#I didn’t want it to take up too much space

[girl-lostconnection]

I just wanna say I love your fruit bat!reader and I just had to think about the boys further misunderstanding when reader maybe has a darker aesthetic, but reader doesn't get at all the connection cause like yeah black's just a neat colour, oh I guess vampires are cool. Wait me? *Mouthful of orange or something* me no fruits all the way? I don't know what you mean.

On one side it would be incredibly funny as misunderstanding but the devil is whispering in my ear so let’s walk the other way.

Imagine Reader freshly selected to join the team, nervous about meeting new people who they read EVERYTHING on, just to be ready.

And no one is hostile, right? They are friendly, almost too friendly, which grates on your nerves a little but you know, maybe you are thinking too much about it?

Works up until the first joke about the vampires, huge wolf operator (you find out later that his call sign is Ghost).

“Know why people don’t like workin’ with vampire bats?”, the question catches you off guard, your eyes snapping to the man’s eyes and you tilt your head to the side. You don’t know him yet, you aren’t sure how much of a reaction is allowed in this circumstance.

“‘Cause they are pain in the neck”, he announces, his brown eyes boring a hole into you, his tail wagging like he is waiting for you to start laughing.

You don’t. You stare right back at him, fingers flexing so the sharp points of your claws dig into your palm and you manage a smile that feels a little too forced.

Big wolf in front of you apparently sees it as well, because you can see the way his jaw flexes under the mask.

So for some reason he decides to give it another go. (Only months later you will find out that Simon was desperately scrambling for all the bat x vampire puns he remembered, thinking that the first one sounded a little too abrasive)

“What drink does bat order at the bar?”, he asks, his left ear giving in a small twitch that catches your eye. He sure is big for the wolf, most of their family you met in the past were tall and lean but this guy is built like a bloody tank.

“What?”, you ask, heart beating a little harder than you’d like it, anxiety coiling in your gut.

“A Bloody Mary”, wolf hums out, his ear giving in another twitch and corners of your mouth curl upwards. Cute.

Wolf’s tail starts to wag again, eyes satisfied as he walks off and you follow him to see your new space and unpack.

Isn’t so bad for the first meeting, right?

But in hindsight every interaction from then on felt…somehow forced. Recurring about blood and meat and fucking Halloween. Remarks about wearing too much black or the way Soap once chuckled at the silver chain with a beautiful red cross. Not a religious symbol but simply an accessory you liked.

It all was piling up so quickly you decided to just…stay on the outside. Maybe that would be better. Maybe they were trying to tell you that they didn’t want a bat and didn’t like bats.

That they didn’t like you.

It takes time to undo and the process is slow — you are a tough nut to crack, but they don’t try to crack you. Just…make amends, yeah?

Your relationship with Simon makes a cycle when he peels you oranges, eyes soft as you devour pieces of peaches.

“Do you know what’s a vegetarian vampire bat’s favourite fruit, luv?”, he hums out, placing a peeled orange in your bowl, something in his tone making you feel fuzzy.

“What is it?”, his tail is wagging and god the way he looks at you makes something tender in your chest ache, you mouth voluntarily falling open when he pushes a piece of peach in it, eyes crinkling.

“A neck-tarine”, Simon murmurs, his tail wagging harder when you laugh after a beat, juices from fruit dripping down your chin.

You shake your head at him in faux disbelief and he grins, popping a slice of orange in his mouth.

“Can do it all night”

You roll your eyes and instinctively smack his hand away when he tries to steal your bowl.

“That’s what I’m afraid of”

[maskedbyghost]

You know what doesn’t get talked about enough? The classic “we hate each other but have to share a bed” trope—especially with Simon. (There are literally 92084 versions of this, but it never gets old and I want to talk about it again.)

You can’t stand him, and the feeling is mutual. But now, thanks to some messed-up circumstances, there’s only one bed, and neither of you is happy about it.

You stared at it like it had personally offended you. "I’ll take the floor."

Simon scoffed, arms crossed over his chest. "Yeah? And be useless tomorrow ‘cause you slept like shit?" He shook his head. "Not happenin''."

"Then you take the floor," you shot back, knowing full well what his answer would be.

He just gave you a flat look, like you’d said something stupid. "Not a chance."

And that was how you ended up here—both lying stiff on opposite sides of the bed, a pillow shoved between you like it could fix the problem.

The room was silent except for the occasional creak of the bed frame whenever one of you shifted. You faced the wall, arms tucked tight against your chest, determined to pretend he wasn’t there. But Simon was big, and his presence was impossible to ignore. Every time he moved, you felt it. Every damn breath, every slight shift.

Then, at some point in the middle of the night, something happened. Maybe he turned in his sleep, maybe you did, but somehow there wasn’t space between you anymore. His arm, heavy and warm, draped across your waist like it belonged there. It made you freeze, barely breathing.

Carefully, you turned your head, just enough to look at him. His mask was off, of course, but the room was too dark to make out much beyond the sharp cut of his jaw and the rise and fall of his chest. His eyes were still closed—until they weren’t.

You expected him to pull away, to scoff and roll back to his side. But he didn’t. Instead, his grip tightened, pulling you closer, his voice low and rough from sleep.

“Stop wrigglin’,” he murmured, tucking his face against your shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. “M’tryin’ to sleep here, love.”

Your heart kicked against your ribs. You wanted to argue, to shove him off, to remind him that this didn’t mean anything. But his body was warm, his hold steady, and somehow, you never got the words out.

---------------------------------------

i'm back and horny for this man.

@daydreamerwoah

[no-144444]

abu dhabi- o.piastri

summary: your first season as an f1 driver doesn't start the best, and you quickly realise McLaren doesn't like women very much. On top of that, your race engineer is as smug as the rest of them, and you have to deal with him all the time.

pairing: race engineer! oscar piastri x f1driver! fem! reader

warnings: lots of misogyny, lando is an asshole in this, illusions to ed behaviour, reader is not in a good head space, all of mclaren is super sexist, mentions of crashes and injuries.

a/n: thank you all very much for your patience, this series means a lot to me and I've had a lot of personal stuff going on, so I felt bad for leaving you guys hanging for a bit. Thank you all so much for reading this series and I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I love writing it!

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

Abu Dhabi. World Drivers Champion. World Constructors Champions.

Holy shit. 

All those years of hard work, of giving up being a child, of giving up having friends or family. You’d done it. You were a winner. 

You jumped out of the car and ran straight to Oscar, jumping in his arms. He caught you (of course) and cheered with you. 

“You fucking did it!” he smiled, pulling your helmet off. “You did it!” 

Every emotion flooded through you, but one in particular stood out; gratefulness. 

You were grateful for Oscar, for how he treated you, for who he was. He was there for you through everything, he helped you whenever he could, and while yes, you had a rough start, in the end you couldn’t imagine F1 without Oscar in it. 

“Thank you, Osc, for everything,” you smiled, hugging him close. 

“Anytime. Whenever. Always,” he nodded. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

He was drunk as fuck, but he was still watching you as you chatted with various team members. 

“You’re fucked, aren’t you?” Lando chuckled, joining his side. 

Oscar rolled his eyes. “I’m drunk, yes.”

“No. You’re fucked for her,” Lando pointed twoards you. Perfect, unreachable, you. 

“Yes,” he nodded, frowning. “I’m fucked for her.”

“It’s pretty clear.”

“I know it is,” Oscar scoffed. “Thanks for Baku, by the way.”

Lando sighed. “Look, I’ve said a lot of shit this season that I didn’t mean, and I’m sorry I was a dick to the two of you. It wasn’t right and I do feel bad about it. So, I’m sorry.”

“Thank you, but that doesn’t solve the fact that she’s being this mysterious weirdo and acting really into me and then really not,” Oscar whined. 

“She’s a very broken person-”

“You think?” Oscar rolled his eyes. “You’re not exactly giving me much hope right now.”

Lando laughed at his drunk state. “Just talk to her,” he offered. “She listens to you no matter what.”

Oscar stared at him, then nodded. “Good idea!” he announced (a little too loud as it drew the attention of a few people around the two of them), and looked at you. But you weren’t there. Oscar frowned again. 

“You’ll find her before the end of the night, I’m sure you will,” Lando clapped a hand on his shoulder and passed him a bottle of water to sober him up. “Good luck.”

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

Oscar had decided to go find you, he wanted to talk. On the way there, he’d acquired about three more drinks and pissed off a small group of other McLaren employees by spilling one of his three drinks and apologised profusely (albeit rather mumbly), and that’s when you came in with a hand on his shoulder and a gentle smile that brushed it all over. 

“Are you alright?” you asked him, taking him to a corner to look him over. 

“Y/n?” he questioned, his vision blurry. “Is that you?”

You chuckled. “Yeah, it’s me buddy, you alright?” 

He nodded, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you in for a hug. “I’m so proud of you.”

“I’m proud of you too, Osc, come on, we get you to bed?” you offered, pulling one of his arms over your shoulder and helping him walk. 

“Bed sounds good,” he nodded, allowing you to walk him to his room. 

Drunk Oscar was what you assumed three year olds acted like. He pressed every button in the lift, ding-dong ditched people in the hallway, and stripped (almost) naked the second he got in the door of his room. After a few minutes of being in his room, he decided it was a good time to puke his guts out in the toilet, and you, being the good samaritan you are, decided to stay with him. 

“Feeling any better?” you asked, putting a cold cloth on his head as he lay in bed. You sat beside him, holding his hand. 

He shook his head, his eyes closed and a grimace on his lips. “Shit.” 

You chuckled lightly. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

He opened his eyes and stared into yours, his hand resting over your hand. And time (as it always did when he was looking at you like that) stopped. The world melted away, and it didn’t matter that it was 2 in the morning, or that he’d just vomited, or that all of this was a lot more confusing than either of you had anticipated. You two just got to be with each other, and that was enough for the both of you. 

“Why don’t you love me?” he asked, his voice small and raw. He spoke to you with all the care in the world, but you could see he was hurting. You were hurting him. 

Fuck. Why couldn’t any of this be easy? Why couldn’t you just… talk to him? Confess to him? Be normal? The boy you love was sitting there in front of you telling you he loved you and you just… froze for a moment. You took a deep breath.  “Osc, of course I love you,” you whispered. “But you shouldn’t love me. I wouldn’t be any good for you.”

“I don’t care-”

“You’d end up hating me-”

“I could never hate you,” he shook his head, reaching a hand up to cup your cheek. “I could never hate you.”

And you believed him. That was the scary part. You believed him when he told you he loved you. You believed him when he said he cares. You believed him when he said you look beautiful. You believed him when he said he wouldn’t hate you. “You should,” you whispered, tears forming in your eyes. 

“I couldn’t,” he whispered back, a soft smile on his face. He wiped away a tear that fell. “I don’t want you to be scared of how you feel.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” your voice broke. “I’m not an easy person to love.”

“I disagree,” he chuckled, wiping every tear away. “I find it’s as easy as breathing.” 

And you couldn’t take it anymore. You curled up beside him and sobbed. You didn’t know how long you’d done it for, but you woke up beside him, the steady rise and fall of his chest against your head giving you something to ground yourself to. You remembered every moment of last night, every word he said, and everything you said. 

You just hoped he wouldn’t. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

When Oscar woke up, he knew there was something he had asked you last night, but he couldn’t remember what. After his conversation with Lando, there was nothing else he really remembered, apart from the fact that you had brought him up to his room, and he pieced together that he’d probably asked you to stay (being the pathetic hopeless romantic he is), and that’s why you were in his bed. 

A few seconds after waking up, the hangover hit, and fuck it was bad. His entire body ached. 

“I’m never drinking again,” he groaned, his voice hoarse. 

You chuckled beside him. “Remember anything?” 

He sighed, turning to meet your eyes. “Nope.”

As much as that destroyed you, you knew it was for the better. Oscar was better off without you, that, you knew for sure. But, you also couldn't put aside the confession he'd made last night. “I find it’s as easy as breathing.” It played in your head over and over again, like a mantra that made every negative thought in your head silent for a few seconds. Oscar was good at that, making you question yourself. Either way, you were glad he hadn't remembered. It was for the better, right?

There was a split second where he could’ve sworn he saw a flash of disappointment in your eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it was there, replaced with a smile. “Well, let’s go back to Monaco.”

He groaned just thinking about facing the day, but the fact that he woke up next to you meant it was better than any day he’d ever had. 

He definitely needed to know what he asked you last night. And you definitely needed him to not find out. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

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[inkedtension]

The moment he stumbles into the apartment, you can tell he’s completely, utterly wasted. His shirt is wrinkled, one side untucked, and his dark hair is an absolute mess, strands sticking to his forehead. and there's a lazy, lascivious grin on his face as he sways toward you.

“Baaaaby,” he drags out the word as if it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever said, arms already reaching for you before he even makes it across the room. “You’re so pretty. So, so pretty.”

You barely have time to respond before he crashes into you, arms wrapping tight around your waist, his weight forcing you a step back. He noses at your neck, warm breath fanning over your skin before he presses a messy, lingering kiss just under your jaw.

“I missed you,” he mumbles, voice thick with intoxication. His lips trail sloppily along your jaw, missing his mark more than once. “I was thinking about you the whole time. Didn’t wanna drink, didn’t wanna talk—just wanted you.”

You exhale, half amused, half overwhelmed by how affectionate he gets when he’s like this. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m in love,” he corrects, pulling back just enough to cup your face in his hands. His eyes are dark, half-lidded, pupils blown out as he drinks you in. “So, so in love with you.”

“I thought about you the whole time. Even when they were talking about boring stuff, I was just thinking about you, and your pretty face, and your hair, and—and—” He hiccups, giggles, then kisses your cheek sloppily, missing his target entirely.

And then he kisses your lips, like he’s trying to make up for all the time he spent away. His lips are warm, a little sloppy, a little desperate, and when his tongue swipes against yours, you can taste the faint burn of whiskey.

“Mm, I love kissing you,” he mumbles against your skin. His hands slip down to your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. “Like, so much. I could do this forever.”

“You’ll regret it in the morning,” you tease, but he shakes his head wildly, pressing more kisses wherever he can reach.

“Nuh-uh,” he insists. “I’d regret not kissing you. That’s way worse.”

He groans into the kiss, fingers tangling into your hair as he backs you toward the bedroom. He’s trying so hard to be in control, to take the lead—pressing you up against the wall, hands gripping your waist as his mouth moves hungrily against yours. But he’s a mess. A beautiful, intoxicating mess. His lips miss their mark, his teeth graze too hard, and he keeps mumbling your name between kisses like he can’t bear to stop.

When you finally reach the bedroom, he tries to spin you around, guiding you onto the bed—but the second he pulls away to do so, he loses balance. His legs give out beneath him, and he stumbles backward onto the mattress with a dazed look on his face.

You can’t help but laugh. “Smooth.”

“Shh, c’mere,” he slurs, arms reaching for you like a needy child. And you do—crawling over him, straddling his hips as he lets out a breathy moan at the contact. His hands slide down your back, gripping your waistband, and with a drunken sort of determination, he tries to guide your hips against his. He rocks his hips up harshly once, making you fall onto him, kissing you.

“Feel that?” he murmurs against your lips, eyes dark and heavy. “S’all for you.”

You do feel it—the hard press of his arousal beneath you. He rocks your hips against him, slow and lazy, groaning softly at the friction. His fingers dig into your waist, gripping, guiding, needy. His kisses turn even sloppier, missing your lips entirely at times, trailing down your chin, your jaw, your neck.

But then, just as the heat between you starts to build, his movements slow. His grip loosens. His kisses falter. And before you even realize what’s happening, his head falls back against the pillows, breath steadying, lips slightly parted in sleep.

You blink down at him, still straddling his hips, your body burning from the half-finished tension he just left you with.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

A soft snore is his only response.

For a moment, you just stare. Then you sigh, running a hand through your hair before shaking your head with a quiet laugh. You should be frustrated. You should be annoyed. But looking at him like this—his lips still pink and swollen from kissing you, his brows slightly furrowed even in sleep, his arms still loosely resting around your waist—you can’t bring yourself to be mad.

Instead, you press a soft kiss to his temple before carefully shifting off of him, pulling the blankets up over both of you.

“Idiot” you murmur, but the fondness in your voice betrays you.

And despite the ache he left you with, you fall asleep smiling, tangled up in the warmth of him.

[plaidcowboy]

taking care of 𓂃 rafe cameron while he’s spiraling

⟳⠀ a little inebriated rafe ⟳⠀after an argument with ward

⊹ you blinked into the open space of your room, slowly collecting your coherence as you listened to the voice over the phone. it took a second to realize you were hearing rafe mumbling, not sounding like himself. you quickly jolted up in bed at his quiet, but frantic words.

“i just don’t get why everything i do goes unnoticed.. unappreciated. i saved him. she didn’t do anything but run off and betray us. i got the cross. i killed that sheriff for him. me, rafe.. i don’t understand what happened with us..”

it broke your heart to hear his voice crack. you nursed your phone against your cheek, letting him get everything out. where was he? did his words sound partially slurred or was that your still half asleep mind? but you were so glad he called you in a moment this vulnerable. after months of being with rafe, he had a habit of keeping his feelings in and not letting you into his mind. despite this, you constantly told him you were always there if he needed an outlet.

you heard a dry chuckle across the line. “he even tried to blame you. my precious girl.. does he know how much i didn’t know i needed you? he can’t even begin to understand the love we share. he doesn’t have someone to take care of him like you do with me. he crossed the line when he mentioned you.. i just lost it..”

you placed a hand over your mouth, letting his words and current state settle in. you couldn’t let yourself get focused on ward’s thoughts of you. you knew he wasn’t a good man. you knew he didn’t deserve rafe’s respect. after months of knowing this, and knowing the fights he and rafe got into, never was it like this. this truly was breaking you.

you softly sniffled, not realizing you were getting worked up. “it’s okay, baby. it’s okay to let out that frustration. i’m so proud of you for letting yourself feel it. i’m even prouder you called me. that’s so good, rafe.”

you heard him breathing over the line, not speaking for a second. you took this opportunity to find out his whereabouts.

“um.. do you know where you are right now? can you see any signs?” you got up, walking to your closet to throw on a jacket and slip on a pair of shoes, waiting for him to answer.

it was another second of silence before he responded quietly, prompting you to listen closer. “i needed to hear your voice. i know you told me you’d be an outlet, but i didn’t think i’d have to use that outlet, but i needed it..”

you paused after grabbing your keys, listening intently, clinging on to his every word.

“..i needed to hear you. that makes everything better. i can’t see you right now, and i can’t let you see me, but i needed to feel you somehow.”

you slightly panicked at rafe telling you, you couldn’t see him. “rafe, i already see you even if i physically can’t. but i would really like to see you. do you think you could tell me where you are, handsome?” you didn’t let your voice portray your desperation too much. you didn’t want to let him know he was worrying you. then, he really wouldn’t let you go near him. not if he knew he was making you scared.

you could hear chatter grow louder around him as he answered. “i..” he pushed out a heavy sigh. “..i’m not disappointing you, am i? because i.. i won’t tell you if you’re disappointed in me right now. i’ll fix it.. i’ll fix myself and give you time to think.. i can’t have you upset with me..” he voice broke off softly at the end.

you were out of your room and outside, heading towards your car as he finished his sentence. “rafe, i think it’s impossible for me to feel anything diminishing about you. that feeling doesn’t exist inside of me. there is nothing, rafe, you could do or say that would make me view you differently from the caring and gentle hearted man you are.”

you were pressing on the gas, making your way toward where you knew rafe was without him having to say it.

this time it was him that sniffled, and you couldn’t grip the wheel tighter at the sound. he affirmed your thought of his location after a beat of still silence from his side.

“this might be impossible for rafe cameron, but can you please stay still?” you softly chuckled, attempting to lighten the tone, panic easing from you now that you were making your towards him.

“yeah, i’ll try” was his muttered response.

you were pulling up to the restaurant a few minutes later, rushing out of your car and looking around for rafe.

it wasn’t long before you spotted him outside at a high rise table, his head hanging slighty over his arms that were pressed atop of the table. standing tall, and standing oddly still. doubt didn’t dawn on you that rafe would listen, but him literally holding himself still was something you weren’t expecting. you softly shook your head, walking up to him.

he saw you from his peripheral, but sensed you before he actually knew you were approaching. turning his head, his expression couldn’t seem to turn softer and his posture more relaxed.

his face started to crumble, and you quickly reached around him to pull him into a hug, tugging his head down to rest on your shoulder.

you couldn’t feel the clawing and gripping of his hands as he tried to hold you inhumanly closer. only relief that he was in your arms now, and not afar over the phone.

“i’m sorry..” he softly uttered into your top. “..i’m sorry you have to see me like this.. but it’s messed up that i don’t care. i needed to feel you, to touch you, even if it meant you seeing me this way..”

you dug your face into his side, willing your eyes to not produce the tears you felt coming on.

“i can’t.. i won’t let go. you’re gonna leave if i let go, and you can’t leave me. you can’t..”

he spoke so softly you knew it was a thought that he didn’t mean to say out loud.

you reared back, pulling up his head to face you. the sorrow in his eyes felt like the last tug at your heart to finally pull it from its strings.

“i’m never letting go, so you can’t.”

rafe’s arms came down, his hands both cupping over one of your hands. you took it as the sign rafe was ready to leave. was ready to only be near you.

you turned, walking back towards your car, feeling his hands tighten. you went to open the passenger side for rafe when he pulled you back, halting you.

you turned towards him to ask what was wrong when he pulled the back door open instead. he nodded his head into the opening, gesturing for you to climb in first. you did so, not once letting his hands slip from your one. rafe was right behind you, closing the door behind him.

you laid your legs out, letting him settle between them and rest himself against you. he was holding you up to your promise of never letting him go.

you wrapped your arms around him, listening to his breathing. he had done so much talking, it was time for you to return it.

“you’re perfect to me. for me. if no one else can see your worth, they’re not worth your time, rafe. there’s nothing for you to be sorry for. i am so, so glad you called me. it doesn’t hurt seeing you like this as much as it would hurt to know you were going through this alone. there’s nowhere i would rather be than right here with you.”

rafe settled closer into you, always needing to be so close to you it seemed as if you shared the same skin.

“i don’t need anyone but you. i only need you seeing me and really knowing me.. can you just hold me for right now? please.”

as if you would ever deny him. “of course. whatever you need.”

it was a second before you heard him mutter something, not aware he was responding to what you said.

“just you.”

ϧ𝑒ׅ ࣪

[cybrasigilism]

Nothing Like A Sharp Dressed Man (Nam-gyu X F!Reader ONESHOT)

warning: smut | not proofread | lowercase intended | roommates to lovers(?) | light choking | degradation | oral (m! receiving) | PiV (wrap your willy if your gonna get silly) | nam-gyu’s a bit of a dick (shocker i know) this is my interpretation of the character, please be respectful even if my opinion on the character differs from your own

character: nam-gyu (player 124)

A/N: saw a drawing someone made of nam-gyu in his work attire pre the squid games and my mind got straight to work. i know this is not requested but i need to indulge in some OG works from time to time. enjoy!! (THE SMUT PART IS A BIT SHORT I FEEL, I APOLOGIZE)

MDNI! 18+ content beneath the cut, reader’s discretion is advised

your experience with roommates was interesting, to say the very least. it truly was luck of the draw when it came to the array of characters you’ve shared a space with— but hey, anything to stay afloat and pay rent, especially in this economy.

when you first met your latest roommate, nam-gyu, you were certain the two of you would not get along. he was smarmy, standoffish, and just plain rude. not to mention he was a complete hypocrite; whenever you had a friend over at any point of the day, you would get texts from him telling you to keep it down (or rather “shut the fuck up”, if you were going to quote him directly) due to him having to work later that night. but whenever he had friends over at ungodly hours of the night, making all sorts of noise and blaring music, you weren’t allowed to comment on it. he wouldn’t fight you on it, but you may as well not say anything because it truly is in one ear and out the other with nam-gyu.

you two never agreed on anything. you were almost always at each others throats, it even got to a point where you would go out of your way to spite one another— for example, one of you might use the last of something without replacing it, or say if you wanted to watch TV in the living room; you had better make it snappy to claim your spot or else nam-gyu will have “spontaneously” decided that he wanted to watch TV too. i mean, god forbid you two actually watch something together, that would require tolerating each other’s presence for more than 3 minutes and that was definitely out of the realm of possibility.

or so you thought.

up until a certain point you actually had no idea what nam-gyu did for work. all you knew was that his shifts were at obscene hours, and he would always wake you up when he got back home with the ridiculous amount of noise he made coming in the house. you were mystified when you caught a glimpse of him all dressed up in his full-black business attire. you didn’t really get a chance to take the view in though, because he was out the door before he noticed you staring. you remember feeling your cheeks heat up, butterflies in your stomach— oh my god,

did you find him.. hot?

you doubted these feelings at first, telling yourself that even if this was how you felt about him dressed like that— nothing would ever come of it. as far as you knew, nam-gyu hated you just as much as you did him, right?

right?

you tried to remind yourself that this was your combative, hypocritical, asshole roommate. this was the guy who always got the last slice of pizza just as you were about to grab it; the guy who uses up the hot water before you take a shower; the guy who.. looked really good in those dress pants from the glimpse you got at him—shit. you were completely cooked. you knew you were cooked when you caught yourself waiting to hear nam-gyu leave his room, so you could sneak a peek of him in that damned uniform before he left for work; you definitely knew you were cooked when you found yourself fantasizing about him. you had to fill in some details with your imagination, which was the worst mistake you could have made because god that just made you crave him more. you should have been completely ashamed with your actions when he started coming to mind while you fucked yourself; imagining his hands in place of your own between your legs, wondering what his moans sounded like. fuck, you knew he would kill you if he found out about how perverse you had become. but that would never happen. i mean, you were being discreet…. right?

unfortunately, you weren’t being as discreet as you apparently thought. one faithful night, while you were trying to sneak a peek at nam-gyu getting ready to head out the door, he noticed you. fuck, you thought, whipping around the corner so fast you hoped he hadn’t realized what you were doing. the feeling of butterflies was more-so out of nervousness now, you tried to rationalize to yourself as you paced in your room, biting your nails anxiously. “maybe he won’t suspect anything, i mean how could he? it was just this once..” you tried to think critically here, how would he be able to deduce that you were undressing him with your eyes just then— and had been for the past dozen nights? you figured it would be best to just sleep it off, and hope he didn’t ask any questions in the morning.

⟢

a loud knock jolted you awake. you glanced at your phone. “4:22?” you knew who it was, but why was he knocking on your door at 4:22 in the morning? nam-gyu knocked again, to which you drowsily said “i’m coming, i’m coming.” as you threw on your sleep shirt, baggy enough to shield your lack of pants. you opened the door to see nam-gyu, still in that uniform. you must have been giving him quite the look, because he raised his eyebrow and snapped his fingers almost in your face. “hey, my eyes are up here dipshit.” you jumped, making direct eye contact with him, not realizing where you had just been looking. “what the fuck what was that earlier? didn’t take you for a stalker.” damn, he was onto you.

“a stalker? no i was just..” “just what?” he cut in, causing you to purse your lips in frustration. “just getting more visual material to jack off to later?” your eyes widened when he said that, causing him to laugh in a way that you knew was at your expense. “god.. i had a feeling that was it.” he scoffed, you felt your cheeks grow warmer by the second with embarrassment. “you really didn’t think i could hear you moaning my name through the wall? hell i’d be surprised if the neighbours didn’t hear..” you couldn’t bear to look at him anymore, you were humiliated. had you really been so fucked out of your mind that you didn’t catch yourself moaning his name? “look, i’m sorry… i should have never even—“ you started, actively avoiding his eyes. he did something then that caught you off guard entirely. he grabbed your chin, redirecting your gaze to meet him. “sorry? shit, if you’re gonna be a dirty little slut, don’t apologize for that.” you were confused, even more so because that little name he called you made you feel.. something.

nam-gyu knew what he was doing to you, and he was about to take full advantage of that. for some reason, having you at his mercy like this was totally turning him on. he couldn’t deny the way his pants tightened when you looked at him like that— fuck it. “oh..” he noticed the way you pressed your thighs together just then. “oh, you like it when i call you that.. don’t you?” you nodded instinctively. his grip shifted from your chin to your throat, squeezing lightly as he moved in close enough to whisper to you. a light moan leaving your lips as he did so.

“then why don’t you show me how much of a slut you can be.”

⟢

you don’t know how you got into this situation, having nam-gyu’s dick shoved between your lips, but you really couldn’t bring yourself to mind. his grip on your head was almost strong enough to be painful, but you were too focused on the sounds he was making to be bothered by it.

“oh fuck… fuck, your lips—“ he groaned, bucking his hips up into your mouth. you whined around him when the tip of his dick hit the back of your throat, but that only egged him on. “yeah, you like being used like this, huh?” he was enjoying this way more than you thought, hell he was so eager to have your mouth on his cock he didn’t even take his clothes off. not that you minded, of course. “you’ve been waiting for me to fuck your mouth like this, haven’t you?” nam-gyu’s words were broken up by moans and whimpers he failed to mask; you really had no idea the effect you had on him up until this point. just then, he pushed your head down as far as you could go, mustering a gag out you.

“it’s rude to ignore people when they ask you a question.” he said through gritted teeth, chest heaving from how good your mouth felt on his dick. you looked up at him, eyes watering. “answer me, bitch.” whether it was the way he looked so. damn. good in the uniform, or the way he was ordering you around like a dog; you felt your pussy clench around nothing, god you needed him right were he wasn’t so bad it hurt. you nodded, hoping that if you did what you were told, then he would finally cut to the chase and fuck you. “oh, so you can follow orders.” he smirked, pulling your head off his dick and sitting back onto your bed. “in that case, ride me.” your eyes widened, but you did what he said without a word, straddling him as though you were in a trance.

both you and nam-gyu made an indescribable sound of pleasure when you sunk down onto his cock. his gripped your hips as you did so, sliding you down even faster. you cried out, and he kept you bottomed out on his dick for a moment. you thought for a second that it was to allow you time to adjust to the full length of him, but he wasn’t that nice. you were just getting used to him when he began to move you up and down his dick, biting his lip as he did so. “oh my fuck!” you moaned out, planting your hands onto nam-gyu for balance. his grip on your hips was so firm you were positive he would bruise you, but you didn’t really give a shit then; too focused on how fucking amazing his cock felt inside you then. “shit, you sound like such a whore—“ he was one to talk, becoming less and less able to cover up his own slutty noises. “it’s good i’m fucking you like the little slut you are then—fuck.”

even on top you were completely at his mercy, and you loved it. you loved the way he fucked up into that tight pussy of yours almost carelessly, you loved being able to take in the full sight of him in his work clothes while he did it to. the way his shirt, unbuttoned down his chest, looked disheveled as he used you this way; the way you knew you were making a mess of his pants when your hips collided; the way he was so desperate to put you in your place like this that he saw no time to change out of the outfit he knew got you off in the first place. everything that was happening to you right now under any other circumstance would have not turned you on this much, but for some reason that outfit changed everything.

and you definitely didn’t want it to stop anytime soon.

▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰

thanks for reading! i apologize for the lack of dialogue, this was just an idea i had and i wanted to put it to “paper” as soon as possible! thank you guys for putting up with my self-indulgent nonsense again :P

as usual, any advice/constructive criticism on how i can improve my writing is appreciated and requested! have a fantastic day/night lovelies 💋

tags: @gongyoosgf @kouzih @strangelife122 @gabbystinks

[formula-ghost]

The Driver (FC43 x fem!reader)

SUMMARY: After years of being with your boyfriend, Franco Colapinto, you should feel secure and ready for your budding future. When old anxieties creep in, will your relationship withstand the pressure?

WORD COUNT: 9.5k 

WARNINGS: Semi-public car sex (reader and Franco are both switches, fingering, p in v). Angst, mentions of cheating. Heavy mentions of marriage, incredibly Champagne Problems coded but I have to stick to the Måneskin theme. Probably incorrect geographical depictions of Spain. Reader has an anxiety disorder/struggles with mental health. Same universe as Supermodel/RYD (in RYD, Franco’s Aston Martin contract is only one year, so we’re just skipping ahead here). 

A/N: You all asked for Franco car sex and instead I gave you emotional pain :) I don’t think I’ll ever stop writing for RYD!Franco, I just love him too much. After this I’ll keep writing for Wildflower and then maybe do a few one shots before the next series perhaps? Either way, hope you enjoy!

TAGLIST: [COMMENT TO BE ADDED TO MY FRANCO TAGLIST!]  @scopeiguess @storyteller-le @xivilivix @htpssgavi @wierdflowerpower @justsisse @uncreativetm  @ncrsbrg @tillyt04 @amz824 @ellelabelle @aliwritex

If you gonna set fire to the night, baby let me be the lighter

If you’re already high and you wanna fly, I’ll be the hit that takes you higher

If you wanna love when you touch the sky, you can be my midnight rider

If there’s nowhere to go when you wanna go wild, I wanna be the driver

After getting his first multi-year Formula 1 contract—complete with a hefty sign-on bonus—there were three things that Franco Colapinto needed to buy. 

The first was a house for his parents. 

He led his mother around the massive home, showing her every little detail that he had noticed when he chose it, all perfectly arranged according to her taste. At first, she wasn’t sure what her son was doing; he had wanted it to be a surprise, so he didn’t tell her anything. 

“Yes, Franquito, the home is beautiful,” she said, craning her neck to look at the high ceilings, the sunlight from the massive windows illuminating her face. “But why would you buy a house here in Argentina? You’re hardly ever home, you can just stay with us in the off season.”

Franco, like his mother, was a pragmatist. He’d never buy himself a mansion in Argentina unless he had retired from F1 and decided to settle down. But his career was just getting started. 

She continued, “I mean, you and YN don’t need this much space—”

“It’s not for us, Mami,” he said, finally letting loose the smile that he’d be fighting all day. He was never able to keep secrets, too much of a chatterbox. “It’s for you.”

“Franco—”

“Mami,” he said, already anticipating her hesitation. “It is the least I can do. I can never repay you for all you’ve done for me.”

“That’s my job. You don’t need to repay me.”

“Maybe I don’t need to, but I want to.”

Tears had begun to well up in his mother’s eyes. She knew it was impossible to stop him. It was every athlete’s dream to make enough money to buy their mother a house one day; she wouldn’t take that from him.  “I’m so proud of you, mijo,” he said, enveloping her son in her arms. “You have made me proud beyond measure.”

It was Franco’s turn now to tear up, though he blinked them away and smiled. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“I figured something was up,” she laughed, “this house is too much my style for you to buy it. I think YN would like it, though. How is she doing?”

“She’s good,” he answered, unsure of how to proceed. His mother let him pause, knowing he was about to say something. “I’m… thinking about asking her to marry me.”

“Oh, wonderful!” she replied, her smile now stretching ear to ear. 

“We haven’t talked about it yet, though. So don’t get your hopes up. She might not say yes.”

“Why wouldn’t she?” his mother questioned. “You’ve been together for years, through thick and thin.”

“I don’t know,” he said, scratching the back of his neck in nervousness. “We just…haven’t talked about it. I’m nervous.”

“Well, don’t ask her until you’ve talked about it. But I see no reason why she’d say no.” She reached out to smooth over a piece of his hair that was stuck up at an odd angle. “Take your time,” she continued. “If you all aren’t ready now, there’s no harm in waiting. You have the entire rest of your lives to be together.”

Franco gave her a weak smile, his expression still plastered with nervousness. “But when you do get married,” she continued, as if it was a fact, “I expect grandbabies.”

He laughed, despite knowing that she was dead serious. That would be a bridge to cross later.

For now, he had a second purchase to make: his first real car. 

Franco, despite being a Formula 1 driver, had always been down to earth. When he drove for Williams, they had to fight him over taking the bus every day. Even in his early days, his future had been too unstable to spend all his hard-earned money on something like a flashy car, especially since he’d be away so often that he’d hardly be able to use it.

But now, he knew that the time was right, and he’d more than earned it. So, when Franco woke you up at the crack of dawn to go to the luxury dealership in Madrid to pick up his new car the second that they opened, you obliged him despite the hour being far too early. 

As the salesman handed him the keys, Franco beamed as if he was holding his newborn child, his eyes wide with love and anticipation.

“She’s beautiful,” he whispered, running his hands up and down along the hood of the flashy luxury car.

You stood back, afraid to even touch this car that was more expensive than your net worth. 

“She’s perfect. She’s the most perfect car I’ve ever seen.” He looked up at you, smiling like a giddy child. “Isn’t she perfect?”

You smiled back, amused by Franco’s happiness. “It certainly is a nice car.”

“It’s not just a nice car. She’s a machine.” You chuckled back at him. “Let’s go for a ride.”

You were honestly a little scared of getting in the car. But when Franco crossed over to open your door for you and help you inside, you couldn’t tell him no.

Sitting inside, you had to admit that it was a really nice car. Franco yapped on about the technical abilities of the engine, but it was in one ear and out the other—despite his many years in F1, you couldn’t say you had learned anything about the machines that your longtime boyfriend drove for a living. But you loved to hear him talk, especially when he was this happy, so you nodded as if you were listening intently. 

Franco went to back up the car, putting his hand on your headrest and leaning over his shoulder. The move showed off his prominent muscles and instantly melted you. Even after all these years, it was the little things that you never got tired of. 

He sped along the highways, giggling to himself as he heard the engine rev and felt the smoothness of the ride. His smile never wavered as he increased his speed and weaved through the slower cars. 

He skipped the exit that would lead back to your home, though. “Where are we going?” you asked.

“I want to show you something,” he said, being intentionally vague with his intentions. 

You raised an eyebrow. Franco wasn’t one for surprises; he talked too damn much to ever keep them. If he hadn’t told you before now, it must be something serious. 

He moved his hand over to hold your thigh, another one of those little things he did that still made you crazy no matter how many times he did it. “Trust me, amor,” he said.

Of course, you trusted him. So when he exited the highway and began driving into the Spanish countryside, you said nothing, instead choosing to enjoy the feeling of his hand rubbing soft circles into your thigh as the trees blurred past you and the engine purred.

After a while he finally slowed his speed, bringing the car up to an empty overlook off the main road. Through the tinted windows, you could see that this place was hidden, nestled off by the trees so that you could only get here if you knew where you were going. The view was gorgeous; miles and miles of lush greenery, and in the far off distance, the city that you had just left. 

“Wow..” you whispered. “How’d you find this place?”

“I used to run on these roads out here when I was younger,” he said, admiring you as you admired the view. 

“It’s beautiful.”

“I don’t get to come here much anymore,” he said. “I never thought I’d come back here one day as a Formula 1 driver.”

“Thank you for bringing me here,” you said, leaning over to kiss his cheek. His face had the slightest tinge of blush, so subtle that only you could see it. 

“Come on, let’s get a good look,” he said, turning off the engine and opening his door.

You got out of the car and softly gasped again when you saw the view with your own two eyes, rather than through the tinted glass. It left you breathless.

You sat cross legged next to Franco on the grass, taking in the sights of the countryside around you. For a while you were quiet, just soaking in the sounds of nature. 

Then Franco broke the calmness. “Have you ever thought about getting married?”

His voice was soft, but his words startled you. “Married?”

“I mean, we’ve been together for a while. About time, no?”

Truthfully, you had thought about marriage quite a bit. The mere idea of it scared you. And talking about it scared you even more. 

“You sound enthusiastic,” you joked. 

“You know what I mean.” He looked down, clearly also nervous for this momentous discussion. Still, he kept his voice light and steady. “I love you. I can’t think of anyone else I’d want to spend the rest of my life with.”

“I’d hope not,” you chuckled. But your attempts at diffusing the tension with humor failed.

He adopted a more serious tone. “YN, I want to marry you,” he said. His eyes looked up to meet yours, and for some reason, you felt your heart drop into your stomach. “I’m not proposing right now, but it’s something we should start thinking and talking about.”

You looked out into the distance and took a shaky breath. Why was this so difficult?

“So, talk to me, amor,” he said. 

“You want to marry me?” you asked, your voice small and squeaky.

“Of course I do,” he replied, brushing your hair out of your face. Now there were no barriers between you. “You’re the love of my life.”

You wanted to cry. “I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“I don’t know. It’s just so…final. What if something goes wrong?”

“Then we work through it, like we always do.” He was right. Your relationship with Franco had certainly had its rocky patches, but he treated you like a queen. You two overcame every obstacle, including your own mind that often worked against you. You often felt like you didn’t deserve someone so patient and kind. 

“Things change when you get married.”

“I know,” he said. “I’m not saying any of this lightly. I’ve thought about it a lot.”

Even after years of loving him, it still surprised you whenever Franco told you that he thought of you. You could never get used to existing in his head when you physically weren’t there.

“What do you think about?” you asked, moving closer to him.

He reached his arm around your waist, resting his hand on your hip. “I think about you, in a white dress. We’d be in the church in Argentina.” You knew the one. He’d gone there growing up, and had shown it to you several times when you went to visit his family. “And we’d have a ridiculous party, into the morning,” he said smiling, leaning his head down closer to you. “And, a while after that, maybe a few months or a year or so, you’d be eating for two.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop your eyes from watering. “That sounds…”

“Perfect?”

No. You were going to say real. That sounds real. And it scared you. 

Truthfully, you could imagine the wedding, and the babies, and the many happy years of being Franco’s wife.

But you could also imagine the distance. The exhaustion. The bitterness. 

“Growing up, I never thought I’d get married,” you said, shifting the conversation. “I just… I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to marry me,” you laughed. 

“I do,” he said. The effect of his words weren’t lost on you; the same words he would say to take the vow. “I want to marry you.”

You had told him a long time ago that your insecurities weren’t something he could fix. He remembered that, and he respected it. But still, it always broke his heart when he realized that even after years of loving you, those old wounds refused to heal. 

“Why?” you asked. Your head was beginning to hurt from holding in all the tears. 

“Why?” he echoed, incredulous at why you’d even need to ask such a ridiculous question. His voice held no malice, though. “Because I love you.”

“Don’t you get tired of this?”

“Of what?”

“Of…me being difficult for no good reason?”

“You’re not being difficult. Marriage is a huge deal, obviously. I don’t want us to rush into it if you’re not ready.”

“What if I’m never ready?”

He sighed. “Then…well, honestly, that would break my heart. I’d want you to work through whatever is holding you back. But I’d be with you every step of the way.”

You looked away into the distance. Part of you wanted to run and disappear in the thick foliage of the Spanish countryside. The other part of you wanted to bury your head in Franco’s chest, finally letting go of all the reservations that had haunted you for years. 

You knew Franco. You loved Franco. You trusted Franco.

So why were you still so afraid?

“Mi amor,” he said, gently guiding your head so you had to look at him. “Do you want to get married?” He tilted his head closer to you. 

You knew what he was asking. Not if you were ready right now, not if you were scared; but deep down, in your heart of hearts, did you want to marry Franco Colapinto?

“Yes,” you whispered. Just as he didn’t have to explain, neither did you. He knew what you meant; yes, but I’m scared. Yes, but I’m not ready. Yes, but I’m afraid I’ll never be ready.

He brought his lips to yours, gently kissing you as you let the few tears that had been welling up in your eyes finally go. When he pulled back, he wiped them away.

“We don’t have to make a decision now,” he said. “We’ve got time. I want us both to be ready.”

You kissed him again, this time more forceful. There was nothing sexier than a man with emotional intelligence. 

He pulled away again to finish his thought. “Just keep thinking on it, okay? We can talk about it as much as you want.”

“Okay,” you said, smiling as he looked at you.

“What?” he asked, his own playful smile dancing across his face.

“You’re so hot when you respect my boundaries.”

He laughed. “Mi amor, that’s the bare minimum.”

“Keep going,” you joked, “I’m so close.”

“Don’t say that,” he said, leaning down to kiss your neck. “I’ll start misbehaving.”

“Maybe I want you to,” he said, sharply inhaling as he gently bit the skin on your neck, sure to leave a mark.

“You’ll be the death of me,” he whispered in your ear, sending shivers down your spine as he nibbled on your earlobe. 

“Get me home and show me how horrible I am, then,” you teased, reaching out to touch his waist. 

“We don’t even need to get home.” He reached up to hold your neck with one hand as he continued kissing up and down your jaw.

“Here?” you said, darting your eyes around. 

“In the car,” he said, his voice already getting breathy. 

“No,” you urged. “It’s new.”

“Exactly. We have to break it in, no? Or bless it,” he said. His hands were beginning to roam underneath the hem of your shirt now.

“You’d never forgive me if I messed up the seats.”

“They’re leather, it cleans easy. I can get it detailed.” He stifled your next complaint with a deep kiss. “No one is ever around here. And the windows are tinted,” he whispered into your mouth. 

You laughed. “You’re a freak.”

“I’m your freak. And don’t lie, you love it,” he said, snaking his hand down to tease its way under your skirt. “I can tell how much you love it.”

You stopped him before his hand could go any further—after all, you were technically still in public. 

“Get in the car, whore,” you joked, before Franco hopped up and nearly sprinted to open the car door and set his seat back as far as it could go. 

He sat in the seat and patted his lap. “You joining me?”

You playfully rolled your eyes, getting up to meet your lover at the car and carefully climb onto his lap, occupying his lips with a deep kiss that he moaned into. 

“Did you plan this?” you asked. 

“Plan what?” he said, a devilish grin across his face. 

“Bringing me out to your scenic spot to fuck me in your new sports car?”

“Wasn’t planned at all. I’m a spontaneous man.”

“Mhm. How many other girls did you bring here before we started dating?”

“Less talking, more fucking, yeah?” he said. You probably didn’t want to know the answer. But that was all in the past. Franco was yours—he had been for years now, and he wanted to be yours forever.

There would be time to think about that later. Right now, all you could think about was the beautiful boy sitting beneath you, looking at you as if he needed you as simply as he needed air. You could feel him hardening beneath you. 

You shifted your weight to straddle him, grinding down on his length, eliciting a sharp exhale from him. 

“You’re so needy today, Franco,” you said as you ran your fingers through his soft curls.

“I’m always needy for you.” He brought his lips back to yours, hungry for the taste of you. His lips trailed down to your jaw and neck. “YN, you don’t know what you do to me…”

“I think I can feel it,” you joked, softly grinding your clothed pussy over the growing bulge in his jeans. 

“Don’t tease me,” he begged, roaming his hands up the hem of your blouse.

“But it’s so fun,” you said, leaning over to whisper in his ear. “I love to see you fall apart underneath me.”

“Fuck, YN—”

“Less talking, more fucking, no?” you said, mocking his statement from earlier. You met his mouth in a kiss, and he moved his hands down under your skirt, running up and down the soft skin of your thighs. When he finally teased his fingers over the wet spot that was already growing in your panties, you softly inhaled, showing your desire for him. 

“I’m not the only needy one,” he teased, breathing in the smell of your perfume and shampoo, his head buried in your neck. 

You softly moaned as he moved your panties to the side and began circling his fingers around your clit. 

“Franco, fuck…”

“What happened to all that talk, huh? Or are you too busy trying not to cum on my fingers?”

All you could do was breathe as his fingers found their way inside of you, pumping in and out to prepare you for his cock. 

“Don’t try to stop it,” he said, “let go. Cum for me.”

You obeyed, your legs shaking as your walls pulsated on his fingers. You whimpered into his neck, steadying yourself by holding him. 

He kissed your cheek, but wasted no time in unzipping his jeans and plunging into you while you rode out the waves of your orgasm. He let out a breathy moan as he felt the sweet warmth of you wrapped around him. 

You were overcome with sensation; the burn of his cock stretching you out, the last dregs of pleasure now mixed with the pain, and the burn in your legs from sitting in the same position for too long.

It was all the more motivation to bounce up and down on his cock, finding a steady rhythm as he guided his hands to your hips.

You rested your head next to his, moaning into his ear with every thrust. The small space of the car may be cramped, but you couldn’t help but appreciate the intimacy of the moment. Franco’s eyes were closed in sensual bliss, his breath ragged as you increased your speed.

You wanted to watch him come undone from the sinful pleasure that your pussy brought him. 

“YN—” he moaned, his hands digging hard enough into your hips to leave bruises, “Oh, God, YN, you always feel so fucking good. So good for me.”

You whimpered from both the praise and the pleasure. You had to slow down—the fast stamina was too much on your legs, which were now burning from the awkward position you were stuck in. 

“I think you were made for me,” Franco whispered. “And I was made for you. See how well we fit together?” He took control, lifting you up as if you were weightless and bouncing you up and down on his own. You yelped at first, then your surprise gave way to bliss as you both chased your release. 

But Franco was relentless in his praise. “You’re my fucking soulmate. I wanna fuck you every day for the rest of our lives.”

“Franco, I’m so close—”

“Cum for me, mi amor. Again.” His own voice was strangled with desire, so close to his own peak.

With a high pitched whine, you obeyed, and the heavenly feeling of your walls contracted around him brought your lover to the edge soon after. 

And when you did both finish, you held each other, too tired to even move from the uncomfortable position from the car. 

Franco was a talker. You always knew that. He loved nothing more than to fill your ears with sweet nothings when you made love. But the context of the conversation that just transpired weighed on you, even with the comfort of Franco’s hands rubbing small circles into your back as you both tried to catch your breath. 

“You okay?” he asked, and you murmured in response, unable to form any coherent words in the aftermath of everything. “Let’s get home and we can take a shower, yeah?”

A warm shower sounded heavenly right now. You awkwardly shimmied your way into the passenger seat and took one last look at the view, thankful that the overlook was still deserted. You sighed as you settled in and buckled your seatbelt, relishing the relief of finally being able to stretch your legs. 

“Hey,” Franco asked as he readjusted his seat and turned on the car. “Are you okay, really?”

“Yeah,” you said. It was true; you were exhausted, overwhelmed, and hurting, but it was all worth it for him. 

He leaned over to kiss your cheek and smiled before putting the car in reverse. 

The third item that Franco had to buy was the ring. 

Truthfully, the conversation hadn’t gone as smoothly as he would have liked. In his dreams, you'd jumped for joy when he’d broached the subject, and you’d live happily ever after.

But despite his disappointment, he understood your hesitancy. He was just as afraid to ask the question as you were to say yes. He knew that your struggles with self esteem and anxiety were lifelong. He knew all this about you from the very beginning, and he loved you anyway. 

Still, it was times like this when it broke his heart that he couldn’t fix it. 

It didn’t matter. You’d come around eventually, you always did. And you had been honest when you said you wanted to marry him—there was just a lot of stuff in the way, mentally and emotionally. 

So yes, he’d wait a while before he popped the question. But that didn’t mean he had to wait to buy the ring. 

He knew the exact one. You had fallen in love with it years ago, when you had worn it in a PR shoot for one of his high profile sponsors. Though time had passed, he still remembered the sadness in your eyes when you had to give it back after the photoshoot. He had vowed to himself that day that he’d earn enough to get you that ring.

And now he finally had. 

A few days after your conversation, he found the now faded card that he had stuck in his wallet and called the number. When the same brand rep picked up, he exhaled, letting go of his fear.

“Franco! How nice to hear from you. I was beginning to think we’d scared you away.”

“No,” he laughed. “The opposite, actually.”

“Let me guess. You’re ready for that ring?”

‘How’d you know?”

“I’ve been doing this a long time. When a woman looks at a ring like that, and she’s with a man that truly loves her, it’s just a matter of time.”

He had swiped another ring of yours to get the measurements, and he completed the entire order over the phone on his drive back home from a day of pre-season meetings. He had three months before the beginning of the new season, and he wanted to propose before that so you could start wedding planning once the season started. Would three months be enough time for you to think about it? He didn’t know. 

But he couldn’t wait any longer. The giddiness was eating him alive. 

You could tell something was amiss, but the idea of a proposal was the last thing on your mind. 

Franco was hiding his phone from you. Which meant that Franco was hiding something important from you, and he was doing a horrible job of it. 

Your lover was never the type to be quiet or secretive about…anything really. He talked too much. You had to physically restrain him every Christmas from spoiling what he got you weeks in advance. So if there was something that he was truly trying to hide, it was something major. 

And it scared you. 

The thought that you had been holding back for years finally broke through one night where he put his phone face down at the dinner table after his phone lit up with several notifications. 

“Who’s texting you?” you asked, trying to keep your voice innocent despite the rush of dread that was rising in your stomach.

“No one,” he answered, too quickly for your liking. You didn’t respond. 

You knew Franco was attractive. Every girl would kill to have him. He was kind, funny, beautiful, and flirtatious. But he was yours. Right?

Franco had never crossed the line before. You trusted him with your life. But something within you just felt deeply, deeply wrong, and it came spilling out later that night when he tried to touch you. 

His phone was left on the nightstand, untouched since dinner; his focus was on you, running his hand up and down your side, gently dressing his lips to your shoulder as you faced away from him.

“Not tonight,” you whispered, unable to keep your voice from shaking. 

“All you alright, mi amor?” he asked, pulling back your shoulder to make you face him, seeing how you were desperately trying to keep the tears at bay. 

“I’m fine,” you said, biting the inside of your cheek.

Even after all your years together, Franco never quite knew when to press on and when to keep quiet when you said those two infamous words. And he didn’t have much time to think, because you rose from the bed and left the room, mumbling about needing a minute to get fresh air. 

You stepped onto the back porch and took a deep breath, steadying your heart rate and calming your nerves, if only for a moment. The night air was serene; you felt vile contaminating the peace with your anxiety.

Would this last forever? You couldn’t remember a time when you hadn’t felt this push and pull. You wanted to tell Franco to go, to relieve himself of the burden of your mental illness. You wanted to bottle up every insecurity, every doubt, every negative thought into a vault that you didn’t share with anyone. 

But you couldn’t. If Franco left you’d be broken. You couldn’t stop yourself from letting these thoughts and fears control you. In the past, therapy had helped, but you knew this was a weight you’d always have to carry. And that made you miserable. 

So yes, maybe it was for the better that Franco move on, find someone better, more stable, and build a life with her. 

“Mi amor?”

Franco’s voice broke your hopeless contemplation. 

“Talk to me,” he said. 

You just shook your head. He must be so tired of reassuring you, endlessly, knowing that it didn’t help one bit. 

“YN,” he urged, “you know I don’t like it when you try to shoulder everything alone.”

“I’m sorry,” you said. That was all you could say. “I’m sorry that I’m like this.”

“Like what?”

“Impossible.”

“What do you mean?” 

“You know what I mean. We have the same conversation over and over again. Don’t you get tired of it? Of having to reassure me and it never helping? Of me crying over every little thing? Franco, I’m a mess!”

“YN…” he sighed, “When have I ever said any of that?”

He was right. He had never expressed any frustration regarding your mental struggles. He had always been there when you needed him. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Have you just been up in your head, or did something happen?”

You contemplated lying, but you knew better. “You set your phone face down at dinner.”

“I— did you think I was…?”

“It’s not you, Franco. It’s never you. That’s the worst part. You have to deal with all of this and it’s not your fault at all,” you said, not even allowing him to say aloud what you both knew was true. 

Franco took a deep breath. “YN,” he said, calmly, “let’s go back inside and go through my phone.”

“No—”

“Yes,” he commanded. “I want you to be 100% confident that I love you and only you.”

“Franco—”

“Let’s go.”

He had a firmness in his voice that only made your anxiety worse, and immediately you felt horrible for even insinuating anything to the opposite. But he was your rock of reason in times like these when your anxiety took over, and so you followed his command, unlocking his phone when he handed it to you. 

As expected, there was no incriminating evidence, just far too many unopened emails and messages left on delivered. Even his recently deleted texts showed nothing. 

The buzzing that you had been so afraid of turning out to be…emails from a jewelry company?

“I ordered a custom necklace for your birthday,” Franco explained. “They’ve been so difficult, though. They lost the order and then sent me the wrong thing. It’s been hell.”

You handed back the phone with your head hung low, ashamed. “I’m sorry I ruined the surprise.”

“You know I would have ruined it beforehand anyway,” he said. “I’m not upset at you.”

“You should be. You deserve someone who trusts you.”

“You do trust me,” he said, “I know you do. It’s not you that’s saying this.” 

Fuck. Franco really did know you too well. 

“You know why I stay with you, even with all this?” You looked up at him, curious for the answer. He had never been this direct before. He continued, “Well, first of all, because I love you. But even during times when I’m frustrated, I remember everything we’ve been through, when you forgave me and were there for me when I didn’t deserve it. I was so close to losing you and it terrified me.”

Once again, your eyes were watering. He said, “I promised myself that if you really gave me a chance, I’d never forget it. I’d be there for you and be the best boyfriend I could be. Because…” he paused, searching for the right words, “I know that some of why you feel these things is because of how I acted in the past. I’ve done my best to make it right, but some things never leave you.”

“When did you become so damn wise?” you said, laughing through the tears as he smiled and wiped them away. 

“You bring out the best in me.”

The conversation was laid to rest then. Franco held you until you fell asleep, safe in his arms. As he heard your soft breaths even out, he grabbed his phone and frantically searched for a necklace to buy to cover his lie.

He hated lying to you, but in this case, what else was he to do?

The necklace and the ring arrived a few weeks later, right before you all were scheduled to take a flight to Buenos Aires to spend the rest of the break with his family. 

But he had a plan. The break in Buenos Aires would be one to remember—for your “birthday” he was also flying out your friends and family for a few days. He had the whole idea plotted out, with help from many others, to plan a surprise karting birthday celebration, with all your loved ones there. Then, he would propose.

It seemed so perfect—surrounded by all your loved ones, doing a fun activity, the perfect balance between public and private. He knew you’d love it. He knew you’d say yes. 

He was giddy as he carefully packed the two jewelry boxes in his luggage, surrounded by clothes for safe keeping. 

And as the day of the birthday party came closer and closer, he could barely hold in his excitement. Everyone knew but you; he had colluded with every guest, telling them his plan and getting their blessing to finally ask you to spend the rest of your life with him.

Everything was perfect. The day before, you parents and friends arrived, and Franco told you everything but the grand reveal. 

He gave you the present, a beautiful necklace that complimented your tastes perfectly. You split a bottle of wine amongst loved ones, and your parents brought out their own gift: a photo album of pictures that they’d never been able to show Franco. 

You cringed at the embarrassing baby photos and records of bad middle school haircuts, but you couldn’t help the tipsy smile on your face. You leaned your head on Franco’s shoulder as he flipped through the pages.

Franco’s mother got out her own photo albums, showing picture after picture of him as a baby, his blonde curls and toothy grin smiling from ear to ear. 

“You were such a cute baby,” you giggled, and he blushed.

“Were? I’m still a cute baby,” he joked, kissing you on the cheek.  You scrunched your nose and smiled.

You were so in love with this man that it hurt.

That night, when you all retired to your room, he rubbed your back, enjoying the simple quiet between you two.

“I love you,” you said to him out of the blue. He smiled; he said those words often, and you always said them back, but it was rarer, more meaningful, for you to say them unprompted. 

“But it’s not fair. You were a cute baby and you’re cute now. You can’t have both,” you giggled. 

“We’d make cute babies,” he teased, and you blushed. 

“You trying to find out?” you responded, the alcohol in your veins giving you more boldness.

“Not when you’re this tipsy,” he said. “Besides, I need to put a ring on your finger first.”

At the mention of marriage, you sobered up quickly. You hadn’t really been thinking about that conversation you’d had back in Spain—in fact, every time you thought about it, it just made you more anxious, so it had the opposite effect of you actively avoiding it. 

Of course, you were still scared. You loved Franco more than words could say, and that was the problem—it was so good that eventually, it would have to not be good. It was a backwards logic, yes, you had convinced yourself that at some point, things would only be able to go down. 

You didn’t want to lose this beautiful thing you had created. But Franco had said he wasn’t planning to propose any time soon, right? In your mind, you still had plenty of time. 

But Franco did not, and the next morning was chaos.

His phone was blowing up with last minute organizing and words of encouragement from your friends and family in the proposal plan group chat. He was sweating bullets, constantly checking his pockets before you all left for the kart track to make sure that yes, he had the ring. He contemplated putting it in his bag instead, but he didn’t want to lose it, so he ultimately settled on his pockets.

He knew that he needed to stop checking them or else you’d notice and ask. You were always observant, in that way. 

But every time he sat down, the stupid box kept falling out of his shorts. The pockets were too small. He’d just have to check one last time before he left the house and be careful. Yes, everything was going to go according to plan. 

And as you all arrived and he changed into his race suit quickly, all he could think about was the speech he had tried to memorize. You were a woman who appreciated words; he wanted to express how you made him feel, but in his head, he kept stumbling over them. 

YN, you make me so happy. No, too simple.

YN, will you make me the happiest man in the world? No, too cliche.

YN, I never knew happiness until I saw your smile. No, too melodramatic. 

He’d have to figure out the words as he said them. For now, he’d just focus on enjoying the moment with you. 

And that wasn’t hard; you were as giddy as a child as you sped around the track, spinning out and pushing the poor kart to go faster and faster. 

Franco had arranged a tournament of sorts; of course, he had spoken with everyone beforehand to rig you as the winner. 

On your end, you knew everyone was letting you win. You were awful at karting. But it was your birthday event, after all. You didn’t care, you were having fun. 

It came down to the “championship” battle: you versus Franco. Of course, you knew your boyfriend would let you win, as he always did, but you loved the rush of adrenaline as the wind whipped past you anyway. You couldn’t stop smiling as you crossed the finish line and took off your helmet, flipping your hair out. 

You heard Franco stop his car behind you and get out, too. 

“I can’t believe YN won!” Franco’s mother said, smiling wide. 

“Thank you all for so graciously giving me that win,” you joked, looking to all your family and friends circled round, cheering for you. Franco was behind you still. You almost turned to him, but his mother interrupted. “Let me take a picture!”

This was the moment. All he had to do was take the ring out of his pocket and get down on one knee. 

He reached in his pocket and pulled out… nothing. 

His pockets were empty. 

He looked back at his father, the fear of God in his eyes, and patted his empty pockets. No one said a word. 

His mother, now done with taking the picture, leaned over to give you a hug. She sent a death glare to Franco over your shoulder, but still gave him the time to sprint back to the locker room to try and find the goddamn thing. 

He ran faster than his F1 car could drive, cursing under his breath at how stupid he could be. He could still save this, though. 

He found his bag and shook out the contents, frantically searching, until finally, at the bottom of the bag, he saw the box. He must have stuck it there while changing and forgot about it.

He let out a breath with enough power to shake the entire building. He opened the box to get a quick glance just to make sure everything was okay.

Except, everything wasn’t. There was no ring in the box.

He had grabbed the empty necklace box. 

Knowing you were far enough away to not hear him, he sweared very, very loudly. Unbeknownst to Franco, his father had followed him back to the locker room.

“Did you find it, mijo?” 

“I brought the wrong box,” he said, “This is for the necklace.”

His father sighed. “Franco…”

“I know, I know.”

“We can still fix this. Give her the ring at dinner!”

“I guess I’ll have to,” Franco said. He had never been more disappointed in himself. He had ruined everything. 

“Hey,” his father said, “chin up. You’ve still got this. The ring will be the perfect end to the perfect day, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, still not entirely convinced. But you would be wondering where he went soon; he couldn’t stay and mope too long.

His father left him to go relay the information to the rest of the group. Franco took a few deep breaths as he changed, mentally readying himself to see you again. He put on a smile as he saw you waiting for him outside the track with the others. 

“So, we’ll all head back and get ready, then meet for dinner tonight?” his mother said.

“Sounds good,” Franco answered, wrapping his arm around you as he walked you back to the car. 

Thankfully, when you got back to his parent’s house, you immediately wanted to take a shower and wash your hair, giving him time to search the entire room. Which he did, from top to bottom, and he still couldn’t find the ring.

It was just…gone. He had gone through every compartment of his suitcase, every pocket in his clothes, every hiding space. Still, it was nowhere to be found. 

His parents even helped him look, carefully parsing through every possible place until it was too late. You were nearly ready for dinner, and they all had to rush to get ready to make it to the restaurant in time for the reservation. 

Franco texted the groupchat the horrible news—he had fucked up. He had lost the ring. There would be no proposal. 

Kind words flooded his phone, but they meant nothing to the depressed Argentine. He had planned this out so perfectly; how did it end so badly?

And the worst part? He couldn’t even tell you. 

The atmosphere at dinner was more somber than usual. His sister had bought a bottle of nice champagne that would now have to go unopened. He would just have to propose some other time.

That’s what he reminded himself, every time the thought came up and threatened to choke him. Maybe next time he would fly his family out to Spain instead. He wasn’t in any rush. And you’d never have to know how badly he fumbled. 

Well, while you didn’t know the details, you could tell something was up. You mentioned it to Franco on the way home.

“Is something wrong?” you asked, and Franco cringed internally. He was always bad about hiding his emotions. 

“No, I’m fine,” he answered. 

“Well, everyone at dinner just seemed…off.”

“Probably just tired.”

You just hummed to yourself, refusing to allow your thoughts to wander any further. You, too, were tired. When you got back to the house, you both started to get undressed, taking off your fancy heels and jewelry.

You took off your necklace—the beautiful gift that Franco had given you, that you’d now treasure forever—but the box wasn’t on the nightstand where you had left it yesterday.

“Franco, have you seen my necklace box?” you asked from the bedroom. He was in the bathroom washing his face, and only barely heard you over the running of water. The mention of the box just made the whole night worse.

“Yeah, it’s in my bag,” he said, and you raised an eyebrow. How had your necklace box ended up there?

You leaned down to his bag, rustling around until you found the familiar box, though it was heavier than you remembered. 

When you opened it, you were nearly blinded by the glint of a beautiful diamond engagement ring. 

It was familiar; the same ring you had fallen in love with years ago. And it was in Franco’s bag. He had…bought you an engagement ring.

He was going to propose.

You could feel your heart rate increasing by the second. But you weren’t ready. You had only talked about it a few weeks ago. You were scared. 

It was okay, though. It was okay. You would just put the ring back. You’d find a way to hint to him that it wasn’t the right time. You could just fake it. He’d never have to—

“YN?”

You looked up at Franco’s face, widened with shock. You didn’t respond.

“Where did you find that?”

“In your bag.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. 

“I—” Franco was too stunned to speak. You quickly closed the box and put it back in the bag.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t see anything. This never happened,” you said, your voice rapidly talking without even thinking. You got up to leave the room, too anxious to stay seated, talking to yourself even after you were out of earshot of your lover.

Franco sat on the bed and sighed. Now he had majorly fucked up. First of all, how had no one found the ring in his bag, even after 3 people looked in there? And second of all, how did you find it?

But that wasn’t the biggest issue anymore. His plan had already been ruined, but he knew by the look on your face that your surprise was not a good one. He saw that fear that nestled itself into every crevice of your expression. 

You weren’t happy to find that ring. Not because it had ruined the surprise element—you just didn’t want him to propose.

He now had two options. He could do what he knew you’d want: act as if nothing ever happened and never broach the subject of marriage for several years to come, allowing you to shove away all those scary feelings until you’d deluded yourself into thinking you were over it. 

Or, he could do what he needed to do, and talk to you. 

He took a deep breath and followed you outside.

You were sitting on the back porch. Not crying, just quiet, looking out into the backyard. When Franco sat next to you, you didn’t say anything. He reached out to grab your hand, and you let him, softly admiring how he curled his thumb around your palm in soothing circles. 

“The plan,” he began, “was to ask you today. At the karting track. But I brought the wrong box.” He softly smiled at the absurdity of it. “When you were getting ready we were all frantically looking for it. I don’t know how we missed it.”

You just hummed in response, unsure of what to say. You needed to be honest. You needed to say the difficult things.

You began, though your voice felt choked. “Franco, if you would have asked me today, I would have said no.” You felt his hand tense up. “I mean, I would have said yes, because everyone was there. But…”

You trailed off, your words fleeing from you now. 

“I don’t understand,” Franco confessed. “We’re happy. You’re happy with me, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“Then why don’t you want to marry me?” His voice dripped with sadness, and all you wanted to do was hold him. You turned your head to face him, and the deep sorrow in his eyes nearly brought you to tears.

“I do want to. I just…”

“I’ve done everything I can to be good to you. I’ve tried to always be there. I know I’m not perfect, but—”

“It’s not you, Franco. It was never you.”

“Then why? What can I do?” His voice cracked, seeping with hopelessness and frustration. “If it’s not because of me, then what am I supposed to do?” 

You got up. “Come here,” you said, and led him to the living room. The home was quiet; his parents were asleep, and the vast emptiness of the home was eerie. 

You grabbed the photo album that your parents had given you, and sat down on the couch, motioning for Franco to sit next to you. 

You opened it to a picture of you at your 4th birthday party. In the photo, you grimaced though the uncomfortable sensation of a plastic party hat. “Do you see her?” you asked him. He nodded. 

“I remember feeling like this when I was that little. This…fear. I desperately wanted friends but was too afraid to talk to anyone.”

You flipped to the next page, pointing to a photo of you sitting alone in a park, a forced smile across your face. “What do you notice about this picture?” you asked him.

Franco leaned in closer to look. “I don’t know,” he said. 

“I’m alone. See all the other kids in the background?” 

You kept flipping until you found the first photo of you when Franco knew you. You were fifteen, smack in the middle of your awkward teenage years, in the stands at one of his races. 

“I remember that,” he said. 

“That’s me, spending time with my first real friend,” you said. “I didn’t know it yet, but I had a huge crush on him,” you joked.

“He was going to ask you to marry him today. And you just told him you would have said no.”  

“I know,” you said, trying to be gentle with your tone. “But what I’m trying to say is that you’re not just asking me. You’re asking her. And she feels so alone, and she’s scared to trust anyone.”

Franco sat with the thought for a moment, before getting up to grab his own photo book. He opened it to the first page, and pointed to a photo of him as a toddler, wrapped in a scarf, toothy grin spread wide. 

“And that’s who asked you.”

You felt a knot of emotion in your stomach break. All you wanted was to cry. 

“This goes both ways, YN,” Franco continued. “I understand that you’re scared. But I can’t fix that fear. Only you can.”

The dam broke, your tears flooding forth. He was right. So you told him.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” you said, and he wrapped his arm around you, rubbing your back through the tears. 

“I’m not perfect either. I shouldn’t have rushed it, I was just excited.”

“Don’t apologize for being excited to propose,” you laughed through your tears. “I should probably go back to therapy.”

“If you think that’ll help,” he said.

“It will,” you sniffled. “I just… I’ve been so afraid that I’ve been ignoring all the signs. I should have seen this coming. You’re never that excited to let me beat you in karting.”

He smiled at your banter. You continued, “But really, you’re right. I’ve just been avoiding this because I’m scared, getting up in my head. I just feel so happy and that scares me, because at some point it has to fall apart, right? You’re never happy forever.”

“You’re not unhappy forever, either. Of course we’d have rough spots. But that’s the beauty of marriage,” he said, “you vow to be there for each other through it all.”

“How did I get so lucky to have you?” you asked, meeting his gaze. 

His eyes were full of compassion and love. “I’m the lucky one.” He leaned down to kiss you. 

You didn’t really believe him. You still didn’t understand how someone so perfect could love you, someone so…broken. But one day you would. You had to.

The next year was difficult. You began your healing journey again—a journey you were convinced you’d be on your entire life. But you’d do it for him, and for you. 

And slowly, bit by bit, the wounds began to heal. 

It wasn’t linear. With Franco’s new contract, he had lots of attention and responsibilities. He was away from home more. He was tired, stressed, more short-tempered. There were arguments. Some days it felt like you took one step forward and two steps back. 

But you made it through. For every argument there was an honest conversation. For every night away there was a sweet gesture or text message to remind you that he still loved you, and from it grew a solid, blooming trust. For every mistake—on both ends—there was an apology and a commitment to be better. For every night of tears, there was a night of laughter with the man you loved most in the world. 

And by the end of the season, you and the relationship were stronger than ever. 

Of course, things weren’t perfect. But the fear that had once held you hostage was an adversary you knew you could overcome. 

Franco kept the ring in his nightstand. You had found it again one day while cleaning. It wasn’t really hidden, as if to say, we’ll get to this later. It was no secret now.  You just put it back in its place and smiled, going on about your day. 

But Franco had been giving the proposal much thought. He decided against inviting anyone again, wanting it to be a tender moment of vulnerability between you and him.

No, he wanted this time to be simple. Honest. 

He just hoped you were ready. 

A few weeks before the beginning of the next season, he took you out to the place where all this had begun; the outlook in the countryside, where he first told you that he wanted to marry you.

This time, he double and triple checked to make sure the ring was there in his pocket. 

The sun was setting over the Spanish countryside, painting the sky rich shades of orange and yellow. The air had cooled with the impending coming of night. 

He opened your car door and set up a blanket on the ground, where you sat and he laid his head in your lap, letting your fingers run through his hair as a way to calm his nerves. 

He took a deep breath as he sat up, and you knew what was coming. Again, he had rehearsed a speech, but almost instantly forgot it the second he opened his mouth. 

“YN,” he began, looking you directly in the eyes, “I… I love you. So much. More than words can say.” He was nervous, swallowing before he continued, letting his eyes wander off to the picturesque view. But he had more important things to be looking at. 

“I can’t imagine a version of my life without you in it. I grew up with you. I want to grow old with you. You’ve made me into the best version of myself. We’ve gone through so many things and come out on the other side so much stronger. And I want this,” he said, reaching out to wipe away the happy tears that now flowed down your cheeks. “I want to be with you. Even though we’re both imperfect, even though we both have our problems to work through, YN, I want to do this with you, forever. I want to fall asleep next to you and wake up next to you. I want to have children and grandchildren with you. I…” he trailed off, not knowing how to finally say what he really wanted to say.

You smiled through the tears. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring, flipping it open and showing it to you. 

“Marry me,” he whispered. 

Your smile widened. “Yes,” you answered. “Yes.” 

He kissed you with a fervent passion. When he pulled away, his smile couldn’t be contained.

“She said yes!” he cried out, though you both were alone. “I did it! She said yes!” You laughed at his antics.

In a few weeks, you’d have the official photo shoot where he got down on one knee. You’d show the world the carefully constructed version that was all they got to see.

But this was real. And maybe it was imperfect; maybe he hadn’t really asked, more instructed, and maybe he hadn’t gotten down on one knee, and maybe, yes, you had found the ring beforehand. 

But this was real. In all the ups and downs, the hurt and healing, this love you shared with your now fiance was real. The world didn’t get to see that. 

And maybe that fear was still within you. It was smaller now. And when you had seen that shine of the ring, maybe you had felt it rise within you again. But you knew now that it was just a feeling, something you could control. You didn’t have to ignore it or let it reign you. It was just there. 

It wasn't real though. And this was. The cold metal of the ring slid onto your finger. The feeling of Franco’s lips on yours. The strain in your face muscles from all the smiling. His hand around your waist, pulling you closer as the sun dipped below the sky, leaving you and your lover alone in the dark—yes, this was real. 

And this was yours; he was yours.

For the first time in a long time, you knew you had nothing to fear. 

[seoups]

want you back - m. fushiguro

you and megumi's relationship ended terribly. you'd spent the past few months trying to forget him- only to run into him at a party your best friend forced you to go to. cw: angst with a happy ending song: want you back by 5sos a/n: ik i just posted a megumi one but i love this man so here is yet another one

“NO MATTER WHERE I GO, I'M ALWAYS GONNA WANT YOU BACK.”

The first time Megumi saw you after the breakup was at a party. He hadn’t even noticed you until Itadori gasped loudly and pointed with no attempt to hide his shock.

You were standing across the room, talking to some guy, doing the same arm touch you did to him when you first met.

His stomach began to churn.

He couldn’t stand to see it. Couldn’t stand to see you moving on while he was still daydreaming about the memory of you. All he wanted to do was leave and try to forget you- something he’d attempted for the past month since you’d broken up.

“Let’s just go,” Megumi put down his drink. “No way,” Kugisaki insisted, crossing her arms. “You can’t let this breakup take over your life.”

That was when you spotted him too.

Your whole body froze, eyes locking with him across the crowded room. And suddenly, this party- this entire night- became your worst nightmare. Your best friend had insisted on you coming with her to this party and flirting with the guys to at least try and get yourself back out there.

You didn’t want to. This wasn’t something you typically did.

Megumi knew this. That’s why he was just as confused as you were.

Too frustrated and embarrassed by getting spotted by your ex-boyfriend, you spent the rest of the party on the couch and on your phone, pretending you weren’t hyperaware of his presence.

Megumi wouldn’t lie- he spent most of the night watching you. Ignoring every girl that tried to talk to him. Brusing off Kugisaki’s glares at him.

All he could think about was you.

The freckles on your back he’d spent time studying after the first time the two of you spent the night together.

The sound of your laugh that echoed through his brain anytime he dared to smile.

The way that you’d talk his ear off whenever you had the chance.

The way that you’d lean into him, desperate for his touch on hard days.

The way that your face would light up whenever he knocked on your door.

The way that you looked at him like he was the best thing in your life.

The roses on your shirt when you ended things with him.

The way your voice cracked as you told him, “This isn’t working.”

When the haze of the party became too much, you slipped out towards the balcony, craving some fresh air.

The air was cold and crisp, a nice contrast to the heat of the moving bodies at the party. You leaned against the railing, your fingers curling around the cold metal as you thought about you and Megumi’s prior relationship.

But then the door slid open behind you. Before you even turned to look, you knew who it was.

Megumi stepped onto the balcony, his hands shoved into his pockets. He wasn’t sure if he should have even followed you. But he made the plunge.

“Needed air?” he walked up to the railing, standing beside you. You let out a short, humorless laugh, “Clearly not as much as you did.”

A thick silence settled between you. You turned your gaze back to the skyline. But you could feel him watching you- studying you the way he always had.

“You seem different,” he finally said. “You do too.” “I guess we haven’t seen each other in a while, then,” he exhaled through his nose, barely nodding.

You hummed in agreement, watching the city lights twinkle in front of you. The part noice still bled through the glass door behind you. But out here on the balcony, it was quieter. Less suffocating.

But Megumi’s presence filled the space beside you in a way that made it impossible to ignore him.

The two of you hadn’t been alone together since the breakup. You’d made sure of that. It was easier to pretend that he didn’t exist when you weren’t looking straight at him.

But now, you were. And the weight of everything that was unsaid at the end of your breakup pressed against your ribs as if your lungs were going to explode.

Megumi shifted, his elbows resting against the railing as he turned his head slightly, his eyes still stuck on you. It made your throat tighten.

“You were talking to that guy inside,” his voice remained even. You tensed, “Yeah.”

His fingers curled into his palms. The image haunted his brain. The way you laughed at something the guy said. The way you reached out, touching his arm like you used to do to him when you laughed too hard.

“Didn’t think that was your thing,” he said finally. You let out a breath, your grip tightening on the cold railing, “It’s not.”

He knew that. He knew you would never do casual. Whenever you let someone in, you did it with your whole heart.

His jaw clenched, “Then why were yo-“ “Because I thought it’d help,” you snapped, turning towards him with frustration thick in your voice. “Because everyone kept telling me to move on from you. Everyone kept telling me I should put myself back out there as if I wasn’t the one who-“

You stopped yourself, biting down hard on your lip to stop them from moving.

Megumi’s gaze sharpened, “Like you weren’t the one who what?”

You looked away from his eyes for a moment. Megumi let the silence linger, waiting for an answer you weren’t sure you could say out loud.

Then, barely above a whisper, you said, “Like I wasn’t the one who ran away from us.”

Megumi stiffened. There it was. The truth he’d been waiting to hear come out of your mouth for months.

He’d spent months trying to figure out why you’d left. Everything was going perfect. He couldn’t understand why you’d leave.

And now that he was standing right next to you, with the weight of your words settling between you two, all he could think about was the way you used to look at him. Now, all that remained in your eyes is a look of apology and regret.

His throat tightened, “And now?” You inhaled sharply, your breath shaky, “I don’t know.”

But you did. And so did he.

Megumi turned fully toward you, shrinking the space between you by just a few inches. Close enough for you to feel his warmth and to smell the faint traces of cologne left on his hoodie after tonight. Close enough that if you turned your head just a little more, you’d be back in the place you had missed so damn much.

“Then figure it out,” he said quietly, his voice raw and honest.

Because he wasn’t over you. And he wasn’t going to pretend that he was. Not when you were standing right in front of him, looking like you might still want this too.

[00valentina-writes00]

ik this is a over done trope but reader flinching during and argument please with ambessa or sevika (ignore if this makes you un comfy)

Ahem how bout both?

✞⛧ Sevika AND Ambessa when you flinch during an argument ✞⛧

✞⛧𝕊𝕖𝕧𝕚𝕜𝕒✞⛧

✞⛧ Sevika’s initial reaction would be a flicker of surprise, quickly replaced by a sharp, assessing gaze. She’s not one for unnecessary drama, but she can read the situation like a book.

✞⛧ Her first instinct would be to immediately back off, her posture stiffening as her mind runs through what she just did to make you flinch.

✞⛧ She’d never want to make you feel unsafe, and if she sees you flinch, she’d pause, her intense focus shifting to you. It would throw her off balance for a moment, not because she’s unsure of her own actions, but because she never wanted to make you feel that way.

✞⛧ Sevika’s eyes would narrow, her protective side kicking in as she looks at you like you’ve just wounded her in a way words can’t explain.

✞⛧ Her voice would soften, though not necessarily in a comforting way—it would be more of a controlled, cold calmness. “Did I scare you?” she’d ask, her tone low and even, though there’s a hint of frustration underlying it.

✞⛧ If you don’t answer, Sevika would get even more guarded, crossing her arms in front of her chest and giving you space while trying to hide how affected she is by the flinch.

✞⛧ Despite her tough exterior, Sevika would feel a pang of guilt. She’s not someone who tends to apologize, but she might mutter, “I didn’t mean to make you feel like that,” in a rare moment of vulnerability.

✞⛧ She’d probably keep her distance for a while after that, trying to process what happened internally, but her eyes would never leave you—watching, waiting for some sort of response

✞⛧ Sevika would be incredibly introspective after the flinch, likely replaying the entire argument in her mind, dissecting what she said, and wondering if she was too harsh, too fast with her words.

✞⛧ Even though Sevika’s a fighter, she has an incredibly strong sense of pride, and seeing you flinch would hit her harder than she’d care to admit.

✞⛧ If you tried to apologize or explain why you flinched, Sevika would hold up a hand, telling you to stop. She’s not the kind of person to let you take the blame for something she feels responsible for.

✞⛧ You might see Sevika take a long breath and slowly step towards you, her usual stoic face replaced by something closer to concern—a rare sight for her.

✞⛧ If you’re still visibly shaken, Sevika would drop any argument she’s holding onto, her gaze softening as she focuses entirely on making sure you’re okay, though she’s still not great with emotions.

✞⛧ Her frustration would shift inward, and you might catch her muttering under her breath, “I didn’t mean to fucking hurt you.” It’s rare for Sevika to admit when she’s wrong, but she doesn’t like seeing you afraid of her.

✞⛧ Sevika would give you time to process, but she’d also be very blunt about how she’s feeling. “You think I would hurt you?” she’d ask, her voice quieter now, not filled with the anger it had earlier.

✞⛧ If you told her that you were just startled, she’d take that as a small relief, but still feel bad about the fact that it happened at all. “I’m not gonna hurt you, [Y/N],” she’d reaffirm, but with more emphasis on reassurance than defensiveness.

✞⛧ She might offer to sit down with you, her stance softened, but her brow furrowed in concentration. She’s not good with comforting, but she’ll try, even if it’s awkward.

✞⛧ The next time you argue, Sevika would be more cautious, taking a moment to gauge your reactions before she raises her voice or gets more heated. She’s not one for letting arguments go, but she’s not going to push you to the breaking point.

✞⛧ If you bring up what happened in the past, Sevika would have a hard time admitting how much it bothered her. She’d downplay it and act like it wasn’t a big deal, but deep down, she’s processing how to better handle your relationship.

✞⛧ Sevika might not openly show it, but seeing you flinch makes her question how she presents herself to you. She doesn’t want to be a source of fear, even though she often exudes a commanding, intimidating presence.

✞⛧ In rare moments, if you ask her about it later, Sevika would simply shrug it off but with a quiet intensity in her eyes. “I never wanted to make you feel like that. I just… don’t do well with soft shit,” she’d admit, showing how much she struggles with vulnerability.

✞⛧ She may not be able to apologize directly, but she’ll do things to make it up to you—maybe fixing the situation with actions rather than words. Her way of showing she cares would be by offering you the space you need and then following it up with practical support.

✞⛧ If you flinch again in the future, Sevika would tense up instantly, but this time, she’d be quicker to pull back, knowing how badly she messed up the last time.

✞⛧ Sevika might get frustrated with herself more than anything else. She’s not the type to back down from anything, but when it comes to making you feel comfortable, she’s out of her depth.

✞⛧ As she reflects on the situation, she might get a little defensive, questioning herself: Am I too much? But she’ll keep it to herself, never admitting to the self-doubt that follows moments like these.

✞⛧ She’ll probably make up for it by doing something practical for you—whether it’s taking on extra responsibilities or handling something that would ease your stress.

✞⛧ Sevika might also check in on you more often, even if it’s in her own blunt way. “You good?” she’d ask, trying to gauge where your head’s at and how she can fix things without making it awkward.

✞⛧ The next time you fight, Sevika would be less prone to raising her voice, realizing that yelling isn’t always the answer when it comes to you. She’d still argue with the same intensity, but she’d dial it back a little.

✞⛧ Sevika wouldn’t easily forgive herself for making you feel scared. Even if she doesn’t say it out loud, she would work harder to be less overwhelming when communicating with you.

✞⛧ As time passes, Sevika would subtly show that she’s learned to tone down her anger when she’s upset with you, recognizing that your emotional well-being is just as important as her need to be heard.

✞⛧ Even if the argument itself is unresolved, she’ll make sure the aftermath doesn’t leave you feeling like you’re walking on eggshells around her. If she needs to adjust her approach, she will, even if it takes time

✞⛧𝔸𝕞𝕓𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕒✞⛧

✞⛧ Ambessa would immediately notice the flinch, her sharp eyes narrowing with a flicker of concern. She’s not someone who misses details, especially when it comes to you.

✞⛧ Her first instinct would be to stop mid-sentence, her anger momentarily fading. She’s not used to seeing you afraid, and it causes a slight shift in her demeanor.

✞⛧ She’d take a deep breath, her voice lowering, no longer filled with the same intensity as before. “Did I scare you?” she’d ask, her tone surprisingly calm, but with a hint of vulnerability.

✞⛧ Ambessa is incredibly proud, so she’d try to mask her own unease. She’d raise an eyebrow, but there’s a subtle tension in her posture, as though she’s trying to figure out how to respond to your reaction.

✞⛧ She’d not apologize outright—Ambessa isn’t the type to back down from her beliefs—but she’d soften her approach, trying to gauge whether you’re physically okay or just emotionally shaken.

✞⛧ The moment she sees the flinch, a part of her feels a pang of guilt, though she wouldn’t admit it. Ambessa rarely shows vulnerability, so she’d struggle internally, not knowing how to reconcile this new layer of her relationship with you.

✞⛧ She would stop pacing or gesturing wildly, looking at you with a careful gaze. “You don’t need to be afraid of me,” she’d state, more as an assertion than a question, trying to convince herself just as much as you.

✞⛧ If you don’t say anything, Ambessa would grow increasingly frustrated with herself. She’s used to being the commanding presence in a room, but this is different. She doesn’t know how to fix it immediately.

✞⛧ Ambessa might take a step back, giving you space, though it’s clear she’s not used to this kind of emotional vulnerability. She’d cross her arms, trying to maintain her usual air of control, but she’s silently concerned about how much you’re affected.

✞⛧ She’d avoid making direct eye contact for a moment, visibly rethinking her words and actions. Ambessa is fiercely intelligent, and she’d be running through everything she just said, trying to pinpoint what made you flinch.

✞⛧ Ambessa might try to reassert her dominance in a different way, by sitting down or leaning against something, trying to display authority while simultaneously keeping her voice steady and calm. “This isn’t how I intended for this to go,” she’d admit quietly.

✞⛧ She’d attempt to approach you more carefully, though it’s clear she’s not quite sure how to be gentle. “Tell me what I did,” she’d ask, trying to understand why you reacted the way you did.

✞⛧ If you explain it’s not her fault but just the intensity of the argument, she’d frown deeply, taking that into account. Ambessa doesn’t like feeling misunderstood, but she would respect your honesty in this moment.

✞⛧ Ambessa would try to mask her emotions by shifting the conversation back to the issue at hand, but the tension in her body would remain. She’s used to arguing and controlling the situation, but this time it feels like she’s lost her grasp.

✞⛧ She’d likely keep the conversation civil afterward, but there would be an undercurrent of carefulness in her tone that wasn’t there before. She’d check in with you periodically, making sure you’re still okay.

✞⛧ Despite her initial reaction, she would be sensitive to any further signs of discomfort. Ambessa would be hyper-aware of your body language, making sure you’re not retreating or shrinking away from her.

✞⛧ If the argument continues, Ambessa would intentionally lower her tone, trying not to overwhelm you with her usual fire. She may even offer a compromise, though it’s a rare moment where she’s willing to soften her stance.

✞⛧ Ambessa is fiercely protective, so if she feels like she’s been too harsh, she might take a subtle step back from being confrontational and offer reassurance. “You’re important to me,” she’d say, though not in a way that’s overly affectionate.

✞⛧ She’s not quick to apologize, but in rare moments like this, she might drop her defenses just enough to show a softer side. “I didn’t mean to frighten you,” she’d admit quietly, her voice lacking its usual edge.

✞⛧ Ambessa would be conflicted. She knows her strength can be intimidating, but she also values loyalty and respect above all else. Seeing you flinch causes her to question if she’s gone too far in asserting herself.

✞⛧ If you try to walk away or distance yourself, Ambessa would stay rooted, allowing you space but not letting you escape the conversation entirely. She’d want to resolve things, but she’d give you the autonomy to handle the situation at your own pace.

✞⛧ She may change her approach entirely, opting for a more measured and less commanding tone. If she feels like she’s pushed too hard, she’ll shift back into a more controlled demeanor, but the worry will be evident in her eyes

✞⛧ Afterward, Ambessa might focus on actions over words. She would make sure you’re comfortable, making the effort to attend to your needs in practical ways, like preparing food or taking care of other responsibilities.

✞⛧ Her pride won’t let her completely back down, but she’ll make it known that she’s not a threat to you. “We’re not enemies,” she’d remind you with a subtle gesture of reassurance.

✞⛧ Despite being a formidable leader, Ambessa would be deeply shaken by your reaction. She’d want to reassure you of her commitment, even though she might not be the best at expressing it openly.

✞⛧ If the tension continues to linger, Ambessa might get frustrated with herself. She’s used to maintaining control, and being in a position where she’s unsure of how to fix things challenges her more than she’s willing to admit.

✞⛧ Ambessa would want to avoid you feeling like you’re walking on eggshells around her, so she might take extra care not to escalate things further. She would be cautious in her tone and actions, trying to bring down the tension.

✞⛧ If the argument comes up again in the future, Ambessa would be far more aware of her approach, actively trying to make sure that she doesn’t trigger another flinch from you. She’d try to use her words more carefully, even if that means holding back some of her usual fire.

✞⛧ Ambessa may not be used to showing this side of herself, but if you’re still upset or anxious, she would give you space to talk about it, even if it means dropping her pride to listen.

✞⛧ In her quieter moments, Ambessa might confide in you about her struggle with balancing strength and vulnerability. “I wasn’t raised to show weakness,” she’d admit, revealing a small crack in her otherwise impervious exterior

✞⛧ Ultimately, Ambessa would want to make sure you feel safe, heard, and respected. While she might still have moments of pride or dominance, she’ll take extra steps to show that she’s not going to harm you, emotionally or physically.

✞⛧ Though Ambessa may not say it out loud, seeing you flinch would make her reflect on her leadership style and the way she manages relationships. It would be a turning point for her in considering how she communicates with you.

[sloaneispunk]

“a real man”

dbf!in-ho x you

when a family party takes place, you finally met the one and only hwang in-ho, your father’s best friend. when unsettled disputes take place, you find shelter with the man who was thrice your age.

“y/n, get the door will you?” your dad asked, taking the plates from your hands as you made your way to the front door.

you yanked the door open, mumbling under your breath. why did he have to throw this party anyway? it’s not like it was the first time you were home, why was he making such a big deal out of it?

“hey, sweetheart. is your dad home?” a man said.

you took a good look of the man that stood before you in the doorway. holy shit.

“in-ho! there you are! was starting to think you were ditching your old pal!” your father’s voice boomed from behind you, pushing you away from the door as he took your place, inviting the unfamiliar man in.

“it’s good to see you too, man.” he chuckled.

“i’m assuming you’ve met y/n?” your father introduced, stepping aside, revealing your confused face.

“i did…” in-ho nodded, “quite a pretty one.”

a blush crept onto your cheeks. “thank you.”

“polite too? you raised her well.”

“of course i did. don’t know what her mum’s been teaching her though, been a little angsty lately.” your dad revealed, making your eyes grow wide.

“can we not do this now?” you gritted, glaring at him.

after that, you never saw much of in-ho, being cooped up in the house while everyone was having the time of their lives outside with your dad in the party that he had organised for you.

eventually, you grew bored, grabbing a drink and hopping onto the kitchen counter as you watched the party unfold in the backyard with your father.

“hey, what are you doing here?” in-ho’s gentle voice rang in your ears, snapping you out from zoning out.

“these aren’t even my friends, they’re my dad’s.” you said defeated, peeking at the ongoing party outside.

“guessed it. didn’t think you’d be friends with all us older men.” he joked, making you chuckle, shaking your head. “you know, if it’s not pushing your boundaries, can i ask-why did your dad throw this get-together again?”

“i’ve been living with my mom for a few months, today’s the first time i’m back in awhile.” you told him. “oh, i’m sorry, do you want a beer or something?”

“don’t be silly, kid. this is your party, i’ll get it myself.” he smiled.

the two of you sat in comfortable silence as he leaned against the counter beside you, giving you the silent company you needed.

“you know for what it’s worth, i think you look beautiful.” in-ho broke the silence, turning his head slightly to face you.

“you’re not so bad yourself.” suddenly, he felt a sense of pride overwhelm him. he couldn’t possibly grasp the thought of you finding him attractive as he found you. afterall, he was almost thrice your age.

when it was finally time for a sit-around at the dining table, you were way out of your comfort zone. eyes burned holes into you from every angle, giving you no space for privacy whatsoever.

“so, y/n… youe dad tells me that you’ve been living with your mom?” a friend of your father’s questioned.

there we go. “uh, yeah.”

“how’s it like there? she any better than your dad?” he teased, making your father let out a low laugh as you shifted uncomfortably in your seat.

“c-can we don’t talk about this-”

“of course it is!” youe father interrupted. “couldn’t even get her to come over for a good few months, must have been really great.”

only in-ho noticed you were in distress, your breathing getting faster as your leg shook under the table. testing waters, he placed a hand on your thigh under the table, hoping to give you some stability to get through the dinner.

when you felt his warm hand on your thigh, you jerked away initially, thinking that it was one of thise old creeps who had touched you. but upon realising that it was only in-ho you shifted closer to him. as if you were silently begging for his help.

“we can all be gentleman at this table, let’s not give the lady any trouble, huh?” in-ho had intervened, anger slowly building up inside of him as they continued to press you with uncomfortable questions.

“hey speaking of your mom, she ever bring anyone home recently? like a colleague? maybe a friend?” you father asked.

“no.” you stated bluntly, you could already feel your eyes being welled up with tears.

but it didn’t stop there, you father as well as his friends made no effort to stop their interrogation.

eventually, you broke, letting the tears spill onto your lap as you tried your best to play it off without drawing anymore attention to yourself, but it was in vain.

“kid, are you cryin’?” one of them laughed, catching the attention of the rest.

“she is!”

“why are you crying, little girl?”

“do you want your mommy?”

in-his fist grew tighter around the handle of the fork he was holding, he couldn’t sit there and watch as you were being tormented by these sick bastards.

“boys, that’s enough!” he suddenly yelled, causing the room to go dead silent.

without another word said, he stood up, his chair scraping ear piercingly on the wooden floor as he grabbed your hand, pulling you away from the table and out the front door.

luckily for you, in-ho was only staying a couple blocks down, no more than a good three minute walk. the whole time, he said nothing, only changing his grip on you from the hand to your waist, leading you to his porch.

when you got to the doorstep, you stopped on your tracks, making him turn around, quickly taking a quick scan of your face to see if he had hurt you on accident.

“hey, talk to me, what’s wrong, love?” he asked in a soft tone, as if he were talking to a little girl.

“i can’t be here.” you said, looking up at him teary-eyed. “my dad will kill me.”

“nonsense… i won’t let him lay a hand on you, i promise. it’s better to stay here than with all the rascals there anyway.”

you winced at his harsh words, reminding you once again of the conversation at the dinner table.

“let’s not think about any of that anymore, alright? come in, you must be exhausted too, pretty girl.” he said as he ushered you inside.

in-ho’s house was warm. it smelt like him, the dim yellow lights bluncing off the perfectly decorated walls of his home. it was so quiet, just perfect.

“here, you can change into this. make yourself comfortable.” he said as he offered you a shirt and sweatpants which looked like it was his.

you thanked him and headed to the bathroom to change out of your clothes. when you were returned bacm to the living room, he was already on the sofa, legs spreaded out cozily as a tv programme played.

“there you are, do you have anything you wanna do in mind?”

‘no’ you shooke your head.

“then why don’t we just stay here and watch some movies. how does that sound?”

a smile broke on your face, making him feel a sense of relief. but to his surprise, you didn’t take just any emoty end of the sofa. you shuffled up close to him, merely centremeters away as he could smell your perfume that hadn’t worn off. it was driving him crazy.

as the two of you sat in silence, watching the show, in-ho noticed how your head was starting to fall closer and closer to his chest. he took a peak, seeing that you were now barely awake, struggling to keep your eyes open. he chuckled, pulling away, making your slowly open your eyes and lifting your head.

“no, no, stay there.” he cooed, moving closer in a more snug position for the both of you. and wirh his signal, you laid your head on his chest, your body and legs curled into a ball as he draped his arm over you while the other found its way to your hair. he combed through the soft, lush strands, lulling you to sleep as he did so.

“goodnight, y/n.” he whispered before leaning down carefully, placing a kiss on your forehead, watching as you tried to snuggle up closer to him.

in-ho knew he was doomed. it was a dangerous game he was playing with his best friend’s daughter. but at that moment, he realised just how bad he had had it for you. and there was no turning back.

[lovelymindescape]

can i request a thanos x virgin reader smut

Softened Edges (Choi Su-bong x Virgin!Fem!Reader)

pairing — choi su-bong x virgin!fem!reader

Summary - In the games you and Thanos were getting closer than friends. You have a special bond. Maybe that's because you told him in the games because you thought you're gonna die that you are still a virgin and that you want someone (him) that you trust to take it

warnings -most likely ooc Thanos. oral (fem receiving). unprotected p in v. implied cumming inside. Dirty talk. Virgin!Reader. Mild Roughness (Thanos's personality).Emotional Vulnerability. later established relationship. MDNI!

author’s note — not my first time writing smut but my first time Posting my smut writing , ignore typos , English is not my first language

The dim glow of the neon signs out on the street flickered through the window, casting hazy red lines across your shared bed. Thanos sat at the edge, rolling a cigarette between his fingers, the rough pads of his thumb pressing against the paper as if lost in thought.

“You sure about this?” His voice was deep, rasping with the weight of someone who had seen too much. He didn’t look at you right away, his dark eyes scanning the floor instead, as if giving you space to change your mind. You swallowed, fingers gripping the sheets beneath you. “Yeah. I am.”

That made him pause. Thanos wasn’t a man who hesitated often, but something about this—about you—made him move slower, more deliberate. He finally turned, setting the unlit cigarette aside before reaching out. His hand cupped your cheek, rough callouses dragging lightly against your skin. “I ain’t the kind of guy who does this ‘sweetly.’ His thumb brushed over your lower lip, gaze flickering with something unreadable. “But I can be careful.”

A shiver ran through you, nerves mixing with anticipation. “I trust you.” That was all it took. Su-bong let out a low sigh, as if shaking off whatever restraint was left in him. He pulled you closer, his warmth grounding you even as your heart raced. There was nothing rushed, nothing careless. For once, the man known as Thanos wasn’t taking—he was giving. And for the first time, you weren’t afraid to let yourself fall.

He let's his hand wander, his fingers softly tilting your chin up. The kiss starts slow—gentle, coaxing—before deepening, his tongue teasing against yours. His hands slide down your arms, tracing over your wrists before pulling you against him.

You shiver as his hands find the hem of your shirt, pushing it up inch by inch. "Lift your arms," he whispers. You obey, and the fabric is gone in seconds. His gaze lingers on your newly exposed skin, hunger flickering in his eyes , as he starts to plant little kisses all over. His fingers trail over your stomach, down to your hips, before slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts. Thanos pauses, searching your face for hesitation. "Still with me?"

You nod, breathless.

With one swift movement he also removes your pants off you , Thanos takes a step back and admires what he just discovered. "I don't say this with a real meaning often , but you're beautiful , very beautiful to be honest".

He eases you back onto the bed, his lips tracing a slow, deliberate path down your chest. With skilled fingers, he unclasps your bra, sliding it off with practiced ease. His mouth latches onto your breast, lips warm and wet, tongue circling your nipple in lazy, teasing strokes. Each flick sends a spark straight between your thighs. He doesn’t stop there. His kisses travel lower, grazing over your ribs, dipping to your stomach. With every press of his lips, he leaves his mark—soft nips, lingering heat—claiming every inch of you.

His lips travel lower, grazing over your ribs and dipping to your stomach, each kiss lingering just long enough to make you squirm beneath him. His fingers skim along the edge of your panties, teasing, not yet giving you what you need."

"You're already trembling," he murmurs, voice thick with amusement. "I’ve barely even touched you." Your breath catches as he hooks his fingers into the fabric, sliding it down slowly. He watches your expression, drinking in every flicker of anticipation.

The way you press your thighs together doesn’t go unnoticed. "Open up for me, sweetheart,"he coaxes, softly but his voice is low and commanding, with an edge of tenderness. "Let me see all of you."

Your heart begins to race in your chest. You part your thighs hesitantly, feeling exposed under his dark, heated gaze. "Good girl," he praises, running his hands over the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. His fingers trail upward, barely brushing over your core, enough to send a shiver through you—but not enough to satisfy.

You let out a quiet whimper, hips shifting slightly. He chuckles, clearly pleased by your sudden reaction. "So desperate already?" He dips a single finger between your folds, just teasing, gathering the slickness there before withdrawing again.

You bite your lip, frustration mixing with anticipation. "P-please..." His smirk deepens, but there’s warmth in his eyes. "Patience, sweetheart. I want to feel you come undone first." He leans in, pressing a lingering kiss just above where you need him most, his breath hot against your skin. Then, with agonizing slowness, he lowers his mouth.

His breath is warm against your most sensitive spot, the anticipation making every nerve in your body stand on edge. You barely have time to process the feeling before his tongue flicks out—just once, barely a touch—before pulling away again. The gasp that leaves your lips is embarrassingly needy.

"Mmm," he hums, satisfied. "You’re so sensitive. I wonder… how much more can you take?" Your fingers clutch at the sheets as his tongue moves again, this time with more purpose. He starts slow, dragging the wet heat of his mouth over you in slow, torturous strokes. His hands grip your thighs, keeping you open for him, completely at his mercy. "You taste so sweet, sweetheart," he murmurs between kisses, his voice thick with desire.

"I could stay here all night." Your mind feels hazy, lost in the unfamiliar but intoxicating sensations. You’ve never felt anything like this before—each stroke of his tongue sends a pulse of pleasure straight through you, leaving you breathless and trembling. Your hips buck slightly, chasing the feeling, but he immediately presses them back down with firm hands. "Ah, ah," he chides, amusement lacing his tone.

"Look at you, already so eager. But I’m in charge here, remember?" You bite your lip, embarrassed but unable to stop the soft whimper that escapes you when he flattens his tongue against you, applying more pressure. A tightness starts to build deep in your stomach, unfamiliar but overwhelming, and it only grows stronger as he adds a single finger, pressing inside you with slow, deliberate care.

"You’re so tight," he groans, his voice strained with restraint. "Relax for me, sweetheart. Let me in." His finger moves slowly at first, curling just right, coaxing pleasure from you with every stroke. His mouth never stops—lapping, teasing, driving you higher until the tension inside you coils impossibly tight. "That’s it," he breathes against you, feeling the way you tighten around him.

"Let go, sweetheart. Let me feel you fall apart." The pressure snaps. A cry leaves your lips as pleasure crashes over you, wave after wave rolling through your body. Your thighs tremble, fingers tangled in the sheets as you struggle to process the intensity of it all. He doesn't stop—not yet. He works you through it, tongue and fingers moving just enough to prolong your high, until the pleasure turns into oversensitivity and you're forced to whimper his name.

Only then does he finally pull away, lips glistening as he looks up at you with dark, heated eyes. "So beautiful," he murmurs, crawling back up your body to capture your lips in a deep, lingering kiss. You taste yourself on his tongue, but you’re too dazed to feel shy about it. "You’re not done yet, sweetheart," he whispers against your lips.

Your whole body trembles as the aftershocks of pleasure ripple through you, leaving you breathless and weak beneath him. Every nerve feels alight, oversensitive, but your mind is hazy, floating in the warmth of his touch.

He watches you, drinking in the sight of your blissed-out expression—your chest rising and falling, lips parted as you struggle to catch your breath.

A smirk tugs at his lips, but there’s something else in his gaze, something darker. "Still with me, sweetheart?" he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh. You nod weakly, but before you can fully recover, his hands slide up your body, covering you with his warmth as he moves to hover over you again. He kisses you—slow and deep, his tongue teasing against yours, letting you taste the remnants of your release on his lips.

Your body is still tingling, sensitive, but when he shifts between your legs, his hips pressing against yours, a different kind of heat starts to build. Your breath hitches as you feel him, heavy and hard, pressing against your entrance. "Mmm, you’re still shaking," he muses, brushing his lips along your jaw. His fingers glide down your side, soothing, grounding. "That felt good, didn’t it?"

You manage a nod, but the moment his tip nudges against you—just barely there—a soft gasp escapes you. He groans at the sound, rolling his hips just enough to tease. "So sensitive," he murmurs, voice thick with desire. "But you’re still so warm… so wet for me. You want more, don’t you?" Heat flares in your cheeks, but the way your body reacts—the way your thighs instinctively part for him—betrays you.

"That’s my girl," he praises, dragging his fingers along your hip before gripping it firmly. "I’ll go slow, sweetheart. I want you to feel everything." One hand finds yours, fingers lacing together as he slowly and carefully starts to push inside.

A soft whimper escapes you as he pushes deeper, stretching you inch by inch. The fullness is overwhelming, teetering between discomfort and something unfamiliar—something almost too much. Your fingers tighten against his shoulders, and he stills immediately, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Easy, sweetheart," he soothes, voice strained, as if it’s taking every ounce of control to hold himself back. "You’re taking me so well."

His hands caress your thighs, his thumbs drawing slow, grounding circles into your skin. He leans down, capturing your lips in a slow, lingering kiss—distracting, comforting, easing you through the adjustment. "Breathe," he murmurs against your lips.

You do. A deep inhale. A shaky exhale.

As your body relaxes around him, the discomfort begins to fade, replaced by a warmth that spreads deep inside you.

A new kind of pressure lingers there, unfamiliar but not unwelcome. You shift slightly beneath him, testing, and a soft moan slips from your lips at the sensation. His breath hitches. "Fuck," he groans, his forehead pressing against yours. His voice is rough, his control fraying at the edges. "You feel so tight, sweetheart. So perfect around me."

The praise sends a fresh wave of heat through you, and he notices—of course he notices. A smirk tugs at his lips, teasing, but there’s something deeper in his gaze. "Does it feel good?" he asks, his voice low, coaxing. You swallow hard, nodding shyly. "Words, sweetheart." His hips roll forward, just barely, sending a shiver through your body. "Tell me how it feels." "I—I like it," you admit breathlessly, your voice barely above a whisper.

His smirk deepens, but there’s warmth in his expression, something almost reverent. "That’s my good girl." Slowly, carefully, he pulls back before pressing in again, a slow, deliberate glide that has your nails digging into his skin. The stretch still lingers, but this time, pleasure begins to unfurl beneath it, curling low in your stomach. "That’s it," he murmurs, his voice a low rasp. "You’re taking me so well, sweetheart. Just let go for me."

His movements start slow—measured, gentle, letting you feel every inch of him as he fills you completely. He watches your expression intently, catching every flutter of your lashes, every gasp that spills from your lips. His hands never stop moving—one grips your thigh, keeping you open for him, while the other strokes soothing patterns against your skin. The teasing edge remains, but it’s softer now—less playful, more intimate. He leans down, capturing your lips in another kiss, this one deep and slow, matching the rhythm of his movements.

"You're mine now," he whispers against your lips, voice dripping with possessive affection. "Every little inch of you." A shiver runs through you, and something shifts. The pleasure starts to build, the sensitivity from before making every movement feel sharper, deeper. Your hips move instinctively, chasing the feeling, and he groans at the way you tighten around him.

"So eager now," he teases, but his voice is strained, as if he’s barely holding himself together. His pace picks up slightly, not rough, but more insistent—each thrust pressing deeper, sending waves of heat through your body. Your mind feels hazy, lost in the pleasure, the overwhelming fullness, the way he makes you feel completely his.

"I want to hear you," he breathes, his lips brushing against your ear. "Don’t hold back, sweetheart. Let me hear those pretty sounds." A soft moan escapes you, and he rewards you with a deep thrust, dragging another breathless whimper from your lips. His grip tightens on your hips, his control slipping as your body molds to his, meeting him perfectly. "That’s my girl," he praises, voice thick with need.

The heat in your stomach tightens, coiling, building, rising higher and higher. He feels it—feels the way your body clenches around him, the way your breaths turn shallow. "You're close, aren’t you , sweetheart?"* he murmurs, a smirk in his voice. "Let go for me, sweetheart. Come around me." His fingers slip between your bodies, finding your clit , drawing circles with his thumb , pressing just right—and the world shatters.

A cry escapes your lips as pleasure crashes over you, your body tensing, pulsing, unraveling beneath him. He groans, his pace faltering for a moment as your walls tighten around him, dragging him deeper into the sensation. "Fuck—" his breath stutters, his control snapping as he buries himself to the hilt, his own release hitting him hard.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room are your uneven breaths, the faint hum of your racing heartbeat in your ears. He stays inside you, warm and solid, his body pressed firmly against yours as he presses soft, lingering kisses along your jaw, your cheek, your forehead. "You were perfect," he murmurs, voice softer now, his teasing replaced with something warmer, something deeply affectionate.

He shifts slightly, careful not to move too fast, his hands soothing over your skin. Taking care of you. "Are you okay?" he asks, voice gentle, lips brushing your temple. You nod, your body still tingling, your limbs heavy with exhaustion and warmth. A contented sigh escapes you as he pulls you against his chest, wrapping you securely in his arms.

He smirks, but there’s nothing smug about it this time—just satisfaction, love, and a hint of possessiveness. "Get some rest, sweetheart," he murmurs. The warmth of his body surrounds you, his arms wrapped securely around your waist as he pulls you against his chest. His heartbeat is steady, a soothing rhythm beneath your ear, grounding you in the soft haze of exhaustion and lingering pleasure.

"Are you really okay, sweetheart?" His voice is softer now, husky from exertion but laced with something deeper—concern, affection. His fingers trace slow, absentminded circles on your back, his touch tender in contrast to the dominance he held before. You hum a sleepy, contented sound, nuzzling closer.

His scent is everywhere , a mix of heat and musk, but beneath it lingers something undeniably him —comforting, familiar. He chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest. "That good, huh?" Your cheeks warm, and you make a small, embarrassed noise in response. He tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

His eyes—so intense before—now hold a different kind of fire, something softer, more possessive in an entirely different way. "You were perfect," he murmurs, brushing his lips against your forehead. A sigh escapes you as his hands continue their slow, soothing strokes along your skin.

He shifts slightly, sitting up just enough to pull the blankets over both of you before tucking you firmly against him again. "Do you feel okay?" he asks, his voice laced with genuine concern now. "Not too sore?" You shake your head, though there’s an ache settling deep in your muscles—a reminder of just how thoroughly he had you.

He seems to sense it because his hands drift lower, massaging your hips gently, easing any tension. "I’ll run us a bath soon," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. "But for now, just rest, sweetheart." You bask in the comfort of his warmth, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek.

The room is quiet except for the occasional crackle from the fireplace and the sound of your intertwined breaths. Then—his fingers pause their gentle strokes against your back. A beat of silence lingers between you before he exhales, almost as if gathering his thoughts.

"I meant what I said earlier," he murmurs, his voice quieter now, more serious. You blink up at him sleepily, confusion flickering across your face. "About what?" His hand comes up to cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing over the flushed skin there. His gaze searches yours , something unspoken lingering behind his teasing smirk.

"That you’re mine," he says simply. Your breath catches. "But I don’t just mean for tonight," he continues, his voice lower now, more intimate. "I don’t want this to be just once, sweetheart." He leans in, his lips ghosting over yours , his breath warm and full of unspoken promises. "I want you."

His fingers tighten slightly against your hip, as if grounding himself in the moment. "All of you. Not just in my bed—but in my life." Your chest tightens, a different kind of warmth flooding through you now—not desire, but something deeper, something almost overwhelming.

"Be mine," he murmurs, his forehead resting against yours. "For real."

There’s no teasing in his voice this time—just genuine affection, quiet possessiveness, and a rare kind of vulnerability. The words hang between you, weighty and full of meaning. And as you look up into his waiting gaze, you already know your answer.

A/N : So , this is my first real story posted on here and it is pretty long from what I have before , also like I said this the first time Posting smut , so Feedback is appreciated !💜

Tag: @onecojg

[to-the-stars8]

The Waynes' Nanny

Batfamily and Reader/ Bruce Wayne x Reader Chapters Ao3

Master & Servant

You either had become too comfortable in your position or you’d gotten too used to scolding the kids; either way, Bruce suddenly found himself at the end of your lectures. As the boss, he should have nipped it in the bud, but, truthfully, he liked it. He enjoyed the way you reigned him in when he got a bit too silly or arrogant—Even Alfred had come to appreciate his behavior a bit more afterward (especially when your reprimands pertained to Alfred doing work a man his age shouldn’t have been doing).

The kids had gone to school, and Bruce, after a night of festive activities, decided it would be best to stay home. He was in the middle of signing some documents when you knocked on the door to his study before entering with a cool expression on your face. Bruce didn’t bother to look up as you crossed the room to his desk, thinking you were there to cure a bit of your boredom. When a lacy pair of red panties slid in front of his paperwork he had to look up at you. 

“What’re you doing?” He said, pushing his chair away from his desk. Were you coming onto him?

You were quick to reach across and pull him back close to you. “Not so fast there, hon’. We have to talk.”

“I’m starting to think we do if this is how you seduce me,” Bruce said as he threw the underwear back toward you. 

You sighed before saying, “These—” You waved around the little piece of fabric. “—Were from your date last night.”

Bruce only managed out an, “Oh.”

“Oh. Would you like to know where I found them?” You spat out. No, he wouldn’t, but he wasn’t about to start answering rhetorical questions. “In the kids' playroom.” 

“Shit,” Bruce seethed out. He had been to a gala earlier in the evening, and, to keep the reporters at bay, decided to bring a pretty lady home. The sex was to relieve some stress, and, usually, he would be careful about where he had his intimate relations. But, he was so pent up that he must have been a bit reckless. That wasn’t like him at all, and he would ensure that it never happened again.

“Don’t leave things like this in there again, please,” You gritted out, tone stern and curt. “It’s incredibly irresponsible. Especially around young children, Mr. Wayne!”

“I know, you don’t need to tell me.” Bruce felt a lightness in his chest, almost fluttering. 

You threw the underwear in his lap. “Apparently I do! Imagine if Duke or Damian found that?”

Bruce was mortified at the thought, but mumbled, “We could always say it was yours.”

If looks could kill Bruce would be dead. You were not in the slightest bit amused and told him as much. You mentioned that the underwear wasn’t even the tip of the iceberg of the issue at hand. 

“You can fuck wherever you want, Bruce, but don’t do it around my kids. They don’t need to get caught up in your fucked up sex life!”

He knew it would be a bad time to point out that they were actually his kids. Overall, he agreed and promised you to never do it again. That seemed to pacify you, more so when he apologized for suggesting that they could pass off the panties as yours. 

 You expressed in a more calming tone, “I know you love the kids, but they’re already having a hard time coping with the rumors about you in the media. Don’t make it any worse by bringing it off the pages into their safe spaces.”

This is what Bruce liked about your reprimands, they brought reality back to him when lost it. You seemed done giving him a rightfully deserved scolding and began to take your leave. 

He called out to you, though, beckoning you back. When you approached, Bruce rounded his desk to get a bit closer to you. “Thank you for…being blunt with me.”

“Someone needs to,” You were quick to say. “Though, I’m starting to wonder who's the boss.”

Bruce smiled and chuckled, agreeing that the line had been blurred in moments like these. Looking down at the underwear in his hands, he finally got the courage to ask, “How’d you know they were my dates?” 

You smirked and laughed a little as you began to leave. “I don’t wear cheap panties. Do you need a lesson on that, too?”

[lila-lou]

✨Taking her in - Pt. 18✨

Summary: After Dean Winchester saves your life, he brings you into the safety of the bunker. As you grow older and stronger, Dean refuses to let you join the hunts, his overprotective behavior intensifying. But beneath his fierce protectiveness lies something darker—conflicted feelings he can’t face. As your 18th birthday approaches, Dean struggles to keep control, torn between his duty to protect you and emotions he’s buried for too long.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! (saftey first, no Smut tho), kinda kinky i guess, hormones, HUGE Age Gap, Immoral, Language

Word Count: 5119

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💜

As the intensity of the moment began to ebb, you instinctively started to shift, ready to pull away and give him space to recover. But before you could move, Dean’s good hand slid to your waist, his fingers pressing gently to stop you.

“Not yet”, he murmured, his voice low and rough from exertion. His green eyes were soft, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips as he looked up at you. “Just… let me enjoy the view for a few more minutes”.

Dean’s lazy smirk deepened as he caught the way your cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of pink, your gaze flicking shyly to the side. The vulnerability in your reaction, paired with the soft rise and fall of your chest as you caught your breath, was enough to send a wave of heat coursing through him.

Inside you, he twitched, the sensation making your breath hitch. His good hand tightened slightly on your waist, his thumb brushing soothing circles against your skin. “Sweetheart”, he murmured, his voice low and teasing, though tinged with exhaustion, “if you keep looking that adorable, we might have a problem”.

Dean’s smirk softened as he watched you hide your face behind your hands, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. You mumbled something incoherent, but he didn’t need to hear the words to know what you were thinking. The way you tried to shrink away, the shy way you moved—it was all so inherently you, and it drove him absolutely wild.

For Dean, your innocence, your vulnerability, was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. It wasn’t just the physical side of things, though that certainly stirred something primal in him. It was the emotional weight of it, the knowledge that you trusted him completely, that he was the only man who had ever been allowed to see you like this, to touch you, to be with you. Knowing he was the only one who had ever been inside you, the only one who had ever felt how tight and perfect you were—it was intoxicating.

His fingers brushed over your hip, his grip firm but gentle as he tried to keep himself grounded. It wasn’t easy. Every instinct, every deep, primal part of him wanted to pull you underneath him, to claim you completely, to make sure you knew exactly how much he wanted you, needed you.

But he held back, because you deserved more than that. You deserved care and patience, and Dean wanted to give that to you, no matter how hard it was to resist the fire burning inside him.

Dean’s grip on your hip tightened ever so slightly as he whispered, his voice barely above a breath but filled with so much raw emotion it made your chest ache. “God, I love you”.

The words were like a spark, igniting something deep within you. Before you could respond, his good hand gently cupped the back of your neck, pulling you down toward him. Your hands fell from your face as his lips met yours, soft but insistent. The kiss was slow, unhurried, yet brimming with unspoken passion, as if he was trying to show you just how much you meant to him in every brush of his lips against yours.

You felt his body shift slightly beneath you, his warmth seeping into your skin as his grip steadied you. The connection between you was so intense it made your head spin, and then you became acutely aware of him—the way he was growing harder inside you, pressing deeper as he adjusted ever so slightly. The sensation made your breath catch, your body tensing for a moment before you melted against him.

Dean pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breathing ragged.

His forehead remained pressed against yours, his warm breath mingling with your own as he shifted slightly beneath you. You noticed his wince, and before you could ask, he reached out toward the bedside table with his good hand, fumbling for the bottle of painkillers. His movements were clumsy and strained, and you instinctively moved to help him, grabbing the bottle and pressing it into his hand.

“Thanks”, he murmured, his voice rough but full of affection. He popped the cap open with one hand, shaking two pills into his palm and tossing them into his mouth. He swallowed them dry, his throat working hard to force them down, before setting the bottle aside and leaning back against the pillow.

Dean’s hand returned to your hip, his fingers tightening slightly as he shifted beneath you again, pressing you flush against him. His body trembled faintly, his jaw tightening as a mix of pleasure and pain flashed across his features. His green eyes found yours, dark with a raw, unrelenting need that made your breath hitch.

“Painkillers’ll kick in soon”, he muttered, his voice low and strained. “But I’m sure as hell not waiting”. He guided your hips down with a firm but gentle pressure, encouraging you to take him fully once more. The intensity in his gaze left no doubt—he wanted this, no matter how much his chest ached.

Your breath hitched at the sensation of him pressing fully inside you, his hand firm on your hip as he silently conveyed exactly what he wanted. The look in his eyes was enough to set your heart racing—a mixture of raw need and unshakable affection that made it impossible to resist. Despite the lingering self-consciousness gnawing at you, the thought of letting him down spurred you into motion.

You bit your lip, your cheeks flushing as you started to move your hips slowly, tentatively. The feeling was overwhelming, the stretch and fullness making you tremble as you tried to find a rhythm. Dean’s groan, low and rumbling, sent a shiver through your body, his hand tightening on your hip as if encouraging you to keep going.

“That’s it”, he rasped, his voice thick with both strain and pleasure. “Just like that, sweetheart. You’re doing so good”.

A few days later, Dean’s injuries were starting to look better, though the healing process was slow. Sam had to redo a few stitches on his chest the day after your night together, muttering something about “damn stubborn idiots” under his breath as he worked. But now, the bleeding had finally stopped, and while Dean’s chest still looked angry and raw, the wounds were starting to close. His broken arm was firmly secured in a sling, and the swelling in his fingers had gone down slightly, though his strength hadn’t fully returned.

Dean, however, wasn’t exactly bouncing back. He was still weak, his body trembling if he stood for too long. Worse, he’d barely eaten over the past few days, a concerning departure from his usual “shovel anything in sight” appetite. The mix of pain meds and antibiotics had clearly taken a toll on him, dulling his hunger and leaving him uncharacteristically tired.

Now, he was sitting in the bunker’s library, slouched slightly in his chair with his broken arm cradled against his side. His good hand flipped idly through the pages of an old lore book, but it was clear he wasn’t fully focused. His brow was furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line as he stared at the text, though his eyes flicked occasionally where Sam sat at the opposite side of the table.

Sam glanced up from his book, breaking the silence in the library as he leaned back in his chair. “Where’s she at?”, he asked casually, his tone curious but not particularly pressing. “Haven’t seen her around”.

Dean froze for a moment, his eyes lingering on the page in front of him without actually reading it. His jaw tightened slightly before he finally muttered, “She’s out. Running errands or something”.

Sam raised an eyebrow at Dean’s vague response, the corner of his mouth quirking into a smirk. “Errands?”, he echoed, clearly unconvinced. “What kind of errands?”.

Dean sighed, his good hand scrubbing over his face as he tried to come up with a better answer. But the memory of your flustered face from earlier that morning flashed through his mind, making him bite the inside of his cheek to stop the grin threatening to form.

“She went to grab some snacks or whatever”, Dean said, his voice gruff as he avoided Sam’s gaze. “Nothing major”.

Sam wasn’t buying it. He tilted his head, his smirk growing as he studied Dean. “You’re acting weird”, he said, clearly enjoying how flustered Dean was getting. “Did you two have a fight or something?”.

Dean scoffed, shaking his head. “No, we didn’t have a fight”, he said, though the defensive edge in his voice made Sam’s smirk widen. “She’s fine. I’m fine. Drop it”.

What Dean didn’t mention—and wouldn’t, unless absolutely necessary—was the conversation from that morning. He’d tried to convince you to take a bath with him, the idea of relaxing together sounding perfect in his mind. But you’d been unusually hesitant, deflecting his suggestion and making excuses until he finally asked outright what was going on.

Your face had turned beet red as you muttered the truth, so quietly he almost didn’t catch it. “I’m on my period, Dean”.

At first, he’d just blinked at you, his brain catching up to your words before a teasing grin spread across his face. “That’s it?”, he’d asked, clearly amused. “Sweetheart, that’s nothing. We can still—”.

“No, Dean”, you’d interrupted firmly, your cheeks still burning. “Just… no”.

The memory of your embarrassment made him smile faintly now, even as Sam continued to press him for answers. “What’s so funny?”, Sam asked, narrowing his eyes at Dean’s reaction.

“Nothing”, Dean muttered, flipping a page in his book. “Just thinking”.

Sam rolled his eyes but didn’t push further, letting the subject drop—for now.

A little while later, the sound of the bunker door opening echoed down the hall, followed by the familiar shuffle of your footsteps. Dean’s head snapped up immediately, his green eyes locking onto the library door as you stepped in, carrying a bag of snacks.

“There you are”, Dean said, a grin spreading across his face as he leaned back in his chair. “Took you long enough. Please tell me you got pie”.

You rolled your eyes at Dean’s immediate comment, though a flicker of guilt crossed your face as you set the bag of snacks down on the library table. “Dean”, you said softly, your tone tinged with both concern and frustration, “you can’t just live off pie”.

Dean shrugged, leaning back in his chair as though his argument was irrefutable. “Why not? It’s got everything I need. Fruit, sugar, carbs—basically a full meal”.

Sam snorted from across the table, closing his book with a thud. “Pretty sure that’s not how nutrition works, Dean”.

You shot Sam a grateful look before turning your attention back to Dean. But something about the way he looked—pale, tired, stubbornly defiant—made your chest tighten. Normally, you’d let it go with a sigh or an eye roll, but your hormones were wreaking havoc on you this time around, and you could feel tears welling up in your eyes before you could stop them.

“Dean, you’re not eating enough”, you blurted, your voice shaking slightly as you stepped closer to him. “You’re already weak, and you’re barely standing half the time. Do you even realize how worried I’ve been? How scared—”.

The tears spilled over before you could finish, and you quickly turned away, swiping at your cheeks with the back of your hand. You weren’t usually this emotional, but the hormonal chaos of your period had turned you into a walking mess of feelings. On top of that, the stress of watching Dean push himself too hard while refusing to take care of himself was enough to send you spiraling.

Both Sam and Dean froze as your voice cracked, their eyes widening in surprise at the sudden shift in your tone. Sam exchanged a glance with Dean, his eyebrows raised as if silently asking, What the hell just happened?

Dean, however, looked like he was caught completely off guard. His good hand rested awkwardly on the armrest of his chair, and he blinked at you as if unsure how to react. “Uh”, he started, clearly fumbling for words, “you’re crying over pie?”.

The moment the words left his mouth, you turned sharply, your tear-streaked face blazing with a mixture of anger and disbelief. “Are you kidding me, Dean?”, you snapped, your voice rising. “I’m not crying over pie, you absolute moron!”.

Dean’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. His usual quick wit failed him entirely as you glared at him, your emotions surging like a tidal wave. “I’m crying because you’re being a stubborn, reckless idiot who doesn’t care about himself or the people who care about him!”, you shouted, your voice trembling as fresh tears streamed down your face. “You’re barely eating, you’re not resting, and you think this is all a joke!”.

Sam leaned back slightly in his chair, his hands raised in a silent gesture of surrender as if to avoid getting caught in the crossfire. “I think I’ll, uh… let you two handle this”, he muttered, standing up.

"No!”, you shouted, spinning on your heel to glare at Sam, who froze mid-step, clearly caught off guard. “You don’t get to just walk away from this, Sam!”. Your voice wavered with a mix of anger and frustration, but there was no mistaking the intensity in your tone. “You’re his brother! How can you just sit there and let him act like this? You should be holding him down, making sure he takes care of himself—not letting him get away with being so damn reckless!”.

Sam blinked, his mouth opening slightly as if to respond, but you didn’t give him the chance. “He listens to you, Sam. Or at least, he should. You’ve been through enough with him to know what happens when he keeps pushing himself like this. Why aren’t you doing anything?”.

Dean, still seated behind you, let out a low groan, his head falling back against the chair. “Oh, come on”, he muttered. “Now you’re mad at him? It’s not his fault I’m a pain in the ass”.

You turned back to Dean, your hands flying to your hips as you narrowed your eyes at him. “This is absolutely about you being a pain in the ass, but Sam isn’t off the hook either. You’re his brother, and he should know better!”.

Sam raised his hands defensively, his voice cautious as he tried to defuse the situation. “Okay, hold on”, he said, his tone calm but firm. “I do know better, and trust me, I’ve tried. You know how stubborn he is—it’s like talking to a wall sometimes. But it’s not like I don’t care. I’m worried about him too”.

Dean’s voice cut through your tirade with a sharpness that made you freeze. “Calm down!”, he barked, his tone more authoritative than you’d heard in a long time. His green eyes locked onto yours, frustration flashing behind them as he leaned slightly forward in his chair. “Since when does your period turn you into such a damn little brat?”.

The words hung in the air like a bomb that had just gone off.

Your mouth fell open, completely stunned, and Sam immediately winced, his hand flying up to rub the back of his neck as he took an instinctive step back. “Oh no”, Sam muttered under his breath, clearly wanting no part of what was about to happen.

Dean’s gaze flicked between you and Sam, as if realizing the weight of what he’d just said. “What?”, he muttered, almost defensively, though his voice was already losing steam. “I’m just saying, you’re usually not this…”.

“What?”, you hissed, cutting him off. Your voice was low, dangerously calm, and your eyebrow arched as you took a slow step toward him. “Did you just call me a brat because I’m on my period?”.

Sam’s eyes widened as he began inching toward the door, clearly sensing the storm brewing. “I’ll, uh… I’ll leave you two to this”, he muttered, slipping out as quickly and quietly as possible.

Dean, to his credit—or maybe stupidity—didn’t back down, though you could see a flicker of regret in his expression. “That’s not what I meant”, he said quickly, his voice softening as he raised his good hand in a placating gesture. “I just… you’re all over the place, sweetheart. One second you’re yelling at me, then you’re crying, and now—”.

“Dean”, you interrupted, your voice still calm but with an edge sharp enough to cut steel. “You better stop talking before you dig yourself an even bigger hole”.

Dean’s mouth opened as if to argue, but then he closed it again, his gaze dropping to the table. For a moment, the room was silent, the tension so thick it was almost suffocating. Finally, he let out a long, exasperated sigh, running his good hand through his hair.

“Alright, I’m sorry”, he muttered, his tone genuine despite the awkward delivery. He looked up at you, his green eyes softer now, tinged with a hint of guilt. “I didn’t mean it like that. You’re not a brat. You’re just… worried. And you’ve got every right to be”.

You crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes at him. “Damn right, I do”, you said firmly, though your voice had lost some of its earlier fire.

Dean shifted in his seat, his broken arm cradled awkwardly against his side. “Look, I’m not great at this whole ‘talking about feelings’ thing”, he admitted, his voice gruff. “But I know you’re just trying to take care of me. And I appreciate it, okay? Even if I’m a stubborn pain in the ass”.

You softened slightly at his words, the tension in your shoulders easing just a bit. “You are a pain in the ass”, you muttered, though your tone was lighter now.

Dean smirked faintly, his good hand reaching out to gently tug you closer. “Yeah, but you love me anyway”, he said, his voice low and teasing, though there was a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. “Right?”.

You sighed, shaking your head as you allowed yourself to be pulled closer. “Unfortunately for me”, you replied, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

Dean’s smirk widened, and his thumb brushed over your hand. “See? We’re good. Now come here and sit down before you yell at me again”.

You rolled your eyes but let him guide you to the chair beside him, the tension between you slowly dissolving. For all his stubbornness and occasional idiotic comments, Dean knew how to make things right—eventually.

You sighed, settling into the chair beside Dean and letting your shoulders slump slightly. The intensity of the moment was fading, leaving you feeling embarrassed by your earlier outburst. You glanced at him, chewing your bottom lip before muttering, “I’m sorry”.

You hesitated for a moment, staring at the table as you toyed with a stray thread on your shirt. “I didn’t mean to get so dramatic”, you admitted quietly. “I… It’s just… the birth control, I think. It’s messing with my hormones or something”.

Dean’s expression softened, the lines of frustration and exhaustion smoothing into something far gentler. He reached out with his good hand, resting it lightly on your arm. “Hey”, he said, his voice calm and reassuring. “You don’t need to apologize for that. It’s not like you’re doing it on purpose”.

You looked up at him, a flicker of relief crossing your face at his understanding tone. “I just hate feeling like this”, you said, your voice trembling slightly. “Like I’m all over the place. I’m not usually like this, you know? And then there’s you, not eating, not taking care of yourself, and it just… it’s too much”.

Dean’s hand tightened slightly on your arm, his thumb brushing small, soothing circles over your skin. “Sweetheart”, he said softly, “it’s okay. I get it. And you’ve got every right to feel the way you do. Hell, if I were in your shoes, I’d probably be yelling at me too”.

That brought a small, reluctant smile to your lips, and Dean smirked in response, the corner of his mouth quirking upward in that familiar way that always made your heart skip a beat.

“Look”, he continued, his tone more serious now. “I know I’ve been a stubborn jackass, but I’ll try, okay? I’ll eat something. Even if it’s not pie. And I’ll take it easy”. His eyes searched yours, a flicker of guilt lingering in their depths. “I don’t like seeing you upset”.

You felt a lump rise in your throat at his words, and you nodded, swallowing hard. “Thank you”, you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Dean leaned back slightly, his smirk returning as he gave your arm a gentle squeeze. “But just so you know”, he added, his tone teasing now, “pie’s still the best part of any meal”.

You rolled your eyes, but your smile widened as you swatted at his arm lightly. “You’re impossible”.

Dean chuckled, the sound warm and genuine, and for the first time in days, you felt a sense of calm settle over you.

The rest of the day passed in relative peace, though it was clear both Winchester brothers were treading carefully around you. Dean, stubborn as he was, had actually eaten something—granted, it was more pie, but progress was progress. Meanwhile, Sam buried himself in research for a new case, his brow furrowed in concentration as he flipped through old lore books.

You, on the other hand, were completely absorbed in your own little world. Lounged in one of the bunker’s oversized chairs, you balanced a tub of cookie dough ice cream in your lap, periodically dipping chips into it. Your headphones were snug over your ears, blocking out everything but the show playing on your tablet. You were content, happily distracted by Netflix and your unusual snack combination.

Dean, sitting at the table with Sam, glanced over at you with a smirk tugging at his lips. He leaned closer to his brother, his voice low but still carrying a teasing edge. “Man”, he murmured, nodding toward you. “If she’s this moody from just the pill, I better never get her pregnant”.

Sam, who had been immersed in a book, snorted in surprise before letting out a laugh. He shook his head, his amusement clear as he shot Dean a knowing look. “Not for at least the next five years, Dean”, he said, his tone playful but firm. “She’s way too young for that”.

Dean turned to glare at his brother, though there wasn’t much heat behind it. “What’s that supposed to mean?”, he muttered, his voice defensive.

Sam shrugged, leaning back in his chair as he raised an eyebrow at Dean. “You wouldn’t just throw that out there unless you’ve been thinking about it”, he pointed out, his smirk widening. “I know you, Dean. That joke didn’t come from nowhere”.

Dean’s face reddened slightly, and he looked away, clearly annoyed at being called out. “Whatever”, he grumbled, focusing back on his book, though you could see the way his jaw tightened.

Meanwhile, oblivious to the quiet exchange, you scooped up another bite of ice cream with a chip, completely engrossed in your show. If you’d heard what they were talking about, you might’ve dropped your ice cream altogether.

Sam chuckled to himself, clearly pleased with how much he’d riled Dean up. “Just saying”, he added lightly, flipping a page in his book. “You’ve got time. No rush”.

Dean rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah, well”, he muttered, his voice low and a little gruff, “it’s not like I’m ever gonna have kids anyway. This life? It’s not exactly family-friendly”.

Sam glanced up from his book, his expression softening as he studied his brother. “You don’t know that”, he said, his voice thoughtful. “Maybe someday things’ll change. You could have a family, Dean. A real shot at being happy”.

Dean snorted, shaking his head. “C’mon, Sam. Let’s be real. I’ve got a messed-up past, demons on speed dial, and about a hundred other reasons why that’s never gonna happen. Not exactly a picket-fence kind of guy. And you´re neither”.

Sam leaned back in his chair, resting his elbows on the armrests as he gave Dean a measured look. “You say that now”, he said carefully, “but I’ve been thinking… I don’t want to do this forever either. Maybe in a few years, I’ll settle down. Find a way to live a quieter life. Hell, I’ve always wanted kids”.

Dean’s eyebrows shot up, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Little Sam Juniors running around? Hope they come with a manual, Sammy, ’cause I don’t see you handling diaper duty”.

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m serious, Dean. I want a life outside of this—something more. Don’t you?”.

Dean’s smirk faltered slightly, his eyes flicking toward you lounging in the chair with your headphones on. For a brief moment, something unspoken passed over his face—a flicker of what-ifs and maybes—but he quickly masked it with a shrug. “I don’t know, man”, he said, his voice quieter. “Maybe for you. You’d be good at it”.

Sam tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watched his brother. “You say that like it’s not possible for you too”.

Dean huffed a humorless laugh, reaching for the cup of coffee on the table. “Let’s just focus on the case, alright?”, he said, effectively changing the subject.

Sam didn’t push, though his thoughtful expression lingered. It was clear he wasn’t done with the conversation, but for now, he let it slide, returning to his research. Dean’s eyes drifted back to you, his features softening despite the gruff exterior he was trying to maintain.

Dean’s mind kept drifting, no matter how much he tried to focus on the book in front of him. He knew he was being ridiculous—you were too young to be having conversations about kids, and the two of you were still in the early stages of your relationship. It wasn’t the time, and he wasn’t the guy to even entertain that kind of future… or so he thought.

But the thought of you, your small, delicate frame carrying something so undeniably his, wouldn’t leave him. It stirred something deep in him—something primal and possessive, something that made his chest tighten and his body react in ways he hadn’t expected. The idea of you glowing, rounded with his child, hit him harder than he wanted to admit, and he cursed himself as he felt the heat pooling low in his abdomen.

Dean shifted in his chair, trying to will the reaction away, but it was no use. His jeans felt tighter, and the book in front of him suddenly seemed like the least interesting thing in the world. He clenched his jaw, leaning back slightly as if the change in position would somehow help. It didn’t.

He glanced at you, still curled up in the chair with your tablet and snacks, completely oblivious to the chaos you’d inadvertently caused in his head. Your face was relaxed, your small movements as you shifted and dipped chips into ice cream so natural and unguarded. It wasn’t like you were trying to do anything to him—you were just being you. And that made it even harder to ignore.

Get it together, Dean, he scolded himself silently, dragging a hand down his face. But the idea of you pregnant—his baby growing inside you, proof of the love you shared—sent another wave of heat through him. It wasn’t just physical; it was deeper, more profound. The thought scared the hell out of him, but it also stirred something he couldn’t deny.

He shifted again, letting out a frustrated sigh that caught Sam’s attention. “You alright?”m Sam asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked up from his research.

Dean nodded quickly, his voice a little strained. “Yeah, just stiff from sitting too long”, he lied, leaning forward and propping his elbow on the table as if that would somehow disguise his discomfort.

Sam gave him a skeptical look but didn’t press, returning to his book with a shrug. Dean glanced back at you once more, letting out a slow, steady breath. He had to get a grip. There was no way he could explain what was going on in his head right now without embarrassing himself—and probably scaring the hell out of you.

Still, as he shifted his focus back to the book, the thought lingered, stubbornly refusing to leave.

Eventually, you stood up from your chair, stretching your legs after sitting for so long. With your tub of ice cream in one hand and your tablet tucked under your arm, you made your way awkwardly toward the kitchen. The cramps were starting to kick in again, and you figured a hot water bottle would help. Dean watched you leave, his eyes trailing after you like a magnet.

The tension in his body hadn’t eased since the thoughts of you and the idea of a family had crept into his head. He told himself to stay put, to let it go, but his legs had other plans. Quietly, he got up, cradling his broken arm against his chest as he followed you down the hall.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

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[muffinsin]

So it’s obvious that the girls had lives and families before the Cadou, so it got me wondering. What if the girls had a biological older or younger sibling that comes to work in the castle? It would probably feel weird to the girls to see what is basically a clone of you, that remembers a different version of you but you can’t remember them.

Tbh I love to occasionally think of setting Elena up as this (due to her obvious resemblance to Cassandra due to their models)👀 that’s a very interesting thought, hon!👀 this one’s got a bit angsty🙃

This one’s a little off my usual HCs for them since I HC that all 3 take a good 80 years tops to get to the point where they are in the game. Maturity and growth wise XD

Masterlists

Bela

Contrary to popular belief, not all are forced into the castle, forced to work there, to cook and clean and serve

Many come for the safety it can provide, the three meals a day, the roof above one’s head, the protection against Lycans

You, have come for a different reason

Bela Dimitrescu

The eldest of Alcina Dimitrescu, countess of Castle Dimitrescu, the head of the house

Her eldest. Her successor. Her heiress. One of three daughters, sisters

But also, your sister

She carries a different name now, looks a little different, acts different. But it’s her, undeniably so

You begin by working at the castle, and you work hard

Hard, quickly, every day. More and more. No task is too hard for you, no goal unreachable, for you have a single goal in mind;

To get to Bela

You know, you need to see her

You need to see your sister

You didn’t think you would again, that she would be lost forever after being taken by Mother Miranda

To see her in the distance, dragging something back to the castle…alive

Different, but alive

You need to know if your sister is still there

And so, as you continue to work hard and pick up more and more tasks, you eventually work your way up in the castle

Past ordinary tasks, ranking above the average maid

Until, at last, you’re assigned to clean and organize Bela’s spaces when she wants for it

You’re incredibly nervous on the first day, well aware that you will see her up close for the first time

While you’ve seen Cassandra around plenty times and managed to dodge her and had Daniela throw herself at you a few times, Bela has been distant, far too busy to spare the staff a glance or even interact with it

And when you are summoned to her office and finally see her, you feel like your heart is stopping

Her eyes are different, she sports a tattoo on her forehead. Her clothing is much richer and darker and while she barely wore make up in the village, she wears some now

But, beyond all this, she’s your sister still

Of course, she notices your racing heart

But, unlike her sisters, her reaction is different

She doesn’t grin, doesn’t approach you with a predatory smile and shine to her eyes as Cassandra would

She doesn’t move towards you with a sultry smile and seductive eyes as Daniela likes to do

Instead, she rolls her eyes subtly, as though a little annoyed

You immediately straighten up. You’re not sure how much she’s changed, but you know well enough to not anger her. Especially on your first day. You’ve heard rumors she is particularly unforgiving as it comes to a lack of competence

This, though, has you smile a little

This, at least, is a little like your sister, even if she was far, far more soft spoken in the village, unable to speak out as she can now due to the harsh, outdated hierarchy

Still, you remember her subtly rolling her eyes and glancing to you whenever something or someone annoyed her

Sensing your shift in behavior, she at last turns again, her hand raising, her gloved fingers gesturing to the room

As she talks, you can’t help but feel your heart ache. Her voice, though far more confident, is still the same

Your sister…

So close, yet so far

You so desperately want to reach out, to wrap your arms around her

You’re certain it wouldn’t be a very good idea judged by the dried blood around her lips

And still, you force yourself to stay quiet, to stay professional, to avoid staring at your long-lost sister overly long

As she works, you notice she checks in on you occasionally, critical as always, checking if you’re doing your work correctly

You can’t help a small smile

Even after all those years, you know how she likes to organize things. You know what ticks her off, what makes her smile, satisfied

You perform every task she gives you far better than all others, and she quickly decides she’s pleased with you. Pleased enough to have you work for her more and more

Every day, you see her

No. Every day, you see a shadow of who she was

She’s not quite your sister, and you’re not quite part of her family

She’s none the wiser, and you don’t dare tell her

You notice, though, she’s growing suspicious

Sometimes, you catch her staring, unashamed when she continues looking at you even when you turn to her

Like she’s trying to figure something out

Like she’a trying to figure out why you look so similar and familiar to her, but she has no recollection of you at all

At first, she thinks; could you be related to a former lover?

But…no, it doesn’t seem right

She can’t even begin to think she might be your sister

And you..you aren’t sure telling her is the best course of action

You can’t help but worry, fearing she might take you for a fool if you told her the truth

You know, in her eyes, she has a family

A new family

A stronger family

Not you…

She’s happy, you can’t help but notice. Or seems it, at least. She’s safe. And while she is occasionally heard complaining about “her sisters”, it isn’t hard to tell she loves them dearly nonetheless

Unsurprisingly, this stings

But…you can’t help but wonder whether it’s for the best

You’re about to tell her, once. About to spill your heart out and tell her everything. About to plead with her to come home

Home…

To the village, where it isn’t safe

A village, whose inhabitants have come to hate who your sister has turned into

How can you possibly ask her to do that? How could she possibly accept that?

You tell yourself, you won’t bother her. That after she’s looked after you all her life, you will look after her and grant her this life, now

But…you can’t bring yourself to stay away

You work eagerly, show up on time, every single day

You never fail to complete a task to her upmost satisfaction, and work for as long as you can, desperate to be with her and see her

You too notice yourself grow clingier, while she grows more and more curious

You seem so familiar, at ease. She can’t understand you, can’t figure you out at all

She wants to

She suspects, you must be keeping something from her

And when one day she confronts you, you almost forget who she is, now. That she no longer is the meek villager, the woman trying hard to protect you even if it meant being punished for it

The woman who would never resort to violence

You refuse to tell her what’s going on, originally, mistaking your relationship with Bela for one far more familiar than it is, now

You find yourself pressed against the window with a sickle to your throat, the not-so subtle threat of falling or being sliced imminent

You panic, suddenly struck with the realization again that despite her looks and certain similarities, this is not quite your sister

And you certainly are not family to her in her eyes

Terrified, you’re forced to realize; she will kill you, should you not speak up

And when you do, sobbing that she’s your sister, it’s like time stands still

She doesn’t believe it, at first

And for a moment, you’re certain she will kill you

But, the killing blow doesn’t come, and you’re left alone in her study instead

In the next couple of days, you don’t see her at all

You can’t even catch as much as a glimpse of her, really

Unbeknownst to you, your words have caused a small panic within her

She spends the majority of her days with Alcina, asking questions here and there, curious whether you could be telling the truth

She’s never quite cared for her former life

Of course, Alcina has once told her that she did exist as someone else before she was reborn

But, with her wonderful family surrounding her, she never found it within her to care

Now, she feels almost like she’s forced to

She panics easily at the thought of you, pacing as thoughts swirl about in her head

Often, it takes Alcina to calm her

It takes days for Bela to sort out her thoughts, to come to a point where she’s at least capable of making a choice

A choice, that comes a little easier to her than she likes to admit

The next day, you find your belongings packed and a carriage awaiting you, along with a handsome amount of gold

Some of the maidens congratulate you, others glance at you filthily, their jealousy clear as day

You feel only dread, only hurt

It’s clear to you in an instant; this is her doing

As much as she feels this odd feeling of familiarity with you, Bela can’t- no, does not want to- turn her back on her new family

She’s a Dimitrescu, and, to her, her family is Alcina, Cassandra and Daniela

She feels no sense of love towards you, no sense of affection she so dearly holds for her younger sisters

But, she does not want to see you hurt

She sends you off, away from the castle

You can’t be a part of her life. She makes this much clear

But, she sees to it that you’re cared for, financially, at least enough to afford a safe home

She can’t bring herself to do more than that

She’s a Dimitrescu, now, proudly so

And you are not

Cassandra

Cassandra Dimitrescu

A terror from the castle

A monster to many villagers. A devil, some even call her. A sadist, certainly. A predator, yes

Your sister

Can I be?

Could it really be her?

You remember her well, remember her strong face and stubbornness, her fierce protectiveness over you, which often led to her getting hurt

She never complained, never stopped protecting you

She’d always shield you from the dangers in the village

Gone, now

Given to Mother Miranda long ago

You remember she fought

You remember being unable to help her, staring into her brown eyes, wide and angry, as she was dragged away

The next time you look into her eyes, they’re golden, but unmistakably hers, still

It’s during a raid of the village, when you find yourself panting on the floor, watching a mysterious brunette rip apart the villager in front of you

Cassandra Dimitrescu

Then, when she turned, your sister…

Her face, her voice…but…not quite her

The woman in front of you is bloodied, and bloodthirsty. She holds your sister’s anger still, shows it openly, but it’s directed at everyone, and it feels like any wrong move could have it direct towards you, too

You aren’t sure why your instincts-unlike your wish- tell you not to run into her arms. But looking back, you’re certain it saved your life

Rooted in place, you can only stare and shiver, shake helplessly as the woman you’re so sure could be your sister tears apart the villager in front of you

By some miracle you aren’t next, left on the ground as she laughs and turns into what looks like a swarm of flies

Maybe, you should have dropped things

Maybe, you should have accepted your sister’s death

Maybe, you shouldn’t have gone chasing Cassandra

But, you do

You set out to work at the castle despite the rumors surrounding it

You know, after all, that is when you will find her

And, sure enough, you find out plenty

You find out, she’s the middle child, sister to Bela and Daniela Dimitrescu

A different family

A different woman?

But…you can’t help but see her, even as you’re confronted with the scary stories the staff likes telling about her in the dark

Maybe, you should have dropped it indeed

Finding Cassandra proves to be an easy task. Avoiding her sickle, a more difficult one

She’s loud, as your sister used to be, unfiltered

You remember, back then, this used to be a problem

You can’t help but notice, she seems happier, now

More confident

Free

Unburdened

Excited

Selfishly, perhaps, you can’t help but hope she isn’t loved. That maybe, she will come back to you

You’d hide her, make sure no resentful villager can find and hurt her. Or, by now, be hurt by her

Perhaps, this should be alarming

Still, you so desperately want to get your sister back

You try working your way up in the castle, try to work in areas you heard she regularly visits

The armory, she cellars, the wing containing her chambers

But, soon you realise; working hard has Bela Dimitrescu turn to you, not Cassandra

Bela, who seems to value order and your hard work

Daniela, who makes it a point to fluster you and all other staff members she comes across. So far, you have been lucky. You find; sticking to a group is important with the redhead, lest her seemingly random mood changes are directed at you

You begin to pull back a little, to take more risks, hoping it might catch Cassandra’s eye

Then, one day, it happens naturally

You’re caught up in a fight, screaming and scratching at the woman attacking you

You aren’t sure how it happened, how the maiden’s hurtful remarks could turn into a full blown fight

Nails scrape against skin, dig against it, hair is pulled

An unnecessary fight, foolish, in an already dangerous workplace

But, it’s enough to capture the sadist’s attention

You both flinch back when she’s suddenly there, and you gasp when her sickle easily slices forth through the air

It catches both of you, still, forming a bleeding cut at your cheek and a deep slash at the maiden’s one

She immediately begs for mercy, falls to her knees and sobs. You stand frozen in place

This close to her, you can’t help but look up again, your eyes finding her golden ones

Gold…not brown.. but the same lazy eye, the same frustration held in them

She’d always get so annoyed and frustrated at useless sobbing, would always scold you when you cried and apologized when she was hurt because of you

You know, this is your sister, deep down

You can’t bring yourself to look away. You want nothing more than to lunge forward, to wrap your arms around her and never let go

You’ve missed your sister so much. Now, she’s so close, yet so far

You flinch when the bloodied sickle is raised to your throat next, flinch and shiver uncomfortably when her tongue drags against the bleeding cut at your cheek

You don’t dare pull away, try to think about how embarrassed she will be once you tell her everything and she remembers you

The thought keeps you going despite your racing heart

And for a moment, she draws back, as if almost familiar with the scent and taste of the blood, as if it was far too similar to her own, far down beneath the scent and taste of her rotten one

For a second, you think she might understand, that she might suspect who you are

That she might remember

But, she doesn’t, and only pulls away again, eying you suspiciously

Of course, the huntress notices your odd taste and scent, so utterly familiar and out of place at the same time

She’s…curious, she decides

And while she snatches the other maid and leaves you that day, you’re summoned to the armory the very next one

From then on, you are to work for her

A deadly position

You still feel her eyes on you, always. You’re certain she’s around even when you can’t see her. Your sister always looked out for you. You hope, it can be like that again

As you work, you feel her around you, hear her flies buzzing while she stays in the shadows

She doesn’t speak, doesn’t come near you

Instead, she watches you, studies your mannerisms. Sometimes, she snarls, and you notice it’s usually triggered by you doing something your sister used to do

In the back of your mind, you wonder whether she still does those things, even as her life seems to be so different

In time, this stays the exact same

It’s always tense with her. Often, you’re around when she drags a new victim with her

At other times, she slices at you, always taking a taste for herself as if tying to study your taste and blood. Her injuries- to you at least- are never lethal. You can’t help but wonder, perhaps naively, that this is done on purpose. You’re sure someone like Cassandra is capable of differentiating

Working for her, you learn more and more about her

With a heavy heart, you notice her anger is much more prominent, now

And while it was often her cut and beat at the village by stronger, bigger villagers, it is now her who cuts and beats, slices and bites, taunts and tortures for hours to no be

Prey, turned to a predator

How could you possibly bring her back home?

How could you possibly get her to stop consuming blood?

At times, you like to daydream, perhaps she can change. Perhaps, you can feed her. Perhaps, she can come live with you. Maybe it will work out

But, she is loved, here

It’s not often you see a glimpse of this, but it’s there

She’s an older sister, here. A younger sister. A daughter. They are each others’ everything

You grow more and more depressed with each day at the castle, less and less convinced that you can ever be with your sister again

Each passing day you notice how much she has changed, how she could never live at the village with you again

Each passing day you notice how bloodthirsty she is, how unique, now

And each passing day you grow less convinced to tell her the truth

Then, one day, it’s as though she has it figured out

You gasp when you’re awoken in the middle of the night. She’s in the staff’s quarters, the beds around you bloodied, all others now forced into an endless sleep, their heads turned, limbs broken, throats sliced

Clearly, she wants to be alone with you

The Realisation that murder comes so naturally to your sister now is horrifying. You know, there is no scenario in which she can return to how she used to be, no amount of love and talking from you. Cassandra is different, now

She claims, she knows who you are

You can’t talk. Can’t hug her as you want, knowing if you do the stench of blood and guts that clings to her will bleed into your scent, too

You can’t speak, can only cry as she sits at your bed

You missed your sister so much

You never thought about how even now that she’s here, she isn’t quite your sister

Not anymore

She asks you what she was like

You can’t answer

She asks you what your parents were like

You can’t answer

You can only stare ahead blankly, knowing that despite her apparent calmness and curiosity, she cares little for you

Her eyes hold no love, only curiosity. She knows, you’re too different. She knows, you don’t accept her, can’t accept her, like this, your head far too full of fake hopes and dreams of a sweet family reunion

She has a family already

She asks you what her name was

You can’t answer

She’s growing annoyed, and you can only sit in silence, the stench of the bodies in the room filling your nose

She raises from the bed, her sickle raised. She demands answers from you, answers her mother could not give her

Who was she?!

You can’t answer

Who she was, is not who she is

Cassandra Dimitrescu

Bitter, you grit your teeth

Not your sister, not anymore. A different name, a different family, a different set of ideals, no longer yours alone. It was meant to be the two of you against the world

Bitter, you turn your head from her

Her patience runs out, and you draw your last breath

Daniela

Your sister…

Not a day passes you don’t think of her

At times, your heart aches when you think of her and feel anger and bitterness at her for leaving you. For being foolish. For being delusional. For being taken away from your family

You still see her eyes when you close yours, so wide and fearful, full of tears

You remember running and hiding away when she was taken, her screams loud, her cheeks wet with salty tears

You never thought you’d see her again, thought your precious sister was gone forever

Or, maybe even worse, a mindless lycan roaming the forest

You didn’t think she still existed, haven’t heard a thing from her

Until the day you too were sent away

Not to Mother Miranda, no, but to work at the castle

A cruel fate, certainly. You’re sure, your “parents” do not fully intend for you to return, money prioritized over you being home

You’re terrified on your first day, your mind full of stories the scared staff has whispered to you already

Whispers of three sisters- Bela, Cassandra, Daniela, and their mother

Bela, the cruel one

Cassandra, the sadistic one

Daniela, the unpredictable one

Alcina, the noble one, nearly impossible to please

You’re walking with a small group of women- soon to be staff members too- when you turn your head at a noise in the distance

A giggle, light, a little manic, but so painfully familiar

Your eyes are wide as you search for the source of it, your breathing ragged already

Could it be?

Could your sister be here?

A staff member, too?

A prisoner?!

You can’t see her clearly, but your eyes are fixated on two women in the distance

One, short, in a maiden’s uniform. You can’t see her face, but recognise the auburn-ginger hair, still

You think, she’s a little shorter than your sister was, but refuse to let go of the string of hope you’re clutching to you, now

In front of her stands a tall woman, dressed in black. You can’t see her face, can’t make out anything but her height, the black dress and coat and the few flies surrounding her and connecting to her skin

You shiver, not trusting the sight. Surely, it didn’t really connect with the woman

But, you’re sure: she must be one of the three sisters, one of the supposed monsters roaming the castle

Briefly, you want to fight, thinking your sister could be in danger

Has the tall woman taken a shine to her? Has she gotten herself in trouble because of her heart, again?

The thought it almost too much to bear

You didn’t help her, couldn’t help her, back then

You want to, now

But as you take a single step towards the pair a hand grabs your arm already, holding you back firmly

“Don’t stray”, the unknown woman, a maid, warns

You’re led back to the group, your eyes lingering on the two women for as long as they stay in your sight

You can only pray, your sister is safe

You only pray, you will see her again, will get to hug her again, talk to her again

Ah, and your wish does come true, in the end

When, just the day after, you’re assigned to the library

An easy task, really. Stacking books, reorganizing them, sweeping dust here and there

You clean idly, your head turning often in hopes of seeing your sister

But, the library is empty

You turn often, keep imagining the sound of her voice until you’re worried you didn’t hear her the day before at all

Then, out of nowhere, you feel a body press up against your back, a sickle held against your cheek

Immediately, you go completely tense, already picking up the scent of blood and flowery perfume behind you

“Oooo, you must be new!”

Instantly, you turn, even as the sharp blade grazes your skin

Your eyes are wide when you do so

First, hopeful

Then, almost horrified

You stare up at the woman in black clothing, her golden eyes set on you, her gaze curious and almost dreamy

You study her features, so familiar to you that you could paint them from memory easily

Your sister

Uncaring of the circumstances, you can’t help but throw your arms around her, your head pressing against her neck, tears already forming at your eyes

You hear her gasp above you, then hear her coo, as though you were nothing but a puppy clinging to her

When you look up at her hopefully, you see no recognition in her eyes at all, though find the faintest flicker of curiosity in the seemingly endless pools of gold

Gold, that you remember being green. Your heart aches as you find a glimpse of it in her eyes still, like a faint reminder of who she once was

You call her name, and she frowns. You try to search your mind, hoping to find her name in the countless scary stories that have been told to you

Daniela

Daniela Dimitrescu

A new name. A new life. A new reality, for her

Briefly, you think bitterly; she’s left you behind again

But you won’t be letting go of her this time. Won’t let her heart carry her away, won’t let her naivety take her from you again. Maybe, if you bring her home, your family could be once more

You’ve missed her so much

You frown when she coos again, her black painted lips spreading into a smile. She smiles, like a predator finding its prey

You shiver, but don’t let go

You won’t let go of your sister, this time

You call her name again, and just briefly there’s a flicker of anger in her eyes, as though growing annoyed with the idea you might mistake her for someone else

Tears begin to form in your eyes

“Don’t you remember me?”

Daniela is, overall, relatively easy to convince of who she uses to be

She hears you out, even as you get the feeling she’s barely taking anything in, as though your- her- story was nothing but that; a story to her, a fairytale

Still, she takes care of you, brings you along a lot

Daniela does not allow you to call her by the name she once went by, but she’s- kind, even as her sisters and mother send more than just one deadly glance your way

You understand fast: she is loved here. She has made a new family, has found one

She’s changed

But maybe, you can change too

You try hard to understand, try not to let it bother you when she kills and taunts and drinks from the staff

You try especially hard to avoid letting her see your terror whenever she randomly turns into a swarm of insects

After all, she could still be your sister, too

And while her sisters seem out for blood, Daniela seems almost excited to have you with her

She spends every day with you, chatting, playing games she has invented or heard of, telling you about her day

Only can you not get rid of that…feeling

Like she doesn’t view you as family, no

She has her family, after all…

No, you are- a friend, perhaps

A friend, she spends every single day with

Until, eventually, she becomes busier

When she hunts all day long and only has time for you in the evenings

When she prefers her new family over you, eventually

When, at last, she grows tired of playing with the little human that just can’t seem to keep up with her

You’re allowed to live at the castle, growing older while she stays forever young, energetic and happy, quickly bored when she visits and, in time, you can neither keep up with her speed nor understand her when she speaks far too fast and a little too low

In the years you spend together, she finds; she does find comfort in you

She likes you, too

But- she is a Dimitrescu

[xoxolilixx]

★𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙠𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙤𝙣𝙚★

𝙀𝙠𝙠𝙤 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

✩𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 - you help Ekko relax a little

✩𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙨 - Smut with plot, fingering, oral(reader receiving)

✩𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚 - heyyyy😅 ik it's been a while, I kinda disappeared off the face of the earth, MY BADDDDD😁 I figured since I've been gone for a good second, I should come back with a treat, so here you are lovebugs❤️ I hope you guys like it🩷🌺

Sweat trickled down his forehead as he worked. He was hunched over his desk, hands aching and mind clouded as he continued his repairs to his hoverboard. It was late –3 am to be exact– and Ekko’s been sleepless since the battle on the bridge with Jinx. You were worried about him. You knew how stressful this was for him; between failing to save his former best friend and making sure everything stays afloat with the firelights, he was basically drowning in his work and stress. Ekko was a relatively calm person, but whenever you tried to talk to him about everything, he would just shut down and push you away, so you learned to give him space, but tonight you couldn’t take it anymore.

“I’m surprised you haven’t frozen to stone like that,” you spoke softly, not wanting to startle him. His workshop door was cracked open and all the lights except for the one that sat right above his desk were dimmed. “...you should be asleep,” he whispered, not looking up from his work. His voice was weary and tired, you could hear the stress in his voice, it made your heart crack. “So should you, love,” your voice stayed soft, calming. The last thing you wanted was to be another harsh thing in his life right now. “The bed misses you,” you joked softly as you came up behind him, your soft hands landing on his shoulders. They were tense, his whole body was, and the tenseness didn’t falter when you touched him like how it usually did. “I’ll be there soon,” he uttered. “How soon? By the end of the month? Because I haven’t seen you in bed in 3 weeks,” you were sincere with a half joking tone as your hands gently ran down his body as you hugged him from behind, “I miss you baby…just…come on for tonight, get some rest. It’ll be here in the morning- I’ll even come in and help you with it,” you pleaded softly, your lips against his neck as you eyed his work from his shoulder. You didn’t want him to open up before he was ready, you didn’t want to push his limits, and you didn’t want to bitch to him about how closed off he’s been, you just wanted him to get some rest.

He sighed at your words, his hands pausing their movements for just a small moment, “Just-...let me finish this up, okay?” he uttered, his tone slightly softer than before. You huffed as you felt him lean into your arm, planting a small kiss on your upper arm as he started working again. You knew him, he wasn’t going to come to bed any time soon, he would just magically find something else that needed his attention and forget all about getting rest. “You’re helpless, you know that?” you huffed out against the shell of his ear, “your whole workshop is gonna be renovated before you come to bed.” He could hear the slight irritation in your words as you removed your touch from him, it made him tense up more. He knew you were being patient with him, and knowing that he was making it harder for you somehow made him feel worse than the stress did.

“Wait,” he uttered out before you got too close to the door. You immediately turn around, as if it was a reflex, “yes Ekko?” “...c’here,” he uttered, his hands abandoning his work as he looked over his shoulder. You didn’t fight the urge to walk back over to him. Soon, you were standing in between his legs and his hands were on your hips. “I’m sorry baby,” he sighed, his hands giving a loving squeeze to your body. His stress seemed to melt away the more you were around him, and you loved that, but constantly trying to get him to melt was frustrating, so you wanted to milk this as much as you could.

“Prove it,” you huffed, feigning irritation as you crossed your arms. For the first time in a while, he cracked a smile, chuckling as he immediately picked up on your game. “You want me to prove that I’m sorry?” he chuckled, his hands running up your waist, pushing up your (his) shirt as he did so. “Yea,” you huffed, your act almost breaking as he tugged you down on his lap, making you straddle him. “And tell me princess, how do you want me to do that?” he smirked as your hands rested on his shoulders as his hand gently grabbed your chin, running his thumb across your bottom lip. “Surprise me,” you smiled, finally breaking your act. It felt like he was a magnet, slowly pulling you closer, the space in between you closing at a steady pace. “Surprise you, huh? I got you~” he uttered before pressing his lips into yours.

This was the quickest you’ve ever seen Ekko forget about a project. Your lips danced with his as his hands roamed your body, running from your waist to your hip down to your thighs before finally resting on your ass, his hands giving it a soft squeeze. Your hands weren't much different; running from his shoulders down his chest to his abs and then back up to his blonde locs. It didn't take long for all restraint to disappear once his tongue slipped into your mouth, a soft whine escaping your throat as he explored your mouth. You felt him smile into the kiss, making your heart melt. If this was all it took to get him to loosen up, you would’ve been tried this.

You felt him remove one of his hands off your body, reaching behind you to tug his hoverboard off the table and onto the floor, giving him space to grab your hips and lift you up onto the table. You stayed connected in a messy kiss as he gripped your thighs and toyed with the waistband of your night shorts. You finally broke away, strings of saliva connecting you both as you panted softly, trying to catch your breath as you smiled down at him as he tugged at your waistband, a smile on his face as while. “There we go~” you cooed, your soft hands cupping his cheeks, “Finally got you to smile f’me,” you giggled, his smile only growing bigger. “Who wouldn’t for you, baby?” he chuckled as he tugged down your waistband, silently signalling to you to lift your hips, which you happily obliged.

He pressed soft, wet kisses all along your jaw and neck as he tossed your shorts somewhere behind him, pushing your thick thighs apart, revealing the damp spot on your orange, lacy panties, bringing a smirk on his face. “All that for me?” he smirked slyly, gripping you by your thighs and tugging you closer to the edge of the table. “No one else but you,” you giggled. “You must have really missed me,” he chuckled before pressing a kiss into your lips, swallowing the soft moan you let out when the pad of his thumb pushed into your clit through the flimsy fabric. The pretty sounds continued to spill out as he drew tight circles into the little bud.

At some point, he slowly stood up, his lips still locked with yours and his fingers still moving. “Lay back f’me baby,” he muttered against your lips lowly, but you weren't giving much of a choice when he placed a hand on your stomach and gently pushed you back. A shiver went down your spine as he placed soft, wet kisses down your body, making his way between your thighs, sucking hickeys over top of the stretch marks on your inner thighs. You leaned up on your elbows, looking down your body and watching him work on your body, allowing your eyes to lock with his. God damn it, he was fucking gorgeous like this; in between your legs, looking up with hooded but loving eyes, blonde locs falling in his face just a little. A gasped escaped your lips as he kissed your clothed cunt before he tugged the messy fabric to the side. Ekko bit back a groan as he watched strings of your arousal fall from the fabric as your pussy shimmered under the dim lighting. His dick leaked in his pants a little at the sight. “You’re so fucking pretty~” he cooed softly, making your heart melt and your cheeks flush, but before you could even respond, his mouth was on your cunt, coaxing struggled whines and moans from you as the sound of him slurping and licking your core filled the room. Your fingers tangled in his locs, tugging his head deeper between your legs as your head lulled back, your hips grinding against his face as he gripped your thigh with one hand, tugging you impossibly closer to him as he slipped one of his long, thick fingers into your tight hole.

He ate you like a starved man, but honestly the way he’s been locked up in his workshop, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was one. He now had two fingers pumping in and out of you, curling perfectly against that one gummy spot inside of you as he slurped and sucked at your clit, the juices from your previous orgasm pooling in the palm of his hand and on his desk under you.

He reluctantly detached from your cunt after your third orgasm leaving you a panting and shaking mess in front of him as he smirked down at you. “How’s that for proof?” he smirked, earning a breathless giggle from you as he licked your juices off his now dripping hand. “Ya know, I came in here to try and help you un-stress~” you giggled. “Hm, then you did a amazing fucking job baby,” he chuckled lowly, leaning down to lock lips with you, allowing you to taste yourself on his lips.

“Lets go to bed~” he uttered, scooping you off his table, leaving a mess for him to clean up later.

[ghostsandfools]

Okay guys. Okay. OKAY.

I just went back and watched a couple of the astral related episodes that have released in the past few months and I have a LOT to say.

I don’t think we realize how messed up the astrals truly are. Like, they seem to have noble goals and all, but oh my goodness.

Okay, lets walk through Lunar’s entire life story real quick:

The first episode of TSAMS came out on March 24, 2022. That was a little less than three years ago now. Let’s just keep that in mind.

When Lunar was created, his entire purpose was to serve Eclipse. I’ll be honest, I’m not too familiar with early TSAMS. I joined the fandom a bit late. But Lunar underwent constant emotional and sometimes physical abuse from Eclipse. He was constantly belittled, made to feel worthless, and in the end, Eclipse killed him in front of somebody he cared about. His entire purpose was to serve Eclipse, and suddenly that purpose had been taken away from him.

Lunar was remade in space, granting him the ability to use star power. Gemini then came down to Earth to evaluate if he was a threat and train him in the ways of star power. In the very first episode they appear in, Castor asks Earth to “please leave Lunar alone and stop talking to him.” Earth obviously refuses, but this interaction is still interesting. It’s strange that their first instinct was to try isolating him from his closest family.

Castor and Pollux began training Lunar and eventually becoming closer with him. Lunar was freaked out at first, and it seems like he didn’t really enjoy his training at first, but eventually it kind of took over his life. Star power was his entire purpose. And when he began to develop feelings for Gemini, it only became a bigger part of his life. His personality and goals for the future revolved completely around star power. It was his new purpose in life.

Lunar messes up a couple of times and begins to fear what will happen if he lets his power get out of control. First he attacks Bloodmoon, then kills Eclipse. Killing Eclipse was the especially interesting event here. Afterwards, Gemini makes it very clear to him how much he’s fucked up. They tell him his life could be on the line, that the other astrals want him DEAD, and they seem to be withholding their affection. They don’t spend as much time with him, saying they’re busy with his court case. Killing someone is a bad thing to do, so it makes sense for Gemini to distance themself, but I think we should remember this.

And then, it just stops. Taurus tells him that if he can’t move on from his trauma with Eclipse, he can’t continue to train.

This is detrimental to him. He doesn’t know what to do without a purpose. Eclipse abused him, but he also gave him something to do. He gave him someone to be. His entire identity was serving Eclipse. And now, he thought he had moved on from that. He had a new purpose now, to serve Gemini, to train as an astral and make everyone proud. And now he’s suddenly being told that he can’t anymore? That if he doesn’t get over his trauma (which is exceptionally difficult to do) he won’t be able to train anymore?

And so he makes a mistake. Another very big mistake. He pursues negative star power, he hurts Earth, he’s temporarily shunned by his family. It’s a big mess, he goes to jail, he’s put on trial.

And do you know what Libra does to punish him? She finds him guilty and takes away his star power.

So… This whole time. This entire time, they could’ve taken his powers away. And yet, they didn’t. Why is that? Why is it that they let someone like him, who has been shown to lose control, keep these powers?

Alright. Let’s take a look at the astrals. Let’s take a look at what they’re really doing here, because I think it’s interesting.

I’ve talked about this before, but the astrals operate like a cult.

Lunar is traumatized. He is emotionally broken and he has no idea what to do with his life. He’s just experienced death and lost his purpose in life, and now he has no idea what to do. And all of the sudden, the astrals appear.

Cults will often prey on people who are going through a rough time, as they’re much easier to manipulate and control. Not only that, but when they did appear on Earth, as I mentioned earlier, Castor asked Earth to “stop talking to Lunar” so they could evaluate if he was a threat. Cults will often isolate their victims away from their family and friends. Obviously they didn’t go through with this step, Lunar kept in contact with his family during his training, but it’s clear the astrals will use isolation as a way to control people. Remember when Nebula tried to befriend Earth and Taurus immediately scolded her for stepping out of line?

Next, they trained Lunar. They told him he’d have to leave behind this life on Earth, that he had a bigger purpose now. He wasn’t just an Earthling anymore, he was special. He could become somebody noteworthy if he trained hard enough. And they got closer to him, went on a vacation with him, spent time with him. Eventually they even pursued a romantic relationship with him.

But during this time, it was clear that they weren’t being completely honest with him. If he asked to many questions they’d say “you aren’t far enough into your training to know that yet.” They’d withhold information from him, yet another method often used by cults. They kept him enticed with the promise of something more. If he could get his emotions under control, if he was just a bit stronger, maybe Gemini would like him then. Maybe then they could be fully honest with him. Maybe then he’d be truly worthy.

They stayed committed to him. When he was in trouble, they went to court for him. They trained him diligently, stood up for him, they were always by his side. They cared for him.

And then, of course, disaster struck. They stopped training him. Lunar felt lost, he made a mistake, he had everything taken away from him. He lost his family, his friends, his partner. His entire life fell apart.

But think about why this all happened. They could’ve taken his power away. They could’ve come down to Earth, taken his powers away immediately, and been done with it all. None of this needed to happen.

I don’t think Lunar was justified when he killed Eclipse, and I don’t think it was okay for him to attack Earth either. Trauma isn’t an excuse to hurt people. But Lunar hasn’t had a break within the last two years.

First it was Eclipse, then the astrals, Bloodmoon, Nexus. He was abused every day for years, he died, he was brought back and began spiraling into depression, and then he was indoctrinated into a cult. Now he’s messing around with dark star power and getting himself into trouble.

And even now, he’s trying to be better. He’s been torturing himself, putting himself in that machine Moon made where he listens to his loved ones berate and verbally abuse him. Why? So he can impress Gemini. So he can have a purpose again.

TSAMS is the kind of show that’s meant to go on for a long time. The action has to happen FAST! But because of all the fast paced action, Lunar has been in multiple traumatic situations with no real breaks for two straight years now, and i think it’s messed up. He’s made a lot of mistakes, but he’s trying his best. I feel bad for him.