#once again i am not quite sure where this came from

[theonottsbxtch]

WHEN THE WORLD GOES QUIET PT 1 | LN4

an: i was listening to an orchestra version of young and beautiful by lana del rey when this idea came into my mind. i am so ahh feral over this version of lando i've written. i hope you enjoy him as much as i enjoyed writing him and as much as @iimplicitt loved reading about him.

wc: 5.8k

THE CITY WAS BURNING AGAIN.

Smoke curled into the night, thick and suffocating, folding itself around the bones of London like a funeral shroud. Somewhere beyond the rubble, the sirens had stopped, but their echoes lingered, rattling against her ribs.

She walked through the dark with her hands buried in the pockets of her coat, head bowed against the cold. She should have gone home—should have counted her rations, mended her stockings, whispered a prayer for the city’s dead. Instead, she turned down a narrow street where the lamps had long been extinguished, following the sound of muffled jazz bleeding from behind a half-broken door.

The Starling Club still stood, stubborn and smoke-filled, its windows blacked out, its basement packed with men and women who refused to die quietly.

Inside, the air was thick with sweat, whisky, and the ghost of some lost summer, the scent of gardenias clinging to the collar of her coat. Someone had patched the ceiling where shrapnel had torn through last winter. A pianist played slow, heavy notes from a corner stage, and in the candlelight, she almost forgot the world was ending.

She reached the bar, slipping into the last empty seat, her fingers tightening around the edge of the counter.

And then—him.

A man sat beside her, sleeves rolled to his elbows, uniform jacket slung over the back of his chair. RAF, she thought. The kind of man who lived in the sky, who counted time in take-offs and landings, who made promises he had no business making. Curly brown hair and eyes light like they lit up a barrack.

She could feel him looking at her before she turned her head.

"Whisky?" he asked, his voice edged with smoke and something rougher, something worn.

She exhaled slowly, meeting his gaze. His face was all sharp angles and tired eyes, chocolate brown hair curling at his temples. He looked too young to be carrying ghosts, but they lingered in the hollows of his face, just the same.

She hesitated. "I don’t take drinks from strangers."

He smirked. "Good thing I’m not a stranger, then."

She raised an eyebrow. "Aren’t you?"

He leaned in just slightly, amusement flickering in his gaze.

"Lando," he murmured. "Now we’re acquainted."

The pianist started a new song, something slow and aching. A woman laughed too loudly in the corner. Somewhere above them, the city still smouldered.

She could have walked away. She should have.

Instead, she lifted the whisky glass he had placed in front of her, let the burn settle in her throat, and stayed.

The whisky burned the way the night did—slow at first, then all at once. She wasn’t sure why she stayed. Maybe it was the way he leaned against the bar like he belonged there, like he had nowhere else to be. Maybe it was the way his gaze never quite left hers, watching without expectation, without urgency, just quiet curiosity.

"You're not military," he said after a moment, tipping his glass towards her. A statement, not a question.

She swallowed, setting her drink down. "No."

"Thought all the good girls were off knitting socks for the war effort."

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "Thought all the good boys were supposed to be fighting it."

Lando smirked, tilting his head slightly. "Oh, I fight." He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. "I just haven’t lost yet."

Yet. The word sat between them, heavy and inevitable.

She glanced down at his uniform, the creases still sharp despite the scent of cigarettes and whisky clinging to him. The wings on his sleeve glinted under the dim light. "RAF," she murmured.

He nodded. "And you?"

She hesitated. She could tell him anything, and it would make no difference. In a city like this, names meant little, and the future meant even less.

"I sing," she said finally.

His eyes flickered with something unreadable. "Of course you do."

She frowned. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

Lando shrugged. "You’ve got the look."

She scoffed. "And what look is that?"

He studied her—really looked this time. She felt his gaze trace over the curls pinned at the nape of her neck, the smudge of ash on the cuff of her coat, the way her red dress peeked through when the fabric shifted.

"Like you’ve got something to run from," he said finally. "And nowhere to run to."

Her breath caught, sharp and sudden, like he had pulled something from inside her and placed it on the bar between them.

She reached for her glass again, more for something to hold than for the whisky itself. Outside, the world was burning. Somewhere in the East End, families would wake to nothing but dust and open sky. And yet, here they sat, drinking, waiting, listening to the low hum of jazz and the quiet certainty of things that could never last.

"Tell me something, Lando," she said, tilting her head. "Do you say things like that to all the girls?"

He smiled, slow and lopsided. "Only the ones worth saying them to."

She huffed, shaking her head, but she didn’t look away.

Because for all the places she could have been that night—for all the choices she could have made—she had ended up here. And maybe that meant something.

Or maybe it didn’t mean anything at all.

Either way, she stayed.

Lando watched her over the rim of his glass, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. She wondered if he was studying her the way she was studying him—if he was collecting details, trying to decide what sort of woman she was.

She already knew what sort of man he was.

Not just a soldier. A pilot. The kind who played cards with death every time he took to the sky, betting his life against gravity and steel. The kind who laughed too easily, drank too much, and lived like he knew he wouldn’t be doing it for long.

"How often do you fly?" she asked, swirling the whisky in her glass.

Lando smirked, as if he knew what she really meant. How much time do you have?

"Every time they ask me to."

"And when you're not in the air?"

"I do this," he said, gesturing vaguely to the bar, the smoke, the dim candlelight. "Drink. Try to forget I'm going back up."

She studied him for a moment. "Do you like it?"

His smirk faltered, just a little. "Flying?"

She nodded.

He exhaled, rolling his shoulders as if he could shake the question off. "I used to."

"And now?"

Lando tapped his fingers against the bar. "Now I just do it because it’s the only thing I know how to do."

Something in her chest pulled, just slightly.

She had heard men talk like this before. Men who came into the club wearing uniforms like second skins, who drank until their hands stopped shaking, who kissed girls they didn’t love just to feel something real before the world took them away.

She could have asked more. Could have pushed. But what would have been the point?

Instead, she finished her whisky, let the warmth settle in her throat, and slid from her seat.

Lando raised an eyebrow. "Leaving?"

She shook her head. "I’m sure you wanted a song, didn’t you?"

For the first time since she sat down, he looked surprised. Then, his lips curled into something almost like satisfaction.

"I did," he murmured.

She smirked, stepping away from the bar. "Then pay attention."

She didn’t look back as she moved towards the stage. Didn’t need to. She could feel him watching her.

The pianist glanced up as she approached, recognising her instantly. He dipped his head, fingers moving effortlessly over the keys, shifting into something slow, something aching.

She stepped into the light, gripping the microphone with steady hands.

The first note left her lips like smoke curling into the night.

The room quieted, the low hum of conversation fading into stillness. The band followed her lead, the bass murmuring beneath her voice, the piano rising and falling like waves.

She had never been a religious woman, not really. But music was the closest thing to prayer she knew.

She closed her eyes. Let the words settle on her tongue. Let herself disappear into the song.

For a moment, there was nothing but melody. Nothing but the way the room held its breath, the way the war didn’t exist here, not in this single, fleeting moment.

And then, too soon, it was over.

Applause rippled through the club as she stepped down from the stage, but she barely heard it. She made her way back to the bar, slipping into her seat, heartbeat still thrumming in her ears.

Lando was watching her, the remnants of a cigarette burning between his fingers. But it wasn’t the same gaze from before. This was something else. Something deeper.

His eyes flickered down, just briefly.

She followed his gaze—to the delicate gold cross resting against her collarbone, catching in the candlelight.

Lando exhaled slowly, tipping his glass towards her.

"You a woman of God?"

She glanced at him, then at the whisky in her hand, then back again.

A slow smile pulled at her lips.

"Depends on who’s asking."

Lando huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he stubbed out his cigarette. "Well, it isn’t me," he said, voice edged with amusement. "God and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms."

She raised an eyebrow, swirling the last of her whisky in her glass. "That so?"

He nodded, leaning back against the bar, fingers drumming idly against the counter. "I used to believe. Proper altar boy, once upon a time. The whole lot—prayers, confessions, even Latin." He smirked, but there was no real humour in it. "Then I grew up. Went to war. And it got a bit harder to buy into the whole merciful God thing."

She understood what he was saying before he even finished. She had seen it in the eyes of so many soldiers—young men sent to the front with medals in their pockets and fear in their throats, coming home half-alive, empty-handed, faith left rotting in the trenches.

"Didn’t seem to be much mercy up there," Lando murmured, taking another sip of his drink.

She didn’t answer right away. Just traced her fingers over the edge of her cross absently, as if she wasn’t even aware she was doing it.

Lando noticed.

"You still believe, then?" he asked, watching her carefully.

She exhaled slowly. "I don’t know," she admitted. "I suppose it depends on the day."

He smirked. "That complicated, is it?"

"Everything is complicated," she said simply. "Faith. Love. War. You name it."

Lando tilted his head slightly, considering her. "But you still wear the cross."

She glanced down at the delicate gold chain resting against her skin. It had been her mother’s, passed down with whispered prayers and expectations, pressed into her palm with the weight of generations.

"It’s not that simple," she murmured.

Lando watched her, something unreadable flickering behind his tired eyes. "Sure it is," he said. "Either you believe, or you don’t."

She let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. "You make it sound so easy."

"Isn’t it?"

"No," she said softly, turning the chain between her fingers. "It’s never easy."

She could have told him everything then—about the Sundays spent kneeling in pews, reciting words she wasn’t sure she believed. About the rosary beads pressed into her hands as a child, the whispered warnings of sin and damnation, the way faith had been both a comfort and a noose around her throat.

She could have told him about the way she still prayed sometimes, even now, in the middle of air raids, when the sirens screamed and the ground shook and she wasn’t sure if she would see another sunrise.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she drained the rest of her whisky and met his gaze, steady and unflinching.

"Do you ever pray?" she asked, tilting her head.

Lando scoffed. "No."

"Not even up there?" She nodded towards the ceiling, though they both knew she meant the sky.

His smirk faltered, just a little.

He looked away, fingers tightening around his glass.

"Not even then," he said.

A silence stretched between them, heavy and unspoken. The music swelled again—something slow, something aching. Laughter rang from the other side of the club, distant and hollow.

She should have said something light. Should have teased him, steered the conversation back to safer ground.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she let the silence settle, let it stretch between them like the space between confession and absolution, between faith and doubt, between a war that had already taken too much and a city that refused to fall.

And Lando—he didn’t look away.

He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw before glancing at her again. "So, tell me," he said, tilting his head. "How does a girl like you end up here, singing to a room full of half-drunk soldiers?"

She smiled, slow and knowing. "A girl like me?"

"You know what I mean."

She shrugged, fingers ghosting over the rim of her empty glass. "I come to offer one song. No more, no less."

His brows lifted slightly. "That a rule?"

"A promise."

Lando smirked. "To yourself?"

She didn’t answer right away, just let her gaze drift to the candlelight flickering against the bottles behind the bar. "Something like that."

Silence settled between them, thick and unspoken. The city outside still smouldered, and the weight of the war pressed against the walls of the club, but for a moment, none of it seemed to matter.

Then, she pushed back her chair.

Lando frowned. "Where you off to?"

She reached for her coat, draping it over her shoulders with an easy grace. "Home."

"That time already?"

"It is for me."

Lando leaned forward, arms folded on the bar as he watched her. "And you do this every night? Show up, sing your one song, then disappear into the night like some ghost?"

She smiled, but there was something unreadable in her expression. "Not every night."

"Right," he said, standing as well, reaching for his own jacket. "Come on, then."

She blinked. "Come on where?"

"I'll walk you home."

She let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. "I can make it home just fine."

Lando smirked. "Oh, I don't doubt that, sweetheart. But imagine how awful I'd feel if London swallowed you up and I never got to hear that one song again."

She exhaled through her nose, amused despite herself. "And you suppose I owe you that?"

"Not at all," he said easily. "But if I'm to keep a shred of my gentlemanly reputation, I think it's best I see you home safe."

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, stepping towards the door. He followed.

The air outside was crisp, heavy with the scent of smoke and damp stone. The city was quieter now, save for the distant hum of sirens that never truly stopped.

They walked in step, their strides easy, their conversation slipping into something softer. She asked him about flying—what it felt like to be in the air, to see the world from above. He asked her about singing—whether she’d always done it, whether it made her feel alive or only made her remember things she’d rather forget.

They stopped at a newspaper stand, the little wooden kiosk barely held together by nails and hope. A young boy sat on a stool behind it, his face smudged with ink, idly flipping through an old paper.

Lando rapped his knuckles against the counter. "Got a pen and paper, mate?"

The boy eyed him warily but rummaged under the counter and produced both. Lando took them, resting the paper against the kiosk’s edge as he scrawled something quickly.

He tore the sheet and turned to her, holding it out between two fingers.

"If you ever take pity on a man like me," he murmured.

She hesitated—just for a second—then reached for it, tucking it into the top of her dress with the faintest glint of mischief in her eyes.

Lando let out a low whistle, shaking his head. "My writing between God and your heart. Ain’t I a lucky fella?"

She smirked, stepping back. "Don’t get used to it."

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it," he said, but his eyes told a different story.

They stood there for a moment longer, the city stretching out around them, time slipping between their fingers like cigarette smoke.

Then, she turned, her silhouette vanishing into the dark.

And Lando—he stayed a moment longer, watching the place where she had been, wondering if she’d ever let him hear more than just one song.

For weeks on end, they developed a pattern. When he had two feet on the ground, when the sky had allowed him a minute to breathe, he'd be at her door by eight, sharp as a whistle. He always came in the same way—casual, like the weight of the world hadn’t been pressing on him for days. But it was there, in the quiet of her flat, in the heavy glint of his eyes when they met hers. He would always find a seat by the window, leaning back against the wall, a half smile tugging at his lips as he waited.

And she—well, she’d never turn him away. Not once. Even when she wanted to, even when she felt the heaviness of it all, the creeping doubt of having something real with a man who could disappear in the blink of an eye. She never did. Instead, she'd pour them both a drink, settle herself at the piano, and without fail, she'd give him that one song. The one he’d asked for the first night they'd met, and the one he’d heard a hundred times since.

But sometimes, just sometimes, there was another song.

On quiet nights, when the air outside had that bite to it, when the windows rattled with the passing of distant bombers and the streets lay still beneath the weight of silence, Lando would hear it in the corners of the room.

On her doorstep, late at night after the club had emptied, she’d stand and hum low and soft. It wasn’t a song anyone would know, not from a record or the radio. It was something new, something raw. Something that lived between her ribs and spilled out on the nights when the world was too loud, when the weight of it all felt too much. It was the song she didn’t want anyone to hear, except perhaps him. And even then, only in these quiet moments, in the narrow alleyways behind the club where their shadows tangled like ghosts.

One night, when he’d walked her home, they paused in Piccadilly Square, the old clock tower chiming softly in the distance, and the neon lights of the cinema flickering like tired fireflies. The street was mostly empty, save for the odd stray cat and the distant murmur of voices from the pubs.

Lando leaned against the lamppost, hands in his pockets, looking at her like he always did—like she was something just beyond his reach.

"Go on, then," he said, his voice low, almost an afterthought.

She tilted her head. "What?"

"Sing me that other one."

She didn’t hesitate. Just let the words roll off her tongue like they’d been waiting to escape for ages. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t rehearsed. But it was real.

For a moment, she was lost in the song—lost in the way it echoed off the stone buildings, in the way the night air seemed to hold its breath. It was soft, aching, and tender, and when it ended, she felt something shift inside her, something like a weight lifting, like she’d let go of a small piece of herself that she hadn’t known she was holding.

Lando didn’t speak at first. He just watched her, his gaze more intense than usual.

"Where’d that come from?" he asked, his voice rough, as though the song had caught him off guard.

She shrugged, offering him a small, almost sad smile. "Just a little something I’ve been keeping to myself."

He studied her for a long moment, his brow furrowing slightly, before he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, crumpled piece of paper and a pen. He scribbled something on it, the pen moving quickly, but with care, like he was writing a letter he didn’t want to send.

When he was done, he folded it and tucked it into her hand. "Don’t forget me," he said, the words soft but weighted, as if he already knew that the world might pull them apart soon enough. This was the third time he’d changed base.

She tucked the paper into the top of her dress, the cold of the night settling into her bones as she met his eyes.

"Don’t you worry, Lan," she said, her voice quieter than usual. "I won’t."

And for a long moment, there was only the sound of their breathing, mingling with the hum of the city around them. The world may have been crumbling in places—may have been falling apart piece by piece—but in that small, fragile moment, it felt like nothing could touch them.

But everything always did, in the end.

His address had burned in her pillowcase, the ink from his note faint against the fabric, yet it never seemed to fade. She’d memorised it in the quiet, sleepless hours, tracing it with her fingers long after the paper had gone.

It had been a week since she’d seen him. Seven days. No letters, no word, nothing but the silence that spread across the empty spaces between them. Nothing could have happened, not really. He’s fine, he’s fine—she told herself that, but the gnawing doubt clawed at the back of her mind, relentless, like the distant hum of the war that never seemed to end.

She had convinced herself that it was nothing. That maybe he’d been busy, or maybe he just didn’t have the time. But deep down, she knew that wasn’t true. He’d always made time for her, even if it was only for a drink or a song or the comfort of her voice at the end of a long, war-torn day.

Next thing she knew, she was standing at the gates of RAF Bovingdon, the wind biting at her face, her fingers shaking slightly as she adjusted the ring on her left hand. It was a habit—one she hadn’t realised she had until now, until she felt herself slide it over to her ring finger, the gold cool against her skin. It wasn’t a lie. Not entirely.

She stood tall, tried to push away the flutter in her chest, the anxiety tightening its grip as she approached the entrance.

The soldier at the gate eyed her, a quick flicker of recognition in his eyes before he looked away, his tone indifferent.

"Can I help you, miss?"

She cleared her throat, forcing her voice to steady. "I’m looking for information on a pilot here. Lando Norris. He’s—" She hesitated, feeling a pang of guilt for the lie that slipped so easily off her tongue. "He’s my fiancé."

The soldier looked up at her, his brows knitting together for a moment. "Fiancé?"

She nodded, trying to mask the sudden tightness in her chest, though the lie tasted bitter on her tongue. She felt the words echo inside her head, a sharp contrast to the tenderness with which Lando had once looked at her. The guilt threatened to creep in again, but she shoved it away. She didn’t care. Not now.

"I didn’t know he had one of those," the soldier said flatly. "Can’t say anything, I’m afraid. Military protocol."

Her heart skipped a beat, but she didn’t let it show.

"Please," she said, stepping closer to the gate, voice low but insistent. "I need to know. He’s been gone for a week. I’ve tried reaching him. Can you at least tell me where he’s been?"

The soldier’s eyes softened just a fraction, a quick flash of pity or perhaps simple exhaustion crossing his features. He paused, glancing at her for a moment too long, and then sighed.

"He was sent out last week. They haven’t heard from him since."

Her breath caught in her throat, the world seeming to tilt just slightly. "Sent out? For what?"

"Operation," he answered, his voice clipped. "They’re all sent out. Every day. But once it’s been more than nine days and they haven’t returned… well, in two days, he’ll be presumed dead."

Her stomach twisted. It felt like the ground had fallen away beneath her feet, like all the air had been sucked out of the room, leaving her gasping for breath. "Presumed dead?"

The soldier nodded, expression unreadable. "That’s standard procedure."

For a moment, she couldn’t speak. Her head spun, her mind reeling with the weight of the words. Two days. She had two days to know whether the man she’d come to care for—this reckless, impossible man—was lost to the war forever.

And then, as though the words were a punch to the gut, he added, "We need your address. In case… well, in case we need to contact you."

Her fingers tightened around the edge of the gate, the skin of her palms cold, but she managed to push the words past the lump in her throat. "I—yes. Of course."

She gave him her address, her voice strained but firm, and when the soldier took it down, she felt as though something deep inside her cracked wide open.

It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. She hadn’t expected it to feel like this—the weight of a lie, the truth of a life that might never be.

When the soldier nodded curtly and moved away, she turned on her heel and walked, slow and deliberate, until she was far enough from the base to breathe again. But even as she took a step away, the words echoed in her head—presumed dead.

The wind cut through her coat, but it didn’t stop the chill from settling deep into her bones.

She moved on autopilot, the world around her a blur of grey and motion. She’d taken the train back to London—a rickety thing, crowded with people whose faces were tired, whose eyes held the same weariness that she felt inside herself. The journey felt endless, like it stretched on for years, and yet in the same breath, it seemed too short. She couldn’t remember how long she’d been on the train. She barely noticed the other passengers, their muffled conversations and quiet laughter blending into the clatter of wheels against tracks.

When the train screeched to a halt at Paddington, she stood without thinking, the motion too automatic to be deliberate. Her legs carried her across the station, through the bustle of London, though her mind never truly followed. The streets were chaotic, as they always were—people rushing to and fro, the distant hum of carriages and lorries, the clang of trams against the cobblestones—but it was all distant to her, like a dream she couldn’t quite wake from.

She hadn’t been to church in ages. Not since before the war. Not since before Lando and the nights of whiskey and music and fleeting moments of comfort. The old rituals, the incense, the whispered prayers—they felt like someone else’s life. And yet, today, they called to her.

By the time she stood outside St. Paul’s, the weight of the world pressing down on her, she could already feel the faint pull. The faint thread of something sacred, something familiar, like a forgotten lullaby. She didn’t know why, but she stepped inside, the coolness of the stone welcoming her, the silence wrapping around her like a blanket. The interior was dim, the light soft and filtered through the stained-glass windows, casting long shadows that danced across the worn pews.

She walked, each step slower than the last, as though the space itself was holding her back, forcing her to confront the questions she hadn’t dared to ask. She had no words to speak, no requests to make, only a desperate, aching need to feel something—anything—that wasn’t this overwhelming emptiness.

Her feet led her to the altar, the cool marble beneath her knees as she sank down into a low kneeling position, the weight of her own body pulling her further into the cold, silent stone. For a moment, she just sat there, head bowed, eyes squeezed shut against the world. She hadn’t prayed in so long, not since she was a girl, not since her mother had whispered hymns beside her bed. But now, in the stillness of the church, it came to her like an old memory—familiar and sharp.

Please, she thought, the words slipping out like breath in the cold air. Please bring him back. Please let him come back to me.

Her hands gripped the edge of the altar, knuckles white, the cool stone biting into her palms. She closed her eyes tighter, her voice barely a whisper, barely a prayer. I don’t care what it takes. Just let him come back.

She stayed there, the minutes stretching out like hours, or maybe days. It was hard to tell. The only sound was the faint murmur of distant voices from the back of the church, the echo of footsteps on stone, and the soft rustling of her own breath. The war seemed so far away in this place, as though it couldn’t touch her here, couldn’t reach her in this cathedral of silence.

But even as she prayed, even as the words tumbled from her lips, she knew there was a part of her that didn’t believe. She knew that even as she asked, there was a quiet truth at the back of her mind—a truth she couldn’t escape—that in two days, Lando would be lost to her, like so many others. And all the prayers in the world wouldn’t bring him back.

But she prayed anyway, because it was all she had left. A hope she clung to like a thread in the dark.

She remained there, kneeling, for what felt like an eternity, until the coldness in her bones became too much to bear. With a sigh, she rose to her feet, brushing the dust from her knees as she straightened. The silence felt deafening now, the weight of it pressing down on her shoulders as she made her way back toward the door.

On the second day, she couldn’t get out of bed.

The world outside moved on as if nothing had happened—lorries rumbled down the streets, market traders called out their prices, and somewhere in the distance, a church bell rang, slow and steady, counting the hours. But she stayed where she was, curled beneath the thin blankets, staring at the ceiling as if she could hold back time just by refusing to face the day.

It was today.

Today was the day they would decide he was gone. The day his name would be written on some crumpled ledger in an office, another casualty, another life swallowed whole by the war.

She wanted to move. She wanted to get up, to do something—anything—but the weight in her chest held her down, heavy and suffocating. She had spent the last two nights staring at the door, hoping. Foolishly, desperately hoping that somehow, against all reason, he would come back. That he’d walk through the door with that easy grin of his, shake the rain from his coat, and say something maddeningly flippant about how she worried too much.

But the door stayed closed. The hours passed. And now, there was nothing left to do but wait.

She barely heard the knock at first. It was firm, clipped—too formal to be anyone she knew. Her heart clenched, her stomach twisting itself into knots. No. Not yet. Just one more hour.

But the knocking came again, sharper this time, and she knew.

Her limbs felt leaden as she forced herself to sit up. The room swayed slightly, but she ignored it. The cold wooden floor sent a shiver up her spine as she pulled on her dressing gown, tying it hastily at the waist.

By the time she reached the door, her hands were trembling.

She pulled it open, and there they were—two men in uniform, their expressions carefully neutral, their caps damp from the rain outside. They stood rigid, as though they had done this a thousand times before, as though this was just another task to complete before moving on to the next.

"Miss," the taller one said, his voice measured, almost detached. "We’re here about Flight Lieutenant Lando Norris."

Her throat felt like it was closing. She nodded, unable to speak.

The soldier hesitated, then continued. "His aircraft went down last week. No recovery. He hasn’t returned to base, and as of today—" He exhaled sharply, as if the words themselves weighed something. "As of today, he is presumed dead."

She had known it was coming. She had known from the moment she woke up, from the moment she saw the grey light filtering through her window, from the moment she heard the knock. And still, the words hit like a hammer, splitting something inside her clean in two.

She swallowed hard, but before she could force a word past the lump in her throat, the other soldier spoke.

"Since he has no family," he said, his voice softer, as if he didn’t want to say it at all.

She sucked in a breath, but it did nothing to steady her.

No family.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of her dressing gown, gripping it tightly as if it might keep her standing. She had known that too, hadn’t she? He never spoke of them. Not his mother, not his father, no brothers, no sisters—only half-formed stories, half-smoked confessions in the early hours of the morning when the war felt far away, and it was just the two of them and the sound of her voice.

But hearing it now, from the lips of a stranger, made it unbearable.

Lando had no one.

No mother to mourn him, no father to curse the sky for taking his son. No home to return to, no childhood bedroom left untouched, no one to light a candle in his name. Just her.

Just her.

She pressed a hand to her stomach, as if she could steady the storm brewing there, but it was no use. The ache was too deep, too wide.

The soldiers were still speaking, saying something about his belongings, about official documents, but she wasn’t listening. The words blurred together, distant and unimportant.

When they finally finished, she nodded—just enough to make them leave. Just enough to close the door and turn away before they could see the way her face had crumpled, the way her breath came too sharp, too ragged.

She pressed her back against the door and slid to the floor, pulling her knees up to her chest, fingers digging into the fabric of her sleeves.

Lando was gone.

And she was the only one who would remember.

part two

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby @iamred-iamyellow @isaadore @driverlando

[suzieloveships]

Cybertron Pre-Sentinel's betray

AKA High Guard x B99 au [1/?]

Base on my previous post

Starscream: That's how we do it in the HG, sir. Fight bad guys and look good doing it ------ Shockwave: Could you make TC stop doing that weird thing with his face? Skywarp: Crying? ------ Starscream: Let's go! Chest bump me! Soundwave: You don't want to do this Starscream: No, I really do Soundwave: It hurts you every time Starscream: No, I know, but I'm fired up. The adrenaline is gonna carry me through. Here we go! [They chest-bump, and Soundwave effortlessly knocks Star to the floor] ------ [Megatronus enters the room with his wrist is in a splint] Starscream: Whoa. What's with the cast? Megatronus: I sprained my wrist. Skyfire: Oh no, what happened? Megatronus: Don't worry about it, I'm fine. Starscream: Yeah, Primus, Sky. Back off. Leave the guy alone [he cranes his neck to check if Prime is out of earshot] All right, huddle up, everyone. Bring it in, bring it in. So he wouldn't say what happened, which can only mean one thing. Skywarp: He's in a fight club. Starscream: No. He did it doing something he's embarrassed by. Like smiling. Only question is how do you hurt your arm smiling. Thundercracker: Could be a sports injury Megatronus: Attention, everyone! I can hear you speculating about the nature and origin of my injury from my office. I tripped over un uneven sidewalk. I did not think it was relevant to your jobs, the jobs you should all be doing right now. Get to work. Megatronus to Starscream once everyone in gone: Do you want to know how I actually hurt my wrist? Starscream: Yes. Megatronus: I was hula hooping. Prima and I attend a class for fitness and for fun. Starscream: Oh, my Primus. Megatronus: I've mastered all the moves. Starscream: Why are you telling me this? Megatronus: Because no one will ever believe you. Starscream: You sick son of a glitch. ------ Starscream: So how'd you convince the whole squad to betray me? What'd you offer them? Megatronus: I asked them if they wanted to embarrass you, and they instantly said yes ------ Skywarp: Oh, no. Despite what I've been saying for years, that aft just might quit ------ Shockwave: Come on, sir, the math thing isn't the problem. The war is keeping you and Prima apart. You two just need to bone. Skyfire: [chuckles nervously] Megatronus: What did you say? Skyfire: Don't say it again. Shockwave: I said you two need to bone. Skyfire: [whimpers] Megatronus: How dare you, General Shockwave. I am your Prime! Megatronus: Bone! Megatronus: What happens in my berthroom is none of your business. Megatronus: BONE?! Megatronus: Don't ever speak to me like that again. ------ Shockwave: So Starscream's doing the right thing instead of the selfish thing? [to Skyfire] You did this to him ------ Megatronus: I wanna show you a picture from last night that really upset me. Starscream: Okay, but in my defense, Shockwave bet me 50 shanix that I couldn't drink all that shampoo. Megatronus: That's not what I wanted to- You drank shampoo? Starscream: What? No. You're the one farting bubbles. ------ Megatronus: Please, keep an eye on Thundercracker today. He’s going to say the wrong thing to the wrong person and get himself punched. Skywarp: Sure, I would love to see Thundercracker get punched. Megatronus: Try again. Skywarp: I mean I will stop TC from getting punched. ------ Starscream: This is where we came the night we pass our first big exam and you fell in love with me. Skyfire: Star. Starscream: The night you flirted with me for twenty klicks and I became obsessed with you forever. ------ Thundercracker: Life is a party and I’m the piñata. ------ Soundwave: You could've died.  Starscream: The doctor said all my bleeding was internal. That's where the energon is supposed to be ------ Soundwave, holding kitten!Ravage: Prime was right. I've been so worried about my own kid, I forgot about my stupid grown-up kids [points at the seekers] Starscream: That's insulting ------ Thundercraker: Sexy train is leaving station, check out this caboose. Later sluts Everyone: Starscream: Just let him have it

[themalhambird]

Um.

Golden Cage AU, more Elrond Illness Edition. Elrond's fever reaches its peak, forsight mixes itself up with dreams of the past, and Galadriel believes he is going to die. He isn't, he very explicitly gets through the fever and starts to get better, but It's Alot. Tbh, I'm not really sure where this came from and also, I made myself cry writing it.

@malkaleh tagging because this is your sandbox I'm thriving in but please don't feel obligated to read.

Content warning for Near Character Death, serious illness, fever induced disorientation and lack of lucidity, and a character who gets glimpses of the future warning of danger/implied potential violence.

"Galadriel?"

For a moment, her name on Elrond's lips gives her hope- but the next words from him, as he struggles to sit up in the tangle of sweat-soaked sheets are "Does the King look for me?"

She shakes her head. "No. No, Elrond- it's alright, you cam rest. Lie back-"

"The King looks for me!" Elrond insists, throwing the sheets to the side, trying to get up. Galadriel grabs his shoulders to keep him from standing; he clutches, with surprising strength, at her forearms. "The King looks for me!" He insists, hissing through clenched teeth and staring with feverish eyes that seem, suddenly, deeper and more vast than the night sky. "The King in the woods, and the King beneath the mountain- they look for me, for all of us and the nine kings that would have been are to be drowned in flame and burned in water and- he will know. Celebrimbor- Celebrimbor must not be with him when he learns of it- he is going to be so angry, Galadriel and I- I...." he blinks, shuddering, and the energy all seems to drain out of him. He sinks. Galadriel smooths the curls back from his forehead, and her heart leaps to her mouth at how warm he is. "I have to go," he mutters. "I -I have to go to Elros. But the High King's speeches are yet to be written, I don't- " he blinks rapidly, his eyes desperately scanning her face until finally a spark of recognition seems to return. "Galadriel." he says, reaching and clutching at her skirt. "I haven't finished the speeches. But I need- Elros is calling-"

The tears come, then. She has tried- she has fought so hard not to give into despair, but this...

She takes his hand in her own, and kisses the back of it. "If you wish to go to Elros, dear one, you must go to him," she whispers. "Do not worry about the speeches. The King will not be angry-he is- he-" her voice hitches, breaks. "He is very proud of you," she says. "He told me so, and wished to tell you himself, but if you must go to Elros, now, it can wait. Go. We will miss you, but you will go with all our love."

She watches, in complete and utter terror, as his expression eases, his eyes close, his body goes slack, and his breathing....

His breathing...

Eases. It eases, it eases- she calls, for Adar and Celeborn both, to tell her she is not imagining it-

"He is cooler," Celeborn says; Adar concurrs-

Every hour, Elrond improves- and every moment of it, Galadriel clings to his hand. She is no healer. But she pictures the light of the Eldar within herself, and she imagines it passing from her palm to his, a loan of her strength to carry him through...

As dusk approaches, there is a flurry of birds chirping. Elrond Peredhel wrinkles his nose and, without opening his eyes, grumbles with rasping irritation: "Why is my hair so wet?"

Galadriel does not stop laughing for a full five minutes.

[fastandcarlos]

100% Whipped : ̗̀➛ Lando Norris

summary: lando is happy to do just about anything for you, which the other drivers are more than happy to remind lando about too

Lando looked around in confusion as sniggers came from around the room, his fellow drivers all looked at him in disbelief, many shaking their heads as he spoke once again. 

“There are other things we can talk about,” Max told him, smirking across at Lando opposite him. “We don’t constantly just have to talk about your girlfriend you know.” 

Lando’s brows furrowed in confusion as several others nodded in agreement with Max. It was a habit of his, and one he didn’t realise he had either, but the rest of the boys were all too aware of just how much Lando loved to talk about you, to anyone who listened. 

They couldn’t help but smile at how fondly Lando spoke of you, the way his smile turned up and his eyes got brighter whenever the conversation was about you. As much as they loved knowing that Lando was happy, they didn’t need telling quite as much as they currently were. 

“I don’t just talk about her,” Lando argued, but as the others rolled their eyes, Lando wasn’t quite so confident that he didn’t talk about you as much as they all suggested. 

Although he would never admit just how much he adored you, Lando knew that he had been falling hard for you. He loved to gush about you and make sure that everyone else got to see what he saw in you, how kind, caring and funny you were. 

The rest of the paddock knew that anyway, but Lando liked to make extra sure that was the case with all of his stories about you. 

“Every time she’s not at a race you sit and complain that she’s not there and how much you need her,” Oscar spoke up, “she’s all we talk about on a race weekend.” 

“Or when she is there, you refuse to let her out of your sight because you want to make sure that she’s alright,” George added, smirking across at Lando, “you don’t let her lift a finger.” 

More and more stories came out as the boys all interjected with the moments that they’d experienced with Lando, seeing firsthand just how in love with you he was. 

“I’m just being a good boyfriend,” Lando tried to argue once they eventually fell silent, but even Lando was beginning to realise that he went above and beyond, constantly. 

“I think you know how she’s going to spend her day better than she does,” Daniel responded, unable to hold back his laughter. “You used to tell me every day exactly what she was up to, almost as if you knew where she was minute by minute.” 

“Really?” Lando asked in surprise, not realising quite how much attention to detail he paid when it came to what you were doing. 

“You don’t even realise that you’re doing it half the time.” 

Lando’s stature shrunk, sinking down in his seat. “I promise that I’m not as whipped as you guys all probably think I am, it’s not that bad.” 

“You are,” Carlos stated, sending Lando a knowing look, “but I guess most of the time it is quite sweet.” 

“Aside from the fact that you make the rest of us look like terrible boyfriends,” Charles added. 

Lando struggled to hold back his smile, although it wasn’t a competition, he knew that the two of you were a popular couple around the paddock. He felt like he was the standard, showing the others how to take care of your girlfriend properly and not care about what anyone else had to say about it. 

“I wonder if she realises how whipped you are for her or whether she’s just used to it all by now,” Oscar spoke up, looking pensively across at Lando. 

“I think Y/N is just as whipped for him as Lando is for her,” Daniel very quickly argued, “you should’ve heard some of the conversations we had about him when I was on the team.” 

A smile emerged on Lando’s face as some of the boys nodded in agreement again. They were used to listening to you talk about Lando just as much, talking through how amazing his races were time after time as if they hadn’t been there to experience it themselves. 

“Would you guys like me to stop talking about Y/N so much?” Lando asked them all. 

The group felt quite guilty as Lando stared seriously across at them all. They all knew that he meant it, glancing between themselves as their heads all shook back across at him. 

“We’re only messing with you buddy,” George assured him, tapping against his shoulders, “maybe we just don’t need to know every single last detail about her.” 

Lando nodded, smiling back across at George. “I’m sure I can tone it down a little bit, the last thing I need is you guys all thinking that I’m whipped.” 

“Mate, we all definitely know that you are though.” 

He could try to deny it all he wanted, but the boys all knew what he was like. It was something in him that they were never going to change, but as such a popular member of the team, it meant a lot to all of them to see how happy he was with you. 

“Don’t even try and deny it,” Max called out as Lando went to speak again, “wear it with pride, some people would kill to have the sort of relationship that the two of you have.” 

“Do you really think that?” 

“Of course,” Max smiled back across at him, “you know we’re always going to find something to tease you about, you’re still very much the baby of the grid to all of us.” 

It didn’t matter how old Lando was, the boys were all very protective of him, and as much as they took every chance to make fun of him, they’d never let anyone else say a bad word about him. 

“You just continue to do you,” Carlos smiled as he met Lando’s eyes, “some of these guys are never going to even get a girlfriend, so at least you’ve got that over them at least.” 

“None of you can ever mention this to her,” Lando told them all, “do you know how embarrassed she be knowing that you guys see us as whipped for one another.” 

Just like Lando, you were very aware of how whipped he was for you, but if anyone suggested that you were whipped for him, then you would categorically deny it. You knew how much he’d do for you though, savouring the feeling of Lando willingly doing absolutely anything to support you. 

“We’ll keep it between us,” Oscar promised him, “unless she keeps stealing the chocolate I keep in the garage for once the races are finished. If that carries on, I’m making no promises.” 

“I’ll buy you more,” Lando assured him, “just don’t tell her how whipped I am, or how whipped you guys seem to think that I might be.” 

“Just admit it,” Charles laughed, brushing a hand through his hair. “Admit that you’re whipped for her, it’s not like we don’t already know it already.” 

“Will you leave me alone if I say it?” Lando asked them all. 

“We promise to leave you alone for the rest of the night.” 

“Fine, I am 100% whipped for my girlfriend.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[youryanderedaddy]

Summary: You run into your snobby ex boyfriend after a drunken party. Things go south from there. tw: female reader, hinted murder, possessive behavior, condescension, financial(?) abuse, classism

You know this is a stupid, stupid idea. Going home at God knows what time in the pitch black is never a good idea, you think drowsily, head still spinning from the last beer, but even more so when you're tired, pissed off and tipsy. You're freezing, naked shoulders wet from the chilly midnight rain - but instead of soft damp linden, you smell molden concrete and metal. You fucking hate this city. You hate the stupid, flashy, obnoxious parties for rich people, and this shitty university in the middle of nowhere, and even the scholarship that forced you into close proximity with the freakish upper class of east New Hemptison.

"Baby!" A familiar voice sinks into the muddy darkness and you have to physically restrain yourself from emptying your stomach right there on the street - and knowing your neighbours, you'd have to clean it after too. His steps fasten and soon you feel his hand gripping your shoulder to turn you around. Standing before you, glistening just like some prince from a fairy tale, is everything you despise about this town. The fact that he's perfectly prim and proper despite the pounding rain, that his teeth seem almost pearly white in the dark, that his hair is crisp and slicked away tastefully, that even now he's wearing a fucking Armani shirt with the cheesiest pair of jeans (ones you could never afford) - it makes you want to crawl back to the cave you came from, two continents away, and never look back.

"Baby, where have you been?" He sounds terribly concerned as he pulls your shivering body in for a tight bear hug, running his hands through your absolutely soaked hair - murmuring something incomprehensible to your drunken mind. "I was worried sick, missy." His voice drops slightly, but it's all for show. He's playing the part of the good boyfriend, like always - and you fell for it once, you did, but you know better now. "I called you, like, sixty eight times. And nothing." He swallows, big hands trembling around you. "Just radio silence. I thought something bad happened to y-"

"Oh, f-uucking beat it." Your patience finally snaps and you push him off swiftly, barely contained anger starting to resurface again. Today was supposed to be about you, about healing, about feeling better, but just your luck - the very problem had found you, just like always. No matter where you go, your troubles follow. "You know what you did, asshole. Don't you d-aare play innocent with m-me." You hiss drunkenly, stumbling all over your words before hitting the wall all on your own. Mathew, of course, doesn't waste the oppurtunity to get closer to you - just so he can help you regain your balance, of course. The golden boy of Saint Hemptison would never take advantage of an intoxicated girl - much less his ex girlfriend who he's still hopelessly in love with, supposedly. Right.

"Baby, please, you're drunk - you're not making any sense." The man whispers softly, placing his hand at your hip. "Let's go to the penthouse. We can talk about this in the morning when you are more aware of your thoughts."

When you're more aware of your thoughts? You almost laugh. It's quite bittersweet when it hits you that he doesn't respect you even now - maybe he never has in the duration of your miserable relationshop, that in his eyes you'll always be the poor girl in need of a white knight. Just a little trophy to show off, if a bit broken in certain spots.

"I am not going anywhere with you." You mumble, trying to calm down - to appear cold and collected, the complete opposite of what he wants you to be. "Look, I know that you're mad at me, babygirl, but I'm sure your little temper tantrum can wait until tomorrow. You know I don't like this neighbourhood. Let me take you to a safe place for the night, okay?" He reaches for your hand again, but this time you swat it away in fury.

"Who are you to act so worried about me, huh?" You can hear your voice breaking as the tears prick at your eyes - hot and shameful. Crying in front of him is the last thing you want to do, but god, it's so hard not to when this whole night has been a disaster after a disaster. You're truly at your wits' end. "After what you did? You are truly shameless." You squeal, and admittedly, it feels fucking great to finally say it.

Your former lover's face twists into an unrecognizable grimace as he watches you tear into his heart with ease - and as you turn to leave, he grabs your wrist painfully. This time something is different about his eyes - they're not longer smiling. Now they're two bottomless gray pits devoid of kindness, the same eyes you saw the night of the accident as he caressed your cold cheek with bloody knuckles.

"And what did I do, love? Hm?" He tilts your chin up by squeezing your throat, forcing you to meet his eerie gaze. Suddenly all your tipsy bravado evaporates into thin air. "Please, refresh my memory. I really can't recall the events of the past two weeks - since you've been avoiding me and all..." His fingers dig into your skin and you wince just like a kicked puppy - but he doesn't bulge an inch. Suddenly everything comes flooding back - the touches you convinced yourself were sensual, not possesive, the glances you once thought of as romantic, the constant interrogations, the strange emails, the cryptic calls, the dead roses at your door. "I couldn't sleep - or eat for that matter. I am half a man without you. I lose myself completely."

It all makes sense now. You feel like crying, because it's so crystal clear... and you've been a willing fool. You had closed your eyes, because it was easier to lie than to accept the truth bubbling just under his surface - under the dimples and the smiles, and the hundred jewelry boxes still lying unopened under your bed.

"You - you killed him! You monster!" You gasp, unable to stop your lips from uttering the lethal. You thrash around to no avail, you're stuck. "How could you? Jack was your friend!" You hide your face in the crook of his neck to stop the sobs, too scared to look at the crazed man holding you. He simply rolls his eyes, letting you soak his shirt with your pretty tears. "Don't be so dramatic - it's just some broken bones. He'll be fine... as long as he stays away from my things."

You raise your head shakily - you're drowning between hatred, fear and misery. The adrenaline is making you even more disoriented than the liquor percentage in your bloodstream.

"I am not a fucking thing for you to-" You hiccup, growing woozy as you hit weakly against his chest. The corners of his lips curl up slightly as he chuckles at the pitiful display. "For you to just own!" You keep going, cheeks purple from pent up fury - there's something tearing at your insides like you want to scream, you need it to come out, but you find yourself unable to push it off your flesh like it's been ingrained with glue and a shovel.

"You're wrong, baby. I do own you." Mathew says with the sweetest, softest voice you've heard in your life, sugary and bitter like poisonous honey. "Let's say you want to break up-"

"We already broke u-"

His eyes pierce you mid-sentence. You quickly close your mouth.

"Let's say," He repeats through gritted teeth, holding you so tightly you might just merge into one being. "That you want to break up with me." He inhales deeply, nostrils flaring. "Hypothetically. Then what? You have no place to live. I know you're staying at that shithole of a hotel down the street right now - it's filthier than a brothel, no?"

You want to say something - to argue, to scream. To tell him that he's being a rich, condescending asshole again, that you like the hotel - despite the mold and the cockroaches and the way there never seems to be hot water. Despite having to lock your door four times so you don't get assaulted in your sleep.

You say nothing.

"You don't have to confirm it. My agent tracked you down a week ago. Whatever - you'll run out of money in, approximately, 9 days." He smirks maliciously, with unhidden spite - just like a little devil. "Then what? You don't even have an address. And you know the city hall will take their sweet fucking time to help you register - if they don't make you pay a fine first." He strokes your chin cruelly. "We both know just how much they care about clueless little foreigners with less than a penny to their name." He whispers, twisting the dagger in. "Hell, they may even cut your scholarship. And. then. what." Your ex pronounces each word slowly - making sure you can understand it, feel it - fear it.

You imagine your family back at home. You can hear their voices over the phone, your mom smiling as you tell her about your day, your father asking you what you plan to do after college - whether you will still remember them, whether you'd take care of them once they have nothing left, since you took everything with you. The money, the hopes, the happiness...

"F-fuck you..." You whimper faintly, falling against him. You feel defeated, and the sharp words are all you have left. "Why are you doing this to me?" You mumble to yourself, suddenly feeling drained to the very bone. The man begins stroking your hair as he rocks you gently to the side. "Because I love you." He slowly kisses down your neck. "Because I'm the only one in this city who gives a fuck about you, and-" You can feel his smile against your burning cheek. "Because you're mine."

[moonlit-imagines]

Headcanons for being Tony Stark’s child

Tony Stark x child!reader

warnings: alcohol ment,

a/n: so i just really think that the concept of tony having the party kid as opposed to nerdy avenger kid would be a really cool idea to explore teehee. most of this does actually take place pre-avengers tho!!

prompt:

you we’re quite the exhausting kid

“is this really how it felt to raise me?” -tony

many of nights he’d find your bed empty, you’d snuck out to go have your fun as teenagers do

“yeah, boss, i imagine it was” -happy

you always showed back up in one piece (like him) and besides a little slap on the wrist you didn’t get much discipline

actually, it usually went like:

“so, where did you go off to last night?” -tony

“a party” -you

“really? didn’t want to loop me in before you snuck out…again?”

“last time i told you about a party you showed up!”

“uh—yeah, but it’s not like i went all dad on you and dragged you away or anything”

“yeah, you joined the party and offered to buy teenagers more booze”

“hey, they all loved you after that! and they couldn’t get enough of my classic dance moves” -tony, jokingly doing the sprinkler with one arm “but seriously, let me know next time”

“we’ll see about that” -you

^the above conversion went about the same every time

sometimes for entertainment purposes you’d try a little harder, throw a few pillows under the covers to make it look like you were still home to put a smile on tony’s face

“aw, y/n reminds me so much of me” -tony

tony was still partying at this point so you’d flip the script on him from time to time

“you were out late” -you

“what are you, a cop? leave me alone. actually, can you get me some aspirin and water?” -tony

“sure, one or two” -you

“make it three” -tony

he would nurse your occasional hangovers (what a great dad!)

okay, he didn’t always know when you were gone. he was busy a lot of the time with his own business and extracurriculars so you guys did just kinda do your own thing for certain stretches of time

honestly you could be a bit of a klepto in the best of ways

but only to tony and only for fun

“oh, great, where’s my car?” -tony

“which one?” -pepper

“the black one!” -tony

“be more specific” -pepper

“the only one missing from my garage!” -tony

“yeah, i know, just wanted to give you some more time to think about it” -pepper

“i changed the code on the lockbox like, five times this week. did they hotwire it?” -tony

“we are talking about your kid, right? pretty sure they just hacked it” -pepper

“i am…so proud” -tony

you MAY have gotten a few close calls with authorities, but nothing tony couldn’t handle

and up until tony’s accident, the phrase “you’re going to give me a heart attack” was silly and endearing

“you might actually give me a heart attack, y/n, give a guy some warning or just say please for god’s sake” -tony, now comes with an arc reactor in his chest

“sorry” -you

“what—huh—didn’t hear ya, wanna say that a little louder?” -tony, very sarcastically

i tell ya when he got that armor u couldn’t tell if u were gonna flip out at him or invite him to a party

or steal it for…you didn’t even know what

but tony was 3 steps ahead of you when all this came to be

and you weren’t very interested in weapons, still just parties and dumb fun for you

“dad, i dont wanna be a nerd, will you just let me go out?” -you

“come on! just help me in the lab a few hours, what’s it gonna hurt?” -tony

“my social status” -you

“might i remind you you’re a stark? i think you’ll live if you miss one party” -tony

“you’d be surprised” -you

“hey, i almost died! give your old man a break” -tony

once tony got involved with SHIELD and the avengers he got even busier really

and in came the parenting advice from fury, clint, nat, steve

“hey, i don’t see you raising a teenager, back off” -tony

*clint side eye*

steve once tried to give you a good talking to, but you reminded him a great bit of your father with your stubbornness

“you done? i dont think you should be giving out any parenting tips fresh off the ice” -you

tony was kind of proud of you for sticking to your guns

especially around such powerful people

but you had a knack for that and could do it to practically anyone

mostly because you felt like an invincible teenager since you were raised by tony, who also thought himself an invincible teenager at one point

u tried to tone down giving tony grief when he started having panic attacks

since u accidentally caused a few by pushing boundaries and staying out for several nights in a row

cuz as tony gained more enemies, he thought you’d be in more danger

which was true

“happy, you’re y/n’s personal bodyguard” -tony

“no!” -you

“uh, cool? any fun parties planned tonight? i’ll be the designated driver. god knows i’ve been tony’s too many times” -happy

taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @locke-writes // @sweetheartlizzie07 // @queen-destenie // @johnmurphyisqueer // @captainshazamerica // @ravenmoore14 // @canarypoint // @procrastinatingsapphictrash // @swanimagines // @randomfandomimagine // @petersgroupie // @summersimmerus // @scarthefangirl // @bad4amficideas // @sheridans-dynamos // @simsrecs // @prettysbliss // @skdkdkckfk // @simp-legend // @wild-rose-35 // @nekoannie-chan // @evilcr0ne // @v0idl1nq // @ruvaakke // @thedarkqueenofavalon // @amirahiddleston // @beth-gallagher22 // @brutal-out-here // @rqmanoff // @elenavampire21 // @mymelodymia // @pheonixfire777 // @deanzboyfriend //

[cherrieflavouredheadcanons]

Hi can we please have fluff w Aventurine where reader and him reunite after 2. 1 and just fucking elope start a new life etc? Please I need it.

God yes. This is what we all need after 2.1. I'm aware he is in a coma-like state technically now but for the sake of fluff and this headcanon he is awake from that coma and is now reuniting with you. CW: Spoilers for 2.1 and Aventurines actual name, starts angsty but then turns fluffy, Gn reader, pre established relationship hurt/comfort

I am still accepting requests (especially for aven) btw so if you wanna see something send it in!

Back in your arms

You had lost track of how long it was since Aventurine left for his mission in Penacony. Has it been 2 months? No, probably more. It had been months since you last had been able to make contact with him. Your messages no longer went through, unable to be sent.

Looking at your textlog and scrolling up, you came across the last message he had sent you. It had come in while you were asleep, and it simply read “I love you”.

Waking up to that message would have been a sweet message for most people, but for you it had made you immensely worried.

 Aventurine was never someone who professed his love openly, so such messages were quite rare. Receiving such a message, especially unprompted, made you send him a barricade of texts, none of which went through and even now months later none were able to be sent.

If you were honest you were starting to lose hope of ever seeing him again, who knows what happened in Penacony after all? He could be…dead for all you knew, you had no way to verify whether that was true or not after all. 

You tried continuing your life on as you would normally, what else could you do? It was hard though, everyday you missed him more and more. Sometimes you imagined his face in a crowd somewhere but whenever you would take a closer look he would vanish.

Sighing you closed your phone and looked around your apartment, it felt so liveless ever since Aventurine was gone. Tears were falling down your eyes as you wondered how much longer you had to live with the uncertainty of where he was and if he was even alive.

Exhaustion was taking over as you began falling asleep. A common occurrence nowadays, since at night you were restless, unable to fall asleep as you worried. Just as you were beginning to fully doze off, you heard the door to your apartment open, immediately waking up.

No one but you and Aventurine had the key, and with him being absent panic coursed through you thinking someone was breaking and entering. You grabbed the nearest heavy thing to defend yourself with.

“For fucks sake…” You muttered as you made your way to where the noises were coming from. Cursing every entity out there for piling even more shit onto you as if your significant other being possibly dead wasn’t enough.

Readying your weapon (probably a heavy book) you stepped foot into the room where the noise was coming from ready to attack and hit the intruder. But once you saw who it was that was in your appartment, you dropped your makeshift weapon, a sob escaping your mouth.

Before you stood Aventurine, alive and breathing. You rubbed your eyes, making sure that this wasn’t your mind playing a cruel trick on you again. Aventurine watched you with a smirk on his, albeit very exhausted looking, face and his eyes held a new found softness you had never seen before.

You fell into his arms immediately, holding him tightly against your body, feeling his warmth. Desperately you grabbed at his clothes as you held on to him, scared this was all just a dream and you would wake up all alone once again. Tears were falling from your eyes, unable to hold them back, the relief washing over you making you let out all of your emotions.

“Wow you missed me that much?” He asked, in his usual teasing tone. Though there was something in his voice that usually wasn’t there. Desperation and a bit of fear. Was he afraid you wouldn’t have missed him? Or was there a deeper reason for it?

Moving away from the hug you grabbed his face in your hands, the tears still falling from your eyes as you took a good look at him. His face had fallen in, and he seemed exhausted. But there was also something in his eyes, his beautiful eyes you were so sure you would never see again, that you couldn’t recognize, having never seen it on him before.

Before you spoke your first words to him, you pulled his face closer and gently kissed him. The feeling of his lips on yours felt like you were floating in heaven. They may have been more chapped than usual, but fuck was it nice to feel him again.  Breaking the kiss you finally were able to muster up your first words to him.

“Fuck…I was so worried about you…I…When my messages stopped being able to sent I was…so sure you…Please…never worry me like that again Aventurine…”

You leaned your forehead against his, your words jumbled together from the adrenaline coursing through you.

He took in a deep breath, and held it for a moment before letting it out. A gesture you saw in many people before they needed to say something important and heavy, but one you never saw in your lover.

“...Kakavasha…” His voice seemed unsure and meek as he spoke. 

You, of course, had no idea what he was saying, so you looked into his eyes confused.

“Wha-”

“Kakavasha…it is…my given name. The one my mother gave me” He inhaled deeply before he continued.

“It is a long story but the short version is…I am no longer affiliated with the IPC, they probably think I died or something. So I no longer go by Aventurine, and…with how close we are and how much you mean to me. I felt like it was appropriate for you to know my true name...”

His eyes refused to look at you, flickering about unsurely as he spoke. Though he tried to sound confident, his voice wavered, scared that you would not accept him for who he truly was and reject his true self.

You looked at him gently and with all the love you had for him, gently pulling him close again and kissing his nose.

“Well then…It is nice to meet you Kakavasha…” You smiled brightly at him, showing him you accepted him as he was.

He felt relief course through his body and could not help himself but pull you into a passionate kiss. He kissed you like you were the oxygen he needed to stay alive. As if he would die without you.

Breaking the kiss he whispered “Marry me.” It wasn’t a question but a request. One that you were too stunned to answer to, looking at him with wide eyes.

“I mean it. Let’s get married, run away from everything and start a new life just you and me.”

His eyes were pleading with you to agree. He knew that he wanted to start over, but he knew he needed you with him.

“...yes!!” You once again fell into his arms and kissed him. The two of you holding each other so closely it was as if you were one.

Kakavasha knew that he would need to tell you everything that happened in Penacony at one point, even the part where he tried to end his life. But he knew that if he explained everything to you, you would still stay by his side and be with him. 

You were his family after all.

[goddamnitmahtin]

Jason is a Teenage Dad Part 2

Jason was sitting with Danny on his lap on a sofa in the first floor living room of the manor. He could feel the boy was nervous and he did his best to comfort Danny as much as possible.

“He smells like death Daddy…” he said quietly. One of the first things Jason had learned about Danny on the way to the manor was that the child was really in tune with the paranormal. He seemed to see things others couldn’t and could tell where people had died before. He had pointed out a few locations on the way since the two of them had to walk across the city to get there.

The second thing Jason had noticed was that Danny’s speech was pretty advanced, using long sentences, complex vocabulary and correct grammar unlike most children his age. He could have long conversations with depth if he wanted to but this he only did sometimes when Danny thought it was important or if it was about the stars. Danny had mentioned how he couldnt see any because of the smog surrounding the city.

Jason’s inner self really liked that Danny had called him that. It was almost like the kid had claimed him as much as Jason had claimed Danny. Like they both knew they were meant to stay side by side.

Jason spoke softly, “Yeah he probably does buddy.” He didn’t know if he wanted the 3 year old to know about Bruce’s extracurricular activities yet.

“Is he like us?” Danny asked, his eyes flashing green for a moment. A moment so short that you could almost miss it.

Jason shook his head, “No, not quite. But he is safe.”

Danny seemed to think about this for a moment before nodding, though he didn’t release his grip from Jason any bit. He was apprehensive still and that was okay. Jason was nervous too.

“So…” B said, sitting in a chair across from them, “You’re alive.”

Bruce had repeated that statement at least 8 times since he had collected himself off the floor. When Jason first saw him, Bruce started crying hysterically in a way he had never seen before. He had slumped to the ground saying that he was seeing things because of his own guilt. At first Jason thought he was putting on his Brucie act but no… he was just that distraught. Unless it was a Brucie act. Jason was still 50 percent sure it was a Brucie act.

“I am,” Jason said in return. He didn’t really know how to approach this.

“And you have a kid,” he said, gesturing to Danny. Ah yeah. Of course once Bruce got over himself he was going to pick up some context clues. No doubt he noticed that Danny had called him Daddy.

“I do. This is Danny,” Jason said carefully. The 3 year old was skittish to say the least when it came to anyone that wasn’t Jason. He had learned that on their way across the city. Whenever anyone walked past them, Danny had hidden his face in Jason’s shoulder. So because of this, he wasn’t going to say anything Danny wasn’t comfortable with. He was pretty sure he would feel it if they started to broach a subject Danny didn’t like. He would feel it in his chest.

Jason watched as Bruce took a look at his toddler. No doubt noting the blood he was caked in. The eyebags and pale skin, the sunken in cheekbones and his overly thin appearance. All signs of malnutrition. Signs that Jason was going to be dead set on correcting.

“Hi Danny. My name is Bruce,” B said. He smiled gently, caving in his shoulders to make his appearance smaller and less threatening. Jason was relieved. Were there lots of questions in B’s head? Probably. But there was a very scared child so it wasn’t the time to be asking them.

Jason felt Danny peel his face away from his shoulder enough to look at Bruce more head on, “H-hello.”

“Danny will be staying with me now,” Jason said. He felt a wave of relief come from Danny.

Bruce nodded. Again, he knew not to ask about details at the moment.

“Your room is just how you left it. Danny can stay in the room next to yours. I can install a connecting door between them if you want,” he said.

Jason nodded, “I think that would be best.”

The next morning came around and Danny had yet to let Jason put him down. Much less clean up the blood or change him into something clean. He did eat though when Jason said it was safe. It wasn’t much but it was something. It was 7 am by the time Danny had finally fought sleep too long and passed out silently on Jason’s shoulder. At least now they could talk more freely.

“I thought you were dead. The Joker, he sent out a video online of your body. I thought he killed you,” Bruce said. He was gripping his coffee mug a little bit too hard. Jason didn’t want him to break it and wake up Danny.

“He did,” Jason replied softly, gently taking the coffee from Bruce and setting it safely out of his dad’s reach, “With a crowbar.”

“But you’re here! Alive!” B whisper shouted.

Jason nodded subtly as to not wake Danny from moving too much, “I am. I woke up in the Lazarus. I think he dumped my body there.”

Bruce took a long look at Jason before responding, “You seem awfully fine about that.”

Jason wanted to shrug but he would rather die again than wake his son, “I got better. And Joker won’t be a problem anymore B. His head is in our kitchen.”

Jason could practically hear Bruce grind his teeth, “Yeah I saw that. Was that you?”

Jason hadn’t even thought about the fact that it might have looked that way, “What? No. I woke up yesterday. I didn’t have time for that. I found his head that way.”

“You found his head that way,” Bruce repeated as if it was a hard concept.

“Yes. Whose blood do you think is all over Danny? When I found him, he was playing with it,” Jason said. He didnt understand the confusion.

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose, “Where did you find this kid, Jason?”

“Next to the pit,” Jason said, his voice remaining soft, “Right next to the edge, I was afraid he was going to fall in.” Just thinking about it made Jason instinctively hold Danny closer.

Bruce let out a very tired sigh, “Okay.”

…

Tim’s parents loved him. He knew that. But thing about that love was that… it was very conditional. Not in the way one would probably think. The best way to describe it would be out of sight out of mind.

When they were alive, Tim had learned very quickly that as long as he didn’t bring attention to himself, his parents could go weeks without noticing his presence. Almost like they forgot he was there. Most of the time, this was in Tim’s favor. He could focus on whatever puzzle he had found for himself and no one was going to look for him until he was done. He could literally see his mom walk past him in the hallway and as long as he stood still enough, she had absolutely no idea.

The first week Tim was at Wayne manor, he knew Bruce was grieving and had pretty much locked himself away in his room or in the Batcave Alfred wouldn’t let him into. So he didn’t see much of him at all. He was free to work on the puzzle of what had dropped him from the sky. He could think about Jason’s murder. Maybe he could solve it.

But then Jason wasn’t so dead anymore. Tim had listened in on as many conversations between Jason and Bruce as he could and he learned what had happened to him. Well that was one mystery solved.

But Tim still had the other mystery. So he did what he had always done. Hide himself away until he was done thinking about it. It had been a week since Jason had come back and brought Danny into the manor. Not a single person came to check on him. At least other than Alfred. They all had their own problems to worry about anyways.

Tim was having the same problem as before. He had very little info to go off of and not enough resources to get the intel he wanted. He kept coming back to that singular dead end. It was driving him nuts. How could he make any progress when he couldn’t LEARN?

Tim was jostled out of his thoughts when he heard a knock on the door. He was in the room Bruce was letting him stay in. It was probably Alfred again to remind him to eat or something.

Tim got up from the desk and opened the door. It was Bruce.

“Can I come in?” the man asked.

Tim nodded, a little thrown off. Didn’t this guy have other things to worry about? Like being Batman? Or the fact that his son was not actually dead?

Tim sat back down at the desk and he watched as Bruce took a seat on the bed.

“Tim, I’m sorry I haven’t been very welcoming the past week,” he said.

Tim shrugged, “It’s fine. You had more important things.”

Bruce shook his head, “I did have other things to… handle but I should have been more present with you as well. You are in my home and I should have tended to you more than I did.”

That made him kind of confused. It wasn’t like Tim was his son too. Was it like he really had anywhere else to go? No not really but at most Tim was probably just a guest to Bruce. Just some kid he had to save.

“I told you it’s fine. I’m used to it,” Tim said.

Bruce’s eyebrows knit together for a moment before he seemed to control his face again, “I’m sorry to hear that…. I uh… looked into your records. You don’t have anywhere to stay.”

Tim sighed, he knew this was going to come eventually. He was getting kicked from the manor. Which SUCKED! He hadn’t even gotten a chance to tell Bruce that he wanted to help him. To fight crime and be useful. He had a PowerPoint and everything. Well at least he did on the computer he had back at Drake manor.

“So I was wondering,” Bruce continued, “If you wanted to stay here. With us. I would need to draft up some adoption papers of course so it can all be legalized but-“

Tim cut him off, “Yes. I would love that!” To say Tim was surprised was an understatement but like hell he wasn’t going to take this opportunity. If he was officially a Wayne, he could start dropping hints that he wanted to become a vigilante. That he wanted to help. Eventually maybe he could wear Bruce down enough to make it happen.

Bruce looked surprised, “Really?”

Clearly the old man thought it was going to take a lot more convincing. Luckily for him, Tim had his own motives for wanting to stay.

Tim nodded, “Yes. You’ve already been nice enough to me. I don’t have anywhere else to go. And besides. I’ve liked it here so far.”

Tim was pretty sure he saw some joy behind Bruce’s eyes even if his face didn’t give that away. If he was that happy about it, maybe breaking down the old man wasn’t going to be as hard as he had planned for it to be.

“Then I will get all of those legal documents in order. Did you…. want to meet Jason and Danny?” Bruce asked.

Again Tim was surprised. He thought that the interaction would have ended there. He wasn’t expecting… a warm invitation. But it couldn’t hurt right?

“Uh yeah. Sure,” Tim said.

Part 1 Part 3

[thebiscuitlabryinth]

(ep8 spoilers ahead!)

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a king who honoured Truth.

He was as gentle as a lamb, as pure as driven snow, as warm as sunlight, and his citizens revered him for these qualities. His Truth was his kindness and his hope, and he was said to be able to heal a Cookie of all their woes and pain with a single touch, so blessed by the heavens he was.

Unfortunately, his Truth was no armour, and eventually it became a blade that turned against him. His soft heart failed to protect his kingdom when disaster fell like a fog over it, thick with malice, and those citizens who once revered him came to despise those very same traits they once praised.

The king of Truth, as gentle as a coward, as pure as a martyr, as warm as the remnants of his burning kingdom. The king, dismayed by his Truth failing him, had little idea of what to do as his citizens abandoned him, one by one until only he remained.

One day, a wise scholar happened upon the shell of that kingdom and, curious to know its story, he went to visit the king. The king, still at a loss for what to do and hoping the scholar may impart some of his knowledge, freely shared the tale of the kingdom's downfall with a deep sorrow in his voice.

The wise scholar, taking pity on the king, stepped up to the weary silhouette curled in that old throne and said, "Is it not obvious? You should let go of your Truth."

"My Truth?" The king murmured, disbelieving. "I certainly must have misheard you. I have dedicated my life to Truth. I cannot possibly part with it."

"Whyever not? Look at where Truth has lead your life – to complete ruins, hasn't it?" The wise scholar explained, oh so patiently. "It has paid your dedication back with anguish and despair. Why should you live like that? Deceit would be far more merciful to you, and it would surely soothe your poor heart, if you'd let it."

The wise scholar had offered this morsel of Knowledge out of the goodness of his heart, and for a blissful moment, the king considered it. Sadly, the king could not see it as the act of goodwill that it was, too blinded by his own petty pride, restrained by his years of stubborn devotion to the false idol of 'Truth'.

"No, what you have said is a lie meant to mislead me. I can tell, because Deceit drips from your tongue like poison." The king foolishly declares, his face hardening with misplaced determination. "This must be a test sent to me from the Witches, to test my strength, and I will not fail so easi––"

—No, that's not quite right. Let's try again.

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a great hero.

This great hero was benevolent, noble and self-righteous, known as a friend and ally to all, but he harboured a dark secret. His Soul Jam, the source of all of his awe-inspiring power, was not wholly his.

Indeed, it had once belonged to an illustrious sorceror, a manifestation of his very soul. But this sorceror had suffered a great injustice under the hands of the fickleminded Witches, and his Soul Jam had been torn asunder. While he had clung fiercely to one half, the other had slipped out of his grasp and fell into the hands of our great hero, the unwitting thief.

Of course, the sorceror came to confront the hero, to claim back what was rightfully his and reunite with the full extent of his power. But the hero was unwilling to give it up, and after much consideration, the sorceror decided to be gracious. He allowed the hero to keep his half of the Soul Jam, granted that he never stray from the sorceror's side.

For a blissful moment, it seemed like this compromise would work well for the both of them. One day, however, the hero approached the sorceror, fidgeting with his long sleeves.

"My Soul Jam calls for yours," The hero admits, soft and careful, "and so too does my soul. Even though I am by your side, it is not enough."

The sorceror smiled, flashing teeth, pleased by the admittance because it proved his emerging hypothesis correct. That the other half of the Soul Jam could not have landed in anyone else's hands but the hero's, for they were meant for each other.

"Then come closer." The sorceror goads, reaching for the hero. "Unite our two halves and become one with me, as it should be."

The hero does, pressing into the sorceror's arms, pushing the softened middles of their Soul Jams together until they begin to merge, light melting into the dark of the sorceror's tight embrace. Truth into the comfort of Deceit.

For a blissful moment, they are together and whole and one.

Then pain bursts through the sorceror's back and he screeches as the hero pushes and stumbles out of his twitching arms. The sorceror's wide, blurry eyes catch on the icy glint of a dagger in the hero's hand, sticky with jam.

The sorceror heaves as his hand scrambles to his own back, finding an open wound weeping thick jam that seeps through his clothes. He starts to taste it, sour on the back of his tongue. Sure enough, the hero had stabbed him in the back with a blade he had hidden in his long sleeves.

The hero stares down at him passively, unremorseful. The sorceror's back burns with gouging pain, and his chest burns with boiling rage, coming up through his teeth in a mighty growl. Jam leaks through his clenched fingers as he curls into himself, his Soul Jam crying in the hollow of his throat, calling for its traitorous other half, ringing, ringing, ringing, RINGING. "YOU--"

—NO! No, no, no, that's not right either, absolutely not. Let's take it from the top, one more time.

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a humble shepard.

The shepard was sweet and languid as honey, content in spending his days tending to his vulnerable flock. He had no interest in the world at large, though he welcomed any travellers that passed through with friendliness, making peace in his little meadow.

One day, another shepard, hooded and pale, arrived at the meadow with a single sheep trailing sadly at his heels. He asked for a place to stay for the night, as he had recently lost the rest of the flock to a wolf and, in his grief, took to wandering the lands as a nomad.

The shepard, sweet as he was, agreed. He led the hooded shepard to his flock, where the hooded shepard settled his sheep in for the night. Then, he led the hooded shepard to his little cottage, where the hooded shepard settled himself in for the night, right beside the shepard in his small wooden bed.

Little did the shepard know, the hooded shepard laying beside him was, in reality, a wolfherd. Little did the shepard know, the sheep he had allowed to rest in the comfort of his poor flock was, in reality, a wolf bundled in sheep's wool, trained to behave mildly in the presence of Cookies.

When morning came, the shepard was horrified to find that his flock, which he had dutifully nutured since young, had been eaten whole. The wolfherd's wolf, smeared in red with its woolen disguise hanging off it in sticky clumps, trotted up to its master lazily as the shepard helplessly fell to his knees.

For a blissful moment, there was just the shepard's sobs as his world crumbled around him, ready to be remade.

Then, the wolfherd came up to the miserable shepard and lunged.

He pinned the teary shepard to the damp grass, bathing him in lamb blood as the wolfherd bared his fangs and dug his claws into dough, shedding a disguise of his own.

A thin throat gave way under the wolfherd's teeth, and he discoverd that the shepard really was as sweet as honey, all the way through, as jam spilled into his mouth. He made cracks as the shepard weakly tried to struggle, tearing into his dough in reprimand, in retribution. The shepard deserved it.

He dug into his chest with his wet teeth, pulling out his jammy heart, his pulsing Soul Jam, his writhing soul. He savoured it as he swallowed it whole, as the shepard went obediently still beneath him, because he deserves it, this is his, he is his, and the shepard deserves it too. He deserves it, he DESERVES it, HE DESERVES IT--

—HE DOES, he does, but not quite like that. No, no, something's still off. Maybe a change of angle is needed. A change of perspective.

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a liar.

He was beautiful, magnificent in his dark robes and rough around the edges in a captivating way. He watched the world from the top of a spire, looking down on Cookiekind from above with dozens of golden eyes, turning his back on Truth.

The liar was not alone. At his side, and he at his, was the beast that strung the world in shimmering strings, playing the universe like a grand orchestra to seranade his companion. Their power did not just blend harmoniously; it was a singular one, feeding into an endless cycle between the two of them, driven by the thrum of their Soul Jam.

For a blissful forever, they stood together, casting the veil of Deceit over the world, dampening the blistering light of Truth until it coalesced into the shadow of Deceit, becoming what it always should have been. The two of them were unstoppable, bowing to nothing and nobody, rising above it all. They were unstoppable, they could have been, they would have been unstoppable-- IF--

—IF THOSE GNATS HADN'T– IF HE HADN'T–

(Stupid, traitorous, weak fool!)

—No, no, enough, enough, enough. This still isn't getting anywhere. How about this?

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a saint of Truth.

He was blindingly bright, too bright, and he could drive the shadow monsters away with a single swipe of his staff, so radiant was he. And yet, for all his shining power, he was also a complete idiot, driven by his soft, squishy heart.

For instead he cleaved the monster out of the shadow, held out a hand and said, "Let me be your...friend."

Friend. Friend. How ridiculous! Laughable, really, in its absolute stupidity. The saint's eyes were so soft, gentle in contrast to the harsh edge of the light, gooey like melted chocolate, like the saint was doing the monster a favour even though it was the other way around, it was SUPPOSED to be the OTHER WAY AROUND--

—NOPE, no, that's no good either. Come on, what else, what else, what else– aha!

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived an angel.

This angel was once a shepard, once a king, once a hero, once a saint before he ascended to the light of the heavens. He was beautiful and benevolent, warm as sunlight, sweet as honey, blindingly bright and infuriatingly beloved. Until he wasn't.

You see, when the angel had ascended, he had thought that he had risen from the rock bottom of the river. He had foolishly believed that he now knew everything, that he had captured the essence of Knowledge through a brief meeting of two halves of a single Soul Jam.

He hadn't realised that a new rock bottom can always be created – all you need to do is dig.

And so, the demon did, dragging the angel down from the picturesque heavens and back to him, backed by a symphony of screams.

The angel tried to reason with him, with his faulty logic. The angel tried to fight but wouldn't risk crumbling him for good. The angel tried to reach out to him, like he really, truly believed it would work.

In the end, the angel lays crumpled at the demon's feet in a heap, cheeks wet with tears but eyes tired and wild. His painful light dims into something bearable, close to snuffing out entirely, flickering weakly like a candle in the wind.

"You were right." The angel whispers, about his hope, about his kindness, about anything, about everything. "You were right. It was always going to end like this."

And when the angel looks up, it is as if he is giving all of himself to the demon. Properly, this time, no clever tricks even passing his mind. His life and soul forfeit.

There. Perfect.

Shadow Milk sighs, a heavy sound that thickens the air. He is not quite satisfied, because he cannot be, not with his dough crawling with restless viciousness, but he is satisfied enough. With the story, of course. Not with anything else.

Just thinking of that, Shadow Milk scowls, finally looking back down at his hands. He had forgotten about the little plush doll he was holding. It's a cute little replica of Pure Vanilla, small enough to fit neatly into the palms of his hands. He had been fiddling with it for no reason in particular, mostly agitated boredom.

In the midst of his storycrafting, he must have tightened his grip too hard. His claws have ripped its chest in half, stuffing bubbling out of the wound like sea foam.

He stares at it blankly for a moment, claws idly toying with the fluff. Then he narrows his eyes, growls, and twists his claws deeper into the tear.

Lonely, Pure Vanilla had said, with the absolute gall to act like he could read him perfectly. Like he could understand him.

As if! There was no way he understood him, and his new little light show only proved that. Whatever understanding Pure Vanilla thought he had was conjured by his own mind, his poor little heart's attempt to find a peaceful solution. It's like Shadow Milk had told them – in the face of the unknown, Cookies tend to fill in the gaps with whatever fits best with their existing belief system, and what they want to believe is true.

Shadow Milk huffs, finally pulling his claws out of the Pure Vanilla doll. It's a sad looking thing, droopy with the lost stuffing. He considers it for a moment, before gingerly beginning to push the stuffing back in, tuft by tuft.

There is one thing Pure Vanilla got right, though. He really is the only one with the potential to truly understand Shadow Milk. He was close to it, even, tantalisingly close before he pulled himself back out again, but he hadn't gotten there yet.

Shadow Milk knows that he hasn't. Because Shadow Milk knows what it will take to get him there, and it involves tearing him to shreds–

Shadow Milk summons old marionette strings, now mostly unused, and begins to sew up the open chest of the doll with lazy flicks of his finger. Despite the casual movement, the stitches are precise and perfect. Once he's done, the doll looks almost as good as new, but inarguably altered.

—before fixing him back up in Shadow Milk's design.

Only then would Pure Vanilla really be able to understand Shadow Milk. Only then would Shadow Milk believe it.

Shadow Milk rubs his thumb over the doll's cheek, something ugly twisting in his chest. His claws twitch, eager to tear the doll apart again, to have an outlet, but he refrains because he does have self-control and he just fixed it.

Instead, he lifts the doll up and presses a kiss to the little stitched star on its forehead. No, not a kiss. It's more like a curse, a harsh press of lips with the slightest snarl of teeth, with enough pressure to create a dent in its soft head.

Yes, this isn't the end. They have eternity, after all. The wait may be agonising, but eventually, he'll understand him. Shadow Milk will make sure of it.

The something in his chest loosens just slightly, as if relieved.

[itsonlybaby]

𐙚ᣟ݂﹒𝐟𝐰𝐛 - 𝐛. 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐤𝐞 ﹒

◜♡﹒﹒𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭﹒𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭﹒𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

playlist ! i am so back for good this time, will upload once every one to two days depending on the request!

Bellamy Blake - Dropship

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ ⸝⸝ You and Bellamy were friends, friends who often did each other favors. ﹒ 　 ⊹ 　⤷ cw: shameless smut, nsfw, praise, 2nd POV, no plot

Being friends with Bellamy meant you got special treatment not many others could get- well, nobody else could get. That only meant you'd be helping him more than usual.

It wasn't a secret, everyone knew something was going on between you and Bellamy, nobody would act that close with a normal friend, but nobody cared enough to speak up about it.

You were in Bellamy's tent, legs on either side of his hips as he roughly thrusted up into you. He wasn't even fully pulling out, just grinding deeper into you while you wiggled in his grasp. You grinded your hips to meet his; eliciting a moan. You grabbed onto tufts of his hair to try and stifle your pleasure elsewhere, not wanting to wake anyone up.

Bellamys hand trailed down to your ass, giving it a light squeeze, "Just like that, princess,"

Your head dropped down into the crook of his neck, the pleasure was palpable. No matter how many times you'd find yourself on his dick, you'd never get used to the feeling.

Bellamy stopped his movements, leaving you whining.

"You want it that bad?" He teased.

You nodded in reply.

"Then ride me."

Bellamy smirked as he watched your face flush, you'd never done anything like this before. It was always Bellamy doing everything for you.

Bellamy's hand found your hips and gently guided them, helping you get started. Once you found your rhythm Bellamy let go, his hands now focusing on your breasts bouncing with every movement. His thumbs traced over your nipples, sending a spark up your body.

Your head found its place on his shoulder, once again trying to silence your moans by gently biting on the exposed skin.

"Gonna make me cum, princess." Bellamy muttered, both hands cupping your breasts as you rode up and slammed back down. Bellamy knew he was close, and so did you. With every moan, you went deeper and deeper on him.

"Bell..." You moaned out, your legs beginning to shake, you wanted to scream out your orgasm, but you remembered where you were.

You threw your head back and clasped your hand around your mouth, much to Bellamy's disapproval.

"Always sound so pretty like this." He breathed out. He loved hearing the sounds that came from your mouth when you climaxed, it was his favorite part.

Your orgasm splurged through you in fast waves, leaving your body exhausted. Bellamy snaked his hands to your hips and held you up as he pounded into you, not quite near his own orgasm.

His dick continuously hit your oversensitive sweet spot, leaving no room for you to recover from the previous high.

"It hurts, Bell." Your hands grabbed his arms, digging into the skin. His skin felt hot, lined with sweat from the damp air around the tent.

"It's okay, take it all." Bellamy hushed you, his pace never slowing.

You weren't sure how long you could last with the relentless thrusts, your legs began shaking uncontrollably around him again. You knew if he kept this up you'd surely cum again. Closing your eyes you tried to hold on, not wanting to cum a second time just yet.

"Look at me, princess." Bellamy demanded. You shook your head, knowing if you were to obey you'd surely come undone.

"You asked for this." Bellamy grabbed your thighs and lifted you up with him, placing you on the bed roughly he spread your legs, his dick never leaving your pussy. You were definitely looking now, the eye contact making your stomach flutter.

The new position brought new waves of pleasure. Allowing his dick to hit different places in you.

Bellamy's hand found its way to your hair, grabbing a fistful and tugging on it, forcing you to watch his dick fill your pussy.

The sight was enough to make you cum again, "Oh god, yes!" You yelled. It was like you'd been tipped over the edge as he fucked you through your second high. Your eyes rolled back seeing stars, the entire world went white.

"Such a mess." He said as your cum began painting his dick white. Every muscle in your body was exhausted, twitching, and sore.

Bellamy's pace began to quicken, he felt his own high was close. He let go of your hair and grabbed ahold of your legs to stable himself better.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck..." He spoke shakily, eyes focused on pounding into your slick pussy. His head slumped forward as thick white strings decorated your stomach, heavy breaths filled the tent while you both caught up with your composure.

With a big sigh, he stood up and tossed you your clothes.

"Same time tomorrow, got that?" He said, placing his own shirt on.

Rolling your eyes you nodded playfully, you could act like you hated your routine, but he knew you didn't. It's why you come back every day.

◜♡﹒﹒𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭﹒𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭﹒𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

[ladybyakuya]

are we still friends? + (ren kaji, hayate suo, umemiye hajime, sakura haruka)

cws. | gn!reader, headcanon + scenarios format, sorta character study, fluff, angst, comfort. | redirect to blog navigation.

syn. | How do they react to confession when the feelings are mutual?

notes. | Will there be part two? who knows? but for now please have these. I forgot how to write smut so I'm writing fluff. 

☆ Ren Kaji: Ren does not like talking or listening so he pretends that he can not hear and with his headphones on it's easier to convince but when you specifically ask him to take it off so that you could talk it annoys him. He rarely takes his headphones off since it was a gift from someone. So all he does is to take the lollipop out of his mouth and say, "You can talk. I am not listening to anything," It really irritates you but you do not wish to act on it right now. He has started to grow a little too comfortable with your presence around him and maybe. . .just maybe it's time to create a ripple in his stagnant heart. At the rooftop of the school, where gentle breeze and sunlight prevails you say you like him and watch his eyes go bigger. He takes off his headphones with utmost haste demanding, "Say that again," but now it is your turn to annoy him. All your comebacks are full of: "no." , "Did you not listen when i said once?" , "This is why i told you to take your headphones off," and so on. You are so engrossed in conversing with him that you fail to notice his swift motion of leaning and planting a kiss on your cheek. Your lips cease to move for a while yet it is ever so quick and swift that it happens within a blink of your eyes. "Okay, I'll say it for you then," Ren says. Gulping and continuing, "Y/n likes Ren Kaji. and I like you too." in one breath and just vanishes out of your sight. The next few days he is spotted sleeping at unusual times because he has spent sleepless nights regretting why he did not take his headphones off.

★ Hayate Suo: Suo has known for a while that you like him. Well, he is not too sure but he always had a pretty good idea when it comes to emotions. He has probably known even before you that you could harbor feelings for him so when he hears the rumors from other students he does not react much except with some snarky comments to shut those rumors with his sickly sweet saccharine smile. But hearing it from you, at some secluded place near the bike stand of the school is certainly is out of the syllabus for him. At first, he does not know what to say, what to do, or how to react but when your eyes slowly look up to meet him the first thing he thinks if you did it because of rumors or some sort of dare. If so, then both are wrong. He thinks confession should come when it's time not when it is influenced by others. So, all he says is: "I know." eyes blinking a little too much, unable to consider you as his focal point. " I've known for a while." And then, he asks for some time to think about it which is unexpected because from what you have heard he has rejected every other proposal that came his way. You came prepared to be rejected when you decided to confess but this goes out of the syllabus for you too. So, you end up thinking if this is his new way of tormenting people who like him but he really needs time to properly think because he thought there is no way he thought you would like him back. He does not want to hurt you. That goes against his morals. He could feel his cheeks being warm, ears too, palms tucked behind his back cold, and rapid heart rate. "So, this is how it feels to be confessed."

☆ Umemiya Hajime: Being an older brother to everyone has never been a bother until he developed a gut wrenching crush on you or that is how he would like to put it. Not only that, you have developed quite a friendship with Kotoha ever since you started helping her out in her resturant. You are probabaly same age as her which makes things a little more complicated. Was it not enough that you might be under the impression that Kotoha is his girlfriend? Like most other people; But thanks to Sakura for clearing that confusion up. Still. . .still he feels his heart twist whenever he visits the resturant. All he does is to silently watch you. He could have easily creeped you out if you had not developed a crush on him. When Umemiya's visits became you became a little bold, like talking to him, asking about his day, exchanging numbers but never have been alone with him. He always comes with his band of boys. It denifitely nice to hear him laugh, talk and sometimes steal sneaky glances but it does not help with the wave of emotions he makes you feel. So, one day when the door bell chimed and as usual you said, "Welcome" looking in the direction of entrance ceasing your chores all you could do is stare for a moment since the customer is none other than Umemiya Hajime and he is all alone. So, you repeat again, "Welcome Umemiya-san." tearing your gaze away from him. "Kotoha is busy. Should I let her know that - he cuts you off with," i'm not here for her today." sipping water ever so slowly from the glass you just served on the coaster. Is he nuts? is he really doing this? Right now? why is he not freaking out? or maybe he is, internally, just like you. "I'm here for you today." And, when he confirms you turn around to get a proper look. 

"I see," you say.

"You didn't answer my call so i had to come here," Umemiya remarks. 

"so, you are here to scold me?" Umemiya's heart drops in some bottomless pit. He did not mean it to come out this harshly. He is just tensed, especilly after how you texted last night : "I like you Umemiya-san." 

"did you check your phone after last night?" and to that you just nod. You do not want to and who honestly would after confessing to the brightest star. You are so out of league from him. Umemiya smiles. "I see," he speak softly. He gets up and then he is about to leave but just before exting the door he says, "Please, check you phone."

★ Sakura Haruka: Sakura has a habit of talking, and going on and on about it unless someone interrupts. If possible, he would talk in one breath. So, when you say that you like him he dismisses it as a joke. "quit kidding. Nobody likes me. y'know that. . ." And there goes your probably hundred-and-fifth confession. He never takes it seriously no matter how serious you try to be Sakura manages to bungle up your intentions so quick yet you can not seem to blame him. If anything he is too honest, so often he comes as rude and obnoxious but his intentions are so pure that sometimes it makes you think can a person be this stupid? But this time when you confessed you thought this would go in the usual direction; him dismissing it as a joke but this time when he looks at you he is faced with something new, something he is not good at handling. "you. . . are you crying?" And it dawns on you how heavy your heart has become with his oblivious nature. all those "I like you-s." never reached his heart, only his head. You quickly wipe away your tears and try to cover it up with the most brilliant lie ever to exist. "It's just dirt." given his oblivious nature he is supposed to buy but he is asking questions again. "You. . . all these time. . . were serious?" Yes, you absolute dimwit. You can not even nod to confirm his thinking. You swallow hard trembling lips parting to speak and you are met with his chest with his arms wrapped around you. " I-I ... was told that if you like someone...you can hug them... y'know when they ...say they ...like you," he starts to stammer and it creates a swarm of laughter arises from your stomach. "Whoever told you that must know a lot about dating," you say having a fair idea who it might be.

[sugawhaaa]

SAN X READER

⚝₊ ⊹˚Scented feelings⚝₊ ⊹˚

Warnings:: mentions of SA and harassment, suggestive at the end

Genre:: friends to lovers

Pairing:: gym bro!San x fem!reader

A/N:: I've been cooking this up for a long time so I am PRAYINNN to the gods above this does well 🙏

San was a somewhat new friend but the two of you clicked like magic and nothing was too embarrassing to admit between the two of you. You met at the gym when you first started working out frequently and he gave you some tips. One thing led to another and now you work out together multiple times a week. He's always so encouraging, helpful and understanding.

If you explain to him that you're having kind of a rough day or not feeling well he won't try to push you like he normally does and he will respect the fact you want to keep it chill. All in all he is the best gym bro you could've asked for.

Today you came in a bit earlier than usual and started warming up with your regular stretches and light weight exercise to get your blood moving. As you did that you noticed two guys looking at you quite frequently and occasionally talking to each other. You chose to ignore them and listen to some music until San arrived. It wasn't too long after that you noticed San come in through the door with his bag and massive water bottle in hand. He smiled when he locked eyes with you and came over to you.

“You got here early today,” San smiles as he looks down slightly to meet your height.

“Yeah my schedule was clear and I just felt like coming by early,” you shrug and San nods. The two of you then get to work, following your usual routine. However you noticed the men from earlier were getting bolder and were much less obvious than before. You sigh softly as you go back to lifting some weights and Sans brows furrow. He hadn't noticed the men yet so he decided to ask what had been bothering you.

“You seem…frustrated?” San says as he comes closer to you, talking softer than usual.

“Yeah it's just those guys over there. They've been looking at me since I got here,” you tilt your head over to where the men were standing and talking. Sans brows furrow again as he looks at them.

“Want me to talk to them?” He offers but you shake your head.

“Nah I don't want to make a scene,” you set the weights down again and stretch out your arms above your head. San watches you carefully as you stretch before looking back at the men. He seemed to be more conscious of them than you were.

“I'm gonna go talk to them,” he said as he started to storm over to them. You put your hand over his chest.

“Don't, they're not worth it. Let's just keep going,” you smile at him and he sighs.

“Alright, but if they keep annoying you I'll talk to them. Formally,” he smiles innocently, too innocently. You continued working out and ignored the men and they seemed to stop staring at you…finally. However once you finished your workout San gave you a fist bump and I little sit hug while patting your shoulder. “You did good today,” he smiles, his eyes momentarily invisible, and you headed over to the girls change room. Upon approaching the door you were interrupted by the two guys from earlier. One blocked the door, it wasn't very deliberate but it was obvious, while the other stood more to the side talking to you.

“Could I get your number?” He asked straight up and you blush, not because you felt butterflies in your tummy like he probably thought, but more because you were so confused and embarrassed.

“Oh I uhm,” you shake your head and chuckle awkwardly. “I'm not interested,” you smile, still wanting to he polite because what if they really did have good intentions? It was doubtful but still. When you refused the man's face contorted with anger and what was this other emotion you could see in his eyes? You couldn't put your finger on it before he started getting mad.

“Oh come on just give me a chance baby,” he started getting closer to you and your body froze up. You weren't quite sure what to do in this situation; the man was much bigger and taller than you and you didn't want to cause a scene but you needed to find a way to get out of this situation.

“What's going on here?” San steps up next to you and puts an arm around you, smiling warmly to the man.

“Just friendly conversation, you know what I mean,” the man chuckled and San arched a brow at him, not very amused by his excuse.

“I see, well me and my girlfriend have some plans for the rest of the day so we'll be off then,” San pats your shoulder before kissing the top of your head. You felt your heart skip about a thousand beats.

The way his body pressed against yours, every inch of his muscles pressed against yours, including his arm muscles that were quite literally the size of your head and the kiss was so gentle and…sincere?

“Haha, have a good day you two,” The man chuckles awkwardly and backs up as the two of you turn to leave. San brings his hand down to your hand, interlocking your fingers, as he picks up your bags and leaves the gym. As you walked down the sidewalk you glanced back at the gym then at San.

“You can let go now,” you say as you look up at him, his cap hat shading in his eyes.

“We gotta sell the act or they may make a scene,” he leans down to whisper to you and your heart skips again. He was so close to you, so close to the point you could feel his body heat radiating onto you, and it got you excited. You thought you just thought San was you know a good looking guy, no romantic feelings, you just appreciate his beauty but after that insanity back there? The way he whispered to you made you freeze up to the point your jaw clenched to hold in all the things you were feeling.

San turned the corner, dragging your frozen presence along, and let go of your head. “They're way out of sight now, we're good to go,” he pats your back and you blush softly with a smile.

“Y-Yeah, we're good,”

“I'll take you back to my place so you can shower, in peace this time,” he laughs softly. “But in all seriousness I had to hold myself back from clocking those guys. No woman should have to deal with disrespect as much as they do these days,” he huffs as he crosses his arms, walking steadily with you. “Like God forbid a woman tries to get fit or take a shower,” he sighs while shaking his head, looking like a disappointed father. “Do you deal with that behavior often?”

“Uhm…not overly,” you shrug and he nods.

“If you ever find yourself in danger call me okay? I couldn't think of a better use for these muscles other than to clock a bastard bothering you,” he says as he pretends to box the air. You chuckle softly but nod.

“Thanks San, I'll call you,” a brief moment of silence fell upon the two of you when you realized you weren't sure where you were going, you were just following San's lead. “Where are we headed?” You ask as you trot along beside you.

“My place, so you can shower in peace,” he chuckles and you find yourself blushing. You had been at his house a few times before but showering in someone else's house feels like the next step in a friendship. When you get to his place you take your gym bag to the bathroom and San shows you how to use his shower just in case you didn't know. “This is temperature obviously and on the shower head there are four settings, the further you go to the right the higher the pressure goes and stuff,” he shows you before setting the showerhead back on its little perch. “You good?” He gives you a little thumbs up and you nod.

“Yes, thank you Sannie,” you smile and he blushes softly at the nickname.

“Sannie,” he repeats and laughs softly before leaving the bathroom. You sigh softly and begin to undress but just as you start San comes back in. “Sorry, here's a new towel and you can set your clothes on the counter here,” he hands you the towel and takes the old one off the rail. You thank him as he leaves you alone.

You undress and turn on the shower, making sure it's the right temperature before hopping in. You take your shower relatively quickly but as you water down your body you notice his body wash…he wouldn't mind you borrowing just a little bit right? Maybe? What's the worst he could do? Get mad at you for using it but meh he'll get over it. Unless he thinks you're a weirdo or creep for him. But that's way too far, he probably won't even notice unless he's sniffing you which would make him a creep and without thinking any further you grab the pale blue bottle and squirt a little bit of the soap into your hand, since there were no clothes nearby you had to result to just your hands which is fine, but as soon as you squirted out the soap Sans scent filled the room.

Whenever he'd spot you or help you get into good positions he'd get close enough to you that you could smell him and this is exactly what he smelt like…obviously. But it made your heart flutter. The scent was so indescribable. Coconut mixed with vanilla and maybe a hint of that fresh air smell. Oh, it was so good. You lathered the soap over yourself as you watched the suds bubble up before washing off of your body. Before you could even think you were smelling all of his soaps, like a fucking weirdo. But he'd never know so what's the harm? His shampoo was overwhelmingly strong. It had a very fruity smell, like a deep cherry or strawberry. He wouldn't mind if you borrowed it right? Either way you used just a little bit before getting out and drying yourself off.

The towel was nice and warm and very freshly scented. His laundry detergent was also very pleasantly scented, smelt like fresh air, and filled your head with images of clouds in a blue sky. You finished drying off and threw on your dry clothes before brushing down your damp hair. You put everything back the way you had found it and went to go find San.

You found him out in the living room on his couch and he turned to look at you. "Hey," he smiles as he looks you up and down very quickly. "Have a nice shower?" He asks to distract himself from your body.

"Very nice," you laugh softly before sitting next to him. When you sat down he got a whiff of his bodywash. He was surprised, the shock showing on his face for a split second, but he didn't mention it.

"So...are you gonna stick around or carry on with your schedule?" San asked very light-heartedly, he wouldn't be offended if you wanted to leave.

"I'll stay for a bit but I need to run some errands today," you say as you check your phone and San nods. The two of you hang out for a bit before you continue on with your day. That evening you get home and realize you left your bag at San's place. Your hairbrush, deodorant, pads, chapstick, and much more were in there. You decided to text him about it and he instantly found it in the bathroom.

You• would it be okay if I swing by after dinner to get it?

⛰️• ofc, I'll be here 👍

You• thank you 😭

After texting him you began to cook dinner before, of course, eating it. You then went down to San's apartment again and you couldn't help but feel excited to see him again. Even though it had only been a few hours you always craved to be near him...in a friendly way of course. When you came by he had your bag ready for you by the door and you wanted to ask if you could hang out for a bit but...you couldn't.

"I think everything's in there," San says as he hands it to you. You take the bag and smile, thanking him, but San could see you were thinking about something. "Y/N, you okay? You seem...distracted," he leans against the doorframe and you feel your heart stop at your face heating up.

"W-Well there was a complication with some of the pipes in my apartment and we were told to leave but I haven't found anywhere I can crash for the night," you make up a lie to stay at his place and he looks surprised.

"Oh well you can stay here for as long as you need. It gets lonely here by myself and my cat," he smiles, his dimples showing and you look at him surprised.

"You have a cat?" You chuckle softly and San laughs. He takes you into his apartment again and goes to his bedroom, encouraging you to follow. He then picks up a big long haired white cat.

"This is Muffin," he holds the cat up in his arms and encourages you to pet her. She's extremely fluffy and doesn't seem to mind being pet, she kinda just sits there. San also shows you his spare room. "There's not a lot here, not even a bed, so you might wanna sleep on the couch instead,"

"Thank you so much for letting me stay over," you smile at him, feeling a tinge of guilt but it was buried down by your excitement to spend the night with him. San shrugs.

"No problem, you hungry?" He pushes himself off the doorframe and walks out to the kitchen. You follow after him, Muffin following you as well, to the kitchen.

"Not overly, ate before getting here,"

"Right," San nods but makes you have a snack with him anyway. He sticks on a movie to entertain you but you end up talking to each other the whole time, the movie now out of question. The two of you got to talk on a deeper level than usual, things like relationship struggles and internal battles you've fought growing up. San always looked up at you so sincerely. His eyes were filled with sincerity and interest, he didn't just hear your words he listened to them, a trait many men fail to hinder. But something about his gaze so focused on you made you feel...excited. You felt like you were gonna flutter away at any given moment.

The two of you then go quiet, staring into each other's eyes, San then clears his throat. "Would you like a blanket?" He offers you a blanket and throws one on for himself. You snuggle up into the blankets and are overtaken with his scent again. You go back to watching the movie and then...you feel a sex scene approaching. Your body tenses as the girl on screen seduces the man and you chuckle softly but San remains focused on the show.

Eventually the two characters get down and dirty and you for some reason feel the need to turn away. Just a second ago you had so much to talk about but now...

"What a nice...ceiling you have," you chuckle and San laughs.

"If it's too tense for you we can skip this scene," San tilts his head at you but his words made your mind flicker for a moment. It was different from him saying "we can skip this scene" he said "if it's too tense," you thought of how to respond.

══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══

"Why don't we just pause it?" You suggest and San nods with a little shrug before pausing the movie mid-moan. You turned your body to look at him and he did the same, slightly man-spreading as he lifted a leg on the couch and held his arms open on the head of the couch. That's when you noticed the tent in his pants. You were excited at the sight but disappointed in the fact you weren't the cause of his arousal.

"Do you...have a boyfriend?" He asks softly and you look at him shocked. "Or girlfriend," he chuckles, breaking the ice a little. "I don't judge," he confirms and you think for a moment.

"N-No, I'm single," you smile. "But you surely must have someone in your sights," you giggle and San smirks slightly, chuckling under his breath.

"You could say that," he tilts his head up before looking you up and down. "What about pets? Got any furry or scaly friends at home?" He smiles light heartedly.

"I do actually. I have a fish and a cat, kinda ironic isn't it?" You laugh softly and San smirks.

"So where are they staying tonight?"

You freeze at his words.

"W-What do you mean?" You laugh but you knew you weren't getting through to him. Your face starts to turn red as you realized you've been caught lying.

"Well you have to stay here tonight because your apartment is having "complications" right? So, where are your pets?"

"They're at my...they didn't have to..." you try to make an excuse but your mind goes blank as you become flustered. San then leans forward.

"I don't mind you staying the night but if you wanted to spend time with me you could've just asked baby,"

To be continued...

[fastandcarlos]

Wedding Nerves : ̗̀➛ Lando Norris

summary: it's the night before your wedding and lando can't bare to spend it all alone

Your head shook as another knock at the door came, knowing exactly who was on the other side. You tried your best to ignore it as you unpacked your suitcase, but they were ever so persistent, knocking once again. 

“Lando, you shouldn’t be here,” you called out, walking over to the door. “You can stand there all night long but I’m not opening the door. The boys will all be wondering where you are.” 

“I don’t care abou them,” Lando replied, leaning against the other side of the door. “I just want to see you one last time before tomorrow, just a couple of minutes, that’s all that I’m asking for.” 

Your eyes closed as you leant on the door, hearing Lando sigh. His voice was desperate as he tapped on the door once again, letting you know that he was still there. You could only smile at how determined Lando was, refusing to go without seeing you. 

“You’ll get to see me forever after tomorrow,” you tried to assure him, “it’s only one night away from each other, we’ve done it hundreds of times before.” 

Lando’s head shook, “this time it’s different, it’s our wedding morning tomorrow.” 

“Why are you here Lando?” You groaned, beginning to think that there was more to things than he was letting on. “Something’s not gone wrong, has it?” 

His head shook, remembering that you couldn’t see him. “I spoke to George and he said Carmen told him that you were feeling nervous. I wanted to come and see you and make sure that you were alright, I don’t want you to be nervous, you should be excited.” 

“I am excited,” you responded, dropping down to the floor, “tomorrow is just such a big deal, and there’s so many people going to be there. I hate having all that attention on me, that’s all.” 

Lando remained where he was, only wanting to see you more now that he knew how you felt, keen to settle your nerves and reassure you not to worry. 

“Let me see you and just give you a hug,” Lando requested, tapping the door once again. “We’re fine to see each other, tradition is only tomorrow morning, not that either of us really care about that anyway.” 

The sound of the lock turning made Lando jump up, watching as you opened the door slightly. It was wide enough for Lando to see you, but not open enough for him to be able to reach in and hold onto you. 

“Lando, I promise you that I’m absolutely fine. Go and enjoy your evening.” 

“I can’t see well enough to be sure,” he grinned, refusing to give up quite that easily, trying to push the door to fit his hand through it. “What’s the point of just letting me see a bit of you, why not just open the door all the way?” 

“Because once you’re here I know you won’t go away,” you chuckled. 

Lando’s eyes widened at your assumption, shaking his head in reply to you. The smile on his face told you otherwise though, you knew exactly what he was up to, and once he was in, there was no way that he was going to be walking back out again. 

You tried your best to keep the door shut, but Lando was far stronger than you were, digging his heels into the ground and pushing the door open, stumbling over his feet and falling straight into your hotel room. 

“Serves you right,” you grinned, offering your hand to help him up.  

Lando stood himself up and straightened his clothes before heading in your direction. His arms wrapped around your frame as he tightly held you against his chest, pressing several kisses against the top of your head, refusing to let go now that he had a hold of you. 

Lando kicked the door to your hotel room shut, keeping you in his hold as he walked you both over to your bed, dropping down in the middle of it with you by his side, making himself comfortable like he was there for the night. 

After a few moments, Lando’s hand trailed along your back. “There’s no need to worry about tomorrow you know, it’s going to be perfect, I’m sure of it.” 

With all the efforts you and Lando had put in, you knew there was no reason to worry, there was no chance of anything going wrong. You had the perfect place, perfect theme, and everyone who you wanted to attend was doing so, there was nothing more you could ask for. 

“Maybe if you are nervous, it might be a good idea for me to stay here,” Lando added, catching your eyes roll. “I mean we both know how much it helps when you sleep next to me when you’re worrying, so it makes perfect sense, right?” 

“I’m not going to let you stay,” you said, quickly shutting Lando down. 

Lando hummed in reply to you, “we both know how this is going to work, I’m going to wear you down until you say yes, you know that, don’t you?” 

“Nope,” you laughed, “I refuse to cave tonight, you’ll be gone soon.” 

“You’ll have to get rid of me,” Lando told you, “and judging by your hand against my chest, I’d say that you’re pretty happy for me to stay a while still yet.” 

You quickly moved your hand off of Lando’s chest, shuffling across the bed to create some distance between you both. Lando looked at you in surprise, trying to move back towards you again, only for you to move back too. 

“It’s going to be a pretty rubbish stag do if you’re not there,” you reminded him, standing up from the bed. “Plus, you only said that you wanted a couple of minutes of my time.” 

“I don’t need a stupid stag do, not when I could spend my night with you instead,” Lando sighed, sitting up in the middle of the bed. “Do you really actually want me to go?” 

You tried to ignore the little voice in your head telling Lando to stay, nodding your head. You didn’t want him to miss out on his stag do, the party that he had been looking forward to for so long. 

“I should probably go,” Lando pouted, sliding off of the bed. His shoulders hung low, his feet dragging along the floor dejectedly. “But all you have to do is give me a call and I’ll forget all about the boys tonight and rush straight over here to be with you instead.” 

“Go on,” you grinned, opening up the door. “I’ll be alright without you for one night.” 

Lando stood in the doorway, turning back to face you one final time, letting you see just how disappointed he was that you were making him leave. 

“In five years, I think this is the first time you’ve declined to spend the night with me,” Lando mused, “and the night before my wedding too.” 

“I’m not declining to spend the night with you,” you protested, “this is what we agreed on, you’re going to be stuck with me for the rest of your life after tomorrow anyway.” 

“I can’t believe it,” Lando smiled, “the rest of our lives together.” 

“Only if you go,” you teased, pushing Lando out of the door. “Go and enjoy your evening, I’ll see you tomorrow Lando.” 

“I can’t wait to marry you sweetheart.” 

“I know, me too Lan.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[thelov3lybookworm]

Teddy Bears

Summary: She... doesn't dislike him?

•○●⛦●○•

Word Count: 2186

Warnings: tiniest bit of angst? no angst? idk but it is kinda chaotic lolll i love it

A/n: based on this request 😋 @mellowmusings ily thank you for giving me this idea hehe I HOPE U LIKE IT POOKIE 🥹

also @potatoplace and @sapphicmsmarvel, dedicated to u two cus i love u lots ur the best 🥹

(also something funny to distract tato from cramps hehe)

ANYWAYS, ENJOYYYY!!!🥳🥳🥳

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

If there was such a thing as Fae Going Mad List, Azriel was sure he’d be on the top of it.

He was not sure how to describe the feeling of helplessness that he had been feeling for quite some time now. Some days, it was barely a speck of awareness in the back of his mind. The others, he didn’t even want to leave his bed. It took sheer willpower, his shadow’s encouragement, Cassian’s constant nagging and the hope that maybe, that day would be the day Y/n finally gave him anything other than her signature condescending glare that she wore when it came to him that got him out of his pity party most days.

The fact that the person evoked such feelings in him did not care also gave him a bit of a reality check, enough to break out of the haze of self hatred.

Remember the plan.

Azriel glanced sideways at the little shadow that floated next to his ear as he climbed up the steps to the training ring, brows furrowed. Of course he remembered the plan. Or whatever half assed thoughts he called a plan, anyways.

Waking up, he had been filled with dread and determination, telling himself that enough was enough, today was the day that Y/n will have to tell him the reason she always had her nose turned up at him, as if she could not be bothered to look at him without contempt.

The training ring was mostly empty, as it usually was when the sun was high in the sky, except for two figures on the far end towards the edge. Cassian’s wings towered over the two, casting shade onto the smaller figure sat beside him.

Once again, the sight of the back that should have been proudly carrying her own set of wings stabbed a dagger of guilt into his heart, making Azriel wonder if he should even have the right to talk to her.

After all, it had been his fault she had lost her wings.

It was well known that after a female became eighteen years of age, her wings had to be cut off. Knowing the traditions, Rhysand had gathered Cassian and Azriel and decided that one of them had to be with her at all times of the day. She had been like a sister to Rhysand, and the only friend outside of each other, so the need to protect her was not questioned.

The day it had happened, Azriel had been on his resting day after a week of training. Back then, none of the three Illyrians were allowed to train on their rest days, or else the Lady of Night would have their arses.

Naturally, Azriel was supposed to follow Y/n around.

Of course, she didn’t want him to.

"Azriel, I am not a baby. You will leave me alone-"

"I won’t."

She huffed, pausing her angry march up the side of a hill she was trekking to get water from a nearby river. "You will."

Azriel glared right back. "It is my duty to Rhysand. I-"

"Fuck off!"

She had thrown a wooden bucket at him, fury radiating off of her, and it had infuriated Azriel, how she acted like she was oh so better than him. He knew she was, sure, but it maddened him all the same.

And in a bout of frustration, Azriel spread his wings as far as they would go, then beat them and flew off, back towards the house where he planned to spend his ‘rest’ day doing exactly that and not wasting precious time on someone who was too ungrateful to accept protection.

Deep in his heart, he had dreaded the future, somehow knowing he would live to regret his decision.

And he did. Regret and shame had become best buddies of the shadowsinger, following him around more closely than his shadows did. If only he had not listened to her, he could have saved those beautiful wings he wished he had the chance to cherish.

But thinking about his shortcomings and faults was not going to help him today, so he pushed those thoughts in the back of his mind, to be picked up and inspected later. For now he needed to focus.

What’s your problem with me?

Why do you not like me?

Why do you always fight with me?

How can I make it up to you?

Azriel repeated the words in his head as he marched towards the edge of the ring, pushing his shoulders back and lifting his wings. Eyes focused, fists clenched.

When he was almost upon the two, Y/n turned, lips parted as if mid-sentence. She stared at him, dissecting each part of him with just a glance. Disarming him with just a glance.

And all words flew out of Azriel’s head. The only that remained were extremely unhelpful.

She’s beautiful.

No, what was it?

How’s your problem with me?

"Hey, Az."

Azriel blinked, nodding at Cassian, not missing the sight of the smirk on his brother’s face as he stood. Cassian ignored the lack of words from Azriel and walked closer, clapping him on the shoulder and leaning in to whisper. "Lover boy finally got balls?"

Azriel shot him a sharp glare, pulling his shadows closer to himself. "Shut up."

Cassian grinned lazily, lifting his hands placatingly before walking off, whistling an infuriating tune.

The same one Azriel had mentioned reminded him of Y/n.

Asshole.

Azriel watched Cassian disappear through the archway into the dim interior of the starwell, swallowing, before turning back to Y/n, who was drawing her legs back up over the edge, beginning to stand.

Those thighs-

"Wait-" She paused, glancing at him. Azriel swallowed, feeling his stomach flip and trying his best to ignore it as he moved closer to Y/n. "I wanted to talk."

"To me?" She mumbled, brows raised. Her voice did things to him, as it always did, but the surprise in her voice distracted Azriel.

"Well, do you see anyone else here?"

She scowled, lowering her legs back down and letting them swing. "I have no obligation to listen to you, you know. Being nice would do you a favour."

Azriel sighed, settling down next to her, faintly noting how the sun was hitting her back, making her hair look a shade lighter. He also noted the way she was squinting to see, peering up at him.

That wouldn’t do.

He spread his wings, lifting them slightly until she was sitting in their shadow. He did not miss the quick glance she shot behind her, nor did he miss the slight widening of her eyes and faint blush on her cheeks.

That could be from sitting in the sun too long,but Azriel liked to think the reason for her blushing was him.

"I’m sorry."

She hummed, turning her head to stare down at the city. "What did you want to say?"

"I…" he paused wondering how to go about this, then decided it would be best to get straight to the point, seeing as Y/n herself had mentioned, she had no obligation to listen to him and could very well walk away if he beat around the bush. "I just wanted to know why you dislike me so much."

"Why do you ask?"

"Because I’d like to know and maybe apologise. I’m tired of this- this cat and mouse chase."

She snorted. "What’s the point in apologising if you have to ask me about the mistake you made?"

Azriel looked down at his lap, chagrined as much as he was frustrated. "I cannot remember what I did, I am sorry. Please tell me?"

Surprise flickered over Y/n’s beautiful features before she straightened, clearing her throat. "Oh, um… you said please."

Azriel raised a brow. "And?"

"I didn’t think you would, this is a surprise."

Immediately, Azriel felt his lips turn down at the corners. "You’re so funny."

She smiled coyly, the fire in her eyes was at complete odds with it. "Do you or do you not-"

"Fine, fine. I’m sorry."

She huffed, shaking her head. "Now you’ve annoyed me and I don’t want to tell you."

Frustration bubbled over, and Azriel pushed to his feet, glaring at her when she tilted her head back, confused. "Have a good day, Y/n."

He turned away, knowing he should stay and let her bully him to her heart’s content, but telling her, again and again, how he wanted to repent and make things up to her, being vulnerable enough to let her take jabs at him and not fight back was unfamiliar. It made unease crawl under his skin.

It made him worry that if he let his mask drop enough to make her comfortable talking about what had bothered her, she’d see how weak, how pathetic he was and be disgusted.

Maybe this whole plan was useless, pathetic.

"Az- wait!" He paused, glancing back at her. "I’m sorry, I went too far."

Azrie ducked his head in a shallow nod, looking away from her.

"You were trying to make things right and I- I’m sorry."

Azriel shook his head. "It’s fine. You have the right to-"

"That’s right! I do." Brows raised, Azriel turned back to her, surprised at the sudden change in her tone. "You did the worst thing ever to me and never apologised. I have the right to be angry."

Azriel swallowed, nodding. "I shouldn’t have left that day. I should have apologised and begged for forgiveness sooner."

When she didn’t say anything Azriel lifted his head, scared of her reaction. But she simply stared at him, brows furrowed and eyes narrowed. "What the hell are you talking about? Shouldn’t have left where? When?"

"Your wings? This is about that, no?"

Her eyes widened, lips parting. "Oh my- mother, no! Not at all, no, Azrie! Why would I ever- you dumb male, I would never hold something like that over you!"

Azriel swallowed again, unable to look away from her. "Then- why not? If I hadn’t left, you wouldn’t have lost them-"

"And maybe I would have lost something more precious. Everything happens for a reason. Maybe if I hadn’t lost my wings that day, Rhys wouldn’t have made rules to ban wing clipping his priority. I do not care about that. I am not mad about that. What I am mad about is far more important than that."

Azriel blinked, shifting on his legs. "Oh… then what made you dislike me, if not that?"

She rolled her eyes before poking him in the chest. "You fucking stole my teddy bear and pushed me after you did."

Azriel blinked, then blinked again. "I- what?"

"And you still haven’t given it back to me."

Azrie’s lips parted, then closed, then opened again. At this point, he was trying to remember if someone had mixed up some sort of drug in his food, because what in the hell?

"I- I don’t remember."

She huffed, wrapping her arms around herself. It took all of Azriel’s willpower to not look. "Of course you don’t remember, asshole. I was playing with my toy, and you snatched it from me, and when I fell, you didn’t even help me up."

Azriel stared at her, incredulity dripping from his voice as he tried to hold in a snort but failed. "Y/n, are you being serious?"

She scowled, pushing him back. "Stop laughing. I am being serious."

"I’m not laughing!" Despite the words, Azriel’s lips twitched, lifting.

She huffed, turning away. Azrel instantly felt bad, so he lunged to grab her hand, tugging lightly.

"Sorry, sorry. I will get you that teddy back, yeah?"

Y/n peered at him, frown still in place. "What if you don’t?"

"I will."

The burn of a mark made Azriel wince, making him pull back the lapels of his shirt. There, over his left pectoral, was a small mark in the shape of a bear. Just amazing.

"Hmm. I believe you, then."

Azriel refrained from rolling his eyes, feeling himself break out in a fond smile. "So am I forgiven?"

"Give me a reason to forgive you."

"I’ll get you three new teddy bears."

Her eyes lit up. "Really?"

He nodded dutifully, placing a hand over his heart. "Really."

She smiled then, the sight ethereal, almost otherworldly in its beauty. Azriel couldn’t help but stare at her lips. They were so- so beautiful, mesmerising, he wanted to-

No. Stop.

He forced himself to look up into her eyes, his focus finally shifting to his rapidly beating heart. He could almost win a racing competition, he was sure.

Y/n smirked at him, a knowing look in her eyes before she turned, heading to the stairwell, and this time, Azriel said nothing, just watched her go.

Right before she disappeared through the archway, though, she paused, glancing back. "By the way, I never disliked you. It was just funny seeing you squirm. See you later, shadowsinger!"

Azriel blinked. So all that… effort, for nothing?

She’s funny.

A shadow whispered.

Mother help me.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

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[entitled-fangirl]

Lady Hightower.

Gwayne Hightower x wife!reader

Summary: the reader is approached by Criston Cole. Gwayne doesn't like the look in Cole's eyes.

A/n: this is a drabble to keep the writer's block away 😅 I'm still sick, but it's getting better slowly

Masterlist

.............................................

"Lady Hightower," Criston Cole approached the woman.

Y/n turned, her 6 month son in her arms. Her brows furrowed, "Yes?"

He stepped to her, and only then did he realize he wasn't sure why he did it. 

She noted his hesitance and a worried expression came over her face, "Is my husband alright?"

"Yes," he quickly reassured. "He is fine. Just fine."

She nodded and let out a relieved sigh, "That's wonderful. Thank you."

He nodded too, an awkward silence overtaking them. 

She shifted the baby in her arms. "I thank you," she finally said, "For your service to the crown."

Criston moved a step closer to her, "It is worth fighting for."

Her brows furrowed as she noticed his movements. "You've recently been promoted to the Hand of the King, I've overheard."

A smile came across his face, "Indeed. His grace truly blesses me."

Her patience began to turn to annoyance. "My father-by-law should be in Old Town by now. Hopefully with Daeron."

"Lord Hightower is a wise man. The crown shall miss his guidance."

Her head tilted as she studied him, "Indeed, it will." She forced herself to calm down, adjusting the baby against her shoulder once again.

As she did so, Criston took a breath, beginning to enter close proximity to her.

She looked up, his face closer to Criston's than she would've liked. "Ser Criston?"

"My lady."

"You're a loyal man, aren't you, Lord Hand?"

His eyes flickered over her face, "Yes."

She took a large step back and let out an annoyed sigh, "Quite loyal indeed." She looked around, "Where is my husband?"

Criston released a sigh of his own at his failure, "He should be coming back from the stables."

Gwayne did indeed step into the courtyard, a curious look coming to his eyes at the sight of his wife with the knight. The curiosity turned to worry when his wife immediately approached him when he came into her line of sight. 

"Dear husband!"

He reached out and took his son from her arms, wrapping an arm around her waist. He leaned down to her ear, "What did he say to you?"

"I'm glad to see you is all."

He looked past his wife to glare at Cole. "You're sure?"

She reached up and caressed his face, pushing his messy red hair from his forehead and speaking with a soft voice, "Gwayne."

He forced himself to take a breath and calm himself. The baby in his arms let out a soft whine. He looked down at his son, gently rocking him back and forth. "Did you scare the bad man away, my son?"

Y/n smiled, "Well, having him surely helps."

"Not enough," Gwayne smiles. He leans down and kisses her cheek. "Perhaps I need to give you another."

Her cheeks flushed. "Gwayne," she scolded.

A bright smile came over his face. He continued his teasing behavior, "Shall I?"

"This is improper to discuss here."

"I am not offended," he said with his infamous smirk.

She feigned offense, "Give me my son."

She reached out to take him, but Gwayne turned away from her, keeping the baby close. 

His wife giggled lightly, reaching out further, "Gwayne, give me my son."

"He is my son as well."

She playfully huffed. "Then we shall both pray to the Seven that he does not become as teasing as his father."

"Keeping a son from his mother, Lord Hightower?" 

Gwayne lifted his head up, seeing Criston Cole walking to them. He cursed under his breath, "Lord Hand."

"You didn't answer my question."

Y/n sighed, stepping next to her husband and resting a hand on the baby in his arms.

Gwayne shook his head with a clenched jaw, "I wouldn't dare, Lord Hand." A satisfied smirk came over his face, "She knows I would never break apart a family."

Criston smiled in slight offense as he tried to laugh off the man's digs. "Yes, you're a perfect man. Aren't you, Lord Hightower?"

The two stared at one another for a while as the tension grew.

"Excuse us, Lord Hand," Y/n finally interrupted, "But I'd like to welcome my husband back properly."

Criston forced a fake smile to his face, "Of course, my lady. How rude of me." He looked at the two, then the babe, his eyes studying the child longingly. He let his smile drop as he began to step away.

They watched him leave, a bold smile coming across Gwayne's face at his wive's boldness. He leans down again, "Welcome me properly?"

She grins, "Perhaps after the sun sets."

A shiver of lust ran down his spine, "Why only then?"

"We must wait until our son sleeps, Gwayne."

He wraps his free arm around her waist, placing a soft kiss on her lips, "Perhaps he can find sleep before the sun does."

She giggled lightly, "How so?"

"In the arms of his father," he stated as if obvious, "How else?"

She shook her head, "He wouldn't possibly-"

She froze, seeing that the baby in her husband's arm was already asleep, slumbering peacefully.

He looked up at her with a smirk. "Let us lay him down. I have a reunion to enjoy."

His wife grinned, dragging the man indoors.

......................................

[fangswbenefits]

Questions

Summary: Your curiosity drives you to ask Astarion a very unexpected question, and he's more than happy to give you a proper reply.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Astarion's POV. Innocent/inexperienced Tav being a tease. Precum. Praise kink. Oral sex (mild). Edging. Body worship. PiV. Creampie.

Word count: 2.7k

“What does an erection feel like?”

Astarion nearly dropped the dagger in his hand.

He was effectively caught off guard in a way that made him blink.

Twice.

“What?”

“What does an erection feel like?” 

You were smiling so sweetly and innocently that to an outsider, it might seem you had just asked him to fetch you a cup of tea.

He was officially stunned into silence and not many could take pride in such an accomplishment.

But you.

You had a way with words that could have his head throb from annoyance as well as his cock throbbing from lust.

Your hands were laced behind your back as you took sure steps in his direction with a sweet smile dancing on your lips.

He glanced around the forest clearing, quite taken aback by your sudden bluntness in such matters.

“And what prompted such a thought in that pretty little head of yours?”

With your smile spreading wider, you came to a full stop in front of him just as he sheathed the dagger at his hip once again.

“I was just wondering,” you said with a mere shrug. “I mean, I already know how it feels when… when we…”

“Fuck?”

Astarion would seldom be this forthcoming with you, but he truly enjoyed how you’d fluster so easily for him and from his choice of words.

You nodded.

Gods. 

He would never tire of how adorably oblivious you could be to your effect on him. 

“So you want to know how it feels for me, is that it?”

You nodded again, rooted in place as he began circling you like a predator studying its prey. Such an intrusive yet unbelievably arousing question had him almost salivating for the tease he was about to shower you with.

“As selfless as I am, darling,” he began with a tut, inching closer and closer to you. “I would like to know what I’d get in exchange for this delicate information.” 

He saw you swallow, still holding a sweet smile. “What would you want?”

Feigning pensiveness, he cleared a few specs of pollen that had gathered on your shoulders. “A kiss.”

“Where?”

Astarion would love to immediately sink you on your knees and have you plant the softest kisses along his cock.

But he would have to start slow with you, so he could revel in your inexperience.

He tapped his cheek twice with his finger, now close enough that he could feel your warmth. 

“So… a kiss for each piece of information?”

He grinned approvingly. “Lovely idea, darling.”

You closed the gap and moved to press your heated lips on his cheek.

It came as no surprise that he began to feel the faintest stir down below, letting him know just how weak he was to your sweet advances. But what truly made his cock harden even more was knowing you weren’t actively trying to seduce him.

You were too innocent to think a simple kiss to his cheek could turn him on.

So he’d let you know.

He’d show you.

“It feels very, very distracting,” he started, already mourning your warmth when you pulled away. “Especially when it’s due to sexual arousal.”

You blinked, waiting for him to go on, but what you didn’t know was that Astarion wasn’t one for charity.

Even when it came to you.

“Well? How about another kiss?”

You flinched. “Oh! Right… where?”

Oh, you were making this so easy for him. 

He would be fully hard in no time if he played his cards right with you.

So, he tapped his lips.

And you didn’t even hesitate to press a fleeting kiss on them.

But before you could move away, he gripped your wrist. “Ah-ah-ah,” he tutted, holding you in place. “A proper kiss.”

“That was a proper kiss.”

“Not if I can’t even taste you,” he said with a dramatic pout.

You nodded, promptly taking his lips in yours in a rather chaste kiss, and then Astarion went in for the kill.

He could always taste the inexperience and hesitancy whenever you gave himself to him like this. Masterfully, he parted your lips with his skilled tongue, and nearly groaned from how receptive you were to him.

The familiar lull of a throb around his cock was almost too distracting and he had to fight back the urge to immediately pull your body fully against his, so he could grind on you.

Surprisingly enough, and before he could tease your tongue with his fangs, you broke the kiss.

“Astarion, you’re not playing fair,” you said with that adorable pout that always made him want to have you on all fours for him.

But besides that, Astarion was not one to play fair, yet he’d make a single exception just for you and this specific moment.

He was too eager to entertain your unexpected curiosity.

He smiled innocently. “I do apologise for getting ahead of myself. It’s hard not to with you…”

And he truly meant it.

You were an exercise on self-restraint and he wished he could lavish you in bliss whenever possible. But he also knew you needed your space and to also be the one to take initiative, so he’d often patiently wait for your move.

And what a move this was.

His trousers felt too tight already, and he had to adjust his growing erection with one hand, which evidently caught your eye.

“Are you hard already?”

Already?

As if it was a hard feat with you being such a tease…

“I will show you if you give me your hand,” he proposed deviously. “It would be easier for me… and you.”

You gave him an adorable wicked smile as you placed your hand in his. “Surely you must remember how it feels without having to have one.”

What a tease.

Your words sent a couple of jolts of pleasure straight to his swelling cock, intensifying the pulsing.

He guided your hand to his crotch, and couldn’t hold back the grunt that rumbled in his chest as you gave him a tentative squeeze.

You delectable little minx…

“How does it feel?” you said, smile never wavering.

“Extremely distracting… and pleasurable.”

Another squeeze.

“What else?”

He would come undone in his trousers if you kept pushing him like this. 

“I feel the urge to be inside you.”

Your eyes widened. “Does it hurt?”

He shook his head, feeling his cock twitch under your palm. “No. But I would very much like to press you up against the nearest tree and slide it inside you.”

Maybe he wasn’t as patient as he thought he was.

Maybe he didn’t really have time to play his cards right.

He was so incredibly turned he thought he could easily die again just from the tease and frustration.

Unexpectedly, you leaned in to press a soft kiss to his other cheek.

“Can I… touch it? Will you tell me how my hand feels?”

Astarion nearly froze at your seemingly innocent suggestions.

Perhaps his love for debauchery was contagious and you were catching up and learning from him. Not that he was complaining, but his endurance might be at stake should you continue to further edge him with your sweetened words.

“You can do whatever you want,” he simply said, driven by the lust and agonising need for release.

And then you did something that nearly made his eyes bulge out.

You kneeled in front of him.

Gods above…

Eyes fixed on his as you struggled to undo the lacing at the front of his trousers.

The first beads of precum had already begun to drip from his tip.

He hurriedly helped you, fingers quickly loosening the fabric and creating an opening for you to take the next step.

And you did.

With another sweetly innocent smile, you pulled his trousers down just enough for his cock to bounce free, earning a sigh of relief from him.

Your fingers wrapped around him and his hips instinctively bucked from the sudden squeeze.

“How does it feel?”

Astarion wasn’t a man to be at a loss for words, but he couldn’t bring himself to string a couple together to answer you.

A single string of precum dangled from the tip and he now knew he needed to feel more of you or he might lose it.

“A kiss…” he said almost pleadingly, placing one hand in the back of your head.

You offered him a pout. “Where?”

He closed his eyes and let out a growl, rolling his hips as he fucked your hand.

“Gods…” he moaned aloud when your warm lips touched the swollen tip of his cock.

This had his eyelids snap open at once just so he could marvel at the sight of his precum dribbling down your chin.

But the near blinding pleasurable sensation came to a halt as you pulled back, darting your tongue along your lower lip.

“Tell me…”

Then you were on your feet again, but never letting go of his cock.

“I really want to ravish you…” he said impatiently, slowly taking a few steps into you, so you would walk back.

“Why?”

He wanted to fuck you.

No.

He needed to fuck you.

“Why what?” he growled, removing your hand from his throbbing cock, which earned a whine from you. “You keep touching me like that and teasing me with your words, and I will not last.”

In fact, he had lasted longer than he had expected, given the torture you were submitting him to.

“Was that your plan all along, my sweet?”

You shook your head, nearly tripping on a single twisting root that emerged from the ground.”No! I - I was simply… curious…”

Oh, he was going to adore making you sing for him. 

“Were you really?” 

Your back was soon pressed against a large oak tree and the most devious of smiles crept into his face.

He had you just where he wanted.

“You wanted to know how an erection feels, did you not?”

You bit your lip with a curt nod.

“I can tell you how it feels inside you,” he taunted, lips close to your ear and cock pressed against your shirt, staining it with precum. “Would you like that, darling?”

Your reply came in the form of a gasp that he quickly swallowed with a kiss, gripping your chin in between his fingers and applying enough pressure so that you’d part your lips for him.

You quickly caved in with a strained moan and his tongue slipped inside so he could taste your innocence.

Dexterity wasn’t a skill for everyone, but it was one he had harnessed and honed over centuries, and it came in handy in a vast array of situations.

Being able to undo your trousers with the fingers of a single hand was the one he was most proud of.

He felt you melt into him as he tugged at the tight fabric before yanking them down, and all of this without breaking the hungry and urgent kiss.

With a single finger he realised just how soaked you were for him, which was to be expected. Your body reacted to him in a way that further reinforced his devotion to you. It stroked his ego in the right places and tugged at the frayed ends of his sanity.

This time, he was the one pulling away, so he could drop on both knees as if readying himself for a prayer.

Your eyes were half-closed and heavy with the overwhelming weight of desire when you stared down at him.

With two fingers, he parted your folds and saw the delicious throbbing swell inviting him in.

And who was he to deny such invitation?

He leaned in and pressed a soft and lingering kiss on it, proud to earn the most adorable whimper from you as your hands flew to tangle in his curls.

“Astarion…”

He would die a thousand times over just for your praise and for your pleasure.

Nothing made him harder than your sweet cries as his name rolled out of your tongue.

He pressed two more kisses before raising to his full height again and chuckling in your ear. “You’re ready for me.”

You nodded eagerly.

Your despair was so adorable he could come just from how you were desperately grinding against him, the lower half of your shirt drenched in his precum.

With one hand, he pulled your leg up and apart just enough to grant him full access to you.

With the other, he angled himself at your entrance and was met with barely any resistance as he slowly pushed inside, grunting as you immediately began to tighten around him.

“Do try to relax, darling… allow me to at least bury myself fully inside.”

But he knew all too well it was merely wishful thinking.

He was getting undeniably closer to the point of no return.

You did try to comply with his request, lopping your arms around his next for added support as he pushed further inside. However, he was aware you couldn’t fully help but to instinctively clamp around his cock, squeezing his bulging veins and welcoming his precum.

His lips were on your ear once again. “You feel divine and I don’t think you need my words to know that.”

The first thrust dragged a soft mewl out of you and he held your leg in place, knowing all too well your knees would soon buck under you from the sensation of being fucked so deligently.

At this point, he was edging himself once he managed to set a steady pace, wet and sloppy sounds filling his ears.

You always took him so well.

He glanced down just so he could witness your wetness coating his cock each time he pulled back, only to ram it back inside with a desperate grunt.

“So… i-it feels really good, right?”

His eyes met yours and his rhythm faltered momentarily as he was surprised you were still trying hellsbent on getting your question answered.

“Yes, sweetheart,” he growled, his balls beginning to tighten as he reached the edge. “It feels ridiculously good.”

You immediately clenched.

Of course you did. 

You adored being praised and being shown you were taking him so well.

Not wanting to reach his peak himself as your contractions would aid him reaching his, he pressed the pad of his thumb against your pulsing swell and rubbed measured circles around it.

“Let go, darling,” he urged, his voice strained as he struggled to keep his focus. “I’ll catch you.”

He quickened his pace, entering the final stages of his insenset climb to the height of his bliss. His hips snapped more vigorously, the lewd sounds that he drew from you further testing his sanity.

You came first as intended, squeezing so hard around him he could no longer keep his eyes open and having to bury his face in the crook of your neck.

His name spilled from your lips like a broken prayer that any self-deserving God above would be a fool to ignore.

Someone this divine deserved to be heard throughout Faerûn and Astarion took immense pleasure knowing he was the source of your immeasurable pleasure.

As your contractions caused you to squeeze tightly around him, he felt himself let go and immediately felt his own bliss wash down over him, his lower abdomen rhythmically contracting and his balls rise up as the first ropes of cum began to shoot inside you.

He let out a guttural groan as he stilled as deep as he could, eager to feel his cum begin to slide out.

He would always come too hard and too much for you.

The amount of cum always surprised him, but he had grown to accept he was meant to fill you to the brim with his seed.

Surely enough and your contractions began to subside, he felt a few droplets drip out.

He pulled his head back so he could see just how flustered and out of breath you were because of him.

“Did that answer your question?”

Your laboured breaths were too endearing and he smiled proudly.

You swallowed hard. “You cheated…”

He gasped dramatically, still buried inside you. “I did no such thing. I simply found a better way to satisfy your mind, darling.”

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