#at some point you have to let them make the connection

[pucksandpower]

Be My Sanctuary

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: Charles never expected to play Prince Charming to a stranger after a race, but when he comes across you being beaten by your boyfriend, he can’t just stand around and do nothing … it turns out to be exactly what you both needed

Warnings: domestic violence, abuse, and serious injury

The sun dips low on the horizon as Charles Leclerc and Fred Vasseur make their way back to the Ferrari motorhome. The air buzzes with post-race energy, a mix of exhaustion and exhilaration.

“That was some driving out there,” Fred says, clapping the Monégasque on the back. “P2 is nothing to sneeze at.”

Charles grins, his eyes bright despite the fatigue etched on his face. “Merci beaucoup. It felt good to be back on the podium. I think we’re really starting to find our rhythm with the car.”

“Agreed. If we can keep this momentum going-”

A sharp crack cuts through the air, followed by a cry of pain that makes both men freeze in their tracks.

Charles’ head whips around. “Did you hear that?”

Fred nods, his expression grim. “It came from over there.” He points towards a secluded area behind one of the hospitality units.

Without hesitation, they break into a run, rounding the corner just in time to see a man’s hand connect with a woman’s face. The sound of the impact turns Charles’ stomach.

“You stupid bitch!” The man screams, his face contorted with rage. “Do you have any idea how much money I lost because of you? I told you not to come to the race! You’re bad luck!”

You stumble backward, your hand pressed to your cheek. “I-I’m sorry,” you stammer. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Shut up!” The man lunges forward, grabbing you by the arms and shaking you violently. “You cost me everything!”

Charles feels a surge of anger course through him. Without thinking, he sprints towards the pair, Fred close on his heels.

“Hey!” Charles shouts. “Let her go!”

The man’s head snaps up, his eyes wild. For a split second, he looks startled, but then his face twists into a snarl. Before Charles can reach them, the man slams your head against the brick wall with a sickening thud.

You crumple to the ground, unmoving.

Charles tackles the man, driving him away from the fallen woman. They hit the ground hard, and Charles feels the air rush out of his lungs. But adrenaline keeps him moving, and he manages to pin the larger man down.

“Fred!” He calls out. “Check on her!”

As Charles struggles to keep the man subdued, he hears Fred’s sharp intake of breath.

“Charles, she’s not responding. There’s ... there’s a lot of blood.”

The words send a chill down Charles’ spine. He glances over his shoulder and sees you lying motionless on the ground, a dark pool spreading beneath your head.

“Someone call an ambulance!” Charles shouts, hoping someone nearby will hear. He turns back to the man beneath him, who’s still thrashing and cursing. “Stop moving!” Charles hisses, pressing his forearm against the man’s chest.

“Get off me!” The man spits. “This is none of your business!”

Charles feels a fresh wave of rage wash over him. “None of my business? You just assaulted someone!”

Fred’s voice cuts through the chaos. “I’ve called for help. They’re on their way.” He’s kneeling beside you now, his jacket pressed against your head. “But it doesn’t look good. She needs immediate medical attention.”

The sound of running footsteps approaches, and suddenly there are more people around them. Charles recognizes some of the faces — other drivers, team personnel. Someone pulls him off the attacker, who’s quickly restrained by security.

Charles stumbles to his feet, his heart pounding. He makes his way over to where you lie, dropping to his knees beside Fred.

“Is she ...” He can’t bring himself to finish the question.

Fred shakes his head. “She’s alive, but barely. We need to keep pressure on the wound until the paramedics arrive.”

Charles nods, placing his hands over Fred’s on the makeshift compress. He looks down at your face, so pale and still. “Hold on,” he whispers. “Just hold on.”

The wait for the ambulance feels interminable. Charles keeps his eyes fixed on your chest, watching for the slight rise and fall that tells him you’re still breathing. He’s vaguely aware of the commotion around them — people asking questions, security trying to keep everyone back.

“What happened?” It’s Lewis’ voice, tinged with concern.

Fred answers, his voice low and tight. “Domestic violence. The boyfriend ...” He trails off, but the implication is clear.

“Jesus,” Lewis mutters. “Is there anything we can do?”

Charles looks up, meeting Lewis’ worried gaze. “Just ... pray, I guess.”

The sound of sirens cuts through the air, growing louder by the second. Charles feels a small measure of relief, but it’s quickly overshadowed by fear as he looks back down at you.

“Stay with us,” he murmurs. “Help is coming. Just stay with us.”

The paramedics arrive in a flurry of activity, gently but firmly moving Charles and Fred aside. Charles watches, feeling helpless, as they work on you with practiced efficiency.

“Severe head trauma,” one of them says. “We need to move her now.”

As they lift you onto a stretcher, Charles catches a glimpse of your face. There’s a bruise blooming on your cheek, stark against your pale skin. Something twists in his chest, a mixture of anger and an emotion he can’t quite name.

“I’m going with her,” he says suddenly, surprising himself.

Fred puts a hand on his shoulder. “Charles, I don’t think-”

“I need to make sure she’s okay,” Charles insists. He looks at Fred, pleading. “Someone needs to be there for her.”

After a moment, Fred nods. “Alright. I’ll handle things here and meet you at the hospital.”

Charles climbs into the ambulance, his eyes never leaving your still form. As the doors close and the vehicle lurches into motion, he reaches out and gently takes your hand.

“I don’t know if you can hear me,” he says softly, “but you’re not alone. I’m right here with you. And I promise, you’re going to be okay.”

As the ambulance speeds through the streets, sirens wailing, Charles finds himself holding onto your hand like a lifeline. He’s not sure if he’s trying to comfort you or himself.

The paramedic working on you glances at Charles. “You know her?”

Charles shakes his head. “No, I ... we just found her. Her boyfriend was ...” He swallows hard. “We stopped him, but not soon enough.”

The paramedic’s face softens with understanding. “You did the right thing. You probably saved her life by intervening when you did.”

Charles nods, but the words bring little comfort. He can’t shake the image of your head hitting the wall, the sound it made. He squeezes your hand gently.

“Fight,” he whispers. “Please fight.”

The rest of the ride passes in a blur of medical jargon and the steady beep of monitors. When they finally arrive at the hospital, Charles is ushered into a waiting room while you’re rushed into emergency surgery.

He paces the small room, unable to sit still. His mind races with questions. Who are you? Why would someone do this to you? Will you be okay?

Time seems to stretch endlessly. Charles checks his phone, sees messages from Fred and other concerned friends, but he can’t bring himself to respond yet. Not until he knows something.

Finally, after what feels like hours, a doctor approaches him. Charles stands, his heart in his throat.

“Are you here for the young woman brought in with head trauma?” The doctor asks.

Charles nods. “Yes. Is she ...”

“She’s out of surgery,” the doctor says. “We’ve managed to relieve the pressure on her brain, but the next 24 hours will be critical. Are you family?”

Charles hesitates. “No, I ... I was there when it happened. I rode here with her in the ambulance.”

The doctor’s expression softens slightly. “I see. Well, I can tell you that she’s stable for now, but still unconscious. We’ll be monitoring her closely.”

“Can I see her?” The words are out of Charles’ mouth before he can think better of it.

The doctor considers for a moment. “Normally we only allow family, but ... given the circumstances, I think we can make an exception. Just for a few minutes.”

Charles follows the doctor down a series of hallways, his heart pounding. When they reach your room, he pauses at the doorway, suddenly unsure.

“Go on,” the doctor says gently. “Talk to her. Sometimes patients can hear even when they’re unconscious.”

Taking a deep breath, Charles steps into the room. The sight of you lying there, surrounded by machines, makes his chest tighten. He moves to your bedside, carefully taking your hand once more.

“Hey,” he says softly. “It’s Charles. The guy from before. I don’t know if you remember, but ... I’m here. You’re safe now.”

He stands there for a long moment, just holding your hand and watching the steady rise and fall of your chest. It’s strange, he thinks, to feel so connected to someone he’s never even spoken to.

“I don’t know your story,” he continues, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I want you to know that you didn’t deserve this. No one does. And when you wake up — because you will wake up — you won’t be alone. I promise.”

A nurse appears in the doorway, signaling that his time is up. Charles gives your hand one last gentle squeeze before reluctantly letting go.

As he leaves the room, he turns back for one last look. “I’ll be back,” he says. “Stay strong.”

Walking back to the waiting room, Charles feels a mix of emotions he can’t quite sort out. But one thing is clear — something has changed. And whatever happens next, he knows he’ll be there to see it through.

***

Days blend into one another as Charles maintains his vigil at your bedside. The rest of the Formula 1 circus has long since departed, but Charles can’t bring himself to leave. He’s made arrangements with the team, grateful for their understanding, and settled into a routine of sorts.

Each morning, he arrives at the hospital with fresh flowers and a determination that today might be the day you wake up. He talks to you, reads to you, and sometimes just sits in companionable silence, the steady beep of monitors a constant backdrop.

On the fifth day, as Charles is midway through reading an article about the benefits of having a dachshund, he notices a slight change. Your fingers twitch, almost imperceptibly. He leans forward, heart racing.

“Hey,” he says softly, taking your hand. “Can you hear me? If you can, squeeze my hand.”

For a long moment, nothing happens. Then, so faintly he almost misses it, he feels a gentle pressure against his palm. His breath catches in his throat.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “You’re doing great. Can you open your eyes for me?”

Slowly, painfully slowly, your eyelids flutter open. Your gaze is unfocused at first, confusion evident in your expression as you try to make sense of your surroundings.

“It’s okay,” Charles says, keeping his voice low and soothing. “You’re in the hospital. You’re safe now.”

You blink a few times, your gaze finally settling on Charles. Your brow furrows slightly, and you open your mouth to speak, but no sound comes out.

“Don’t try to talk just yet,” Charles advises. “Your throat might be sore from the tube. Here.” He reaches for a cup of water with a straw, holding it to your lips. “Small sips, okay?”

You take a tentative sip, wincing slightly. After a moment, you try again to speak. Your voice is raspy, barely above a whisper. “Who ...”

“I’m Charles,” he says. “I was there when ... when you got hurt. Do you remember anything?”

You close your eyes, a pained expression crossing your face. “Jake,” you murmur. “He was angry ...”

Charles feels a flare of anger at the mention of your boyfriend’s name, but he keeps his voice calm. “That’s right. He hurt you pretty badly. But you’re safe now. He can’t get to you here.”

You shake your head slightly, wincing at the movement. “It wasn’t his fault,” you say. “He just ... he gets upset sometimes. I shouldn’t have gone to the race. I knew it would make him angry.”

Charles frowns, recognizing the pattern of self-blame common in abuse victims. He takes a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. “Listen,” he says gently. “What happened to you wasn’t your fault. No matter how angry someone gets, they don’t have the right to hurt you. Ever.”

You look away, tears welling up in your eyes. “You don’t understand. Jake ... he loves me. He just has a temper sometimes.”

“Love shouldn’t hurt,” Charles says firmly. “Love doesn’t leave you in the hospital with a skull fracture.”

Your eyes widen slightly at this information. “Is that ... is that what happened to me?”

Charles nods solemnly. “You’ve been unconscious for five days. The doctors ... they weren’t sure if you’d wake up at all.”

A tear slips down your cheek. “I don’t ... I don’t know what to do now.”

“You press charges,” Charles says without hesitation. “What he did to you was a crime. He needs to face the consequences of his actions.”

You shake your head frantically, wincing again at the movement. “No, I can’t. He’d be so angry. He ...”

“He would what?” Charles presses gently. “Hurt you again? That’s exactly why you need to do this. To protect yourself and maybe even others.”

You’re quiet for a long moment, tears falling silently. “I’m scared,” you finally whisper.

Charles squeezes your hand. “I know. And that’s okay. Being scared doesn’t mean you’re weak. It means you’re human. But you’re stronger than you know. You survived this. You can survive what comes next, too.”

“But where would I go?” You ask, your voice small. “Jake ... he made me drop out of school. I had to quit my job. I don’t have anywhere to go, or any money, or ...”

Your words trail off as a fresh wave of tears overtakes you. Charles feels a surge of protectiveness, coupled with a deep anger at the man who has left you in this situation.

“Hey,” he says softly, waiting until you meet his gaze. “I know we’ve only just met, and this might sound crazy, but ... what if you came to stay with me for a while?”

You blink in surprise. “What?”

“I live in Monaco,” Charles explains. “I know it’s far from here, but maybe that’s a good thing. It would give you some distance, some time to figure things out without having to worry about ... about him finding you.”

“But ... but I couldn’t,” you stammer. “I don’t have any money, I can’t pay rent or-”

Charles shakes his head. “I’m not asking for rent. I’m offering you a safe place to stay while you get back on your feet. No strings attached.”

You look at him skeptically. “Why would you do that for a stranger?”

Charles is quiet for a moment, considering his answer. “Because when I saw what was happening to you, I couldn’t just walk away. And I can’t walk away now, knowing you need help. Maybe it’s not my place, maybe it’s crossing some line, but ... I want to help. If you’ll let me.”

You’re silent for a long moment, and Charles can almost see the wheels turning in your mind as you weigh your options.

“What about your job?” You finally ask. “Don’t you have races to go to?”

Charles nods. “I do. But I have a big apartment, and there’s plenty of room. You’d have your own space. And when I’m away for races, I have friends who could check in on you, make sure you have everything you need.”

You bite your lip, looking torn. “I don’t know ... it’s a lot to take in.”

“Of course,” Charles says quickly. “You don’t have to decide right now. Take some time to think about it. But know that the offer is there if you want it.”

Just then, a nurse enters the room. Her face lights up when she sees you’re awake. “Well, look who’s back with us,” she says warmly. “I’ll go get the doctor. He’ll want to check you over.”

As the nurse leaves, you turn back to Charles. “You should go,” you say. “You’ve already done so much. You don’t need to stay.”

Charles stands, but he doesn’t move towards the door. “I’ll step out while the doctor examines you,” he says. “But if it’s okay with you, I’d like to come back after. We can talk more about ... everything.”

You hesitate for a moment before nodding. “Okay,” you say softly. “And ... thank you. For being here. For caring.”

Charles feels a warmth spread through his chest. “Of course,” he says. “I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”

As he steps into the hallway, Charles takes a deep breath. He knows he’s getting involved in a complicated situation, one that could have far-reaching consequences. But looking back at you through the doorway, he knows he’s made the right choice. Whatever comes next, he’ll be there to help you through it.

The doctor arrives, and Charles settles into a chair in the hallway. He pulls out his phone, scrolling through the messages he’s neglected over the past few days. There’s one from Fred, asking for an update. Charles types out a quick reply.

She’s awake. It’s complicated, but I think she’s going to be okay. I’ll call you later with details.

As he hits send, Charles leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. He knows the road ahead won’t be easy, for either of you. But for the first time in days, he feels a spark of hope. It’s a start, he thinks. And sometimes, that’s all you need.

***

The sunlight glints off the sleek exterior of the private jet as Charles helps you up the stairs. He can feel the slight tremor in your hand as he guides you inside, noting the way your eyes dart nervously around the cabin.

“Welcome aboard,” Charles says with a warm smile, hoping to put you at ease. “Make yourself comfortable. We’ve got a bit of a flight ahead of us.”

You nod, your lips pressed into a thin line as you sink into one of the plush leather seats. Charles settles in across from you, watching as you fumble with the seatbelt.

“Here, let me help,” he offers, leaning forward to assist. As he clicks the belt into place, he notices your knuckles turning white as you grip the armrests. “First time flying?” He asks gently.

You let out a shaky laugh. “Is it that obvious?”

Charles shakes his head, his expression kind. “Not at all. But I fly a lot, so I’ve gotten pretty good at spotting nervous passengers.”

The engines roar to life, and you jump slightly in your seat. “I’m sorry,” you mutter, looking embarrassed. “I didn’t realize I’d be this scared.”

“Hey, no need to apologize,” Charles assures you. “It’s a completely normal fear. Did you know that even some drivers get nervous on planes?”

Your eyebrows raise in surprise. “Really? But you guys race at insane speeds for a living.”

Charles chuckles. “I know, it sounds crazy. But it’s true. I think it’s about control. In a car, we’re in charge. On a plane, we have to trust someone else.”

You nod, seeming to relax slightly at his words. But as the plane begins to taxi, your grip on the armrests tightens again.

“So,” Charles says, leaning forward slightly. “Tell me about what you were studying before ... well, before everything happened.”

You look at him, confusion briefly replacing the fear in your eyes. “What?”

“You mentioned you had to drop out of school,” Charles explains. “What were you studying?”

A small laugh escapes you, tinged with irony. “You’re going to think this is ridiculous, but ... I was studying law.”

Charles’ eyebrows shoot up. “Law? That’s impressive. Why would I think it’s ridiculous?”

You shrug, a hint of sadness creeping into your expression. “Just seems a bit ironic now, doesn’t it? Studying law and then ending up in a situation like ... like mine.”

The plane begins to accelerate down the runway, and you squeeze your eyes shut, your breath coming in short gasps.

“Hey,” Charles says softly, reaching across to place his hand over yours. “Look at me. It’s okay. We’re okay.”

You open your eyes, meeting his gaze. Charles can see the fear there, but also a flicker of determination.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Now, tell me more about your law studies. What made you choose that field?”

You take a deep breath, clearly making an effort to focus on the conversation rather than the plane’s ascent. “I’ve always been interested in justice, I guess. Helping people who can’t help themselves. I wanted to make a difference.”

Charles nods, a small smile playing at his lips. “That’s admirable. And you know what? I don’t think it’s ironic at all that you were studying law. If anything, I think it shows how strong you are.”

The plane levels off, and some of the tension leaves your body. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Charles says, leaning back in his seat but keeping his hand on yours, “you chose a field dedicated to justice and helping others. That takes courage and compassion. The fact that you ended up in a difficult situation doesn’t change who you are at your core.”

You’re quiet for a moment, considering his words. “I never thought about it like that,” you admit.

“Have you thought about going back to school?” Charles asks. “Finishing your degree?”

You shake your head, a flash of pain crossing your face. “I can’t. I don’t have the money, and even if I did, I can’t go back to my old university. Jake ... he knows where it is. He’d find me.”

Charles nods, understanding. “What if you didn’t have to go back to your old university? What if you could start fresh somewhere new?”

You look at him skeptically. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Charles says, his mind racing with possibilities, “there are online programs you could look into. Or, if you prefer in-person classes, there’s the International University of Monaco. It’s a great school, and it would be close to where you’ll be staying.”

Your eyes widen slightly. “Monaco has a university?”

Charles nods, a grin spreading across his face. “It does indeed. And they have a law program. I could help you look into it if you’re interested.”

You bite your lip, looking uncertain. “I don’t know. It’s been a while since I was in school. And the cost ...”

“Don’t worry about the cost,” Charles says quickly. “Consider it an investment in your future. And as for being out of practice, well, that’s what studying is for, right?”

A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. “You make it sound so simple.”

Charles shrugs. “Maybe it is. Sometimes we overcomplicate things in our heads. But the truth is, if it’s something you want to do, there’s usually a way to make it happen.”

The plane encounters a patch of turbulence, causing it to shake slightly. Your grip on Charles’ hand tightens, but you don’t close your eyes this time.

“Sorry,” you mutter, loosening your grip slightly.

“No need to apologize,” Charles says. “I’m here if you need a hand to hold. Or a distraction. Speaking of which, why don’t you tell me about your favorite class from when you were in school?”

As you launch into a story about a particularly engaging Constitutional Law seminar, Charles can’t help but notice how your eyes light up. It’s the most animated he’s seen you since you woke up in the hospital, and it fills him with a sense of hope.

The rest of the flight passes in a blur of conversation. You tell Charles about your favorite professors, the most interesting cases you studied, and your obsession with Legally Blonde while growing up. In turn, Charles shares stories from his racing career, the challenges he’s faced, and the lessons he’s learned along the way.

Before either of you realize it, the captain’s voice comes over the intercom, announcing your descent into Nice.

“Oh,” you say, surprise evident in your voice. “We’re here already?”

Charles grins. “See? Not so bad, was it?”

You shake your head, a small laugh escaping you. “I guess not. Thank you, Charles. For ... well, for everything.”

As the plane touches down on the runway, Charles feels a warmth spread through his chest. “You’re welcome,” he says softly. “And hey, this is just the beginning, right?”

You nod, a mix of nervousness and excitement in your eyes. “Right. The beginning.”

The plane comes to a stop, and Charles stands, offering you his hand. “Ready to see your new home?”

You take a deep breath, then place your hand in his. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

As you make their way down the steps of the plane, Charles can’t help but feel a sense of anticipation. He knows the road ahead won’t be easy, but looking at you now, seeing the spark of determination in your eyes, he’s filled with hope for what the future might hold.

The Mediterranean sun greets them as they step onto the tarmac, warm and welcoming. Charles watches as you take in your surroundings, your eyes wide with wonder.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathe, gazing at the azure sea in the distance.

Charles smiles, feeling a surge of pride for his home. “Wait until you see the rest of it. Come on, let’s get you settled in.”

As you walk towards the waiting Ferrari, Charles finds himself stealing glances at you. There’s still fear and uncertainty in your eyes, but there’s something else too — a resilience that he admires. He makes a silent promise to himself, right there on the sun-drenched tarmac of the Côte d’Azur, to do whatever he can to help you rebuild your life.

“So,” he says as you slide into the passenger seat, “shall we swing by the university on our way home? Just to have a look?”

You hesitate for a moment, then nod. “Yeah,” you say, a small smile playing at your lips. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

***

The quiet of the night is shattered by a piercing scream. Charles bolts upright in his bed, heart racing, momentarily disoriented. Then realization hits him like a wave — it’s you.

Without hesitation, he leaps out of bed and races down the hallway to your room. He bursts through the door to find you thrashing in your sheets, eyes squeezed shut, still caught in the grip of your nightmare.

“No, Jake, please!” You cry out, your voice raw with fear. “Don’t hurt me!”

Charles is at your side in an instant, gently placing his hands on your shoulders. “Hey, hey,” he says softly but firmly. “It’s okay. You’re safe. It’s just a dream.”

Your eyes fly open, wild and unfocused. For a moment, you recoil from his touch, still trapped between nightmare and reality.

“It’s me,” Charles says, keeping his voice calm. “It’s Charles. You’re in Monaco, remember? You’re safe here.”

Slowly, recognition dawns in your eyes. “Charles?” You whisper, your voice trembling.

He nods, offering a reassuring smile. “That’s right. I’m here. You’re okay.”

The tension leaves your body all at once, and you collapse against him, tears streaming down your face. Charles wraps his arms around you, holding you close as you sob into his chest.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out between sobs. “I’m so sorry.”

“Shh,” Charles soothes, running a hand gently up and down your back. “You have nothing to be sorry for. It was just a nightmare.”

You pull back slightly, wiping at your tears with shaking hands. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I feel so stupid.”

Charles shakes his head firmly. “You’re not stupid. Nightmares are normal after what you’ve been through. And I’m glad I woke up. I want to be here for you.”

You take a shuddering breath, trying to calm yourself. “It felt so real,” you whisper. “I could feel his hands on me, hear his voice ...”

“But it wasn’t real,” Charles reminds you gently. “He can’t hurt you anymore. I won’t let him.”

You nod, but Charles can see the lingering fear in your eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?” He asks.

You shake your head. “No, I ... I just want to forget.”

“Okay,” Charles says, understanding. “Is there anything I can do? Maybe get you some water or tea?”

You bite your lip, looking uncertain. “Could you ... would you mind staying? Just until I fall asleep?” The words come out in a rush, as if you’re afraid to ask.

Charles feels a surge of protectiveness. “Of course,” he says without hesitation. “I’ll stay as long as you need me to.”

Relief washes over your face. “Thank you,” you whisper.

Charles helps you settle back against the pillows, then hesitates for a moment. “Is it okay if I ...” He gestures to the other side of the bed.

You nod, shifting over slightly to make room. Charles slips under the sheets, careful to maintain a respectful distance. But you surprise him by moving closer, seeking comfort in his presence.

“Is this okay?” You ask, your voice small.

“Of course,” Charles assures you. He opens his arms, offering an embrace without pressure. “Whatever you need.”

You hesitate for just a moment before curling into his side, your head resting on his chest. Charles wraps his arms around you, feeling the rapid beat of your heart against his side.

“Try to relax,” he murmurs. “Focus on your breathing. In and out, nice and slow.”

You nod against his chest, making a conscious effort to steady your breathing. Charles can feel some of the tension leaving your body as the minutes tick by.

“Charles?” You say after a while, your voice soft in the darkness.

“Hmm?”

“How do you do it?” You ask. “How do you stay so calm and ... and kind, even when I’m such a mess?”

Charles is quiet for a moment, considering his words. “You’re not a mess,” he says finally. “You’re healing. And that takes time. As for staying calm ... well, I’ve had my own struggles. I know what it’s like to need someone in your corner.”

You lift your head slightly, looking up at him. “What do you mean?”

Charles takes a deep breath. He’s never been one to open up easily, but something about the quiet intimacy of the moment makes him want to share.

“Seven years ago now, I lost my father,” he says softly. “It was ... it was the hardest thing I’ve ever been through. There were nights when I thought the pain would swallow me whole. But I had people who stood by me, who helped me through it. They taught me the importance of being there for others in their darkest moments.”

You’re silent for a long moment, absorbing his words. “I’m so sorry about your father,” you say finally. “That must have been awful.”

Charles nods, feeling the familiar ache in his chest. “It was. But it also taught me something important. Pain doesn’t last forever. It changes you, yes, but it doesn’t define you. You can come out the other side stronger.”

“Do you really believe that?” You ask, a hint of doubt in your voice.

“I do,” Charles says firmly. “I’ve seen it in myself, and I see it in you too. You’re stronger than you know.”

You’re quiet again, and Charles can almost hear the wheels turning in your mind. “I want to believe that,” you say eventually. “But sometimes it feels like ... like I’ll never be whole again.”

Charles tightens his embrace slightly. “Healing isn’t about going back to who you were before,” he says. “It’s about becoming someone new. Someone who carries the lessons of the past but isn’t defined by them.”

You nod slowly, considering his words. “That makes sense,” you admit. “It’s just ... it’s hard to see that future sometimes.”

“I know,” Charles says softly. “But that’s why you’re not alone in this. I’m here to remind you of that future when you can’t see it yourself.”

You lift your head again, meeting his gaze in the dim light. “Why are you doing all this for me? You barely know me.”

Charles is struck by the vulnerability in your eyes. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts before responding.

“Because when I saw you that day, something inside me just ... knew I had to help,” he says. “I can’t explain it rationally. But I believe that sometimes, people come into our lives for a reason. Maybe I’m meant to help you heal. Or maybe you’re meant to teach me something. I don’t know. But I do know that I want to be here for you, if you’ll let me.”

You study his face for a long moment, as if searching for any sign of insincerity. Finding none, you lay your head back on his chest.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “For everything.”

Charles feels a warmth spread through his chest. “You don’t need to thank me,” he says. “Just focus on healing. And remember, you’re not alone in this.”

You nod against his chest, and Charles can feel your body relaxing further. Your breathing becomes slower, more even, and he knows you’re drifting off to sleep.

As the night deepens around you, Charles finds himself wide awake, acutely aware of your warm presence against him. He’s never been in a situation quite like this before, and he’s surprised by how natural it feels.

He thinks about the past few days, about the small victories you’ve already achieved. The way your eyes lit up when you toured the university campus. The quiet determination in your voice when you asked about application procedures. The shy smile that appeared when he showed you around Monaco.

Charles knows the road ahead won’t be easy. There will likely be more nights like this, more nightmares to soothe. But looking down at your peaceful face, finally relaxed in sleep, he feels a surge of hope.

Whatever challenges lie ahead, he’ll be there to face them with you. And somehow, he knows that together, you’ll both come out stronger on the other side.

As the first light of dawn begins to creep through the windows, Charles finally feels his own eyes growing heavy. He allows himself to drift off, still holding you close, a silent promise of protection in his embrace.

In the quiet of the early morning, as the world outside begins to stir, there’s a sense of peace in the room. It’s fragile, perhaps, but it’s there. And for now, in this moment, it’s enough.

***

The first rays of sunlight filter through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. Charles stirs, slowly becoming aware of his surroundings. He feels a weight against his chest and looks down to see you still nestled in his arms, your breathing deep and even.

For a moment, he simply watches you sleep, struck by how peaceful you look compared to the night before. He’s careful not to move, not wanting to disturb your rest. But as the room grows brighter, he sees your eyelids begin to flutter.

You blink awake, confusion briefly clouding your features before recognition sets in. “Charles?” You murmur, your voice still thick with sleep.

“Good morning,” he says softly, offering a gentle smile. “How are you feeling?”

You shift slightly, seeming to become aware of your position. A blush creeps across your cheeks as you pull back a bit. “I’m ... I’m okay,” you say. “I’m sorry about last night. You didn’t have to stay.”

Charles shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. I wanted to stay. I’m just glad you were able to get some rest.”

You nod, running a hand through your tousled hair. “Thank you,” you say quietly. “For everything. I don’t know what I would have done if ...”

Your voice trails off, but Charles understands. “Hey,” he says, gently tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. “You don’t need to think about that. You’re here now, and you’re safe. That’s what matters.”

A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. “You’re right. I just ... I’m not used to someone being so kind without expecting anything in return.”

Charles feels a pang in his chest at your words. “Well, get used to it,” he says, injecting a lightness into his tone. “Because that’s just how things work in the Leclerc household.”

You laugh softly, the sound warming Charles from the inside out. “Is that so?”

“Absolutely,” Charles grins. “It’s in the contract. Kindness, comfort, and an abundance of croissants. Speaking of which, are you hungry? I could whip up some breakfast.”

You nod, sitting up slowly. “Breakfast sounds great. But you don’t have to cook. I can manage.”

Charles waves off your protest as he sits up as well. “Nonsense. I insist. Besides, I make a mean omelette. You haven’t lived until you’ve tried my secret recipe.”

Your eyebrows raise in amusement. “Secret recipe, huh? Do I get to know what’s in it?”

Charles taps the side of his nose conspiratorially. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a secret anymore, would it? You’ll just have to trust me.”

As he moves to get out of bed, a thought strikes him. He hesitates for a moment, then turns back to you. “Actually, before we head to the kitchen, there’s something I wanted to ask you.”

You look at him curiously, a hint of apprehension in your eyes. “Oh?”

Charles takes a deep breath, suddenly feeling nervous. “I was wondering if ... well, if you might want to come to my next race with me?”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “Your next race?”

Charles nods, watching your reaction carefully. “Yeah. It’s in a couple of weeks. I thought maybe a change of scenery might be good for you. Plus, you’d get to see what I do up close. But if it’s too soon, or if you’re not comfortable with the idea, I completely understand.”

You’re quiet for a moment, biting your lip as you consider his offer. “I don’t know,” you say hesitantly. “It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just ... the last time I was at a race ...”

Understanding dawns on Charles’s face. “Oh, of course. I’m sorry, I should have thought of that. We don’t have to go if it brings up bad memories.”

You shake your head quickly. “No, it’s not that. Well, not entirely. It’s just ... I’m worried about being recognized. What if Jake sees me on TV or something?”

Charles leans forward, his expression serious. “Hey, look at me. If you come to the race, you’ll be under the full protection of the team. No one gets near the garage without proper clearance. And as for TV, well, we can make sure you’re not caught on camera if that’s what you want.”

You still look uncertain. “But won’t people wonder who I am? I don’t want to cause any trouble for you or your team.”

Charles can’t help but smile at your concern. “Trust me, the team has dealt with far more complicated situations than this. If anyone asks, we’ll simply say you’re a family friend. No one needs to know the details.”

He watches as you mull over his words, hope building in his chest. Finally, you look up at him, a small smile playing at your lips. “You really want me to come?”

Charles nods emphatically. “I really do. I think it could be good for you. A chance to create some new, positive memories associated with racing. Plus,” he adds with a grin, “I’d love for you to see me in action. I promise I’ll try to put on a good show.”

You laugh, the sound lightening the mood in the room. “Oh, is that so? Pretty confident, aren’t you?”

Charles shrugs, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “What can I say? I aim to impress.”

You shake your head in amusement, but Charles can see you’re still hesitating. “You don’t have to decide right now,” he says gently. “Take some time to think about it. The offer stands whenever you’re ready.”

You nod, looking grateful for the lack of pressure. “Thank you, Charles. I’ll think about it, I promise.”

“That’s all I ask,” he says, standing up and stretching. “Now, how about that breakfast? I believe I promised you a life-changing omelette.”

As you make your way to the kitchen, Charles can’t help but feel a sense of anticipation. He knows he’s taking a risk by inviting you to the race so soon, but something tells him it’s the right move. He’s seen glimpses of your strength over the past few days, and he believes that this could be a crucial step in your healing process.

In the kitchen, Charles busies himself with preparing breakfast, stealing glances at you as you settle at the counter. You still look a bit hesitant, but there’s a spark in your eyes that wasn’t there before.

“So,” he says as he cracks eggs into a bowl, “while you’re thinking about the race, why don’t you tell me more about your law studies? Any particular area you’re most interested in?”

You perk up at the question, and Charles listens intently as you launch into an enthusiastic explanation of your passion for human rights law. As he watches you speak, animated and engaged, he feels a warmth spread through his chest.

This, he thinks, is what healing looks like. Small steps, day by day, reclaiming pieces of yourself. And if he can play even a small part in that process, well, that’s a victory more satisfying than any podium finish.

As he serves up the omelettes, Charles makes a silent promise to himself. Whatever you decide about the race, whatever challenges lie ahead, he’ll be there. Supporting you, cheering you on, just as fiercely as any fan in the grandstands.

Because in this moment, watching you take your first bite and exclaim over his “secret recipe,” Charles realizes something important. In helping you find your strength, he’s discovering new depths of his own.

***

The energy in the paddock is electric as Charles makes his way to the Ferrari garage. He can feel the excitement buzzing through the air, the anticipation of the race to come. But today, there’s an extra flutter in his stomach that has nothing to do with pre-race jitters.

He spots you standing near the back of the garage, looking a bit overwhelmed by the flurry of activity around you. Your eyes light up when you see him, and he can’t help but smile.

“Hey,” he says, approaching you. “How are you holding up?”

You give him a small smile. “It’s ... a lot. But exciting. I can’t believe I’m actually here.”

Charles nods, understanding. “I know it can be overwhelming at first. But you’re doing great. And I have a little surprise for you.”

Your eyebrows raise in curiosity. “A surprise? Charles, you didn’t have to-”

He cuts you off with a grin. “I wanted to. Come on, I’ll show you.”

Charles leads you to a quieter corner of the garage where his race gear is laid out. He picks up his helmet, turning it so you can see the design.

Your eyes widen as you spot the purple ribbon painted prominently on the side. “Is that ...”

Charles nods, his expression softening. “A domestic violence awareness ribbon. I had it added for this race.”

You’re quiet for a moment, your fingers hovering over the ribbon without quite touching it. When you look up at Charles, your eyes are shining with unshed tears. “Why?” You ask softly.

Charles takes a deep breath. “Because I want to use my platform to raise awareness. And because ...” he pauses, meeting your gaze, “because I want you to know that you’re not alone. That there are people out there who care and want to help.”

You blink rapidly, trying to hold back tears. “Charles, I don’t know what to say. This is ... it’s incredible.”

He reaches out, gently squeezing your hand. “You don’t have to say anything. Just know that when I’m out there on the track today, I’m racing for you and for everyone who’s been in your position.”

You nod, unable to speak. Charles understands the emotions you’re feeling — he’s feeling them too.

A voice calls out from across the garage. “Charles! Five minutes!”

Charles turns back to you. “I’ve got to go get ready. Will you be okay?”

You take a deep breath, composing yourself. “I’ll be fine. Go. And Charles?” You meet his eyes, a small smile on your face. “Thank you. For everything.”

He nods, giving your hand one last squeeze before heading off to finish his pre-race preparations.

The race itself is a blur of adrenaline and focus. Charles pushes himself to the limit, hyper-aware of the special helmet he’s wearing and what it represents. When he crosses the finish line in second place, his heart is pounding with more than just exertion.

As he pulls into parc fermé, Charles can see the crowd of reporters already gathering. He takes a deep breath, knowing what’s coming. Sure enough, as soon as he steps foot in the media pen, he’s surrounded by microphones and cameras.

“Charles! Congratulations on P2!” One reporter calls out. “But everyone’s talking about your helmet today. Can you tell us about the ribbon?”

Charles nods, his expression turning serious. “The ribbon on my helmet today is a symbol of awareness for domestic violence. It’s an issue that affects millions of people around the world, and I wanted to use this platform to bring attention to it.”

Another reporter jumps in. “Was there a specific reason you chose this race to highlight this cause?”

Charles pauses, carefully considering his words. “I believe that as public figures, we have a responsibility to use our voices for good. Domestic violence is a problem that often stays hidden, and I want to help bring it into the light.”

“Will the helmet be part of any specific initiative?” A third reporter asks.

Charles nods, a small smile playing at his lips. “Yes, actually. I’m going to be auctioning off this helmet, with all proceeds going to charities that combat domestic violence and support survivors.”

There’s a murmur of approval from the gathered press. “That’s a wonderful gesture,” one reporter says. “Can you tell us more about why this cause is so important to you?”

Charles takes a deep breath, his eyes briefly scanning the crowd. He spots you standing at the back, partially hidden behind a barrier. Your eyes meet, and he draws strength from your presence.

“It’s important because it’s a problem that affects so many people, yet it’s often overlooked or ignored,” Charles says, his voice steady and clear. “I ... I have seen firsthand the devastating impact it can have on someone’s life. And I want to do whatever I can to help break the cycle of violence and provide support for those who need it.”

There’s a moment of silence as the reporters absorb his words. Then the questions start flying again.

“Have you partnered with any specific organizations for this initiative?”

“Do you plan to continue raising awareness for this cause in future races?”

“How do you balance your focus on racing with your desire to address social issues?”

Charles answers each question thoughtfully, his passion for the cause evident in every word. As the press conference winds down, he can’t help but feel a sense of pride. Not just for his performance on the track, but for using his platform to make a difference.

As he makes his way back to the Ferrari garage, Charles spots you waiting for him. Your eyes are bright with emotion, and he can see the pride and gratitude written all over your face.

“That was amazing,” you say as he approaches. “I can’t believe you did all that.”

Charles shrugs, suddenly feeling a bit shy. “It was the least I could do. I hope it helps, even if it’s just a little bit.”

You shake your head, a soft laugh escaping you. “A little bit? Charles, do you have any idea how much impact something like this can have? You just brought attention to this issue in front of millions of people.”

He nods, the weight of what he’s done starting to sink in. “I just hope it makes a difference. That it helps someone out there feel less alone.”

You reach out, squeezing his hand. “It already has,” you say softly.

Charles feels a warmth spread through his chest at your words. He opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, a voice calls out from behind him.

“Charles! A word?”

Charles turns to see a familiar face — Federica, a respected journalist he’s known for years. She approaches with a warm smile, notepad in hand.

“Federica,” Charles greets her. “How are you?”

“I’m well, thank you,” she replies. “That was quite a statement you made out there today. I was hoping we could talk a bit more about it. Off the record, if you prefer.”

Charles glances at you, silently asking if you’re okay with this. You nod encouragingly.

“Sure,” Charles says. “What would you like to know?”

Federica’s expression turns serious. “I’ve known you for a while now. This isn’t just a random cause you’ve picked up. There’s a personal connection here, isn’t there?”

Charles takes a deep breath, weighing his words carefully. He feels you shift closer to him, offering silent support.

“You’re right,” he says finally. “It is personal. I can’t go into details, but ... I’ve seen up close how devastating domestic violence can be. And I realized that I had an opportunity to do something about it.”

Federica nods, her eyes softening with understanding. “That’s very brave of you, Charles. Both to take this stand and to admit the personal connection. Can I ask what made you decide to do it now?”

Charles glances at you again, a small smile playing at his lips. “Let’s just say I’ve been inspired by someone very brave. Someone who showed me that it’s possible to turn pain into purpose.”

Federica follows his gaze, her eyebrows raising slightly as she notices you for the first time. “I see,” she says, a knowing look in her eye. “Well, I think what you’re doing is wonderful. And I would be happy to help spread the word about the helmet auction, if you’d like.”

Charles nods gratefully. “That would be amazing. Thank you.”

As Federica walks away, Charles turns back to you. “I hope that was okay,” he says softly. “I didn’t want to say too much, but ...”

You shake your head, cutting him off. “It was perfect. Really. I ... I don’t know how to thank you for all of this.”

Charles reaches out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “You don’t have to thank me. Seeing you here, seeing how far you’ve come ... that’s all the thanks I need.”

For a moment, you just look at each other, a wealth of unspoken emotions passing between you. Then, impulsively, you step forward and wrap your arms around Charles in a tight hug.

He returns the embrace without hesitation, holding you close. In that moment, surrounded by the noise and chaos of the paddock, Charles feels a sense of peace wash over him.

This, he thinks, is what really matters. Not the podiums or the points, but the ability to make a difference. To help someone heal and find their strength again.

As you pull back from the hug, Charles sees something new in your eyes. A spark of determination, of hope for the future. And he knows, without a doubt, that this is just the beginning of something beautiful.

***

The late afternoon sun streams through the windows of Charles’ Monaco apartment, warming the living room. Charles is sprawled on the couch, idly scrolling through his phone, when he hears a sudden gasp from the kitchen.

“Oh my god,” your voice carries through the apartment, a mix of shock and something else Charles can’t quite place.

He sits up, instantly alert. “Everything okay?” He calls out, already moving towards the kitchen.

You appear in the doorway, your face flushed and your eyes wide. You’re clutching your phone like a lifeline, and there’s an energy radiating from you that Charles has never seen before.

“I ... I got in,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Charles furrows his brow, confused for a moment before realization dawns. “The university? You heard back?”

You nod, a smile breaking across your face like the sun emerging from behind clouds. “I got in, Charles. They accepted me!”

The joy in your voice is infectious, and Charles feels his own face split into a grin. “That’s amazing!” He exclaims, stepping towards you. “I knew you could do it!”

What happens next seems to unfold in slow motion. You close the distance between you in two quick steps, and before Charles can process what’s happening, your lips are on his.

The kiss is brief, a burst of spontaneous happiness, but it sends a jolt through Charles’ entire body. For a split second, he’s frozen, his mind struggling to catch up with the reality of your lips against his.

But as quickly as it began, it’s over. You pull back abruptly, your eyes wide with shock at your own actions. “Oh god,” you stammer, taking a step back. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to ... I was just excited and I ...”

Charles can see the panic rising in your eyes, the fear that you’ve crossed a line. He wants to reassure you, to tell you that it’s okay, more than okay, but you’re already backing away, words tumbling out in a rush.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know what I was thinking. Please don’t be mad, I-”

“Hey,” Charles cuts in gently, reaching out to catch your hand before you can retreat further. “Stop apologizing.”

You freeze, uncertainty written all over your face. “But I-”

Charles shakes his head, a soft smile playing at his lips. “You have nothing to be sorry for. In fact ...” he takes a deep breath, gathering his courage. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you for months.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “You ... you have?”

Charles nods, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of your hand. “I have. But I didn’t want to rush you. I wanted to give you time to heal, to find yourself again.”

You’re quiet for a moment, processing his words. “So you’re not ... upset?”

Charles can’t help but chuckle. “Upset? No, definitely not upset. More like ... thrilled. And maybe a little disappointed in myself for not making the first move.”

A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. “Really?”

“Really,” Charles confirms. He takes a step closer, his free hand coming up to gently cup your cheek. “In fact, if you’re okay with it, I’d really like to kiss you again. Properly this time.”

You nod, a mix of nervousness and anticipation in your eyes. “I’d like that,” you whisper.

Charles leans in slowly, giving you plenty of time to change your mind. But you don’t pull away. Instead, you meet him halfway, your lips connecting in a kiss that’s soft and sweet and full of promise.

This time, Charles is fully present in the moment. He savors the feeling of your lips against his, the warmth of your body as you step closer. His hand slides from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair.

When you finally break apart, you’re both a little breathless. Charles rests his forehead against yours, a smile playing at his lips.

“Wow,” you murmur.

“Yeah,” Charles agrees. “Wow indeed.”

For a moment, you just stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms. Then Charles remembers what started all this.

“So,” he says, pulling back slightly to meet your eyes. “You got into law school. We should celebrate!”

You laugh, the sound light and carefree in a way Charles has never heard before. “I almost forgot about that for a second there.”

Charles grins. “Well, we can’t have that. It’s not every day you get accepted to study law at the International University of Monaco. This calls for champagne!”

He starts to move towards the kitchen, but you tug on his hand, pulling him back. “Wait,” you say softly. “Before we celebrate ... can we talk about this?” You gesture between the two of you.

Charles nods, his expression turning serious. “Of course. What do you want to know?”

You bite your lip, suddenly looking uncertain. “I just ... where do we go from here? I mean, I like you, Charles. A lot. But I’m still ... I’m still healing. And I don’t want to complicate things or ruin our friendship if-”

Charles cuts you off gently, taking both of your hands in his. “Hey, look at me,” he says softly. When you meet his gaze, he continues. “I like you too. A lot. And I understand that you’re still healing. I don’t want to rush anything or pressure you in any way.”

You nod, relief evident in your eyes. “So what do we do?”

Charles smiles. “We take it slow. We keep being friends, but we also explore these new feelings. And most importantly, we communicate. If at any point you feel overwhelmed or want to slow things down, you tell me. Okay?”

“Okay,” you agree, a small smile playing at your lips. “And what if ... what if I want to speed things up sometimes?”

Charles feels a warmth spread through his chest at your words. “Then we can do that too. As long as we’re both comfortable and on the same page.”

You nod, looking more relaxed now. “I think I can handle that.”

“Good,” Charles says, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “Now, about that champagne ...”

As Charles moves to the kitchen to fetch the bottle, he can’t help but feel a sense of excitement bubbling up inside him. This thing between you is new and fragile, but it’s also full of potential. And he’s determined to nurture it, to give it the time and care it needs to grow into something beautiful.

He returns with two glasses and the champagne, finding you settled on the couch. As he pours, he can’t help but steal glances at you. There’s a glow about you that has nothing to do with the afternoon sun — it’s the light of new beginnings, of hope for the future.

“A toast,” Charles says, handing you a glass. “To new adventures in education and ... other areas.”

You laugh, clinking your glass against his. “To new adventures,” you agree.

As you sip the champagne, a comfortable silence falls between you. Charles finds himself marveling at how far you’ve come in the past few months. From the scared, broken woman he first met to this confident woman embarking on a new chapter of her life.

“What are you thinking about?” You ask, noticing his contemplative expression.

Charles smiles. “Just ... how proud I am of you. You’ve come so far, and now you’re starting this new journey. It’s inspiring.”

You blush slightly at his words. “I couldn’t have done it without you, you know. Your support has meant everything.”

“You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for,” Charles insists. “But I’m glad I could help. And I’ll be here to support you through your studies too. Although,” he adds with a grin, “I’m not sure how much help I’ll be with law textbooks.”

You laugh, leaning into him slightly. “I’m sure you’ll find ways to be helpful. Moral support is important too, you know.”

Charles wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. “Well, in that case, I’m your man. Moral support is my specialty.”

As the afternoon fades into evening, you and Charles talk about everything and nothing. You discuss your hopes for university, your fears, your dreams for the future. Charles shares stories from his racing career, anecdotes he’s never told anyone else.

And through it all, there’s a new undercurrent of electricity between you. A spark ignited by that spontaneous kiss, fueled by the promise of something more.

As the sky outside turns a deep indigo, Charles finds himself marveling at the unexpected turns life can take. A few months ago, he was just a driver focused on his next win. Now, he’s sitting here with you, on the cusp of something that feels bigger and more important than any championship.

“What are you smiling about?” You ask, noticing his expression.

Charles pulls you closer, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “Just thinking about how sometimes the best things in life are the ones you never see coming.”

You snuggle into his side, a contented sigh escaping you. “I couldn’t agree more.”

***

Five Years Later

The sun shines brightly on the streets of Monaco as Charles stands before a modest but elegant building, his heart swelling with pride. He glances at you, standing beside him in a crisp power suit, your eyes sparkling with excitement and determination. It’s a look he’s come to know well over the past five years, but today it seems to shine even brighter.

“Are you ready for this?” Charles asks, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

You turn to him, a radiant smile spreading across your face. “I’ve been ready for this my whole life,” you reply, your voice steady and sure.

Charles feels a surge of love and admiration wash over him. He remembers the scared, broken woman he met all those years ago, and marvels at the strong, confident woman you’ve become. His wife. His partner in every sense of the word.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” a voice calls out, drawing their attention to the small crowd gathered before them. “We are here today to celebrate the grand opening of the Leclerc Center for Domestic Violence Support and Legal Aid.”

A round of applause breaks out, and Charles feels you squeeze his hand tighter. He knows how much this moment means to you, how hard you’ve worked to make it a reality.

The speaker, a distinguished-looking woman in her fifties, continues. “This center represents a beacon of hope for those who have suffered in silence, a promise that they are not alone, and that help is available. And we have two very special people to thank for making this dream a reality.”

She gestures towards Charles and you. “Charles and Y/N, would you like to say a few words before we cut the ribbon?”

Charles looks at you, silently asking if you want to speak first. You nod, stepping forward with the confidence of someone who has found their true calling.

“Thank you all for being here today,” you begin, your voice clear and strong. “This center is more than just a building. It’s a promise. A promise to every person out there who’s suffering in an abusive relationship that there is hope, there is help, and there is a way out.”

Charles watches you speak, feeling a swell of pride. He remembers the countless late nights you spent poring over law books, the tears of frustration and determination as you fought your way through law school. And now here you are, a fully qualified attorney, using your hard-earned skills to help others who were once in your position.

“I stand here today not just as a lawyer, not just as the co-founder of this center, but as someone who has been where many of our future clients are right now,” you continue, your voice wavering slightly with emotion. “I know the fear, the doubt, the feeling of being trapped. But I also know the incredible strength that lies within each survivor. And it is my deepest hope that this center will help them find that strength, just as I did.”

As you step back, wiping a tear from your eye, Charles pulls you into a quick, supportive hug before stepping forward himself.

“When I met my wife five years ago,” he begins, his voice thick with emotion, “I was just a driver who thought he had it all figured out. But she opened my eyes to a world I knew little about, and showed me that sometimes the most important battles are the ones fought off the track.”

He pauses, looking out at the crowd. He sees familiar faces — fellow drivers who’ve supported this project, team members who’ve become like family, and new faces too — survivors, advocates, people who believe in the mission of this center.

“This center is a dream that we’ve shared for years,” Charles continues. “A dream of creating a safe space where survivors can find legal support, counseling, and most importantly, hope. And while I may not be the one providing legal advice,” he adds with a chuckle, earning a laugh from the crowd, “I promise to support this center and its mission in every way I can.”

He turns to you, his eyes shining with love and admiration. “And to my incredible wife, who has been the driving force behind all of this — thank you. For your strength, your determination, and for showing me what true courage looks like every single day.”

As Charles steps back, the crowd erupts in applause. You reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his as the official hands you a large pair of scissors.

“Are you ready to do the honors?” The official asks.

You and Charles share a look, years of unspoken understanding passing between you in that moment. Together, you step forward, positioning the scissors at the purple ribbon stretched across the entrance.

“On the count of three,” the official announces. “One ... two ... three!”

With a satisfying snip, the ribbon falls away. The crowd cheers, and cameras flash as you and Charles stand before the open doors of the center, your shared dream finally a reality.

As the crowd begins to file inside for the reception, you turn to Charles, your eyes shining with unshed tears. “We did it,” you whisper. “We really did it.”

Charles pulls you into a tight embrace, not caring about the cameras still flashing around them. “You did it,” he murmurs into your hair. “I just followed your lead.”

You pull back, shaking your head with a fond smile. “We’re a team, remember?”

Charles laughs, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “How could I forget?”

As you make your way inside, greeting guests and answering questions, Charles finds himself reflecting on the journey that brought you both to this moment. The ups and downs, the challenges and triumphs, all leading to this day.

A familiar face approaches — Federica, the journalist who had interviewed Charles after that fateful race five years ago. “Charles, Y/N,” she greets you warmly. “Congratulations on this amazing achievement. Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?”

You nod, your professional demeanor sliding into place. “Of course. What would you like to know?”

“This center is quite different from the usual celebrity charity projects,” Federica begins. “Can you tell me what inspired you to take such a hands-on approach?”

You and Charles share a look, silently deciding who should answer. Charles gives a small nod, encouraging you to take the lead.

“For us, this isn’t about charity in the traditional sense,” you explain. “It’s about using our resources and platform to create real, tangible change. As a survivor myself, I know firsthand how crucial legal support can be in escaping an abusive situation. But I also know how intimidating and overwhelming the legal system can seem.”

Charles watches as you speak, marveling at your eloquence and passion. He remembers the early days of your relationship, when you would sometimes struggle to find your voice. Now, you command the room with ease.

“Our goal with this center,” you continue, “is to provide comprehensive support — legal aid, counseling, practical assistance — all under one roof. We want to remove as many barriers as possible for those seeking help.”

Federica nods, scribbling in her notepad. “And Charles,” she turns to him, “how do you see your role in all of this?”

Charles straightens, his expression serious. “My role is to support this center and its mission in every way I can. Whether that’s using my platform to raise awareness, helping to secure funding, or simply being here to show that everyone can and should be allies in this fight against domestic violence.”

You reach for his hand, giving it a squeeze. Charles feels a surge of gratitude for your unwavering support, both in this project and in his career.

“And how do you balance this work with racing?” Federica asks.

Charles smiles. “It’s all about priorities. Racing is my passion, but this center, and the work we do here, that’s my purpose. I’m fortunate to have a team and sponsors who understand and support that.”

As Federica thanks the two of you and moves on to speak with other guests, Charles turns to you. “You were amazing,” he says softly. “I’m so proud of you.”

You lean into him slightly, a soft smile playing at your lips. “We were amazing,” you correct him. “I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

Before Charles can respond, another guest approaches, asking for a tour of the facilities. As you lead the way, explaining the various services the center will offer, Charles hangs back slightly, simply observing.

He watches as you point out the private consultation rooms, the children’s play area designed to make the center welcoming for families, the state-of-the-art security systems put in place to ensure client safety. Your eyes light up as you describe the pro bono legal services, the partnerships with local shelters and support groups, the education and prevention programs you hope to implement.

In this moment, seeing you in your element, Charles is struck anew by how far you’ve both come. From that terrifying night in the paddock to this day of hope and new beginnings, it’s been a journey neither of you could have anticipated.

As the day winds down and the last of the guests depart, Charles finds you standing in the main reception area, looking around with a mix of awe and determination.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He asks, wrapping an arm around your waist.

You lean into him, letting out a contented sigh. “I was just thinking about all the lives we’re going to change here. All the people we’re going to help.”

Charles presses a kiss to your temple. “You’ve already changed so many lives, you know. Including mine.”

You turn to face him, your eyes shining with love and gratitude. “We’ve changed each other’s lives. And now we get to pay it forward.”

As Charles looks at you, his partner in every sense of the word, he knows that whatever challenges lie ahead, you’ll face them together. Just as you always have.

“Ready to go home?” He asks softly.

You nod, taking one last look around the center. “Yes,” you say, your voice filled with quiet determination. “But we’ll be back bright and early tomorrow. We’ve got work to do.”

Charles smiles, taking your hand as you walk towards the exit. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[smutoperator]

Bad Bunny

Jung Eunbi (Eunha) x Male Reader

Kinkvember Chapter 2

Main kinks: public sex, free use, sex with a stranger, spanking

Word count: 5639.

Eunha is a bad bunny. She may look cute from the outside, but once she gets inside the walls of any bedroom, she transforms herself into the neediest slut ever known. However, in this month of November, you had decided you would abstain from having any sex with her and let her prepare for her group's comeback.

But Eunha's horniness knows no boundaries, and her comeback preparation couldn't go ahead without sex. And if you weren't going to give it to her, no problem; she would find it somewhere else.

Eunha invites a guy to your house for a hot night of sex. He fucks her in every possible way, giving her the relief she needs while you preach your abstinence. However, one little mistake ended up leading to her demise.

On the next day, you do your duty as a good boyfriend and collect the garbage to take it away. However, when you start separating it, you find a few condoms mixed in it. You noticed a few holes poked in them and quickly connected the dots. "Damn, that bunny is so horny she couldn't go over a day without sex," you say.

You take the garbage out but grab one of the condoms, waiting to confront Eunha when she arrives from the latest practice. It doesn't take long for her to come, and as soon as she does, you ask her.

"What is this, Eunha?" you say, pointing to the condom. "I don't know," she answers, clearly lying as you can see her pale skin blushing. "Eunha, did you have sex with another guy while preparing for your group's comeback? You ask her. "Sorry, baby, I couldn't resist; I'm just a horny bunny," she answers. "Please forgive me; I love you," she continues.

Eunha's needy face makes your heart melt. You truly want to forgive her. But first, you need to set some conditions. "I forgive you, baby, but you cannot disobey me anymore," you tell her. "Okay, baby, I promise I will be very obedient," Eunha answers. "Well, I will start enforcing it right now; you better obey every command I give you and let me do whatever I want to you," you answer her. "Yes, baby, do it as you please; I deserve to get punished; I'm a bad bunny," she says.

"Let's take a walk then," you tell Eunha. "Sure, baby," she says. But as soon as you two get out of your house, you cuff her hands. "Baby, what are you doing?" she asks. "Shhhh, you told me you would let me do whatever I wanted," you say to her. "Alright, do it," she says.

You walk Eunha across the street in the direction of the construction site on the other side of it. You walk her through it, making sure she doesn't trip over anything with those knee-high boots she's wearing. You get her towards one of the fences at the construction site, pushing her against it. "Punish me, baby," she says. And indeed you will.

You grab scissors and cut Eunha's top right at her boob area. "We can't do that, baby," she says. "Today we can, follow my lead, you cheating bunny," you say to her, groping her perfect pair of tits and giving them a few spankings in between. "Bad bunny," you say as you spank them.

You pin Eunha against the fence and bend her body over, showing off the part that made you fall in love with her: the perfect round cheeks of her butt. You do one of your favorite things to it: spank it a few times before you pick up the scissors to cut her panties off. "You won't need those today," you say to Eunha.

You stick your hands on Eunha's pink fuckholes and start massaging them. "We can't do that in public, baby; it's too risky," she says. "Of course we can, and if you stay quiet, nobody will see," you say to her as you keep fingering her pussy and anus in broad daylight.

You once again reach into your toolcase and push out a nipple clamp, and you use the chain coming out of it to tie Eunha to the fence. "Today you're Daddy's free use girl," you say to her. "Yes, daddy, please use me," she says.

"Arch that pretty butt for me, little bunny," you tell Eunha, who obliges. As soon as you do, you cut the remnants of her panties off, leaving her big ass out in the open for you to spank it unchallenged. A construction worker arrives from behind, leading you to instinciteively pull Eunha's skirt back to cover her ass.

"You can't stay here," the worker says to you, who obliges and takes Eunha along with you, but not before flashing her nipples to them. You walk Eunha across the street and then reach a very heavy traffic avenue, crossing it as the drivers stop and get greeted with more nipple-flahing from Eunha. On the other side of the avenue, some curious guys look at your girlfriend, wondering what kind of stuff you're doing to her, as they see her tied up with her torso fully exposed, some even perverted enough to try to touch her.

Eunha is now completely naked from her waist up, but you just don't care and take her across the crowd walking down the streets. In fact, you lift her skirt up too, offering them a glimpse of your girlfriend almost totally naked, with many guys turning their necks around to look at her big ass, even better when you spank it in front of those horny dudes and even get some drivers to honk at Eunha flashing them, while you keep greeting the people walking across the street with your girlfriend's hot body.

You get even bolder, bending Eunha's body and flashing her ass to the people on the street and the guys on the avenue. They really enjoy it. Indeed, that fat pale piece of ass is a marvel to look at: so plump, round, and already red from the spankings you gave her.

Eunha grinds herself on a street sign and puts up a little show for the drivers stopping at the red light. "I wish Yuju was there; she could easily do some pole dancing at that sign," you say to your girlfriend, who is basically naked except for the bar of her skirt wrapped around her waist. The transients can see everything from her: her pink pussy, her perky tits, and especially her fat ass.

You take Eunha to the parking lot of a supermarket nearby and decide it's time to start putting some heat up in her pussy, as you finger it while crossing the lot. "Don't squirt; you can only cum when Daddy tells you," you say to her. Eunha obliges, managing to keep herself uptight and not cum.

Eunha gets put on her knees as you unzip your pants and finally show her your cock. "You missed it, right?" you ask her. "A lot, daddy," she answers and then quickly dives to bob her head on it like a good horny bunny. You grab her head from behind and push her even deeper, slowly fucking her doll-esque face. "Oh yeah, you're such a good Barbie doll," you tell her as she takes your cock in her mouth with ease in that parking lot.

You push your pants back up and walk Eunha across the parking lot a little bit. "What do you say?" you ask her. "Thank you, Daddy," Eunha answers. "Good girl, I think you deserve some more of Daddy's cock in your mouth," you reply.

You pin Eunha towards a garage door and violently fuck her face. You don't care about her head slamming hard against it; in face, the more, the better. Your thrusts are filled with rage, ready to teach that cheating bunny a lesson as your cock bulges under her throat and her head keeps slamming the wall. You then walk her around a bit and switch to doing that against the door of one of the parked cars. God, it's so good using that slutty bunny's pretty face like a toy.

You toy with Eunha, slapping your cock against her naughty tongue. That only makes her even hornier, as she seizes the opportunity to bob her head against your cock. "Calm down, little bunny," you say to her, quickly regaining control and pushing her to gag on your cock. "You're such a bad bunny," you say to Eunha, slapping her face.

"Tell me you want more," you ask Eunha. "I want more, Daddy," she answers. "Again," you reply, spitting in her face. "Please, I want more, Daddy. Give me that big cock; I want it inside me," she says with more detail this time. You push your cock a bit more on Eunha's mouth, and she answers by quickly bobbing her head on it, getting it perfectly wet for her fuckholes. She doesn't care about the cars passing through the lot and watching; all she wants is to be a good girl full of cock.

"Where do you want it first, pussy or ass?" you ask Eunha. "Pussy, daddy," she says, and you follow. You truly missed that tight pink hole of hers, groaning as soon as you get in. "And how do you say it?" you ask her. "Please, daddy, fuck my pussy," Eunha answers.

You pump Eunha's pussy at a steady pace, her making tons of effort not to moan and get noticed by someone else. Instead, you're the one groaning as her tight hole squeezes your fat cock quite hard. "Say thank you, Daddy," you tell her, giving her ass another spank. "Thank you, Daddy, for having such a big cock for this little bunny," she answers.

"Such a good whore, getting daddy's cock for everyone in the street to watch; I hope they film us and sell the tape," you say to Eunha. "Oh, oh, oh, ohhhh," Eunha softly moans as you attack her little pussy. You keep groaning as Eunha's walls tighten around your shaft, more so when you spank her ass.

"Come here, clean it," you say after a while. "You made my cock very dirty with that slutty pussy," you continue. Eunha promptly follows your orders, ducking down to taste her juices. "Good girl," you say as she licks the side of your shaft and then takes it deep in her throat before you grab her head and speed up the process by fucking her face.

You lift Eunha's right legs up and spread them until her boots hit the door of the car on the opposite side. With her in prime position, you get back to fuck her pussy from behind while reaching to grab her hair. You fuck her harder this time, Eunha's legs barely able to stay at the car's door while her pussy feels the wrath of your cock. "Are you struggling, whore? Maybe you shouldn't have cheated on me, stupid bunny," you say to her, spitting on her face.

You completely dominate Eunha, now reaching one hand to finger her pussy as you pound it. You fuck her full of rage, punishing her nonstop for being such a bad bunny. You now even stretch her mouth with both hands, humilating her at any possible opportunity.

"Get down, bitch, you are getting too much fun from my cock; now clean it again," you say to Eunha, stopping fucking her pussy and going straight to more facefucking. "Filthy little whore," you say, spitting on her face before doing some cock slapping and then face slapping. "Time to get on your feet; this round is over; I'm taking you somewhere else," you tell her.

You walk Eunha across the neighborhood, never missing a chance to spank her pale butt and make it even redder. You two finally reach your destination, a shabby alleway in front of some long abandoned buildings. You keep spanking her pussy and tits at the alleway. "You like it?" you ask her. "Yes, daddy, spank me; I'm a bad bunny," Eunha says.

You follow what she asks, hitting Eunha's whole pale body with a whip. Her thicc thigs, her beautiful face, her perky tits, her pink pussy, nothing escapes your wrath. "Turn around," you say, delivering some pain to her ass next. "Look at you; you're all dirty," you tell her. 

"Eunha, I'm still being very soft to you; you know I can spank you much harder than that, right?" you ask her. "Of course, daddy, spank me harder, I beg," she says. "Alright, I won't deny it," you tell her, hitting her ass at full speed now. Eunha seems to take it fairly easy. Her pale skin has made her the target of much spanking over the course of her career, to the point that she's addicted to it. "Daddy, I think you're going to make me cum just by spanking me," she says.

"Not yet; you aren't clear to cum yet. And you know what? This filthy alleway is the perfect place to clean your dirty hole," you say to her. "But first, you have to beg it for me," you tell Eunha.

"Please, daddy, fuck my ass," Eunha answers. You like that she already knows what hole you were talking about. "Say it again," you tell Eunha, but you actually block her from answering by shoving your cock in her mouth once again. "Please, daddy, fuck my tight, dirty, slutty ass," she says as soon as your cock is out of her mouth.

You turn Eunha around at the alleway and put your cock in her ass, her tight hole making you struggle to put in there. Eunha clings her head against the wall, trying to cope with your thrusts. "Ohhhh, ohhhhh, ahhhhh, ahhhhh, yesss," Eunha moans as you pick up the speed. You also groan, trying to dig deeper in her anus and pushing really hard. "I'm so thankful for having a daddy that fucks me so good in the ass," Eunha says in between meany moans.

"Holy sh*t, you're such a fucking tight bitch even though you get fucked in the ass every day," you say to Eunha. "Yes, daddy, I always make sure to make things very difficult for your big fat cock or for other cocks when I'm being a bad bunny and cheating on you," Eunha answers, confessing last night wasn't the first time she did it.

"Let me sit; I want to see you bouncing on that cock," you say to Eunha, never pulling out of her at any second. You lie on the dirty sidewalk floor as she impales her dirty butthole on your cock and rides it like a champ, giving you a privileged view of her fat ass. "Come on, stupid bitch, just bounce," you tell her. Eunha follows and picks up the pace, getting your cock all the way inside her tight asshole.

"Good girl," you say to Eunha as the sounds of her cheeks clapping on your pants get louder. "Yeah," she moans, grinning her teeth as your big cock seems to be too much for her tiny butthole.

"Get up," you tell Eunha, asking her to pull out of your cock. "Now sit down and suck it clean; I want you to get your dirty anus off my cock," you say to her, shoving it in her face once more and pushing her head against your manhood. "Fuck yeah, you like being fucked in the ass like this?" you ask her. "Yes, daddy," Eunha answers.

"There you go," you say as you force your cock balls deep in Eunha's mouth until she gags. She goes insane and starts licking your balls. "You're such a nasty girl, aren't you?" you ask her, grabbing your cock and slapping in on her face while spitting on her.

You fuck Eunha's pussy hard and fast for a little bit, punishing the slutty bunny with a hard pounding as a guy appears on the street. "Turn around, against the wall," you order to Eunha, letting the guy grope her tits while you spank her. Eunha bends over and shows her ass to the dude as you hit her big butt.

"Dirty slut, your punishment is far from over," you say to her, lifting the bar of her skirt. You take Eunha to a playground, tying her up to one of the equipments and putting a blindfold in her eyes. Eunha's body is completely suspended as you put your cock back in her ass. "I'm ready to use that asshole a little more," you say to her, toying as your cock goes in and out of her anus. 

"Fuck, ahhhh," Eunha moans as you thurst your cock deep in her ass and finger her horny cunt, her legs fully spread and suspended in the air as you fuck her ass in a missionary position. "Please, daddy, keep fucking my ass," a blindfolded Eunha says as you increase the pace, finger-fucking her pussy as well at the same pace you attack her asshole. You spank her pale butt like always, leading to more moans from the porcelain princess.

"Dadddy, can you fuck my pussy too?" Eunha asks. You accept it and switch holes, taking her cunt even harder as her body jiggles all over the playground equipment with the speed of your thrusts. Some kids appear at the playground, but you just don't care; to you, they will just be having a free class of sex education. Besides them, a stranger appears and gets side by side with you, who lets him finger Eunha's pussycat and eventually gets inside it.

You step aside as the stranger fucks Eunha's pussy. "Have fun," you tell him. The guy seizes the opportunity, pounding Eunha hard as you spit in her blindfolded face. "Stupid slut, can't resist any cock that comes in your way, can't you?" you say to Eunha, jerking your cock off and slapping on her face while the stranger fucks her hard and spanks her butt too.

"You like his cock, don't you?" you ask Eunha. "Yes, daddy, I can't help myself; I'm a bad bunny that loves cock," she answers. "Do you want him to cum in your pussy?" you ask her. "Yes, Daddy, would you let him?" she asks.

But the authrorization doesn't even need to come, as you inserting a vibrator on Eunha's clit makes her walls clench harder, making the stranger unable to resist as he fills her pussy full of his cum. You uncover Eunha's eyes, letting her enoy her cunt getting stuffed to the brim of a stranger's semen, much to her glee.

You and the stranger take Eunha under a shabbed railway bridge in the worst part of the neighborhood as you three go down an access stairway full of graffiti defacements and dirty walls. "Let's have some fun," you say, stripping Eunha fully naked and offering her to the strange. "Make him happy, you dirty slut," you continue, spanking her ass with the whip once more.

Eunha unbuttons the stranger's shorts, jerking his cock off until it gets hard again. She can feel the remnants of his sperm still covering his shaft. You get Eunha on her knees and push her to suck his cock; all that while you spank her back, make things worse for the horny bunny. Eunha savors his shaft under your watch as the stranger gropes her tits.

After some jerking off, you take your cock back in Eunha's pussy, making her get spit-roasted alongside the stranger. You fuck her furiously, spanking her tits and making her pay for being such a cockslut. Eunha gets completely bent over as she pleases both cocks.

"Where do you want our cum, you fucking slut?" you ask her. "In my ass," Eunha answers, prompting you to pull out and deliver her a nice fat load in her pretty slutty face as the stranger can't also resist the warmth of her mouth and soon glazes it with his cum. "What a cum bunny you are, dirty bitch," you say to her, spitting on her cum-filled face once again. "Thank him, bitch," you say to her. "Thank you," Eunha politely says to the stranger as he leaves.

The humiliation isn't over for Eunha though, far from it. You make her walk her across the neighborhood with both of your cum in her face, taking Eunha to the busiest square at the place. Where you take the jacket you had put on her and strip her completely naked once again, taking her back home with no clothes on.

Or so she thought.

To punish Eunha, you decide to go back where it all began, tying her to the garbage can as the pickup truck comes to take the used condoms she wore yesterday, showing what you truly think about her: a filthy, dirty, worthless horny whore that is completely disposable after sex.

A few hours later

It's freezing cold outside, and Eunha remains tied to the trash can. You finally have mercy on the little bunny and bring her back inside your house. Her skin is so pale now she looks like Snow White.

Eunha gets tied up and her body suspended in the air as you start to ask her some questions, ready for a night of dominance. "You look like such an innocent bunny; why are you here?" you start. "I want Daddy to give me as much pain as possible," she answers. "You better be very obedient, because if you don't behave, I'll deliver double the pain," you say to her.

"Yes, daddy, I'm so addicted to the way you spank my porcelain skin," Eunha says. You tease her, touching her body from top to bottom, before pinning her against the wall hard. "Look me in the eye and say it," you tell Eunha. "I want to be spanked, Daddy," Eunha answers. "Why, bunny?" you ask her. "Because I deserve it for being a bad cheating bunny," you say.

You start touching Eunha's pussy, edging her, and then stopping it. "You see, baby, I can give you the pleasure, but I can also take it away," you tell her. "Whatever you want, Daddy," Eunha says. "Then let me do it, Bunny," you say, making her moan hard. "AHHHH, AHHHHH, AHHHHH," Eunha moans. "Are you going to cum?" you ask her. "Yes, daddy, I'm going to cum," she says.

"No, you're not," you tell Eunha, pulling your hands out of her pussy and denying her an orgasm. You bring out the vibrator and start stimulating her again, showing her your intentions. "I'm going to fuck your throat, your pussy and your ass; use you like a little toy; is that what you want?" you ask. "Yes, daddy," she answers.

"You wanna cum?" you ask her again. "DADDY, I'M GONNA CUM," she answers, begging for it as you put the vibrator in her pussy and spank her tits. "OHHHHH," she screams. "Is that what you want, little bunny? Then say it to me," you ask again. "I'M GONNA CUM, I'M GONNA CUM, I'M GONNA CUM, PLEASE DADDY LET ME CUM," she screams. "PLEASE DADDY, PLEASE," she keeps screaming, running out of breath.

You push Eunha's body down until her face gets lined up against your shaft, feeding her mouth with your cock. She bobs her head on it, but not for long as you take the initiative and fuck her throat until she gags, reaching it balls deep in her mouth. "Yes, daddy, feed me that big cock," Eunha begs and gets it as her face gets pounded like it's a second pussy and she chokes all over it.

"Open your fucking mouth, bunny," you say, spitting on Eunha's face. "Keep it open; I'll take it all the way down," you say as saliva comes out of Eunha's chin. You use it to lube your hands and massage her needy cunt until Eunha squirts all over the floor.

"Please, daddy, use me harder," Eunha says as you suspend her body back up, lining your cock to her pussy and inserting it inside her. "FUCK," Eunha gasps, already very sensitive from your edging session. "H YEAH, DADDY, USE MY PUSSY," Eunha says. "Beg harder," you tell her, pulling out after a couple thrusts. "PLEASE, DADDY, MAY I HAVE YOUR BIG FAT COCK IN MY SLUTTY BUNNY PUSSY?" Eunha screams.

"Do you think you're ready?" you say, spanking her pussy. "Yes, daddy, I'm more than ready," Eunha answers. You spank her butt and then go back in her pussy, grabbing her by the ass and fucking her hard, making her body shake as you clap hard against her cheeks. "FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!" Eunha screams nonstop. "AHHHHHHH," she says as she squirts on your naked body.

"Fucking taste it, you bunny slut," you tell Eunha, feeding her juices straight into her mouth. "You want more?" you ask her. "Yes, daddy, please, give me more," Eunha answers as you do just that, fucking her pussy hard. "OHHHHH YESSSS, MAKE ME CUM, DADDY," she moans.

"No," you stop. "You will only cum when I say so," you say, smacking her pussy and enjoying the squirting coming out of it. "AHHHHHH," Eunha screams as she cums. "Thank you, Daddy," she says, looking like an utterly submissive bunny.

You give more hard thrusts into Eunha's sensitive cunt, enjoying the clapping sounds that come out of your bodies colliding against each other. You choke her and then turn her around, starting spanking her fat ass cheeks. "AHHHHH, DADDDY," she screams. "Thank you, Daddy," she then says as they turn red.

"I didn't tell you to speak," you say to Eunha, kissing the bunny and punishing her by jerking your cock off against her clit, making her squirt before pounding her like a crazy. "OH GOD, YES, YES, YES, DADDDY," Eunha screamed. "Thank you, Daddy," she says again as you pull out and stare at her.

You untie Eunha, dropping her at the stairs of your house and opening her legs, tying her up to the handrail before you insert your cock in her ass. "Yes, daddy, please, fuck my ass," she begs. "Yes, daddy, stretch my ass," Eunha begs as you go deeper in it and spank her tits. "You're such a bad bunny," you say.

You show no mercy to Eunha's tight butthole, making things harder for the little bunny as you play with her pussy. "OH FUCK DADDY!" Eunha screams. She whispers inaudible words to you as you keep spanking her whole body. "AHHHHH," Eunha screams as you hit her nipples hard. You tease her cunt with more rubbing. "Ohhh, daddy, please, make me squirt," Eunha begs as you resume the anal pounding, leading her to moan with her mouth wide open.

"Fuck, yes, daddy, yes, daddy," Eunha moans as you now choke her and destroy her butthole. "AHHHHHH," Eunha screams as your cock hits the depths of her anus. You look at your dirty bunny girlfriend calling you Daddy, her pale skin now completely red. "Take every inch of your cock inside me, AHHHHHHH," Eunha moans. 

"Spank my tits, daddy, choke me," Eunha begs as you fuck her harder, getting more and more animalesque. "OHHHHHH," she screams as the spanking never stops. Her tits, her cheeks, her face—everything is a target.

"I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum, please, daddy, let me cum again," Eunha says, but you ignore her, saying focused on fucking her ass. Her thicc thighs and big butt are now almost with her flesh exposed after so much spanking.

"Oh yes," you say as Eunha starts letting out a geyser of squirt out of her pussy. "AHHHHHH," the little bunny screams as you stare at her wasted face, never pulling out of her ass and pushing it deep, making her squirt again almost as if the tip of your cock had pressed some kind of button buried in her anus. 

Eunha squirts multiple times with the anal session you give her. "OH GOD, FUCK ME, DADDY," she screams and begs. "Daddy, it feels so good," she says as you can't stop destroying her butthole and enjoy her squirt all over the stairs steps. "Fuck daddy, you use my ass so good; I want more; I'm a needy bunny for daddy's cock," Eunha says.

"Then turn around," you tell her. Eunha obliges as you tie her knees to the stairs, and your cock quickly finds her already sore butthole for more fun. "Oh yeah, you're so deep, daddy," Eunha moans, more so when you turn her cheeky butt into your prime target of spankings. Eunha's cheeks get massacred, getting hit every time you hit deep in her ass. You enjoy seeing the exposed red flesh from so many hits you deliver on them, only pushing you to go harder. Despite all that pounding, her asshole is still as tight as ever and queefs with your cock inside it. 

Spank, spank, spank. That's all you do now. "Daddy, you're gonna make me cum with so much spanking," Eunha says as she gets used like a little toy. A fuckbunny. "Pull my hair, Daddy," she pleads, and you follow. "I'm your dirty little slut daddy; yes, daddy, treat me like a free use fuckhole," she begs, her body shaking with the speed of your poundings.

"Daddy, you like making bunny cum?" Eunha asks you. "Yes, I love using that bunny until she cums," you tell her, staying focused on pounding her ass. Eunha is completely wasted, but she doesn't want you to stop, jiggling her butt as you fuck it. "I'M CUMMING FOR YOU, DADDY," Eunha announces. You slow down, toying with her gaped anus going in and out of it, giving her sensitive hole a little stabbing. 

But your kindness is short-lived. You soon mount on top of Eunha and deliver her the most aggressive anal pounding of the night. "OH FUCK, YOU'RE HITTING ME SO DEEP, DADDY," she screams. Eunha's ass gets used hard as you are like a raging bull fucking a cow—I mean, a bunny. Your thrusts are full of energy and power, making Eunha roll her eyes as she struggles to cope with the heat.

"I'll do anything for you, Daddy," Eunha says. "Well, then let me use that big, fat, cheeky, red ass," you say, tossing all adjectives about her butt while pounding it hard. "I'm a bad bunny," Eunha says. "Yes, you are," you tell her, choking your slutty girlfriend.

"AHHHHHH," Eunha moans as she cums again. You spank her butt multiple times after pulling out of her ass. "Yes, daddy, harder," she begs. "You want more?" you ask her. "Yes," she answers. "Beg," you reply. "Yes, daddy, please, give me more; spank me like a bad bunny, harder," she says.

After beating Eunha's cheeks like a drum, you reach to finger her throbbing pussy, making her moan and then hitting her every time she screams. "Stay quiet, bitch, I'm going to punish you," you answer, getting back in Eunha's ass and fucking her like crazy, showing no mercy for her and not getting her feeling getting in the way of your anal destruction. "Oh yeah, daddy, you fuck that tight little asshole so well," she says.

The stairs creak as Eunha screams and groans. You finally stop as Eunha begs you to cum again, whispering like a needy bunny. "I need you; I need you; please, Daddy," she says, very out of breath.

"Then come here," you tell Eunha, tying her arms to the ceilling by a chain. "That's right, bunny, sit right down this cock," you command to her as Eunha drops down it with her ass. "OHHHHHHH," she gasps as your length impales her. "Ohhhhh, daddy, ahhhh," Eunha moans as she starts bouncing on it, her legs spread at 180 degrees. "Oh fuck, it feels so good in my ass," she moans.

"That's it, little bunny; now I'm taking control," you say, pounding her from down low. "AHHHHHHH," Eunha squeals as your cock drills her asshole one final time. You manhandle her queefing anus, groaning like a monster and massaging her cunt to make her squirt. "OHHHHHH FUCKKKK!" Eunha screams. She gets pounded to oblivion, losing sight of her surroundings.

"YES DADDY, YES, DADDY, YES DADDY, FUCK ME, FUCK ME, FUCK ME, I'M GONNA CUM," Eunha says, losing her breath and grinding on your cock. "Please, make me cum," Eunha moans as she's basically levitating with your thursts. "Take it all," you say, your balls smashing against her clit. "Yes, daddy, I will take all that cock in my a... fuck," Eunha moans. You and her reach orgasm at the same time as she squirts on your body and you explode inside her asshole.

Eunha grinds on your cock as your cum flows out of her asshole. You free her and start jerking your cock off against her face. "I think I'm going to cum again; you're just too sexy, Eunha," you say to her. "Cum for me, daddy, cum for your little bunny," she says, sticking her tongue out. Her pretty face begging for it makes you lose it again, covering her blonde hair and sexy face with your white seed shortly after again.

"Thank you, Daddy," Eunha says as she licks your shaft and cleans it one final time. You go to bed and leave Eunha lying on the floor at the stairs, her body full of cum as you finish punishing that bad bunny. "You'll be sleeping here tonight," you say to her.

"The next day you wake up and don't find Eunha there, until you go to the kitchen and find a scene that makes you spill your milk: Eunha upside down and completely tied up. As she sees you, she asks you something.

"Daddy, can you punish me again?"

[fishnapple]

You in their eyes, how do they see you?

(Future spouse/partner/lover)

This is a general reading meant for multiple people. Take only what resonates and leave out the rest.

Your feedback is much appreciated. If you find the reading resonated with you, leave a comment, I’d love to know 🎐

About me | Masterpost Book a reading with me - KO-FI (→ personal reading)

MAELSTROM

• Spirit animal: Turtle

You're a balanced combination of both soft, mysterious energy and firm, assertive energy. They can definitely see that you have mental compatibility with each other. Words flow between you effortlessly, conversations would take hours without anyone noticing time was flying by. They can talk about anything with you without fear of judgement and misunderstanding. You stimulate their mind, and when conflicts arise, you can discuss them logically with clarity without letting emotions take over you. This make problems solving between you and them easier, leaving less space for resentment and unresolved feelings.

You seem reserved and quiet in their eyes. Your display of emotions and affection is subtle and intuitive, a quiet devotion that embraces them every day without suffocating them. Though, sometimes, they would have difficulties in trying to decipher your deeper feelings, to understand you at your core, the part that you conceal from them.

But they admire your ability to embrace your inner child fully. They know that this didn't come naturally for you, there's a journey behind it, lessons and hardship you had to go through in order to protect and bring your inner child to the world, no matter how you're perceived. They love this courage, this fearless attitude when you have to face people's opinions, you don't let yourself be swayed by them. Sometimes, you can even be rebellious. But the funny thing is, the more you fight, the more rebellious you're, the more attractive you're in their eyes. And it's not like you go about it in an aggressive and confrontional method. You do you, unapologetically, like a child unaware of how seemingly "odd" their behaviour is in other's eyes. But they know you're not childish. Behind that oblivious attitude is a strong sense of self, a wise person, ruling their own inner kingdom with iron fists. Like a ballerina, their movements can be so graceful only because they've spent endless hours discipline themselves and practised.

Sometimes, they can think that you're being too engrossed in the pursuit of material achievements, like you're always in preparation mode for some disasters looming in the distant future. Greedy might be too strong of a word, but they can view you as materialistic or have a mindset of lack. They understand that material security is very important to you. You need to feel a strong foundation under your feet to feel safe. That can make you overwork yourself to the point of exhaustion, always looking for the next thing to do. But they can see you putting that same effort in making the relationship work, you care about them and are willing to take care of things to make their life easier. They will feel that you're always there when they need you, your presence is a constant that is very much needed in their life. They would feel empty, a part of them is missing when you're away.

SEA FOAM

• Spirit animal: Fish

They think you're their good karma (if you believe in the concept of karma) or a reward, a surprise given to them by some higher powers. I see the image of someone being ushered into someone's life. Both parties can be quite reluctant at first, but as fate has it, you and them need to be together. There's a heavy element of fatefulness in this connection, or so that's how they see it. You are destined to love each other, no matter how much both of you try to deny or run away from it.

I think you will be the one who does the running away in the beginning. You seem "hard to catch", like trying to catch a fish with their bare hands. You would fleet in and out of their life at first, they can't seem to figure you out. But your presence will be a pushing force in their life, pushing them into a different direction, to where they are afraid to tread but secretly wish to.

In their eyes, you can be a little immature or temperamental, acting on whims of the moment. This makes you exciting and unique but sometimes, also agitating and hard to pin down. It's like they're torn between the feeling of love and frustration for you. Their personality probably is more serious and intense than yours. They want to be in the deep water with their lover, but you seem to refuse to swim there with them. But they will always want to care for you, to protect you from the harsh world outside.

The way you talk and act just exudes a young and pure energy, as of someone who, just for the first time, allowed to go outside to explore. You might talk a lot (compare to them), you ask questions, sometimes funny one, sometimes philosophical one, sometimes silly one. They will like to indulge you, patiently answer each one of your questions, then sometimes they can get irritated and start to lecture you, to that, you will just ask more questions. You want to learn, to understand this world. Behind that seemingly busy bee mind is a yearning to explore, to be free and soaring. And even if they can't fly with you, they sure will gather all the winds to lift your wings, instead of trying to pull you down into their water (who's the fish here?).

Your habits might be a little more messy or undisciplined compared to this person. You seem confused lots of times and don't have a good grasp of how to navigate your daily life efficiently, yet miraculously, you still swim through life effortlessly, much to their amazement. You don't fret too much about the future, somehow always arrive at the desired destination on time, things just work out for you, as if you just need to focus on taking good care of yourself and be contented, the rest will be taken care of for you by some mysterious force. This contrasts sharply with their approach to life, always planning ahead, always wanting to control the outcome. This creates a complementary dynamic between you two. Where you need structure, they provide, where they need spontaneity, you provide. In the end, no matter how different you guys are, you just fit each other neatly, like puzzle pieces.

SANDSTORM

• Spirit animal: Swan

They just know that you're the perfect partner for them, the one they need to get married to or at least make a serious, long-term commitment. You just possess all the qualities they seek in a spouse, the thought of committing probably will appear in their mind early on. You have a natural ability to understand them, nurture and protect them, at the same time, be a reliable pillar of strength for them. You are serious in your commitment, never take feelings for granted, you date with marriage as end goal in mind. They also think you would make a good parent, someone with enough tenderness and discipline to raise children with good balance.

Your work might involve lots of travelling and communicating. They can see that these are prominent parts of your life, demanding a large chunk of your time. They think that you tend to overwork yourself, being too engrossed in working, you're always busy, I wonder if this also means that you don't spend enough time with them, they feel like they have to demand for your time, to take you away from whatever is bothering your mind. Security is very important to you, you need to feel abundant to feel safe, yet they think you hardly ever feel that way, hence the constant working. They will want to help you in this area, just like how you help them. You mirror each other, in energy, in intentions, both of you want to care for each other in the same way as the other person does.

They probably like to hear your voice, be it talking, singing, or making other sounds. It feels soothing and calming for them. What you say also brings a new perspective, widening their view about the world. They sometimes see you as a teacher, whom they should listen to and want to be guided by. You just move through life gracefully, always open to new adventure, but still leave space for contemplating deeper meanings about everything. Like a philosopher wandering through life, observing the world, and sharing wisdom with the people. You need to be constantly in motion, travelling, or just moving around, and they're happy to be your companion, though they might sometimes want to slow down and rest a little.

They think you have a lot to uncover. You hide a huge treasure of deep love inside, something too intense for you to confidently show to the world. They would be sad to see you lock your dreams away, and they are willing to help make your dreams come true, if you would just ask them to. Your inner child is also someone they want to get close to. You seem to be disconnected from your inner child. They can feel that you want to connect, but something in your psyche is scaring your inner child away, making them reluctant to join the "family". From the outside, this makes you look a little cold or unaffectionate, you're discreet with your love, only ever bring it out when you completely trust someone.  They would want to reach out their hands and pull your inner child closer, to give your inner child a hug.

DUSK

• Spirit animal: Phoenix

They think that you being in a relationship with them is be a big step away from your past wounds. Not that they want the credit for themselves, but as an admiration for you, for your strength. They can see that you had a great fear concerning relationship and commitment in general. Maybe you have been burnt in the past, childhood baggage, and the bad examples you saw around you made you wary of love. So choosing to be in a relationship with someone, being committed to that person, trusting that person enough to share yourself with them, all of these are really brave actions in their eyes. It shows that you don't let your past hold you back and define you, you rise above it and are willing to change, to choose happiness for yourself.  Sometimes, they would reminisce about the initial getting-to-know-each-other phase, how many obstacles they saw in your connection, and how hard it was for them to gain your trust and affection. They would even tease you for it.

Your life seems to be ridden with changes of direction. You're not meant to stay still in one place, both mentally and physically. Life will always present you some events to push you to move. You can't stay stagnant, if you think you're contented with the current situation, then sure enough, there would be an event, an opportunity appearing in front of you, making you reevaluate your current direction in life. So life with you definitely won't lack movements and changes. Another thing is, you also actively seek to restructure your life. From small hobbies to big life decisions, you can be pretty random and go with the flow. You would change the plan at the last minute, planning to turn left, then suddenly turn right because something caught your attention that made you change your mind. Or some mornings, you would suddenly announce that you will take up a new hobby, register for a dance class, learning new language etc. without prior warning.

Life with you would be busy, you always have something to do, a task to complete, a news to watch, a track to run, a book to read. It's like they can't never see you being still. Maybe that also made them feel like you were afraid of commitment when they first got to know you. They could feel that you're too busy for love. But of course, that's not true, being a busy bee is just who you are, and over time, they've gotten used to it and adapted to it well. That busy energy also shows itself in the way you talk. Maybe you talk a lot, very fast, always have something witty to say. They love your humour, your ability to look at yourself, and joke without being defensive. The way you express your ideas and emotions is clear and rational but not cold. You know when to offer the softest words of encouragement and when to debate with the sharpest points.

They think you like to beautify yourself, you like beautiful things but at the same time you seem to be reluctant to spend on yourself, almost like you're stingy with yourself. Even if you like something, you might rationalise and deny yourself that thing. You want to earn lots of money yet don't feel comfortable spending it, especially for yourself. They know this trait of yours, so they will try to guess your desire and get it for you. You're not stingy with them or everyone, though, you're likely to pour your resources into the people you love and the house you share with them. You might like to beautify the house instead. Which is where you would like to stay a lot. You can seem like a homebody to them (with all the busy work) but you will have to go out and make an appearance in the world and they know the world loves you.

SIERRA

• Spirit animal: Phoenix

If they were the wind, they would lift your wings up as much as they could. Your person sees so much potential in you, so many talents, yet you're limiting yourself with your fears. You have an enormous desire to learn and expand your mind. But you also fear going deeper. You might be the kind of person who learns various subjects simultaneously, has a good grasp of everything, but doesn't dig too deep into any particular subjects. Not because you're shallow or impatient, it's the opposite, you know that once you've engrossed yourself in something, you go all in, it would get to the core really fast, and this drains your time and energy so much, you're reluctant to dive in. You also know that there will be hidden things inside you that need to be uncovered if you were to go any deeper. But they think you have the strength to do this because they understand, deep down, you're much happier when you devote yourself to something.

And they know you devote yourself to them and the relationship. Once you're in a commitment, you take it seriously, you see your life as an entanglement with each other, not just one's own anymore. In a way, you're a team person, someone who has a talent for working with people. This makes being in a relationship with you so much easier. Because you're willing to cooperate and want to make a team effort to build the relationship strong, instead of demanding from a selfish stance.

But you're not a pushover or a people pleaser in their eyes. Your individuality shines intensely. You have no trouble being yourself, you can't help being yourself. Even if you wear normal clothing like everyone else, blending in quietly, you still somehow stand out to them. Like a visible halo around you is beckoning them. They admire your creative energy so much, if they're ever short of ideas, they can always turn to you to get some. If you want to pursue some creative endeavours, they would probably encourage and support you wholeheartedly. Because they believe in you.

They also love your playful side, which you only show to a few close ones, and only in a comfortable space. You appear much more serious in public than when you're with them in private. When you're home with them, you can be tender, childish but also very seductive, you show yourself fully to them. You can act silly, making jokes all the time with them, being competitive in games, or playing pranks on them. But all of those are saved for alone time together. Outside, to the world, you're more uptight, serious. People also respect you a lot, looking up to you like a teacher. What you say probably are well listened to by people. You appear as a wise, mature friend, whom people can come to for sound advice. Your person would sometimes chuckle quietly to themselves whenever they see you out in public or with acquaintances. Those people wouldn't imagine how you would act in private, imagine their reaction when they found out some of your silly jokes. They definitely think you have the world fooled.

RIVER

• Spirit animal: Lamb

You're a quiet presence that haunts their psyche in an inexplicable way. They sometimes can't understand why they're so drawn to you, they have that feeling in their heart, but they can't put it into word. If someone asks your person how they feel about you, they would stumble a bit and would take a long time to come up with a coherent answer. Don't mistake this for their lack of affection or commitment, they just haven't fully comprehended your effect on them. When they hear the question, in their mind, the image of you would be conjured up in so many different ways and different areas, it's like you're everywhere.

They admire your grace under pressure. Your quietness doesn't mean you're meek or naive. Your energy is pure and wise. The hardship you encountered in the past didn't turn you into a bitter and cold person. On the contrary, you developed compassion for other's suffering. Everyone has their own story and they deserve to tell them without shame. Each pain is traded with wisdom. They probably wish to learn a thing or two from your stoicism. You're here, in the present, you don't put your mind to needless worrying nor do you cling to the past.

You're the person they would always turn to when they need an advice, your words have a stabilising effect on them, you make them believe that everything will be okay in the end, that they're safe and sound. You might not talk a lot, superfluous information doesn't interest you, but each word holds values. You can talk about deep and taboo topics without judgement, fear or prejudice. Your person will also love your voice, it sounds tender and calming, though they may wish that you would talk more so that they can hear your voice more.

They do notice, when they've gotten closer to you, that you tend to hold in your anger, you don't want it to affect other people, but your person will worry that this can affect you negatively. You also hold your drive and ambitions close to your chest, refusing to disclose them to others. You work silently, diligently towards your goals. It's like you don't want to show anything too overt, your emotions, your struggle, your passion, they are kept simmering inside, while outwardly, you show a serene and placid disposition.

In love, you show a more relaxed energy to them, like a child finally out of the house after a heavy rain, enjoying the freshness and the earthy scent of everything. You can act a little more erratic with them than when you're with other people. Maybe they adore that side of you or more tolerate towards it. You can be unpredictable, not showing your cards fully. They sometimes have to guess how much you love them, how you feel about them. They can ask you for your opinion about other matters and receive practical and solid answers from you, but when the questions change to the topic of personal feelings and love, you can be elusive. This frustrates them greatly but also pull them to you greatly. You're like the muse and the poet at the same time. And they're your avid reader.

[mattslolita]

Chris fucking Bambi in the empty locker room after her volleyball game

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧

"o-oh, chris, don't stop, please..."

the rattling of the lockers in front of you both were loud enough for anyone to notice the current events taking place — but chris didn't care. the only thing consuming his brain was how your gummy walls squeezed his cock with every thrust, your back arched against the bench as he lands a smack to your ass.

"takin' me so good, angel, fuck," chris groans, speeding his pace, grip on your hips so tight it was sure to leave marks.

"m'close," you whine loudly, holding onto the lockers for support, "oh, right there..."

chris's breath fans the shell of your ear, his loud grunts going straight to your core as he nibbles on your earlobe — his hips snap forward, cock brushing against your cervix deliciously as he rams into you. at this point, you didn't even care if someone saw you both; the idea of someone watching turned you on, if anything.

his hand goes down to your dripping pussy, rubbing tight, fast circles on your clit as he continues his assault on on your pussy.

"g-gonna cum," you babble out, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

"thas' it angel, cum f'me," chris growls, "fuck..."

you didn't need to be told twice — your orgasm washes over you, legs spasming as you cum around his cock, your liquids leaving a white substance on his mushroom tip. chris's eyes possessively narrow at where your bodies connect with each other, reveling in the fact that it was only him who got to make you feel this good.

"shit gonna fill you up, ma," chris moans, his thrusts getting sloppier, "ah, shit..."

his cock twitches inside of you, milky white essence spilling out inside of your velvety walls, painting them white. lewd moans spill from both of your lips, riding out your highs. chris pulls out of you, his cock falling limp against his stomach as you both catch your breath.

you turned around, smiling at him shyly as he removes a sticky braid from your face, swear coating your glowing features. "do they have paper towels in here?"

"mhm, they're right by the sink!" you tell him as he's pulling his pants back up, nodding.

he quickly leaves to wet some paper towels, and you hurriedly put your shirt back over yourself. when he comes back, he gently holds you in place as he dabs in between your legs with the paper towel. you giggled slightly as you watched him, running your fingers through his hair as he concentrates on cleaning you up.

"alright kid, put these back on so we can go," chris instructs you, holding your volleyball shorts up to you.

you give him a confused expression as you take the shorts, tilting your head slightly. "thanks baby but i'm, where are my underwear?"

a sly grin fixes it's way onto chris's lips as he fishes them out of his back pocket, dangling them in your face causing you to gasp and shake your head.

"you perv! you're buying me new ones."

"don't even have to ask, mama," chris smirks, running his hand along the stubble on his jaw, "now let's go, i got still got one more surprise for your first place."

[screamlet]

08x06 fix-it fic: break and be mended

not connected to that excerpt i posted before, just something completely different. 4.5k, read on the ao3

---

Another hospital room. Buck takes a deep breath and closes his eyes again, letting it out and hoping he gets back to sleep. It doesn't happen, though, because his brain catches up to his eyes:

Maddie, wearing a yellow paper hospital mask, a hand anxiously on her belly, sitting in the chair next to him with that too-familiar oh-thank-god-you're-finally-awake face… and Tommy leaning in the doorway.

He takes another deep breath and opens his eyes again.

"You're okay," Maddie says patiently, slowly, as Buck tries to slam the door shut or set the doorway on fire with his brain. "It's just the turkey flu, it hit you hard."

That breaks Buck's concentration. "Wait, is this a dream? Another coma dream? Turkey flu has to be something I made up."

Maddie raises her eyebrows and looks over her shoulder at Tommy before turning back to Buck. "Another one?"

"No, no, don't look at him," Buck interrupts. "He's not supposed to be here, not when I have turkey flu, not ever. He broke up with me, remember?"

In the doorway, Tommy shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He's wearing the dark blue LAFD t-shirt and pleated pants, a special Air Ops patch on his shirt sleeve. They always lurked under his flight suit, under his turnouts when they were on the same scene, but Buck didn't get to see them often. It was for the best, he thinks now, because the shirt fits perfectly across Tommy's chest and shoulders, the pants belted low. His shirt is tucked in better than Buck's ever is. He almost never got to see him like this so it feels like some new Tommy he's seeing, a Tommy that hangs around Harbor long enough to take off his flight suit but doesn't peel the rest of his work self off. He doesn't get off his shift, put the pilot away, shower and go home.

Buck looks away. He's looked too long.

"I'm actually here, you know." Tommy raps his knuckles on the door like that's proof of anything except a very strong poltergeist. "I can hear you."

Buck watches something that he hasn't seen in years sweep across Maddie's face (mostly her eyebrows, because of the mask).

She turns around and snaps, "I let you come within ten feet of my brother and you think bitchy fun Tommy was invited, too? He was not." Tommy looks shocked and abashed; Buck loves her so much.

"Why was he invited at all, Maddie?" Buck asks. "And you're both real, right? Like I'm not hallucinating both of you. Is that a turkey flu symptom? Can I have my phone? I need to look up turkey flu."

"It's a strain of avian flu, you just happened to get it from a turkey farm. Hen said you had a call to one of those last week," Maddie explains. "And you kept giggling when I said the words turkey flu so, you know, why not?"

"It's pretty funny," Buck admits. "Hey, why's he here?"

Maddie turns around and looks at Tommy expectantly. Buck still knows his face, still knows him, and can see the quip that wants to escape past his lips. He can see the work it takes to hold it back and look sincere, really sincere, for them.

"You collapsed at a scene and I flew you over," Tommy says. "I wanted to make sure you were okay."

Buck stares at him as he presses his lips into a fine line. "I'm okay. Thanks."

Tommy nods, then asks, "Can we talk? Alone?"

It's taken four months, almost as long as they were together, but Buck's finally hearing the words he's wanted to hear since Tommy walked out his door. I'm sorry, I was scared, I love you, yes let's take the next step together, from now on let's take every step together—that was Buck's first choice. Can we talk as a jumping off point for all those other things—that was Buck's second choice. Was.

Buck glances at Maddie and knows his face does something dumb. "I'll be outside," Maddie says. "And I'm not far, if you want me to throw him out." She looks over her shoulder at Tommy. "I'll do it."

Tommy nods. "Wouldn't doubt you for a second."

She squeezes Buck's hand and lingers for a beat, one long look at him like she's waiting for him to say actually, wait, don't, stay, but he doesn't. He hates that he doesn't. He hates that he wants to hear what Tommy has to say.

She and Tommy swap places; he takes the chair next to Buck's bed and she leaves, shutting the door behind her. Tommy doesn't see the way she passes by the window like a shark, watching, but Buck laughs. When Tommy looks back, she's gone.

"Your sister's changed a little," Tommy says casually. "Her sense of humor, I mean."

Buck licks his lips. "Yeah, well, when you were my boyfriend, you were her friend. Now you're neither."

"Yep, got it," Tommy says. He sits back in the chair, but looks so uncomfortable that someone would think he'd never sat in one before.

"Are you okay?" Buck asks. "Why are you here?"

"This chair is so weird."

"Tommy, what do you want to talk about?"

It startles Tommy, and it should. He only got soft and smitten, totally-in-love (even if he couldn't admit it out loud) Evan Buckley, cute and bratty Evan Buckley. He doesn't get that Evan anymore. No one has.

Tommy sits with his feet flat on the floor and his hands folded in his lap. He takes a minute, a long minute, of staring at the floor before he looks up and stares at Buck. "You asked me to move in with you."

Buck blinks. "I did."

"You asked me to move in with you."

"You said that. I mean, I said that, but you—"

"Evan," Tommy interrupts.

"I thought I was Buck now," Buck interrupts.

Bitchiness lurks on Tommy's tongue, but he holds it back. "You asked me to move in with you. Into the loft."

Buck tilts his head. "Yeah?"

Tommy shuts his eyes hard and shakes his head before he looks at Buck again. "Evan, I own a house."

"... okay?"

"Did you ask me to move in with you and expect me to give up my house?"

"What, no—" Buck says, then stops himself. "I don't—I didn't think—"

"Did you even think about that?" Tommy asks. "Like when you talked about moving in together, getting married, the future, all of that—did you even remember that I own a house?"

"You know," Buck interrupts. "Four months ago, you could have said, haha, wow, that's moving pretty fast, also I own a house, maybe when we're ready, we could move into MY HOUSE and make it OUR HOUSE, but you needed to run out the door so why would you say any of that?"

"Yeah! I was freaked out! Because here was this guy I—this guy I really liked, and he asked me, a 40-year-old man, to move into his loft?"

"What's wrong with it? Why do you keep saying it like that?"

"It's downtown! Downtown is loud and filthy and did I mention it's noisy? It was hell sleeping there in the summer because even with your central air, heat rises and it rises right into the bedroom. I saw your electric bill, Evan, it was unforgivable."

Buck wants to throw something at him. "And we could have been at your house, quiet and with better temperature control, but we weren't because…?"

"I'm just saying," Tommy continues. "Yeah, all that's true, but I realized you wanted me, wanted a future with me, and you didn't even remember that when I wasn't working or with you, I was at my house."

"I get that," Buck says. "Now how many times did we hang out at your house?"

Tommy sighs. "It's out of the way, your place was always closer to the 118 and to Harbor, and I kept—I was going to, okay? Like maybe after our anniversary, we'd take a week off together and we'd actually be at my house, or take a trip somewhere—"

"You got me basketball tickets," Buck snipes at him.

Tommy stops completely.

"For our six month anniversary, remember?"

"How the hell am I going to forget that?"

"You got me tickets to see the Lakers. Really good tickets."

Tommy rolls his eyes. "Alright, well, that's the last time I call that guy I know in the press office for anything."

Buck thinks he's getting closer to setting something on fire with his mind. "I hate basketball."

Tommy stares at him. "What the hell are you talking about? We met because of basketball."

Buck sits up so quickly and angrily he starts wheezing and that turns into a coughing fit. Tommy's immediately there, sitting on the edge of his bed with water, getting him to take a small sip as he rubs his back. When Buck realizes what's happening, he covers his mouth with his blanket and shoves Tommy away, coughing even more.

"Sorry, I was just—"

"I have turkey flu!" Buck yells through the blanket covering his mouth.

"The doctor said you're not contagious anymore."

Buck points at a small paper box across the room. Tommy, so put-upon, grabs a pale yellow mask and slips it on before he sits in the chair again. "Sorry."

"It's—" Buck halts because Tommy had grabbed two masks and was holding one out to him expectantly. Tommy motions to it again and Buck can see how he wants to make a bitchy comment about not having this conversation through a hospital blanket, but he doesn't. That's what makes Buck reach out and put the mask on. The icy fist around his heart thinks about melting.

"We didn't meet because of basketball, we met because of Bobby and Athena and the cruise ship," Buck corrects. "I wanted to see you again after that tour at Harbor but I couldn't think of another reason—"

"I gave you the widest of openings," Tommy interrupts. "Hello? Flight lessons? When you finally offered to buy me a beer, I almost dropped to my knees right then and there."

"But you never called me! You're the one who left to hang out with Eddie!"

Tommy throws up his hands. "Ball was in your court! Speaking of basketball."

Buck sighs, exasperated. "We weren't, like, running into each other, I didn't have a reason to call you—don't say the beer—so finally I saw Eddie was going to that pick-up game with you and I dragged Chimney along."

"Right," Tommy says. "And you played basketball with us. We kicked your ass in a way that made me think you were pretending to be bad at it to make me feel good or something? And then there was the whole thing with Eddie's ankle."

"I hate basketball!"

"You brought your own ball!"

"I same-day ordered a basketball so that when I showed up you'd be like, wow, that guy's ready for basketball, what a cool guy!"

"So you're mad that your basketball ruse worked on my dumb ass, and worked so well for six months that I got you Lakers tickets for our anniversary."

Buck's so annoyed that he put it like that. Maybe that's true, but he didn't have to say it. "I don't like basketball! It was a ruse but I didn't hide it after. You watched games with Eddie and I never came along because I don't like basketball."

"You said you wanted us to have our Eddie-Tommy friend time!"

"Why do you make me sound and feel like a five-year-old? Eddie-Tommy friend time? Seriously?"

Tommy folds his hands together like he's in prayer and shuts his eyes. "Okay, listen, I just. I wanted to get the house thing off my chest, alright? Because it's—it's bothered me so much."

Buck could argue about the basketball thing for about another 500 years, except that Tommy has said what he said. "Has it?"

Tommy puts his hands in his lap again, folded politely as he looks at Buck. "I meant what I said. You were so swept away in how new and exciting everything felt, that I felt like you forgot who you were talking to. Like… I'm not a guy who's going to move in with you. I'm a guy who has a house with a home gym and a car lift, and—and the winter was so mild that I put in this little patio space in the backyard. I bought furniture for it. I took this corner of my front lawn, too, and started to plan a pollinator's garden because they sounded really interesting after those three days of bee hell. Evan, I have a house."

"You keep saying that," Buck says. His ears are burning, but he's listening too intently to feel embarrassed about it (much).

"I freaked out, alright? Because I heard: give up your house to live in this downtown loft with a couch that has a faded but GIANT blood and placenta stain on the other side of the cushion, and then the words engaged and married got thrown in there, too? All in the same breath?"

Buck stares flatly, then nods. "Yeah. I get it. Sorry." He clears his throat and grabs his water before Tommy can offer it to him. He takes a sip, looking at Tommy before he nods at the closed door. "Are we done here?"

"And I'm not a gay rights hero," Tommy adds. "You said that, too." Tommy looks away, and looks so miserable. "I'm just a guy, Evan. I've been burned before by younger guys who thought I was everything that their first gay boyfriend should be, and then—and they didn't see who I was. It's always—" Tommy holds out his hands like he's balancing scales. "Not straight enough to fake a life with a woman, not gay enough to have a real life with a man."

Buck hasn't done this in so long that his throat almost aches with it. He sighs, pained and breathless, the word crinkling against the mask: "Tommy." He swallows again and asks, "Did you really think that was me?"

Another long pause. It ends with Tommy saying, "I thought you were too good to be true."

"I'm not, though, I'm—I'm just me," Buck says. "And I did have a lot to figure out, but not about you."

Tommy laughs suddenly. "Really? Because you forgot I was a homeowner and I didn't know you hated basketball. Did you even go to that game?"

Buck coughs. "I gave the tickets to Karen and she took one of her brothers. They're nuts about the Lakers."

"Huh," Tommy says. "Well. I'm not mad about that."

The two of them are quiet until Buck says, "Seems there's a lot of things we don't know about each other."

Tommy glances at him; Buck can see the shape of his smirk beneath the mask, and the very specific way it makes his eyes crinkle. "And just when we thought we knew everything about each other."

"Yeah, I thought that, too, and then you dropped that you were engaged to my first serious girlfriend at our six month anniversary dinner." Buck raises his eyebrows. "Do you land helicopters that smoothly, too?"

"I got you here, didn't I?" Tommy bites back, then catches himself with a laugh. "Okay. Fair point."

It's so easy, it's so easy, it's so easy, it's so easy and Buck hasn't had it easy for months. He hasn't had these quips, this back-and-forth, this person who got him until he didn't, who—Buck rubs at his eyes. Tommy made it easy. He made everything easy. Not perfect, not effortless, but easy. Easier.

"So, uh." Buck fusses with the blanket in his lap. "What have you been doing for the past four months? You, uh…"

"Am I seeing anyone?" Buck nods. "I was, yeah. Didn't last that long."

Buck can't help himself: "Neither did we."

"Ouch." Tommy looks back. "And you?"

"Yeah," Buck says. "I liked them but I broke up with them because it just—it wasn't going anywhere."

"And what's wrong with that? Staying in one place? Isn't that what you wanted for us?"

It's not, but Buck can't articulate it, so he says, "Do you think that's the same?"

A beat, and then Tommy says: "No. No, I don't."

"Tommy," Buck says quietly. "How many people do I have to be with before you decide I've figured it out?"

Tommy's eyes widen. "What? I never said that."

"Tell me what you said, then." Buck swallows painfully, that turkey flu kicking his ass harder than he thought. "Tell me what you meant when you said I didn't know what I wanted. Because I told you what I wanted. I told you I was ready for something and all the things we did together, I thought that you believed me. I guess you didn't, so tell me how many bodies it'll take before you believe me."

Tommy doesn't say anything.

"God, and you know what really sucks?" Buck asks. "That we were together long enough to talk about who we'd been with so we could get tested and be safe. We talked about all that, but I never told you how many times I'd had my heart broken and you never told me yours."

"Three," Tommy eventually says. "Shawn, who was like… all of 25. He was all-in, knowing for sure that the first time was the charm, and I was old enough and steady enough to be That Guy. I believed the hype even though I was barely out of the closet. I shouldn't throw stones at Abby's House of Himbos when I set up my own on the other side of town. And then there was Raúl, my Army buddy who came out to his family and immediately moved to LA to get away from them. Everything felt like a fresh start for him, but… not quite for me."

Buck thinks to ask, but Tommy beats him to it. "Do I need to say the third?" Buck shakes his head. "What about you?"

"Abby, and you." Buck looks at Tommy as he says, "It's not just ending things with someone because it doesn't work. It's heart break. Something's gotta break and be mended."

"I don't think I did that part. You've one-upped me there."

Buck wouldn't have believed that 20 minutes ago, but he believes it now.

"So Bobby's been there, watched me since I was Abby's himbo and helped me to grow into the person who wanted that stuff with you. Once he, kinda, told me that if I care about how people see me, then I haven't learned a damn thing," Buck says. "And that is and isn't true, here. I can't live hoping I meet people's expectations of what they think I should be. I want people—I wanted you—to see me as I am. I thought you did but you didn't, and I didn't either because I didn't see how scared you were. I've made my peace with that. We had something really special and made each other feel really good but, in the end, I guess we were saying all the right things to people we didn't know."

Tommy listens, considers, and nods. "Whole lot of past tense, there."

Buck glances at him and doesn't want to look away, but he does. He doesn't meet Tommy's eyes. He's scared, too. He's done enough today: said a lot of things he's been thinking about for four months and said them very calmly and thoughtfully, but this is gonna hurt. It hurt Buck to realize it and it's gonna hurt Tommy to hear it.

"You got what you wanted, right?" Buck asks. "You got to keep your heart, and I don't feel new and excited anymore." Buck inhales deep; it hurts. "I feel like I did before, like I'm short one piece of being whole. Now the ocean I have to search is so much wider and deeper. So thanks for that, I guess."

"Evan—"

"I let you into my family," Buck interrupts sharply. "Because I cared about you and because you fit. I fit because they're mine and that's my family I made, and you fit there right next to me. With us."

"You're absolutely right."

Buck watches him, tries to see behind the sunshine yellow and white mask on his face, but all he sees are his eyes that, like always, make Buck feel too much, like laser beams disintegrating him.

"Were you really that scared?" Buck can't help the way his voice cracks. "You were that scared of me?"

Tommy looks up again, lasers in place. "I was that in love with you." He shakes his head like he did that last night in the kitchen, and looks up like he'll tip the tears back into his eyes. "And those heartbreaks—you'd leave them light-years behind if I let you. You'd leave me light-years behind."

Buck nods, then says, "Could you leave, please." His wet breathing crinkles grossly in the mask. "Thanks for telling me all this, thanks for the closure, but I don't need to see what someone looks like after they've walked away from me."

"You collapsed at a scene three days ago and I was the closest pilot to medevac you here," Tommy says slowly. "You were delirious and told Shreya, Don't tell Tommy I'm sick, he doesn't care anymore."

Tommy clears his throat. "I do care. I never stopped."

Buck sits back in his hospital bed and pulls the blanket up to his neck, the only comfort he's got right now. "If this is a turkey flu dream, I'm gonna be so pissed at you, real you," Buck says.

Tommy laughs quietly, sadly, then hesitates for a moment. "Can I ask you something? Can I ask you the scariest thing I've ever asked anyone in my entire life?"

Buck doesn't move, doesn't breathe. "What is it?" he finally asks.

"Will you give me a second chance?"

Buck, hearing what he's quietly dreamed of hearing for four months, doesn't feel the euphoria he thought he would. He feels something else, though: a strange kind of wonder that someone wants him again. Again. He swallows hard, feeling the pain right in his turkey-flu-ridden throat. Someone knew him. Someone left him. Someone came back—came back for him.

Tommy left. Tommy came back. Tommy wanted him then. Tommy wants him now. Tommy's wanted him all along.           

Buck asks, "Will you invite me to your place more than once every six months?"

Tommy's half-smile is still wide enough for Buck to see behind the mask. It falls, though, back into something serious. "Will you forgive me when I'm not a paragon of queer virtue?"

"Will you believe me when I tell you I've fucked around and found out enough for a lifetime?"

Tommy raises his eyebrows ever so slightly. "Will you believe me when I tell you I've fucked around and found out enough for a lifetime?"

Buck thinks he smiles a little behind his mask, but it doesn't stay. "Are we gonna break up again?"

"I don't know," Tommy admits. "But maybe next time we can stop each other and hit the brakes. I love romcoms, but maybe we don't do that again: you don't propose fixing a problem with marriage and a baby, and I won't run out the door."

Buck raises his eyebrows, too. "Who said anything about a baby?"

Tommy sputters. "I mean, you were the one raising the stakes before."

Buck laughs. "Right, right."

The quiet stretches out between them. They look at each other and don't look away. The stubborn, proud, cocky side of Buck feels annoyed that this feels like—like he can't get out of this. Like all roads lead back to Tommy, like he doesn't have a choice. Like if he wants to be happy, it's with this person.

A part of him wants to run and throw himself into the hunt again. He wants to thrive in the search for someone who makes him feel that euphoria and fondness and love that he felt with Tommy. He tries to imagine someone else, some vague smoky figure that isn't Tommy's height, Tommy's build, Tommy's arms crossed over his chest and that tilt of his head. The problem is that Buck feels more looking at that furrow and arch of his eyebrows than he's felt for anyone he's met in the past four months, maybe even longer.

Not all roads lead to Tommy—only the ones he wants to take.

"Say it again?" Buck asks.

Tommy nods ever so slightly. "I'm in love with you." He pauses and a smile reaches his eyes. "I love you."

Buck can't help the way his eyes water; neither can Tommy.

"Ask me again," Buck says.

"Will you give me a second chance?"

"Yeah." Buck wonders if his own smile reaches his eyes. He hopes it does. "Yeah. Will you?"

Tommy chokes out a laugh behind his mask. "Yeah, god, of course. Of course. You sure?"

"About you?" Buck asks. "Yeah. I mean, I want to be. Don't make me regret it."

"Don't make me give up my real estate."

"Don't make me go to any sports events."

"Seriously? Not even baseball?"

"God," Buck moans. "The sleepiest one of all."

"Hockey's good."

"You hate the Kings."

Tommy scoffs. "Of course I do. You always hate your local teams—you just hate visiting teams more. Can't let management get comfortable."

Buck attempts to take a deep, exasperated breath, but he forgets that he has the fucking turkey flu. He chokes and starts to cough and wheeze, but Tommy's there again. He freely, lovingly pushes Buck further to the other side of the hospital bed so he can sit and take care of him: water, tissues, hand on his chest to steady him, eyes worried and on him.

"It's not official until you kiss me," Buck says. "I'm not contagious."

"I mean, not with turkey flu," Tommy says. "Your Buckness? That I'm not so sure."

"Don't call me that anymore," Buck says.

Tommy puts his cup of water on the table next to Buck's bed, then shifts so he and Buck are closer, face-to-face, head on looking at each other. "How'd you get even brattier in only four months?"

"How'd you forget I was this bratty?"

"At my age, well, everything's starting to go."

Buck laughs, then coughs and wheezes. "Stop making me laugh."

"How'd you forget I was this funny?"

Buck tilts his head. "I didn't. I didn't forget a thing."

Tommy searches his face, then cups his jaw with one hand. Buck doesn't lean into it, just lets Tommy hold him as he tips Buck's chin up ever so slightly.

Then Tommy kisses his forehead and his birthmark, and wraps his arms around Buck. It's the warmest Buck has felt all winter. It finally feels like spring.

---

read on the ao3

[xoxochb]

“who's the cute guy with the wide, blue eyes and the big bad mm?” it’s jason grace, your honor

——— ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

jason was utterly screwed. from the moment he had entered cabin one and saw you of all people laying atop his bed (yet again— who the hell else would be?) of course it was you, it just had to be you. why couldn’t it have been a harpy coming to eat his intestines? or past monsters seeking revenge? but no, of everyone it was you. he knew that he had training in— by now— under a half an hour but he couldn’t help the fact that right now you had never appeared to be more ethereal, the way you’re wearing his sweatshirt, on his bed, with your bare legs sprawled along it, and the soft light peeking through the thin curtains, like as if the sun had known just exactly how to illuminate your face to make you look like a elysian angel

swiftly, he makes his way to his bed where you sit. you flash him his favorite soft smile of yours and his knees nearly buckle on the spot. you were so doing this on purpose. you close your book and place it on his bedside table before patting the spot beside you for him to sit. and he does, most definitely, without another thought lays beside you. should he make a move and risk being late to training? or perhaps allow you to sit there and look perfect while he suffers horribly? he chose the first option. he urgently connects his lips with yours, sliding a hand underneath his/your sweatshirt. you attempt several times to call out his name, maybe for an explanation as to what the fuck he’s doing, but you can’t find it in yourself to care what he’s doing or why he’s doing it because you’re just happy he’s here and he’s kissing you

with his free hand, jason holds your jaw to assure you can’t part from him as his tongue swipes over your lower lip before you part your lips so it can enter. he lets out a hum of satisfaction when you grant him permission, surely taking full advantage of it. while on the other hand (quite literally), his fingers trail downwards to loop around your lacy underwear, currently the only thing you had been wearing underneath the sweatshirt. painfully slow he slides them down your legs (but again at the same time it was incredibly swift), yet still unsatisfied with the clothing you had own, he pulls back with a frown. with a quiet “life up a little” you elevate yourself from your position so he can remove his/your sweatshirt from yourself before you lay back down as his fingers now find a pathway up your bare thighs

and without a warning (though you should’ve seen this coming), he plugs two fingers into you, eliciting a strangled— somewhere between— a moan and a gasp from you at the sudden pleasurable sensation. his pace begins slow, starting off easy so you can adjust to him at once. but, soon enough he quickens it. you murmur some incoherent ‘sentences’ between soft noises, and as his fingers curl inside you, your mind turns into complete clouds, stopping anything but his name to leave your reddened lips. you tug at his blond hair as you feel yourself growing closer to your climax. what even more so makes your breath grows (progressively) ragged is when you feel an electric shock flow through your veins, once, and twice. at this point you’re completely starry eyed, you arch yourself into him for further pleasure, your moans becoming louder, your legs shaking about ready to collapse beneath you, your hair sticks to your sweat-veiled face— you’re a mess

finally, his fingers curl into you once more, bringing you to the edge. slowing down by only a tad, he continues working you, prolongs your orgasm as you dig your nails into his biceps and you cry out his name. and with one final swirl through you, jason slides his fingers out of you and meets your tear-brimmed eyes with a smirk

“sorry ‘bout that. you look gorgeous in my clothes though, have I told you that before?”

[babesway22]

Art the clown x femreader.

“Silence” chapter one

Several part slow burn with eventual copious amounts of smut. Mentions of sexual assault and gore in this chapter.

Will be posted shortly on a03 under same username 🫶

The wind nipped at your knees, its icy breath making you shiver as you instinctively tugged at the fabric of your Halloween costume, only to find it stubbornly uncooperative. The chill in the air felt like a mockery of your choice, a playful reminder that perhaps dressing as a slutty cat might not have been the best idea for October.

“Aren't you the most seductive cat I've ever seen,” she cooed, walking backward as she mocked you. “Oh my god, I can't wait to meet the man that steals your morbid dark heart,” she laughed breathlessly, arms jutting out above her head as she spun back around, making dramatic flair to sway her hips back and forth. “You need to get laid tonight, seriously,” she called over her shoulder. She was right, but you couldn’t shake the growing frustration of navigating the dating scene. In Miles County, it seemed like every man you encountered was nothing more than a superficial himbo, charming yet vacuous, leaving you yearning for a deeper connection. The few who seemed promising were often more interested in games than genuine relationships, making it feel nearly impossible to find someone who truly understood you.

“Right, but I don't want to fuck random guys like you do, Jen,” you murmured, remembering in high school when she would bring a new boy home every week.

“Maybe you'll meet your Romeo tonight, and fuck you; I'm a dick connoisseur, not a whore,” A light-hearted giggle escaped her lips, bubbling up with a sound that danced through the air.

As she pushed open the heavy metal door, an overwhelming rush of pungent odors assaulted her senses. The sharp, unmistakable scent of marijuana mingled with the acrid tang of spilled alcohol, creating a thick atmosphere that hung in the air. Inside, the room pulsed with the vibrant energy of dozens of voices, laughter and conversation intertwining in a chaotic symphony of sound. Dark indie grunge music thumped from hidden speakers, its deep bass resonating through the space and merging seamlessly with the animated chatter. Jen gestured to the bar, words useless in such a noisy room, and held her fingers up, making a Square, letting you know to grab your ID. At some point, someone had taken this worn-down warehouse and turned it into a bar, having to know someone who knew someone to get it. After showing the masked bartender, you ordered straight whiskey, earning a nod of appreciation. Jen noticed the subtle interaction, nudging your ribs, and leaned over, shouting over the music

“He's hot; you should fuck him.”

“He’s not really my type,” you shouted, your voice barely cutting through the pulsing beat of the music. She turned her head slightly, rolling her baby blue eyes in a dramatic fashion. While you didn’t despise overly muscular men, there was something about their chiseled physiques that struck you as off-putting. You'd noticed that many of them tended to carry an air of arrogance, their confidence spilling over into egotism, making it hard for you to feel attracted to them.

“"You’d probably find yourself drawn to a serial killer or something equally twisted, you freak,” she teased, laughter dancing in her eyes as she tugged you toward the crowded dance floor. The music thumped wildly around you, each beat pulsating with energy. Her gaze quickly shifted, locking onto her next target—a man clad in a striking Ghostface costume, the mask gleaming under the neon lights.

“They probably fuck good,” You shrugged off the dark thought that had briefly crossed your mind, letting it dissipate as you took a long swig of the amber liquid in your glass. The high-quality liquor burned delightfully as it slid down your throat, leaving a warm trail in its wake. Your gaze flickered over to Jen, who was ensconced in the man's embrace. She smiled up at him playfully, her thick lashes framing her eyes like the delicate petals of a flower. You scoffed, honestly, it was impressive how fast she moved, like some otherworldly sex fiend. You were jealous of her ability to Flirt, something you were never good at.

You called out her name uselessly and pointed toward the bar regardless of whether she saw you and began weaving through the sweaty crowd, occasionally bumping into inebriated, faceless bodies. You inhaled deeply, allowing the cool air of the dimly lit bar to fill your lungs. Leaning forward, you rested your elbows on the slick, damp wooden surface, feeling the chill of the bar top against your skin. You signaled to the bartender and ordered three more shots of house whiskey, the amber liquid gleaming enticingly in the low light. You figured if you weren't getting fucked tonight, you could at least get shit-faced. You downed the first two, watching a couple of people start fistfights before you began to feel the effects, becoming more carefree as you nursed your third. As the warm glow of the whiskey coursed through your veins, it enveloped your body like a comforting blanket, dulling the edges of reality. The room around you now felt stifling, the air thick with the mingled scents of smoke and spilled drinks. You needed to escape, to find a breath of coolness to soothe the rising heat.

With a sense of urgency propelling you forward, you weaved back through the crowd, brushing past oblivious patrons lost in their own revelries. Finally, you reached the back of the room and flung open the nearest door, hardly registering its appearance or what lay beyond.

The moment you stumbled outside, a rush of crisp, cold air washed over you, a stark contrast to the sweltering atmosphere indoors. It kissed your skin like a refreshing embrace, instantly easing the sweat that had begun to bead at your neck and exposed breasts. You stood there for a moment, eyes closed, relishing the sensation. You finished your third and looked up to the sky, the large air plume from your lungs materializing like a cloud, swirling hypnotically. Lost in a fog of thoughts, your mind drifted through a haze, blurring the sounds around you. Suddenly, the deep blare of a horn shattered the stillness, piercing through your reverie. The jarring noise felt like a cruel wake-up call, catching you off guard and eliciting a startled scream that echoed in the air.

“Fuck” You gasped sharply, feeling the adrenaline surge through your body as you stumbled backward, the cool, unforgiving wall pressing against your back. Your heart raced as you turned your gaze to the source.

Standing before you was a tall man, cloaked in a striking black and white clown costume that hung off his lean frame. The silk fabric shimmered slightly under the dim light, contrasting sharply against the shadows that danced around him. His face, disturbingly painted in a ghostly white, was adorned with intricate black accents that framed his large, expressive eyes, giving him an unsettling yet captivating appearance. Atop his head rested a small, perfectly arranged hat that added a touch of bizarre elegance to his ensemble, making him look both regal and menacing.

“You scared me,” you laughed breathlessly, taking in the fake blood that saturated his fingerless gloves and the top portion of his costume. He tilted his head to the side and grinned, showcasing black teeth, seemingly stained with old blood.

“Nice costume, I like the,” you circled him with your finger. “Blood,” you finished with a hiccup, cursing yourself for being a lightweight. He pointed to you and then held up his hands behind his head, making ears. Then he bent at the waist, clutching his stomach, his body shaking in strange silent laughter.

“Oh, yeah, I'm a cat,” you trailed off when he stood back up, towering over you by at least a full head or more. You suddenly felt uneasy under his unwavering stare. His black grin was plastered in place, and his eyes had an unsettling glimmer that your foggy mind couldn't place.

“Are you a…mime?” you asked, the silence uncomfortable. He shook his head, no, a frown marring his sharp features, and pointed to his unusually growing smile. “A clown then? Are you mute or something?”

he nodded excitedly.

“That's pretty cool, actually; I mean, I don't know why you're mute; maybe there's a reason, like trauma…or,” you shut your mouth and looked up to the sky again, sighing loudly. Why would you say that? The drinks were clearly sinking into your nearly empty stomach. “Do you want to come inside with me? Get a drink?” you couldn't believe the words as they left your mouth; he was creepy and didn't seem to reciprocate your flirting if you could even call it that. He bent over again in silent laughter, wiping an unseen tear from under his eye. Even scary men didn't want you, great. He saw your face contort and mocked your micro expression, pouting his lips and crossing his arms dramatically.

“Right,” you smiled weakly, “well, it was nice to meet you,” you said, breaking him out of his mock impression of you. He reached down and picked up a large black

Trash bag and threw it over his shoulder, making it seem weightless despite its bulging appearance. You hadn't even noticed it before and became curious about its contents but decided not to ask after embarrassing yourself enough for one night. He held his hand and waved his fingers under his chin, making you giggle. You threw up your hand in a wave and turned around, opening the door, the sound of chaos filling your ears again.

“Where the fuck have you been,” Jen shouted over the music, barging right into you, making you sway on unsteady feet.

“Jesus, Jen. I got some fresh air,” you said defensively.

“Well, tell me next time, I got worried. My

Pal here,” she gestured behind her to the man in the ghost face costume, “has a friend who wants to meet you,” she gave you a look as if to say, ‘I'm helping you get laid’. You cast a fleeting glance at the man standing behind her, offering a feeble smile that lacked any true warmth or sincerity. Then, you turned your attention back to her.

“Whatever. I'll need at least two more drinks,” you finished, irritation clear on your face, but Jen was oblivious, squealing loudly. She linked her arms with yours, pulling you along like a lost puppy.

“So, he's charming, and I think your type. I don't know, though; your taste in men is questionable,” her lips pulled up in disgust.

At the bar, she ordered you two more drinks, this time fruity, overly sweet ones with little colorful umbrellas in them.

“Cute,” you rolled your eyes, plucking one from the drink and tossing it onto the ground.

“So, this is Maverick, Maverick, this is my super hot friend,” you heard her say. Turning slowly to face them, you eyed him from the floor up. He possessed a certain rugged charm that could easily be considered attractive, with strong features and a confident posture. However, the moment he flashed his self-satisfied grin, an air of smugness enveloped him, casting a shadow over his appearance.

“A cat, huh? Cool,” he smirked, sipping his drink. You glared at Jen before looking back at him. “Wanna walk around and chat?” he asked. He seemed nice enough, and you can't remember the last time you didn't have a hollow orgasm, your fingers only doing so much.

“You know what, sure,” you smiled tightly and began walking away with him before Jen grabbed your wrist, “Hey, me and ghostly are gonna head to my place. Will you be okay for the rest of the night with maverick? Just make sure to call an uber. Don't. Drive.” her mothering tone back in place. You had a flare of anger for her ditching you, but it was nothing new. It created a rift in your friendship, nonetheless. “I'm fine,” your voice took on a harsher tone as you ripped your wrist out of her hand. You heard her mumbled something to her boy toy of the week about you being an insufferable bitch, making you wish you never met her, the state of drunkenness in you both drawing real feelings to the surface. You turned back to Maverick, letting him lead you.

“A little quieter back here,” he hummed, downing the rest of his drink. You smiled as way of answering and looked around, taking in your surroundings. You were in an unfinished area of the building, the music faint but still seeping through to where you were. You awkwardly sipped your drink while holding the other, the condensation threatening to take it from your hand. You were too drunk.

“So,” he stepped toward you, your feet clumsily shifting back, stirring up dust. “You look real slutty. I love Halloween.” he chuckled, proud of himself. You couldn't believe what he said at first. It was all too much, and you regretted following him immediately. He stepped forward again, your back bumping into a cool steel beam.

“What are you doing?” you questioned some ire in your tone.

“I mean, you're asking for it wearing that, right?” he scoffed, taking a drink from your hand and sipping it.

“Hey asshole-” you protested before being cut off as a sharp slap across your cheek stung your face, stunning you into silence.

“Shut the fuck up,” he hissed, slapping you again, this time much harder. Making your face feel like pins and needles.

“Fuck you,” you yelled, voice taught with pain but cut off; again, as he put his hand over your mouth, you struggled against him, but he was too strong, and you were too intoxicated. He began pulling your costume up, exposing your thighs, stomach, and ass.

“Fuck yes,” he growled, tearing your underwear off with one hand and discarding it to the ground, his other hand moving to your throat, gripping firmly.

“Girls are so easy,” he said darkly, and it hit you that this wasn't the first time he's done this. He dipped his fingers in between your legs , only to be met with resistance and no lubrication, which seemed to anger him, another firm slap across your face, so hard it would bruise. Fat tears fell from your eyes dripping onto his hand as you shook your head no. You watched in fear as he pulled out his erection, stroking himself a few times before he let a despicable glob of saliva fall from his mouth onto his waiting erection. You struggled under him, but were held in place, your muffled screams reaching no one. He removed the hand around your neck and wet his fingertips, inserting them Into you, making you scream at the intrusion, your legs kicking out to land a blow, but it was useless.

“Fuck, yes,” he barked, flipping you around, your face slamming into the beam, nearly knocking you unconscious, a cruel, sinister thought crossing your mind that it would be better than being awake for the rape if you were just dead. He hiked up your dress again, pulling your waist so that your ass was presented to him, the head of his dick probing your entrance as another wracked sob left you, this time unhindered, as his hands were busy on your hips. You took it as an opportunity to yell for help and attempt to pull yourself free, hoarse screams leaving you.

“HELP…. Please, someone, HELP,” you begged to anyone who would hear.

Warm liquid spilled onto your back, making you flinch. You cried out, hoping he had finished already, meaning the worst would be over until you felt the warm fluid again and again. You turned your head, a guttural scream leaving you as you saw an old, rusted axe brought down onto his head repeatedly, the exposed bone of his skull and brain matter making you spill the contents of your stomach on the ground. You tripped over your feet and fell to the floor onto your knees, crawling on the dirty, unforgiving concrete. You turned in time and watched in horror as his body fell with a thud, splattering blood all over your face. Behind him, the monochromatic clown from earlier stood, chest rising and falling rapidly, a chaotic gleam to his black eyes, and wearing more blood than he was earlier. He looked at you then, sending adrenaline to your limbs, but you were frozen in place. He tilted his head, then smiled, his bloodied hand that was holding the axe raising in a seemingly harmless wave.

“Hi,” you said, your voice no more than a whisper. He seemed pleased you acknowledged him and turned back to the body. He pointed at the man's exposed genitals and raised his bloody pointer finger and thumb together, leaving little to no space between them, as if to say, ‘look how tiny’, throwing his head back in silent laughter, bloodied hand clutching his stomach.

“Please. Please don't kill me,” you began to cry again. He seemed annoyed at the sound and grimly looked at you with his chin pointed to the floor. Not seeing a smile on his face was most unsettling, making him look like a demon straight from the depths of hell. You scooted across the floor further away from him, watching as he took dramatic over, exaggerated steps toward you, smile back in place.

“Nononono,” you whimpered, looking up at him, shaking your head vehemently at his outstretched bloody hand. He offered it again, more persistent this time. You took

It but mostly out of fear of what would

happen if you didn't and allowed him to pull you up from the floor easily, quietly admiring his strength for only a moment. He motioned to your dress that was still hiked up around your waist, making you gasp at being so exposed in front of him. He laughed again, pointing at your face before mocking your expression like earlier.

“Stop, you're scaring me,” you told him, voice hoarse. He pouted and waved a hand at you dismissively as if to say, ‘no, I'm not.’ You watched as he crouched down and shuffled around the body, finger tapping his chin as if thinking what else to add. He dragged his black trash bag over and began to dig through it, ultimately settling on a dull, rusty butter knife, his mouth forming Into a perfect ‘O’ as he examined the dullness with his fingers. He smiled at you from the ground and began to hack away at the body's genitals. You gagged and turned just in time to spew the rest of your undigested drinks from your stomach. He stared at you, rolling his eyes before continuing. You began to feel dizzy, your brain spinning around in your head until you started to slump over. The last thing you saw was him waving to you, his dark smile lulling you away.

**********

The constant drip of water by your head startled you awake, your bare legs thrashing around on the ground until you sat up, your body buzzing. Your memories from last night came back at a neauseating speed. You were drunk, raped, and almost murdered in the span of several hours. You held your hand in front of you, willing it to stop shaking, although you weren't sure if it was from unanswered emotions bubbling over or the frigid temperatures you were currently exposed to. You stood, straining on your legs, remembering your badly scrapped knees. A clumsy hand reached out to support yourself on a nearby shelf. This wasn't the same warehouse from last night; you were moved. The room started to spin; next, muted browns and black from the room mixing together, disorienting you further. You reached a hand to your forehead and felt around until your fingers trembled over a large cut. That fucking clown, he saved you, but for how long you'd be spared, you didn't know, spurring you into action. You turned to leave the room but met a chest first, strong hands gripping your shoulders to keep you from falling. You opened your mouth to scream, but he clapped a hand over your mouth and turned you around so that your back was flush to his front. His body radiated cold, unmovable firmness that made you shiver. He stared down at you sternly, expression communicating, ‘Are you done.’ You nodded, eyes never leaving his. He released you and stepped back, his stare intense, making you shrink into yourself. He pointed to your head and held both hands, palm up. In your concussed mind, it took some time to realize he was asking about your head.

“Oh, um, it hurts still,” you spoke softly,

Your throat was sore. “I need to go home,” you were afraid to speak, but it seemed as though, for whatever reason, you were being left unharmed.

He shook his head no, pointed outside, then made his fingers walk on his palm, then put both of his hands together and held them to his cheek, his eyes closing before opening them again, nodding excitedly while pointing at himself.

“I don't understand,” you clutched your arms, a cold breeze ripping through the open window littering your skin with goosebumps. He stared at you exasperated and shook his head, jabbing a finger at his chest then pointed to you again, making walking fingers.

“You want to…walk me home?” the implication of that unsettling. “No, I, I'm cold and sore. I can just go,” you stumbled over your words, backing away without realizing it. He held up a finger telling you to wait and left the room. You shifted uncomfortably, looking for any potential exit if you needed to flee, jumping out of your skin when he returned with an old tattered blanket. He smiled, flashing black teeth, holding it out to you.

“Um, thanks,” you grabbed it from his hands, surprised at the cleanliness of the fabric. “Are you going to kill me? Why did you save me?” you asked, more urgently than you intended. You had to know; the feeling of the unknown was unsettling.

He shrugged, a playful glint in his eyes. Your eyes widened, and you shuffled back, his nonchalant response making you tremble.

“I-I don't understand, you're just toying with me?” frustration evident in your tone; you wished he would just let you go; your body was overwhelmed with pain and fear, the muscles in your neck stiff from shaking. He walked over to you, his sadistic smile growing wide as he watched your back bump into the wall. Once he was in front of you his hand reached out and patted the top of your head; silent laughter ensued when you flinched violently. He pointed to you, then the floor, waiting.

“You want me to sit?” you asked, having difficulties communicating with his silent movements. He nodded eagerly, head lowering with your body as you squatted onto the floor, watching you cross your legs and pull the blanket around you in a cacoon. You relished in the small comfort of warmth.

He towered over you, eyes narrowed as he took you in. You wish you knew what he was thinking; if he could talk, maybe you could manipulate him into freeing you. He turned to leave the room but paused in the doorway when you shouted for him, “PLEASE,” you begged, his head turning slightly to let you know he heard you.

“I'm scared,” you said, voice coming out broken, mouth dry. You weren't sure he heard you, and you couldn't compartmentalize why you told him that; your thoughts scattered like marbles across the floor, slipping from your hands when you tried to pick them up.

That was hours ago, and the sun was starting to set, your breath making condensation in the air again. You heard him in the room adjacent to you, metal clinking and hammering. You stood on your feet, wincing when you took a step, your body sore and weak. You don't know why you didn't run or why you went to him, but you did, quietly following the noise and stepping into the room he was in. His back was to you as he sat bent over a decrepit desk, various pieces of metal strewn about, his hands stilling on a rusty pair of scissors.

His body turned in his chair until he faced you, legs spread open. You watched as he set the siccors down and placed both hands on his knees.

“What's your name?” you asked, taking another tentative step into the room.

He cocked his head, chin pointed down so he was staring at you through his brows, the black paint around his eyes casting his them in darkness. He waved his hand through the air as if to say, ‘come here’. You shuffled over, watching as his smile grew the closer you got. You stopped a few feet away, which seemed to annoy him, an overdramatic pout pulling his lips down. You smiled softly to appear submissive and stepped closer, eyeing the tools he no doubt has used on other poor souls. His eyes caught yours, and he turned to look at the table and looked back at you, shaking his head no.

“You won't hurt me. Is that what you're saying?”

He nodded excitedly, clapping his hands together, proud you understood him. Ironically the only sound you've ever heard him make. He stilled making an ‘O’ with his mouth, holding one finger in the air. You watched as he disappeared Into what appeared to be a bathroom conjoined to the room, returning a moment later with a tin can filled with strange liquid. He approached you, grabbing your shoulders and turning you to face a blank wall, parts of wallpaper peeling off, exposing mildew-soaked wood. You wrapped the blanket around yourself tighter and watched as he dipped a long finger into the can and began to draw on the wall, quickly realizing the liquid was old, coagulated blood. He stepped back, holding both arms out, clearly proud of his work.

“Art?” you asked, confused.

He nodded vigorously while jabbing a finger at his chest, saying, ‘That's me.’

“Your name is art? I like that,” you said, mulling it over, your lips pulling up in the corners. You looked up to see him already watching you, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Art,” you said again, his face becoming dark at hearing you use his name, his lips pulled down slightly. “Thank you for saving me last night,” you clutched your arms under the blanket, becoming uncomfortable. His face was terrifying when a smile wasn't on it.

“Um, id really like to go home, art,” your voice coming out weak at the potential rejection. He spurred into action, grin back in place as he strode past you, patting your head several times.

You couldn't be sure of the time when you left, but it was late, the cold cutting through the thin fabric of the blanket, short Halloween dress underneath doing nothing to keep you warm. The warehouse he had set up in had been here for years; parts of the building had fallen apart, leaving gaping holes, allowing some nature to make itself home. You remember passing by it as a child on your way home from school; oddly enough, it only sat a few blocks from your house, the one you inherited when both of your parents died the year after you turned 18. You looked up at art; his stride had a playful, mischievous bounce, eyes scanning the darkness for his next victim if you had to guess.

You rounded the corner of your street, your pace picking up upon seeing your home.

“This is it,” you breathed, shuffling up the steps and turning over a potted plant, the house key cold in your hands as you unlocked the door, warm air greeting you when the door swung open. You turned to face him, offering a smile. You weren't really sure how you felt knowing a crazy clown knew where you lived, but it was a little late for late, so you did the unthinkable.

“Do you…want to come in?”

He sat there momentarily, staring before playfully shoving past you into your house.

It was small but suited you. The living room was to the right as soon as you walked in, soft throws and pillows scattered about your couch. The kitchen was straight back, and to the left, a small island littered with bills in the center. He picked up a few before tossing them down, opening a few drawers, and rummaging around. You disappeared into your bedroom a few feet to the right and slipped into the bathroom. You stared at your face for a few moments, blood, dirt, and mascara smudged across it, a

A reminder of what happened. You let out a frustrated whine and grabbed a rag, letting the water get to an unbearable temperature before you started to scrub, your face clean but numb when you were done. You stripped from your clothes and pulled on an oversized sweater and sleep shorts, not able to bear being in the clothes you were raped in any longer.

When you entered the kitchen, a frantic voicemail from Jen was filling the room; you didn't have the heart to get rid of the outdated home phone and machine after your parents died.

‘Look, I know I was a bitch and ditched you, but some guy was murdered there last night, they couldn't even identify him. It's all over the news. Some crazy guy they're calling the Miles County clown. Anyways, I just want to make sure you're alive. CALL ME BACK’

You stared up at him, your head having to crane back, your shoulder brushing his arm. He flipped off the machine as if to say, ‘fuck her’

“Yeah,” you said, finding it funny you were silently communicating with him. Your eyes fluttered closed momentarily, your body leaning onto his arm, admiring briefly how unmovable he was. He tapped your nose a couple of times, making you gasp, your bloodshot eyes shooting open. You were beyond tired with a killer standing in your kitchen, but you weren't scared; you almost felt safe near him. Something you weren't sure how to feel about. You wanted to ask him why he was sparing you, but you didn't want to remind him that he could or should.

He looked down at you, making the sleeping motion with his hands again like earlier. You nodded the affirmative and watched as he walked into your bedroom, turning in a comical circle and taking in your quaint space. He caught your eye, wagging his eyebrows at you, his eyes trailing leisurely up your bare legs to your face. Your cheeks heated, no doubt a deep red blush spreading across them. He bent over

In laughter, slapping his knee and pointing at you. You scoffed and shoved past him, pulling the blankets back on your bed, too tired to know what to do with him. He shuffled around, facing you, with dark eyes watching your movements, making you feel like prey.

“It was very nice to meet you, art, but I need sleep. I have work in the morning”

He nodded and turned to leave, making hardly any sound on the worn-out wood floors.

“Art?” you called, watching as he turned back to face you, eyebrows raised expectantly.

”Will I see you ever again?" your mind swirled, the comfort of your bed seeping into your bones making you say things you didn't mean. You watched him shrug and disappear, not even hearing him when he left and closed your door.

You jumped out of bed and peered through your front window, but no black and white clown was in sight. You threw the deadbolt, the loud metallic thunk reverberating in the room. Although you were sure if art wanted to get in he could.

[toxicanonymity]

Imagine Slasher sees a man entering (or leaving?) Kitten's house, while he's stalking watching her. How would he react, what would he do? 👀

Thank you for all this 🖤🖤🫂

sexyback

SLASHER JOEL x f!READER | PLAYLIST | WC: 900

ENTERING! Let's do entering. And you're quite welcome. I hope this rascal makes some of you smile. Love you, Milla. 🖤🖤

WARNINGS: 18+ dark fic. Unsafe/dark sexual behavior, degradation, humiliation, slasher being slasher, cucking, dubcon/noncon but it's okay cause he ain't got no soul.

Joel watches from outside and perks up when your living room light switches off, and a dim orange light in your bedroom turns on. Yeah, let's go. He doesn’t have much of a view, so he creeps around back to the sliding door of your kitchen. And look at that, the door isn’t even locked.

This is big. An opportunity to see you whoring around. Catch you in the act. He’s not gonna blow it: unlike the other times he’s broken in, he doesn’t make a sound. He even takes off his shoes and leaves them outside. 

You little sex kitten…you even left your bedroom door open. He takes a seat on your living room couch which faces away from your bedroom. He rests his elbow over the back of the sofa and angles himself so he can watch. He doesn’t see much, at first. Just the silhouette of some loser awkwardly lying on his side on your bed, presumably facing you.

Then there are kissing sounds. Gross. You must have thought the same. You don’t sound impressed when you stop and ask the poor guy, “Uh, ok. Can we just uh–” 

And then you’re on top of him. Attagirl. That's the kitten Joel knows. You take off your shirt. Well, damn. You look sexy as hell from this angle.

“You’re so pretty,” the guy gushes softly. Joel rolls his eyes. That guy totally has a cuck voice. You lean forward, still with your skirt on, although it’s riding up. Your hips move, a little. He pulls your head down for a kiss. Dumbass. That clearly wasn’t doin’ it for ya before. Your faces connect, and while you’re not looking, Joel sneaks over to your room. He crosses his arms, holding a knife in one hand, and leaning against the doorframe.

You pull back from the bad kisser and he apologizes softly.

Joel has had enough. “Alright, just take your dick out man. That’s all she wants.”

The guy gasps. You turn around with a startle, but you don’t freak out. You're getting used to the break-ins.

“Joel,” you scold a little too calmly. “What the fuck?”

“Take it out,” Joel repeats to the guy. 

“What are you doing?” You demand. 

Joel answers, “Don’t whore around on me if ya don’t want me involved, babe.” 

The guy hesitates, and Joel uncrosses his arms. With his knife still in one hand, Joel gesticulates in front of himself, starting with both hands near his crotch. “Take… your cock…” He lifts his hands and advances them forward. “Out of your pants.” 

The guy is just staring at the knife in Joel’s hand. 

“NOW,” Joel adds, then addresses you. “God damn, I can see what you're so bored about.” 

The guy’s hands are shaking as he unzips his pants. Joel steps forward to take a look, and, well. Lol. 

“You wanna go first or second?” Joel asks. 

“W-What?” The guy stammers. 

“Trainsgiving’s come early,” Joel explains. “Go on, get her while she’s tight.” 

The man asks you, “Do you want me to-”

Joel interrupts with an exasperated sigh, then, starting in a mocking voice, “do you want me to–Shut up and do it,” Joel points at him. 

Joel gets a good look at you. He knows that look on  your face–mortified AND aroused. And when Joel gives you a little smirk, you seem to suppress one of your own. It’s clear in your eyes.  

“Okay fine, just lie there,” Joel directs the guy. “Hold it for her.” Joel turns to you. “Go on, kitty. Don’t stop whorin’ on my account.” 

You look Joel up and down, and when he palms a massive bulge in his jumpsuit, that’s enough to make you do it. 

You’re more cock hungry than anyone Joel’s ever met. Too bad this guy’s not much of a meal. That’s okay. Joel’s here.

You put a condom on the guy, and Joel laughs, “ouch.” 

When you sink down on the man, you’re hoping it’s a test. A test you’ll fail, provoking Joel into a rage.  But no, Joel stands close by and unzips his jumpsuit, staring at where your body meets the cock.

Okay, he’s not that bad, both you and Joel think to yourselves. The guy is frozen.

“What,” you ask the guy, “you don’t want this?”

"No, I do." He looks back and forth between the two of you and asks, “Does he have to be here?”

Joel is now holding the absurd girth of his own shaft and glances down at it before looking the man in the eye. “Someone’s gotta pick up the slack,” Joel complains and adds under his breath, "Make up for what you lack."

You begin to move your hips. 

“Alright, that’s enough,” Joel decides and puts an arm around you, pulling you off the guy. You pretend to fight Joel off.

The guy asks, “Do you need help?”

“She’s fine,” Joel cuts him off. 

“I wasn’t done with him,” you protest convincingly.

The guy whispers,”What the fuck,” as he backs out of the room, still putting his dick in his pants. 

“Why are you ruining my date,” you ask Joel.

“Shut up,” Joel pushes you forward and holds you face down on the bed. He growls in your ear. “You.. filthy.. slut,” then shoves into you brutally. 

There he is, you think as you smile into the pillow and savor the incredible stretch.

[starboye]

pairing: loser!simon riley x male reader

request: Going to a party with roommate loser! Simon Riley who has a crush on you. like I imagine him standing near the corner just keeping an eye on you the whole night, and him getting jealous seeing you dance on the other guys. Getting home and him being all moody and touchy because of all the attention you were getting from his work buddies… he’s just so pent up and he knows you did it on purpose - 🥭

warnings: slight smut, some flirting, cursing, mentions of jerking off

why did he have to go to the party, why couldn't you both just stay in and watch some movies like you usually do or order some takeout and sit on the couch watching shitty but hilarious shows all night, these are the points simon tried to bring up as you got ready to go to a party that his team was hosting.

the real reason was because to him you just looked to good to let out of his sight and as much as he didn't want to go to the party also because he wouldn't want to take the chance of someone getting their little grimy hands on you and taking your fine ass back to their place.

"please y/n can we just stay here tonight" he pleaded with you as you put on your coat and grabbed your keys, if anything he was willing to get down on his knees but then he would seem to desperate so nope "put on your jacket, we're going, plus you know i love to have a little fun" you smile before walking out of the apartment, he let out a huff but still put on his stuff and followed you out.

it was safe to say he wasn't enjoying the party, he just wanted you to get drunk enough that you would want to leave and you could both go home and sit on the couch where he could then scoot closer to you and maybe have a rogue hand on your thigh, y'know just to make sure you're okay, but that's not the point.

he watched from the corner of the room as you introduced yourself as simon's roommate, they didn't even know simon had a roommate let alone friends but damn were they glad to be meeting your fine ass, their gazes lasting a few seconds to long in simons eyes, his jaw was clenching and he was a second away from breaking the cup in his hand.

what really started to destroy him was when your drunk self decided it was high time to dance with the guys, you body was getting just a little to close to them and next thing you know, you ass is in the guys hands and your bent over on him "who the fuck does he think he is" he thought to himself but it's not like he could do anything to stop you from having fun.

he couldn't believe what he wa seeing, you were all but throwing yourself at them, hanging in their arms and openly flirting with them while they groped you, it was becoming to much for him so he decided the right thing to do would be taking you home, so he grabbed you by the wrist and walked you out to the car.

"give me the keys" he demanded but all you did was giggle "and what i-if i don't hm big scary man" you stumbled into his chest making his heart skip a beat, this was the closest he had ever been to you in a non friendly way, your warm body connecting with his had his mind racing at one hundred miles per hour and his cock was hardening in his sweatpants embarrassingly quick.

"just... just g'me the keys" he held out his hand and you let out a little smirk before handing him the keys and getting in the passenger seat, the whole way home it was a little silent aside from the music playing in the background, once getting home and getting you to your room you leaned up from your bed and gave him a little kiss on the cheek "you're a good friend" you slurred your words a little but this was enough to send him spiraling.

he ran to the bathroom trying to get his cock to go down after the events of the whole night, he didn't have any other solution other than fisting his aching cock, his shirt tucked between his teeth as he tried to get off, but it was becoming increasingly harder when he has no hole to help him, i mean he wont go get some slut off the street to help him,he likes you to much but he hasn't gotten off in so longgg.

taglist:@mailmango @spermeboy @ghostking4m @gayaristocrat @addictedtomalepits @staarb0y @crispysoup318 @its-ares @gargoylesworld09

[alphamales-rp]

Hunter grinned at the other's reply- why was he enjoying the other's attitude so much? The other seemed to continue to make the alpha frat god earn what he wanted, if only in theory as there was no real tug of war between them like the smaller male's verbal jousting would suggest. It'd be a lie though if Hunter didn't admit that this wickedly tantric approach wasn't some of the best sex he'd had since ... well, he couldn't quite remember anyone else in this moment. His mind seemed fully focused on the beautiful brunette he was buried inside of right now. "Alright enough to make you moan my name loud enough for every building on the street to hear," he pointed out.

He held the other's hips and began to fuck him harder again, this time focusing less on speed but more on strength, depth and rhythm. He wanted to fuck the other so powerfully that he felt it in his mind and soul. "Sir," he reminded the other of his title, "You never shut up, do you?" Hunter asked playfully, betraying the fact that he liked the other's bratty talk; though admittedly, he'd liked the other's slutty submissive side even more. "Most people barely make it past round one with me, y'know ... you should count yourself lucky," he said, though the truth was moreso that most people didn't have the stamina for multiple rounds with him and part of him was extremely excited at the prospect that the other wanted to keep going. Hunter leaned in and finally connecting their lips again once more as he fucked the other like he was trying to break him, "Let's see if you're all talk."

It took him a bit to be able to form anything but a moan as Hunter buried himself back inside him. But of course when he finally could manage it was a smart ass retort that left his mouth "I mean.... was alright," he said with a smirk. Mickey arched into each and every touch Hunter gave him. He hadn't felt this much sexual chemistry with someone since... well in a long time. And if he wasn't in such a state of fucking bliss he might be more concerned about that.

"Could think of worse ways to spend a day," he said with a non chalant shrug that was ruined as he let out a needy moan. "Might-Fuck- Might have to up your game for round 2 though," he said as he bit his lip. "Just a suggestion."

[astra-ravana]

Tips For Working With Demons

Here are some tips and general advice for working with demons and spirits. I'll probably add more to this list as things come to mind.

• These are individuals, people like you and me. Many of them have had human incarnations here on Earth. They understand your struggle and have their own issues and emotions as well. They have favorite things, best friends, family, and feelings. They are powerful, yes, but should also be treated with love and respect.

• They can and will speak to you. If you possess psychic abilities you may be able to channel some or all demons. People often ask how to tell the difference between the voice of a spirit, or an internal voice or hallucination. Spirit will never speak over you, interupt your ability to think freely, or control your mind. They simply speak, if you're willing to listen. They may also manifest physically, move objects, visit your dreams, send you signs, they have many ways to get their point across.

• Do not stress over time. If you haven't spoken to or left an offering to your patron demon in a few weeks because you've been depressed or busy, this is fine. Spirits do not experience time as we do and your absence is little more than a blink of an eye to them.

• Get creative with your offerings. King Paimon loves chocolate, Bune loves fancy perfume, Lucifer fancies himself some whiskey. You may wonder how offerings help demons, since they lack a mortal body. All physical beings possess a spirit and as such, all physical objects possess an essence. This essence can be absorbed by a spirit to allow them to taste/experience the offering. This gives them energy as well. Fun fact: once the essence of a consumable offering is taken it will be dull and tasteless. Try it sometime.

• Remember to say "thank you". Show appreciation and gratitude to any demons that lend their time and power to enhance your life. This is a team effort and no one likes to be used. Friendship and growth should be your top priorities when working with spiritual entities.

• Go ahead and draw that sigil badly. It's ok to only give a tiny drop of blood. Demons are far from perfect and do not expect perfection from you. Your effort and intention is what matters most.

• Stay away from Solomonic or Abrahamic methods that aim to control or trap demons. This is not likely to end well for you and it is a huge betrayal to the trust of a powerful cosmic being. If you are afraid of the interaction, there are many other forms of personal protection you can employ.

• Chances are there is a demon or spirit that resonates with you. Don't get discouraged if your first several attempts don't spark a connection. Read up on different entities and mediatate to find where you should try next.

• Let go of your preconceived expectations. Demons are not going to just make you rich, successful, or smart. These things are the result of forming strong bonds of power and raising one's consciousness. Often times you won't get what you want, but what you need instead. Spirits can see the bigger picture of who we are, our capabilities, and our soul's path. Trust their vision.

[crooked-wasteland]

The court scene in hazbin leaks seemed empty .

Lute had no arguments, she was yelling in void, the seraphim and female stolas were just there waiting for plot to happen, Sera answer to anything lute saying was "shut up" literally, which isn't only unprofessional for a governor to do but also it helped at portraying lute as crazy hysterical woman no one respect without the presence of her man.

If hazbin hotel was really interested in discussing the concept of good and evil then here's the right moment, we could take this scene as opportunity to talk about the the justice, lute should represent the concept of the justice is inflexible only bound to the rules that kept people safe for decades . her arguments is that they are currently in war with hell and they can't let a sinner in might be dangerous he might attend some harm upon them or play the role of spy for the morningstars . Emily or stolas-evil-twin or anyone, will represent the concept that there's no justice without mercy and rules should have an exception for cases like this their argument is his sin didn't come from malicious place but rather from a genuine fear so is his act of redemption and therefore we have right to assume that his soul is inherently good and he attends no harm and we should welcome him in heaven .

And I remember a saying in writing goes like :"write an argument where everyone seems to win"(I forgot the actual quote) and I think this one of the scene where we should apply that in order for scene to have a depth

I agree, except on the account of Lute's argument being pointless. Unfortunately, you need the other leak of Seraph talking to Able and the one of Vox to grasp the points being made.

Major spoilers incoming!

The argument Lute makes in the courtroom is nonsensical because we were never given the information. At the start of the season, Charlie has a fairytale book of her parents and it mentions Lilith using music to rally demons against heaven. Vox says this explicitly in a reminder lore dump of 12 whopping seconds that Lilith was prepared to go to war with Heaven before vanishing.

So there's that aspect of the world we never had mentioned or hinted at in the main series. It would have actually helped a lot with incorporating Lilith's army waiting for her in Happy Day in Hell. It also could have been tied back to Rosie and her cannibals. Maybe hinting at the Rosie and Lilith connection more appropriately, or at least opening the idea that Lilith had an army waiting on her still.

Additionally, Seraph mentions how Hell will "want revenge". So even if Hell wasn't a threat before, her greenlighting a genocide is going to make peace a relative impossibility. It's inevitable for Hell to fight back, so now Heaven has to figure out if they will risk their own safety by ending the cullings, or continue and admit they are oppressors keeping Hell weak intentionally. It would make the suggestion of redemption unappealing, regardless of being possible.

But the issue the series will have to patch over is the idea that Sinners would want to be redeemed if it wasn't for Heaven's yearly census shaving. The conflict in the pilot was that Sinners wouldn't want to be redeemed. The exorcists were actually a believable motivation for why anyone would even consider redemption when you have the right to suffer and cause suffering forever in Hell. The issue of the Sinners' immortality questioning how the show is going to believably instill the idea that the discomfort of staying the same is going to outweigh the discomfort of change. And the exorcists seem, frankly, necessary to maintain the pressure on Hell to give Charlie a chance. Meanwhile, maintaining a genocide is going to turn away people who are probably good at their core. The pressure of being oppressed will leave them nowhere to go and without options that don't in some way contradict their own values.

So the story is actually focused on the major plot issue for once. However it isn't staying there. Then we have to remember the sneak peek Medrano shared of Baxter and how the concept of Redemption at all is what is being challenged. Not if Redemption is desirable. So that is where the two sides of the story lose cohesion. Honestly, the Heaven storyline will be far stronger than the story taking place amongst the actual main characters. And between the Baxter/Alastor/Lute reveals, I'm wondering what time there is left to even tell any story about the main character. Once again, we're looking at too many plot threads not being given enough time to expand.

[sgiandubh]

Why would Ashley go to follow and stop following Caitriona? After all aren't sam and caitriona supposed to be just friends and colleagues so why do that? They're the ones creating all the fuss for nothing. If they acted like colleagues no one would go looking 🙄🙄🙄 . I don't understand this need to always dismiss Caitriona as if it's oh my god never associate Caitriona with sam. What a crime to see two friends together ! Following Caitriona means nothing, it doesn't define an affair nor a relationship between them so I don't see the point in avoiding following this woman 🙄🙄 !

Dear Following Anon,

You can try to dilute things as much as you want, but you seem to ignore one of the weird Laws of Thermodynamics in this fandom:

Follows and unfollows are important and relevant. Until they aren't.

I do not share many people's mystique in this regard, simply because I happen to believe social media is nothing more than a tool. Whether it is used for promo and/or manipulation is anyone's guess. What is clear is that there are more things than the bits we are privy to via Instagram, very often with an agenda.

In that particular case, the follow clicked with some info I was shared regarding that get together at the Milady's bar. I was also told Ashley did (help) organize the event, which is consistent with her posting an IG story featuring some Sassenach bottles she was delivering 'somewhere' just before it took place.

And then, there's also this detail:

Clearly she knew the owners/bartending team and arranged things.

But perhaps she thought/was told that would be exposing her too much and then changed her mind about following C? I suppose all we can do is speculate, Anon. Fact is Ashley followed her and she doesn't anymore. Anyone's guess, really.

I will respectfully disagree with you about them deliberately 'creating this fuss for nothing'. You probably are a Fencer and, as all Fencers do, you seem to be unable to connect the dots and never question anything you are told. A most regrettable, unpleasant thing that takes away all the fun and permanently closes all the interesting doors and avenues you could explore in this fandom. Your explanation does not hold: if there is nothing, why condone this ambiguity? For clicks? That is ridiculous. C doesn't give a flying duck about clicks and he just has to take off his shirt: mommies worldwide will instantly unite and drool. How Pavlovian!

There is also another thing: C's Stans really seem to have strong, repressed feelings for her, that might go beyond what is socially acceptable from a fan. They seem to display such a deep sense of possession, it often made me raise an eyebrow in disbelief. If we follow this reasoning, then McGill is the perfect, harmless companion: they see him as no serious threat to their fantasies. S is something else and their minds dissociate - otherwise, as Yeats once famously wrote, 'Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold'.

'Following Caitriona means nothing, it doesn't define an affair nor a relationship between them'. Oh, Anon, I hope you didn't imply Ashley and C... come on, get a grip! By now, all the side players must have been gently, but firmly briefed about people's behavior in this fandom: lack of filter, and all. What would you do, if you were Ashley Hearn?

Finally, let me correct something about the timeline of events - thank you for the opportunity to do so:

I did write in a previous post (https://www.tumblr.com/sgiandubh/765519132954329088/seems-sams-mom-has-been-in-new-york-as-well) that the Milady's get together was on October 17th. I was wrong and superficial, albeit in all good faith. It was on October 16th, after C was spotted at the Burberry's 57th Street Flagship Store Reopening VIP Dinner, in New York:

I do apologize for this mistake and would like to thank @mojo106 for rigorously setting the record straight: what would I do without your collective scrutiny? Probably make a fool of myself.

However, the whole rest of it is legit and I am sticking to whatever I could write about it. Never a problem acknowledging mistakes and owning them, here. Warts and all, Anon. Warts and all.

[lastoneout]

Hey so uh y'all know this is straight up radfem rhetoric that will do fuck all to actually combat the rise of fascism in this country while putting young people further at risk of being indoctrinated into conservatisim, right? Like this is 100% the basis of political lesbianism and is a direct pipeline to becoming a fucking TERF which is a direct pipeline to holding hands with Nazis, we should NOT be supporting or promoting the idea that the only way for women to be safe is to completely isolate themselves from men, especially in the coming years where unity with our allies, a group which includes men, will be the key to survival for so many people. The state of the world right now is based in part on the rampant spread of individualism and exclusion and distrust, why the hell would perpetuating that help??

Also this alienates women who cannot or will not abandon their connections to men(wanting to marry and love and have sex and children with men is morally neutral) and strips us of our ability to find allyship with marginalized men who are on our side and also will face extreme violence under this new administration. This will cut us off from black men and disabled men and intersex men and queer men and will absolutely be used as justification to completely fucking abandon trans men, who have already been completely abandoned by current mainstream feminism to the point that I cannot go five seconds without someone saying reproductive rights are an issue that only affects women when that is in NO way the case. Basically no one has been including trans mascs/men, nonbinary people, and intersex people in the abortion and birth control discussion this election cycle despite those groups needing just as much help and support on this front and that is a PROBLEM. Like trans men and intersex people who can get pregnant are going to be at a hellish level of risk going forward, infinitely more so than the average cishet perisex woman. We cannot abandon them further.

Plus for some of us marriage will potentially keep us safer or help us escape this country should we need to, I'm disabled and can't work I cannot just move to another country, but if I get married and my fiancé goes first and finds a job that can support us both that will help me. And like you can also get married to a man and still refuse to have kids in protest? Most of the people in our generation aren't having kids anyway? And tbh those of us who want to are not bad people nor should we have to put our entire lives on hold for god knows how long to stick it to the men. We live in hell right now, why the fuck should we be asking people to completely abandon things that could make them happy in a weird form of protest that won't work and is a gateway to being a raging Nazi transphobe??

And on top of all of that this also lets the hundreds of thousands of women who voted for Trump on purpose because they too have bought in to his rhetoric off the hook, which again, is where radical feminism leads because it is fundamentally based on the idea that men are always dangerous and harmful no matter what but women are always innocent brainwashed victims who can do no harm. And writing off men as a lost cause who are evil by nature and thus cannot be saved is also not only radical feminist bullshit, it's legit just conservative "boys will be boys" bullshit with a progressive hat. I am not giving shitty men a free pass to suck forever by pretending they are incapable of change, they can, should, and MUST be held to a higher standard. That is what I mean when I say radical feminisim is a conservative ideology, it doesn't believe a better world is possible because it assumes men will always be evil and should be avoided at all costs which upholds the status quo, it does nothing to actually challenge it.

(And hell, if all that wasn't enough, this is also flawed because the kinds of women who are left leaning enough to consider doing something like this likely already only associate with progressive men, so who are we even punishing here? No woman riding the tradwife MAGA waterslide is going to do this, so the only men who get punished are the good ones who are on our side, which helps who, exactly?? Like christ y'all this falls the fuck apart so fast the second you actually think about it.)

There are men who will be my allies in the coming years and women who will be my enemy. Women are just as capable of being bigoted fascist pieces of shit as men are, this election proved that. We waited for women to save us and most of them fucking didn't. How the hell am I supposed to believe women are inherently safer or better while looking at the breakdown of what demographics voted for Trump. Some of the most vile, traumatizing misogyny and biphobia I have faced in my life was at the hands of other women and some of the most outspoken feminists who work tirelessly to tear apart the patriarchy I know are men. My fiancé, a cis man, legit checked MY toxic masculinity yesterday, I recently came out as butch and have been trying to live up to that by staying as strong as possible right now, and HE had to tell me to knock it off and let myself cry. Gender and sex are not indicators of morality and acting like they are is pure, unadulterated radical feminist bullshit.

We can and should absolutely talk about the rise of alt-right beliefs amongst men in this country, especially young men, but we cannot ignore that young women are buying into that shit too and a lot of it is COMING FROM RADICAL FEMINISTS, I cannot fucking stress enough radical feminism is a direct pipeline to becoming a conservative, the TERF to tadwife waterslide is real and likely WHY so many young women are voting conservatively. The more we concede to this rancid bullshit the more women wander directly into the alt-right's open arms.

The problem isn't men, it's systemic misogyny perpetuated by both men AND women, and also fascism. Don't lose sight of the true enemy.

[dreamwreaver]

I completely agree, Vaggie and Charlie are really each other's antithesis and it's executed BADLY. The show doesn't do anything meaningful with their differences, if anything, it makes it starker. Their communication is terrible, they are not at all in sync with each other's needs and the only time they ever got actual development was when they separated to seek help for the battle with the exorcist, in which, they had more chemistry with their respective mentors than they ever had with each other (I honestly ship Vaggie and Carmilla a little after their spar, like come on, one time Carmilla lets her hair down, an act of vulnerability in some cultures, was with Vaggie and Vaggie also got her wings back after that fight too. Not to mention, they had a whole ass song together despite not meeting yet before the Chaggie song and has plus points for being original unlike Chaggie's song so Vamilla/Battleangel is a decent ship for me.)

Vaggie may say that she'll do anything for Charlie but she sure as hell won't let Charlie sing and have a deal with the same guy she had a deal back in episode 1. She also seems to forgot that her girlfriend is a grown-ass woman who can thrive on without her while she can't because she thinks she's worth nothing without Charlie. It's sad, really.

I'm honestly curious on what you'd discuss further on how Vaggie would have never let Charlie in but Charlie didn't think to knock, can you please share?

Ngl, while it's not an s-tier ship for me because I do adore zestmilla, battle angel is indeed an underrated pairing and tbh? At the very least Vaggie deserved to have an obsessive lesbian crush on Carmilla. I know it was allegedly planned for her to have an obsession with weapons and it got cut for time or other reasons. Whatever, more stripping of Vaggie's character and turning her into a bland nonentity so she doesn't compete for attention with literally everyone else.

As for your question; I would like to refer back to Charlie's rant at Alastor during their cannibal town date. No I will not be taking arguments on that, that's precisely what it was.

"Three years, three YEARS I've been sharing my life with her and I tell her EVERYTHING! My hopes, my dreams, my insecurities, my embarrassing habits, what fucking DEODORANT I like! And she keeps something, like THIS from ME! Why would she lie for so long? Did she think I wouldn't accept her? What about me, ME, says un-understanding?"

And if you watch her body language during this whole rant it's less emotional hurt and more... ego hurt? Like, this whole upset has gone from "the person I love and trust more than anything has been lying to me about who they are," to, "I share everything about myself with her and should have been entitled to this information."

And yeah, I get it, she was made to look incredibly stupid in front of a heavenly council right before being blasted back to Hell with an entire exorcist army aimed right at her front door. Anyone might be justifiably upset that such important info was kept from them. But as Carmilla literally says not ten minutes later, "You have a giant X over your eye and wield an angelic spear, it's not rocket science."

So Carmilla was able to take literally ONE look at Vaggie and clock her origins? Going further, depending on how you interpret Lucifer's gaze in Dad Beat Dad upon meeting Vaggie it's entirely possible HE clocked her as angelic too. And yet, the person who spends the most time around her somehow couldn't connect those dots? Charlie's optimistic but she's not dumb. She's got a naive understanding of sinners and how best to incite change but to miss something like THAT? I don't buy that Vaggie would have been able to keep that secret so easily if Charlie had been paying as much attention to her partner as any good and healthy relationship should.

But let's backtrack a bit. The notion that Vaggie's off emotionally is established all the way back in episode 3. Remember when Charlie's trying to get the others psyched about trust exercises and Vaggie shows a considerable lack of enthusiasm? What was the first thing out of Charlie's mouth after that? Is it, "hey you seem like you've got something on your mind; are you okay?"

Nope! It's a very embarrassed/annoyed, "Vaggie, we rehearsed this!"

After which she proceeds to blindside Vaggie with the news that she's the one who's going to be leading the trust unit that day. Wow, for all they rehearsed this pitch Vaggie sure seems left out of the loop on it doesn't she? When Vaggie tries to explain without explaining that she's neither qualified nor comfortable about this decision does Charlie say, "well okay then, but if you change your mind just let me know,"? Wrong again! She just says, "It's easy I'm sure you can handle this."

And again, Vaggie is both unprepared and uncomfortable and also unable to say no to Charlie so she defaults into her military training and starts speaking to them like a commanding officer would to their troops. And I don't blame her for that, we tend to fall back on emulating behavior we've seen when we don't know how to cope with something. When trust falls don't work, Charlie tries to retake control but Vaggie puts on a brave face and says she has it when she clearly doesn't. As chaotic shenanigans ensue Vaggie grows more and more desperate but somehow it isn't until she's literally chucking people off a roof that Charlie figures this has gone too far. Not to mention she's incredibly surprised that COMBAT is how Vaggie learned to trust people. Forgive me if I'm wrong but you've been her partner for three years by later admission and you DIDNT know she came from a military background?

Not to mention Vaggie spells it all out in black and white, "I took charge today and it all went sideways. I'm supposed to make your dreams a reality. I'm supposed to protect you. I'm supposed to never fail you" followed by, "If I can't help you, what's the point of me?"

Vaggie has serious issues with self worth, demonstrated here. And while I get Charlie is trying to respect boundaries to a certain point I cannot imagine that were I in her shoes I would leave my partner thinking that if they couldn't be useful they shouldn't be with me. And while to her credit Charlie does apologize, it feels a little pointless when the very next episode she's back to just ignoring what Vaggie says. Even then, that apology doesn't do much to address the real root of the issue. They work as a team? When and where is that EVER demonstrated? It's not a reassurance that Vaggie doesn't NEED to have some demonstrable use for Charlie to want to be with her. And even if it was Vaggie has already struck at the heart of their problem; she wants to be Charlie's armor AND her partner, but those positions cannot work in tandem. Because wanting to be someone's armor assumes they need protecting, and again I state, Charlie is a grown ass woman and one of the most powerful beings in all of hell. She was smart enough to avoid making a deal with Alastor in the pilot, why does Vaggie assume that Charlie NEEDS protecting? And a partner infers a level of equality that just isn't demonstrated in what we see of their relationship. There is no give and take with them supporting each other equally. It's vaggie either trying to draw blood from a stone to meet Charlie's unrealistic expectations, or Vaggie telling Charlie to alter core elements of her personality to appease her own subjects. And on the flip side; where does Charlie support Vaggie in anything resembling the way Vaggie supports Charlie?

Charlie pushed for Vaggie to come to Heaven with her because that was what SHE wanted. Even when Vaggie expressed her reluctance to go Charlie pushed and Vaggie folded even as she knew what ended up happening was a very real possibility. Why?

For all his bloodthirsty nature Alastor knows the political game way better than Vaggie does. Vaggie couldn't keep her shit together when Emily was just holding Charlie's hands and being friendly. That's not the type of partner a political figure should have, and whether she likes it or not as princess of hell Charlie's interwoven with the politics of hell. Being power hungry means Alastor has the genuine best advice for Charlie when it comes to handling bigwigs like the angels. And he's someone with an actual business interest in the hotel. Imagine someone asking him why he helps when he doesn't believe in redemption; and he tells them it's because he believes in Charlie. You don't hand someone the source of most of your power so easily if you do not have a sincere and earnest level of trust in them. And yet Al does it willingly, more than once.

I want to say that I don't hate Charlie or Vaggie. I just don't think they work well as a pairing because Vaggie gives too much and Charlie's more concerned with her people than her partner. And the lack of communication between the two of them is a real issue. Again, Vaggie might never have let Charlie in, but Charlie never thought to knock. She never thought to ask about Vaggie in any way that would suggest the sort of deep emotional love that the show so desperately wants us to believe they have.

And on some level, I think a good portion of the fandom feels it too. Seriously, run the numbers some time on just AO3; filter for the Chaggie tag, and then take out every other ship that those stories are actually about. The chaggie tag is filled with stories that are about someone else's relationship because beneath the surface there's nothing there.

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

What's the deal with Sauron and Elrond connection in Season 2?

We all know of Sauron’s obsession with Galadriel, but what about how Elrond kept showing up on his plot in Season 2?

First, we have this interaction with Prince Durin in 2x03; where Annatar/Sauron joins Celebrimbor conversation with Durin and Disa, and they are discussing Elrond. And Durin sees right through him.

I assure you, Herald Elrond said he could think of little else. than helping his Dwarven friends. He speaks of you so fondly. […] Elrond said that you were the wisest of all the Dwarves.

Prince Durin being suspicious of Sauron might be a Easter egg for Tolkien nerds, because Mairon was a Maia of Aulë, and betrayed his Vala to join Melkor/Morgoth. The Dwarves are Children of Aulë, created by Aulë himself as companions (I won’t go into the whole tale in here because it’s beside the point). So having one of them being distrusting of Sauron, and seeing right through his deception can be a nod to that.

Anyway, this is not the last time Elrond will show up in connection with Sauron in Season 2. In 2x05, when attempting to manipulate Celebrimbor into making the Nine for Men, Sauron gives a few examples of Men who rose above darkness (and he must have been screaming internally mentioning every one of them):

Yes. You are right. Of course. Men are capable of great frailty. But when the darkness falls, there are always some who rise forth and shine. Eärendil, Tuor, Beren, son of Barahir.

Eärendil is Elrond’s father, and son of Tuor (Elrond’s grandfather who married Elwing, Lúthien and Beren’s granddaughter). Which means, Sauron is going through all of Elrond’s genealogy in this scene.

And then, Adar, in 2x07, mentions Melian; Elrond’s ancestor. We have both Sauron and Adar bringing up Elrond’s ancestry in Season 2.

In fact, the entire “tent scene” with Adar and Elrond in 2x07 is a direct parallel to Adar and Sauron’s scenes, in Mordor, in 2x01:

Both scenes, start with Adar sitting down in a place of power, and getting up to approach Halbrand/Elrond;

Both Elrond/Halbrand-Sauron meet Adar with the same purpose: “let my people/Galadriel go”. Or "yours will die". In 2x01 this is explicit, in 2x07 it’s the subtext;

Adar rubs the might of his war forces and Orc legions on Elrond and Sauron's faces, and how they can’t possible expect to defeat him;

In both scenes, "Sauron" is mentioned in connection with the Elves and Eregion;

In both scenes, Sauron and Elrond use the Orcs lives as leverage against Adar:

In 2x01, Galadriel is mentioned by Sauron, and in 2x07, she’s actually there, and she’s the prisoner (instead of Sauron) and the “my people” Elrond is actually there to free;

Adar is deceived by Sauron and Elrond in both scenes: swearing fealty (2x01); the pin (2x07).

Death threats coming full circle between 2x01 and 2x07, with Sauron and Elrond:

Adar (2x01): You will tell me everything you think you know of this sorcerer now. Or I will spill the words from your throat.

Adar (2x07): The Ring for Galadriel's life. What is it to be? Elrond (2x07): Ask me on the field, when the neck with a blade against it is yours.

What's the backstory?

Back in 1x08, Sauron/Halbrand also spent weeks with Elrond in Eregion, since he was also there the entire time, overseeing the work alongside Galadriel; since this was the task Gil-galad appointed to him.

Elrond is the one who finds Galadriel in the Glanduin river, after she rejects Sauron’s offer and he flees.

And despite Galadriel keeping Halbrand’s true identity under wraps, and not revealing what truly happened, Elrond is the one who puts two and two together, and realizes Halbrand is not the King of the Southlands, and tricked them.

Season 2

However, only in 2x01, Elrond is made aware that Halbrand was, in fact, Sauron, when Galadriel herself reveals it to him and Gil-galad.

And Elrond is furious, because he absolutely trusted Galadriel, and that trust is now broken. Galadriel did allowed the Three rings of power to be forged, even though she knew that Sauron has been at Eregion all along.

Adding this to fact that Galadriel was so obsessed in finding Sauron in Season 1, and even talked about this with Elrond himself in 1x01, when he advises her to return to Valinor and find healing there:

During Season 2, Elrond is also the one who sees right through the rings of power, and understands they might be a ploy on Sauron’s masterplan. And he’s absolutely right. Because we know, from Tolkien legendarium, the Three are connected to Sauron’s power, and become mere pieces of jewelry when the One Ring gets destroyed on the Third Age, losing all of its magical properties. “Rings of Power” build upon this, and had Sauron himself at Eregion, handling the mithril (and probably infusing it with his intention to heal Middle-earth from Morgoth’s corruption, which is his goal).

In Season 2, Elrond is, clearly, Sauron’s greatest opponent in his rings of power plot concerning the Elves. Until he, too, gets deceived, because we know from Tolkien’s letters, these rings are not “wholly good” and the Elves are in the wrong by using them.

Anyway, Elrond not only attempts to have the rings destroyed (wrecking Sauron’s plan), but he also keeps antagonizing Galadriel by her wearing Nenya, perhaps in the hope she might take it off, or see the ring as evil. And Sauron is aware of all of this.

And can this be the reason why Elrond also seems to be on Sauron’s mind? Indeed, but there also might be another reason on top of this.

@love-and-doom shared one of their theories with me, and I think it makes sense, and explains a lot. According to them, Sauron might blame Elrond for his failure in bringing Galadriel to his side in 1x08.

Galadriel herself confessed to Celebrimbor, in 2x07, that she wanted to take Sauron’s offer and that she wanted what he offered her (be Queen of Middle-earth with Sauron as her king). And, maybe, had not Elrond show up, Sauron might have succeeded. What this theory implies is that Sauron show Galadriel the vision of her drowning in the Sundering Seas (the moment when he saved her), but we don’t know how this vision was supposed to end from Sauron POV because Elrond shows up and Sauron has to flee.

Sauron clearly has the background check on Elrond (as we’ve seen in 2x05), and is aware he is a thorn on his side. This might also be another Easter egg because of Sauron vs. Melian during the First Age; and not only Melian herself but Melian’s daughter (Lúthien), too, who was responsible for Sauron’s greatest and most spectacular defeat.

Then, we also have other parallels between these two characters:

Sauron and Elrond in connection with white horses:

Sauron's illusion in 2x06:

Elrond mourns his horse, 2x07:

Elrond and Sauron (+ Galadriel) with the same face wound (Elrond in 2x07; and Sauron and Galadriel in 2x08):

I saw several fans making the comparison of these wounds with Arwen’s in “Fellowship of the Ring”, because it’s on the same side and very similar, indeed.

However, I’m not sure what is this suppose to mean: Elrond is Arwen's father, and Galadriel is her grandmother, yes, but what does Sauron have to do with it?

Then, Elrond is the one who picks up Nenya (the ring Sauron wanted), and uses it to heal Galadriel, in 2x08:

He also returns Nenya to Galadriel, as a nod to their scene in 2x04; when Galadriel gives it to him for safe keeping, and he reluctantly agrees. Now he returns the ring in good will, to symbolize the end of their feud, and how Elrond now trusts the Three:

I’m curious to see if this dynamic will continue to play out in Season 3, and I wonder what all of this means.