#my brain wants to remove the e

[waywardsalt]

very freeing to actually own up (to myself) abt post-ph being an au. now i can make a little list of the little ways it deviates from leading to st

[forteafy]

Where Do We Go? | CL16 & CS55

Summary: Charles will do anything to fix his marriage with you, Carlos will do anything to prove you're worth more. The question is where do you go between the two men fighting for your affection?

Word Count: 9.7k

Warnings: angst, a lotta angst, cheating, light smut, character death.

Note: You all really wanted a Part 2 to this one, and of course, I wanted to deliver! This is a little bit more angsty, we’re trying to save a relationship, after all. Or…are we? Also, a massive thank you to @formulaforza for proof-reading this for me and pulling me up on my addiction to italics; my brain is literally jelly right now. Enjoy, everybody!

PART 1: A House, A Home | PART 2: Where Do We Go? | PART 3: 'You Think, You Know'

Carlos Sainz is a best friend. 

Best friends, however, do not text a love confession to one another in the hours of a rising sun, especially not when their declaration is to a woman who is wrapped up in the arms of her husband. 

The confession had run cold through your veins; if it hadn’t been for the sheer exhaustion taking over your body from the events of the past 48 hours, you were certain you would have been up the entire night, contemplating the words he had sent to you. He wasn’t drunk; far from it, the man had driven you down the dusky streets to your home mere hours before. Was he lonely? Did he feel sorry for you? More importantly, did he mean those precious words that had lit up your screen?

Eventually, the desire for sleep, for the warmth of your estranged husband’s chest pillowing your back overtakes your body. You hadn’t slept in a bed with him since the last day of your supposed honeymoon; even then, you had slept with an infinite gap between the two of you, cuddling instead into a pillow, rageful tears in your eyes at the realization that this was now your life. 

This was entirely different. Charles pressed into you as if holding you together; his warm breath danced across the nape of your neck, a hand pressed into your stomach, cradling you between the warm blankets and soft cushions you had picked out when decorating your room. You didn’t rouse during the night, the two before had been filled with tears, constantly awakening to call for your mother as if you were a child again, the harsh realization that she wasn’t around anymore. 

When you did wake, the bed was empty. 

You had subconsciously turned in the blankets when you arose, expecting to see the figure of your husband next to you. The pillow was still rumpled, his glasses disappeared from the nightstand, every single trace of him had seemed to evaporate. Clearly, one night next to you had been a big enough mistake in his eyes. 

Instead, your attention turns towards your phone. Silently, you remove the device from its charger, the homescreen being flooded with sympathetic messages and photographs of you arriving at your father’s home. Luckily, no photographs of Carlos picking you up himself had been released; that would have caused a frenzy which wasn’t desired on either side. 

However, his last text to you that evening before still stayed burned into your screen. In curiosity, you’d once again opened the text thread, seeing th

e words stand strong, his confession to his feelings presents for your eyes. He had laid it out so clearly, Carlos Sainz was in love with you. 

But, were you in love with him? You loved your family; you loved the smell of fresh candles. You adored the sounds of the fastest cars in the world racing around a track whilst you watched with ease. Did you categorize your best friend into the love you so carefully crafted? Was the desire you felt for contact solely directed towards him? 

You never had time to answer yourself that morning. Your subconscious state recognised the sound of footsteps; it was most likely Charles, on his way to his own room for some private time. Maybe he’d have his mistress with him, having snuck out of bed early that morning to possibly go and pick her up himself. 

The footsteps get louder, the door to your room opens, much to your confusion. In the doorway, stands your husband. You’ve never seen him like this; a soft smile, hair pushed back by a bandana, glasses resting on the bridge of his small nose. He’s dressed in a soft, grey jumper and matching tracksuit bottoms, fluffy socks warming his feet. In one arm, he cradles a washing bag. Upon closer inspection, you see that it’s your washing from the case you had lugged in the night before, ironed and folded. In his other hand, he holds a steaming mug of tea. 

He looks beautiful like this, almost ethereal. He looks domestic. 

“Good morning.” He speaks gently, as if any sudden sound would hurt you. You looked…so precious, covered in blankets, your pajamas covering your modesty. “I’m sorry I had to leave early. I went to get your washing done and…pick up some tea.” He offers, holding up the bag of washing in confirmation. Charles offers you a smile as walks into the room, placing the pile of clothing on your vanity. Cradling the mug of hot tea in his hand, he walks back over to where you’re now sat up, surrounded by soft furnishings, offering you the drink which you gladly accept. 

It's a mediocre cup of tea at best; the teabag hasn’t diluted properly, there’s too little milk and too much sugar. Yet, the fact he had made the drink himself caused your heart to soften, despite the past twelve months of actions. You offer him a soft ‘thank you,’ as the drink touches your lips. You’re half-expecting him to stand up and leave immediately. Instead, Charles sits himself down on the edge of the bed, making certain he doesn’t sit on your outstretched legs. 

There’s a moment of bliss; you’re somewhat enjoying the drink cradled in your hands, your husband’s eyes trained on your movements. At one moment, he reaches out his hand towards your face. You flinch, not too sure on what was happening, before his palm simply tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You can’t bring your own eye gaze to meet him, simply focusing on the hot drink in your hand. You can’t help but notice the way his shoulders fall, clearly not satisfied with the lack of eye-contact. 

You can’t help it; it’s as if Charles believes with one night wrapped in his arms would solve the past twelve months. You couldn’t forget, not everything that had happened. Your husband had shattered this relationship, well and truly. He could only hope he’d realised in enough time to somehow win you back. Silently, he stands up from the edge of the comforter, walking towards the vanity, beginning to remove the clothing from its basket. It’s… humorous, to see him try and figure out where each category goes. It’s also a stark reminder of how this is ‘your’ room, not ‘our’ room.  

Whilst picking out a rather revealing pair of panties, folding them up and placing them into your draw, he begins to speak again. “What are you doing this afternoon?” His voice is soft, but in the silent room it carries well.

You shrug, before realizing Charles has his back to you. “I’m…nothing much.” You cut yourself off, placing the cup of tea on your bedside table, letting your hands pull up the comforter a little higher. “My father is going to the funeral parlor today.” Are you…having a conversation with your husband? “How about you?”

“I have lunch with the Ferrari team this afternoon. Nothing serious, just a talk on the next part of the season.” He explains. Charles isn’t stupid; he knows despite your father’s input that you constantly worry about his job. Not because you care about his fame, wealth or power; you care about him. 

“I was,” he takes a breath. “I was wondering if you would like to come along.” 

You feel goosebumps prickle across your exposed skin. Charles Leclerc never invited you to his lunches. He’d always have a reason as to why his darling Mrs. Leclerc could never attend their lunch meetings alongside him. The only time you’d ever appear by his side, fingers harshly interlinked and a cold barrier between you both was when your father insisted upon it. He wouldn’t be there today, there was no way he’d be present for any form of meeting for a while now. 

“You don’t have to, of course.” His explanation runs further. “I know it might be too much for you now. I just thought…maybe we could go for a drive after. Carlos and Xavi will be there, you’ll know some of the others from the Paddock…” His voice trails off in your mind. It had started to  the moment he had said the Spaniards name. 

Were you… ready to see Carlos? The day after a text message you had never thought you’d see. Would he acknowledge the message, was it a drunken mistake? Most importantly, did you want him to love you? 

When you come back out of your trail of thoughts, Charles is still talking, carefully hanging one of your summer dresses onto a velvet coat hanger. He takes a moment to brush the fabric under his fingertips, feeling the soft cotton under his touch. He’s so gentle. The touch is almost identical to the way he had held you mere hours ago.

“I’ll come.” You cut him off, watching as his head snaps in your direction, eyes bright underneath his glasses. “Yeah. It will be…nice.” You finish your sentence, trying not to ramble or to float off topic. Charles’ eyes are still bright, elated you had decided to come alongside him. All he had to do now was fix every other mistake spanning over twelve months. 

Carlos Sainz is a red-wine gentleman. 

You’d immediately spotted him the moment you had entered the waterside restaurant; his back was to the entrance, but you’d recognise the powdered blue shirt and dark wisps of hair in any circumstance. You could have just walked over, stood next to him and ordered a drink, but your fingers stayed tightly interlocked with your husbands, a force of habit in public at the current rate. 

However, his grasp, like the entirety of his actions over the past twenty-four hours, was different. Charles’ thumb gently stroked over your knuckle, his fingers gently resting against yours instead of the firm grip he usually held for the sake of actions. He’d taken a moment to look at you before entering the building, something he’d never done in the past, simply having dragged you into whatever location instead. It was as if his eyes told you a million things; that he had your back and the moment you wanted to leave, he was right behind you. 

The moment you’re in the presence of company, the façade still comes alive, the act you had been creating for all this time is still a force of habit. Charles’ hand comes around your waist, greeting the many members of the Scuderia Ferrari team, thanking them for his time and attention to the matter. As always, you tactfully excuse yourself from the side of your husband, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek and removing yourself from the crowd. Usually, he wouldn’t so much as flinch from the chaste action, but you don’t miss his eyes longing for you to stay this time. 

Instead, your heel-clad feet press through the tiles of the place, making advancements towards the white marbled-bar. You receive a nod from the friendly-looking gentleman mixing cocktails, a silent signal to let him know when you’re ready. Maybe you stand too close to Carlos, so much so that you can smell his cologne, you can feel his body warmth radiating through that shirt. It doesn’t take long for him to notice your presence, his eyes widening upon the realization that it was, in fact, you–the woman he had confessed his feelings to less than twelve hours ago. 

“I didn’t realize you’d be here, Mariposa,” he taunts, pulling you into his side. You’re grinning immediately, happy to be reunited with your close friend after how he had left you last night, promising he’d be there if you needed anything. “Come to make sure your husband behaves?” 

“No. I came to see how his teammate is behaving.” You let him ponder for a moment, but he realizes, the blush growing from his neck to his cheeks. “I’m a married woman, Carlos.” You remind him but make no attempt to move further away. The idea is completely eradicated when his hand comes out to rest on the small of your back. His eyes are still fixed on you. He knows he shouldn’t be doing this. It’s not fair to you. He couldn’t care less about his teammate’s position, the way he’s treated you all this time leaves a sour taste on his tongue. 

“Your marital status doesn’t change the way I feel for you.” He thinks back to that moment in the ocean. What on Earth would be happening if he had kissed you at that moment? He could never be certain, but something tells him you’d be his date to this luncheon right now. Sighing, Carlos turns to face you directly, the bottle of wine he had originally come to pick up having been left on the counter. 

“I’m going to ask you something, and you don’t have to respond.” He tries to keep his breathing calm, your presence practically overpowering him. “But...I would love to take you out for a date sometime. A proper date. With flowers and dinner and being able to make you smile.” Your heart is softening by the moment with the Spaniard’s pleads of everything your husband had never given you. “Would you like that?” 

“I would.” You don’t even have to think of your response. “I would like that, Carlos.” At that moment, your estranged husband is the last thought of your mind; instead it’s overpowered by the fantasies of a date with the man standing in front of you. This time, Carlos can’t help the grin on his lips, reaching for the bottle of red wine on the bar. His careful hands carefully unlatch the stopper, the liquid hitting two crystal glasses, one of which he passes to you.

“Well, shall we toast the idea, no?” he holds up the glass delicately, to which you raise your own, grinning at the satisfying sound of clinking crockery. When you take a sip of the rich red, you’re blissfully unaware of your husband’s eyes; the ones which are never attached to you, but in that moment, don’t want to focus on anything else. Nobody misses the way he purposely sits between yourself and his teammate, fingers interlocked into yours tightly, the occasional kiss on the temple of your head. 

You were his wife, after all. 

Carlos Sainz is a brilliant cook. 

The intimacy between yourself and your husband had oddly grown within the past week. To start, his messages became more frequent, checking in when he couldn’t be at the house. Your pantry had stocked overnight, begging for your home cooking whenever he could be there to sample it. Most importantly, the interaction. You’d been hesitant to even let your husband touch you in the beginning. You had kept it simple, a hug before you’d headed off to bed in your room, (sleeping in the same bed as him had been that one-off.) His arms would find their way onto your waist if you were cooking, his fingers would tuck a lock of hair behind your ear when you found yourself engrossed in studies. 

Your husband had been elated when you had spoken to him two days before he was due to leave for Qatar, announcing you would like to attend alongside him; it was also your father’s wishes to attend that race, wanting to signal to his fellow associates that he was okay, that you could pass on a message from your family. Charles’ eyes had glossed over with happiness, taking your hand in his own, pressing a kiss to the back of your knuckles. 

You were ready for your entrance to the Paddock 72 hours later; after arriving in Qatar, you’d barely seen anything from the transport from his jet to the hotel. Your eyes had grown heavy the moment your feet were removed from their shoes, two large beds welcoming you with their soft blankets and heavy pillows. (He’d made sure to give you the sleeping space that you needed.) Charles’ heart had softened when he’d seen you curl into one bed. When he returned from the bathroom, you were out like a light. 

It didn’t stop him from gently rubbing a makeup wipe over your features, knowing you’d regret your lack of attention to appearance in the morning. Hesitantly, he leans forward, pressing a kiss to your hairline, one hand stroking over the back of your head before he returns to unpacking both yours and his suitcase. 

You had been hesitant of attending the Paddock alongside Charles that morning, not because you were worried of the bombarding questions. No, this was the first time you had attended the paddock with a husband who seemed comforted by your presence. His heart felt gentle when he saw you look out of the front windscreen, eyes transfixed on the countless photographers standing by the barriers. Immediately, his hand finds yours, resting atop your thigh, the hot weather pleading for a cooler outfit. 

“You don’t have to do this.” He removes his sunglasses, those ocean eyes finding your own. “You can wait here, or I can have somebody drive you back to the hotel now.” He promises, the worry flickering over his face. Your hand removes itself from his firm grasp, instead reaching forward and resting your hand on his bristled cheek. 

“I’m okay.” You promise him, thumb dancing over his soft cheekbone. He offers you a soft smile, eyelashes fluttering as your face gets closer to his; you have no panic leaning over the console of the hire-car, gently pressing a warm kiss to the cheek your hand wasn’t resting upon. You can’t help but hesitate when you pull back from his face, lingering within mere millimeters of his lips for a long moment; you could just lean forward, press your lips to his and give into all those nights you had dreamed of. But this wasn’t a dream; this was your husband whom you needed to fix a relationship with first. 

Charles isn’t going to lean forward and kiss you himself, not until the signals you are giving him are crystal clear. Instead, he presses his forehead close to yours, tips of your noses gently brushing against one another before he steps out of the car, and you’re quick to follow. 

This time, he doesn’t walk in silence, ignoring your presence. Instead, as the two of you flash your paddock passes towards the security guards, he’s openly commenting on different happenings around Media Day, both of you falling into giggles upon seeing Toto Wolff’s broken arm; he was truly beginning to become an icon at the local emergency room. You’re happy. Subdued in a bubble alongside your husband, hands interlocked as you work your way through the paddock. 

You’ve never experienced such a harsh blow to reality when you see an all-too-familiar figure lurking outside of the Williams Racing building. Her hair is shorter, her skirt is skimpier and a ghastly color. However, she still looks beautiful. She is undoubtedly the woman you’ve fought and lost your husband’s affection from, his mistress. 

Charles seems to clock less than a moment after you do, both bodies freezing upon notifying her presence. You seem to have a quicker reaction time, despite being in the presence of a world-class Formula Driver. Immediately, you rip your grasp from Charles’ hand, showing him no emotion as you step away and into the Ferrari Building. You’re fortunate enough to avoid most of your fathers’ colleges, only once having to stop to give a sympathizing message of your mothers’ passing, the words being used are minute compared to the ache in your heart for her presence. 

When you reach the top of the dark stairs, almost certain you can hear Charles’ voice below you. He’s searching for you now, but instead is overwhelmed by the amount of people in his presence. You’re able to sneak through the makeshift corridor, finding a large number ’55,’ pressed onto the door. You don’t even think, opening the door to a very tanned, very shirtless Carlos Sainz.

He's so… toned. The natural light from the window is reflecting beautifully onto his chest, broader than you’d last seen during your adventures at sea. His shorts hang low on his waist, making no attempt to shift his body despite your appearance. Instead, his dressing is overtaken by his concern for your face, immediately dropping the shirt fisted in his right hand, taking your gentle face in between both of his palms. You didn’t even realize the tears resting on your cheeks, the fear glossed over in your eyes that you’d ever trusted Charles.

Carlos doesn’t need to ask; he saw her on his own entry to the Paddock. Admittedly, he had to double-take; surely Charles wouldn’t have the audacity to bring his mistress to the other side of the world. He didn’t bother to glance in her direction too long, instead greeting the Ferrari team, excusing himself to go and get changed for their upcoming press appearances. In this moment, he’s held you against his bare chest, hushing you gently as one hand threads through your hair. Your mind is overwhelmed, from seeing your husband’s mistress, but from being pressed against his oh-so warm chest. 

You don’t even realize, but your palms are resting on his chest, his skin so soft beneath your touch. Carlos gently hushes you, tilting your head up to face him, still cradled in his grasp. He could so easily reach forward, claim you there and then, but he realizes in that moment, under your soft touch and those doe eyes, you are the one who has claimed him. After a moment, he pulls back, motioning for you to follow him towards the couch, littered in Spanish-themed cushions and the enormous chili plushie you had bought him several months ago. 

You can’t help the slight disappointment when Carlos eventually slips on his Ferrari Polo; however, you are interested when he reaches for his small fridge, pulling out a neat lunchbox, motioning for you to grasp it whilst he reaches for another. Curiosity takes the better of you, gently unclasping the lid of the Tupperware box. A beautiful aroma overtakes your senses, a carefully crafted meal nestled into the lunchbox. The Spaniard can’t help but grin at your reaction; sometimes something as simple as a homemade meal could lift your spirits.

And that’s how you spent the next forty-five minutes, sat on the sofa of Carlos Sainz’s driver room, the man sat on the floor as the two of you exchanged bites of food. There’s one particular moment where you offer him a spoonful of your lunchbox, watching as he arches his torso towards you. 

It’s almost…sensual, the way his lips wrap around the top of the spoon, maintaining sole eye contact as he retracts his mouth from the utensil, letting his tongue trace around his lips for a chase of the taste. He knows what he’s doing; in his mind, all he wants is to show how adored you could be, to show he could be everything your husband never was.

It isn’t until Charles is finally free from the bombarding questions of his sponsors that he finally locates you in Carlos’ room. The man isn’t oblivious; he can see that the two of you have grown undeniably close. He can’t bring himself to say anything on the matter. He knows, in his heart of hearts, he has no right to make any assumptions; he was the one who had spent hours with a mistress, after all. Silently, he opens the door to the driver’s room, your figure perched upon the sofa, a grin plastering your soft features. You looked happy.

You looked like the most beautiful girl he had seen in his life. 

You acknowledge his presence after a few moments, standing up from your place on the sofa, insisting the man tries Carlos’ cooking. It takes less than a few blinks of your eyes for him to submit, taking the spoonful off your utensil, making a comment towards his teammate that he would have to give him some lessons at some point. The man says nothing, simply nodding in a passive agreement. 

There’s a sharp call for Charles after he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. He shoots both you and his teammate an apologetic look before he makes his way down the corridor, gently closing the door behind him as to give you a sense of privacy; the last thing he wanted was to have you plastered all over social media pages when he knew it would purely be used for publicity purposes. 

You’re still smiling when the door closes, your back to Carlos’ front. “He seems to like you-“ 

You were destined to never finish that sentence. Within a split moment, there are warm hands, rough hands resting on either side of your waist, twisting your body within his grasp. He takes two steps backwards, enough pacing to have your back pressed against the closed door: the coldness of the wood contrasting violently with the heat radiating off your best friend. 

He couldn’t hold any emotion. Carlos Sainz wears his heart on his sleeve. That much is adamant, from the way his text messages were drafted, to the way he tilts his head, meshing his lips to your own. 

They’re surprisingly soft; there’s nothing soft in the way his hands grasp at your waist, the way his body is pressing so deeply into yours. Yet, as his lips continue to entrance yours, they feel like clouds; a gentle stroke of a paintbrush. His artistry continues when his kisses get deeper, one of his hands enclosing yours, bringing it to rest around his shoulders, pushing the two of you closer together. Your other hand is interlocked by his, being stretched above your head, pinned to the door you’re resting upon. 

He's waited so long for this, before lunch, before your moment in the sea. He’s wanted this since the moment you walked into the Ferrari Paddock alongside your father, you must have been etched into his heart. 

Carlos isn’t thinking; his kisses are becoming rougher, one hand blindly reaching for your leg, almost bare from the shorts you had opted from your wardrobe earlier. He guides it to rest upon his hip, grunting when he can feel his hardened crotch press between your legs. His reality comes crashing down when he feels the cool band on your fingers entangling in his hair. Your wedding ring. 

Ragged breaths, panting, he pulls away from your lips, pressing his forehead to your own in a sheer plea of comfort. Both your breaths are synchronized, both grasping for some form of air in the room. 

“You’re everything, Mariposa.” He whispers, closing his dark eyes, enjoying his moment, taking every opportunity to imprint the feeling of your body, of your lips into his mind. He prays this won’t be the last time he holds you this way. 

Carlos Sainz is a fast texter. 

In the moments after you had shared the intimacy, hidden away in his driver’s room, he’s gone into a sheer panic. He’d overstepped, he’d made an advancement on you at your most vulnerable. When he had left for the press alongside your husband, he didn’t have a single chance to pull you aside, not when you had left the moment after the duo had been pulled into their press conferences. Simply, you were not waiting around to catch glimpses of the mistress, still proudly flocking around the Paddock as if it was her home.

It had taken a matter of moments to request a car home, having slipped out of the Ferrari building, talking to one of your father’s colleagues about your departure. Silently, you paced out of the building, a direct beeline towards the car park, head down from the ever-present photographers. 

You hadn’t expected a text from either your husband or his teammate, considering that they were both in press conferences until further notice. However, when you had felt and grasped the device in your shorts, you had immediately noticed the soft vibrations, pulling your device out of your pocket, your eyes being illuminated by the screen of your phone. Two text messages. One from your father, one from Carlos. Your attention is drawn to the latter, curious on what your best friend has to say. 

11:32: Carlos Sainz: 

I’m really, truly sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable. I haven’t seen Charles yet to let him know you left. You don’t have to see me again if you do not wish. 

11:36: You

It wasn’t you at all, I promise! I was aware that Charles’ mistress was about, I couldn’t stick about for that. 

Carlos messages you back, almost immediately. You’re confused, considering he is due to be in press alongside Charles. He could be having a break; he could have completely skipped out on several media appearances. 

11:38: Carlos Sainz

I wish you could have stayed longer. I meant what I said, every single word. Please let me know if you need anything.

11:41: You

I know, C. I appreciate it, even if I express it terribly. I’ll always be here for you, too. Always. 

You never get to see the next message that Carlos sends to you. Instead, your phone starts ringing, an incoming call from your father. You’re certain that the chauffeur won’t mind you taking the call whatsoever, holding the device to your ear as your father’s tone fills the void, his words becoming numbing as he runs through the details of your mother’s funeral, the tears in his voice beginning to swell heavily. 

Charles had left the Paddock as soon as he got notice of your departure. He hadn’t bothered to message, his sole focus being on returning to the hotel, to find out what on Earth had happened to you. He was fortunate enough to escape the wandering eyes of his ex-mistress, how on Earth she had gotten into the Paddock for that race was beyond him, especially since he had ceased contact from that day. 

The car arrives swiftly outside of the hotel; immediately, Charles is rushing through the back entrance, beelining for the staircase; waiting for an elevator at this moment would be too much. Within moments, he’s fumbling for his key card, pushing the door open, his heart shattering at the vision in front of him. 

You, his wife, sat on the edge of one of the king-size beds; your head is buried into your hands, heavy sobs racking through your body. He can see the goosebumps littering your skin, the solemn shakes running through you, the trauma of losing somebody you cared about so deeply, combined with a cocktail of emotions from your entrance to the Paddock had become too much. 

He doesn’t care about boundaries, not at this point. Immediately, Charles has crouched in front of you, his gentle hands reaching to grasp around your wrists. There’s a flinch at the sudden contact; your skin had overheated from the sheer energy of crying; your husband’s cool touch was a stark contrast which made you shiver. Delicate touches pull your hands away from your eyes. They’re so red, so swollen. Had he ever made you react like that from his own actions. The Monegasque doesn’t want to question that right now, he can’t even bring himself to look into your broken eyes. Instead, he feels as your arms wrap around his neck, hiding your face in his neck, craving for somebody to just…hold you. 

Your husband has no issue in that desire; he lets you remain like that, Charles on his knees whilst you cling to him, the tears dampening through his shirt. One hand slides across your back, kneading gentle circles into your skin. At some point, you move onto the bed, the man lying back on the soft furnishings whilst you rest your head on his chest, arms encircling you as if he could hold you together, until the storm in your mind passes. 

When the tears subside, you finally find the energy to look up to your husband. He hadn’t reached for his phone, tried to find some form of entertainment whilst he held you to his chest for hours. Instead, his gaze had been fixed upon you, brushing a gentle stroke over your cheek, his fingers dancing against your skin, brushing away the tension from heavy lines and sobs. When your eyes do open, you’re greeted with a soft smile, Charles leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head. 

“Do you need some water?” His concern is to bring you back up to health; now the tears have stopped, he can do this. “I can order some food; would you like that?” His voice is so quiet, as if a simple loud sound could shatter through your veins. You can’t muster up more than a nod, your body becoming colder when Charles’ gently shifts away, sitting up so he can reach for the telephone. His voice is so mesmerizing, speaking down the line as he requests different foods; he doesn’t mind how much he orders, if he can coax you into even eating a little, the man will be satisfied. 

The call finishes, but the man doesn’t sink back down into his previous position. Instead, whilst he remains sat up, Charles guides you to join him, your body still aching from your emotional breakdown. He murmurs under his breath as he pulls you into his lap, your body is tense until his strong arms wrap around your waist, the warmth instantly allowing you to relax, lean back into his firm chest. 

“I’ve wanted to speak to you for a few days.” His voice is soft, but the phrase causes you to feel a sharp panic dance down your chest. Surely, this can’t be good. The relationship had evolved from barely speaking to intimate conversations within a span of two weeks. You try, try so hard to keep a clear mind as your husband continues to address you. 

“How I’ve acted…how I treated you, all that time-“ He must stop himself, trying not to let his own emotion overpower his words. “I’m never going to be able to take it all back, and I will never be able to stop apologizing for it.” His whispers, his eyes growing misty with regret. “I will never forgive myself for how I treated you, nor do I ever expect you to forgive me. But…I want to try. I want to try and spend the rest of my days as you husband. I know…it won’t be overnight, but I’ll do anything, anything for you.”  

The tears are rolling down your own cheeks now; never, in your wildest dreams, did you expect for Charles to speak those words of affirmation to you. His hand moves cautiously, to your face, wiping the tears which were pooling across your features.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispers, letting one of his hands remain on your cheek. The man leans forward, pressing gentle butterfly kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your nose…he pauses, mere inches from your lips. He wants to kiss you; he’d promised himself he wasn’t going to push you; his mind and his heart are complete opposites. 

His mind goes into overdrive when you lean forward and press your lips to his own. They’re salty, slightly chapped, but undeniably something he has been craving for oh-so-long. Charles is immediately kissing you back, his grip around you tightening, keeping your body close to his own. Carefully, he shuffles the two of you back into a lying position, never once breaking the kiss, tumbling back onto the mattress.

Of course, you don’t miss his grumble of annoyance when the food eventually arrives.

 Carlos Sainz is a gentle kisser. 

An autumn breeze was strong on the dreaded day; the funeral had rolled around way too soon for your liking. Rows of family connections, close and distant friends lined the outside of the cemetery, eyes all transfixed on the black hearse rolling into view. Murmurs were pressed into silence, a bitter air all-too present as the ivory coffin was removed from the vehicle. Your elder brother and two cousins were to assist in carrying the piece into the church. Plans were soon suspended when the eldest of your siblings collapsed into tears, head in his hands upon the sheer realization that this was it.

Your father is desperately looking around, practically praying outside a place of worship that the eldest could pull himself together; it’s impossible. Whilst one of your arms is occupied, holding the hand of your young sister, the other gently wraps around his torso, comforting him in the ways he had done for you when you were nothing more than a young girl in messy braids and mismatched socks. 

His wife stood on his right-hand side, adamant on consoling the man as you were, a caring hand running across his back. Your husband stood next to your sister, her childish eyes blinking in confusion; just like you, she had never seen her brother this inconsolable. 

Charles feels a pain wash through him, he wants nothing more than to help his dear family through this moment. Maybe the act he was playing for so long was just a way of shielding himself from caring. Now he had bared his soul towards you, pleading for a second chance, the man wanted to be there for you, in every sense of the word. 

He murmurs something incoherently, stepping away from your side, leaning towards your father’s ear. Whatever he mumbles is met with a sharp nod, a firm pat on the shoulder in confirmation. Your husband keeps a firm gaze on the coffin, not catching your own eyes as he walks towards the piece to join your cousins. There’s a quick whisper between the men, before the ivory is shuffled from the car, resting on their suit-clad shoulders. Silence falls over the attendants as your mother is carried into the church, immediate family following closely behind. Hesitantly, your eyes look to the crowding people, and as if by fate, you see his dark eyes, the fluffy curls brushed back to conform. He shouldn’t look that good in a dark suit. 

Most noticeably, his gaze isn’t fixed on the church, on the six men carrying your mother. It’s transfixed on you. 

The service is beautiful, if you can describe it like that. Flowers are placed atop of your mother’s coffin, the service of words correlating to her soul, the hymns sung were always her favorite when you had frequented church as a young girl. However, there’s a turning point. When the priest begins to speak of her dear children, tears pool in your lower lash-line. You want to take the time for yourself, to mourn, but louder sobs are emitting from next to you; the youngest child is beginning to realize her mother is truly gone. 

You’re torn; pulling her towards you would only make you cry harder; you had already seen your father and brother fall apart, silently knowing you would have to be the one to wait by the door, thanking the copious guests for attending. Her tears are suddenly quietened when you see her gently shuffled into Charles’ lap; despite the estranged relationship for the past twelve months, he’d always had a soft spot for your sister, she reminded him of when Arthur was young. Whilst her tears turn softer, he runs a hand over her back, letting the young girl rest her heavy head in his sternum. 

The open gap in the seating allowed for you to shuffle closer towards your husband, his free arm wrapping around your torso. You had to remain sitting up straight; his presence right now would have to be enough for your comfort. To any unassuming eye, you would probably look like a family, the crowds of attendants would have no idea of the true story behind your marriage. Even on the darkest days, the narrative was played well.

When the service draws to a close, final prayers are spoken. The first to rise are your father and brother, both clinging to one-another as they must leave the building. Silently, you pull yourself away from your husband’s grasp, smoothing the skirt of your dress. Charles remains seated, your sister practically passing out atop of him. Today had been a heavy day for a child, after all. 

There are rows of people pausing to console you on your loss whilst you stand at the door of the church; friends you had known for oh-so-long, members of the Scuderia Ferrari team; you had never seen Fred Vasseur cry, but the redness of his eyes told you something completely different as he took one of your hands in his, squeezing it in apology. 

The pews filter out silently, a large group of the guests making their way back to your father’s home, the wake soon to begin, a blessing and want of your late mother. Sharp footsteps are emitted through the church, the penultimate duo being your husband and sister. He was still carrying her, head resting on his shoulder, almost completely asleep. Charles smiles at finally seeing you, using his free hand to run across the back of your head. 

“I’m going to take her back.” Charles explains to you. He understands you don't need the pressure of looking after her atop of everything else bound to come your way. “Let me know when you’re done here, please?” Silently, you nod, no hesitation needed as he leans forward, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, bidding you farewell as he paces out of the church, holding your sister tightly in comfort. 

You believe that’s everybody, ready to collect your belongings and thank the priest for a heart-warming farewell. Before you can even think to turn around, there’s a light cough, emitting you to spin on your heel. 

He’s there. Still clad in his designer suit, hair pushed back behind his ears. Undeniably, Carlos Sainz looks good in any situation. He holds your bag in one hand, the other reaching out to clasp around your wrist. You gasp at the warm skin pressing to your own, heat radiating through your body. The man leans down, letting his lips brush against your own, a sweet feathering brush pressing onto you. Carlos wanted to be there for you, more than ever on what would be the hardest day. 

Seeing Charles take that position had made his blood boil. 

His grip on you remains tight as he leads you out of the church and towards his own car, parked in the most secluded section of the lot. When his grip falters to hold your hand instead, he doesn’t aim to correct it, instead only holding tighter. He only removes his grasp to unlock his car, sliding himself into the driving seat, pushing the recliner back as far as it would go. When the space is present, he guides you to rest atop of his lap, arms tightening around your waist as he lets the door close, bodies pressed together tightly. 

“Is this okay?” He murmurs, keeping your faces so close together. The built-up emotion, the desire since your last kiss had built a fire in your stomach, not so much as speaking before pressing your lips to his own. Whilst your own movements had become desperate, craving for some form of emotional release, his remained feather-light, one hand tangled into your hair, the other resting firmly on your waist. 

His lips are soon ghosting over your cheek, fluttering across your jawline and landing on your neck, small whines emitting from your lips as he seeks to trace his tongue over your sweetest spot. The sensation across your body, the hot touch of his skin and an undeniable bulge now settling between your legs. 

There’s a sudden realization that you needed to go home. Being with Carlos was the affection you desired, your heart knows however that right now, your family needs you. Hesitantly, you pull away from the man’s lips, feeling utterly guilty for the pleading look in his eyes as you rest your forehead against his own. He could never hate you for it, though. In his eyes, you could never draw that feeling from him. You don’t need to say anything, he knows. 

“I’ll drive you back.” He murmurs, pressing one final kiss to your lips before allowing you to slide into the leather passenger seat. 

The drive to your father’s home is almost silent; there’s an occasional rev of the engine, various horns from different cars along the highway. A part of you always prays that each drive with the Spaniard could last forever, you could drive into the distance and live happily ever after. The fairy-tale is soon dissolved when you pull to the driveway, hearing the engine of the car cease. Your eyes find Carlos’ side profile, still transfixed on the road ahead. 

“Are you coming in?” You ask gently. He sighs, the grip on his steering wheel becoming tighter.

“I can’t see you that close to him, Mariposa.” He murmurs, finally finding the courage to look you in the eyes. “Not when I want to be that close to you.” One hand finds its way off the wheel, entwining your fingers together, peppering light kisses against your knuckles. “Please call me when you go back. I’ll miss you.” 

“I’ll miss you too.” You whisper, leaning to press a kiss to his stubbled cheek. In that moment, Carlos Sainz is your savior. He’s your truth. 

Carlos Sainz is a liar. 

Your knuckles had turned white from the grasp on your phone, you didn’t want to believe anything you were seeing. What was supposed to be an impromptu browse of Twitter whilst waiting for your husband to finish in the en-suite, had turned into a deep dive through a certain hashtag, having seen information spread on a certain Ferrari driver.

It had started as a simple few tweets, some fans and gossip pages reckoning they had seen the driver in an exclusive club, some random blonde sitting on top of him. The photos came second, though the angle was skewed, the quality too weak to see who was there. The final nail was the video; Carlos’ hand placed on her waist, how he had done to you mere hours ago, his mouth pressing against hers, clearly nothing else on his mind. 

Granted, you knew you had no right to feel the anger you did; after all, you were married, Carlos was a single man, free to do as he desired. Yet, your rage was fuelled by the romantic, now seemingly empty promises he had made you; how you were his everything, how he would treat you better than Charles ever did. He was no different than Charles Leclerc, and as your fumbled fingers reached to his contact, your rage felt inclined to tell him that. 

The phone rings once, twice, three times. You’re set to hang up, leave a particularly nasty text message to the man before the line connects. Immediately, your eardrums are overtaken by the loud pulse of a nightclub, some feminine laughter almost directly on top of him. 

“Are you okay?” He asks. Clearly, he’s now intoxicated, his accent is always thicker when he is. You hear another voice, telling him to hang up the phone and to come and dance with her. “Hey- are you there?”

“I’m here.” You snap; why do you feel this enraged? You must have done so when you first saw Charles with his mistress; that had become such a common occurrence that the fire in your stomach must have eventually drained. “And clearly, you’re busy with the woman climbing all over you.” 

“Fuck- you left me hanging!” He retorts, drunken mind clearly pressing against any form of sober thought. “You went back to your husband. Left me with nothing. Fuck the funeral.” He snaps, clearly now becoming enraged with the entire situation, with the fact he had been caught out. The words pressed through the speaker of your phone and emitted a wave of sobs from your stomach, immediately pressing the red button on your device.

Carlos Sainz wasn’t in love with you. He just liked the distraction. 

Of course, as fate would have it, the moment that your tears began again was the moment Charles had left the bathroom. He’s dressed in just a pair of boxers, chest bare and tone after his warm shower. The sound of the door opening caused you to turn to the source. His eyes widen, scampering towards you, cradling you in his arms, bare chest against your cheek. Silently, you sob into his body for the third time that day, wanting nothing more than for every form of pain to stop.

“Hey, come on.” He whispers, arms circling your body, pulling you tight against him. He thinks that seeing you cry will get easier each time, that the pain in the pit of his stomach won’t continue to eat him away. However, it never gets easier; he hates seeing you cry, every single time. “It’s been a long day, yeah? Let’s get some sleep, baby.”

The nickname sounds foreign on his tongue, though neither of you question it. If anything it causes more emotion to flicker through your body, the fact that your estranged husband was finally beginning to give you. Silently, he guides the two of you into the large bed, cradling you to his chest as he had done whilst in Qatar. Sleep and emotion overtake you, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder as a ‘thank you,’ before drifting into a state of slumber.

The sleep means you miss a vital update from the Twitter threads you had been closely following earlier. 

‘Carlos Sainz leaves exclusive club ALONE, despite dating rumors arising with mystery blonde.’

Carlos Sainz is your best friend.

You returned to the following day; the entire time remaining at your father’s house had consisted of nothing but tears. You had been especially concerned for your sister, watching the way she had clinged to Charles when the duo was saying their fond farewells. After a tight hug from each family member, your husband hand interlinked your fingers together, guiding the two of you to his own car, each free hand carrying along the suitcases. 

The first hour of the drive home had been quiet, the buzzing streets had morphed into greenery, the sun beginning to set across the coast. Your eyelids couldn’t find it to grow heavy, having done nothing but sob and sleep for the past twenty-four hours. Instead, your focus turned to the radio, a familiar song trickling out of the speaker, one you hadn’t heard in almost eighteen months. 

“Is this…” You ask, fingers reaching towards the dial, turning the volume up slightly. Behind his sunglasses, Charles grins. You hadn’t expected him to recognise the song, let alone be aware of where he recognised it from. 

“Our first dance.” Your husband laughs, both nodding your head to the music. One hand on the wheel, he reached out his other hand to grasp yours on his own, a gentle squeeze passing through each hand. “We’ll have to dance to it again, properly next time.” He promises to himself, eyes focused on the road as he continues to drive you both home. 

It’s almost dark by the time you have arrived back at your driveway. The stones are dipped in the darkness, the only illumination being from the headlights of Charles’ iconic vehicle. Your eyes flicker towards the doorstep, convinced the sleep is playing tricks on your mind; why on earth was there a figure standing on the doorstep to your house? They were slim, feminine, holding a cream envelope in one hand, a designer bag resting atop the other. 

The familiar feeling of who she was began to nestle in your stomach. Surely, it couldn’t have been her; even your husband would not have the audacity to invite her to the house, right after you had returned home from what was quite possibly the saddest moment of your life. It couldn’t be her, even if every sign pointed towards the truth, you’d begin to search for the tiniest detail; her hair was too short. Your stomach snaps when you realize it’s the identical haircut from the Paddock mere days ago. 

“What on earth-“ You hear your husband begin to speak, turning off the engine to the car. He looks over to your figure, but you show no emotion, no reaction on the exterior. Immediately, he has stepped out of the car, violently slamming the door behind him, causing you to snap out of the trance the woman had placed you upon. 

Your eyes fixed upon Charles, his mistress trying to reach out into his touch. She’d pressed the envelope into his hand, continuing to speak. The words were clear through the thin glass of the car’s windscreen, divorce, pictures, evidence. 

You couldn’t stick around to watch this activity play out. Immediately, you reach out for your phone, breathing uneven as you scroll through the contact list, searching for his name. Despite the last twenty-four hours, you were not too sure who else to call. It takes less than a moment for him to answer, your words rambling and falling over one another, pleading for him to come and collect you. He speaks firmly, commanding you to stay in the car, he would be there as soon as possible. 

Charles is so deep in conversation, pleading for his mistress to reconsider, that he doesn’t see you slip out of the car, stepping down the driveway into the awaiting car of Carlos Sainz. He makes no intention to show you affection when first stepping into the vehicle, his only intention to get you out of the situation as soon as possible. Whilst silence filled the space between you both, you had sent a text to your husband, confirming your disappearance. 

23:01: You

I’m so sorry, I can’t be there when she is, not anymore. I’ll be back at the house tomorrow. Thank you for everything.  

There’s no response. If you’re completely honest, you were not expecting anything else, not whilst he was engrossed in conversation. The street is quiet as you pull into Carlos’ driveway. Saying nothing, the man simply removes his keys from the ignition, before leaning over your frame to open your door, ever the gentleman. Of course, his eyes catch yours as he leans back, creating a deep gaze for oh-so-long. Carefully slipping out of his gaze, you leave the car, walking up the steps to his apartment, the door opening for your arrival. 

It's homely. Clearly lived in. Shoes are thrown across the entrance mat, coats hanging in the rack. Although it is primarily basic, a little bare, there’s touches around the complex which warm your heart; a photograph of the man with his sisters and father, a helmet you immediately recognise as Lando Norris’ resting atop of a bookshelf. There’s fine wine glasses resting atop of his coffee table; clearly ready for their usage before your untimely call. 

The details become irrelevant the moment you feel his warm arms circle around your middle; the rising of your hoodie lets his body heat radiate onto yours. Carlos doesn’t need to say anything, his face comes towards the joint between your neck and your shoulder, using his nose to brush your hair away, exposing the skin he craves to mark. 

“Mariposa.” He whispers, hiding his expression in your soft skin. “I can explain her, I can explain who she is, I didn’t-“ 

This time, it’s you who rolls around in Carlos’ touch, your arms entwining around his neck, pulling his lips to touch yours. The Spaniard does not need convincing, his grip on your waist immediately tightening, pushing your bodies closer together, if that was even humanly possible. This time, when his lips begin to trail down your neck, there’s no hesitation left in your mind, letting the man dance across your skin, leaving small bites, trails of his tongue against you. 

You realize it’s you, making a small whine as he pulls away from your body, catching his breath whilst his tanned arms reach to the bottom of his shirt, exposing his chest once more. This time, your fingers fumble to find the hem of your hoodie, pulling the clothing atop of your head, exposing the laciest bra Carlos had ever seen. There’s a grunt from the back of his mouth as he darts forward, one rough palm scooping your breast from the lingerie, his mouth immediately finding your nipple, tongue tracing across the sensitive skin whilst his stubble rubs against your exposed flesh. 

He doesn’t let up, not even when your legs go weak. His mouth remains firmly attached, using his arms to instead scoop you into his grasp, your whining sheer pornography to his ears whilst he carries you into his bedroom. 

He will simply ruin you for every other person, and god forbid if he lost you now. 

You realize hours later, somewhere between your post-orgasm haze and the combined warmth of Carlos’ hoodie and his firm arms that best friends did not have intense, body-numbing sex in the middle of the night, specifically when one of them was married, the other one a close friend of her husband. Yet, it somehow feels normal, as if this had been the longest impending explosion. Of course, you had explained to the man the reasoning for calling him out so late, for him to simply hush you, promising you would have never been a burden to him. The further questions of what is to come next are pushed to the back of your mind. 

Your sleeping state misses two key moments. The first? The slight camera shutter from a phone as Carlos places his device back on the nightstand, snuggling down into the blankets, his dream to hold you whilst he slept finally arising.

The second? Your phone finally buzzed with a response from your husband, unable to sleep without knowing you were in the large house alongside him. 

02:51: Charles Leclerc

I’m in love with you.

This is everyone who asked to be tagged! @Mac-daddy-210 @aundercover @barnestatic @omgsuperstarg @chimchimjiminie16 @caelum-the-part-time-nihilist @magicalcowboyarbiter @gaslasysblog @junetto @beatrizmel-472 @motorsp0rt @crowdthena @screemqueen @lewislvr @styles-sunflower @itspaddockprincess @adeptustemptations @amalialeclerc @meetmyblondemuffins @formulanando @lorarri @christianpulisic10 @gaypoetsblog @thisbitxhs-blog @goldsainz @ru-kru @magical-spit @hrlzy @nooshytushie @gaslysainz @marvel-at-stucky @sugarvibez

[dr3amfyr-e]

moon, river - c.s. ( w. 1049 )

꒰ cregan will always defends your daughter’s claim ꒱ — cregan stark x reader

୨ ⎯ period typical misogyny. implied trouble concieving children. reader is written to be very influenced by her environment, and therefor uncertain of herself and her self worth. girl dad cregan. cregan's kind of a medieval feminist. i named your daughter for you, sorry. this is very cregan pov, not many of reader's thoughts. umm maybe not canon cregan but it’s my cregan. uhh dialogue heavy. tbh i don't even know what i was writing here. fem!reader. ⎯ ୧

i advocate for creganwives who don’t want to have ten children.

Cregan wasn’t nearly as physically imposing underneath all of his armour. 

You had observed as much before — watching keenly as he unclasped his cape and slid out of the thick leather armour. It was a sight to behold, the muscles in his shoulders and arms as he fought to disrobe. 

He was much different here, in your shared chambers. Lord Stark shed with his dayware, Cregan stood in his wake. 

You had been married for years, and still, your heart fluttered like an infatuated girl when he loomed over the bed, hair damp from the bath. 

Married for years, with two children, and yet — sprawled across the bed in naught but a thin nightgown, you ogle him as he makes his way to bed. 

He's hard to wrangle; he walks the keep and checks on your daughters, among other mindless tasks, before finally getting into bed every night. It gives him ‘time to think’, and makes you senselessly anticipatory. 

Most nights are the same. He curls into you, head on your chest, to decompress. It's sweet, to see such an intimate side of him.

Tonight, in lieu of the typical mindless drivel that lulled you both to sleep, you had been quiet. Cregan could feel the tension of whatever weighed on your mind, but he had not wished to pry.

You rub aimless little circles against his back before finally speaking, “Are you content with this?”

Cregan looks up, lifting his head from your breastbone. He doesn’t speak for a moment, reading your expression, “Content?” When you don’t reply he continues, “Of course I am content. What has prompted you to ask such?”

He can see the solemn, contemplative expression written across your face; the way you gaze down, as if through him, “It is just…” You hesitate, he keeps firm in his stare, “We have been married years, and I have not given you many children. And, no boys.” 

He doesn't reply, unsure how or what to say. True, it is, that in the years you have been married there have only been two children — both daughters. 

“Do you think,” He begins, sitting up more, “That I am discontent because you have not given me a son?” 

Silence hangs heavy in the room. You look guilty; he cannot tell what it is you feel guilty for, but he wishes you did not feel guilty at all. 

Cregan says your name once, his voice low and soft. When you meet his eyes he can sense the resignation — you wish you had not brought this up.

“I just worry, that is all,” You reply, quietly.

His expression stays set. There is solace in knowing him well enough to read his microexpressions; he isn’t brooding, he is concerned. 

He speaks, “What is it that you worry about – my discontentment?”

“Perhaps I have not performed by duty,” You shrug, as if to pass the comment off as nonchalant. Maybe it is; ladies raised to believe their self-worth lies in their good stock and ability to breed and please can talk about such matters with a level of insouciance. 

Frustration blooms in the space between his lungs. He understands the way polite society worms into young women’s brains, and how hard it is to remove that sickness once it's taken root. Still — you surely must know that your worth does not lie within your womb, he thinks.

“Your duty?” He asks, tone firmer now, “And what duty is that? To be bred like a milking cow?” 

The abruptness and near vulgarity of his words are enough to leave you taken aback, blinking at him. Cregan was certainly not one for eloquent metaphors. 

When you seem not to have a response, he begins to feel bad. This isn’t your fault. You were raised to think like this.

“I have not given you an heir,” You’re quiet, almost embarrassed. 

“You have,” He counters. 

“You have no son,” 

“I have Lyanna,” 

A log in the fireplace shifts and crackles as you sit in silence; a scullery maid shuffles by in the hallway. 

He watches you gather your composure before you speak, “And you do not mind?” You sound unsure, he hates it. 

Cregan reaches, sliding his fingers under your jaw to make you look at him fully, “Tell me — if we should have a son, would you be content to strip Lyanna of her birthright?” 

The question feels harsh. He watches guarded confusion swirl into your eyes.

Of course, you would not wish for your daughter to have her title taken from her. But so many others, men in Cregan’s council, mocked the idea. They rued Lyanna’s power, the status she already held above them as a girl of all but five. So it would be no shock if someone insisted she be stripped of her title as heir to Winterfell, and it was frightening. Frightening to imagine someone stealing your daughter’s future and freedom. 

“If it is what you wished,” You answer, resignation thinly veiled. 

“I asked you a question,” He’s firm but gentle. 

You gape for a moment, before answering, “No, never. I could not imagine doing that to her.” 

“And do you think I would?” 

“No,” 

He nods, sliding his hand up to cradle your face. You look ashamed, he tries to soothe it away with his thumb over your cheekbone. 

“Do you think you’ve disappointed me, pet?” He doesn’t wish to subject you to the humiliation of answering such a vulnerable question, so he continues, “You need not worry so much. I do not need a boy; I am more than pleased with things just how they are,” He strokes his thumb slowly, “Do not agonize over something so trivial.” 

He catches the tear that rolls down your cheek.

When you speak your voice is quiet, “You are so good,” And then, “Many lords do not care much for their daughters.”

The thought makes his chest burn; to not care for his daughters? Unthinkable, “Do not praise me for loving my children. Those girls are my world, as are you.” He feels lighter when he sees the edge of your mouth tick up, so he speaks again, “I care not that I have daughters in place of sons — I have, and for that I am lucky.”

He has and he is lucky.

[twinsimming]

Energy Drinks by Twinsimming 🥤

This mod adds custom Energy Drinks to a new type of vending machine.

This is a script mod that can be placed in your Packages folder. It was built and tested on 1.69 but should work fine on 1.67.

Requirements

The Sims 3: Late Night

The Sims 3: Seasons

The Sims 3: Supernatural

The Sims 3: University Life

Overview

Soda-Lightful Vending Machine

Energy Drinks

Side Effects

Flavors

New Moodlets

Soda-Lightful Vending Machine

- Price: §1250 - Category: Large Appliances - Includes all 11 original swatches + 1 recolorable option (3 channels) - Poly Count: 2346 - Originally created for The Sims 4 by RAVASHEEN, converted to The Sims 3 by me

Like the vending machines that came with University Life, sims can Buy Energy Drink, Shake Machine, or Slam Machine.

Energy Drinks

Teen and older sims can purchase energy drinks from the Soda-Lightful Vending Machine for §5 each.

Energy drinks boost the Energy need, give sims the custom Energy Rush moodlet, and remove any moodlets related to low Energy (Tired, Sleepy, Exhausted, Buzz Crashed, etc.), similar to drinking coffee, but the effect lasts twice as long (6 hours instead of 3 hours).

Drinking multiple energy drinks in a row will boost how long the Energy Rush moodlet lasts, as well as increase the moodlet's value, up to 18 hours and +30 mood.

Once the Energy Rush moodlet expires, sims get the custom negative Energy Crash moodlet.

Side Effects

If your sim goes more than 24 hours without another energy drink, they'll start to suffer from caffeine withdrawal and gain the custom negative Craving Caffeine moodlet for the next 2 days. Drinking coffee, tea, barista bar beverages, or another energy drink will remove this moodlet.

Drinking more than 2 energy drinks at a time also carries the risk of a sim being electrocuted and dying.

Teens and Elders both have a 5% chance of being electrocuted, while YA have a 1% chance and Adults have a 3% chance.

Flavors

There are 8 different energy drinks to choose from. 6 provide flavor-related moodlets from the snow cone machine from Seasons and the bubble blower from Late Night. These moodlets last for 4 hours.

From left to right in the second preview photo:

Charged Cherry (Cheery Cherry)

Pineapple Power-Up (On a Beach)

Lightning Lemon (Laidback Lemon)

e-Lectric Lime (Lucky Lime)

Blue Raspberry Blitz (Raspberry Romance)

Gigawatt Grape (Gleeful Grape)

The Unidentified Fizzy Ooze energy drink replenishes Alien brain power, but makes non-Aliens nauseous.

The last energy drink is called Mystery Flavor and it works like the jelly bean bush from Supernatural; including carrying the risk of death, so proceed with caution.

New Moodlets

Energy Rush: Given when sims drink an energy drink, lasts 6 hours, +10, +20, or +30 mood

Energy Crash: Given when the Energy Rush moodlet expires, lasts 7 hours, -15 mood

Craving Caffeine: Given when sims go more than 24 hours without another caffeinated drink, lasts 2 days, -30 mood

Tuning

All of the tunable values can be found on the mod download page under the header “Tuning”.

Script Namespace

If you want to turn a different vending machine into an energy drink vending machine, open your desired object in s3pe and replace the current script name with the following:

Sims3.Gameplay.Objects.Twinsimming.EnergyDrinksMod.VendingMachine

Conflicts & Known Issues

This is a new scripted object, so there shouldn’t be any conflicts.

All of the drink cans are different colors when placed in the world and during the drinking animation, but they all have a red can icon when placed in a sim's inventory. I'm not sure how to fix this right now, but that should be the only issue of note.

Credits

EA/Maxis for The Sims 3 and The Sims 4, mesh by RAVASHEEN, Visual Studio 2019, ILSpy, s3pe, Notepad++, Sims4Studio, TSRW, Blender, Milkshape, Gimp, and Script Mod Template Creator.

Thank You

Thank you to RAVASHEEN and everyone in the Sims 3 Creators' Cave Discord!

If you like my work, please consider tipping me on Ko-fi 💙

Download @ ModTheSims

[2n1ghts]

❝let me take care of you, baby.❞ ❥︎ collegebf!eren x reader

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

synopsis: it was nearing finals, and you avoided your boyfriend— eren—like the plague. and boy, was he was worried for you. your normally cheerful demeanor dwindled to something snarky, something avoidant. all you did nowadays was study till your brain rotted, and it made you a bitter person. he was waiting for the day you'd collapse, and the moment you did, it was worse than he expected. good thing he was there to take care of you. to pamper you because you were his baby.

*contains suggestive content!! advise against reading if you're under 17. minors will be blocked, so please dni if you're one!

key: e/c -> eye color

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

hey y'all!! 💌

again, not sure how the whole tumblr thing works. i'm experimenting and trying out writing for fun, so please be kind. i was pretty out of it when i wrote this, so ignore any typos or inconsistencies. also, bear with our y/n. she's crafted this way for a reason.

it's my first time writing a short fic/drabble, and i did this as more of an experiment. i welcome feedback but please be kind with your words. i am just learning and finding out what works for me.

anyways, hope you enjoy lovelies!

best,

~ nene

The past few weeks had been a living hell.

Not because of the finals nearing round the corner, or because of the two hours of sleep you were getting per night; not because of the crude professors who made it their life mission to assign a million projects when the quarter was about to end; not because of your parents who did not give two shits about your mental health.

It was the distance you were maintaining with Eren that made it the hardest.

He was worried for you. You could tell by the way his eyebrows would furrow when you would decline yet another plea to relax, or the way his eyes conceringly flitted to your scrunched posture whenever you'd cuss at yourself, or the way he would gently, tenderly... remove your hands that tended to roughly rake through your hair when anxious.

Your breaking point was nearing, and he was holding himself back from embracing you right then and there. He was not one to interfere, but he wanted to take care of you, to ease the burden off your shoulders and reassure you that your studying would amount to great achievements. But he didn't know how to reach you. You were so caught up in your bubble of self-sabotage and pressure that you shut the rest of the world out, including him.

But he didn't want to be "the rest of the world." He would wallow in your bubble too, only if you'd let him in.

"Fucking deratives will be the end of me," he heard you seethe from your position on his gaming chair. The both of you were currently cooped up in his room, with him scrolling through TikTok and occasionally glancing at you while you revised and revised till your eyes were sore.

Eren's roommate flew out, which left the place to himself. He lured you here stating it would be better to study at his place with "no distractions" compared to your apartment with Hitch, who was quite the gossip and hinderance.

As you highlighted yet another section, you felt his eyes raking down your figure.

You were engulfed in his oversized grey hoodie, wearing nothing but a flimsy cotton bra and matching underwear underneath. Your hair was messily thrown up in a bun, a few strands tickling your forehead here and there, to which you frustratedly blew from your periphery. Lilac crescents embedded themselves into your under-eyes, followed with bags entailing sleep deprivation. One bare leg was propped up as you rested your chin on your knee and swung the other absentmindedly.

If you didn't stop studying now, you'd collapse from exhaustion. Three hours had passed by nonstop. You hadn't even drank water.

"Y/n," he called out gently.

You ignored him, but he knew you heard him because of that cute forehead scrunch you just did.

"Y/n," he called, this time a bit louder. Once again, that damn scrunch, but no verbal acknowledgement.

"Y/n!" he tried for the third time. You furrowed your eyebrows, scowling. Your slender finger pressed into your plump lips, a gesture made to silence him.

Leaving his position on the bed, he strided over to you. He got onto his knees and gently took ahold of your meandering hands. The callus of his fingers felt textured against your knuckles.

"Why are you ignoring me, babe?"

"I'm not ignoring you," you replied, trying to refocus your attention on your migraine-inducing Calculus textbook. He tried not to flinch at you shutting him out for the nth time this week.

It hurt him whenever you tried drowning him out like he was a petty distraction.

Because he wasn't to be discarded. He was your boyfriend, and he promised to always be there for you, so why wouldn't you just confide in him?

"I called for you three times, Y/n," he stated calmly. Letting go of one of your hands, he gently drew circles on your knee with the pad of his thumb, hoping it'd soothe your nerves. Goosebumps littered your skin at the gesture.

"Can't you see I'm studying, Ren? I can't talk right now." Overstimulated and tired, you weren't in the mood to converse. In fact, you weren't in the mood to do anything. All you wanted to do was collapse onto your sheets and fall into a hundred-year slumber, but unfortunately, finals exist to give you enough of a reality check.

"You are working so hard, so take a break, please," he pleaded yet again.

He'd beg if it meant you'd prioritize your health. He cared more about you than his ego. That's why he always rebounded with a gentle demeanor, even if you were rude and snarky. He knew your brash attitude wasn't your fault. You just didn't function well under stress.

The unfiltered truth was, you weren't used to the princess treatment Eren offered. As a child, you had gotten used to your parents' nagging. Sleepless nights became routine if it meant you'd score straight A's. It had been like this all throughout high school.

Until you met Eren.

He prioritized you first, always, and taught you to do the same. It was sort of... a culture shock to you, a difficult adjustment. You needed time getting accustomed to this novel way of thinking, and luckily Eren was understanding.

Couldn't say your self-sabotage wasn't eating away at him, though.

"And you need to take a break from badgering me. I'm perfectly fine," you snarked. Your eyes broke contact with his, gaze landing once again on the textbook to your left.

Angling your chair, you turned your body away from him, trying to focus on the task at hand. You couldn't bear to look at him because you knew he was right. If you gave in, you would stop studying. If you stopped studying, you'd catastrophically fail, which could not happen.

With a frustrated sigh, Eren swiftly snagged your textbook and threw it behind him. It collided with the mattress with a large 'thud.' You gasped as he grabbed the edge of your chair, turning it towards him.

"You're not getting that textbook until you eat and drink something," he asserted, a layer of seriousness washing over his green eyes.

"What the hell, Eren? Give it back!" You shrieked.

"You heard the conditions."

"Eren, this is serious. I don't have time to play games right now. Please... give it back."

"Who said I'm playing games, Y/n? The only reason I'm doing this is because you're being negligent towards yourself."

"Okay, well that's my problem. Who are you to interfere?" You countered.

"Hey, I'm not trying to be your mom or anything. As your boyfriend, I care about you. It's just a glass of water and a snack, Y/n. Do it for yourself. You deserve a break."

You started panicking. An uneasy feeling sprawled up your stomach as your hands got clammy. "No! You don't understand."

"Then enlighten me, babe. I'm right here."

Rolling your eyes, you stood up from the chair, trying not to cringe at the weird noise emitted from the leather upon loss of contact with your skin. You reached forward to grab your textbook off the mattress, but Eren was faster. He took ahold of your wrist and lowered it.

You grunted in frustration. "I—I need to study, Ren. Badly. My career and future depend on it. These are hard subjects. I need hours and hours of studying to ace these exams. You don't get it."

He doesn't reply, continuing to look at you sternly and not budging. Your nerves were skyrocketing. What was his deal? This wasn't the time to be testing your patience. Plus, if he really cared, he'd understand your desperation.

"Okay, whatever sick fun you're trying to derive out of this isn't cool," you deadpanned.

You tried pulling your wrist out of his grip, but he required little to no effort to keep you at bay, simply planting his feet further into the ground when you tried shoving him. Your e/c-eyed stare pierced him like daggers, but his resolve was impenetrable.

God, what a stubborn fuck.

You continued wriggling and squirming to no avail. Your bottom lip began trembling. Liquid pooled at your lashline, threatening to moisten your cheeks with its salty trail.

You broke.

Sniffling, you shoved him repeatedly in the chest. "I hate you. I hate this. I fucking hate college and hate my parents and hate finals and hate this fucked up system that does nothing but capitalize on our stress and hate motherfucking Calculus and professor Ackerman and—"

Moist lips enclosed your own, trapping them tantalizingly. The kiss was brief and sweet. He used it as a way to tranquilize you, gently trapping both of your wrists with his one hand.

"Shh, just let me take care of you, baby," he rasped as he tenderly interlocked his arms under your legs, lifting and placing you on the bed. The mattress felt soft against your spine.

If pamper had a textbook definition, Eren's face would definitely appear in the margin.

[f1crecs]

Fic Rec List - Carlos/Oscar

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the carlos/oscar ship (affectionately known as carcar) has taken off in recent weeks. we wanted to share some of our favourite fics with you!

new to the fun? you can find a carcar primer here, written by @blueballsracing 🧡❤

enjoy!

nsfw: reckless attention by @janinaduszejko | E | 4.2k Carlos and Oscar have a casual hookup arrangement. Both have very different ideas about how significant it is. I really like unreliable POV in fic like this. Oscar thinks he's having casual, convenient hookups with Carlos, and is determined not to examine his feelings too closely. Carlos, meanwhile, is having a crisis over it, experiencing wants and urges he has no clue how to even begin handling. Being into a guy is confusing enough, but apparently to be submissive as well? No wonder he can't do it sober.

A quick-fire flash of something mawkish blitzes up Oscar’s spine and he sets his jaw against it. He keeps Carlos’s head in place and sets a new rhythm, fucking up in quick, even strokes. Carlos groans and Oscar can feel it around the head of his cock, the taut vibration of it, the hot clench of Carlos’s throat. Oscar’s skin feels like it’s got a current running through it, prickling sharp. His brain feels fuzzy, thoughts unable to get purchase and linger.

nsfw: the better half of a good time by @antimonyandthyme | E | 4.4k Canon divergence, future fic, sex work. Oscar, a few years into his Formula 1 career now, is locked in a bitter WDC fight with Lando. Their relationship has completely soured. He cruises the streets one night and finds a sex worker. The man, a few years older than Oscar, is vaguely familiar. Fics which explore how tenuous and elusive motorsports careers can be, how a few small changes of circumstance can result in a career failing to launch at all, are fascinating to me, and this one is no exception. The author paints a picture of a world just ever so slightly skewed from our own, one where a few unlucky moments resulted in a very different life path for Carlos.

'He’s not angry, not really. His thoughts can’t help but stray to Lando. Those last few times were mean. And being mean takes effort, more effort than Oscar sees fit to expend. Then the last few times had dried up to nothing, and Oscar had taken to searching for other ways he could keep winning outside the track, because nothing on track actually felt like winning anymore.'

nsfw: Open mouth, on my knees (for you)  by @lovelylotusf1 | E | 4.9k Oscar has a bad gag reflex and asks Carlos to help him train it away so he’d be good for Lando. What ensues is desire and power dynamics and taking what you need from the other person. I really enjoyed how the author depicted Oscar’s internal thought process and the journey of hatred to desire. The way Lando’s existence was used as almost a pawn was also written really well!

nsfw: hatred cradles you by @foggieststars | E | 6.8k Carlos comes to Oscar’s hotel room in search of Lando. What ensues is bickering, rising tension, and passionate hate sex. I love the palpable tension woven throughout this fic, Oscar and Carlos’ characterisations are so fun and fit so well together. The dialogue and the bickering is fun and fast paced and makes you want to read more! Amazing work by this author as always.

when both our cars collide by @oscarpiastriwdc | M | 8.4k Carlos finds himself stuck in a time loop, experiencing the same qualifying crash with Oscar over and over. I love time loop fic. There is something about being given the chance to fix something or change something, being able to examine a situation over and over in granular detail, that works especially well in F1 RPF where milliseconds can make a difference. As per the best Groundhog Day fics, it's not so much about what Carlos does as how he feels, and he finds himself drawing ever closer to Oscar as the loops stack. Oh, and there's a really cute dog.

'“Is that your dog?” Caligula wiggles, instinctually sensing the conversation has shifted to her. “Yes.” “I never pictured you with a tiny dog.” Carlos snorts. “What, you thought I would have a big, mean dog?” “More like a cat who scratches your eyes out.” “She’ll do that, too.” “What’s her name?” “Caligula.” Oscar makes a strange noise, a cross between a laugh and a sneeze. “Caligula? That’s an… odd name. Can I?” Oscar extends a hand, questioning. Carlos nods, and Oscar lets Caligula sniff his fingers. She catches a taste of something appetizing and nibbles at his fingers. “Sorry–” “No, she’s sweet.” The ‘unlike you’ remains unspoken'

nsfw: moth to a flame by @blueballsracing | E | 15.5k Enemies to lovers carcar with some hate sex and plot (aka Carlos moves to Red Bull next season). This was really fun to write and I loved going into Carlos' mind and writing their dynamics!

'For a split second, his thoughts fill up with wonders about the future, but he’s stuck in the past. Blue, yellow, orange, and red line his vision–and suddenly, a montage of memories obstruct his vision. He’s 20 when he drives at the Australian Grand Prix for the first time he debuts with Toro Rosso. He’s 20 when he’s next to 17-year-old Max playing word tennis in a car. He’s 21 when he crashes in qualifying at COTA, but makes up 10 positions on the first lap and finishes in the points. He’s 21 when he out-qualifies Max for a whole season, 10-9. It’s the little wins that matter–for, life is not a sprint, but a marathon. He’s 22 when Toro Rosso is a mess in the 2017 season, but he comes out on top as the superior driver of the 4 that “half” season. He leaves to save face, to get away from the screaming toxicity that is Jos Verstappen. He’s 23 when he drives for Renault for the first time and scores points. He’s 24 when he’s replaced by another Red Bull reject driver, Daniel, when he leaves Renault for McLaren. Except–he thinks otherwise. Red Bull didn’t reject both him and Daniel. Quite the opposite. The ages muddle together, but the story stays the same. He crashes and scores points and–he leaves and leaves and leaves. He gets his first podium and thanks the Brazilian audience, he leaves, he replaces a world champion, he gets his first and second and third win, is called slurs and hate names every single time for it, he leaves, he leaves, he leaves.'

nsfw: Grill the Grid by @mercurial-vroom | E | 23.2k (wip) Oscar, a very socially anxious engineering student, agrees to join Lando's pub quiz team. His rival on the team turns out to be Carlos. This fic is light and funny while at the same time examining what it can be like to be socially awkward and anxious. Seeing Oscar settle into the group dynamic is great, and the interplay among all the characters creates some great sparks.

Then, Carlos picked up the glass and took a long pull, his eyes still not leaving Oscar’s as he did so. “Well done,” he said with a small smile. Oscar noticed after he set the drink down that his plush lips were damp and shiny from the foamy beer. “I guess I am off my game tonight. Good show, Oscar.” And although he knew he should still be basking pettily in his moment of small-but-gratifying triumph… all of the sudden, Oscar found that all he could focus on was the fact that this was the first time he’d heard Carlos actually use his name. He was deeply unnerved to realize just how much he’d liked the sound of it.

nsfw: he just turned in like i didn't exist by @drivestraight | E | 36.5k Carlos and Oscar develop a soul bond. Neither of them are thrilled about this. This fic is wonderful. The soulbond complicates their already prickly relationship, until they start to develop an understanding and find empathy for one another. Oscar keeps getting little zings of stress from Carlos which we know are about his contract. Oscar, meanwhile, is starting to work a few things out about his sexuality and finds Carlos to be a surprisingly kind and patient presence in his mind.

'Oscar swallows. You heard me? he asks, uselessly. That first day, Oscar had assumed that everything Carlos heard, he responded to. Carlos hadn’t—hadn’t responded to any of those thoughts. Oscar hadn’t known. I heard everything. It is not very pleasant to have someone tell you how unwanted you are all the time. How you would prefer it to be literally anyone else. Bringing the incident up was the only way to get you to stop thinking about how horrible it was to have me as a soulmate. You do not think as quietly as you think. Oscar’s throat feels tight, a sinking and horrible feeling settling into his gut. Carlos hadn’t—at least not in English—hadn’t thought a single thing about how horrible their bond was. Oscar’s been the asshole this whole time, hasn’t he? I didn’t mean it like that, he tries. It feels like a lie even to himself. Carlos doesn’t respond. I’m sorry, Oscar tries again, playing with the ring on his index finger. Carlos is silent for the rest of the weekend. Oscar finds out later, from Lando, that it was Carlos’ birthday.'

[jjkamochoso]

Pt. 2 of Imagine… Soshiro Hoshina Finding You on the Brink of Death

Angst, Fluff

Soshiro Hoshina x gn!reader

Warnings: mentions of hospital setting/devices

You can find the all angst ridden part 1 here!

One week.

That was how long it had been since Soshiro had seen your alluring (e/c) eyes, heard your infectious laugh, blushed at your gentlest smile reserved just for him. The past 7 days of you in a coma after almost becoming a kaiju meal had been devastating for him and the rest of your teammates. You had many visitors over the hours you lied completely still on your hospital bed, but you weren’t the only unmoving person in your room. Soshiro had rarely moved an inch from your side, only getting up to go to the bathroom. He couldn’t remove himself from his seat next to your fragile body in case you woke up; he couldn’t bear the thought of you being alone in such a vulnerable state anyway.

“They’re under the best care here, Hoshina. Go get some rest,” Captain Ashiro had told him on day 3, when Soshiro was sporting dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. He respectfully refused, and Mina knew better than to fight with him right now—he was as stubborn as he was talented with his swords. Every time the nurses came in to check your vitals, they looked upon him and his sad state of being with sorrow, feeling awful to see the man in such despair. They had taken it upon themselves to deliver meals for him since they all knew he wasn’t leaving to eat. Even if most of the time the tray sat untouched, they took it as a win when a pudding or fruit cup disappeared.

Day 5 was the hardest for Soshiro. By that point, he was delirious from staying up practically all night in case you needed something. His typed reports stopped making sense, his brain nowhere near as sharp as usual due to the fog of grief that had settled in his mind. The steady beeps of your life support machine haunted his every waking moment, a perfect symphony of the anguish he couldn’t escape. Thankfully, Kafka had heard about his vice captain’s condition and visited that night, offering to take over Soshiro’s watch in case you woke up. Soshiro was extremely reluctant at first, but he knew that you and Hibino were close; he also trusted the kind hearted man enough to know he’d be there for you in case something happened. With strong hesitation, Soshiro left your sight for the first time in 96 hours, heading to the shower. No matter how hard he scrubbed, he couldn’t wash away the feelings of guilt he harbored over your injuries.

If only I was faster, stronger… I could’ve been there sooner. Stopped the kaiju from ever sinking its disgusting teeth into you. What kind of vice captain am I? What kind of… person am I? How could I ever expect them to love me back if I can’t succeed in my one job of protecting them?

He let his tears fall freely, mixing in with the water from the shower head.

Day 7 was the point where Soshiro was just… there. He barely felt anything anymore, whether it was exhaustion, anguish, or anything else. He sat next to you like normal, gazing at your chest as it sank and rose with shallow breaths, but his eyes were glazed over in a manner reminiscent of a man without hope. The doctors didn’t have an estimated time for you to wake up. With injuries as extensive as yours, there was no telling when your body would be ready to start running on its own again. Soshiro didn’t know how to process that news; he liked seeing tangible results, and the fact that you had been hooked up to all these damn machines for so long and nothing had changed? It was pure torture to him. He found himself inching closer to you, if that were even possible, and he took hold of your hand with the softest of touches.

“I miss ya, y/n,” he whispered, bringing your hand to his lips. He was careful to not disrupt the IV as he laid a gentle kiss on your cold skin, savoring the sensation of doing what had wanted to do since he first met you all those years ago.

“Remember the promise we made to each other when we were young and dumb? Now we’re old and dumb,” he chuckled humorlessly, “and you still have to keep up your end of the bargain. You have to survive. I can’t lose you.”

He took in a deep, shaky breath. “I can’t lose you because I’m in love with you.”

It was like the world was playing a cruel joke on him—he finally garnered the courage to admit he had fallen in love, but the object of his affections wasn’t able to hear it. He let his head hang in misery as he kept your hand close to his face, eventually placing it against his cheek. He closed his eyes, wishing with all his might that you would wake up. If you died… he wouldn’t know how to move on from such a devastating blow. He knew this macabre scenario had a high probability of happening in this career field you two chose, but he always had faith in his and your abilities to stay alive. To say that faith had been shaken was the understatement of the century.

“Y/n, please. I can’t do this alone. I need ya back with me. You gotta keep fighting.”

Soshiro went to place your hand back on the bed when he swore he felt your fingers move against his own. His eyes widened in surprise as his heart started slamming against his rib cage. Was that real or just his imagination?

It happened again.

And your eyes opened.

He slammed on the call button, informing the nurses of your awakening before turning his attention back to you.

“So-soshiro,” you tried to say, but your throat couldn’t form any words.

“Shh, don’t say anything, darling, I’m right here. Always have been, always will be.”

A grin swirled with anxiety and relief was present on his lips as he looked at you.

After a few hours of tests, doctors checking up on you, and small moments to collect your thoughts, you were finally able to form coherent sentences.

“You sat here the whole time? Now I feel bad,” you said, a small frown gracing your features.

“Don’t feel bad. I didn’t want you to be alone, that’s all,” Soshiro told you, nervously scratching at the back of his neck. “Did you… happen to hear anything I was saying before you woke up?”

“What, like how we’re old and dumb and that you’re in love with me?” you said, trying your best not to laugh at his shocked expression.

“Huh? You actually did hear me? I thought that only happened in movies!” he whined, his cheeks tinged with red.

“No reason to be embarrassed, Soshiro. I didn’t know how to tell you but I’m in love with you, too. I have been for a very long time.”

Soshiro was looking upon you like you had descended directly from the heavens, his eyes gleaming with unbridled joy as his fingertips danced over your arm, tracing shapes in an intimate, comforting manner.

“I‘ve been so worried about ya, sweetheart, but now that you’re back with me, it’s like I can breathe again.”

You relished in the calm quiet of the room, basking in Soshiro’s loving presence. He was exactly the driving force behind you willing your body to wake up. You could never leave him to walk this world alone.

“I also felt you kissing my hand,” you said after a long bout of silence. “That was very sweet of you.”

“Guess all I had to do was give ya true love’s kiss to wake up?” he joked, his little fangs peeking out of his lazy grin.

“I’m looking forward to my real kiss when I get out of the hospital,” you replied, attempting to wink at him.

He leaned his face over yours, his breath leaving goosebumps in its wake. “If you want, I can give you a preview of it right now.”

You felt your pulse quicken and apparently so did the heart rate monitor you were hooked up to; the machine started beeping, alerting that your numbers were abnormal.

Soshiro kissed your forehead before sitting down again, smirking. “Do I make ya nervous?”

Now it was your turn to blush. “Watch it Hoshina, or I’ll have you admitted into the bed next to me.”

Soshiro burst out in his trademark laugh, grabbing at his stomach and wiping away the tears forming in his eyes. You could be given all the medicine known to man but nothing could make you feel better than the promise of being loved by the easily amused violet haired man who will never leave your side.

[deanbrainrotwritings]

— AN INTRODUCTION TO CREATIVE CAPTIVITY

SUMMARY : dean wants to know more about you and takes matters into his own hands when you don’t show up at his bakery. unreasonably, he doesn’t expect you to come back home early, but his mission was mostly successful.

PAIRING : vampire!dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : none 

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), baker!dean, stalking (it’s only hot if dean does it), angst, unhealthy obsession, yandere!Dean, possessiveness, soft Dean, implied panty kink, creepiness escalates, nerdy reader, reader isn’t perfect, (vague) chronic illness, voyeurism, b&e, stealing, slow chapter, and more to come

WORD COUNT : 6.6k

A/N : this chapter will lead up to the square stockholm syndrome on my @jacklesversebingo card. no baking :’(. heheh, Dean’s a lot softer and way more caring than the typical psycho-yandere type maybe some of yall were thinking of. I did research on yandere types and yandere traits, and found that it’s completely acceptable! in fact, a soft yandere is preferred, LOL. xx

Over the years Dean found that the perks of being undead included not having to sleep. That meant there were no nightmares to haunt him.. and now, that he had all the time in the world to watch you, to research you, first.

You were a fluffy cloud of love that became his companion through the sleepless, endless night. He knew seeing you again would feel like an eternity had passed, so he indulged in thoughts of you to keep him company.

He was home now and he had nothing to do as the moon bled through the windows of the place he “lived” in. He laid in his bed, unable to shut his brain off for the pretence of a peaceful sleep that he enjoyed doing routinely ever since he was a… vampire. 

His four hours of nothingness. 

He had too much time on his hands. 

He’d already read over a thousand books, watched over a thousand films and series, scrolled through the endless stream of videos on social media, and attempted to get good at hundreds of hobbies. What was the point of it anymore, after all?

Now, he thought of you. And that was the only point that made any sense to him. The only thing that mattered in his useless life. The only reason why he even wanted the sun to rise and bring another day. 

If it meant that he was able to see you again. To know everything about your existence. Then, it all mattered. The world needed to keep spinning and the world needed to be safe, for you. 

He took his phone from the nightstand and appreciated the wallpaper of his beautiful Impala. He was uncomfortably restless. He wanted to keep thinking of you, but he also wanted to shut his brain off. He couldn’t creep you out, it would ruin everything. He stared at the numbers telling the time, 1:24 AM. 

You were probably asleep by now. 

He wondered about you again. What position did you sleep in? What colour were your sheets? What was the texture of them? Did you use multiple blankets? Were you cold, often? Were your hands and feet always the only thing that was cold? Did you not suffer that way at all? Did you wear socks to sleep? What was the temperature of your home? Did you wear baggy clothes to sleep? Or something sexy? Or something cute? What was the colour of your walls? How did you decorate your home? Was it fun? Minimalistic? Did your house already smell like you again?

He cared so much about every tiny detail of your life and the place you called home. He itched to just get out of bed and find where you lived to see for himself. 

But for now, he lifted himself up slightly to rest against the headboard of his bed and unlocked his phone to find you wherever he could. He felt embarrassed to do so, but he searched your name on every app, including the dating ones he never removed despite being… Well, he hadn’t had sex since he became a vampire. He was terrified of anything bad happening to the women he slept with. 

The thought made him freeze. Would he lose control with you? Would he ever hurt you? His mind overflowed with images of your blood and him standing above you. He would die before he ever hurt you. He shook the thoughts away, remembering Lenore, and the handful of monsters that coexisted peacefully with humans. 

He could be with you. You could be his. 

You were all he could think about. It’s a shock that he hadn’t shoved his hands in his pants and pleasured himself just thinking of you. He would have, but he felt it would be disrespectful to you. 

He did try to relieve himself with those sexy vampire women in the past, but he just didn’t feel any sort of attraction towards them because so few of them even cared about humans. It was unbecoming. They were arrogant, indifferent, and it wasn’t even sexy. He just couldn’t get it “up” with bloodsuckers. So, what? He was still prejudiced and all that. Whatever, he spent most of his time as a vampire still hunting. 

He killed the entire nest and hunted down anyone that managed to slip through his fingers. He tried his hardest to keep being a hunter, with Sam’s brain protected with a wall, he had hope, a reason to keep going. But that was all gone, his family was gone: Sam, Cas. 

When word spread that he was a vampire, and it did—like a nuclear bomb—the fallout was massive. Somehow, the fear of the Winchesters was hundred-fold, even though, in all his time as a vampire, Dean hadn’t slipped up even once. 

He didn’t know how he did it. 

He really just did. 

He remembered the devouring thirst of being around humans when he was in the process of turning, while he looked for the leech that bled into his mouth for the cure Samuel and Sam were waiting to have confirmed. He could smell every human’s blood, taste the delicious quench of it in the air, and he somehow walked straight past every one. And when that one vamp opened the fridge to feed him a pick-me-up, the scent of it was overpowering, but never quite enough for his stubborn ass.

He declined and carried on with the mission, but the world had other plans for him. When he found the guy that turned him, of course he knew that Dean hadn’t fully turned; he was the leader of the nest, after all. He was smart and didn’t let Dean make any move unless he drained one of the women he didn’t find useful for the nest. 

He refused but the leader of the nest didn’t take no for an answer, and once again, forced Dean to feed on one of the women in the cages. Dean remembered that way it felt, the taste of warm blood soothing the aching dryness in his throat. Dean had planned on biting the poor girl for show and collecting the blood in his mouth to spit it out later, but once it touched his tongue, the bloodlust took over.

He didn’t know what possessed him to stop. Maybe the way the girl whimpered, because she was just a girl. Or the way she pleaded for him to stop with her weak, cracked voice. The way her body slowly sank into him and crumbled limply, but he somehow managed to push her away from him.

She thanked him, even though she was still stuck being a blood bag for the nest. Dean felt guilty, even by just remembering how it all started. His soulless brother, his idiot best friend. How was anyone supposed to know how to handle that situation? 

Dean grieved his human life. Having to abandon Lisa and Ben on top of it all. Then, his brother’s life. And finally, his best friend’s life. 

Sure, Cas was the one who made the mess to begin with, but what was the point of friendship if you couldn’t forgive them for the worst of the worst? Obviously, there was a line, but with the type of life they lived, what Cas had done didn’t cross the line. After all, Cas tried to make amends, even if it was too late. 

Dean could stay mad forever at Cas, but he was going to be ancient some day. What purpose would that hatred serve when everyone was dead? Forgiveness was all he had left to remind him he still had some semblance of humanity.

And right now, he needed to feel human. For you. 

He was more relieved than he cared to admit when he didn’t find you on any dating apps. So, he deleted every single one after he got the answers he was hoping to not find there. 

He hated that your Facebook was more dead than he was. You didn’t have your relationship status updated or your birthday published. There was nothing, just an old photo of you at some Korean restaurant. And even your family members’ accounts were as dry as his throat felt after going days without feeding. They revealed nothing, but he did find your friends: Bela Levante and Daphne Jordan.

But there was hardly anything to see about you on their profiles. God, woman, why did you have to hide yourself so hard?

He carefully scrolled through Instagram and groaned at another obstacle. Your account was private. He wished to stare at photos of you. The numbers on your profile teased him, he could see the amount of followers you had, the number of people you were following, and fuck… 43 posts he could be gazing at like a celebrity’s fanboy. 

He wanted to see everything “private” about your life, your hobbies, flashes, glimpses of your life, pets—if you had any, and everything about your family. All the little things that would have slowly painted you on the empty canvas in his mind. 

Dean shut his phone off with a sigh and stared up at the ceiling being illuminated with the moonlight, creating shadows from the tree that creaked outside by the window. 

How was he supposed to feel about you? What was he supposed to do to get closer to you? Would you see him again the next morning? Or anytime after that? Would he see you in days? Weeks?

Would you think of him at all? Or would you be too busy with your life to do so? Did you even want to see him again? Did you feel the pull he felt towards you? Was he being delusional to think that there could possibly be something between you and him?

He’d have to take matters into his own hands if you prolonged appearing in his life. If he got dozens of women to like him before, there’s no reason why you wouldn’t want him in the same way. He just needed to play his cards right. 

5 Days Later

Coming into your life was more difficult than Dean anticipated.

He went out more than he would have wanted, hoping to find you anywhere in town. So, you weren’t lying when you said you wouldn’t be available for the first couple of days or weeks in town as you tried to settle in. He hoped it was just something you said to avoid Andy.

At least he knew you weren’t lying about that. 

He only saw you once three days ago at the grocery store. He watched you as subtly as he could, his eyes focused on your every move, his ears sharpened to your voice, every atom in his body was attuned to you, his nexus. 

He wished he was standing there next to you, as your boyfriend, a lover, a partner, whatever. As long as you were only his. So he could watch your cute faces when you touched something that you didn’t like, or be there to laugh with you when you giggled at something you saw, or to be there to remind you of something you forgot and had to pull up the list on your phone. He wanted to know what it was like to have another conversation with you, about anything. Was that asking too much?

He didn’t get everything he’d planned on getting when he got there, but at least he had your plates and the car you drove. He wished he was brave enough to have talked to you, to pretend to bump into you. Although it wouldn’t have been much of an act, he really hadn’t expected to see you there.

But there was something raw and real about watching you while you were alone, and in your head as you walked through the most-likely unfamiliar grocery shop. When was the last time you stepped foot in there? You stared at the signs above each aisle with surprise when you’d walk in and didn’t find what you probably would have years ago. 

He made his way to his car and thought of all the ways he could get you to be his. In any way that he could have you. All his ruminations and all his time was devoted to the goal of being with you. So much so that he felt like his entire life was on hold.

He knew it would start up again as soon as you entered his life. However, he hadn’t seen you—well, he hadn’t spoken to you in five days, and he wanted to respect you by letting you have your own space, but it was getting painful for him to be away from you for so long.

He waited to hear the beat of your heart or the sound of your voice being carried through the air and into his bakery, but he was only met with disappointment. Every time the door opened, he wished it was you walking in, he wished it was you smiling and flirting with him like every woman he regularly saw.

But you never showed up. 

Did he make you up in his imagination? Was he that desperate to feel something? Were you real and simply uninterested in him? That thought hurt more than it should have. He thought he’d left a good impression on you, and after you left that hundred dollar bill, his mind didn’t allow him to believe you hated him. In fact, it was the only proof that you were real after all. 

Why couldn’t you be as infatuated with him as he was with you? Why couldn’t you be as interested in him as the women who carved out time for him in their busy lives? 

You were impossible to get close to. His fingertips barely tapped the surface of your life and like a fish, you swam quickly in the opposite direction to evade being captured by him. But didn’t you see you’d be better off with him? Happier? Freer? More loved than you could fathom? More loved than you could ever be with anyone else? More loved than you have ever been loved?

You were on his mind every moment of every day since he met you. Was he nothing to you? How would you feel knowing that everything new he baked was because you had inspired him in his daydreams. He wished he could ask you how it tasted, what you liked, if he should make more of whatever new invention he had created. If he should add it to the menu. He’d make them all again for you to try them and give him these insights and suggestions. 

Mostly, he needed to know more about you. He just couldn’t bear the thought of you being a mystery. Or the fact that you’d never let him into your life to know the things that you inhibited within the safety of your home. Would the things in your house reveal your psyche? That’s all he wanted, to worm his way into you by knowing these things about you. 

Sure, he could be himself, but he needed an advantage first. He needed time with you where it wasn’t obvious he was imposing himself on your life without reason. Where could he accidentally or coincidentally find himself in order to spend time with you? So that it could all fall together perfectly as he has fantasised every waking moment of his existence since he met you.

He could only acquire that information by infiltrating your home. 

Dean didn’t expect this. 

It was all he could think when he tracked down your scent to where you lived—and he relaxed when he didn’t find your car parked in the driveway in front of your home. 

He blinked. 

He was astonished as he gawked at your home. The light of the stunning peach sunset was reflected on the tinted glass that made up the outer walls of your home. Those glass windows, from floor to ceiling, also reflected the breathtaking forest surrounding the area. How convenient that your house was surrounded by thick green trees. 

He stepped closer to your home to the surrounding area, the giant space that was entirely yours. There were a few plants, and despite being grateful about the lack of surveillance, he clicked his tongue in disapproval at the lack of it. 

You needed to be safe. 

He’d have to check out the glass, make sure it was shatter proof and bulletproof—even though there was no reason why your house should be armed against anything like that. He needed to make sure no creeps had made their way to your home, squatters or even people who may be infatuated with you. 

You hypocrite, part of his brain accused. But he huffed, pouting and narrowing his eyes straight ahead at the reflection of himself, scolding his brain for trying to compare him to those who were more selfish and probably more dangerous than him. He pushed the small voice that reminded him that there was nothing scarier or more dangerous than a bloodsucker being around a human. 

Dean pushed every thought away and had to quickly become familiar with the outside of your home before deciding it was safe to enter, to really get to know you. 

Were you going to clean this whole place by yourself? Did you have someone else do it? Did you cook? Or did someone else do that for you, too? He needed to know. How much freedom did he have to be in your home whenever it suited him?

He made his way to the porch and brushed his fingertips against the lock of your door. He may not have had a heart to race at the thought of being where you always were, where you felt safest, but his body still thrummed and tingled with excitement. 

Dean searched his jacket for the pick-set he carried in the inner pocket over his chest. He thought about how he hadn’t picked locks in a while. He didn’t have any reasons to, just the occasional need for it if he caught a case nearby. And ever since he became a vampire, he found that it was easier than before, easier to listen for the clicks of each pin falling as he slowly turned and prodded with his tools. 

He apologised to you under his breath once the door unlocked. 

He shoved the pick-set back into his jacket pocket while standing at the entrance of your home, and deeply inhaled the scent of you rushing outwards to greet him. Yes.

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, surprised by the emptiness and the smell of newness that mingled with your sweet aroma. 

You were still way behind on unpacking. 

He found a shoe rack by the entrance and decided to respect your house rules by kicking off his boots and placing them neatly into an empty spot. So, that’s what it would look like if this were his home, too? His shoes, right next to yours. It looked right.

He curled his toes inside his socks, feeling the cool floor against his already cold skin and smiled. He shrugged off his jacket and hung it up at the coat rack, making himself at home. He could pretend for a few hours that this was how it always was.

He stepped deeper into your home, looked around and deflated. 

There wasn’t much to explore. Most rooms he walked into were empty, or they had boxes that had yet to be opened by you. Maybe it would scare you if he tried to help by taking everything out, so he left the boxes as you had them. 

Why hadn’t you made yourself at home? It’s been days and you haven't really done much. Was this just part of your indifference or was this because of the secret illness you had? Were you that busy with work? You were pretty vague about it when you were talking to Andy. 

For now, Dean sighed, he knew nothing. 

There was no indication of what was to be your living room. No furniture, no television, no tables. Unless he opened the boxes to peek inside and find out what each room would be, he would have to wait until you got to it yourself. 

At least your kitchen was easy to explore. Though most of the cabinets were empty. Only three glasses, four plates, two bowls… God, woman. Should he get you some things? He shook his head and quickly pulled open every door and drawer to peek inside the completely uninteresting contents. 

But finally, he got to your pantry. You had lots of snacks. Dean chuckled at the type of organisation that you had put them in. By colour. He smiled and reached out to touch them. He missed being hungry for this type of stuff, not that it stopped him from indulging in it every now and then anyway. 

His brain nagged him: Which ones were your favourite? Well, he had to guess that they were all your favourite to some extent. But maybe it was the Rice Krispies, they were nearly all gone. There were some spicy peanuts, too, and some other spicy, but still sweet, Mexican candies he had tried before—some, he hadn’t tried at all. 

His mouth would have watered if he were still alive. 

He snorted, moved on to read each package and box; he needed to try whatever he hadn’t already tried before, just to see if he could have that in common with you.

He didn't have to, but he wanted to be able to say: I have tried it before. At least. Maybe that would mean something to you, maybe it would matter. On the other hand, he already had a lot in common with you—in terms of preference for snacks. He liked your taste. 

He shut the pantry door and opened your fridge.

He pulled out the freezer and lifted a brow at the lack of contents. No frozen, microwaveable food. Just vanilla ice cream, some shrimp, salmon, halibut, and steak. That’s it? He frowned. Did you rarely eat at home or did you already cook whatever else could’ve filled your refrigerator? Maybe he was overthinking it; you looked healthy when he met you and when he saw you at the grocery. But looks could be deceiving—you were sick after all, and he had yet to find out what you had. 

Is that why you became a geneticist? Was your disease genetic?

He closed the freezer and opened the horizontal middle door. He found two bottles of mineral water, four bottles of water, and one can of Sprite. Was there any point to the giant refrigerator if you hardly used it? He snickered. 

After he finished checking out the kitchen—and after washing a bowl with traces of Greek yoghurt, honey, and oats and the spoon you’d used—he began making his way to the next room, trying to find more information about you.

He made a mental note of the softener and detergent you used for laundry and all the other cleaning materials you kept in the laundry room. He checked out the washing machine and dryer to make sure they worked properly—so you wouldn’t have to struggle. 

He frowned the whole time. He wouldn’t be bumping into you at the laundromat, that was slightly disappointing to think about. 

He made his way upstairs, giddy to find your bedroom once he got to the top of the stairs. He held his breath in anticipation after opening each door down the long hallway, always to an empty room, but he exhaled when finally found your room.

Your scent embraced him when he opened your bedroom door. Now, he’d definitely find out things about you that were much more interesting. Much more intimate. 

He was thorough with his search. 

He checked out every item on your shelves and your desk, your figurines and other collectibles. He took a picture of your bookcase to become familiar with your books the next time he visited the library. He opened each drawer and your dresser to review the contents thoroughly, your clothes and keepsakes and trinkets hidden beneath—and stole a pair of your underwear as he bit his lip; he knew it was wrong. 

He made sure to steal your pink lace underwear that didn’t match with a bra you owned. He easily discovered which bras weren’t part of a set and memorised your cup size. You chose comfort over sexiness—even the sexy lace you owned looked comfortable. You were so cute. 

He turned to your closet and examined every article of clothing—which was organised by colour as well. From sexy to cute dresses, old and new t-shirts, sexy and cute cropped shirts, and so much more he wanted to see you wear for himself. He found a few of your scrubs and imagined the way they’d hug your curves, even if they were hidden below a lab coat. You were so sexy. So fucking hot, he couldn’t believe he was touching the things you’d wear at some point.

He went through your shoes to memorise your foot size, but made a mental note of your favourite type of footwear. 

He closed the door and looked over your vanity desk and the limited amount of makeup. Mostly, you had hair products. Gel to enhance the volume, different brushes for different uses, a multi-use hair dryer or something like that, cute hair ties and hair clips and a small bundle of what he’d label as boring; they were just brown, black, and tan hair ties. 

He slipped a brown hair tie onto his wrist—one that was loose from usage. He pocketed the mini-lotion bottle that was half-empty—a miniature version of the larger bottle you owned. And after peaking through your extensive jewellery collection, he stole a thin silver necklace with a cute little charm. 

He searched your nightstand, glanced at your cute lamp, a small mirror, a water bottle and a pill bottle. At the sight of the orange container containing a month’s worth of medication, he instantly picked it up and snapped a quick picture of the name to do research later. He wanted to look out for you. 

He opened your password-locked laptop and the tablet beneath. He wouldn’t be getting into those anytime soon. He had no idea what your password could be or what set of numbers mattered to you. It was frustrating. 

He opened the single drawer and pursed his lips—amused. God, you were so naughty. But you did live alone, why would you hide it? It's not like you knew he’d be inspecting every object you owned. 

Dean leered at each sex toy with a smirk and imagined—the fact that you probably used them more than once fueled his daydreams—the way you’d pleasure yourself with them. How many times could you come? Which toy was your favourite? Who did you fantasise about when you were in the midst of immense pleasure? He hoped it was someone unattainable or fictional. 

His hand twitched at the metal handle he’d pulled to open up the drawer. He was tempted to touch and kiss each toy that had at some point touched the depths and outer skin of your sweet pussy. But he exhaled shakily and closed the weakly concealed Pandora’s Box to move on with his investigation of your life. 

He checked the bottom space of your nightstand, open to the world. He found an extensive collection of sticker sheets and sticker books, empty A6 notebooks, one that was full, and another that was halfway worked through. He pulled the two of them out, but turned his attention to your bed. 

His mind inquired things he simply couldn’t figure out without you telling him. Did you pleasure yourself here? Do you ever pleasure yourself on the chair of your writing desk? Or the backless seat of your vanity desk? Did you plan on doing it downstairs on a couch you’d set up in the future? 

He slid his hand down the soft cotton sheets of your bed and picked up one of your silk pillows, accidentally knocking off a weighted dinosaur and a tiny shark the size of his palm that rested on its back. The other small stuffed animals remained undisturbed as he lifted your pillow to his face and inhaled slowly, deeply the scent of your shampoo, softener, and detergent. 

He sighed softly, eyes closed. You smelled so good, he could probably bite you if you let him. He’d never want to purposely hurt you. He just needed to feel you. 

He pulled your pillow away from his lips and nose to fix it back in place along with your woolly companions and blindly set down the two books he’d begin reading once he was done with his exploration. 

Was this the same bed and the same sheets you’d slept in when you were a teenager? Were you as horny as he was at that age? Did you sleep with anyone at any point in your life—on these very sheets? Were they new? New as in bought here once you moved in? Were these the ones you used when you left home to go to university?

Maybe he shouldn’t be thinking of that. 

He stomped away to your bathroom and rifled through over-the-counter medication behind the mirror—allergy pills, Benadryl cream, ibuprofen. He found your pink with green toothbrush, your toothpaste, floss, and mouthwash. He quickly glanced at the shrinking bar of honey-coloured soap by the sink inside a small bowl.

He rubbed his fingers against the beige hand towel and then your olive-coloured towel by the shower door. He inspected the scent and brand of your shampoo, body wash, face washes, and conditioner.

Why was he so drawn to learn all these things about you? He never cared about any of these things before. Sure, to some extent he tried to learn stuff about Cassie and Lisa, but never like this. Why couldn’t he take it slowly? Couldn’t he be normal about you? You were just a woman. Just a woman who made every withering seed suddenly bloom in his desiccated heart and desolate soul. Of course he’d turn to you, like a sunflower turning toward the Sun. It was his destiny, one he wouldn’t dream of fighting. 

He returned to your bedroom and slowly plopped down on your bed. He smiled instantly, swallowed by your soft mattress, and laid down on your pillows with your notebooks in his lap. He lifted the one that was full and became wrapped up in the story of your life.

He was only partially disappointed that you’d only begun writing a year before. He only knew about that and still nothing of your past. Only through subtext and vague statements could he decipher events of your past life. And every now and then, something would bring up the past and that’s how he discovered small details about you. 

Inside your half-filled journal, he found your work schedule. 

“Residency,” he mumbled and glared at the extensive, ridiculous hours listed for you to work. No wonder he hardly ever saw you. No wonder you were so behind on unpacking. 

Dean’s ears perked up when he heard rocks and dirt crunching beneath tires. His heart would have stopped if it were beating and his blood would’ve run cold if it still ran through his body. He was instantly at the window of your bedroom watching you drive towards the house.

“Oh, fuck,” Dean muttered, watching as your car pulled up into the driveway. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” He scurried to shove your books back into place before legging it downstairs to retrieve his jacket and shoes and panicked momentarily. He wasn’t ready to leave yet! 

Did he touch anything else? Did he move something he wasn’t supposed to? He was so enthralled with his expedition around your home that he’d completely blanked out anything he should’ve been mindful of. 

He made his way back upstairs and quickly threw his shoes and jacket into the farthest empty room down the hall. There’s no reason you’d check out every room. Were you paranoid? Wait, he hadn’t accounted for this. Damn it, he was way in over his head.

It was too late. You were already making your way up to your porch. Dean could hear your quiet sigh, the sleepiness of it made him feel warm—at least the illusion of it. 

He quickly rid the bed of the form his body had made atop your sheets by pulling carefully at the edges and smoothing his hand over the wrinkles that remained until your bed looked untouched once more. 

Dean’s ears perked up at the sound of your car keys and your shoes being kicked off carelessly. Dean was suddenly excited to see what you wore. So, we should hide? his mind questioned. We? Dean scowled and looked around before picking the cliché of all hiding places: the closet. 

It felt like an eternity before you began to make your way upstairs. 

Much to Dean’s dismay, you’d discarded your lab coat at the coat rack, so he wouldn’t be fulfilling his fantasy tonight. But he could hear the material of your scrubs brush against itself as you shuffled lazily up the stairs and into the hallway leading up to your bedroom. 

Your door creaked open, you stretched, and then began to push your pants down your legs. Dean’s eyebrows shot up and he leaned forward to gently prod the closet door open enough to watch your black scrubs get pushed down your bare legs.

You kicked them off along with your socks and left them on the floor to lift your shirt up. Beneath it, you wore a grey thermal shirt. Dean watched, his mouth parched suddenly as your body stretched upwards, just in your violet coloured underwear.

He bit his lip to stop himself from saying something under his breath about how sexy you were. He couldn’t risk you somehow hearing him. But soon, you were completely naked.

Dean peered lewdly at your bare body. The way your hair came loose over your shoulders to brush against your warm skin, the shape of your breasts, the way you shivered and your nipples tightened as you collected your clothes to throw it into the hamper. Your proportions and the entire beauty of you captivated him. 

He wanted to fuck you, yes, but he also wanted to know what it felt like to hold the elegant dip of your waist. To know what it felt like for your body to curve up and mould itself into his body when you hugged him. To know how your fingers felt when they were weaved through his, as you had sown yourself into his dead heart to give him the illusion of life, of warmth. 

What did it feel like to cup the back of your head when he kissed you? Or to hold your jaw as he tilted your head for the perfect angle to kiss in? What did your fingers feel like when they skimmed over his cold skin and twisted into his hair when you got lost in the kiss?

What did your mouth taste like if his tongue brushed against yours? What did your plush lips feel like against his? Where would your lips trail off to and how would you kiss him?

Dean was dazed at his vivid fantasy and then you disappeared into the bathroom and he finally ripped himself from the perfect twill of his daydream. Disheartened, he leaned into your clothes, sinking deeper into your closet and briefly relaxed as your soft clothes overwhelmed his senses. 

Dean considered leaving now that you were home. He sort of got what he wanted, information about you. The rest of your house may have been mostly empty, but your bedroom wasn’t. And your bedroom revealed more about you to him than the rest of your home would have.

Still, maybe you’d get on your laptop and he could discern your password. Yeah, that would definitely be ideal. He could stay in the closet. There was nowhere else he could hide and the bottom of the bed was pretty useless. Besides, there was no reason you’d check in here, none at all. 

He waited thirty minutes for you, on his phone looking up what he could about your medication. He learned quickly the side effects, what not to take with your medication, when the best time was to take it. Then moved on to the minuscule list of diseases the medication was used to treat.

He was thrown deep into the research, reminding him of the days when he would have to search things through libraries and files for lore on monsters and to brief himself on the case he’d taken. It wasn’t too different: he wanted to get closer, he wanted to solve you. The only difference was you weren’t dangerous and you were beautiful, and he actually felt motivated to willingly delve further into the rabbit hole that was your life. 

The shower turned off and Dean shut off his phone. 

It wasn’t long before you walked out of the bathroom and Dean moved closer to the closet door, peeking between the small crack as you walked into your bedroom. You were patting your hair dry with a smaller towel and had your back to him. 

You threw the small towel successfully into the hamper and sighed exhaustedly. You were so silent. He wondered if it was only because of the fatigue of your job or if you always wordlessly completed tasks. 

He would only know once you completed your residency. Or if he found you on a day where you didn’t have to work. But he didn’t think you’d have the energy to go out, even on a weekend or vacation, after working such laborious hours.

He continued to watch you expectantly as you made your way to your dresser where your underwear was, he watched you sift through the neatly organised garments before you plucked something out and then your towel came undone slightly.

“Stupid fuck,” you muttered angrily and adjusted it. He grinned at your short temperament, but he wished you’d just let it fall completely so he could see you again. You bent over and looked through your sock drawer, picked a comfortable pair and finally pulled the towel from your body and threw it over to the hamper where it only made itself halfway in. 

Dean bit his lip at the sight of your ass; he traced the long divot of your spine down your back and the curve of your waist with his gluttonous eyes. He mouthed a ‘wow’ and licked his lips as you slid your underwear carefully up your legs.

You picked out a tank top and matching pants from the middle drawers and made your way to your bed with your socks in hand. So you did sleep with socks on. Ankle socks, fluffy loose ones with pink and white patterns. 

You lazily lifted your sheets, your expression more somnolent than he expected. Your feet, covered in clean socks, hid beneath your thick warm sheets. Your whole body was covered and your cheek pressed into the same pillow he’d grabbed. 

He waited as your breathing slowed, faster than he expected, you were out. Your mind shut off, tired from long hours of work. He envied you for a moment and then allowed his affection for you to bloom in his chest as he pushed the closet door open and shut behind him. 

He made his way to you carefully, and watched your peaceful expression. You lips were parted slightly and your breathing was so low and deep that your heart slowed down serenely.

He considered kissing you as you slept, but he’d rather have your consent when you’re awake some day; that’d really show him that you wanted him. 

Instead, he pressed his lips to your jaw, then dragged them hungrily to your quiet, gentle pulse and kissed you there. His lips lingered, promising the blood that would travel to your heart, that one day, it would be all his. 

-> life ain't easy when you're a mythical creature

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[artdcnaldson]

also completely left field. my brain is working overtime today >:)

but i am like 100% sure that, eventually, down the line, much later in the story, pats sister will wear art down enough to agree to fuck her. just once!!! and then never again, just to shut her up, for good this time. he makes her promise that this will put an end to it (it will not).

BUT. but but but... in my mind, the only way he can justify this to himself, the only way he can let himself do this, is by insisting that he can only fuck your ass.

especially if shes a virgin. he cant be the one to do that. i truly believe he would feel too guilty to fuck your pussy. not that anyone had fucked your ass either, but to him it feels less intimate. and she would feel so conflicted, on one hand immensely disappointed she wouldnt get to feel him cum in her cunt :((( but on the other hand dying with excitement at getting to be so close to him, in such a special way :))))

that's my thought :)

-🐞

Had to take a walk, go stand on top of a hill and just breathe. Had to reflect on this, ponder it, savor it.

Rating: E (18+)

Warnings: Patrick’s Sister!Reader x Art, toxic!Art, toxic relationship period tbh, anal sex, mild dubcon, degradation

It’s his breaking point, really. A way for him to submit to his desires and hold steadfast to his promise to Patrick that he wouldn’t fuck his sister. He assumes Patrick meant fuck in the biblical sense, not the… not how Art thinks about it.

“If it’ll shut you up, I’ll fuck you. Once, and that’s it.” He says, his grip tight on the steering wheel. Your eyes brighten, he sees you smile wide, like he’d just offered you the world on a platter. “But the only way I will is if I can fuck your ass.”

He expects you to say no, too. For you to draw the line, say that’s too mean and dirty. You’re picking at your nails, brows furrowed slightly.

You’re in his car, his brand new jeep. You look so delicate in his passenger’s seat— hands in your lap, blinking over at him shyly. “Have you ever done that with anyone else?” You ask.

The closest he’d gotten was putting a finger in a girl’s ass while he was eating her out. He’d asked his last girlfriend, but she ardently refused. Called him gross for asking. “Yeah,” he lies. “Plenty of times.”

It’s not fair, really. You want to feel him buried in your cunt, feel the drag and pull of each thrust, the press of his balls against you when he bottoms out. You want to feel him unload into you, to leave you warm and full and leaking his seed.

You swallow, then nod. “I want to,” you say, meeting his gaze. “I want to know what it feels like. Want you to show me.”

Jesus Christ, he considers wrapping the new car around a telephone pole and ending his misery.

It’s not even a day later that you’re beneath him on his bed as he stretches you out on his fingers. He doesn’t touch your cunt— it feels too intimate. He’s clinical, methodical about prepping you, even as you whine and grind down against his fingers, even as your cunt drips and adds to the slick, lubed mess.

You’re wriggling, keep slipping your hands between your legs to rub at your cunt.

“Stop it,” he says firmly.

You whine, put your hands at your sides again, let them scratch into the duvet. And god, your pussy is so wet, he’s so close he can smell your need, heady and intoxicating. He wants to lean in, lap at your cunt until he’s cleaned up the drenched mess you’ve made of yourself, but he refrains.

He works a third finger inside of you, watches you writhe, watches your cunt spasm around nothing. You need more, you’re fucking desperate for it.

“Fuck me,” you whine. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.” You’re practically babbling. Eyes all watery, like you’ll start crying if he keeps you from what you want.

“You want me to fuck your ass that bad, huh?” He thrusts his fingers deeper, relishes in the feeling of your hole fluttering around the intrusion. “Such a fucking whore for me, aren’t you? You’d take anything I have to give.” He removes his fingers, spits onto your stretched, open hole. God, you’re so fucking pink inside, so soft and warm.

He manhandles you, turns you into all fours. You lay there and take it— let him position you how he needs. Ass arched in the air, face pressed into his pillow. You moan softly, because it smells like him— like his shampoo. You listen to him pushing down his sweats and feel the press of his tip against your asshole, you mouth at the pillow almost like you can taste him.

You gasp, all breathy and fucked when his cockhead sinks into you. “F-fuck, Art—“ you whimper, he sees your face screw up. You squeeze around him, your body fighting the intrusion as he continues to press into your tight hole. “A-Art, ah! Hurts.”

Your hand comes back, presses against his arm where it grips your waist. “S-sto— ah!” You’re drooling, crying into the pillow, leaving little wet spots. “F-fuck, Art— can’t, I can’t—“

“Fucking take it,” he groans, sinks in another inch. “You begged for it, didn’t you? I thought you’d take this cock in any hole I wanted?” He groans, feels like he might leave finger shaped bruises on your body. “Fuck, your ass is so tight. I think you like it. Such a fucking whore for it.”

A sob escapes you when he’s finally fully sheathed within you, and you whine at how full you feel. It aches— the way you’re stretched around him stings, makes your eyes water as he starts to move. You’re stretched around him so tight that he tugs at your rim uncomfortably.

“A-Art,” you cry out, lip wobbling. “Stop, stop, I can’t—“ He stops moving, you moan softly in relief.

“I thought I told you I was only fucking you this once,” he says. He lets your hair, but there’s no affection. His fingers tangle into it, grab it like a lead. “You tap out now, I’m fucking leaving, and this is all you’re getting. Don’t you want to make me cum? Be a good girl for me and let me drain my balls inside of you?”

He releases his grip on your hair, drops you back into the pillows. God, he’s so mean. He knows you’re not giving him up, that you want him more than anything. That you need his cum inside of you, that you’ve been fantasizing about it forever. You whine, pouting back at him. “Want it. Jus’ hurts.” You’re practically slurring.

Art rolls his eyes. “C’mon, you’re so fucking lubed up. I stretched you out plenty. It doesn’t fucking hurt, you’re just bitching so you can hear yourself.” He slams back into you, makes your toes curl, punches a desperate moan out of your lungs.

And he’s right— your cunt is gushing for it, leaking all messy down your thighs. You reach between your legs, rub at your swollen, neglected clit and moan weakly.

Maybe it’s a good hurt— like having your hair pulled, or when he’d slapped you across the face. Your eyes roll back as he finds a rhythm, thrusting into your tight channel as you try your best to relax around him.

Each thrust punches a weak moan from your lips, like his cock is bullying them out from the inside. He feels so big inside of you, stretching you deliciously. Your lip wobbles when you think about how badly you want him in your pussy, how badly you wanted him to fuck you the proper way.

“Look at you— fuck— taking my dick up your ass like a fucking slut.” You whine into the pillow. Drool soaks into the pillow, dampens your cheek. He releases his grip on your waist to paw at your ass— spreads your asscheeks wide so he can watch his cock disappear into your hole.

He moans, strangled and debauched. Your fingers move faster, rubbing at your clit as he pounds into you. You relish in the drag of his cock inside of you, in the stretch and ache of it. His balls press against your cunt with every thrust, you can practically hear the sticky sound of it.

“God, I’m gonna cum,” he groans. “You want it?”

You nod, drool smears against your cheek. “Want it, want it,” you whine.

“Make yourself cum, then,” he demands. “Fucking choke my dick.”

Your toes curl, legs kick as he keeps fucking you, as your attention to your clit gets overwhelming and you feel your body seize with pleasure.

Art groans as your walls squeeze around his cock, collapses on top of you as he humps desperately against you and spills hot into your ass. “Fuck! Fuckin’ take it—“

His weight crushes you as he lays completely boneless atop you. “Fuck,” he groans, muffled against your shoulder. “Can’t believe you let me do that. Most girls refuse, but not you.” He presses a kiss to your hot skin. “Fuckin’ slut for me.”

You whine pathetically when he pulls out, leaves your ass stretched and used. You pout. You want him to cuddle with you, to hold your naked body against him. But he just pulls his pants up and sits at his desk, opens his laptop and starts typing like you’re not even there.

Whatever. He’d want more, he always did, just like you.

[l3viat8an]

Rooo!!! I have Levi brain rot rn, and I need to share Grand Admiral! Levi thoughts with u :/

As an important figure in the military, Levi has to go out sometimes to check up on the outskirts bases of the Devildom. Make sure that everything is working as they should.

This usually lasts for weeks, and today you had found out how long 2 weeks can feel when your loser gamer boyfriend is out on assignment.

Finding solace in his uncharacteristically empty room, you cuddle up in the bathtub bed, desperate to feel anything that reminded you of your beloved player 1. Using his favorite jacket, watching replays of his old streams, sleeping in his bed, that's slowly losing his scent and feel.

But one day, while curled up in his gaming chair, rewatching his old clips for the thousandth time. Levi comes home. Still in his uniform as he marched into his room, not expecting to find his PC on.

Once you realized he was there, you quickly jumped into his arms, peppering kisses all over him. When you pull away, you expect to see the usual sight; Leviathan a blushing mess, stammering about something you can't quite make out. But now, he wasn't blushing at all. He barely changed his stoic demeanor.

"L-levi...?"

You asked confused, removing yourself from his embrace to look at his attitude. Giving a hurt look as you basically pouted. Throwing a small tantrum that he didn't miss you at all

Unbeknownst to you, Levi was freaking out. After weeks out on field he just wanted to sleep and go back to his shut-in lifestyle. What he didn't know was that what he needed was to see his player 2 dressed in his jacket. Being an adorable tsundere as she pouted.

"On the bed, and strip. Leave the jacket on"

Levi commanded, looking serious as you stood there. Shocked at his words.

"E-excuse me?"

"Did I stutter? Strip, on the bed."

"W-wait–"

Shocked and confused, You stood their unsure of what to do. And why the hell that turned you on so much

It wasn't the first time Levi was in control, but he was usually so sweet and gentle. Not this... demanding. You're not sure if it's the uniform, the attitude, or the fact it was Levi being so assertive. But you followed without hesitation.

And you're so greatful that you did, because the two weeks waiting for him were quickly rewarded. Levi being as merciless with you as he took what he wanted. Leaving you a blushing mess, passed out in his bed, as for the first time in two weeks, you slept with him again on his bed.

The next day, he profusely apologized at how rough he was, while all you could think about was when could you bring that side of him out once more

(AHHH IM SORRY FOR GOING ON FOR SO LONG BUT I NEEDED TO SHARE IT SO BADLYYY 🙏 IDK IF THIS IS SMUT OR FLUFF BUT I JS LOVE HIM AHHHH)

Nsfw!

Looks like fluffy-smut to me- holy shi 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 ‘n idk what happened but my add-on is definitely smut helpjdksj

Levi didn’t actually expected you to obey his command so quickly. He watched as you stripped down, leaving the jacket on like he had ordered. Fuck you look so good It took his breath away and he has to shake his head a bit, collecting himself as you climbed into his bathtub bed.

He quickly joined you, climbing on top of you in the bathtub before pulling you closer and kissing you, moaning softy as he deepens the kiss, sliding his tongue to tangle with yours.

His hands didn’t stop either, roaming over your body, exploring every inch of it, as if trying to burn it into his memory again.

Honestly there was something about this side of Levi that you couldn't resist. It was as if you were being taken by a completely different person, one who was confident and assertive…the grand admiral....it’s really hot-

You moaned when his fingers finally found their way between your legs, pressing against your already dripping cunt. He thrust two fingers inside you, causing you to moan loudly.

"You- you look so beautiful like this." Levi breathed into your ear, his voice low and husky. "I've been waiting for weeks to feel you again…..and I can’t wait anymore.”

He lines his cock up with your ready pussy, waiting for you to nod before sliding in and letting out a little whine he just can’t stop from slipping out, “S-so, good, messed you so m-much..”

He wanted nothing more than to keep you close, to let you feel how much you meant to him, as he fucked you faster, harder-

It was as if he had been holding back for weeks, waiting for this moment to release all the passion that had built up inside him.

“G-gonna cum soon….need, need you to cum with me.” as he leans down to kiss you, one of his hands slides back down to you clit and his thumb rubs against it roughly. Making Levi moan against your lips as you tighten around him, soon as he feels you orgasm take over your body Levi cums. rutting his hips into yours, riding through your orgasms together.

Panting Levi hides his face in your neck for a moment and he can hear you let out a little giggle, before whispering "I've missed you too, Levi." and Levi laughs, pressing a few soft kisses along your neck~

The next morning you’ll wake up to your, sweet boyfriend acting like his usual self. Looking over your body and apologizing endlessly, he promises he’ll be more gentle next time!! Wait no- he didn’t mean it like that!!- he did-

[leighsartworks216]

No Alarms and No Surprises, Please

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

I had this idea and decided to write it "real quick" (it took like two hours). I meant to do just like a really short thing so I could eat lunch and then get back to work, but then my brain was like no we gotta set up context

Titled after the song "No Surprises" by Radiohead. It doesn't exactly fit, but it felt right in my mind

Warnings: mentions of murder, tense moments, injury, burning flesh, bruises, bones breaking, blood mention, nausea mention, angst, literal hurt/comfort, soft Astarion moments

Word Count: 1,863

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You peeked slowly around the corner, holding your breath. Astarion hovered just behind you, almost touching you as you both surveyed your surroundings.

It was a palace, that much you knew. You also knew the guards were exceptionally strong. You already wasted enough healing spells and potions on the two guarding the door - you were just lucky they didn’t call for reinforcements. You also knew there was an artifact deep within the heart of this place that could provide some insight into removing the tadpoles.

“We’ll have to go around,” you breathe out slowly to the spawn. He gives a slight nod. As much as he loved bloodshed, sneak-killing all of them would be too high a risk. You almost came face to face with him when you look over your shoulder. He gives you a knowing smirk as he backs off. You nod down a side-hall. “That way.”

You gesture to Gale and Shadowheart, making sure they knew the plan. They nodded, waiting. You turn back to the patrolling sentinels. Their movements are constant and predictable, each pace following the same amount of steps. They sync, facing away from your destination, and you wave a hand for a companion to go.

Gale, ever the gentleman, lets Shadowheart go first. She hides behind the wall, out of sight. You wait again and gesture for Gale to go. He bites back complaints about his knees that creak under the duress of sneaking. He arrives just as a guard turns. Astarion could hear your heart thumping wildly in your chest; it pounds so loud in your ears you can’t even hear the guards’ footsteps anymore.

He wraps a hand around your waist, carefully pulling you away from the corner. You stare at him, worried he’s noticed something wrong. He nods toward the hall where your companions wait. “You first,” he whispers.

You want to argue - he can see the wheels turning in your head as you frown at him. As the de facto leader, you always worked to ensure everyone else was safe before you. You rested a little easier knowing you’d be the one in harm's way should something go wrong. But Astarion was a rogue, and used to sneaking around to boot. He would be much better at timing his dash to the hall than you could.

After a moment, you nodded. He pushed you back to his prior spot as he takes your place, poking an eye around the corner and studying them. He thought you’d die of a heart attack if this went on any longer. When the guards turn, he taps your waist. You crouch as quickly as you can to Gale and Shadowheart. They greet you with a tense nod.

You wait in silence for Astarion.

He almost spooks you when he comes silently around the corner. But now, further from the immediate threat, you have a chance to breathe.

The hallway stretches on for what seems like forever. Closed doors and open arch-ways line each side, perfectly mirrored. At the end, there’s a very small statue - but you’re sure it’s life size up close. The prospect of a maze with the ever-looming fear of getting caught doesn’t exactly thrill you, nor any of your companions, but nothing can be done for it.

You sigh and lead them onward.

It’s too risky to peek inside the rooms - if there were patrols inside you’d all be jumped and killed within minutes. At each arch, you glance around the corner, down the other equally as endless corridors. It’s oddly quiet. Not a guard in sight, even on grander doors that seem like they should be protected. It leaves you on edge. Waiting for the boot to drop and leave you in mortal peril. At the very least, you feel safe enough to stand up. It saves you from Gale’s grumbling.

You peer around another corridor and try to imagine the layout of the palace. You’d found a map once, but it was too tattered to make anything useful out. The most information you gleaned from it was where the staircases were. If you could find your way to one of those, you’d be able to go down, deeper into the belly of the beast. You believe, if your slipping memory of the map was correct, you could turn down this way and go all the way to the end, and there would be stairwells on either side of the very-tiny-life-sized-statue.

Resolved to your plan, you step through the ornate marble arch. You feel the pain before you register where it’s coming from. You collapse to the floor, cushioned only by a strong arm and solid body. A hand clamps over your mouth, pressing down tight to keep any sound from slipping through.

Oh. That breathless tightness in your chest is not from the pain. It’s you screaming. Trying to, at least. Your eyes dart frantically around as your body writhes against the person holding you. Gale and Shadowheart appear in front of you, kneeling down and working as fast as they can to help.

One of your legs feels weighed down. You stare at the chunk of metal for too long before it finally registers the trap clamping down on your leg. It looks and acts like a bear trap, but it’s been improved to burn red-hot when activated.

Fear grips you like a vice. You become conscious of the fact the teeth of the trap are almost meeting. It’s bitten through your bone. Or nearly through, anyway. You didn’t process it, too busy being victimized by the sadistic mechanics of the device, but Astarion, Shadowheart and Gale all felt nauseous as the crack continues to echo in their mind.

“Shh,” comes a whisper by your ear. You whimper and gasp and struggle, but the arm around your waist only re-wraps around you to pin your arms down. “It’s alright, I’ve got you.”

Astarion looks away from your injury, peering down the halls. The sound of the bone snapping was loud enough to attract attention, he just didn’t know how much, or when they’d be coming. Not to mention where they’d come from. For all he knew, their luck had run out, and any second a swarm of golden-armored bastards would be charging down the hall they were in.

“We need to get out of the open,” he hissed to the cleric and wizard.

Gale cast an ice spell, focusing all his energy in freezing the hinge of the device. If he could get it cold enough, it would become brittle, and they could dismantle it and pull it from your leg like cracking open an oyster. Shadowheart focused on healing the burns being inflicted to your skin as they were happening. It smelled uncomfortably like meat roast. Your blood vessels were cauterized. Astarion could hardly take solace in the fact when the usually-delicious scent of your ichor was replaced with the smell of cooking flesh.

“We can’t move them yet,” Shadowheart whispered, barely biting back her panic. She couldn’t keep healing you forever.

Gale grunted, brow furrowing further as he willed the ice to freeze faster, freeze colder around the metal.

Astarion felt useless, watching and unable to help. Holding you while you thrashed in agony was all he could do. He hoped to the gods he wouldn’t reveal a bruise over your mouth when this was finished. “I’m here,” he whispered sweetly in your ear. It was all he could think to do. “You need to keep still, love. It’ll be over soon.”

The words didn’t reach. You knew he was speaking when his breath fanned over your ear, but the speech-centers of your brain were thoroughly turned off. As were any of the logic-centers. Anything that could have told you they were helping, to calm down and stop moving, was replaced instead with klaxons and sirens urging you to struggle and fight back against the pain.

Footsteps. Loud and clanging. Getting closer. Astarion cursed. “We have to hide,” he hissed again, panicked.

There was no time to argue. They all seemed to have the same idea as Astarion pushed himself across the floor with his legs, pulling you with him. Shadowheart and Gale stopped casting in favor of moving your legs, as carefully as they could possibly manage. Hot tears slipped over Astarion’s hand as you thrashed violently with the motion. But now, at least, you were tucked into a corner. Hidden behind a pillar that framed the arch of the hallway. Everyone held their breaths. You didn’t catch the memo, but the spell-casters held your legs down so you wouldn’t make as much noise.

The clanging of armor rose in volume until the echoes through the corridors nearly deafened everyone. You momentarily stopped fighting. Though, Astarion couldn’t tell if it was because the sound had reached past your pain, or if your body was giving out under the duress.

The steps - 3 guards, if Astarion had to guess by ear - slowed from a run to pacing the juncture of the halls. They circled around, stopping occasionally. One set of steps stopped mere feet away. If Astarion leaned forward slightly, he could make out the point of a nose. Shadowheart and Gale slowly pressed themselves back into the shadow of the pillar.

Something touching his hand startled him. He had to fight not to physically jump and draw attention. A hand, your hand, rested weakly over his. He let go of your arm and turned his hand to hold yours. He could feel you whimper in his hold, the shake of your breaths as they hit hot against his hand. You were scared. He was, too.

He squeezed your hand and looked back at the pillar. The steps hadn’t moved. The sentry was still there.

Seconds ticked away at a snail’s pace. They all worried for a moment the guards had chosen to stay there and patrol the intersection. Then the sentinel stepped back from the arch. More footsteps followed. A pause. He could only imagine they were silently saying they did not find anything. And then the cacophony of armor drowned out any last doubt as they retreated back down the hall.

They all let out sighs of relief, even Astarion who had no need for air. He turned his focus back down to you. Your eyes were shut, your breaths were evened out. You’d fallen unconscious. It was a small mercy.

“Hurry up so we can get the Hells out of here,” he huffed. Shadowheart and Gale nodded, equally as eager to get back to safety, and returned to work.

Astarion slowly removed his hand from your mouth. Light bruises where his fingertips had been began rising through the surface of your skin. He sighed, upset at the pain he caused even through necessity, and brushed a tender kiss over the darkest of the bunch. He was too overwhelmed with relief to care if the others saw him. “You’ll be alright,” he whispered again, even though they did not reach you. He was reassuring himself more than anything. It would have been pathetic, if he could think about anything other than your wellbeing. “I’m here, darling.”

---

Tag List:

@hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @kindadolly @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red @black-star1472 @sessils @olitheghostboy-blog @puppyg1rl666 @maruichio @cyber-dump-171 @katharynmarie @twinkliker3000 @cherifrog @catching-fire-in-the-wind @thespectacularspaceace @lynnlovesthestars

[trendywaifus]

hello, this is my first ask sent to your blog, but i just wanted to request a lil thing for ningguang (currently missing ningguang)

what if she's with an s/o who's usually a little shy, letting take the lead in social situations and whatnot. with this personality, ningguang thinks her s/o is also submissive in bed. but s/o does a complete 180 when ningguang initiates anything sexual, domming the shit out of ningguang, fucking her girlfriend's brains out, breaking her back and all that.

sorry i got to it so late but ty for the ask bud. although requests are closed, ill turn it into a thirst for you. cw: gn with a dick

a surprised gasp escapes ningguang’s lips as you unexpectedly pinned her wrists over her head. your (e/c) eyes darken with unadulterated lust, a shiver crawls up her spine. “ this is most unexpected, “ she whispers, amusement transparent in her voice. “ it seems like my dearest is feeling daring ton—mmph! “ your lips slam against hers, greedily swallowing her muffled gasp. the kiss was heated and lacked patience, catching your lover off guard. for the first time, she struggles to match your pace. sinful digits unwrap the firm knot of her silky robe. ningguang moans at the warm sensation of your hands running up the plane of her smooth stomach. you break the kiss for oxygen, not before tugging at her now swollen bottom lip.

ninguang’s narrowed ruby eyes flutter close when you start your barrage of kisses on her jaw and down her neck. your lips feel damp and warm against her creamy, heated skin. meanwhile, your hand fondle one of her perky breasts. a low groan leaves her throat, slender legs loosely encircle around your waist, encouraging you for me. much to ningguang’s disappointment, you pause as if you’re ponding over something. “ what’s the matter? why did you—ah, mmmm. .” a throaty moan claws out of her throat as she feels a hard buldge rubbing against her clit.

your breath is heavy and hot against her neck when you buckle your hips into hers. “ i want you so bad, ningguang. . “ you breathe, earning a speechless ningguang. her belly flutters with desire.

“ then have me. “ she mutters back without a second thought.

with admirable strength, you flip ninguang on her stomach. you kiss at her back while removing the rest of your clothes. her eyes squeeze shut, lips parting to release series of broken moans as she feels your cockhead push inside of her dripping pussy. you give her no time to adjust when you slam inches inside of her. what happen to her shy lover who would practically melt over any affectionate touch from her? how long have you been hiding this side from her? her questions are left unanswered and forgotten over time as her mind becomes empty with clouds of lust. ningguang spends the rest of her night getting fucked to oblivion by her supposed timid partner.

[dragonroilz]

The Lifesurger: Genetic Anomaly

**Given my track record, I'd like to state that there are no further plans for this concept.**

this concept was made because i hate how there's not a true support character in this game which i understand why thats the case. if youre in singleplayer theres no point for it. the medimarker and feedback loop passive gives a reason to want to pick up allies and heal people. maybe this game will never fit a true support archetype but as a permanent support class mf in games like OW, TF2, and LOL it scratches an itch in my brain lmao

Feedback Loop - Passive

Healing yourself(via items) or others will make your attacks stronger. Decays over time. Amount charged is proportional to healing done.

Feedback Pulse - Alternative Passive

Healing past a certain threshold creates a burst of healing around you, harming enemies and healing allies. The threshold increases with level.

Stimshot - Primary

A single shot that can be held down to do more damage. The projectile heals and pierces through allies, while dealing damage to enemies. A fully charged shot pierces enemies and heals more damage. While an uncharged shot is a projectile with gravity, the charged shot is hitscan.

DIRECTORY: MARK - Secondary

The Medimarker targets a selected enemy and attacks it. Additionally, all damage done to the target is tripled.

DIRECTORY: BLOCK - Alternative Secondary

The Medimarker targets an ally and shields them. The target is only able to take an amount of damage up to 50% of their max HP in one hit.

DIRECTORY: ESCORT - Utility

Recall the Medimarker and grab onto it to ascend upward. This skill recalls your secondary.

DIRECTORY: MOUNT - Alternative Utility

Recall the Medumarker and ride it. The drone is weighed down by you, but can be controlled for ten seconds. The drone has less gravity and is faster than your sprint speed.

Pulse Accelerator - Special

Empower yourself and surrounding allies, giving a 50% chance to critical hit chance, removing all debuffs(except void kills, cooldown debuffs like rings, etc.), and a slight healing aura to anyone within range of the skill.

THE MEDIMARKER V1.0.0 LOGBOOK ENTRY:

The Lifesurger(Patent pending) is a prototype firearm that is meant for quick healing on the battlefield. The Lifesurger(Patent pending) excels in its ability to both heal organic creatures and repair machines, meaning that cybernetic enhancements can benefit from the effects of the firearm.

The Lifesurger(Patent pending) is also able to hurt enemy combatants by disrupting cardiovascular tissue, genetic material, and electronic signals. Through the help of an accompanying MED-E to identify friendly and hostile entities, the Lifesurger(Patent pending) is slated to be one of the greatest supporting assets on the battlefield.

Side effects may include: Vomiting, nausea, soreness, sudden bruising, death, genetic scrambling of previous users, limb loss, fever symptoms.

-

LIFESURGER LOGBOOK:

[CAM 3]

Patient 4-B is seen through the facility. She is escorted by a damaged MED-E.

4-B: COME ON MED-E. JUST A BIT FURTHER.

Something is pursuing them.

[Connection to this camera has been lost.]

[CAM 4]

Patient 4-B is seen using Dr. A. Kurosawa's keycard to access Restricted Section 2.

[Unauthorized access. Security has been alerted. No response received.]

Patient 4-B is seen entering Restricted Section B.

[Unauthorized access. Security has been alerted. No response. Automatic alert issued to UESC authorities. This is the last alert they receive from this station.]

Something is pursuing them.

[Connection to this camera has been lost.]

[CAM B-1]

Patient 4-B is seen running down the hall. Her IV is disconnected as she trips. The MED-E helps her up. They continue running. 4-B's vital signals are dropping as a result of loss of ?????.

She stops in front of ROOM 1.

Something is pursuing them.

[Connection to this camera has been lost.]

[CAM ROOM 1]

The door opens.

[Admin has been alerted to the breach. No response.]

Patient 4-B pulls the Lifesurger(Patent Pending) off of the wall. She misfires into her chest and falls unconscious.

The MED-E prods her body with stimulants. There is no response.

Something is pressed up against the glass. It's cracking.

[Connection to this camera has been lost.]

[EXT. CAM A]

Dr. A. Kurosawa is seen standing over the corpse of an unidentified creature. Her hands are up as UESC-dispatched enforcers approach her. The Lifesurger(Patent pending) is strapped over her back.

Enforcer: IDENTIFY YOURSELF.

KUROSAWA: I AM DOCTOR KUROSAWA.

Enforcer: DOCTOR KUROSAWA. WHAT THE HELL IS THAT THING?

KUROSAWA: I DON'T KNOW. THERE ARE MORE INSIDE.

Enforcer: GET TO THE SHIP.

Three enforcers enter the facility. Dr. A. Kurosawa moves out of the FOV. The escorting MED-E follows her.

[Post analysis: Patient 4-B did not report to UESC authorities following this encounter. Her current location is unknown.]

Detective's Notes: I don't know how, but she somehow passed the genetic and facial recognition tests. Someone please let Captain ???? know about the background of his alleged "doctor". Although somehow I doubt he'll really care, seeing as how he's got some real screwballs on board.

[nicoline1998enilocin]

So... I was thinking...

Tony and reader are a recent couple and they always used condoms... but one day, in the middle of a delicious sex, she interrupts Tony's thrusts and asks him to take his dick out of her. Momentarily, he doesn't understand why but he pulls out, and then she sensually removes the condom from his dick, smirking at him and she says "I want to feel you... I want to feel all of you... give me your cum"

Of course he will fuck her senseless after this and he will give her his cum 🙃 and he'll never use a condom again 🙃

Good morning/afternoon/night and thank you for listening my horny thoughts (and using if you want)

Bare it all

PAIRING ⇒ Boyfriend!Tony Stark x Avenger!Girlfriend!Fem!Reader

WORD COUNT ⇒ 2K

SUMMARY ⇒ You're on an undercover mission with Tony, and you two have the entire night to yourselves. When you two end up in bed together, you're looking to spice things up a little, much to Tony's surprise. When he finds out your plan, he can't help but fall even more in love with you, and he's not afraid to tell you exactly that.

RATING ⇒ Explicit (E)

WARNINGS/TAGS ⇒ Established relationship, unspecified age gap

SMUT ⇒ Porn with little/no plot, choking, daddy kink, oral (M receiving), face fucking, (un)protected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), squirting, cream pie.

A/N ⇒ Nonnie, dear, sweet, amazing Nonnie, I cannot thank you enough for planting this idea in my brain because I am in love with this request! If you ever have more of these horny thoughts, please don't hesitate to let me know about them! This is proofread and drooled over by my lovely best friend @ccbsrmsf1, and I cannot thank you enough! Eu to amo 💚

EVENTS Masterlist ⇒ @anyfandomkinkbingo ⇒ Cream pie Masterlist ⇒ @sweetspicybingo Sweethearts ⇒ Talk dirty

Banners: Yours truly ⇒ Divider: @firefly-graphics ⇒ Photo: Source

Main Masterlist ⇒ Tony Stark Masterlist ⇒ Part 2

''C'mon, Babygirl, you look like you could use a little stress relief,'' Tony says as he stands behind you, helping you strip out of your tactical gear. You're both on an undercover mission for another week and tonight, you'll have the night to yourselves, which both of you plan to use. No one who can interrupt, not having to hide from anyone or everyone, just being yourselves and making sweet love for hours on end. Exactly like the two of you have dreamt about ever since you started dating.

''Sounds good to me,'' you tell him when your entire tac gear is on the floor and you're bare in front of your boyfriend. You turn around to find him already naked, too, his cock standing at attention against his abdomen. You slowly sink to your knees, your nails softly gliding over his chest and stomach before you find your place on the floor, his cock now at your eye level.

''Look at you, Babygirl, you look gorgeous when you're on your knees like my good girl,'' Tony praises you, and you preen under his words, your arousal only growing between your thighs as you're close to dripping onto the carpet you're kneeling on.

Your hand slides to his cock, the index finger on your right hand tracing the long, prominent vein along the shaft, your left hand softly rolling and tugging on his balls exactly the way he likes. With a loud groan, he lets his head fall back as he can already feel the pleasure building. You know exactly what to do to get him riled up - both inside and outside the bedroom - and you enjoy using that well.

You decide not to tease him any longer, instead gripping him at the base of the shaft, your hand barely fitting around the girth of it. Your tongue feels warm against the coolness of his tip, tiny beads of pre-cum gathering at the tip that you'll happily lick off before taking him into your mouth.

''That's it, Babygirl, doin' so good for Daddy,'' he praises you, your thighs squeezing together to give yourself a little relief from the arousal that's building between them. Slowly but surely, you'll take more of him into your mouth, working your mouth around his length inch by inch until you can feel him deep in your throat as you moan around him, sending shivers up his spine.

His large hands weave their way into your hair before gripping it, thrusting into your mouth and throat carefully so as not to overwhelm you. Your nails are buried in his muscular, hairy thighs to ground yourself, and it earns you a loud groan as he picks up the pace, his chest heaving from the exercise he's getting.

You look up at him with tears in your eyes from the pleasure you're experiencing, and he looks down with lust-filled eyes that look like he wants to devour you whole. Based on how his demeanor changes - his brows knitting together, his chest heaving more, his moans and groans getting louder and more irregular - you can tell he's on the edge of his orgasm, and you can't wait to swallow every last drop he's going to give you.

You pull off his cock long enough to coax him to his orgasm, not wanting to leave the taste of him for too long as you can't get enough of it.

''Wan' you to cum for me, Daddy, wanna swallow all of your cum,'' you tell him with a slight whine, and he can't say no to you, especially when you beg like this for him.

"Course, Babygirl, you can have it, fuck, take it! 'S so much cum for you-'' he says with a deep groan as he picks up the pace, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat repeatedly until you swallow around him, the tightness of your throat pushing him over the edge. 

''Fucking fuck! Take it all, Babygirl, 'm cumming so much for you, so much cum for my perfect little slut! You like being on your knees for Daddy, don't you? Letting Daddy have his way with your mouth, just being the perfect fucktoy for Daddy to use? God, I fucking love you so much, Babygirl, FUCK!'' he exclaims, and it doesn't go unnoticed by you that he just said his first I love you.

Hearing that makes a wave of warmth and love flood through your veins, and you're all the more eager to have his cum, and swallow every last drop. There's no need to wait long because not even seconds later, you feel his warm seed shooting out of his pink tip and into your throat before pulling back and sticking out your tongue. You jerk his cock until every last drop of cum is milked from it, licking the last drops off to clean him.

''Good girl,'' he whispers as he helps you up, capturing your lips in a deep, passionate kiss that leaves you breathless.

Tony has carefully placed you on the bed for some cuddles, as he needs a little while to go through his refractory period. He's not the youngest anymore, but you don't mind, as it is the perfect opportunity to have a leisurely make-out session and some much-needed cuddles together. It's at that moment you remember what he said not too long ago, and you can't refrain from bringing it up.

''You know, I couldn't help but hear that you told me you loved me, but... do you mean it? Or was it just a spur-of-the-moment thing? Because that's okay too-'' is all you can say before Tony puts his hand on your face to calm your thoughts down.

''I mean every word I said, Babygirl, I love you so much. I love your beautiful smile, the way your eyes light up when you tell a joke, from your determination on the battlefield to the kindness you spread everywhere you go. I love it all, and I love you so much,'' he says, sealing his promise with a kiss that leaves you breathless once again.

''I love you too, Tony, more than I can ever tell you,'' you tell him, a broad smile adorning both your faces as you let the words fall from your lips. You've been thinking of saying them for a while now, but how they came to light is so remarkable you wouldn't change it for the world. And now you're sure you can't stop saying them.

''Shall we go for round two, Babygirl?'' Tony asks, and you nod before letting him grab a condom from the nightstand, where he had conveniently put a strip of them. However, he wouldn't need them after today if you'll have your way with him. The package is quickly ripped open, and his expertly skilled fingers roll it onto his hard cock, ready to slide into you and fuck you completely senseless.

''Lay on your back for me, Babygirl; I want to see you fall apart on my cock when I fuck you completely stupid,'' he whispers in your ear, and you feel the goosebumps on your neck where his breath ghosted over it. You do as he says before spreading your thighs, making room for him to slot between them. Soon, he has found his place as he lines up with your entrance, gathering some of the slick dripping out of your pussy to use as lube.

''Are you ready for me, Babygirl? Take a deep breath for me,'' he tells you, and you do as he slides in, the stretch still catching you off guard. You breathe through it as he carefully slides in, the burning feeling soon making room for nothing but pleasure as a long moan falls from your lips. Your arms are slung around his neck, his nose nuzzled into your neck as he lets you adjust to his cock inside you, and he never wants to leave.

''Feels so good, Babygirl, such a perfect, tight pussy for me to fuck,'' he breathes against your neck as he starts to set a slow pace, your tighs walls clinging onto every inch of his cock as you feel them against your walls, his tip hitting your cervix each time he slides back in.

''I love it when you make love to me, Daddy; it makes me feel special,'' you tell him, and he gives you a love-filled smirk in return.

''Good, you're my special girl,'' Tony tells you as his hips get a faster pace, thrusting into you at a regular rhythm that has you seeing stars within no time, but it isn't enough for you; you need to feel him everywhere, you want him bare inside you.

"D-Daddy, stop,'' you tell him, and he immediately does, stilling inside you as he looks for any discomfort or pain on your features, but he doesn't find any. Regardless, he sits back on his haunches as he still has his cock inside you, giving you more room to move.

''I want to feel you cum inside me, Daddy; need all of your cum,'' you tell him as your shyness starts taking over, your voice trailing off near the end. You've rarely been this forward about what you want; when you are, it always makes you nervous for his reaction.

You don't have to ask him twice because, before you know it, the condom has found its way into the trash can. You're manhandled onto all fours, his hips snapping against your ass in loud, harsh thrusts that have you crying from overwhelming pleasure, his bare cock inside you making your mind reel from pure excitement.

''F-fuck, Daddy! Feels s-so g-good!" you tell him between thrusts, your moans coming out broken and your whines coming out louder, your pleasure building up every second he drives his bare monster of a cock into your tight pussy, stretching it beyond the limits you've ever thought to be possible.

''Yeah? Does it feel good to have Daddy fuck you raw, Babygirl?'' he asks as he pulls you up with your back against his chest, one of his hands around your throat, the other one around your waist to keep you in place as he fucks you with an unrelenting pace. He squeezes your throat so that your air is cut off enough to make your mind fuzzy around the edges, but there's still room for air. Your hands desperately hold on to his arms as your orgasm builds quickly, and before you know it, you're falling apart on his cock, your juices squirting out in a hot rush of liquid that soaks the sheets beneath you.

''Jesus, Babygirl! You squirted all over the bed like a little slut! You deserve a reward for being such a good girl, don't you think?'' he asks, but he gives you no room to nod, instead fucking into you even faster as he feels how heavy his balls are with cum, desperately wanting to fill your pussy until it drips out.

''Y-Yes!'' you croak out, and with a long, deep groan, Tony cums inside you as he stills, his arms letting you go as you fall forward onto the bed, unable to hold yourself up.

''That's what you wanted. Needed Daddy's cum inside your tight pussy, huh? My perfect cumslut, just needs to be filled with Daddy's cum everywhere,'' he pants out before pulling out and lying down to inspect what he has done, his cum leaking out as it's too much for your pussy to hold in.

''You did perfectly for me, Babygirl, but from now on, I'm only fucking you bare, you understand that?'' he asks you, and you let out a broken yes before you collapse onto the bed, not caring about the wet sheets underneath you. That evening he pulls you apart and puts you back together about three more times after, each time pumping you full of his cum.

Now that he's had a taste of paradise, he never wants anything else, and you're not one to deny him that. All you want is to be filled by the man you love more than anything and start a family with him. The family you've always dreamt of with the love of your life.

[daemour]

Pairing: Jongho x f! Reader

Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort kinda, established relationship, E for everyone

Warnings: Mentions of drinking/being inebriated, jealousy

Word count: 1249

This is for the jealousy collab with @flurrys-creativity (green-eyed, misguided), @sanjoongie (pink with jealousy, speak up), and @mingsolo (enough, before you go)!! You can read the Yunho one here.

-

‘What time will you be back again?’

You glance at your phone pinging for the nth time in the three hours you had been out with your friends. With a sigh, you unlock the phone and respond quickly to your loving, but easily worried, boyfriend. You love Jongho a lot, and there’s not much that can change it. But sometimes, you wonder why he can be so worried when you go out with friends.

“Is it Jongho again?” One of your closest friends, Ryujin, leans over to glance at your phone. “Girl, that’s way too many times to be normal.”

You shrug. “I know, but it’s his first relationship. I’ll talk to him about it when I get home. He’s sweet, I don’t want to make him feel embarrassed or anything.”

Ryujin chuckles, shoving at your shoulder. “You’re just as sweet as he is, then. Come on, a few more shots and then you can go home to loverboy.”

Laughing, you let her pull you over to the bar, all thoughts of Jongho out of the window for the rest of the night.

-

“How was the party?” Jongho asks casually when you arrive home, not as late as you usually would before dating him. “Had fun?”

You nod happily, alcohol still running its course through you. “Yeah, it was fun. It’s always nice to see the girls. And the DJ was cute too. And had huge muscles,” You don’t seem to notice the sharpness in Jongho’s eyes, and you launch yourself at him, throwing your arms around his shoulders. “You’re still the cutest in my eyes, though.”

You yawn loudly before Jongho can say anything, and he sighs somewhat exasperatedly. “Let's get you to bed,” he sighs, gently guiding you to the bathroom and handing you your toothbrush. “You’re going to have a hell of a hangover when you get up, huh?”

After gently removing your makeup and getting you to bed, Jongho lays down next to you and sighs as he faces your sleeping figure. Your words swirl in his mind. Deep down, he knows you were drunk and there’s no reason for him to be so upset, but his heart still pinches and he turns away from your peaceful face.

-

There’s an ache throbbing in your head when you reopen your eyes and you curse yourself inwardly for not eating enough while at the club yesterday. But hey, it was worth it, right? Having fun? As you get older, it becomes less and less true.

With a groan, you press your palm against your head and roll over in bed, reaching out to kiss your boyfriend…only he isn’t in bed next to you. “Jongho?”

No response. After a minute, you roll yourself out of bed, wincing at the sharp pain piercing your brain. Although you’d really like a hug and a kiss from Jongho, maybe your first order of business should be making your way to the toilet.

After a few minutes of relieving your stomach of its contents, you head into the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water. There, you find a bowl of porridge laid out, and Jongho washing the dishes silently. “Hey, baby, you’re up early,” you greet him, and he grunts. “Uh? Are you okay, baby?”

“Yeah.” His answer is short and your brows furrow. “I’m going to the gym later today, then I’m getting dinner with my hyungs.”

“Uh– okay. Have fun. When do you think you’ll be back?” Jongho shrugs, setting the last dish on the rack and wiping his hands.

“Dunno. Late.” And before you can say or do anything, he picks up his bag and you stare at his retreating back up until you hear the tell-tale click of the door lock. Did you do something when drunk? You genuinely can’t think of anything, and Jongho is not usually one to keep his issues from you…and it’s starting to grate on your mood. You’re understanding, you always try to make him feel heard. So what’s with the attitude?

With a loud huff, you stand up and grab your dish. If he’s going to be in a bad mood at the gym, that’s none of your business. He can come talk to you like an adult.

-

He, in fact, did not come and talk to you like an adult. Instead, he comes home, still in his mood, and to be frank, you’re quite over it now. “Jongho, come here,” you call out for your boyfriend. “I need to talk to you.”

There’s a pregnant pause. “Do I have to?”

“Wha– Yes, Jongho. You have to.” You roll your eyes at Jongho’s stiffness as he walks into the living room and cross your arms, fixing Jongho with a harsh glare. “Are you gonna tell me what’s gotten your panties in a twist or are you going to continue acting like a baby?”

Jongho flinches at your tone before heaving a great big sigh and his shoulders relax.  “...It’s dumb. Sorry for giving you the silent treatment.”

You shake your head. “I think I can decide whether it’s dumb or not considering you didn’t talk to me for a day over it. Talk.”

There’s a long pause before Jongho slumps and mumbles so quietly you almost miss it, “I feel insecure about myself whenever you stay out late.”

You frown, taking a step closer to Jongho. For all the bulk and bravado he carries himself with, he sounds so fragile and sad that your heart practically melts. “Jongho, why?” Your voice softens and you step even closer, reaching out and taking his warm hands in yours.

Even with your warm touch, Jongho still won’t meet your eyes. “I…I’ve never been in a relationship before. All my hyungs have been in many and I just…I know it’s dumb, which is why I never talk about it, but I just don’t feel like enough.”

“Jongho…” your voice trails away as you try and think of the best way to comfort your boyfriend. “You don’t have to have experience to be enough. I love you, okay? When I go out, I look forward to seeing you at home most. It’s fun to go drinking with the girls, but it’s just as fun staying home and cuddling with you.”

Jongho bites his soft lower lip and you get the urge to kiss it. And that’s exactly what you do, leaning in and letting your lips brush over his, just barely. You can hear Jongho take in a sharp breath. “YN,” he sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“Now, whatever are you sorry for?” you raise an eyebrow, pressing your forehead against his. “Everyone has insecurities. You know, I worry that I’m too flighty for you, that I need to be more grounded for you? Would you say I should apologise for that?”

Jongho snaps his head up to look at you, eyes wide. “Of course not! I love how energetic you are.”

You laugh, pulling him in by his belt loops for another soft kiss. “Then don’t feel so bad about your lack of experience either. Just talk to me and I’ll fix things up, okay?”

Jongho sighs, but this time it’s filled with love. “Okay.” He pauses. “Were his muscles really bigger than mine?”

After a long moment, you laugh, throwing your head back. “Jongho, is that what’s been bothering you? Of course his muscles were bigger, but you know what? Unlike you, he wasn’t nearly cute enough for me to like. You’re the one for me.”

[ewanmitchellconnoisseur]

"Fuck Love" (Final Part)

A/N: This is the final part of Anti-Love Ettore. Sorry, this took me so long! School is finally over and im ready to get back into writing!

Summary: The three of you in forced proximity was never going to have a great end result.

TW: blood, murder, public masturbation, unprotected sex, p in v, creampie, jealousy, rage sex, rough sex, choking, scent kink, sweat kink, fingering, degradation, name-calling,

Word Count: 4.1k

← Previous Part

I cant remember who made the X Banner. If you know please tell me.

To simply say there was tension aboard this ship would be an understatement.

It had only been a week on this ship and the energy that travelled through these halls was palpable.

Ettore had been quiet. Too quiet. Not once had he confronted you or Jarvis, instead he watched. You could tell he was planning something. The way he would stare at you or Jarvis wasn't exactly his best effort at being subtle.

He'd stand behind you any chance he could. When you did workouts he made sure he had the best view of you crawling. When you were getting meds he was pressed behind you even though there was more than enough space. He'd be sure to be around when you were showering or getting out of the box so he could use it after you. Knowing that you were just in there, wondering who it is you were thinking of. The thoughts made him angry but had his cock so hard to the point of pain.

Jarvis on the other hand didn't seem to notice what you and everybody else did. Either the fucker was stupid or just naturally blind. He sat next to you during all meals and talked to you whenever he had the chance. If you were on the bridge he'd be right there beside you trying to hold your hand.

You hadn't given any response back, no indication that you wanted him around. Truthfully you were pissed. You wouldn't even be here if he hadn't dragged you into that mission or left you behind.

above all, you didn't want to react knowing Ettore was watching. If he caught you feeding into Jarvis he'd not only kill him but you too...after he fucks your brains out of course.

Your day had been shit.

That doctor requested all the women to come to her office and did checkups on all of you. You shrugged it off assuming it was probably one of her tasks but it still hurt like hell whatever meds she was giving you guys had you all feeling like zombies.

After finishing laundry duty you had some downtime and like all the other women planned on spending it taking a nap hoping to get rid of the groggy feeling. The break room was small and didn't have much in it but it did have a nice couch.

You get comfortable on the couch slowly drifting off peacefully humming a tune that's been stuck in your head for days.

Stickiness between your legs.

That feeling in your stomach you hadn't felt in so long.

Gentle sleepy moans.

You're not sure how long you had been asleep but you were slowly waking up.

You could feel someone touching you. Still feeling groggy you try your best to lift your heavy eyelids.

But you don't have to know who it is. You can feel it. No one else knew your body better. What got you feeling the way you do now.

You feel a kiss on your temple and more making its way to your collarbone.

His hands move faster pulling out of your slumber. You're close and he knows it. Finally feeling awake you open your eyes.

Ettore is kneeling next to the couch a hand down your pants the other stroking your hair back.

"Who is he?" He doesn't stop moving his fingers but instead begins curling them against that spot he knows you love so much.

"E-Ettore-"

"Who. Is. He." The heel of his hand grazed against your clit ever so gently. As you ignored his question and enjoyed the feeling of being touched after so many months so close to cumming you feel it all stop as Ettore removes his hand. "I won't ask you again."

"My ex. Kind of." You were never in a committed relationship, it was more like a situationship. Though you acted like a couple he never asked you to be his girlfriend and you never asked for him to be your boyfriend.

Ettore licked his fingers clean then said nothing else before standing up and leaving the room.

You were worried. Anyone who knew Ettore would be.

He doesn't like sharing his toys.

Another two days go by of Ettore watching you from afar, only now? Now he has decided to flaunt around the ship with no shirt on. He goes to the box before you do and moans your name loudly knowing you're outside waiting. He knows you want him, knows that you miss him.

His eyes never leave your body and his hands touch you whenever they can. You had been fortunate enough that both you and Jarvis haven't been assigned to any jobs with him.

But everyone's luck runs out.

Your heart almost dropped when you saw Jarvis' name next to Ettore's on laundry duty.

It's not like you cared about Jarvis. He's the whole reason you were here in the first place, but you can't help but remember and love the memories you share with him. The only time you got to experience a normal and real relationship was with him.

You walk over to the laundry room, your heart beating with every step. When you finally arrive you don't bother peeking in first, you waste no time and just walk in.

Ettore and Jarvis are standing facing each other. While Ettore looks relaxed Jarvis's fists are clenched and anger is evident on his face.

"What's going on in here?"

They both turn to look at you. Ettore's relaxed face switches to a smug one. He gives you a wink before turning around and continuing his task.

Jarvis walks over to you and takes your hand leading you out of the room to a quiet part of the halls.

"That's him? The reason why you left your old town?" He wasn't angry but tense. And honestly, he had a fucking attitude.

You nod. "What did he say to you?" You knew he must have said something. Ettore couldn't help himself, he had no self-control.

"Nothing to worry your pretty head over. I can handle him." You do your best not to laugh in his face. His confidence was unmeasured. "Just. Stay away from him. Ok, princess?" And now you wanted to gag.

You hated when he called you that before and you don't like it now. Pet names didn't suit him. He leans in to give only what you can assume is a kiss.

Someone clears their throat. You both turn to see Ettore leaning against a wall watching the two of you.

"I don't plan on doing laundry alone," he mutters his eyes stuck on you.

Jarvis rolls his eyes and plants a quick kiss on your cheek before going back into the laundry room, promising to come find you after.

Ettore stays for a couple more seconds just staring at you. His eyes run over your body and you watch as his hand slides in his pants. He takes in a sharp breath as his hand wraps around his length. His eyes stay trained on you as he pumps himself, squeezing tight to mimic how tight your pussy is.

You keep watching as he speeds up. His mouth hung open as he strokes himself until he cums.

You can't help but watch. You knew just like he did that he was the only one who could truly make you cum. Truly makes you see stars, he was the only one who could have you begging for more.

As if sensing your thoughts he removes his hand.

"Soon." He mumbles before turning and heading into the laundry room closing the door behind him.

All you can do is pray he keeps his word. You're not sure how much longer you can wait.

The following day you resume your normal routine. Completing whatever tasks you're assigned. You spend time with Tcherny in the garden, the only place on this ship that reminds you of Earth.

You both lay on the grass talking about your old lives. Wondering what everyone is doing right now. It's nice and calming and probably the first mundane moment you've had in a week.

Well, that moment is interrupted by the sound of someone screaming. Tcherny stands up quickly and heads for the ladder to get back up. You follow after him praying that something bad hasn't happened. As you make your way up you can hear males yelling back and forth and already know your prayer wasn't answered.

You both make your way to where the screams and yelling are coming from, you see Boyse standing at the end of the hall.

You look down the hall to see Monte attempting to restrain Ettore, blood soaking his clothes as Dibs hovers over Jarvis who's clutching his face. Tcherny runs over to help Monte.

Jarvis' face is badly beaten and there's a gash on his eye. He's screaming in pain, while Ettore is yelling at him.

Dibs administers a random syringe in Ettore getting him immobile enough for Monte and Tcherny to get him to medbay and strapped down. Jarvis is taken away as well to be checked out.

It's a couple hours before you get the chance to talk to Boyse.

She said she had heard arguing coming from the laundry room. She was originally supposed to be there with Ettore but Jarvis had practically begged her to switch with him.

When she arrived Ettore was hunched over clutching his stomach and his shirt was soaked in blood. Jarvis had stabbed him with a shard of glass.

Wait...what? Jarvis stabbed Ettore?

Boyse had screamed catching Jarvis off guard giving Ettore enough room to knock him to the ground. He picked up the shard of glass Jarvis had dropped and stabbed him in the eye. Then he wouldn't stop punching him until someone pulled him off.

That's all she would tell you before wandering off humming that same tune that had been stuck in your head.

Jarvis must have planned it after whatever happened yesterday between the two of them. How stupid could he have been?

Despite your best efforts, Dibs shooed you off every time you tried to get into medbay with threats of upping your dose.

The next two days are spent on edge. Dibs gives no information and tells everyone to continue as normal. Ettore is still in medbay but you know he's awake from the thousands of times you purposefully walk by to get a glimpse of him.

Days were hard to count up in space but by the time Dibs came to give you all new information it had been a week since everything happened.

Jarvis was in a coma most likely due to a head injury. Ettore survived and was healing nicely. Dibs went on to say she knew Jarvis started the fight. Ettore was still being punished considering he had gone too far and would be on lockdown for one more week as punishment.

On the fourth day of that additional week, Dibs wakes you up with a light slap to the arm.

"Come with me." Tired and annoyed you shove the covers off of you and follow after her. As you walk by you look into the other room and see Ettore craning his neck to look at you, his face drowsy and drugged out.

She walks you to med bay and unlocks the door then closes it behind you as you step in.

You look behind you confused as you see her walk away without saying another word. You're about to call after her but then you hear the faintest whisper of your name. You turn around to see Jarvis looking in your direction.

His left eye was wrapped in cloth, the rest of his face still healing from the bruises. His nose was bandaged as well and you could only assume it was broken.

You walk over and take the seat next to his bed. His eye would close every now and then before they would pop open again. He didn't look good and despite him being alive now you knew he would probably die soon. Either succumbing to his injuries or Ettore would come and finish the job.

"S-sorry." He chokes the words out. He sees the look of confusion on your face. What was he sorry for. "I left you behind. I sh-should have taken you with me. I p-anicked."

You sigh as you understand what he's talking about. For the longest time, you wanted this conversation. You watch as he struggles to speak again. You shush him and bring the cup of water next to his lips, helping him sip through the straw before placing the cup back in its spot.

"I meant what I said. I wanted us to get away after it all. I fucked everything up...managed to get away. I was in the clear but the guilt was eating me alive." He opened his hand wanting to hold yours. You place yours in his and watch as he brings your knuckles to his lips.

"It's ok Jarvis. I for-"

"It's not ok." He cuts you off. "I shouldn't have dragged you with me in the first place." He sighs. "I had a cousin of mine in the same prison as you. She told me you were taking some deal. So, I turned myself in and they offered me the same thing. I took it knowing you would be here. I came for you."

Your heart flutters at his words. Your brain is wracked with thoughts. Would Ettore do the same for you? Give up the chance of staying on earth for you? Jarvis was in the clear, he could have taken that money and ran off and lived his best life. But he gave it all up just so he could be with you again.

"Ok, that's enough. Let's go." Dibs snaps you out of your thoughts. You give Jarvis a quick kiss with promises to come back.

While leaving you knock over a tray of stuff which Dibs curses you for as she cleans it up. She shoves you out of the office and walks you back to your bunk before heading off to her bed. In the dark room, you grip the key you snagged off her desk.

The next day goes by ever so slowly. Everything feels like it's being dragged on. In your downtime, you visit Ettore who seems still too drugged up to even say anything but he does his best to keep his eyes open so he can watch you.

You feel relieved when nighttime finally comes. You listen to the hum of the ship as you wait until you think everyone has gone off to bed. When you finally feel as though everyone's asleep you retrieve the key you shoved in the seams of your mattress and slip off your bed quietly walking towards med bay.

You unlock the door and step inside slowly closing the door behind you. Taking back the seat next to Jarvis' bed you gently brush his hair out of his face. It takes a couple minutes before he finally opens his eyes and looks at you.

You're reading the chart next to his bed. Catching up on everything Dibs hadn't told you.

"Not good to read your loved one's chart." You smile and put the chart back in its spot.

"How are you feeling?" You hold his hand.

"Like im dying." Though he has a smile on his face one doesn't reach yours. After reading his chart and Dibs' notes you know that even she doesn't see any progress. "Come on. Lighten up."

"Not funny." You gently rub your fingers over his hand.

"...I want to talk to you about something." You straighten up and nod. "It's about Ettore." You sigh already over whatever he's about to say. "Hey. Drop the attitude. I may have one eye but I can still see your brattiness."

His other hand grabs something from under the covers before he flips your hand over and places something in your palm. It was a syringe.

"It's a strong agent. Can stop the heart. Got it off Dibs." You stare at him in disbelief. "He's dangerous. And you're the only one who could get close enough to him to administer it. Please, it's for your and all the other women's safety."

Was he being fucking serious?! He wants you to kill Ettore...

"You really think you can convince her to kill me?" Everything freezes as you hear his voice. You look at Jarvis's face which is filled with fear. You turn around and see Ettore standing in the doorway.

You stand up as he walks in locking the door behind him.

"Ettore don't-"

"You're no good for her. I've read your file." You tell Jarvis to shut up but he doesn't listen. "She deserves better than degenerate trash."

You could literally see the anger radiating off Ettore.

"She ran from you and came to me. While you were rotting away I was fucking her." God you wished he would shut the fuck up.

"Jarvis that's enou-"

"No, it's not. Don't spare his feelings. Tell him how much you loved it. How many nights we spent together, my dick buried deep in you. He got locked up searching for the real thing not even knowing you were too busy getting your back blown out to worry about him."

Ettore started walking over and you stepped in front of him placing your hands on his chest.

"Please...don't." He looked down at you and ran his thumb over your lips as the other hand came to rest on your hip.

"Get away from her." Jarvis was seething as he watched Ettore touch you.

"He thinks he owns you, love" Ettore smirks as he turns you around bringing your back right up against him. He tilts your head to the side. "He thinks he knows you." He brings his lips to your neck gently biting the area then soothing the burn with his tongue. "The fucking idiot can't even see how every part of you belongs to me."

He pulls your head back by your hair to which you wince.

"Let go of her." Though Jarvis wasn't restrained whatever nighttime sedatives Dibs was giving him kept him weak enough that he couldn't muscle up the strength to even sit up.

Ettore laughs mockingly at his sad attempt. He watches Jarvis struggle as his hand comes around and dips under your sleep shorts. He nibbles on your ear as he runs a finger through your folds.

"She's already wet for me." You can feel him smile. "I wonder. How many times did she have to fake an orgasm for you? Or imagine it was me fucking her to get her through the night?"

His finger circles lazily around your clit. his other hand coming up to rest on the side of your neck, his thumb slipping your mouth to pacify your moans.

"You don't know the first thing about her. You don't know how she likes it rough. How she will squirm and shy away but in reality she wants more. Her favourite position, angle, even all her dirty little kinks." He slowly slips two fingers in. "You were a distraction, a way for her to try and forget me." His fingers curl right into that lovely spot, teasing it. "But don't worry. I'll show you how much my girl loves me."

Ettore pushes you forward laying you against the bed over Jarvis' legs. Too far out of his reach for him to try and get Ettore off you.

He wastes no time pulling your shorts and his own down. He gives himself a few tugs and swipes the head of his cock through your folds. A shiver runs up his spine.

Months. Months he had begged whatever higher power there was that he could find his way back in between your legs again and it was finally happening. And despite him wanting to just fuck you like he used to there would be time for that later. Now? Well, right now he has a point to prove.

"Beg for it slut." His hand comes down on your ass hard earning him a whimper. He turns your head so you are looking in Jarvis' direction. His face is solemn as he looks down at you.

You want to feel bad, you really do. But the excitement at finally getting fucked the way you needed to was all too much.

Another hard slap accross your ass.

"You left me and thought you could replace me?" Another slap. "Do you know how badly I missed you? I know she missed me too." You feel just the tip slip past your folds. "Come on. Don't make her wait any longer."

You give Jarvis a sorry look.

"Please..." You feel the sting of another slap in the same spot.

"You know that's not what I want." He watches the handprint on your ass with a smile on his face.

"Please. Please fuck me Ettore. I need i-" You're cut off by the feeling of Ettore shoving himself fully inside you hitting your cervix effortlessly.

He keeps your head pushed down as the other rests in the dip in your back. The memories of the night before you left flooded your mind.

His pace is relentless and rough. You bite down on your lip probably drawing blood just to keep your moans from being too loud.

"Left without saying goodbye. Didn't even give me a chance. But don't worry, we're together again. And you can't leave this time."

You're practically drooling and crying on Jarvis' leg from how good this all feels. You open your eyes and look up at him. He's staring at your face and your body being brutalized by Ettore.

"You see Travis?" Ettore smirks as Jarvis glares at him. "See how her body responds to me? See how she arches just because she wants me deeper, if only you could feel how she spasms around me begging for my cum. Tell him you want it love."

He leans down and licks a bit of sweat off your back slowing his thrusts down and kissing his way down your spine.

"Tell him how much you love it." His nose rests next to your neck as he breathes in your scent. Something he had gone way too long without. You feel his hand snake around the two of you as he comes to pinch your clit. "Tell him." You wince and try to squirm away but he has you pressed tightly against the bed.

"I- I want it ssoo bad. So fucking good." You're rewarded by Ettore as he rolls his hips. He lifts you up slightly and wraps his arm around your neck so your head rests in the cook. One thing Ettore always took advantage of was your height difference. it made it easier for him to move you around like his own personal sex doll.

He squeezes ever so slightly, not enough to restrict your airflow but enough for you to feel some pressure. He kisses the side of your face.

"Good girl. Don't worry I'm gonna give it to you. Gonna show Jarvis how it's done and your gonna cum real hard for me okay?"

You mewl incoherent words back, too fucked out to keep talking. He stays deep in you only moving enough so he can keep hitting your G-spot repeatedly. His other hand comes around to circle your clit.

"Come on baby. Cum for me. Cum for me so I know you're sorry for leaving. I'll forgive you if you cum all over my dick." You lock eyes with Jarvis, it's only now you see the obvious print of his cock under the covers, clearly hard from what he's watching. "Be my good slut and cum."

And that's all it takes. Ettore holds you up as your knees give in and your body shakes. He coos in your ear but doesn't stop until he empties himself balls deep. Ettore kisses the side of your face muttering words of "good girl" and "my baby".

He helps you put your shorts back on and turns you around pulling you into a passionate kiss. His eyes watch Jarvis who stares, jealousy behind his pupils. Ettore pulls away and smiles down at you.

"You're gonna be good for me, you're gonna go back to your bunk and go to sleep. I'll take care of this." Your heart sinks as you understand his words but you know there's no arguing with him. Either he will do this with you in the room or with you gone. "Go on."

You look back one last time at Jarvis who now looks terrified.

"Wait! Please don't...call for help!" Jarvis pleads with you but Ettore already knows you won't listen to him you turn back around facing your back to him. "Fuck! I was good to you!"

You step on your toes and kiss Ettore on the cheek before going around him to leave.

You hear Jarvis' pleas for you to not leave him alone. He begs for you to listen about how sorry he is, and how much he loves you.

But no one will love you as much as Ettore.

Fuck Love

No one would ever adore you like Ettore does. And he's all you need.

A/N: Again sorry this took me so long to get out to you guys! I am back now and I have SOO many ideas for Ewanverse!

But it's finally over!! I actually loved this ending! And I feel so confident about uploading this so I hope you guys love it too!

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