutting through the air, cutting through him. he was left a sopping mess with his quivering hips, sloppy pace. you knew he was going to cum, too, when his teeth grinded together, and he let out a guttural moan. it churned your insides, swishing your heart through. 

he came inside of you. you felt it, the heat from his cock. but he made no effort to move. you didn’t want him to. 

the pair of you laid atop one another in his dark room. panting. catching your breaths. in unison your hearts would align. sweaty bodies melting against each other. 

his head was buried deep into your neck, breathing you in. you soothed him, just as much as you riled him to no end. 

“did you mean it?” you asked, voice hoarse. 

lando hummed. 

“about us.” 

you felt his teeth break into a smile against your skin. he raised his head to look at you. “i did.” your breath caught in your throat. “don’t give a shit what max’ll say. we’ll figure it out, won’t we?” 

you nodded in agreement. your brother would simply have to deal with this. he’d get over it in time, you’re sure, and it would be the best for both of you. no longer would you yearn at a distance for a man you thought didn’t spare you a second glance. no longer would you dream of this moment materializing before you. it had become a reality, and there was nothing more that you could be grateful for. 

he wanted you. lando wanted you. and you wanted him the same. it was one of the first times in your life that you felt safe. comforted in a newborn relationship. 

it wasn’t long before lando pulled the covers of his sheets over the two of you, holding you tight as you shifted into the shape of his body. you were a perfect fit, a missing puzzle piece that he’s been searching years for. 

and now you were here, sleeping soundly in his arms. 

lando had found sleep, too, his soft snores carrying through the room. you and him paid no attention to the fact you were sharing a bed. if anyone walked in, then they walked in. you were at peace, and that was enough.

sooner rather than later, the party-goers for the evening arrived home. they attempted their best to be quiet at such an odd hour, and decided to retire. max and chris went out to the balcony, however, and decided for a small chat. 

but before that could even commence, chris noticed a piece of black fabric loose on the patio. he stared at it from above, brows raised.

“mate,” he called max over. he met him at his side. 

“this yours?” he pointed down at it, and his face went ghastly white. no fucking way.

“motherfucker.”

tags ; @landoslutmeout @basicallyric @mybluesoul1 @toriiez @customsbyjcg-blog @sofs16@strengthandstay@mybluesoul1@f1fantasys@cmleitora @idgasb @amalialeclerc @laneyspaulding19 @staurdvst @oreosareara @sideboobrry11 @mortallyblueninja @fionamiller123 @2pagenumb @marvelfangirl04 @brune77e @allabouthappiness @tellybearryyyy @ringdingdingdingx @tillyt04 @danywonderland @rosebud224 @simpfortoomanymen @nataliambc @forcesensitivesoulmate @sweate-r-weathe-r @norlestappen @madszoca @milkandcookhot @fionamiller123 @16f1lc @jwiltsz @plotpal @inevesgf @theonottsbxtch

[asexual-spongebob]

What are some tips you have for writing fanfics?

I have some! I hope these are helpful!

Tips for writing Multi-Chapter fics, as someone who has written multiple:

Have an idea of how many chapters + the word count range for the chapters. Some fics have shorter word counts but have more chapters (like my fic, The Waves That Lap The Shore for example, was usually in the 1k to 2k range when it came to it’s chapters, and had a lot of chapters. However, my other multi chapter fic, Wail Of The Siren didn’t have many chapters, but was longer when it came to word counts for chapters. The chapters usually being 2-5k words. Every fic is different.

I also recommend having some kind of plan. I doesn’t even have to be a detailed one. It can literally be just a document full of thought dumps. My planning/outline for Wail Of The Siren was literally just a document on my notes app full of my ideas.

If you’re about to scrap a scene, put it in a document for scrapped scenes and dialogue. That way, later on, if you decide that you want to include that scene or dialogue, you wouldn’t have to rewrite it from scratch, you can just copy and paste from the scrapped scene document. I can think of so many times that I’ve scrapped a scene or piece of dialogue and ended up using it later.

Write the story you want to read.

The first draft will not be perfect. It’s okay if it’s a bit of a dumpster fire.

You don’t have to write in chronological order! Have a scene/chapter you are really excited to write but hate having to power through others just so you can write that one? Write it first! You can fill in the blanks later!

If you are having trouble finding words to use, then go to sites like word hippo and thesaurus! I’ve found some great words there.

It’s okay to use said, sometimes a character just says something and that’s okay.

Show instead of tell, like instead of saying, “she was angry as she watched him walk by, wishing she could punch him” can say “rage boiled inside of her at the sight of him, she clenched her hand into a fist and clenched her teeth as she watched walk by, wishing she could just punch him in the face.”

DO. NOT. TYPE. THE. FIC. DIRECTLY. ONTO. AO3’s/WATTPAD/FF.NET’S ETC’S TEXT BOX! You run the risk of your hard work being washed down the drain if you forget to save it. Or if it gets deleted. Always write your chapters somewhere other than your fanfic site’s text box. You can literally use anything. Google doc’s, libree office, word, your notes app, hell even apps that’s intended for grocery lists. Always have them saved somewhere else.

Oh and I also recommend using a spell checker to fix any grammar mistakes! You can find them online if the program your using doesn’t have one!

honestly i love answering asks like this. Thx 4 sending! :)

[xaviers-home-for-wayward-pokemon]

Hi there :) Is there a reason this blog died? is it harder to get shinies in scarvio? or just busy irl? no worries ofc! im truly just curious! i miss you guys! i miss the gen 7 era lol :'3

Hi there, Nonny. There is not an easy answer to this question, and unfortunately it involves breaking my biggest rule with this blog and steering away from pure positivity. I'm happy to share the story if you want to read on, though.

TW for family member death, therapy trauma, and friendship ending.

I always had a tradition of doing a big giveaway around the December holidays and then taking some time off for the new years. Generally I'd try to get back into giveaways no later than February since that's Mewtwos "birthday" and it would be a yearly tradition to give away versions of this blogs mascot.

In December 2019, my mom passed away.

There is no good time to lose your mom, but there is most definitely a worst time. Five days before Christmas, one year after the death of your father, two weeks after the birth of her one and only grandchild (following years of fertility issues between myself and both of my siblings), one month after her retirement, and one month before a massive family vacation that was meant as a Christmas gift she never opened ... Well that's pretty much the worst time. She was in near perfect health but her death was the result of a car accident, and she did not leave any form of will. I don't know if it's possible to explain how much work it is to deal with probate, burial, and associated lawsuits on top of mourning the death of one's own mother. Needless to say, it's a lot.

My sister lived in another state at the time and was busy with her newborn, and my brothers disabilities prevented him from contributing much to the situation, meaning the only one who was able to handle things was me.

Which unfortunately meant pokemon giveaways had to be put off for longer, and as expected, it's pretty hard to write pep talks in that state of mind.

For obvious reasons, I started going to therapy. While there I expressed interest in wanting to do giveaways again, and my therapist encouraged it. I even purchased a hackable switch with the intention of finding a way to hack the newer gen mons, but figured I could use the old action replay for the old gens until I got that figured out. A small handful of you may recall this is when I started streaming; in part, it was too reach a wider audience, and in part to encourage more engagement. Unfortunately, engagement in the giveaways only decreased, and that's on top of the hacking taking twice as long with the need to mass transfer between the 3DS and Switch.

During this time I actually quit my job, because being executor of my mother's estate became a full time focus and I was fortunate enough to have a supportive partner to encourage me. Not to mention, well, we all know what happened in 2020 to make working more difficult for everyone.

Before long, I realized that doing giveaways had become a chore. No longer was it work that brought joy to myself and others, it felt like an obligatory burden. It was no longer fair to put so much pressure on myself over something that was meant to be fun, and with everything else I was dealing with, it was time to be fair to myself.

However, I did not originally intend to abandon this blog indefinitely, and thought at least I would keep up the daily pep talks.

Now I want to be clear: I am not anti therapy. In fact I encourage anyone who can to seek professional help whenever the situation calls for it. I will not go into any further details besides this: I actually have some trauma regarding therapy. It makes seeking out and opening up to therapists very difficult, and it's something I've struggled with since childhood. So when the therapist I had (who I felt was working well) left the practice and I was assigned a new one, it was not a good mix. Especially when the new therapist wanted to focus on things I felt were irrelevant and/or non-issues.

One of the unforseen "advantages" to having barriers between yourself and professional help is that you get pretty good at helping yourself. The reason why I enjoyed writing this blogs pep talks is because they were often words I used to encourage myself, and it brought me joy seeing them encourage others. At this point in my journey, I had to focus exclusively on helping myself, and that carried the consequence of no longer being able to help others. After all, if I do not care for myself, then eventually, there will be nobody to care for anybody.

Another factor came into play at this time. Many of you noticed this blog changed names from Vales Home to Xaviers Home. At first I said this was because the new mod team shifted focus away from the original "lore" of the blog and that a focus on our mascot as opposed to one member of the mod team made more sense (keep in mind, when it started, the blog was equal parts giveaways and fanfiction/RP). While this is true, it is only part of the truth. The fact of the matter is, Vale and I had a falling out. Vale was legitimately one of my dearest, closest friends who I felt I could turn to for anything, and the decision to end the friendship was one of the hardest choices I've ever had to make. While I do not regret the decision, it does make looking back on this blog a little bittersweet.

At the end of the day, there is not one reason why this blog died. My own personal turmoil, trauma, Nintendo's decisions, and a general shift in the community combined to make running this blog a burden too great for me to bear. While I have no intention to start it up again, I also cannot bring myself to delete the blog. The happy memories and positivity it generated during its time is worthy of preseveing, in my opinion.

I also do not want you to think my life has been pure turmoil over the past five years. On the contrary, I think I am in a better place now than I was in 2019. I went back to school and started a new career. I now work in a hospital helping people in real life instead of online. I overcame a lifelong phobia of driving and bought a car. I rediscovered a love for crafting, and have taken up new hobbies in driving to craft fairs, camping, and nature photography. I ended 2019 miserable working a dead-end sales job and mourning the death of my mother. I am ending 2024 with a thriving career, a joyous hobby, and a big group of supportive friends both old and new.

While I am not active on this blog, my main is still very much alive and you're welcome to follow me if you don't mind largely video game shit posting interspersed with occasional writing or photography. Also, even though the discord server associated with this blog is inactive, I am still on and using discord should you ever wish to chat.

I am beyond glad if this blog ever sparked joy for you. If you read all of this, thank you for staying by my side. If you didn't, that's okay too.

And remember: Xavier loves you. ♥️

-Typhon ( @typhonserpent )

[pilot-boi]

Could we see Jaune choosing not to be Jaune Arc anymore and just become the knight? Please, with extra suffering and angst on top?

((Okay, but remember you asked for this. Fair warning, this got WAY longer than I was intending, but that’s what happens when you write at AM))

Nothing here makes sense. Mice and raccoons can talk. A tiny prince has a castle full of card and chess people. And no matter how much he walks towards the tree, Jaune can’t seem to get any closer to it.

It’s like that story his mom used to read him and his sisters, The Girl Who Fell Through The World. He can’t remember all the details of it, but the ones he can are eerily similar to his current circumstances. Talking raccoon and all.

He remembers a Knight, and wanting to be just like them when he grew up. He remembers the main character being utterly alone. And he remembers that she got out of there through the tree.

So that’s where he’s going. As much as all the evidence has shown that Remnant is better off without Jaune Arc, he can’t do that to Ren and Nora. It just wouldn’t be right.

Although as of late he’s not the best judge of what’s the right thing to do.

His sword is heavy at his side. Multicolored maple leaves blow past him. Every where he looks there’s another reminder of his failures.

Pyrrha dead because he wasn’t strong enough, Penny dead because he wasn’t fast enough. Too weak to help, too weak to heal. The portal closed and he failed Ren and Nora again by not making it back to them.

And then he fell.

He couldn’t even die right.

Jaune wanders listlessly among blue shaded trees, passing neon glowing mushrooms and multicolored flowers. The plants tower over him, as tall as a building, but he doesn’t spare them a passing glance, pushing his exhausted limbs on relentlessly.

He can’t afford to stop. He’s not sure he’ll be able to get going again if he stops moving. Just another failure.

“What are you?”

Jaune blinks, reactions lethargic. It could be a threat, could be practically anything in this nonsense world, but he just can’t bring himself to care. It’s a…

He blinks again, a shock of awareness creeping back in. It’s a…caterpillar? Or a butterfly. Some combination of both, maybe. Jaune didn’t think he was capable of being surprised at this point, but the universe just delights in proving him wrong.

The caterpillar blinks at him, eyes wide and calculating. “I’m a Huntsman.” Is he though? What kind of Huntsman abandons his team? Kills his friend? “I need help,” he settles on at last.

Help with what, he can’t say. He doesn’t know.

The caterpillar’s eyes narrow. “If it’s help you need, then I can provide,” they say, voice raspy and gravely as the earth itself. “That is my purpose, as the Herbalist” They sling a bag of leaves over their shoulder. “At least, until I’m not anymore.”

Jaune follows as the self-proclaimed Herbalist leads him through a doorway into what must be the caterpillar’s home. They bustle around, weighing herbs and grumbling under their breath. “What did you say you are again?”

“I’m…” That question again, and he still has no answer. He can’t call himself a Huntsman, not after what he’s done. “I’m a hero.” That’s all he’s ever wanted to be, but even with that he falls short. Can’t very well call himself a hero after leading his friends and who knows how many civilians to their deaths.

“So are you a Huntsman or a Hero?” The caterpillar asks, and Jaune can almost hear the capitalization in their voice. “I can’t help you if you don’t know what you are.”

“I’m sorry Mr. uh… Herbalist?” Gods he’s never sounded more out of depth in his life. “I don’t think I understand the question.”

“I don’t understand how you don’t understand.” The caterpillar grumbles, rolling their three eyes in sync. “We all have our titles, our roles to play.”

Jaune follows them deeper into their home, through a bead curtain and into a room full of smoke. “And in order to help you fulfill your role-” The Herbalist drops a handful of maple leaves into the fire, and the smoke builds like a wave. “-you should really have a better understanding of what your purpose is now.”

His purpose? His role? Jaune’s head is spinning, and it’s only partially because of the smoke. Is there a single role he’s held that he hasn’t failed at spectacularly? Jaune feels like he’s falling down a long tunnel.

“So I ask you again.” The caterpillar rounds on him. Their eyes are flashing different colors in sync with the the pounding in Jaune’s head, a psychedelic swirling beating in time with his heart beat. Distantly he realizes his knees have hit the earthy floor.

“What are you?”

And his vision fills with smoke. It fills his lungs, choking him, and Jaune’s sure he coughs hard enough to lose a lung. A cloud of the stuff expels from his mouth, pooling on the smoky ground in front of him.

“So? Are you a Huntsman yet?”

Jaune looks up, heart full of dread. Because he knows that voice, knows it like he knows his own name.

A facsimile of himself smiles back, all false confidence and floppy blonde hair.

This Jaune’s eyes aren’t shadowed with everything he’s lost, everything he’s done wrong. His smile is wide and innocent, untainted by horrors he hasn’t seen yet.

The armor on his shoulders is too big, awkwardly tightened and perfect for a young hero ready to grow into his strength. Head full of dreams of a legacy to uphold, of people to protect.

It’s still lined with iron. Pyrrha’s gilding has never felt heavier.

“What?”

“Are you a Huntsman yet. Did you graduate from Beacon?”

Jaune’s heart clenches. “Beacon fell,” he says woodenly.

“And it’s your fault your partner died,” Not-Jaune says brightly. “Let’s face the facts, if Pyrrha had a stronger and braver partner instead of you, then she would have lived.”

Jaune winces at hearing it said in so matter-of-fact a tone. He’s right, he’s no Huntsman. A Huntsman would’ve been able to help Pyrrha instead of dragging her down.

“So you’re not much of a Huntsman, but you still have this whole legacy thing to uphold. So are you a hero then?”

“I help my friends,” Jaune says. His protests sound weak and desperate even to his ears“I protect people in danger and heal them when they’re hurt.”

“But you’re also the one to do the hurting.” Fake-Jaune’s voice is cocky, in that tone he’d always put on to project the air of confidence his father always said he’d need.

“Weiss was stabbed because you were too blinded by anger. Your brilliant strategy in Argus led Blake to fight her abusive terrorist ex-boyfriend. Splitting up in Atlas got Oscar kidnapped and Nora maimed.”

Not-Jaune ticks off his failures like they’re items on a grocery list. It’s like he can’t tell that every word twists the sword in Jaune’s chest a little deeper. “Oh!” His eyes light up, and his grin widens. “And we can’t forget about Penny!”

Jaune actually chokes.

Gods how many people are dead because of him? Penny certainly, her blood still stains what’s left of his sword, as red as the sash around his waist. Weiss as well, blasted off the side of a platform because he was too weak to hold on.

He’s no Huntsman. He’s certainly no hero.

“So, what are you?”

“I…” For the third time in how many minutes, Jaune doesn’t have an answer. He’s not a Huntsman, he’s not a hero. He’s staring at his hands and they’re shaking. What even is he except a failure? “I’m Jaune Arc.”

“And it sucks, doesn’t it?” The smile on his own face looks forced, cruel and and triumphant pitying all rolled into one. “Always just barely too slow to help, too weak to protect. Always the idiot stuck in the tree while his friends fight for their lives.”

Jaune doesn’t realize he’s crying until the tears drop onto his palms.

“You don’t have to keep trying, ya know.” And for the first time since arriving here, Not-Jaune’s voice sounds gentle. Understanding. “They don’t need you, they never have. So why not give up?”

“You’re not a Huntsman, you’re not a hero. You could give up on being Jaune Arc.” He looks up. His younger self towers over him, eyes not shadowed and armor not gilded. His hands are on his hips, one resting on the hilt of Crocea Mors.

A better person than he’ll ever be.

“After all, what’s one more failure? It seems to be all you’re good at.”

[ambrosiagourmet]

hiiiii i have a quick question about no reason but to starve: when does it take place relative to the postcanon labru comic? i ask partially so i can integrate this knowledge into my understanding of laios & kabru's dynamic in nrbts, but also into my understanding of the diplomatic relationship between malini and kakha brud

(i love your fic so much thank you for your gifts to dunmeshi fandom)

Oooh fun question, thank you!! I assume you mean this comic?

This ended up being longer than intended lol, so tl;dr short answer: it would take place after the comic, though the comic is not necessarily 100% canon to it.

More details and rambling below the cut:

So, in general, I'm trying to write in a way that is compatible with, but not strictly canon to, any post-canon content we've gotten.

In part tbh that's because I had WANTED to construct the timeline with the Kensuke extra in mind but then I totally goofed it and like the story basically takes place at the exact same time that the Kensuke story would. So it ended up more being like handshake meme thematical/character similarities rather than strictly canon.

Also I don't want anyone who hasn't read the extras to have trouble following anything (which is actually why I had to go back and add a bit about the situation w/ KB during editing lol. In the rough draft it was just like yeah yeah the reparations we've all heard of them).

That is all to say the story does more-or-less take place after this comic. The way I'm thinking about it, the initial negotiations referenced in the comic sort of laid the foundation for (relative) peace and cooperation, but there are still lots of specifics to work out - that's what the current delegation is in town for. It's probably less combative then the initial, uh... conversation... but I imagine there's still a fair bit of a "wring everything we can from these people" attitude from KB, so it's a slow process with a lot more smiling and nodding and going back to grumble privately later.

In terms of Laios & Kabru I think the story fits well after the comic for their relationship too... The group of them & Marcille are very much A Unit in the point where the story picks up (with Yaad also included, but not necessarily as close as the three of them). They all have been working together for a little while now, and are all committed to the work. They know a bit about how to navigate each other, and have some rhythms they've fallen into (like Marcille checking w/ Kabru about her hair, or everyone knowing that things are tense between Laios & Yaad wrt Marriage Talk).

What's still left unsaid is a lot of the deeper, more sensitive things. Part of the reason the fic opens on the question of Laios' Political Marriage (TM) is because I think it's a good example of a thing that WOULD remain buried for a while. Laios seems to not have given himself much room to think about romance, so it's something that hasn't been addressed out in the open. But they've got to deal with it eventually!! They have a life long task ahead of them all, and shoving skeletons into closets only works for so long.

(Laios romance tangent: whether or not you read him as aro or ace (and I personally put him somewhere in some grey zone there), I don't think that's a thing he would have realized yet in canon. Repression =/= happily uninterested, and I personally think Laios has repressed that shit hard.)

Anyway, the same goes for various things with Kabru and Marcille, as well. They already trust and care about each other, but being vulnerable with other people is a long, messy process. Especially with all the baggage they have. It's something they still need to figure out!

It is also, conveniently, very fun to write about :3

[zaebeecee]

To Sever a Loveless Bond

••RadioDust Soulmate AU••

Part 14/?

First chapter | Previous chapter | Next chapter

Read on AO3

•••

This took longer than I intended, but it’s an angst chapter and I was in the middle of writing it when THE FUCKING FULL MOON EPISODE DROPPED and that kinda made it difficult to finish.

Anyway, yeah, incoming angst, but it’s literally just the beginning of a nice long stretch of angst. (Look, I’m a Millennial gay man, angst was the #1 developmental attribute of my youth)

CW: Charlie I said don’t do that, possible abuse dynamic overtones, there is more Vox in this chapter than there is Alastor

•••

Charlie knew that her best chance had come when Alastor came to her and said, quote, “I’ll be out of pocket tonight, my dear. Try not to burn the hotel down in my absence.” She hadn’t pried, simply telling him to have a good time, but she knew he was most likely doing something with Angel. Her thoughts were confirmed that evening, when she caught a glimpse of them as they left the hotel together. Alastor looked much the same as he always did, but Angel… well, Angel didn’t do anything by half measures, and the elegant black and deep red dress he had chosen looked like it was meant for one of the Vees’ galas. And not only was it gorgeous, it complimented Alastor’s usual attire so well, it almost made him look fancier next to it.

It was… concerning, yes, because Angel had his contract and Alastor was— well, he was Alastor, that was about all that needed to be said. But it was so sweet, and they both looked so happy.

Was she meddling again?

Vaggie was out for a bit, so Charlie just headed to their room, shutting herself in and curling up on the window seat. She then immediately got back up on her feet and started pacing, pulling her phone out of her pocket. She took a few breaths to calm herself, did a quick little search, and called VoxTek.

•

Vox closed the message from Blitzø informing him that he was heading out after Alastor and the little slut, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands. He glanced over his bank of screens, showing an amalgamation of current programming and security footage, but he didn’t take in a damn detail of it.

It didn’t make any sense. Well, no, Angel made sense; Angel was property and obviously dissatisfied with his current arrangement with Valentino, and he was hoping to hitch himself to a different overlord who could ‘save him’ from the horrors of the porn industry. It was a fucking stupid choice—I guess I shouldn’t call it a choice, but acting on it is fucking stupid—because Alastor was famously disinterested in anything like… whatever it was Angel was trying to do.

Did he think he was going to get, what, affection from Alastor? Sex? Vox scoffed at the very idea. He didn’t know which one was more ridiculous. It was astonishing the spider still had all his fucking limbs.

But what Vox couldn’t understand was what the Hell it was that Alastor was doing. He couldn’t have possibly been so hard up for company that he would lower himself to Angel’s level, was he? And if he was going to kill Angel, he would just do it. Alastor didn’t play this cat and mouse shit… at least, not typically.

There isn’t any way he actually sees something in that… in that…!

The intercom buzzed, jarring Vox out of his thoughts, and he had to resist the urge to scream at his secretary for interrupting him. Instead, he took a deep breath, pressed the button, and put on his public smile to ensure he had his proper voice. “Yes, Nina, what is it?”

“You have a telephone call, sir. From Princess Charlotte Morningstar.”

Vox blinked slowly. Of all the names she could have said… “Regarding what? Did she say?”

“Simply that she needs to speak with you. She emphasized it is not a business matter, but a personal one. Shall I offer a call back?”

“…no,” Vox said after a moment of thought. “No, put her through. I’ll speak with her.”

He attached his internal speakers to his phone line, answering it the moment it rang. “Good evening, Princess! Such a surprise to be hearing from you.”

“Oh! Ah, yes! Hello, Vox,” the princess said, her voice transparently nervous. “I’m glad I caught you still at work, I was afraid you might have left.”

“Not for another few hours, at least.” Vox didn’t feel the need to tell her that he lived in the tower; he didn’t like making himself any more accessible than was strictly necessary. “A pleasure to finally speak with you. I never did get a chance to formally apologize for your treatment on Katie Killjoy’s program.”

“Hm? No, no, that’s okay. And don’t worry, I’m not calling to— to ask for another slot. I actually wanted to speak to you about something more personal.”

It seemed their airheaded princess really didn’t know how much she wore her heart on her sleeve. “Of course, Your Highness. I’m all ears.”

•

Vox sounded exactly like he did on television. It was so surreal, actually having that voice carrying a conversation with her after so long of simply seeing him on different programs. Charlie forced herself to stop pacing, plopping down onto the window seat again.

“Thank you, Vox. It’s— well, I won’t lie, it’s about Angel Dust.”

“Oh?” Vox sounded a little surprised, but only a little. “Ah, yes, Valentino mentioned your concern for him as your resident some time ago. But you do realize, of course, that Angel Dust is Valentino’s employee. If you have concerns about him—”

“No, it isn’t about his employment,” Charlie said, cringing at the memory of that day. “It’s about his… about the soul mark situation.”

“Ah. I see. What, specifically?”

“Well… I’ve heard about Angel’s deadline to break it,” Charlie said; Vox didn’t answer, so she figured he was just listening. Not being able to see him was difficult. “I was hoping I might be able to talk to you about giving him some leniency?”

Vox made a soft, thoughtful noise. “That could be difficult, Princess.”

Charlie frowned. “Why?” she asked, trying not to sound confrontational. “I don’t understand what’s so bad about Angel having a soul mate. Everybody does.”

“Yes,” Vox agreed. “The problem isn’t the fact he has found a soul mate. The issue is in its visibility, and the purpose his work serves. I understand why you ask,” he said, when she opened her mouth and took a breath in to respond, “but, here at VoxTek, our media is all about… escapism. Relief from the burden of Hell, you might say. Angel Dust is, after all, our premier porn star. Even if you aren’t a connoisseur yourself, I’m sure you can imagine what him bearing such an obvious mark would do to the immersive nature of his films. Few people wish to imagine themselves with someone who already has a soul mate, one that they’ve found. Besides, when I spoke to him about it, he assured me there was no connection between the two, so I fail to see what the issue is.”

“There wasn’t,” Charlie said, realizing she had started pacing again. “But that’s just the thing, there is now. And I don’t think that they want it broken, they both seem so happy whenever I see them together—”

A sudden burst of feedback made Charlie wince, and she pulled her phone away from her ear, cringing. It only lasted for a moment, and she gingerly raised it again when she heard Vox’s voice. “I apologize, Your Highness, electronic interference is unavoidable sometimes.”

Charlie sighed in relief. “Right. Of course. It’s fine.”

•

Vox turned away from the bank of monitors that were now either playing static or test patterns, if they were on at all. He left his monitoring room and returned to his office, slamming his hands onto his desk and dragging his nails through the polished wood top.

“Well, Princess Charlotte, how about this?” he asked in a perfectly calm voice, even as he felt digitized blood running out of the corner of his mouth. “I will speak to Valentino. Should Angel Dust and his… companion—” the wood around his nails cracked “—decide they do not wish to break their bond, I will meet with Angel Dust myself and we can discuss alternative options. How does that suit you?”

“Oh, would you?” the princess asked, her voice full of a naive sort of joy. “Thank you so much for this, Vox. I really do appreciate your help.”

“Of course, anything for the Morningstar family. You can trust us. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“No, that was all. I won’t take up any more of your time. Have a wonderful night!”

She sounded so… fucking pleased with herself, didn’t she? Vox said a pleasant goodbye, hung up, disconnected from his line, and then stared at the desk.

They both seem so happy.

Alastor… is happy?

With that?

Vox didn’t believe it, not for a moment. There was absolutely no way the Radio Demon could possibly be happy being tied to… to a…

“FUCK!!!” Vox screamed, flipping his desk over as the lights began flickering overhead. Distant noises told him they were flickering all over the building, but he couldn’t make himself care. Let them know he was pissed. It meant they would leave him alone.

Vox wasn’t going to stand for this shit. It wasn’t happening. He wouldn’t let it happen. And if he had to skin that fucking spider alive, he would make sure it didn’t happen.

•••

“This place is expensive.”

“Shh. Listen.”

“I’m listening,” Loona mumbled under her breath, leaning her jaw against her fist and flipping through her menu without actually reading it. Across from her, Blitzø was doing a very bad job of playing things casual, in as much as he was outright staring at the corner table a short distance away.

Loona glanced over, flipping back to the first page of her menu as she did so. She would have recognized Angel Dust anywhere; he had a huge media presence on Sinstagram, and despite being a sinner confined to Pride, he had a massive and rabid fanbase in the Lust Ring. She wasn’t ashamed to admit that she followed his socials, primarily because he was always posting adorable fits and that fucking cute as shit hellpig of his (and his captions were always so weird). But if she hadn’t known the man next to Angel Dust was the Radio Demon, she never would have guessed that he was anything but a creepy fucker who wore way too much red.

She was, at least, familiar with the Radio Demon. His broadcast went out to all the Rings, which made him something of a massive curiosity to the Hellborn. Of course they’d all heard of the Vees, VoxTek having expanded all over Hell through a rumored partnership with Mammon, and sinner TV programs were almost more popular than their own. But the Radio Demon had no such partnership, no assistance from a Prince, which meant the power of his broadcast just came from him. That was insane to imagine, one single sinner having enough power to boost that signal so far.

They say the soul of a sinner has infinite potential, as long as they keep growing and don’t get exterminated.

Angel Dust and Alastor were alone at their corner table, and rather than sitting across from each other, they were functionally sitting catty corner, both of them with their back to a wall. Loona would have guessed that this was so they could keep an eye on the whole restaurant, but they were a lot more focused on each other than anyone else.

“What are they talking about?” Blitzø asked as he positioned the camera to be able to capture shots of them as unobtrusively as possible.

Loona’s ear twitched. “The atmosphere. Alastor’s making wine recommendations. Apparently the overlord of Cannibal Town is over fine dining in Pentagram City and this is one of her pet projects.”

“Well, isn’t that just fucking fascinating,” Blitzø muttered, tapping the button on the camera. It took a rapid fire series of photos, the clicks so quiet Loona could barely hear them.

“Blitzø, can we really afford this?”

“Get whatever you want, Vox gave us a card for business expenses.”

“…oh. Shit. Cool,” Loona said with renewed enthusiasm, looking at the menu more seriously. She kept her ear swiveled towards their targets, however; she wouldn’t tell Blitzø this, but since he was finally allowing her in on a real job, she wasn’t going to fuck it up. Yeah, it was because she was the only one at I.M.P. with even halfway decent hearing, but she was gonna prove that leaving her out in the past had been a mistake and that she was indispensable as a field agent.

Her ear twitched when Angel Dust spoke again. “I’m surprised you got a restaurant you actually like,” he said. “Thought nobody’s cookin’ was good enough for you except yours.”

“As I’ve told you, my dear, your pasta is wholly acceptable,” Alastor answered, laughing when Angel Dust slapped his shoulder. “If it isn’t good enough, then I can give Rosie infinite grief over the state of her establishment.”

“Hey. Blitzø,” Loona murmured. “They’re just chatting about nothing, so lemme ask you something.”

“Hm?” Blitzø didn’t look up at her.

“Why were you being so hard on Millie?”

Blitzø stopped moving for a moment, then glanced up. “Because she and Moxxie were five minutes from finding our targets and trauma-dumping on them. And probably getting themselves killed.”

“Hm.”

“…what?” Blitzø groaned, lowering his head and rubbing his brow.

“Sounded more like you were venting your own relationship insecurities.”

He peered at her through his fingers. “How many fucking times do I have to say it’s not a relationship?”

Loona shrugged. “Until you believe it, I guess. Oh, shit, they have white truffles.”

“I do believe it— since the fuck when did you start eating mushrooms?”

“Since the fuck I had the Vees buying me dinner. I might get them just to look at them.”

“I’m so proud of you,” Blitzø said with that weird, dreamy tone.

Loona rolled her eyes, her ears flicking backwards for a second. “Whatever,” she muttered, as Blitzø set up another shot. She glanced at their targets again, and watched Alastor cover one of Angel Dust’s hands with his own. Angel Dust was actually blushing, which was downright shocking after all the more provocative things she had seen him post. “Still think you sounded like you were taking things really personal.”

“I don’t have to put up with this level of emotional manipulation,” Blitzø muttered. “I should have done this by myself.”

“Yeah, yeah, and then you would have tried to get closer so you could actually hear them, and then you’d get caught, and then you’d die,” Loona said, unconcerned. “We both know you’d be screwed here without me.”

“If I’d adopted you earlier, I wouldn’t have let you learn how to talk.”

“You’re like fourteen years older than me. He out of the hospital yet?”

“I can’t believe you’d talk to your elders this way,” Blitzø grumbled, picking the camera up off the table and looking through what he’d taken so far. Loona narrowed her eyes and kicked him under the table. “Ow shit okay, fine, yes. Yes he is.”

“You been to see him yet?”

“Nope.” Blitzø put the camera back on the table, repositioning it to face their targets again.

“…are you going to?”

“Full moon isn’t for a while, so… no?”

Loona rolled her eyes and pulled out her phone, opening her texts and finding her ongoing conversation with Octavia. After following the Goetian Princess on Sinstagram for so long, it was so weird actually being able to text her, even though they’d technically been in some form of contact or another since the debacle in Hollywood.

< hey girlie, howz ur dad holdin up >

“Still think you’re being stupid,” Loona said, putting her phone away; between Octavia’s long bouts of leaving her phone on Do Not Disturb and her spurts of communication anxiety, she didn’t expect to get anything back for a while. “When is this contract gonna be done?”

“When the Vees are satisfied with our results,” Blitzø said. “I’m hoping this will be enough and they’ll let us out of it tonight, or tomorrow.”

A few words caught Loona’s ear and she twitched, then snapped her head over to stare at the two sinners. Angel Dust was looking down at the table and smiling, but he looked sad. Alastor… was still smiling, but his voice sounded… awkward?

“What?” Blitzø asked. “What did they say?”

“They’re soulmates,” Loona murmured. She then looked back at Blitzø. “The Vees want us to break up soulmates?”

This looked like it was as much a surprise to him as it was to her. Blitzø’s eyes were wide, and he slowly turned his head to look at the sinners as well. One of his hands went up to his neck, covering the right side where the white was marred with some other color just along the edge of the scar.

“…Blitzø…?”

He didn’t look at her, but he pointed at her with his free hand. “You’re sure that’s what they said?”

“Yeah. Positive,” Loona said, frowning. She had always assumed Blitzø had some kind of neck tattoo or something that had just barely missed being spared by the scarring, but she was starting to think she was wrong. Blitzø didn’t even look like he realized he was covering it.

“You’re not going to breathe a word of this to Millie or Moxxie.”

“What? Why?”

Blitzø looked at her again. “Because you saw how Millie reacted to the idea of just interfering with a date. If she and Moxxie had any idea we were fucking with a soul bond? They’d lose their shit and I am not in the mood for that.”

Loona exhaled sharply through her nose and looked down at her menu again. “Whatever.”

They didn’t talk much for the rest of the evening. Blitzø took more photographs, and Loona kept her ear out for anything else interesting, but their targets’ conversation wasn’t really… about anything. If she had to guess, she would have said that they were actively avoiding a topic; she could feel an odd weight in their pauses, in their occasional silences, and especially when either one of them laughed.

At least the food was good, and it was going to cost the Vees a fuckton of money.

They waited until their targets had been gone for about fifteen minutes before they finally got up and left. “I’m going to go talk to him,” Blitzø said. “You should go on home.”

Loona looked at him. “You’re gonna talk to them alone?”

“Mhm. I can handle it,” Blitzø said, rolling his eyes.

“That’s a fucking stupid idea.”

“Story of my life, sweetie.”

Loona really wanted to argue, but Blitzø seemed determined to get himself killed during this contract, and she wasn’t really in the mood to keep bashing her skull against the brick wall that was her adoptive father. “Whatever,” she said as her phone vibrated; she pulled it out and opened Octavia’s text message.

< He’s insisting he’s fine. A physical therapist from Sloth is coming by three times a week and he hates it. It’s kind of funny. I’m thinking about filming him next time he takes his pain killers. >

Loona smirked and messaged her back.

< fuk yea. do it >

“Just don’t be out all fucking night, I don’t wanna have to come back to Pentagram City to find your ass,” she muttered.

“I knew you cared about me.”

“Pushing it,” she snarled.

He laughed, giving her that little salute he did, before he tossed her the van keys and headed off in the direction of VoxTek. “Take the van to Moxx and make him give you a ride home before he plants himself,” Blitzø called. “Tell him I’ll let him know if he needs to stay or not.”

“Fuck, okay, whatever,” Loona muttered, flipping the keys around her index finger and heading for the van. Once inside, she started it up, then called Moxxie as she began driving. “Hey. I’m coming by your place. Blitzø might die tonight, he’s meeting with the Vees alone.”

Moxxie took a long, long moment to register what she said. “…wait, what?!”

•••

“I had a lovely evening, sha.”

“So did I, Smiles. Thanks.”

“But of course! You do have so many interesting outfits. It would be a shame if they didn’t get out more often.”

Angel laughed a little, leaning up against his door jamb with one set of arms folded and the other clasped together in front of him. “Didn’t take you for a lover of fashion,” he said, pointedly looking at Alastor’s own clothing.

Alastor’s grin turned a little sharper as one hand came up to tug at his bow tie. “Simply because I am disinclined to change my own attire does not make me incapable of appreciating it on another.”

It was an innocuous statement, but something so close to a compliment on his appearance from Alastor of all people made Angel blush. He covered it up as best he could with a soft laugh. “Well, you won’t get an argument outta me. Sure you don’t wanna come in for a bit?”

“Regrettably, I can’t,” Alastor said, and from the way he smiled, Angel could tell… he really did regret it, even if he didn’t say why he couldn’t. “But I am sure I will see you tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

Alastor moved like he was going to touch him, but then hesitated; even though part of Angel thought the hesitation was silly (especially at this point), he understood the reason and simply leaned a little closer to show him it was welcome. Alastor’s hand cupped his cheek, and he pulled Angel down into a gentle kiss that was nowhere near as intense as the night before, but still more intimate than they had once been. As they separated, Alastor stroked his jaw with his fingertips as he slowly pulled his hand back. “Sweet dreams, mon kè.”

Angel didn’t know what that meant, either, but he liked the way it sounded. “G’night, Smiles.”

•

Angel’s door opened and closed, and once he was gone, Alastor was surrounded in shadows before he, too, was gone. Then, there was nothing but silence in the hallway, only underscored by the gentle buzz of the lights that ran all day and night.

Husk couldn’t decide if he felt bad about eavesdropping or not. On the one hand, Angel was his friend (at least, according to Angel), and doing something so underhanded concerning a thing that really wasn’t his business felt… well, like it wasn’t his business. On the other, he was pretty certain now that Angel either had no idea what he was doing or was willfully ignoring all of the signs that should have been pretty fucking obvious to a guy with that many eyes and such a long history of bad decisions.

It didn’t help that watching Alastor kiss someone was unnerving. Husk half expected him to tear Angel’s throat out with his teeth; that would have made sense. This… didn’t.

The kid’s gonna end up hurt at this rate.

Even though it still really wasn’t his business, Husk gave it a few minutes, then crossed to Angel’s door. He knocked on it, then called through the wood, “Hey, kid, you in there?” Better to pretend he hadn’t been spying, he supposed.

“Hold up!” Angel called, voice muffled, and he still took almost a minute before he came to the door. When he opened it, Husk could see why; he must have been changing, because his dress was gone and he was in a pair of shorts and a large sweater. He raised one arm to lean against the door jamb. “What up, Whiskers?”

Husk’s sigh at the nickname was completely involuntary. “You got a minute? I wanna talk to you.”

Immediately, Angel frowned at him. “This ain’t one’a those capital-c ‘Conversations’, is it?”

“Not if you don’t make it one.”

“Fffffuuuuuck,” Angel groaned, tipping his head back. He then pushed off the door and went back into his room, but since he left it open, Husk took that as all the invitation he was going to get.

He stepped through and closed it behind him, then took a minute to glance around. “It looks like a strip club in here,” he observed, his eyes scanning the room and only stopping when he saw Fat Nuggets staring at him. The hellpig looked as curious as a ‘no thoughts, head empty’ little guy could be, and Husk found himself nodding to Nuggets in acknowledgment before wondering what the fuck he was doing.

Thankfully, Angel noticed none of this. He crossed to his vanity and sat down, starting the process of removing his makeup. “Look, Husk, if you’re here to gimme another surrogate father kinda talk, you can skip it. I ain’t interested.”

“Wouldn’t call it that,” Husk said, stepping into the room and closer to Angel without actually getting into his space. “But you know why I’m here.”

“Alastor. Why else wouldja be?”

“…yeah. Alastor,” Husk said, folding his arms. “…Angel… what the fuck?”

Angel glanced at him through the mirror. “Don’t think you want me to answer that.”

Husk immediately dismissed every single reason Angel could possibly say that except for the one that was arguably safest. “Thought you said even your stupid has its limits.”

“Yeah, well, apparently I ain’t as limited as I thought.”

Husk put one hand on his face and closed his eyes, fighting the urge to start yelling at him. That wouldn’t help anything, it would just get Angel worked up faster than was inevitable and escalate things into a fight sooner than he’d like. It would also make Angel stop listening faster. “I know that you know you shouldn’t be doing this. So why are you?”

“Why does it matter?”

Husk didn’t have any clue how to answer that. It was obvious, wasn’t it? “…because it… Angel, it’s the fucking Radio Demon. I’m not really sure what else you want me to say about it.”

“Husk. Look.” Angel turned on his vanity bench and placed two hands on the edge of the seat, gesturing with his other two. He looked pissed in a far more low-key way than usual, which could have been a bad thing. “I get it. You hate Alastor. Everybody hates Alastor. I am very aware of this, and I ain’t interested in listenin’ to you go on about how much you hate Alastor.”

“No, Angel, you don’t get it,” Husk countered, trying to keep his voice level without sounding patronizing (a skill he thought Charlie needed worse than he did, frankly). “I know Alastor. I’ve know him for years. You asked Mimzy why people were so scared of him because you had no idea what his reputation was, and that was a few months ago.”

“So, what, you think he’s gonna kill me?” Angel asked sarcastically. “He and I’ve been over this, he said he ain’t gonna kill me and risk Charlie gettin’ on his ass over it.”

“And you… believed him.”

“We’ve been alone together a lot, Husk. He ain’t never hurt me.”

Husk raised an eyebrow, looking pointedly at the cuts and bruises he could still see on Angel’s skin; the spider healed quite quickly, even by the standard of sinners, but he didn’t heal that fast.

Angel’s hand moved up to his shoulder, covering a strange row of cuts. “…that’s different.”

“How?”

“Because I didn’t exactly tell him to stop.”

Husk narrowed his eyes, trying to work out what the fuck Angel was thinking, when he suddenly realized… he wasn’t meeting Husk’s eyes anymore, and he was blushing. The idea that Angel could possibly be suggesting what Husk now thought he was suggesting was just… not possible. “Angel—”

“Look, just stop, okay?!” Angel said, getting to his feet and gesturing erratically. “I know you’re tryin’ to… protect me or whatever, but I don’t need it!”

“Angel, he was a murderer when he was alive.”

“So what?! I killed people when I was alive,” Angel said, gesturing at himself. “And I’d bet money you did, too! I bet Vaggie’s the only one who was ever human who’s come through this hotel and didn’t kill someone for a reason besides self-defense! I don’t give a shit that he kills people, I don’t give a shit that he’s an overlord, I don’t even give a shit that he’s a fuckin’ cannibal! And I ain’t gonna start throwin’ stones from a glass fuckin’ house just because other people hate him!”

When he’d first come up to talk to Angel, Husk had assumed he would end up angry. But, in the moment, he just felt… tired. And when he didn’t rise to an argument, Angel deflated a little bit; he was clearly still angry, but with nothing to feed from, his rage energy was waning.

Finally, Husk closed his eyes. “…look, kid, I’m not here to tell you what to do.” When he looked at Angel again, his arms were crossed and he was looking away, like a petulant teenager. “I just… I know him. And I want you to understand what you’re getting into.”

“You already told me he toys with people and then throws ‘em out,” Angel said, turning away and taking a few steps further into his room. “You don’t gotta repeat it. I got it.”

“That isn’t all he does.” Husk weighed his words. “That’s what he does if he has no… investment in someone. But if he does? He’ll never let them go. Not for anything. Not even if keeping them around could destroy them. If he’s decided that you belong to him, he’ll keep it that way, no matter what it might do to you. I’ve seen it happen before. He isn’t going to care if it brings you pain, or worse, just that he gets what he wants.”

Angel didn’t look back at him, but his silence was heavy, and when he did finally speak, it was with a lot less conviction. “I don’t believe you.”

“I know you don’t. Not expecting you to. And I’m not gonna make this into some ‘I told you so’ bullshit if he proves me right. I just… I want you to remember it.”

“Fine. I heard you.”

Angel still wasn’t looking at him, but Husk wasn’t really sure what else he could say. The kid was clearly angry, but more than that, he was upset. There wasn’t anything Husk could do about that, not after he was the one to cause it in the first place. So he turned, gave Fat Nuggets (who had moved to the foot of Angel’s bed) a pat as he passed, and let himself out of Angel’s room. He closed the door behind him quietly, not wanting to risk drawing attention from anyone else in the hotel, because that might mean having to explain himself to Charlie.

I’m sorry, kid.

I’m sorry I didn’t notice this shit earlier. I’m sorry I left you to deal with it on your own.

I’m sorry you fell in love.

I really hope this doesn’t kill you.

•••

The same goddamn secretary was the one who opened the side door of VoxTek when Blitzø buzzed as instructed, and the way she looked at him kinda made him want to shoot her in the face. That wouldn’t have been politic, of course—which was usually Moxxie’s job anyway—so he just made sure to be as smug at her as possible all the way through the back hall and up the elevator until she practically ejected him onto the floor where Vox was, presumably, waiting for good news.

Blitzø didn’t know how good it was, but it was news, and the sooner he didn’t have to put up with this sinner overlord bullshit anymore, the better.

The room was much more casual than the board room where they had first met, something of a lounge with dark leather furniture and dark screens set into the walls and yet another full-wall aquarium with hellsharks and helleels and all other manner of dangerous sea creatures. It was weird, to Blitzø, this fascination that an overlord who appeared to be almost entirely electronic had with shit that lived in the water. Maybe Vox was just drawn to things that could destroy him.

Maybe I shouldn’t be speculating on the mental health of the homicidal TV screen-face man.

Vox was sitting on one of those black leather couches when Blitzø entered, both of his arms spread across the back. Besides the aquarium and the strip lighting along the floor molding, Vox’s face was the only source of light in the entire room, and it immediately set Blitzø on edge, like he was suddenly being hit with a spotlight.

He fucking hated that feeling.

“Blitzø,” Vox greeted, his voice smooth and inherently trustworthy in that way that explained why he did so well in Greed. “You said you wanted to speak with me?”

“Yeah. I followed them tonight. I think I got what, precisely, you were looking for.” Blitzø pulled the camera out of his coat and went back, starting with the single series of photos Millie had taken before she’d freaked out and abandoned her post. He crossed the room and offered the camera out to Vox.

The overlord took it from him and reached up to the back of his own head, pulling some kind of cable from a place Blitzø couldn’t see and hooking it up to the camera. He couldn’t tell what the other demon was doing, but as Vox went through the sequences, Blitzø could see the overlord’s lip curl and oddly hypnotic rings flash on and off in his left eye. At one point, he even thought he could see digitized blood at the corner of his mouth, running from his teeth to the bottom of the screen.

Overlord bloodlust, Blitzø thought. I’ve heard they sometimes bleed from the mouth when they’re feeling particularly dangerous.

He held his tongue, wrapping his tail loosely around one leg to keep it from lashing the air in agitation behind him as he waited. Eventually, Vox unplugged himself from the camera and turned it off. “Yes. That is… precisely what I was looking for.”

“Right.” Blitzø could tell he wasn’t talking about anything that Blitzø himself was privy to, and frankly, he didn’t want to know. “…so…”

“Right. The contract.” Vox set the camera down next to him and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, looking at Blitzø like he was… well. Like he was a mildly amusing circus attraction. Blitzø’s tail tightened around his leg. “There is only one more thing I need you to do for me.”

Blitzø’s eyes widened slightly. “What— you said you only wanted us to stalk them and take photos.”

“I know what I said.” Vox looked completely unaffected, though his smile reappeared. “How about this. You finish this final task without being a little bitch, and I’ll double your pay. You finish it but whine about it, I’ll come up with something else for you and your team to do, indefinitely. You refuse, it’s a broken contract.”

Blitzø gritted his teeth, aware that Vox could see it. “Does saying fuck you while still doing it count as being a little bitch?”

“Under the circumstances, as a single isolated statement…” Vox shrugged one shoulder. “No.”

“Great. Fuck you. What do you want?”

Vox actually laughed before he stood up. “Fantastic!” he said in an extremely sarcastic, game show-like voice. He motioned for Blitzø to follow him, which he did with more than little reluctance, and began walking across the room. “As you may have already gathered, we have gathered that Alastor and Angel Dust are, beyond all logic, soulmates. Angel Dust was given a deadline to break that bond.”

Blitzø’s eyes widened. Breaking a soulmate bond?

…you can do that…?

Vox didn’t notice his reaction. “The deadline in question is in three days. At the end of those three days, if the bond is not broken, Angel Dust was informed that we will be taking matters into our own hands. We have also been given reason to believe that he is going to be… reluctant.”

Vox opened a door at the back of the lounge and led Blitzø into another, smaller room. It looked like some kind of weird, high-tech armory. Under other circumstances, Blitzø would have been stoked as fuck to be in here, but this… didn’t feel okay.

Vox stopped at a stainless steel table and opened a small silver case, inside which were nestled six hypodermic needles. He turned it for Blitzø’s examination. “Your final task will be to continue to follow them. At the end of those three days, you will find Angel Dust alone, you will use these on him, and you will bring him to us. Once you have done that, your contract will be completed. You will receive your payment and you will no longer be in the employ of VoxTek.”

Blitzø reached out and picked one of the needles out of its little indentation in the black foam, looking at it. The liquid inside was pale pink, reminiscent of the smoke that had been coming off of Valentino’s cigarettes, and there was a lot of it. “What are you going to do to him?”

“Do you care?”

Blitzø’s tail twitched, and he stilled it. “…do you want us to use all six?”

“Yes. Will that be a problem?”

This is fucked up.

“No. It’s not a problem. We’ll do it.”

How the fuck am I going to explain this?

•••

oh fuck you Vox

[starlightkun]

sorry if you've gotten this ask before aljrksjd

you don't have to answer this, but I just wanted to know how you write longform fics or just long pieces in general. it's one of the things I've struggled with as a writer, and I'm having a hard time trying to figure out how I could go about it or do it.

I'd be so grateful if you could provide some advice or suggestions 🥹🥹

i want u to know that i saw this ask when u sent it, but i had a 5hr drive today and wanted to make sure i had time to answer this!! it's under the cut bc i yapped a bit <33

so one thing that i feel the need to say up top is that i never go into pieces with a "goal" length/word count (often times my fics end up being longer than i expected/intended). because i never really write with the goal of a specific length in mind, these are things that i think have helped me write more cohesive and narratively fulfilling pieces in general, which tends to make my fics longer

my first thing is planning/outlining!! i used to just write my fics start to finish in one go with little to no planning, and since i've started slowing down and taking my time outlining/planning beforehand (and even during the drafting process i continue adding to my outline), i've seen the average lengths of my fics go up a lot. you don't have to have every single scene, moment, and piece of dialogue planned out before start writing (lord knows i never do), but you should have a pretty good idea of the major story beats, character dynamics, and any important conflicts, and make sure it's written down in a way that's easy for you to refer back to while you write. never think you're gonna keep it all in your head

build out your characters' lives!! i love introducing a good b-plot involving the main character's friends (see: strawberry sunday) that doesn't take too much attention away from the main plot that it seems out of place, but instead complements the main plot and allows there to be space in between those major plot beats for the readers and the characters to breathe. it also helps make your characters feel more well-rounded and real to the readers if you throw in a scene of their daily life at school or work or with their friends/family both to add texture to them but also to your world. it can also be good to use an establishing scene towards the beginning of their daily life, then a similar one towards to the end that shows any character development, or some other impactful change that happened during your story. instead of just telling us that everything in your character's life changed, show us how it did (or didn't! or maybe it only changed a little, but the little change was important, too)

in a similar vein, build out your world!! im not saying to spend ten pages describing an intricate magic system to us that has little bearing on the plot itself, but feel free to weave in extra details about where/when we are and how the characters interact (or dont!) with the world around them (even if its our normal old world in the modern day)

and i mean i guess my last thing that's really helped me is just sort of getting out my head when it comes to writing? like, not forcing myself to write everyday, not having any sort of word count goals, no posting schedule, etc. just letting myself sit with my ideas for a while and really play around and have fun with them. it's made writing fic something that i look forward to doing when i come from work, or when the weekend is approaching, and i genuinely am making probably my favorite things that i've ever made right now. and they happen to be pretty long!!

i've talked some more about my writing process in some other asks (x, x, x, x, x, x) and i have a writing tag where i post about more general writing stuff if you want to hear me yap some more

[indignantlemur]

You’ve talked about visual art a bit, but I was wondering what other types of art/creation Andorians might be partial to (for example: writing, music, theatre, ecc.)

(For writing: I know there’s a big importance in fairytales so I was wondering if they leaned more towards short stories, rather than longer novels or poetry)

(You’re incredible and your writing is amazing btw!)

Hello! Thanks for the ask - this is a great question! (Also: aww, thank you! <3 )

Andorians are huge on music and theatre. The Andorian opera is renowned across the Federation (and beyond) for its technical excellence and emotive storytelling. All Andorians are born with perfect pitch, which gives Andorians a beautiful talent for music in all its forms. Their orchestras are slightly less well known than the operas, but no less talented - and often lauded for their technical excellence. Additionally, while Andorian vocal chords are very similar to Human vocal chords, they do have small structural differences which allow for a slightly broader range of sound on average than Humans generally can achieve. Humans can absolutely perform Andorian operas, but some pieces are extremely taxing and require exceptional range. Also, every single mistake, no matter how slight, will be as loud as a fog horn to every Andorian in the audience so... no pressure.

Theatre and opera developed hand-in-hand for Andorians as a natural development from story-telling during the worst parts of the year where it was too dangerous to venture outside for more than short durations and only if absolutely necessary. From these roots came a deep love of adapting historical and mythological events into dramatic scenes, though it admittedly took a bit longer for fictional stories to catch on as viable sources of inspiration.

(Andorian theatre kids go hard - bodily harm is frequent and expected. The band kids are weirdly militant and treat rehearsal like it's actually life or death, no matter what their instructors say. The choir kids are absolute prima donnas - but the problem is, they actually have the range and talent to back their attitudes up.)

In terms of writing, the long tradition of story-telling gives life to this as well. Andorians have long, spiralling epics that follow the lives of the heroes almost from birth until death, but they also have short stories in the form of folk tales and mythology.

As Andorians developed as a society, writing fiction really took off as a medium for self-expression and, in some cases, a means of offering scrutiny and criticism around a facet of their society. Andorian murder-mystery novels are well known for their twists and turns, often featuring no less than three or four sub-plots revolving around the central plot (at least one of which is a red herring), and they all have painfully, exactingly detailed descriptions of procedure and processing. Andorian romances are either tragic or absolutely filthy - or both. They're not quite as big on fantasy, for some reason. No one can quite get a satisfactory answer out of Andorian authors on that one. Their science fiction is actually pretty interesting, but it tends towards Orwellian themes, usually handling moral quandaries centering around private personhood in a world of ever-encroaching technology and surveillance.

As for poetry, Andorians do enjoy poetry and produce quite a lot of it, but the subject matter tends to be (a) vibrantly colourful and full of visual cues, (b) modern stories modelled on ancient sagas, or (c) enigmatic and heavily veiled in metaphors. The lattermost are considered the most personal, and generally the meaning is only known to the author and, if applicable, the intended recipient(s). Often times, these pieces are kept private even after the author's death, and only very rarely will examples of this kind of poetry make their way to the general public.

Thanks for the ask! I hope I answered everything!

[o-craven-canto]

Does evolution always lead to the survival of the species? As in characteristics evolved will always be helpful to the species. Does evolution always "intend" to favor the species? (MB for the bad English) Do you have any good references to understand evolution in detail

These are complex and controversial questions, so take everything I write with a grain of salt. Are characteristics evolved always beneficial to the species? I would say no.

Remember, evolution does not involve any foresight or anticipation of outcomes. Reproducing organisms produce children with some variation, and some of those varieties will be more effective at producing children in turn. If this greater effectiveness can be inherited through generations, then the varieties that are better at reproducing will become more common and crowd out the others. This is all evolution is, in a nutshell; "everything else is commentary". Inheritable variation first appears by random errors in replication, and then is "judged" only by how effective it is at copying itself.

Depending on the circumstances, this can mean positive-sum cooperation or brutal cutthroat competition; but either way, in stable conditions, a new gene variant will displace the others if, and only if, it's better at making more copies of itself. (I say "in stable conditions" because disasters or migrations can favor a variant over another randomly.)

Now, the actual appearance and selection of new variants happens on the gene level. (Tbf, this is very much a point of contention: but the gene-centric view of evolution is the one I find most convincing.) So what matters in evolution is how good each individual gene is at replicating itself. Under the right conditions it's absolutely possible for lower-level entities to cooperate within higher-level entities: genes within chromosomes within cells within individuals within family groups within populations within ecosystems. And so you see multicellularity, parental care, resource sharing, and mutualist symbiosis.

This can happen, as I wrote, when isolation and inter-depedence mean that each involved gene profits more from cooperating than by going its own way. But as soon as higher- and lower-level entities are in conflict, the lower-level entity, down to the individual gene or at least the organism's genome, will defect. Even if it results in its own destruction! And even if it results, as it often does, in the destruction of the greater entity.

For example, a mutant cell can replicate itself until it becomes a cancer that kills the organism of which it's part. The non-mutant rest of the organism may try to destroy it, but the cancer is not going to stop growing by itself. Or a population of animals, in an isolated environment free from parasites or predators, can grow until it depletes its food source and then dies out. It may be better for the species as a whole to save resources, but without a way to coordinate actions, any lineage that "betrays" the others by consuming more food will win out over the others, until they all die.

In a less immediate way, a species can develop adaptations that are very profitable in the short term, but make it more vulnerable on the longer term (e.g., living on the energy-rich fresh nectar of flowers until an asteroid strikes, covers the world in dust, and all flowers die from lack of sunlight). This happens quite often: after all, the vast majority of all species that ever lived are now extinct!

I hope this rambling answer isn't too unclear. (I think your English is fine, FWIW, though I'm not a native speaker either.)

As for references, I think this one (backup link) is a very good overview of the theory of evolution as a whole, although not the most recent. I will try to provide more.

[banana-pancake5]

Hmmmmm I wanna ask questions but idk where to start (that being said feel free to give me anything else you have, any fleeting thoughts or the like)

BUT DID FRIDA EVER HAVE ANY SUSPICIONS ABOUT THE YUREI AT ALL LIKE WAS THERE ANY MOMENT OF “hmmmm, that’s vaguely familiar but idk why” I CANT REMEMBER IF YOU SAID DEFINITELY WHETHER THEY EVER HAD ANY CONTACT BUT IM IMAGINING THEM BOTH SEPARATELY HAVING THEIR LAST HOPE OF EACH OTHER, FOR EXAMPLE VITAS LAST MOMENTS BEFORE GOING COOKOO ARE JUST SAD TIMES BC SISTER AND FRIDA JUST WISHES FOR HER SISTER ONE LAST TIME BEFORE GIVING IP HOPE AND IM JUST IMAGINING ARTISTIC PARALLELS WITH THEM BOTH FAR AWAY FROM EACH OTHER FEELING THE SAME STUFF (im a bit of a sucker for parallels i think) YEAH IDK WHERE THIS IS GOING BUT YOU ARE MAKING ME FEEL THINGS

Heads up this is basically a live brainstorm. I’m literally writing what comes to my head in the moment and derailing myself many times (this top sentence I’m writing half way through writing everything else below it)

AAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHH YESSSSSS OH I LOVE IT

To actually answer it more in depth, it’s a yes and no kinda? Frida has no hope that Vita is alive— OH WAIT OHNO WAIT IDEAS OKAY I INTERRUPT THIS TRAIN OF THOUGH WITH A SUDDEN IDEA

Okay okay okay what if —hear me out— before Frida begins running the Nexus she hunts down any surviving Foot Clan members as a solo mission type thingy. Through this she finds out —AHHHH THOUGHTS— that Vita was lost to the prison dimension (she just thought Vita was lost in some experiment she didn’t know the details.) after that she DOES have the hope that Vita is alive. She has this small twisted strand of hope that Vita survived all those years trapped and she searches. She goes off and searches for months for her sister and… well I have conflicting ideas… either she does find Yūrei —OH YESYESYEYESY NDIWXJNIJNE—

Okay ALRIGHT. Frida is on this long search for her sister. She’s been searching for months with no sign of anything. She’s on her way back, that small strand of hope finally snapped, but she is attacked by a hoard of Krang hounds, or a Krang mech. While running or fighting she falls with her head slamming against a rock. Her visions is blurry and she’s drifting between states of consciousness. Then Yūrei appears. Frida should be terrified but… she feels oddly safe. She doesn’t make the connection it’s her sister because she believes her sister is long dead, even if she had escaped. Then. Frida loses consciousness completely. When she wakes up she’s in a cave. There’s a fire lit beside her with Yūrei roasting something above it. Yūrei’s Krang mask is set down by the fire. She sat staring at the fire with a wide smile spread across her face. She stifled a few giggles with a hand to her mouth. When Frida stirred slightly Yūreis smile dropped into a scowl as her head whipped toward her. Her vibrant krangified eyes met with Frida’s frightful gaze. Then before Frida could blink Yūrei took her mask off the floor and dashed away. Frida didn’t recognize her as Vita but felt a strange connection. She didn’t get a good look at her but if she had she would have known in an instant. After that interaction Frida started back up the Hotel and in the back of her mind hoped that Yūrei would stumble upon it. She wanted to feel that connection again. She wanted to know why she felt it.

AH OKAY SO UH YEAH.

OH OH OH!! And when Vita sat there smiling at the fire it was because of the feeling that stranger (Frida) gave her. It made her feel warm and fuzzy and she couldn’t place it. It felt so right to be beside Frida. She felt an almost primal urge to protect Frida with her life. But her other instincts were screaming at her to get away. That it was dangerous. So she fled, in fear.

OKAY YIKES THIS HAS GOTTEN LONGER THAN INTENDED BUT I HAVE MORE MISCELLANEOUS THOUGHTS I WANNA SHARE

OOOOOOKKKKKKAAAAAYYYYYYY

Perhaps at one point Vita met Leo???? Similar to the situation above but when Leo is on a mission WITH BABY CASEY she comes and saves him from what would be a fatal blow. Leo doesn’t stick around but as he runs off with Jr. he hears her manic laugh and recognizes it as Yūrei. But, when he shares the tail with his brothers they don’t believe him. It’s a “Boy who cried wolf” scenario. I imagine Leo would love to try and scare his brothers with false stories of meeting Yūrei.

OKAY JADE IM DONE. BUT LIKE DUSHNCDSJHNCDSJISN I LOVE THAT PARALLEL SO MUCH YESYESYESYES!!!! AHHHHHHHHHHH IM DYING. I WOULD LOVE MORE QUESTIONS OR LIL THOUGHTS LIKE THIS (if you have any or want to send em ^-^) BC BOY OH DOES IT MAKE ME THINK.

[czenzo]

talk shop tuesday! i really really like your l&co skullyle flavoured modern au!! it hasn't left my mind since, your work is incredible at keeping dynamics from books and adapting them for this fic's setting! but is there something that you are especially proud of or wanted to talk about from this series?

oh tysm, I adore the Skullyle internet friends au and I'm so glad others do too – especially one of my favourite L&Co artists, wtf!!

I got a bit carried away with my answer, so I'll pop it under a read more:

one of my favourite parts of the series (and just writing Lucy and Skull in general, really) is the duo's banter. their silly humour comes quite naturally to me since it's similar to my own, so it feels like I'm putting a little bit of myself into the fics I write about them! it's why compliments on their dynamic/conversations bring a really big smile to my face.

I'm also quite proud of how I've reflected their canon relationship in this modern au; Lucy is still the only one who can hear/communicate with Skull, and she's still able to cut him off mid-sentence by hanging up on him in lieu of closing the jar's grille. in a way, Lucy's phone is the modern version of the skull jar! someone clocked this in the comments of Missed Call and it made me SO happy :D I'd hate to steal all the credit for the concept, though – Pretty Boy and the whole au was inspired by this post by @lucy-lockwood!

speaking of the phone: a lovely someone asked whether Skull actually intended to call Lucy at midnight for Reasons Unknown... no comment from me right now, but we may circle back to this when I write more for the series... 👀

I was also pretty chuffed with the formatting for Missed Call. I'd never really played around with ao3 html before so it took me quite some time to figure it out, but seeing the finished thing made it all feel worth it! seeing this part fully formatted made me laugh way more than it should've:

one last little thing: Lucy's icon is a vinyl of Nirvana live at Paradiso, Amsterdam. I spent a while looking for one that felt right; I knew I wanted it to be blue (for obvious reasons) and it had to be something I could see her listening to. it's nearly impossible to make out in the final fic but it's just a fun little detail :) and Skull's display name is blue because, well, that's a Lucy colour! and they're kind of made for each other.

ah, yes. soulmates.

this ended up so much longer than I anticipated, I'm so sorry uiesfbksfbeoasdbkj I really do love this au, if it wasn't already glaringly obvious. I'm looking forward to writing more of it – and thank you again for this lovely ask! <3

[soongtypehuman]

Update on Things

It’s been almost 4 months since the craniotomy that removed the tumor that was crushing my brain. The hope was that the surgery would cure the mild to moderate cognitive issues I was dealing with, or at least stop them from progressing. I’m sorry to say that wasn’t the case, and many of the problems have gotten dramatically worse.

I don’t want to go into too much detail, least of all because it’s boring. My short-term memory, ability to read and write, as well as speak fluidly, have all been affected negatively. I’ve just had another EEG to see if the seizures are continuing, and will have another MRI this week to assess the amount of damage to my brain from the tumor that had been affecting it for years and any damage caused by the surgery, and to check for a stroke. It’s a lot of fuckery I don’t have all the answers for yet. Once I have answers, then I can begin a more exacting treatment for the problem(s).

Unfortunately, as I said above, the problems are affecting my ability to write.

Planning and outlining have always been the backbone of my writing process, but even more so now. Everything is slower and requires a lot more concerted effort and lots of revision.

In short, I’m not able to create as quickly as I once could, although I’m hoping that will change eventually with enough rehab and figuring out new ways to work around my setbacks.

Ideally, I’d like to continue posting every Sunday, just as I have for over a year, but I might have to accept the idea that, as far as things go at the moment, I might not be able to use my writing time for both a weekly ficlet while also finding the time, energy, and focus to work on longer fics. For the time being at least, I might have to switch to posting every other week so I can allot more time and attention to the longer fics.

I just don’t know yet and can’t set anything in stone either way.

But I did want to say something about all of this because I was worried people might see me posting less frequently or posting work that isn’t as long as it used to be and think that I’ve gotten lazy or lost interest. That couldn’t be further from the truth. If anything, my love of this series is one of the few things in my life that brings me joy and that I can count on (my most beloved @monotremer being the main source of that), and one of my biggest motivators in rehab is trying to return to being focused and prolific where my writing is concerned. But I also have to accept that some things may never return to the way they were.

In any event, I hope to keep posting work regularly, but hope everyone understands if I’m not always able to do that.

Updates on what’s coming:

I was working on a longer fic to post to the Data/Lore collection today, but didn’t finish it, so there’s a shorter ficlet in the non-explicit Positronic Rivalry collection instead. The D/L fic should be ready to post next Sunday (fingers crossed). And while all that’s happening, I’m still working on the multi-chapter in the main series that got much bigger than I originally intended. It’s slow going, but it’s going, and my hope is that it’ll be ready to post in July.

[magpiefngrl]

3, 21, 28, 34 for the asks, it’s so interesting when you talk about your writing :)

Ooh thank you so much, anon! I love talking about writing but am insecure and always feel no one cares. Thanks for reassuring me <3

3. How would you describe your writing style?

And off we go with a question I don't think I can answer lol

Mentioning my strengths as a writer is easier because I rely a lot on the feedback I receive and what readers tell me. But my style in general is much harder for me to pinpoint, and I'd love to hear from readers as to what they think it's like. I've been humorous in some of my fics and more poetic and lyrical at others. I like to use metaphors. I love to write long sentences and I adorn them liberally with semicolons and colons. I guess you could say my style is baroque, or at least leans that way.

21. Can you accurately predict how long your fics are going to be? If you can, what's your secret?

Nope. I've no fucking clue. I assumed some of my longer fics would be around 10k and they were three times the length. With the shorter ones I tend to write them in one sitting so I can tell that I'm writing a 2-3k fic.

I'm trying to predict how long the original romance I'm working on is going to be. My goal is 40k, but I'm looking at the number of side characters I've created and I fear it's going to be longer than that. I prob created too many and will need to sideline a few.

That's can be a way to gauge, I suppose: the amount of secondary characters will necessitate more scenes establishing all the different relationships. More characters=a longer story. Not a hard and fast rule, but it might help.

28. Any writing advice that works for you and you feel like sharing?

My favourite question! I have a lot of Opinions on writing and I love to be given the chance to voice them.

OK so one tip that always works for me: when I'm stuck in a scene, I stop and describe the setting in detail. This might not be a big help for people who outline but for pantsers like me, it's worth giving it a try.

Say, for example, Draco is at a house party of one of his relatives, Harry's there, they don't talk. They aren't friendly. I know I want Draco to approach him but I'm stuck. He wouldn't go and just talk to him, it doesn't work for this fic. I'm stuck and can't think of how to proceed.

Then I might start typing:

"It was a splendid room, large and airy with velvet curtains that drifted in the summer night breeze. Every piece of furniture was chosen meticulously, antiques paired with design pieces, bold combinations that worked as they were intended to: to impress and intimidate. The chandelier over their heads cast light on the wine-red carpets. A painting of the lady of the Manor hung over the ornate fireplace; her stern gaze warned her guests to behave, or else. Draco had been subjected to her gaze all his life. A desire to misbehave overwhelmed him, to stick a finger up to her and her ilk, smash the delicate crystal flutes and dance on the shards.

Or he could snog Harry Potter in front of everyone. That should do it."

And I go "Oooh so that's why he approaches Harry!" I wouldn't have come up with the reason if I hadn't described the painting. This trick got me out of plenty of stuck moments, and my guess is that when I describe the setting I feel more grounded in the world of my story. I feel like I'm right in it and it's easier to imagine what happens next. I often delete some of the description--it did its job, which was to get me unstuck.

I just came up with the paragraph above and now I kinda want to write the fic lol

34. Do you write to improve? Or is that not a concern for you?

Improvement is a constant concern for me. At times it has actually been detrimental for my health because every single thing I did had to benefit my writing in some way. ("oh look pretty clouds! How would I describe them in a story?") It meant that I got no mental rest. Ever. Luckily, I've learned to take it easy.

Writing isn't the only thing that helps me improve: reading is the big one. Seeing how other authors structure their stories, construct sentences, use dialogue and setting. Also watching TV series and films makes me think about what I can learn to use on my writing.

I don't write fic to improve per se, like it's an assignment, but I do want to improve. I wantt o tell a story but I also think about the writing. Some fics are my attempts on working on a craft element. I've got a wangxian WIP which is a frame story, and I'm very keen on getting that one done.

yet another writing ask

[fastcardotmp3]

16, 65, 71 for the writer asks!!

hello anon thank you for asking on this fine saturday!

✨fic asks✨

16. How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Share one of them?

I don't know how many of them I'm actually nurturing but I have so many ideas all the time and no time or energy to make them happen to their full potential!! gah!! But I think specifically the last few weeks I've had Kali on the mind and I'd really like to devote some time to a longer fic about her. I only have the vague vibes of a story for it, and it's a little extra hard to find motivation knowing that it will never be a particularly reader-rich premise, but it's scratching at my brain very much so!!!

65. Tell us what you're most looking forward to writing - in your current project or a future project

I'm not actively working on them yet (maybe once I'm done with the METAMORPHOSES one shot) but I've only got 2 parts left of my kas!chrissy series before it's done! I started that one intending it to just be loose snapshots of an AU I couldn't get out of my head, but it got away from me and got itself a narrative, so I'm excited for it to be rounded out and feel complete <3

71. When it comes to more complicated narratives, how do you keep track of outlines, characters, development, timeline, etc?

I think the best example of this from my ~catalogue is probably METAMORPHOSES, and the way I did it there was kind of simultaneous planning and winging it tbh. I work best with a structure that's kept loose enough that I can play around in it, so I knew Opening, Midpoint, and Ending from the beginning of the process, but let myself outline more detailed points chapter-to-chapter, usually one ahead of where I was actively writing so I had something to point my compass towards. I wish I had a better answer than "vibing it out" but it really is dependent on a sense of rhythm for me when I'm writing that comes from just thinking about different iterations of the thing before ever writing them down. Daydreaming about your own stories IS writing and I'll die on that hill actually!

[hpowellsmith]

Spoilers for the Noblesse Oblige epilogue in an ask and answer from @geldar13 and general thoughts on endings and epilogues below:

The last chapter is indeed intended to be an epilogue. There are chances for the player to express that they're making plans to move away or do something else in the future, but it's true that you don't play through that onscreen. I understand the suddenness feeling - making Noblesse Oblige helped me learn a lot about pacing and how, other than just writing more, I can help game plot developments and endings feel less sudden when playing. I think Royal Affairs paced out the lead-up to the ending, and the ending itself, in a way that felt longer (as well as literally being longer).

In general I see an epilogue as a broad term that describes a section rounding off the story after some sort of time skip. But I also see player expectations of a section that doesn't include choices (like a Fallout or Outer Worlds epilogue slideshow cutscene) and/or that shows what happens to character(s) in the much longer term, perhaps many years in the future. Which isn't something I tend to do in any of my games (except King of the Castle, which is a very different animal!).

In general I'm not interested in wrapping up every loose thread - even without something being a series, I prefer to let players imagine their characters' futures, partly because I like to imagine what my character does post-game rather than have it dictated to me. But I definitely understand wanting those sorts of details to be seen as part of the game.

Also somewhat related, though not so much in answer to your question: if something is a series with different characters, like the Creme de la Creme series, I don't like to shut off my own options for the setting's future. For example, during Royal Affairs beta testing I was asked about showing how NPC-NPC romances would develop years down the line, whether NPCs would have children together, etc. But at that stage of writing I had no idea how those NPCs being in a romance might affect their lives in the long term or how that might or might not be visible in a future game. So I prefer not to pin that sort of detail down until it comes up later in the ingame chronology and is relevant then!

[stargazer-sims]

🖊️🖊️🖊️- Seiji, Haru, Victor

Thanks @dandylion240 !

haha I could write a lot about Victor especially, but I’ll try not to go too wild with it 😆 Anyway, here you go! This is going to be kind of spoiler-y in places. Oops 😬

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Hinamori Seiji

Where to start with Seiji...?

Seiji is an only child. As a result, he's very close to his parents, and he also tends to think of his friends as the siblings he never had. He's sure his best friend Takahiro is the closest he'll ever get to having a brother, and he certainly loves him like one.

Seiji and Takahiro met when they were ten years old, when Taka's family moved to Mt. Komorebi from the city. They met before the new school year began, and they were pleased to discover they'd be attending the same all-boys school. Taka was scared about being the new kid in school, but Seiji assured him that he didn't need to worry about it because he'd already be his friend and would protect him if other kids gave him a hard time. He was true to his word, and he and Taka have stuck together ever since, through all the good and bad times in their lives so far.

Seiji is named after his great-grandfather. People who've seen photos of the last man to hold the largely honourary title of Lord Hinamori say that Seiji has grown up to look just like him, and as much as Seiji pretends to scoff at this, he really can't deny the resemblance.

The similarity became even more apparent when he met Sachiko Kobayashi for the first time, and she immediately got down on her knees to bow to him, and called him Hinamori-sama because she initially mistook him for someone from her past. When she was alive, Sachiko had been a servant to Seiji's family on their estate. She'd worked in the now-famous gardens, but had been a particular favourite of Seiji's great-great-grandfather, the elder Lord Seiryu Hinamori, and was often asked to come into the main house to perform other tasks.

Sachiko is the ghost that inhabited Victor & Yuri Okamoto-Nelson's house in Willow Creek. Seiji's meeting with her came about when Taka and his then-fiancé Fox invited Seiji to come and stay with them for a whlie. Seiji, who'd never left his country before, was terrified about travelling to Canada, but he really missed his friends Taka and Victor (and their partners) and wanted to see them, so he agreed to go. He initially stayed with Taka and Fox in their apartment, but soon moved into Victor and Yuri's basement guest room. He said it was to give Taka and Fox back their privacy in their tiny apartment, but it actually had more to do with being close to Sachiko than anything else. He ended up staying a lot longer than he'd originally planned to.

Seiji and Sachiko discovered that they'd each lost someone they loved before having a chance to confess their feelings; Seiji because his unrequited love Tsubaki had died, and Sachiko because she had died before telling her love — Lord Seiji — how she felt.

At first, Seiji didn't know how to react to this ghost telling him she'd been in love with his great-grandfather, but he soon found that he was able to look past that uncanny detail and recognize Sachiko as a sort of kindred spirit (no pun intended). He was able to see her as someone who hadn't yet healed from a devastating loss, and despite himself, he wanted to help her in any way he could.

As it happened, Sachiko helped him too. They grew close, and without even realizing it at first, they fell in love with each other. This caused Sachiko a great deal of stress once she understood what was happening, because their love seemed impossible and she was worried Seiji would be hurt all over again. Seiji, for his part, was determined to find out if there was some way to restore Sachiko to life. Even if it was impossible, he swore to himself that he wouldn't stop until he had an answer, one way or the other. It gave him a sense of purpose that he hadn't had for a long time, if ever.

SPOILER

There did, in fact, turn out to be a way. It wasn't easy, and it took time, effort and a voyage back to Japan. Seiji's friends thought he'd totally lost his mind, but he was absolutely not going to give up once he knew.

Afterwards, Seiji and Sachiko decided not to stay in Willow Creek. Seiji took her home to Mt. Komorebi, and they settled down together and eventually started a family of their own. They often visit the Hinamori family estate, where Seiji's grandparents, uncle, aunt & cousins live, and Sachiko finds great irony in the fact that she is now a lady of the estate rather than a servant.

__________

Abe Sakuharu

One thing about Haru is that he never shies away from a challenge. Because of his disability, there were a lot of things he was never expected to be able to do, including living independently. Although it's true that he might not do well living completely on his own, he's definitely capable of looking after himself and everyone who knows him now considers him to be a functional, independent adult (okay, maybe not everyone thinks he's an adult, but still...)

Haru has a form of FASD (fetal alcohol spectrum disorder) known as alcohol-related neurodevelopmental disorder. Fortunately for him, his physical delays were mild. He was later meeting his milestones like sitting up, crawling, walking and feeding himself than typical kids, but he did eventually meet all of them and is physically "normal" now. His biggest challenges are non-physical, as he has issues with memory, attention, judgment and impulse control. Sometimes he has a hard time regulating his emotions as well. In terms of cognitive delays, he's quite intelligent but struggles with academic things; reading and writing in particular.

As a child, he had behavioural issues, but has since recognized those were mainly due to frustration, anxiety, and an inability to express himself and make his needs and feelings clearly understood. He worked with a therapist when he was a kid/young teen, who helped him develop coping strategies for anxiety, anger and frustration, and helped him find safe and healthy ways to communicate his needs.

Haru loves poetry, music and dance. Performing is the best and healthiest means of self-expression he knows. Most people don't realize it, but for him, being a performer is just as much therapy as it is a career.

One of the best things to have happened in Haru's life recently was meeting his boyfriend, Eden. Haru is afraid to tell most people about his disability because he's scared he'll be judged for it, but he told Eden, and Eden accepted it without any hesitation whatsoever. It's not that Eden is ignorant of Haru's challenges, but that he sees Haru as a whole person and not just as his disability. Haru loves that. One of the things he's constantly craved in his life are people who love and accept him as he is, and he's grateful to have found that in Eden.

----------

Victor Okamoto-Nelson

After retiring from his career as a competitive snowboarder, Victor ultimately settled on nursing as the profession he wanted to pursue. He's always known he wanted to work in healthcare in some capacity, but it took him a long time to decide because he'd always been worried about whether or not he could handle the training and whether or not he'd be any good in his chosen field.

Since finding out that his difficulties with reading were due to an eye condition rather than an intellectual deficit, his confidence in his ability to do academic things skyrocketed. There was no stopping him once his vision was corrected. He happily wears his glasses or contacts with the same satisfaction and pride as he'd wear a medal after a competition, as if they're a badge of achievement. He supposes they really are like that in some ways, because they represent the moment when he realized he could be way more than just an athlete.

Victor originally thought he might like to do home-care nursing, but his first clinical placement was in pediatrics, and after one day on the pediatric floor of Willow Creek Regional Hospital he immediately knew he'd found his calling. The registered nurse who'd supervised him told his professors that she thought he was a natural with kids. His gentleness and patience (and appropriate silliness) were valuable considerations for his supervisor.

Now, he and his best friend & step-sister Ellie are co-workers at the hospital. Ellie, also a nurse, works in the ICU. They're both extremely busy, but they try to catch up for a snack and a cup of tea whenever their breaks coincide.

Of course, they also spend loads of time together outside work, just like they've done all their lives. "The team" which used to be Victor, Ellie and Leo, has now expanded to include Yuri, as well as Yuri's friend Takahiro and his husband Fox. (Bonus: Leo and Taka also work together at one of the local preschools).

Victor loves his life. He has a job he's passionate about, a beautiful home, and a spouse who's devoted to him and who he's equally devoted to. He's lucky enough to have the freedom and opportunity to do what he enjoys, and he's happy about that. He still takes part in a lot of sports, including snowboarding, and he still likes to train dogs. He and Yuri travel a lot, usually whenever he has vacation time.

He's the uncle (or honourary uncle) to a lot of adorable kids, and he loves that, too. As far as he's concerned, it's the ideal situation. He gets to love them and play with them and teach them things, but doesn't have the problem of being tied down with full-time responsibility for them. His favourite kids are his step-niece Leonora and Camellia Abbottsford, probably because they both remind him of himself at their age.